mahermedicalcenter

[secondtryatablog]

Oh lord have mercy, I'm feeling the mental instability set in the DAY I get more time to draw. Pls have this Elf Moony, hopefully I can limp through the remaining prompts

[goodgirlofglory]

Hey bestie, Happy Fourth of July! ❤️🤍💙🦅

Aka, happy birthday Steven Grant Rogers. 🪖💪

Usually, my go to reads consist of Bucky, but today I am feeling patriotic. So my ask includes reader giving steve a sloppy toppy 😏 💦 under the fireworks after an eventful birthday

But not just any blowjob, this is the first one that steve has gotten in 70+ yrs because he’s a grandpa that didn’t venture out into the modern world until he met reader. So now, he really understands why Bucky enjoyed his time with the ladies back in the 40’s 🇺🇸

And this blowjob in particular has him gripping whatever he can in his fists, has him moaning like a little boy, his mouth drooling, his eyes rolling, his soul leaving his body. 🙉 and reader is just talking him through it like the good girl she is 😊

Anyways, thank you for listening to my slutty asks. I hope you have a good day/evening where you are!! 🌸❤️

Bestie!!!🫶🎀🦋

Happy birthday to both Steve Rogers and the US of A🎉🎉✨️✨️✨️🦅🦅🦅🦅🦅

I'm definitely in my Bucky corner nowadays too, but there's no hardship revisiting dear Stevie boy, so in the name of patriotism, here's a little somethin somethin😉😌

Absolutely LOVE the prompt (and your slutty asks are always a fav)!!! Things got a little out of hand, so Steve ended up reeeallyyy subby in this, but I kinda like it, don't you?

Enjoy, sweetie, have a good day/night wherever you are🫶🫶🦋

In the name of patriotism / One-shot

Pairing: Inexperienced!Sub!Steve Rogers x Experienced!Soft!Domme!reader

Word count: 2,5k

Warnings: SMUUUUTT, oral (m receiving), soft domme reader, semi-public sex (oral behind the trees while there’s a party in the garden, ball-sucking, deepthroating, messy head, cum swallowing woop woop, dirty talk. Steve is very subby in this.

Summary: See delicious prompt above

“A-are you sure you’re okay w-with missing the f-f-fire-w-works?” he asks again, breath significantly more labored than just a minute ago - when you’d pinned him to the tree and gotten on your bare knees in the grass. 

As you look up at his face, an explosion of glittering gold and red fireworks fills the sky above him, illuminating his strong nose, high cheekbones and blond hair tousled by his own hands raking through it. You consider his words, feeling his bulge throb under your hands - where you have them paused at his zipper. The belt you just undid hangs limp on each side of your hands, signaling how fucking close you are to the one thing you’ve been thinking about for the last hour. 

Another glittering explosion in the sky, this one gold and silver, and his chest is heaving. 

“View’s pretty great from here,” you say, preening as you see his furrowed expression break up in helpless laughter. He shaks his head a little, but his cock throbs again, betraying how he really feels about that comment. 

It was by pure chance you walked by as Steve said it. You’d been on your way back from the bathroom when you’d halted outside the living room in Sam’s house and heard the boy’s talk through the crack in the door.

“Wait, nothing?” Sam asked incredulously. 

Steve’s voice came a moment later, sounding sheepish and maybe a bit abashed. 

“No. Not since the war. Sure, a kiss here and there, but you know me. I don’t get out much,” Steve’d said apologetically, and the resigned way he said it had set something off inside you. 

If there were three thing Steve Rogers was not to feel, it was inadequate, undeserving and unsatisfied. It was the whole reason you’d planned this combined birthday and 4th of July-celebration, goddamn it. For Steve to feel celebrated and loved, surrounded by loved ones, doing things he enjoyed. It had been an absolute banger of an evening, and you just got the idea of how to make the night even better for him. Okay, so maybe it wasn’t completely selfless. You did have a big ol’ crush on the man. Who didn’t? And if he hadn’t had a single sexual encounter in 70+ years, you were the perfet candidate to change that. 

So here you are, knees soaking in the dirt, hands dragging the zipper of his faded, blue jeans all the way down, your own breath growing choppy as you stare at the gray boxers hiding the thing you want most. There is already a wet patch in the fabric, right where the tip of his cock is outlined. Your mouth fucking salivates at the sight. 

He shifts where he stands, hands clenching and unclenching at his sides, and you bask in how impatient he is, how much you can sense he wants it, even if he’s giving you every chance of an out. Polite, chivalrous man - how can he not see you’re dying to gag on his cock behind a tree in Sam’s garden - while the rest of the party’s conveniently occupied watching the fireworks? 

“I just - um - you just have to know I-I-I’m not pressuring you or -” he starts, stuttering so adorably, and his words dies on a gasp of breath as you reach up and lay your hand atop his boxer-clad cock, feeling it jump at the contact. He is so sensitive.

“Don’t you want it?” you ask. It’ll be agony having to tear yourself away at this point, but you’ll do it if he says no of course. You can tell he won’t though. 

“No! I mean yes! I do, I fucking do - God, so much - just-”

“Then be quiet,” you say softly. It’s honestly astounding seeing him so flustered, stumbling over his words like his mind is already going under. Big, strong man, Captain America himself, putty in your hands, fumbling and blushing, and his cock isn’t even out yet. It’s making you fucking soak your panties. 

His head thumps back against the tree and he exhales like he’s relieved. Relieved it’s actually happening despite him doing his part and checking your consent. Like you weren’t the one dragging him into the bushes and telling him to stay still, winking at him while you kneeled before him. 

A small sound escapes him as you pull his boxers down, letting his cock spring free before tucking the band of his boxers all the way under his balls - so you have proper access to him. You’ll accept no less, even given you have little space and even less time to do this before someone’s gonna come looking for you - it’s Steve’s party after all - and you’re the host. 

He’s fucking huge, intimidatingly so, even for you. He’s pale, bright pink on the tip, hair neatly trimmed by the base. He’s long and thick, prominent veins on the underside leading up to a pronounced head with a tight frenulum you can’t wait to tease with the tip of your tongue. You hold him gently by the base as you examine him, and a clear drop of precome trickle out the slit at the tip and down his shaft as you watch. It’s unreal how gorgeous he is. 

“Perfect,” you mutter, mostly to yourself, and meet his eyes as his head whips down to see you. A groan seems to tear itself from him as he lays eyes on you gazing at his cock from eye level. He ducks his head a little, almost like he’s trying to hide from the praise, and you see in the flashing light of the next firework that there’s a tell-tale blush high on his cheekbones. 

Oh, he liked that. 

You take him into your mouth as you hold his gaze, making him pay attention to every inch of himself disappearing slowly in between your lips. His mouth falls open as you work him deeper, tongue working to coat him in spit, cheeks hollowing in to add suction everytime you pull him out. You command he watches it all, and lets you see exactly what it does to him. 

His brows crunch together and rise on his forehead, his mouth gasping wider open, his face contorts almost to a grimace and you eagerly eat it all up as you work your mouth over him again and again. You gasp off him, and he gasps with you, sounding almost pained as you tease him with your tongue, running it from root to tip and back.

He throws his head back only to whip it down seconds later, unable to keep his eyes away from it, body shuddering each time you swipe the tip of your tongue from his frenulum to his tip, swiping at the spittle of precome that it coaxes out each time. 

You’re going pretty slow for someone who has such little time as you do, but you can tell it does it for him. He’s sensitive beyond all reason, and you know just a little more of this and some naughty words will get him right off that edge. 

“You like it?” you ask, moving your mouth down to take his balls into your mouth. 

He chokes on a groan as you latch on to one testicle, rolling it into your mouth and releasing it with a suctioning pop. His hands fists at his side before unclenching and reaching behind him, grabbing at the tree like it can save him. 

“Yes,” he gasps, desperately. 

You take his spit covered cock in your hand and jerk him off, fast and hard right off the bat, watching with preening satisfaction as his eyes clamp shut and his jaw drops, hips shifting restlessly, itching to thrust into your hand like he just can’t help but chase the pleasure. 

“Good. I want you to come for me. Don’t hold back when you reach that edge, give it all to me,” you say, voice deliciously raspy from taking him so deep, and he’s already nodding before you’re halfway through the sentence, putty in your hands. 

The fireworks above are going off full force now, painting the Captain in flashing colours of gold, red, silver, blue, green and purple, illuminating him like a fucking work of art as he gasps and groans, bites his lips red, saliva coating them and running out the side of his mouth to trickle down to his jaw. He’s such an open book, honest, body shameless in its pleasure even as he blushes bright red as he meets your eyes, seeing you staring unabashedly as you keep jerking him, suckling the other testicle. 

You take him back into your mouth, pressing him all the way back and into your throat. He sounds almost alarmed as you take him down your throat again and again, pushing your limits to give him that ultimate pleasure, working what you can’t get into your mouth with a spit covered hand. 

To his credit, he stays almost perfectly still like you told him to, only moving his hips whatever inches he can’t seem to control - and also trembling more and more as he nears his peak, moaning almost continually. 

“Fuck,” he swears at one point, and his hand flies out to tangle in your hair, holding on with a grip that alludes to unmatched violence but keeps to a desperate cling instead, a simple gesture to keep himself grounded. You groan around his cock, encouraging and maybe a bit patronizing, even as you gag around him before pulling off with a gasp. 

“Come on, baby, I’m right here. I want it all,” you say in between suckling and messily kissing the tip of his cock, jerking him for real now, hauling him to the edge. 

He whimpers at your words, and you relish the vulnerability of it, how he gives himself to you so entirely.

“I want your come, sweet thing, I can feel you want to give it to me,” you say, earning another desperate whimper. 

“Be good and come for me. That’s it, I’m right here, give it to me,” you babble, and his hips are thrusting into your wet fist now, mindlessly chasing that edge as his eyes lock with yours, pupils blown wide, mind empty but for your words and his need to come. It’s an absolutely gorgeous fucking sight and you don’t want to go a single day without it from now on. 

You take him back down your throat and he comes fast. How can he not, it’s his first blowie in 70+ years, maybe ever - you haven’t asked him yet. Also, you’d be insulted if he didn’t come fast, given how much work you’re putting in, taking him all the way into your throat and drenching both his cock, balls and your own chin in your saliva. 

You feel the way his muscles tense up long before it happens, like his whole body is going to combust on the spot, and then this tiniest, most vulnerable sound leaves him, like a choked whimper mixed with an almost woeful sigh. And then his cock is pulsing deliciously in your mouth, throbbing as he explodes, and you hum low and long in encouragement as he gives you everything he’s got, shaking and trembling through it all. Bark splinters off the tree he’s pinned against as his fists clench through it, and his cum is thick and salty and perfect on your tongue, coming out in such intense, forceful spurts you nearly choke on it. 

The fireworks are dwindling a bit in the sky, but you can still enjoy the sight of Steve going limp, head thumping back against the tree as he puts a hand through his hair, the other coming forth to cradle your jaw as you keep his throbbing cock in your mouth long after you’ve swallowed all the cum.

You gently release him, coo at him when he hisses from the sensitivity, and tuck him gently back into his pants, doing up the fly and belt before kissing his bulge lovingly, hoping for a swift reunion. 

Ever the gentleman, he helps you with gentle hands as you get up on your feet and before you can really think on what comes next, he’s kissing you. He cradles you close with one arm around your shoulder while the other cups your jaw and his embrace is warm and tender and needy and perfect. You put your arms around his torso, holding him tight and kissing him back, letting his tongue snake into your mouth, loving that he isn’t averse to his own taste. 

You kiss long and sweetly, unrushed, and you think maybe this should’ve come before the blowjob but Steve doesn’t seem too unhappy about the turn of events, turning you around to pin you against the tree as he plasters himself against you.  Are you tripping, or is he hard again? 

The chatter of the party comes back to life, and you break the kiss to murmur against Steve’s lips. 

“We should get back to the rest before they get suspicious.”

“Why?” Steve asks casually, and it’s your time to blush from the blatant lack of care he has for the possibility of people finding you like this. You giggle and slap his chest playfully. 

“Because, it’s your party and I’m the host,” you say, but it’s a nonsense reason. You could just stay like this until everyone’s left and it’d be okay with you. Maybe you could suck him some more. 

“Would you like to stay after? I’d like…um…” he seems to struggle to put to words what he wants, kissing you hard before just saying “more”. 

You giggle again and he smiles against your lips. 

“You’re so good with your words, Captain” you tease. 

He groans and his arms pull at your hips to grind his bulge into your stomach. 

“Nothin' like you. Fuck, that fucking mouth of yours drove me crazy,” he groans, never pulling back more than just enough to get his words out between your mingling breaths. “I’d like to return the favor.”

And a thrill goes up your spine and shivers down it at the promise in his voice, the breathless desire that manifests there, and you nod eagerly just as Sam’s voice cuts through the chatter out in the yard, calling for both you and Steve.

[seffien]

(finally getting off my ass and writing this out)

Mwahaha fool. Ask the devil and they shall answer. (So it doesn't look like I'm just torturing your oc's without YOUR permission)

Here is how The Suffering plays out.

I've gone back and reread some lore and came up with a few things. First, what has Miko's(8) greatest fear been?

A: Being a soldier. Or rather, becoming like those she grew up around. A hate filled octarian trained to be let loose on the enemy.

So she leaves Alterna. A bag on her back with the few remaining possessions she has, her phone, and the charger. All she has to do is check Squitter™️ to find Veronika(n3), and wow. What a nice friend group she has. (The promo kids)

She had friends once. She only got Squitter because Masu(4) egged her and Jun(3) to keep in touch while they were away in Splatsville. She scrolls their dead accounts. The most recent photo is Koko riding her squee-g.

She trembles, then remembers. "She's safe." Jun had left her with Callie before...

She gags. She has to push forward. They'll be avenged soon enough. She starts by friending the two crazy ones. They seem to have some sort of beef with Veronika, but regardless. She's found a route in.

Annie loves her. Finally, the anti-ronnie squad is 3 strong!

But Tako is IMMEDIATELY put off. She knows crazy, sees it in her bestie, but the look in Miko's eyes isn't that. It's calculated. Analytical. She wants something from them.

After maybe their 3rd hangout Tako finally confronts her after Annie leaves. "You don't just hate her, you loathe her."

They bicker back and forth in an alley until Tako finally sees it. The ragged clothes, her bag hidden behind a dumpster, The dead look in Miko's eyes as she tries to keep it together. 'She's psychotic'.

Tako threatens to out her intentions, tries to run out the alley, but Miko acts instinctually. The sickening crack of the charger piercing Tako's helmet shakes her, as she watches the girl fall limp to the floor.

"No.. NONONONONO!"

Her medical training kicks in. Checks vitals, assesses the wound. She knows it's fatal before she even touches the body.

She sits there for hours clutching herself. Rocking back and forth trying to close reopened trauma, all while whispering "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry." to the body in front of her.

She knows she can't be caught. Not yet. Successfully shoving her emotions in a bag, she gazes down at Tako's body and picks up their phone, and what appears to be apartment keys. 1 down, 7 to go. She's smart, she'll figure something out.

Days later, the garbage truck finds Tako's slowly dissolving body in the dumpster. By then, few remain.

-----------

The news of a deliberate murder is shocking. Deep cut, unaware of what happened, go back to Alterna. The graves. The demolished equipment. Slowly, Marie & Craigs cover up slowly unravels.

Marina calls Callie, for once she answers. Miko blocked both her and Pearl's number, and they don't know what's happening. Guilt-ridden and desperate to spill everything, she confesses about Masu's death.

Both Deep cut and Off the Hook converge on the Squid Sisters.

----------

Hiro doesn't know why his friends are being targeted, but he's scared. He made his way to Ronnie's apartment because now she wasn't responding. He knocks on her door, but after no response he breaches his way in.

Horrified and on the verge of taking her own life sits Veronika on her bed. Tears streak her face, her heroshot tightly gripped in hand. Hiro desperately tries to comfort her, but can't make sense of what she's rambling about.

Her fault? She deserves this?

Concerned, he offers her to stay over at his place. "You don't deserve to be alone right now." As he helps her pack to leave, she screams. He swiftly turns around.

Standing and glaring them down through the broken doorway is Miko. "I found you."

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

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

ANYWAYS tune in next time where I try to write a happier prompt~ :DDDD

[coffeecat1983]

Mario Bros feat Tony and Arthur: "Say Something"

Writing prompt #64 “Yell, scream, cry, please, just say something, anything.” (recommended soundtrack: Deadmau5 where's the drop "Avaritia")

   An ache, a throbbing pain that spread from his head down his shoulders and back. He just wanted sleep, wanted to slip back into the darkness that kept the ache away. But the ringing in his ears persisted and it forced him forward into consciousness. As the ringing faded, it was replaced by hissing of steam, rattling of metal, and the jumbled sound of rain all around.    Moving, Arthur felt something cold and wet beneath his scraped palms.

   Pavement? Where am I?    It hit him. They learned to drive, they had their licenses now. Wanted to try night driving. They took Salvatore's small car and Tony was behind the wheel... Tony!    Pushing himself up he looked around, his breath hitching from the stinging shooting up and down his left arm and the growing pain that told him a few ribs were either bruised or broken. In the falling rain and the smoky glow of the flickering headlights he could make out the figure laying limp not far from him.      "T-Tony..."

   They had pulled away from the stoplight when there was a flash, a truck horn howling as the driver lost control and tore through the red light, crashing into the side and back of the car. The impact sent them flying, the old seat-belts that long ago should have been replaced snapping apart from the force.    "B-Big bro." Arthur crawled over, hand landing on something that crunched softly. He let out a strangled cry at the sight of the crushed glasses. "Tony!" he cried out as he forced himself up. Blood was trickling down Tony's face from the gash in his forehead, the rain smearing the red even further.    Struggling against the nausea that threatened to overtake him, Arthur touched his twin's face.

     "Tony, c-c'mon bro, wake up." he let out another sob, shaking his shoulder. "P-Please! Say something!"    His chest heaved, a mixture of pain and shock as he kept at it, trying to wake the other as sirens were heard in the distance.      "Please! Dammit, say something!" he screamed. Energy spent, he collapsed forward, clutching the powder blue shirt. "Please, anything..." he begged. As darkness began to wrap around him, he felt the chest he so desperately clung to heave with a breath, a cough, and a word.      "Art..."

By "CC"

(Thanks to my bestie for the prompt!)

[tbmunson]

Mutual Masturbation - Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

Day 17 of 31

Summary: Firstly thank you to my bestie @ashes-writing for helping me with the idea. Eddie helps his inexperienced girlfriend giver herself her first orgasm.

Warnings: 18+ ONLY! Masturbation. Voyeurism?

WC: 1K

October Masterlist

Eddie, your boyfriend of four months, was currently under you, holding your hips as you kissed him, hands resting on his shoulders. "We can slow down." He mumbled as your hips rolled against his on their own accord.

You'd told him when you first started dating that you were a virgin, but what you'd neglected to tell him was you'd never even touched yourself. "I want to know what it feels like." You replied, resting your forehead on his.

Eddie's brows furrowed, but he cheekily rutted up into you. "My dick baby?" He asked as you gasped.

You blushed and his your face in his neck. "No. I mean... an orgasm." You murmured into his skin.

Eddie rubbed his hands up and down your sides, squeezing them gently. "You've never had an orgasm?" He asked, brushing your hair back gently.

You shook your head as he gently pulled you from his neck.

"You've never touched yourself, have you baby?" He looked serious, trying to figure out how to ask for what he was now craving.

"Don't know how." You were barely whispering, but he heard you loud and clear.

He sat up, causing you too as well. "I can show you. I think you should give yourself your first one, and then I'll give you your next one, hm?" He offered, a hand resting gently on the side of your blushing face.

You almost wanted to cry from embarrassment, but Eddie always made you feel okay. You knew his words weren't taunting or teasing. "You will?"

"Yeah, baby. Of course. Why don't you sit up here against the headboard." He offered, maneuvering you without an answer. "Perfect." He added before kissing your cheek and drawing back.

"What should I do?" You asked, the slightest hint of nervousness showing through you tone.

Eddie smiled and sat cross legged in front of you. "That depends, are you wet?" He quirked a brow, making you blush as you nodded.

You were every time you made out with Eddie like that, feeling him grow hard under you.

"Good. So you can get fully naked, or you can leave your shirt on, just your bra. Whatever you're comfortable with, but your pants and panties need to go so I can help you." He instructed, rubbing your leg gently.

You nodded and discarded the clothing from your lower half followed by your shirt. You felt extremely exposed, but Eddie had a way of making you feel relaxed around him.

"Alright sweetheart. Open your legs, okay?" His hands settled on your knees, pushing them apart gently. "Fuck, you're pretty baby." He sighed, taking in the glistening sight.

"Eddie." You whined, blushing slightly in embarrassment.

"Shh." He soothed, scooting a bit closer. "It's okay baby. No shame, okay?" He pressed a kiss to your knee and squeezed your thigh gently, looking for a response. "Okay?"

"Okay." Your hands laid limp beside you, unsure of what they should be doing.

"I'm going to touch you, just for a second so you know what to do, okay?" He prompted, nodding towards you.

You nodded back at him, waiting, but nothing happened.

"Words, baby. Words are important." He stated, rubbing your skin again.

"Oh, okay. You can- you can touch me." You said, blushing under his gaze.

"If you change your mind, I'll stop, but you have to tell me with your words." He looked into your eyes as you mumbled an "Okay." Back.

He hand traveled down, brushing your lips gently and making you gasp. "So, I assume you know where your opening is," his finger brushed against the hole, gathering your slick arousal, "and that it's where your wet comes from."

"Yes." You moaned, biting your bottom lip as you watched.

"You want to bring that up to your clit, which is basically a magical happy pleasure button, but rather than just press it, you gotta rub it too." Which he happily demonstrated, running his finger from left to right. "You can also circle it." He changed direction, watching you writhe beneath him.

"Fuck, Eddie." You whimpered, hips rolling to grain more friction.

He pulled his hand back, making you pout. "You're turn, sweetheart. Show me what you learned." He urged before placing his finger in his mouth and moaning as he cleaned it off.

You felt yourself tighten up at the noise, even more turned on than before. You reached your hand down, following Eddie's path from your dripping opening to your swelling clit.

"Apply some pressure baby." Eddie encouraged, rubbing his hand on your thigh, giving you an idea of how much pressure to add.

You did and let out a shaky moan.

Eddie smiled, drawing his lip between his teeth. "Sound so sweet, angel."

"So do you. I wanna hear you." You whined, letting your fingers breach your entrance. "Please, Eddie?"

"Is that you asking me to touch myself too, sweetheart?" He questioned, already reaching for his belt buckle.

"Mm, fuck, yes." You answered, pressing the heel of your hand into your clit.

Eddie shoved his pants and boxers down just far enough to get his cock out. "Fuck, baby, I can't wait to see what you look like when you cum." He reached his hand up to your mouth. "Spit for me, please?"

You nodded and did as he asked, basking in the moan he made at the act. "Eddie." You whimpered, withdrawing your fingers do you could toy with your clit like he had.

He smeared your spit over his cock and grunted as his eyes rolled in his head. "Fuck, you sound so hot when you say my name."

You watching his hand slide up and down his length, noticing how big it looked even in his own hand. You were sure it would destroy you, but then again, that's what you knew you wanted.

"You like watching me jerk my cock?" He asked, noticing your eyes fixed on him.

You nodded, unable to speak as pleasure crept up on you, trying to take you under. You wanted it to.

"I like watching you fuck yourself with your fingers, baby." He growled, his grip tightening as he neared his own end.

"Fuck, Eddie!" You cried as you felt the snap rock through you.

Eddie moaned out, letting go and releasing his spend all over your legs.

For a moment all there was was the sound of deep breathing before Eddie broke it.

"That was so fucking hot. Can we do it again?"

[clean-bands-dirty-stories]

Limp Noodle ~ S.H.

A/n: I have never once been good at making choices so I’ll be doing both OOF! This request is dirt old but whatever. I’m actually writing requests now look at me go!

Request: “...prompt 20 or 21 Steve Harrington x clumsy male reader” by anon

#20 (here): “I can’t do this without you”

#21: “Guess who broke their nose! Me. It’s me. I broke my nose.”

Word Count: 2000+

MASTERLIST

“Are you SURE that this is a good idea?” The words came from Y/n as Steve parked the car, waving through the windshield window at Jonatan, Nancy, Robin and a new friend, Bianca. They’d all decided on a triple date and like idiots they’d let Steve, Bianca, and Nancy decide so they were now all headed on a hike. Robin was the least athletic of all of them and hated exercise of any kind. Jonathan was the one in the group who hated being outside in the sun and much preferred being inside cuddled on the could other swaddled in bed. Y/n... well Y/n was the single most clumsy person you’ve ever met.

Now, take whatever image that popped in your head when I said that and then make it ten times worse. Then take THAT mental image and multiply by it by ten AGAIN. Y/n was worse. He was absolutely sure he was going to thrip and fall over the side of some steep hill and fully die. He would be lucky to make it out of this trip without a stick going through his eye. Y/n and the outdoors didn’t mix. They never had. He could barely walk, let alone when it was uphill and outside and humid and hard to breathe and everyone was so beautiful and distracting.

Steve didn’t agree with that analysis.

“This is a great idea actually,” Steve decided with complete confidence. “Don’t worry about it okay? You’ll be fine.”

“Incorrect,” Y/n Aries immediately. “We started dating because I tripped seven times and you caught me every single one. I tripped seven times in three days Steve - and that was just the, what, one hour a day you’re with me? In THREE HOURS I TRIPPED SEVEN TIMES!” He was whisper yelling, getting rather heated. “I’m going to knock my head into a tree and bleed out.”

Steve laughed. He reached over, taking his boyfriend’s hands. “Do you trust me?”

Y/n’s shoulders sagged. “That is a cheap trick, Harrington.”

In response Steve only raised his eyebrows. When Y/n refused to answer, Steve sighed. “Y/n. Do you trust me?”

Closing his eyes a second, Y/n held in a sigh. When he opened them again, he managed a small smile. “Yeah. I trust you.” Steve went to get out of the car and Y/n caught his wrist. “Just promise you’re going to stay with me okay? I can’t do this without you. I’m serious.”

Steve rolled his eyes. “Come on Drama King.” They both got out and made their way over to the other four.

“Hey guys!” Nancy greeted warmly. She had calmed a lot since Y/n had first met her. Darkened. But she was still pleasant enough, and Y/n tolerated her for Steve. He didn’t know why they were all friends after Nancy’s brutal ripping up Steve’s heart but... he expected it was that trauma bonding things that Steve and Robin refused to ever talk about with Y/n in the room.

“Hey bestie.” Robin winked at Y/n and he felt himself relax. Around her he always felt more comfortable. She got him on a much deeper level than Steve did. She had actually been the one to set them up after failure after failure of Steve’s attempts on girls who came to the ice cream shop they met at originally. It had gone up in flames recently, but they’d snagged a job at a movie store so they still worked together. Y/n was pretty sure neither of them would have it any other way, even if they sometimes pretended to hate each other.

“Hey loser,” Y/n joked back. Robin shoved him and he laughed, accidentally ramming into Jonathan as his feet almost came out underneath him. “Sorry,” Y/n mumbled.

Robin scoffed in amusement. “I always forget you have two backward feet.” This was something she said often, in reference to the popular statement of ‘two left feet’. One day Robin had proclaimed that Y/n was something worse than two left feet, and then being backward had kicked off as an inside joke.

“I’d you have that problem standing still, how do you think you’re going to do on a hike?” It seemed Bianca was trying to get in on the joking, but it hit a hard cord with Y/n.

He wasn’t in the mood to joke. “What can I say? Great day to die.” He put on the fakest smile ever. “Come on everyone!” Then he began to surge ahead, onto the trail, and the others scrambled to catch up.

It didn’t tale long for Nancy and Bianca to hit the head of the trail. Steve dutifully stayed by Y/n, but he watched the girls head with a sort of forlorness. Because Y/n was so slow and Jonathan and Robin lagged even behind him, the two girls in front were racing up and down the steep sides of the path they were on, jumping over logs and hopping up on stumps to make the path harder. They were laughing hard and having a great time. Y/n knew that Steve desperately wanted to join them.

What kind of a boyfriend would Y/n be to stop him? “Go on,” Y/n sighed, nudging Steve forward encouragingly.

Steve looked at Y/n with an expression that tried far too hard at innocence to succeed. It was so obvious he was full of crap that Y/n was rolling his eyes before the brunette even spoke. “What? What do you mean? I’m having a great time with my boyfriend which was the point of this whole thing. Have I bored you already?”

“No, but I’ve bored you. Go and do parkour with the bad ass chicks up there. Go on.” Steve hesitated, but when Y/n shot him a look, he finally did speed ahead to catch up and join in the unnecessary shenanigans that gave Y/n extreme anxiety just imagining himself doing. He sighed watching Nancy and Steve. He knew that things were WAY over between them, but Y/n found a little jealousy in the way they worked together so fluidly. They were perfect for each other - even as friends. She just kept up with him and challenged him in a way that Y/n never could, and Steve thrived.

Slowing down in his moment of annoyance, Robin and Jonathan caught up to him. “Welcome to the world of those who have to sit back and wonder why they’re not still dating,” Jonathan sighed. His voice was as laced with bitterness as Y/n’s thoughts were.

“They’re so complimentary,” Y/n complained.

“You could argue that you guys are the same,” Robin pointed out. “You both hate doing anything outside or away from home. You both love reading and photography. I mean Y/n’s incredible view of the world allows him to be a great writer, but it also connects you two. Writing and photography aren’t far from each other and you prod that every day. Nancy can’t slow down enough to appreciate things like Jonathan does, and we all know Steve is no reader.” She chuckled. “And we’ll never know how awkward and snappy got buff and pretty.”

Jonathan and Y/n smiled at that. “Imagine another world where Nancy and Steve stayed together. Then maybe you and me would have-“ suddenly he lost his words as he tripped, and Jonathan reached out to catch him. The two boys busted up laughing. “That’s the second I have to say both sorry and thank you for your reflexes Mr. Byers.”

“Ah anytime. That’s what friends do. Share interests and talk about alternative world where they’re dating and catch each other when they almost die.”

That made Y/n laugh harder.

Suddenly there was a very unpleasant thump and a scream. The three in the back snapped their attention to the three ahead and saw Nancy and Bianca freeze and look back at Steve, who had landed on the ground. His hands had risen to cover his face, and he slowly turned on his side, curling in on himself. It seemed like he’d misstepped at some point and tripped and fallen.

Perhaps Y/n shouldn’t have been the one they worried about on this trip...

-

When they finally got Steve to the hospital, it was a mess. There had been blood everywhere, and Y/n’s weirdly good driving had saved the day in a pinch once again. They’d gotten there quickly and in one piece without getting pulled over.

Only an hour later they were given news. Steve came out with the skin around his nose already bruised and puffy. “Guess Who broke their nose,” he mocked in a song songey voice.

“Me?” Y/n joked.

“Me!” Steve agreed, pointing at himself. “It’s me. I broke my nose.” He slung an arm over Y/n’s shoulders and the other four covered their mouths to hide laughs. People wouldn’t be forgiving in public if it got out that the two men were dating, so they were trying to be lowkey.

The Doctor came over behind Steve. “He’ll be fine. I’ve given him direction son how to ice it and even given him some pain killers to help with the next few hours. But it is just a broken nose, so nothing too severe.”

“Thanks,” Y/n told the Doctor. They left then, everyone heading home. Y/n designated himself in charge of caring for Steve, and called his parents to let them know that Steve ‘got tired’ after the hike and totally knocked out. They didn’t mind, liking that Steve was actually spending time with other kids again, so it went without too much problem.

As Y/n was tucking Steve into bed, Steve caught his hand to still him. “I love you.”

Y/n’s eyes widened. They hadn’t said that yet but... well, if hypotheticals with Jonathan had taught anything today, it was that Y/n was glad he was in this version of things, even if it was a little more complicated this way. So he meant it when he replied, “I love you too Stevie.”

Steve glared. “Not Jonathan?”

“Jon-“ Y/n’s deep confusion cleared as he realized what had been happening right when Steve had tripped. Jonathan and Y/n had been close. Laughing. Talking. Touching. “Oh my god Harrington did you break your nose because you were being a jealous idiot?”

“Maybe,” Steve grumbled, looking away.

Y/n laughed, gently tugging on his chin so their eyes met again. “Please sweetheart, you can’t get rid of me that easily. Me and my two backward feet are going to plague you for the rest of our lives.”

Steve’s eyes got very soft. “Do you really mean that?”

Getting sincere, Y/n leaned down and kissed Steve’s forehead. “Stephen Harrington, I’ve never meant anything more. I know we can’t get married or anything, or even date publicly, but... I don’t care. And maybe that’s some really forward thinking and we haven’t been dating that long, but I fell... a LOT of times in my life. It only made sense that the first time someone ever caught me, it was you. And it made me realize that I was gifted with my two backward feet so that one day I’d fall for you.”

Steve groaned. “That was painfully cheesy.”

“Okay, okay,” Y/n dismissed, rolling his eyes. The sweet moment was completely ruined.

“No seriously I would break my nose again before hearing that-“

Y/n reached over, turning the light off before climbing into bed with Steve. “Shut up Harrington, or I WILL break your nose again.”

Steve laughed before pulling Y/n close so they could fall asleep curled up with each other. “My cheesy, dumb, clumsy boy,” Steve mused quietly.

That made Y/n scoff. “If either of ya is the dumb in this relationship it’s YOU, Harrington.”

“Shut up,” Steve whispered. It was quiet a while before he finally followed up with, “I’d like that future with you too.”

To hide his smile, Y/n mumbled, “Good night Stevie.”

After a second, Steve replied, “Good night, Y/n.” And for now, that was the end of it.

[shmaptainwrites]

10 AND 4 FROM ANGST 10 AND 4 FROM ANGST PLEASEE

i want u to rip my heart out and then piece together with duct tape plzzz idc if the tropes are over used im a sucker for them oops

- ssa-h0tchner

Bestie this was destined to break hearts

Pairings: Aaron Hotchner x fem!Reader

Warnings: blood, guns, hospitals, angst, sadness, ambiguous ending

Prompt List - Send in a Request

Slipping Through My Fingers

“Agent (L/N)! What are you thinking?! Get back here!”

“No Hotch!” you yelled back, tossing your vest to the side. “There’s people in there that need help. I'm not just going to stand outside and wait!”

Aaron hated hearing that, because you never used to call him Hotch. He was always Aaron, but now he was back to Hotch and you just kept fighting back. Pushing against him at every instance you could, but this was the last straw.

He was about to storm in there, gun in his hands when Derek stood in front of him and placed a firm hand on his chest.

“Hotch, no,”

“Morgan, let me go.” he said in an orderly tone. “She’s without a vest in there alone and-!”

“Hotch, we both know if you walk in there the situation’s only gonna get worse for her,”

“Derek, I can’t just leave her,” his voice was desperate. “She hates me, I know that, but i’d she’s going to be stupid someone needs to make sure she won’t get hurt and that’s my-,”

Aaron’s voice stopped dead when he heard the gunshots.

“Job,” he finished, his voice a dry whisper as the echo fizzled out.

No amount of physical training could have helped Derek keep Aaron back. He sprinted towards the building, not caring for his own protection when he broke down the door of the house and rushed into the different rooms until he found you.

The unsub was lying, dead, across from you along with the three victims he had been holding hostage. And there you were, laying limp on the ground while your blood soaked the white carpet underneath you. Crimson red, warm, sticky, metallic.

Aaron could feel himself yelling into the comms but he had no idea what came out past his lips as he fell to his knees gently bringing your head into his lap while he tried his best to put pressure on the wound, but you were bleeding so hard and he could feel the blood along with your life slowly slipping through his fingers.

“No, no, no, no, no,” Aaron repeated over again, until his voice was nothing but strangled sobs, “You can’t (Y/N)! You can’t!”

You coughed a few times, red droplets dribbling out of your mouth, but no words followed.

“I know you hate me for leaving you,” he whispered as tears streamed down his face, falling onto your blood soaked shirt. “And you hate that I ended things, but I need to tell you now it wasn’t you, I swear, I swear it,” he quickly lifted one hand to his face to wipe away the tears, much to his mistake, the large streak of blood under his eyes, on his eyelids made him see red everywhere. “Sweetheart, you were perfect, but I wasn’t, I wanted you to have more than me, okay? So don’t you dare leave before you have the chance to be happy,”

Your eyes started to flutter and Aaron’s heart stopped.

“(Y/N)! Look at me!” he held your face firmly in one hand. “Look at me! Listen to me!”

You could feel yourself slipping away but you fought, you fought hard for him.

“I still love you! I didn’t stop loving you!”

“Hotch-,”

“No!” he roared at whoever had just come into the room.

“Hotch, get back, let them do their job,” Derek pulled him back again and he broke. Just like after Foyet, but this time he stayed in Derek’s arms, his loud sobs ringing through the empty home as his colleague, his friend, held him tightly despite his bloodstained clothes, and the streaks of red across his face, the only intelligible thing he whispered being,

“Not again, please not again, no, no, no,”

He wasn’t sure how he ended up at the hospital, or with a change of clothes in his arms, but after he had managed to stop the tears he shut everything off. Aside from the bloodshot eyes you wouldn’t have been able to tell he was crying.

He sat unbelievably still in the waiting room while the rest paced, or talked in hushed whispers.

They had all known about you and Aaron, and it came as a shock when things came to an end, but seeing now just how complicated things were. There was never a loss of love, for Aaron there was too much and it blinded him. And now the only thing he could think of was how if he hadn’t left you maybe this would have never happened.

Hours passed before a doctor came and addressed them, he informed the whole team that you were currently in the ICU and only a family member would be able to come and stay with you.

“I’m her family,” Aaron said, the lie easily slipped past his lips and no one dared counter him, you needed someone next to you if you woke up.

The doctor led him down the hall, informing him that you had suffered multiple gunshot wounds, some of which hit internal organs.

“But you were the one who was there with her right? You saved her life,”

“No I didn’t,” Aaron whispered. “She wouldn’t have been there if it wasn’t for me,”

The doctor pursed his lips and patted Aaron comfortingly on the back.

“She’s a fighter. I’m sure she’ll make it out,”

But seeing you in that hospital bed, different tubes and machines all hooked up around you, it almost caused him to break down again.

But all he could count on was the steady beat of the heart monitor, night after night until, he hoped, one day you’d wake up.

[sukifans]

aahhh I’m so excited I love your writing!!! your sokka “help me” fic is one of my favs ever I seriously think about it at least twice a week. in a similar vein, would you be able to combine prompts 10 & 12 for sokka x fem!reader? thank you!!! :)

SOKKA + “can i try that new chapstick? i wanna have a taste” + “i hadn’t noticed but my sweet, funny, goofy best friend is kind of hot, especially since they’ve been on this fitness kick”

⇦ 𝘔𝘈𝘚𝘛𝘌𝘙𝘓𝘐𝘚𝘛

“nastiest skank bitches” Group Message

loml: ladies, i need a girls night

loml: desperately

babygorl: god i’m down, this semester blows

fugly slut <3: i’m in!! always here for a girls night 🥰

loml: y/n??

you: gals. pals. as much as i would love to...

fugly slut <3: ughhhhhhhhh

babygorl: you better not be blowing us off for sokka again istg

you: 😅

loml: TRAITOR BITCH

fugly slut <3: HOES BEFORE BROS

babygorl: WHORE

you: bruh.mp3

you: he’s coming by after the gym to help me with my physics homework!!! I NEED THE HELP PLS I PROMISE ILL BE THERE NEXT TIME

babygorl: lying is a sin y/n

babygorl: sinner

loml: if sokka’s gonna b there maybe she’ll be sinning in........ other ways...... ahaha

loml: fuckboy_emoji.jpg

fugly slut <3: when you gonna tap that fr

you: NEVER LITERALLY NO EW

you: HE’S MY BEST FRIEND

you: UNLIKE YOU RATS

fugly slut <3: he do b kinda yummy tho liiiike 👀

you: STOP

loml: yeah he’s hot sorry queen

you: HE’S NOT HOT

babygorl: i almost hate to admit it but...

babygorl: his biceps 🥴

fugly slut <3 emphasized “his biceps 🥴”

loml loved “his biceps 🥴”

you: hey! i hate u guys! jsyk!

fugly slut <3 disliked “hey! i hate u guys! jsyk!”

babygorl disliked “hey! i hate u guys! jsyk!”

loml disliked “hey! i hate u guys! jsyk!”

babygorl: uh huh yeah sure

loml: yall hear sumn?

NEW MESSAGE from sokka :^)

“hey i’m omw up!”

you: whatever you guys suck

you: i gtg

fugly slut <3: AND YOU SWALLOW

babygorl: bye girly!! get that bestie dick!!

loml: save a car, ride an engineering major >:)

you: desgostang.jpg

You dropped your phone onto the bed next to you with a groan. Your friends really and truly could be such freaks about your relationship with Sokka—or lack thereof. They’d been especially adament ever since he started some stupid bet with Zuko about who could get the most “gains” by graduation, incited by Aang making the mistake of commenting on Zuko’s more pronounced muscle mass.

Idiots.

That’s what Sokka was. Your idiotic best friend, who was funny, and sweet, and intelligent. You loved him, of course, but not like that. And he was not hot.

Definitely not.

The pounding on your dorm door interrupted your musings before Sokka let himself in, dropping his gym bag on the floor and kicking off his slides. His hair was loose and still damp from his post-workout shower and he wore slim joggers with a loose muscle tee.

“Hey!” He smiled brightly when he spotted you sitting in your bed. “What’s up?”

“The usual.” You moved your legs out of the way so he could flop down onto your mattress. “How was the gym?”

Sokka groaned. “Cardio. I’m already sore.” He stretched his arms up to fold behind his head, pulling his muscles taut.

Hm. He does kind of have nice biceps...

You shook yourself internally. Thoughts like these had been creeping out of your subconscious for weeks now, no thanks to your rabid friends.

“My leg’s been killing me, though,” he continued, rubbing his opposite foot across the skin that covered that metal pins and plates holding his bones together after a nasty break in high school. The leg often still gave him problems, ranging from the dull ache he could ignore on the day-to-day, to throbbing pain that left him limping.

You frowned, looking away from his arms to meet his eyes. “You should probably rest up before you hurt yourself,” you said.

“I’ll be fine.” He shrugged and propped himself up on his elbows. “Gotta catch up to Zuko, y’know.”

“Why? You’re already taller than him.”

“So? I wanna be more yolked, too.”

You rolled your eyes. “Buncha dumbasses.”

Sokka quirked an eyebrow. “You want this dumbass to help with your physics homework or not?”

“Haha,” you chuckled nervously, “just kidding, buddy! I meant Zuko and Aang. You—definitely not a dumbass. Nope.”

“That’s what I thought.” He shot you a smug look as he pushed up to sit cross-legged across from you on the bed. He held his hand out with a dramatic, world-weary sigh. “Alright, give it here.”

You opened your laptop to pull up the website that hosted your homework practice problems. “You know I love you, right?”

“Mhm,” he hummed, grabbing a notebook and pen from your desk to work out the math as you handed over the computer. He paused before standing to retrieve his bag, plopping it on your desk chair so he could root through it and pull out his glasses case. You felt your cheeks warm a little when he set the frames on the bridge of his nose.

Fine—he was kinda cute. You could concede that without having to dig too deep into your somewhat jumbled feelings for your best friend.

But you would certainly not “tap that.”

Well...

No. You would not.

You watched his eyes flick over the screen as he tapped the pen against his chin, catching the cap between his teeth while he thought about the formulas he’d learned in a past semester. He nodded to himself and started scribbling out a diagram and the math to go with it. You found yourself a little mesmerized by the way he simply just knew what to do, confidently scratching away at the paper as easily as one might write the alphabet. Your eyes trailed from his long fingers and calloused hand sweeping over the page, up his toned arm (lingering on his bicep a little longer), and to his face. He chewed at the inside of his cheek in concentration, sometimes parting his lips to murmur the logic to himself.

For someone who often said a lot of stupid shit, he sure had a pretty mouth.

You considered what he might do if you snatched a fistful of his shirt and yanked him into a kiss. Would he shove you away and leave? Awkwardly but kindly reject you? Or, would he kiss you back—throw the work out of the way and grab your face to coax you in deeper? Maybe push you back onto the bed and—

“Okay, so basically—”

Jesus Christ, get a fucking grip.

“—from the problem and draw it out like this to apply the formula, yeah?”

Sokka looked to you expectantly and you blinked at him as your face burned. “Sorry, I zoned out. What did you say?”

“C’mon, I know you hate physics but you gotta at least pay attention to me if you wanna pass,” he teased, shifting close enough that the sides of your bodies pressed together. Was it getting warmer in your room, or was it just your best friend?

He launched into the explanation again and you nodded along while internally willing the blood to leave your cheeks. Even as your thoughts ricocheted around inside your skull he managed to break it down in a way that somewhat made sense. He sat back and watched as you slowly worked through the next problem. You glanced up when you heard a soft pop to see him applying chapstick.

“Is that a new flavor?” you asked.

“Yeah, chocolate orange or something.” He held the tube out to you. “Wanna try?”

Fuck it.

Before your rationality could catch up you pressed a hand to his cheek to turn his head and pulled him in for a kiss. Your lips only slotted together for a brief moment before you pulled back to stare wide-eyed at each other. You could feel the fire creeping from your cheeks down your neck, mirrored in the reddening of his tanned skin.

He blinked. You blinked.

The chapstick slipped from between his fingers. Rationality arrived late.

You bolted.

“Uh, see ya later!” you shouted as you threw the door open and rushed out of the room.

“Wait, (Y/N)—“

You didn’t stick around to hear the end of his desperate call. Even thought it was your dorm and you were barefoot you still raced down the hall, wincing at the sound of a door slamming behind you.

“(Y/N)!”

Damn that lanky bastard. You were booking it and he was already hot on your heels. You barreled into the door leading to the stairwell and almost made it down the first step when he grabbed you around the waist and yanked you back. Despite your struggles, the arm hooked across your middle was unyielding until he pushed you into the corner and crowded you against the wall, hands caging you in from either side. Your heart was racing and you weren’t sure if it was because of your escape attempt or that he was close enough you could smell his body wash and deodorant. It was almost enough to make your head spin.

“Sokka, I-I don’t know why—I’m sorry, please, I shouldn’t’ve—“

“(Y/N),” he said firmly and your mouth snapped shut. “Why did you run away?”

“Uh, I—well, um...” You shrunk down against the wall and swallowed hard. “I-I don’t know.”

“You didn’t even give me a chance to respond.”

“Look—“ You paused and stared at him once you processed what he said. “What?”

He laughed, dropping one of his hands to brush against your cheek before threading into your hair to cup the base of your skull. “You really don’t get it, do you?”

“Get what?”

With that he surged forwards and kissed you enthusiastically, making you gasp into his mouth. You balled your hands into the front of his shirt to keep yourself steady as you melted into him. His free hand pressed into your lower back to bring you in closer. His tongue slipped out to tease at your bottom lip and he chuckled when you had to quickly grab his shoulders as your knees almost buckled.

“Get that,” he murmured against your lips, pressing his forehead to yours as the two of you gasped for air.

“Oh,” you breathed, “that.” You hummed happily when he kissed you again, his stubble scratching against your chin and under your palms when you cupped his face.

You both looked up when a stairwell door somewhere above you slammed open, followed by a group of jostling male voices. Sokka grinned when you glanced at him with wide eyes and shiny, swollen lips. You tried to hide behind him as the clamor bounded closer and closer. The group of guys rounded the next flight and gave shouts of recognition upon seeing you two standing against the wall.

“Sokka!”

“Hey, man!”

“Hey, guys,” Sokka said, holding his hand up in greeting.

“What’s up?”

“Oh, is that (Y/N)?”

“Nice, dude!”

“Ah, yeah...” He sheepishly rubbed the back of his neck and you raised an eyebrow at his turned head. They all cheered and congratulated him, slapping his back as they passed and disappeared down the next set of stairs. When Sokka met your eyes again you cocked your head.

“Who were they?” you asked.

“Honestly, I’m not sure.”

“Sokka.”

“My reputation precedes me, what can I say?”

“Mine doesn’t.”

“Well—“ he suddenly became very interested in the underside of the stairs above you “—my reputation may or may not involve talking about you. A lot, apparently.”

“Huh?”

“I don’t do it on purpose!” he interjected quickly, taking your hands in his. “It’s just—I dunno, I guess I think about you a lot, so...”

“Oh.”

“Fuck, okay, that sounded weird.” You laughed a little at his embarrassed floundering. “I just mean, like, things that remind me of you or, y’know, stories that involve you...” he trailed off, flushing at your amused smile. “Stop it!”

“Stop what?”

“Making fun of me!”

“I didn’t say anything,” you giggled, hooking your arms around his neck.

“You’re still laughing at me,” he whined, lips turning into a frown. His hands slipped back down to your waist.

“You’re cute.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Without preamble, he ducked down and hoisted you over his shoulder as you shrieked in protest. “Sokka! Put me down!”

“No can do, baby; we have unfinished business to attend to.” He said as he marched you back in the direction of your room.

“You’re gonna finish my physics homework?”

“Nope.”

Oh.

A/N: 2k words bc, again, i have no self control. thank you for the request!

ATLA TAGS: @hotgirlazula @octophopi @blazedbakugou @protect-remus @akiris @sunflowerazula @wooscottoncandyhair @chewymoustachio @ohno-caroline @sunflowerr-mami @1vitamin @ladylizzieofdarbyshire @u-4iia @nymeria-targaryen @tommy-braccoli @dizzy-miss-lizzieeeeee @a-sloppy-bitch @nomin-rights @siriuslyslyslytherin @starryncn

SOKKA TAGS: @fiantomartell @avatarayeaye @zvkta @sher-lockedmarvel @grandmascottlang @captainshazamerica @yuesallura

[queen-susans-revenge]

Star Wars Rebels season 3 recaps

"Secret Cargo"

This episode opens in one of those little moments I just love to think about: the Rebels are hiding out in a field of space junk to make a rendezvous with a mysterious top-secret VIP, and they're bored. Hera, Zeb, and Ezra are all sprawled around the cockpit watching Chopper project a news program from the HoloNet. Sabine's still back with her clan and Kanan, we're told, volunteered for a supply run. But this scene is cozy and domestic: even the boredom is a luxury, one that quickly evaporates when an Imperial probe droid shows up.

Hera powers down the Ghost (and Chopper) in an attempt to escape detection, but it doesn't work. They shoot down the probe but not before it transmits their location.

The mysterious top-secret VIP shows up, accompanied by Gold Squadron. They just want to use the Ghost to refuel, and they've all got real chips on their shoulders, complaining that Phoenix Squadron's heroics have made it harder for the rest of them by prompting the Imperials to tighten security. I don't see how this makes sense as a complaint. If the Imperials weren't ALREADY oppressive and tyrannical you wouldn't be in a war with them in the first place, right?

Anyway, speak of the devil, refueling is interrupted by the arrival of Imperial ships. Ezra jumps in one of Gold Squadron's Y-Wings with Hera's approval ("Just remember what I taught you!") The mysterious VIP's transport is disabled by enemy fire so she boards the Ghost instead and we learn it's none other than Mon Mothma. Hera's a little starstruck, but Mothma's happy to roll up her sleeves and pitch in. Turns out Mothma needs to get to an important meeting on Dantooine, and Hera's just the pilot to fly her there.

We cut to Thrawn, who has figured out that Mothma's probably on the Ghost. He knows Hera well enough by now to accurately predict the route she'll take to avoid blockades: through a nebula, where Imperial capital ships can't follow. So Thrawn sends prototype TIE Defenders to harry her through the "Archeon pass," and orders Governor Pryce and Admiral Konstantin to take up positions on the other side.

Back on the Ghost, Mon Mothma continues making herself Hera's new bestie by bringing her a cup of caf, and they have a girlbonding moment over their mutual commitment to the Rebellion. I looked up the writer for this ep too because I admire their willingness to include these small moments, the cozy domestic boredom just before the story starts and the little side convos in between big plot beats. It's these kind of scenes that really let characters breathe and audiences feel like they are truly getting to inhabit the world. Anyway so the writer for this one is Matt Michnovetz, a name that wasn't immediately familiar to me, but he's got an impressive list of credits and I'm gonna keep my eye out for more of his work in the future.

Maybe I just like that Hera's having a good day for once. At least she is until the TIE Defenders show up. She barely manages to shake them off in the nebula, but the Ghost's shields are stressed and its power drained when they come limping out, and then of course Pryce and Konstantin are waiting.

Mon Mothma skirts the edges of a war crime by pretending to be willing to surrender, and drawing Pryce into a negotiation of the terms.

"She'll never keep her word," Hera warns.

"I know. I'm stalling her while you figure out a plan."

Pryce quickly loses patience for the negotiations and captures the Ghost in a tractor beam. Meanwhile Ezra and Gold Leader, in the Y-Wings, finally manage to deal with the last of the TIEs...but they don't seem much of a match for the two Star Destroyers.

At least until Hera has the genius idea to, uh, set the nebula on fire by attacking it with proton torpedoes. This causes a humongous explosion which very conveniently destroys all of the bad guys but none of the good guys. Whew!

"Phoenix Leader, that was some of the best fighting I've ever seen," raves the previously pissy Gold Leader. Ezra gets kudos too. "Kid, you can fly in my squadron any day!"

Mon Mothma wraps everything up with an inspirational speech about liberty, and hope, and allies, and at the end she throws in that she's resigning from the Senate to go be a guerilla fighter and this Rebellion that already has uniforms and ranks and shit is definitely a real thing NOW. Yay! I just think it's nice Hera made a friend.

And now I am going to plug the accompanying chapter of Fade to Red, because it picks up at the end of this episode, with Hera and Kanan going to a fancy party to celebrate Mon Mothma endorsing the Rebellion. He wears a tux! With the collar loose! Hera wears a little black dress and gets drunk tipsy and she just has a really good time, okay. It's like Hera's Good Day, Continued and Uncensored. It's such a purely nice chapter.

[theeghosted]

Besties I don’t know what I’m doing. The story prompt came from TikTok. Feel free to use it. Not my prompt and I don’t know who it belongs to.

The ex Best friend

Image:

You're dragging your ex best friend through the woods, toward a river. A bloody trail is left behind. Her screams were music to your ears but now it faded into darkness leaving you alone and in silence. So you thought. You stop by the river and place her in the water. Watching as she floats. Then, you hear a deep chuckle on the other side. It's a man doing the same as you. He spots you and waves with a smirk on his face, you wave back with the same smirk

My try:

I pause as I look around. Four birds, three flying, and no cameras. I continue walking down the path I'm making. I'm limp-walking to the weight of the thing I'm bringing.

I look around again for the 14th time. Two birds, no sky, too many trees. I can hear the rushing of the water as I near the river, but still too far to see. I look down at what I'm bringing. Her face had dry blood on it.

Her eyes are just barely open. I can see her brown pupils. They look lifeless, but with tears staining the checks and a few still in her eyes. Her blood hair matted to her forehead and mixed with leaves from the ground. Her lip is busted from where I punched it.

I turn around and keep walking. For someone you claimed to be perfect, she sure wasn't. Not on her beauty (she was really pretty) but her actions. Someone who claimed to be my best friend really should not have done that. I shake my head clearing the thoughts, because you can't kill someone two times. Though when her screams were ringing it sounded like music to my ears. Now it's just me, my thoughts, and the dragging of her big head. Soon the river was in sight through the trees. I roll her over under a bush then move to the river.

I look about the bank to find the best way to get me and her down. Once I found one I walked over to her and stripped her of her clothings, except her underwear. I fold them and leave them under the bush. I brought her down to the bank and put her in. I watch as she slowly floats away.

As I'm watching her float away I hear a dark chuckle. I look up faster than intended and I see him. I cruel smile dancing on his lips. There is a body at his feet. When he sees me looking at it he kicks it in. I look back up at his face, the smile still there, he waves. I wave back with my face mirroring his smirk.

[monstersandmaw]

Male Uruk-hai x reader (nsfw)

Edit which I’m including in all my works after plagiarism and theft has taken place: I do not give my consent for my works to be used, copied, published, or posted anywhere. They are copyrighted and belong to me.

Here's another Orctober (!) prompt, of which my lovely, patient Elves over on Patreon had a brief preview a while ago, and my Pixies and Goblins have had access to for a little while. The prompt was 'injured', and this one got so long that it practically grew legs and ran away with me...

Hope you enjoy!

Content: gender-neutral reader, belligerent, tough-as-nails Uruk-hai warriors, one seriously injured mountain of muscle, some violence (not lasting) towards the reader, one loyal centaur bestie, and some sexy times Wordcount: 9769

___

At the clamour of two opposing orcish war-bands sweeping through the countryside to the north of your village, the sounds of the skirmish carried on the wind, people went scuttling for the shelter of their cellars. The orcs and Uruks in the area didn’t tend to bother your remote little community because they knew you had little to offer, but still, being caught in the crossfire was a frighteningly real possibility.

Although it was better to gather plants in the morning, when they were still hydrated and fresh, you had been out in the meadow in the late afternoon light, gathering chamomile both for tea and for (separate) use in medicinal poultices when the first orcs had climbed the ridge on the outskirts of town and your heart had stopped beating. Instantly, you dropped into the long grass, crouching low and holding your breath. As they spilled down the steep incline towards the curving, shallow river, you saw with plunging horror that their skin was not the green of the orcs who lived in relative peace at the nearby stronghold, but the dark, bruised looking, purplish-brown of Uruk-hai. This was a true war band then, and they roared down the hill like a tide of locusts, their hooked scythe-blades held high, their harsh, rough voices yelling in their own language.

You prayed in silent whispers to every deity you’d ever even remotely heard of and hunkered down as low as you could get like a leveret in long grass.

The first group that thundered past were few in number, bloodied and battered. They were the clear losers of the fight; driven to fleeing by the stronger horde following on behind. As you hunkered down in the sussurating grasses, heart in your mouth, praying that none of them would see you as they thundered on towards the trees to the north west of the village, you saw the second band clear the ridge, and almost passed out with fear.

Numbering easily twenty five in strength, they raged on, relentless, yelling and snarling. They caught up with a straggler who had been hobbling desperately on a nastily wounded leg, and simply cut him down, hamstringing him and moving on in an inexorable tide of muscle and leather, white and blue war paint, blood and steel.

You stayed still in the fallow pasture for a long time, letting the sounds of pursuit fade into the woods before you stood shakily and looked around. The meadow had been trampled in a wide swathe at their passing, their black blood staining it in places. The corpse of the one who had not made it just lay there like a felled tree, cooling in the late afternoon sun.

Your eyes drifted away from the sight of the corpse towards the woods, and your heart leapt into your mouth when you saw a figure at the very edge of the trees, leaning against the thick trunk of an ash tree. He was one of the largest Uruks that you’d ever seen, larger by far than any of the passing horde, but as you stared at him, you saw him sway and then stagger off into the shadows of the forest, clutching at his middle and limping badly.

He was wounded, and severely.

As the village’s healer, you felt the instinctive tug to help him, to ease his pain, but this wasn’t just another member of your community in need of aid - this was a violent, vicious Uruk-hai. They were best left well alone unless you wanted to risk being captured and taken as a human slave to one of their awful camps, or passed around for their pleasure. You shuddered at the thought and looked away from the gap in the trees where he had been.

Turning your back on the meadow, you picked up your basket in trembling fingers and walked back to your simple cottage on the outskirts of the collection of brick and wooden houses. People were beginning to emerge again now that the immediate danger had passed, and you looked up to see a familiar bay centaur trotting quickly towards you with a mix of worry and relief on his handsome face.

“Gil,” you smiled, pausing and waiting for him to catch up to you. “You alright?”

“Are you?” he asked, his dark eyes wide. “Fuck, I was so worried about you. I saw you going out into the meadow earlier, and then when I saw all those Uruks pouring down the hill and into the woods… I thought for sure you’d have been cut down or trampled, or… or…” his lip trembled and he surged forwards and threw his arms around you, picking you up and hugging you so tightly that your ribs creaked. “I thought they might have taken you…”

“I’m fine,” you wheezed with your face pressed against his softly-rumpled linen shirt. “Gil, put me down… I can’t breathe…”

Apologising, he set you back down and stepped back, his large hooves clopping on the cobbles of the village street, his one white sock dancing in the daylight.

“I’m fine,” you reassured him. “You want to come back for a cup of tea?”

“I can’t,” he said. “I’ve got to go and help Martha with the waterwheel. A big old branch has got jammed in the mechanism and she needs me to help haul it free. I’ll stop by later though?”

You nodded and he smiled once before trotting off to help the miller. Gil was a good soul, and you’d known him all your life. He’d asked you out back when the pair of you had been about sixteen, but it hadn’t lasted long, and you’d mutually fallen back into a deeply affectionate friendship after only a few months.

Alone in your cottage, preparing the chamomile flowers for drying, you focused on the task in hand, fingers delicately pinching the stems off, but the figure in the trees kept haunting you like some kind of malevolent spirit, its purpose unfulfilled. Over and over, you replayed that moment when he’d gone from staring directly at you to lurching out of sight between the trees. Would he be dead by now? Would he have bled out? Would some other Uruk have found him and gutted him? Would the rival band have captured him and dragged him away to do dreadful things to him?

You’d heard the jongleurs’ tales of Uruks who butchered their enemies and displayed them as grisly decoration on their spiked palisade walls while they died in agony, pinned like living specimens in a necromancer’s collection for their last few hours… Fighting off a wave of nausea, you gritted your teeth and snatched up your healer’s bag which contained bandages, dressings, salves, ointments for cleaning, and needle and silk for stitching. Taking a bottle of boiled water from the table on your way out, you slammed the door behind you and strode off into the early evening light.

It didn't take you long to cross the meadow and slip into the trees. Listening you fell still, straining your ears to pick up the sounds of… of what? Enemies between the trees? As if there would be any other Uruks here now.

The ash tree was smeared with a lot of black Uruk blood, and it didn’t take an expert tracker to follow the trail to a deep hollow where a massive tree had been ripped out of the ground by a storm, leaving its roots standing up in a disc as high as a single-storey house. At the bottom of the deep divot in the earth lay the Uruk.

One hand rested on his stomach which glistened with black blood, a deep gash in the material of his armour showing his bruised purple skin beneath and the extent of his grave injuries. ‘Grave’ might have been the operative word; you couldn't see his chest rising and falling, and his eyes were closed.

Terrified, heart in your mouth, you stepped down into the leaf-littered hollow and nudged him in the thigh with the toe of one boot.

Nothing.

Taking a deep breath, you knelt beside him and placed your fingertips on his thick, dirt-smeared neck. His eyelids flickered and you nearly recoiled in surprise when he grunted. His tusks weren’t as big as those of the Uruks’ green-skinned cousins, but they were thick and filed to a treacherously sharp point. Uruks fought like the wargs they rode, not afraid to latch their jaws onto their prey and tear them to pieces if deprived of a weapon. Some even favoured that method of ending their enemies’ lives, if the tales were to be believed. And here, beneath your tentative fingertips, was just one such creature.

“You’re hurt,” you said stupidly, and he just blinked at you. His eyelids were barely open more than a crack, and his breath came in minuscule, shallow gasps. With a deep inhale for courage, you reached for your bag and then began to unbuckle his thick, leather jerkin, lifting it away from the sticky black of his half-clotted wound. You knew that Uruks healed quicker than almost all other creatures, not counting those whose magic allowed for rapid regeneration, but even so, this was a terrible injury.

He snarled softly at you but didn’t even have the strength to swat you off him.

“Keep still,” you snapped in a hoarse whisper.

His face was bruised and swollen, with a cut on his chin and another on his forehead, but they were superficial and had already scabbed over. Behind the swelling, you could see strong bone-structure, thick brows framing a face that was monumental rather than handsome, as if carved by ancient masons with no care for subtle detail. His black hair was tied back in a ponytail which was full of bits of leaves and sticky black blood. He was filthy and he smelled revolting.

You treated the wound in his torso, cleaning it and ignoring his growled curses in the Uruk dialect of orcish. You knew enough orcish from trading with the clan to the south to recognise that you were the subject of his complaints, but you couldn’t decipher any more of his thick, guttural speech than that. Using what little orcish you knew, you snarled at him to stop making your job harder, and, to your surprise, he fell still.

He relaxed so suddenly that you thought for a horrible moment that he’d died, but when you looked into his face, you found a new expression sitting there behind the perpetual, heavy-browed scowl. Whatever it was, it was unreadable, but it was better than open hostility.

“That’s better,” you said, tying off the last stitch. “Now, how many other leaks have I got to plug before you bleed out here?”

He twitched his right leg and you looked down and saw a broken-off arrow sunk into his thigh.

“Really?” you exclaimed when you saw it. “You snapped it off? Do you know how stupid that is?”

The growl that rumbled from him was like that of a colossal wolf, but he quickly silenced himself when you grabbed a pair of small pliers that you had knocking around the bottom of the bag, wiped them with alcohol, and set about extracting the barbed arrowhead from his thigh. Field medicine didn’t exactly call for finesse, especially when dealing with an Uruk. They were tough bastards, as he had already proved.

He passed out shortly before it was free, and you stitched that up as well before sitting back on your heels, rinsing your hands in a little of the water that was left, and staring at him. “Now what?” you mused aloud. You hadn’t really thought this through at all; it was all very well patching him up, but this was hardly the clean, sterile environment conducive to healing. It was a filthy, bloodstained forest floor crawling with bugs and gods-knew-what else. There was an old forester’s cabin that had been derelict for years, but it was easily half a mile from where the Uruk had fallen and you couldn’t even drag someone his size and weight an inch, let alone that distance.

Just as you had thought about leaving him there and returning to the village to see if Gil would help you - a stupid idea if ever you’d had one - the undergrowth moved and out of the fading light stepped a colossal warg. Its eyes glowed red in the shadows, but instead of being the usual brown or black, this one’s pelt was a pale, smoky grey, all tangled and matted.

It was carrying one front paw up, clearly in pain, and its ears were folded back flat against its head. From its snarling maw, saliva dripped onto the brambles and old leaves, and you sat there with your joints seized in terror, more frightened than you had ever been in your entire life. You’d never seen a warg, though the same tales which told of the Uruks’ bloodlust and cruelty spoke of the voracious wolf-like beasts that they rode like chargers into battle. You’d not seen any wargs with the war-band earlier and had no idea if this one belonged to the Uruk on the ground or to someone else. Had the scent of his wounds drawn the hunter?

“Please don’t be a wild one,” you murmured aloud.

At the sound of your voice, it seemed to relax a little, limped a little closer, and snuffed at the Uruk in front of you. Then it looked back at you, snarling more gently now.

“Is he yours?” you asked. “You’re hurt too, aren’t you?” you added, seeing that talking to it had seemed to reassure it. It looked like a hyena crossed with a white wolf, with huge, muscular shoulders and a thick, heavy muzzle, but with the more agile body and thick, flowing pelt and tail of a wolf. “You want me to take a look at you?” you offered, holding out your palm. “Come here…”

The warg seemed to know that command, spoken in orcish, and it hobbled over. You pushed the fur back to see that it had clearly been licking it, and in so doing it had kept the gash free of gunk and debris from the forest. You poured some clean water onto the last of your scraps of clean cloth and held your hand out to the warg again.

The creature reluctantly let you take the heavy paw in your palm and you dabbed it clean. It growled, but let you continue, even when you flinched. The weight of the paw was frightening enough, but it was large as a dinner plate and each pad ended in a vicious looking black claw.

“What the hell am I doing?” you asked yourself at one point, halfway through tying the bandage around the warg’s lower leg, just above the paw itself.

From beside you, the Uruk stirred and turned his head to watch you. He asked something in his thick dialect and you frowned. “I don’t understand you,” you said gently.

He let out a soft grunt of frustration and the warg turned and started licking his face.

“Is he yours?” you asked, having checked and discovered that the warg was male. The Uruk groaned and tried to swat the warg off him, but he gasped as he raised his arm, and let it fall back almost immediately. “Easy,” you crooned, shuffling closer. “Hey, come on now,” you said to the warg. “Give him a chance, ok?”

The warg sat down heavily on his haunches and stared at you with what you could only assume was a sullen look in his red eyes. He was as big as a pony and about as strong and hairy as a bear, and as you made the comparison between him and a bear, you turned back to the Uruk and said in tentative orcish, “Hey, so… listen, would your warg be able to drag you, say… half a mile or so?”

For a moment you thought you’d said something wrong, but the Uruk blinked and nodded. He seemed so weak and you wondered briefly if the weapons had been poisoned somehow. They didn’t seem to be suppurating or anything though, and he had lost an awful lot of blood before you’d found him.

The injured Uruk spoke to the warg and the creature snuffed in a decidedly disgruntled manner, but he latched his jaws around the collar of the orc’s armour and looked at you expectantly.

Standing and grabbing the medical bag, you took a deep breath and said, “Come on.”

It took forever, with the warg yanking and dragging the Uruk along. It might have been an amusing sight were it not for the fatigue that was greying the edges of your vision and for the fact that the Uruk himself was so gravely wounded. Eventually the cabin drew into sight and you pulled open the door and stepped inside. It smelled a bit damp, but it didn’t seem as though anything had taken up residence - or worse, expired - in there; it was just a little leaf-strewn and musty. The modest stone hearth sat cold and empty, the chimney was probably blocked, and there was no bed for him to lie on - no furniture at all - but the warg dragged him in and dumped him in the centre of the room.

When he looked up at you, seeming very pleased with himself, the warg wagged softly and you approached him and petted his shoulder without realising quite what you were doing. “Well done,” you crooned.

The Uruk had unsurprisingly passed out again and you knelt by his side, inspecting the bandages carefully. No blood had seeped through, so - somehow - he’d not split his stitches on the rough journey over. Trying not to congratulate yourself too much, given that Uruks were exceptionally tough creatures and that most of the credit was probably his for being almost indestructible, rather than yours for your deft needlework, you straightened and reached hesitantly for the warg’s head again. As you scratched behind his ear this time, he wagged his fluffy tail and leaned into the touch. “Good boy,” you said. “Thank you for your help.”

It was now full dark, and an owl’s harsh shriek outside startled you, the sudden movement making the warg growl.

“I need to get home,” you said, suddenly remembering that you’d promised Gil that cup of tea earlier. If he came round to your house and hadn’t found you, would he have worried? Would he have looked for you? With Uruks in the area, would he assume you’d been taken after all?

You turned to look at the Uruk and found that he had come to and was staring at you. His eyes were a dark gold, ringed with a coppery tone, and they stared at you with an intensity that made your heartbeat falter. He looked so angry. Kneeling beside him and trying to conjure a bit of courage, you pressed your hand very gently against the most severe of his injuries which made him hiss but drove the point home well enough. “You stay still, alright? I’ll come back tomorrow with something for you to eat, and to check on you. I’ve left a waterskin here for you if you get thirsty,” you added as you pressed it against his knuckly fingers.

He snarled something at you and you frowned. You’d caught the orcish word for ‘die’, but nothing else.

“Hey, you’re not going to die, alright?” you said firmly. “You’re my patient now, and I don’t let my patients die. You’re not allowed to die, you hear me?” and you looked up at the warg to add, “Don’t you let him, alright?”

The creature didn’t understand the words, but he caught the intensity of your tone, and he curled up beside the orc, whining softly.

“You keep him warm til I can get a fire going in that grate,” you added and then left them alone to return to the village.

Outside your house, you found Gil pacing up and down, iron shoes ringing on the cobblestones. When he saw you, his eyes went wide and he stared at the black blood that you’d managed to smear on your linen shirt.

“Are you hurt?” he asked, gaze fixed on the stains. “What happened? Where were you? I came over after I left Martha’s, but you weren’t here, and… is that… Uruk blood?”

“Long story,” you said, unlocking your door and stepping inside. “Lemme clean up and put the kettle on and I’ll… I’ll tell you everything. But you must promise not to tell a soul, alright?”

Gil’s dark eyes narrowed but he nodded and stooped to follow you inside.

Finally, with a cup of tea cradled in your hands, you sat on the floor beside Gil who had lowered himself down onto the floorboards beside the fire, and told him everything that had happened.

“You’re insane,” he said. “You’d actually help one of those monsters?”

You shrugged. “I couldn’t just leave him there. I had to know if he was alive, and if he was, I couldn’t just let him die without trying to help him.” Anxiety flared as the silence stretched between you and you looked up at him. “Are you really angry with me?”

“No,” he said. “I’m not. I’m just… stunned, I guess.” He laughed and stretched. “You haven’t changed a bit since we were kids, you know that?” he said. When you scowled, puzzled, he chuckled, “Remember that adder you found under a rock?”

“The one with the crushed tail,” you smiled. “Yeah… that was a mean son of a bitch, but I nursed it back to health and somehow avoided getting bitten by it…”

“I just hope you don’t get hurt this time.”

“I’ll be careful,” you said.

He shook his shaggy dark head and said, “Bit late for that, what with bossing a feral warg around and sticking needles in an Uruk-hai…”

With a grin you said, “Well, things just get so dull around here, Gil…”

He rolled his eyes. “I should get going, but… please be careful won’t you? I’m going to worry myself sick about you going out there tomorrow…”

When you did return to the abandoned hut, you found the wounded Uruk sitting up, resting his back against the body of the warg whose growls filled the otherwise empty hut as you approached. “Hey, it’s just me,” you said, hanging back in the doorway. “Remember?”

The orc muttered something and waved a hand slightly as if swatting away a fly, and the warg fell silent.

“Alright to come in?” you asked in tentative orcish, and the Uruk nodded. His eyes were brighter and his focus seemed sharper now. “You’re looking better,” you commented as you stepped inside and closed the door again.

He nodded.

In an attempt to make conversation while you laid and lit the fire, you asked, “Do you have a name?”

“Killuc.” It even sounded like the right kind of name for an Uruk. A moment later, he licked his dry lips and tilted his head slightly. “You?”

When you breathed your name, voice surprisingly thin with anxiety, staring at him over your shoulder as you set the last of the small bundle of firewood onto the top, he repeated it almost reverently and you smiled. “And what’s your warg called?”

He looked askance at the warg, who had laid his muzzle back down on the chilly floorboards and was watching you work the flint striker in your fingers with his steady, red gaze. “Ghâsh. It means ‘fire’ in Uruk.”

“For his eyes?” you asked and Killuc nodded.

As the coils of dry kindling caught fire and the smaller sticks around them began to crackle and spit, Ghâsh raised his head and you caught the soft thump of his tail on the floor. He wasn’t a pretty animal, but behind the thuggish face and frankly enormous teeth, you could see a playful, intelligent, and curious creature.

When you looked back at Killuc, he was staring at you, eyes glowing too in the firelight, and yet again you were forced to admit to yourself that the rough-hewn beauty of his face wasn’t entirely unattractive. You’d been drawn to orcs before, when you’d visited the neighbouring clan for trade, and they’d seemed more than interested in you for some reason, but the scrutiny and obvious interest in his face left you more flustered than you’d ever been around his kind. Well, not that the green-skinned orcs were really quite the same as their more brutal, war-mongering cousins, but still.

Clearing your throat, you took a deep breath and then suggested that you take a look at the wounds and change the dressings. With a wry smile that made your heart’s rhythm falter for a second, he nodded. “Is that alright?” you asked and again, he nodded. “Man of few words, eh?” you snorted, more to yourself than to him. “Suppose if I’d been gutted like a fish I wouldn’t feel too chatty either.”

He surprised you by grabbing hold of your wrist as you passed to fetch your bag and staring up at you. Now genuinely frightened, you turned to look down at him and he released you the instant he saw your expression. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I…” his gaze fell to his lap. “I don’t know how to talk to a human.”

“It’s alright,” you said shakily and stepped away. His strength as he’d squeezed your comparatively fragile, breakable wrist in his fingers had been prodigious. The skin of his hand had been tough and leathery, with hard, smooth calluses from years of weapons training, but the way his grip had faltered when he saw your face had spoken of a kinder creature underneath the brutality.

Returning to him, you watched as he let his hands fall softly to his sides, palms up, showing that he meant you no harm. He even turned his face away slightly. The smell coming off him was… well, it was definitely enough to make you think less favourable thoughts about him, and when he saw your new expression, he growled, “What?”

“You need a bath,” you said, aiming for stern though it came out with a slight squeak.

“You going to wash me too then?” he grinned.

For that, you smacked him on the chest with the back of your hand and he laughed before you could panic about assaulting an orc. Not that you’d hit him very hard.

His blood-encrusted shirt was crispy beneath the slashed, studded leather jerkin which creaked as you opened it up. Removing the bandages, you saw that the wound was healing nicely, with no inflammation or heat to the site. He sucked in a sharp breath as your fingertips curiously brushed his thick, purplish-brown skin around the wound and you watched his muscles clench impressively in his torso. “Did that hurt?” you asked.

Killuc scoffed dismissively and rolled his eyes. “As if you could hurt me,” he laughed but very abruptly cut off with a grunt as you pressed your thumb into the bandages of the arrow wound on his thigh. When you cocked an eyebrow at him, he laughed heartily. Uruks didn’t make much sense, but his body relaxed after that and he let you do what you needed to without complaint in order to change the bandages. That done, and with the fire roaring and filling the hut with warmth, you rinsed your hands off and dried them.

“Here,” you said, just as his eyelids began to close and his head to nod with exhaustion.

When he discovered that you were kneeling beside him again, just below his eye level, he blinked and brought up one hand gently to cup your jaw in his vast palm. He ran his thumb over your cheekbone and smiled. His sharp tusks glinted in the firelight and his eyes had a brightness to them that hadn’t been there the day before. The sight of it warmed you more than the flames did, and he smiled slightly.

“Here,” you repeated, pushing a cloth-wrapped loaf of bread into his lap and unfolding the fabric. Beside it you placed a couple of cured sausages and a hunk of cheese. “You should eat something.”

Killuc’s stomach growled comically and the warg, who had been watching your exchange with his steady, red eyes pricked up his ears and snuffed surreptitiously at the edge of the napkin, as if he had any hope of stealing a sausage without Killuc noticing.

You reached across Killuc’s lap and patted the warg on the head before announcing, “I brought something for you too.” As you held up a cony that you’d nicked from one of Thomas’ traps in the forest for him, he whimpered and wiggled free from behind the Uruk. Killuc grunted as he braced himself on his right arm at the sudden loss of the support, and you tossed the rabbit on the floor before the warg could chomp your whole arm off in his enthusiasm for the meat. It was little more than a snack for the warg, but it was better than nothing. You also hoped that the village’s hunter, Thomas, wouldn’t notice that his trap had been reset without bait.

Killuc was staring at you with his eyes wide and a slightly slack-jawed expression on his face.

“What?”

He shook his head and returned his attention to the food in front of him. He ate as voraciously as the warg did, though without the bone-cracking abandon with which the warg crunched his rabbit down. Your stomach rolled unpleasantly and you headed for the door.

“Look,” you said, pausing there and resting one hand on the door frame. “I reckon you’ll be good to move around tomorrow. I’d suggest not coming to the village though. Head north, find your people, and… don’t come back here.”

His expression hardened from soft and gentle to something unreadable and he ground his heavy jaw. Finally he grunted, “Yes.”

Without another word, you gathered your bag from the floor and opened the door. Ghâsh looked from you to the Uruk and back again, and then let out a long, low, heartbreaking whine. “Sorry pup,” you grinned. “You can’t stay here.”

Just as you stepped outside, you heard a grunt and a rustle and found that Killuc had levered himself to his feet and was making his ill-advised and faltering way over to you.

It was the first time you’d seen him standing since your brief glimpse of him at the edge of the forest, and you felt the blood drain from your face as he loomed over you. Leaning on the wall beside the door for support, he reached for you again and tilted your chin upwards with the very tip of his index finger.

“Thank… you,” he said in broken, hesitant common speech.

You had been on the point of saying ‘you’re welcome’ when something else entirely just fell out of your mouth. “You still smell horrible,” you grinned at him, still speaking common.

“You didn’t wash me,” he said, switching to orcish.

“Dream on, big guy,” you said, turning away. “There are some springs just up the hill from here,” you added. “I’m sure you can manage. Tomorrow though… let them heal up a bit more first.” The thought of him without clothes on was making you hot all over and you knew you’d have to get away before you said something you genuinely regretted. A quiet little village was no place for an Uruk-hai and his war-fluffball.

You’d gone no further than the edge of the little clearing when the patter of paws on leaf-litter behind you made you turn around and you saw that Ghâsh had wriggled free of Killuc’s grasp and had bounded across to you. He now blocked your path, lowering his head and growling. You weren’t entirely sure that he wouldn’t attack, but, squaring your shoulders, you stared him straight in the eye. “Stop that,” you said. “You know I can’t stay, and neither can you.”

He growled louder and you heard Killuc snarl something at him from the hut which had absolutely no effect whatsoever on the slathering warg.

You jabbed your finger back at Killuc and spoke to the warg in a firm, quiet voice, “Get out of the way. Go back.”

The warg’s ears swivelled to lie flat against his head and he licked his chops once before his tail sank between his legs and he whined pathetically. Raising your eyebrows silently, you twitched your pointing arm again, and he slunk away, dejected and defeated.

Letting out a private breath of relief before turning to look at them, the waves of adrenaline started to wash out of you to leave you weak and shaky. When you mustered the courage to look back, you found Killuc scratching Ghâsh behind his ears in a gesture of commiseration, and you waved once. Killuc nodded and then backed into the shadows of the hut, closing the door behind him.

It was impossible to return to normal again once you got back to the village.

You tried, and for a week you stubbornly refused to dwell on the harsh, statuesque plains of Killuc’s body, on the rich, bruised-plum colour of his skin, the vivid gold of his eyes or the gentle power of his enormous, battle-scarred hands. You refused… No. You didn’t. You spent every night that week with only your hand to occupy your body and only the memory of him to occupy your mind. It was a miserable torment, but you knew you’d get over your little obsession soon enough. You had to. He was an Uruk-hai for goodness’ sake. If you came harder than you’d ever come before, with his name on your lips and the feeling of his touch in your mind, it was just a coincidence.

Six days after you’d left Killuc and Ghâsh in the woods, you woke to a commotion of screams and shouts in the village.

Dressing hurriedly into practical clothing, you slung your belt on last of all, and the long knife you used for gathering herbs and stripping willow bark from the trees down by the millpond slapped reassuringly against your thigh in its leather sheath. You flung open the door and immediately discovered the source of the panic.

The urge to shut the door instantly and bolt out of the back was overwhelming.

Six towering Uruk-hai were standing just up the road in the centre of the village, and one had a small faun, Hazel, dangling in limp terror from their grip. You didn’t recognise any of them as Killuc, and wondered vaguely if he knew them. They didn’t have the look of the losing side about them.

Sucking in a deep breath for courage, you marched down the road towards the square where the village well sat at the centre of the space used for selling goods once a week. You’d barely gone ten steps down the cobbles when you heard iron shoes clattering and Gil shot out and grabbed you, yanking you into the shadows between two houses. “What are you doing?” he hissed in a half-whinny.

“They’ve got Hazel,” you snarled back at him, twisting your hand free. “I can’t just let them kill her!”

“They’ll kill you if you go near them!” he insisted, looking like he might try to grab at you again to hold you back.

Before he could lunge at you again, you ran for it like a rabbit bolting from one hole to another while a fox waited in the grass. “Stop!” you yelled, thinking about pulling your belt knife on them, but at the sight of their cruel, curved weapons, you decided it would only amuse them. “Let her go!”

“Or what?” the female holding the faun sneered, dropping Hazel onto the flagstones at her feet. The baker’s apprentice scrabbled frantically to get away, but a second Uruk stepped forward and trod on her stomach, pinning her down with just enough force to keep her winded without breaking her ribcage.

“Let. Her. Go,” you said as fiercely as you could, fists balled at your sides.

The female just laughed again and shoved you hard in the chest with so little effort that it might have been funny under different circumstances. As it was, the gesture sent you sprawling and you landed heavily on your backside, winded. “Pathetic,” she chuckled.

Anger and hurt boiled up in you and you glanced over at Hazel, who lay there, paralysed with terror beneath the iron boot of the Uruk, staring wide-eyed at you. “I don’t know why I thought you’d be like Killuc,” you muttered, mostly to yourself, as you tried to stand up again.

“What did you say?” a third, slightly smaller Uruk demanded, grabbing you by the collar just as you righted yourself and ramming you back into the wooden strut of the well behind you with the force of a charging warhorse. The whole mechanism rocked, the bucket swinging wildly as you collided with the wooden frame and the breath was knocked from your lungs again.

Stunned and blinking stupidly, you just wheezed, “Killuc…” but you couldn’t get any more out. The orc’s grip had shifted to your throat and he was tightening it. He stank of rotting fish and his teeth were vile, breath unspeakable. He cracked you across the cheek with a fist and you tasted blood.

Without warning, a roar rent the air from a little way back and your eyes travelled vaguely towards the grassy meadow beyond the village. All the Uruks froze and a second later, through blurring vision, you saw a streak of grey dart across the field towards you. Following behind was a darker figure but you couldn’t make much out at that distance and with your airways choked off.

The Uruk holding you released you with a snarl and you crumpled, knees buckling beneath you. The white streak was Ghâsh, and he had launched himself at your aggressor, flying at his arm and pinning him to the ground, snarling and gnashing his jaws shut repeatedly in the Uruk’s face. The Uruk fell still instantly.

Walking slowly, deliberately, unhurriedly across the meadow was a dark, towering figure. His hair was pulled back in a rough ponytail, his leather jerkin was slashed and bloodied, but there was no trace of a limp or falter in his steps now. Killuc paced like a wolf himself towards the others and they all swallowed hesitantly, adjusting their weight slightly and shuffling.

One of the onlookers gathered at the edges of the square, a half-dryad, darted forwards and scooped Hazel up, helping her back and when Gil moved to do the same for you, you shook your head, holding up a hand.

“What?” he mouthed incredulously.

“Just wait,” you whispered and he looked at you as if you’d suffered a serious concussion and weren’t talking properly. Perhaps you had…

Just as Killuc joined the group, the female grunted something in the Uruk dialect and made a grab for you again, as if planning to hoist you up like a war trophy. In fact, he didn’t so much as join it as ram into it with another primal roar. He wrenched the female off you before she could get a good hold and snarled something at her in their language that you understood through tone rather than translation. He was livid, shouting at her until she backed off, smacking his hand off her with a belligerent and petulant swipe of her forearm and stepping away.

When he was satisfied, he turned to you and you tried not to shrink back from him. You did flinch, and he swallowed thickly, hesitating as he offered you his hand to help you to your feet again. Feeling braver than you probably looked, you accepted it and he tugged you gently upwards, steadying you when you swayed. His fingertips came to your cheekbone, where the smaller male had hit you, and a low, earthy growl rumbled from his throat. It was a sound you expected to hear more from Ghâsh than him, but you didn’t mind in the least.

The female stepped forward and spat one more sentence at you in Uruk and Killuc flipped. He turned and backfisted her, sending her reeling, and let out another string of thick, impenetrable orcish curses at her.

At the light pressure of your hands on his arm, Killuc stilled immediately, falling silent and turning back to you. “Enough,” you murmured. “I don’t care what she said, but take your warriors and get out of here. And don’t come back.”

His flattened nostrils flared at your words, expression faltering slightly, but he nodded grimly. “You will not see any Uruk-hai again,” he said gruffly. “This village is not to be touched.”

Your eyebrows rose. “You have the authority to do that?” you asked.

He nodded. “I am their warchief. My word is law. Anyone who sets foot in this village without my permission will lose that leg.”

“Right,” you said shakily. “Sure. Ok…” You took a slow inhale and then said, “Well… thank you. And Ghâsh too,” you added, glancing at the warg who still had the unfortunate Uruk pinned beneath his paws.

Killuc roared something at the other Uruks and they finally slouched away towards the meadow and away from the buildings of the village. Ghâsh stayed put and stared at you as if he expected you to be coming along, and when Killuc whistled at him, he yipped and snarled, dancing on the spot. Killuc did not ask him again, and instead kept walking.

You approached the warg and scratched him under the chin, even as he head-butted you gently, wagging pathetically. Pushing him away, you felt a lump forming in your throat, and he whined in complaint before realising how far the others had gone. With a final snap of his jaws that carried no threat, merely frustration, Ghâsh bounded away faster than a galloping centaur. He barrelled straight into Killuc from behind and knocked him flat, at which the Uruks all laughed. Killuc staggered to his feet, swiped playfully at the warg with a fist, shoved the small male into a broad patch of stinging nettles, and stumped off with his head down.

His was a world of belligerence and uncertainty, his subjects volatile and tough as old boots - that he’d healed almost completely in a week was astonishing - and he did not belong with you. Fantasies were one thing, but seeing him there in the midst of the clean and tidy cottages, with his blood-spattered fighting leathers and his colossal war beast, had reinforced that. You glanced at Gil who stood nearby, still staring at you with a strange look on his face, and you turned away from the sight of the dwindling figures.

“You alright?” he asked as you joined him. You glanced at Hazel who was still shivering in the arms of the half-dryad as she let herself be led away.

With a nod, you said, “Yeah. I’ll be fine.”

“That was so dumb,” he blurted. “You could have been killed…”

You shrugged. “I wasn’t. Hazel’s fine, and they’re not coming back, so I’d chalk it up as a victory.”

His gentle brown eyes surveyed you for a moment longer and he said, “You want to talk about it?”

“Not really,” you said, managing a weak smile. “Thanks though.”

He nodded and let you go back to your cottage at the edge of the village to mull things over. You couldn’t shake Killuc’s roar from your mind. It had been like no beast you’d ever heard, thundering in your ribcage and ripping through you with the power of a mid-summer storm. And Ghâsh too had leapt to protect you. “Stop it,” you snarled, slamming your front door behind you. “He’s a bloody Uruk-hai for goodness’ sake.”

To take your mind off recent events, you threw yourself into village life. Another week later, as the harvest festival was approaching, you helped out at the inn when a delivery of casks came, helping Skalen heave them inside and down into his cellar, and you were rewarded for your efforts by the dwarf with a huge tankard of slightly lively ale. The next day, however, your joints and muscles were aching all over and regretting the physical work just a little bit.

“Go up to the hot spring,” Gil suggested. “You should have just asked me to help unload them, you know?”

“I know, I know,” you said, thumping his withers affectionately. “Mr. Big Muscles.”

“I’m not showing off,” he mumbled, embarrassed. “I’m just…”

“Bigger than me. I know,” you laughed. “Fine, I’ll go. You want to come too?”

He smiled. “Sure. You want a ride?”

Gil had let you sit on his back only a few times, and it was a mark of just how close you were to him that he had even suggested it in the first place. You nodded your grateful thanks and said, “Let me just grab a change of clothes.”

“I’ll meet you at your door in a minute then.”

At roughly sixteen hands high, Gil was not a small centaur, and he had to swing you up onto his back. You landed awkwardly and apologised, shuffling until you got settled. Riding a centaur without a saddle was hardly comfortable, but the only centaurs who ever allowed someone to ride them in harness or tack were the elite Kingsguards and the swift, light-boned centaurs of the messenger corps. They had one rider, one partner, and it was almost a sacred arrangement between them. This was something much more relaxed and friendly, and you let the syncopated rhythm of his four-beat walk lull you. Naturally they drifted to a mountain of dark skin and a pair of blazing gold eyes.

“Penny for your thoughts?” he asked as he crossed the meadow and began to climb the hill towards the ridge where the mineral springs bubbled up through the rock and created three steaming pools of blissfully hot water.

“You don’t want to hear them really,” you said after a moment.

Gil laughed, stepping over a fallen branch. “You’re thinking about your four hundred pound Uruk hai saviour?”

“How’d you guess?” you said flatly, resting your forehead on Gil’s broad back for a moment. “I can’t get him out of my head.”

“Your knight in filthy leathers?” he pressed and you thumped him gently with a closed fist. “Got to say, I’ve never heard of an Uruk getting involved with someone of another species like that. I know of orcs up at the stronghold who have taken humans as their partners, but it’s rare for Uruks to give a crap about anything other than running someone else through with their sword or sinking their tusks into someone’s throat, you know?”

You shuddered, recalling the power of his grasp, and the lethal point on his tusks.

“Sorry,” Gil muttered. “Hold on,” and he scrambled up the steepest point of the slope and emerged at the top, barely winded.

However, once he crested the rise, he froze.

“Gil?” you chirped, leaning forwards.

“Uhh…” he said and you felt his flank twitch nervously. He was clearly fighting his flight reflex hard.

“What is it?”

He shifted slightly and the view of the three steaming pools swung into view. You were not alone, and, to your immense surprise, the Uruk who had just stood up from the water was not only Killuc, but he was completely stark fucking naked.

Gil glanced back over his shoulder at you and hissed, “I thought you said he wasn’t welcome back here.”

Through gritted teeth, you replied, “I told him that he couldn't come to the village. I didn’t say he couldn’t bathe.”

“You want to go?”

“What do you think?”

“I think I want to go,” Gil grumbled.

With a shy laugh, you slid off his back and gave his withers a friendly, grateful pat. “I’m sorry. And I’ll be careful,” you said before he could say it for you.

Shaking his head, he backed off, grumbling about having been looking forward to a nice hot soak. “No way I’m going in there for at least three days now…”

“Oi!” you yelped indignantly at his retreating backside, but he gave no reaction.

Turning back around, you saw that Killuc was still standing there with the water sloshing around his knees. The rest of his body was every bit as beautiful as you’d imagined it would be; all brutal muscles and hard lines, slashed and criss-crossed here and there with scars and marks, and perhaps even a brand on his chest. You winced at that, even as you approached and ditched your bundle of spare clothes in the lea of a huge beech tree nearby.

He rumbled your name and smiled at you.

“You here alone?” you asked in common before remembering that he didn’t really speak it. Dammit, but your orcish really wasn’t that good.

Killuc nodded once.

“Why are you here?”

His grin grew until it was a cheeky, wonky, lopsided smirk. “You told me I needed to bathe.”

“Really?” you snorted. “You really came all the way back here to wash because I told you that you smelled like a midden heap in high summer?”

“That bad?”

“Mmhmm.”

“And now?” he asked. He still hadn’t moved a muscle, just standing there as if he were part of the rocks surrounding the pool. And as if he weren’t completely stark fucking naked.

The springs weren’t the sulfurous kind, but they did smell strongly of minerals, though that had to be better than whatever he’d smelled like before. “Probably much better,” you said, making no move to approach him.

A low-frequency rumble, half-snarl and half-challenge, spilled from him and he took half a step towards you in the water. Your eyes roved down his body, drinking in his muscles and his raw power until you saw that his cock was starting to show some interest too, thickening and occasionally twitching. When he saw you staring, he growled again. “Come here,” he rasped.

You’d just begun to take off your clothes when he lost his patience and splashed through the water to the edge of the pool, ripping the last of your clothes clean off you and letting his hands roam over you with an appreciative growl.

“Careful of those tusks, eh?” you chuckled nervously as they flashed dangerously close to your neck.

“Trust me,” he demanded, his eyes blazing and, despite what he was and what his people were like, you did. You knew he wasn’t going to hurt you.

“You really are the warchief, aren’t you?” you gasped as he gripped your hips with his strong fingers and dug them in hard enough to leave bruises.

Killuc didn’t answer. He picked you up at the waist and you instinctively wrapped your thighs around his hips, letting him carry you to the water. He stepped straight into the hot spring water and set you down on the edge of the rocky pool where thousands of years of deposits had built up around the rim, creating an enamel-smooth lip. He lost no time in putting his mouth on you, using his tongue, sucking, sometimes scraping his front teeth over your most sensitive areas, always careful of his lethal tusks. His hands pressed hard into the muscles of your thighs, pulling you apart to give him better access to you until you thought he was going to tear you in two.

The pleasure of the heat of his mouth, his tongue against you, over you, and sometimes in you, sent heat sparking all across your body and under your skin until your back arched and you yelled that you were close. He didn’t stop. You felt his thick fingers slide inside you and when he crooked them just so and they hit that spot inside you that lit you up, you came with a shout, vision darkening. He kept his mouth on you the whole time, relishing the taste of you as you shuddered and gasped, body convulsing with the force of the orgasm he’d practically ripped from you. His fingers were still inside you as you clenched around him in waves of pleasure.

“I want you,” he finally growled as he drew back and you lay limp and exhausted and sensitive all over. “I want you.”

The idea of him being inside you suddenly seemed like all you’d ever wanted, and you nodded. That seemed to surprise him a little, but once he’d spent a bit more time teasing you, working you, worshipping you, waking you up again and easing you back to him, he picked you up and sank down into the water with you so that he was sitting with his back against the smooth walls of the pool. He lowered you into his lap, facing him, and you felt his hard cock nudge against your entrance. He eased you gently down and you kept your heavy eyelids open just enough to watch his expression as he nudged his huge cock inside you, inch by inch.

As his tip sank into you, you groaned softly and his strong arms shook.

“Please,” you said. His fingers had not been nearly enough. “I’m not going to break, you can -”

Apparently that was all he needed, and he rolled his hips upwards, sinking himself into you right to the hilt. Killuc’s head bowed suddenly and he began to breathe rapidly. “So… So tight,” he grunted, frozen. “I’m…”

“Move,” you demanded, practically baring your teeth at him and grabbing a handful of his long, wet hair, tugging his head back to expose his neck to you.

At the command, he obeyed. The fierce, apparently indestructible warchief of the Uruk-hai bowed to your orders and began to thrust upwards into you. The shape and thickness of his cock was just perfect, and in no time you felt yourself coiling up again. His fingers would leave bruises on your hips for sure, but that only seemed to make it even better. Your hands wandered over his colossal, solid body, over his scars, that warband’s brand on his left pec, feeling the flex and strain of his arms and back and shoulders as he held himself back. Even seemingly lost in the depths of his own pleasure, he had not completely forgotten how dangerous he was. That thought alone was nearly enough to make you come again, and he felt you shuddering, body going limp as you sensed the rising crescendo in you once more.

“Wait,” he snarled. “Don’t… Not until…” and he picked up his pace. Water sloshed around you, and each thrust of his hips became more and more strained, his breath ghosting across your wet skin as he struggled not to lose all control. He began to snarl and grunt, the sounds deep in his throat, and then he hissed something in Uruk just as his rhythm faltered. He bellowed as he released inside you, hips sealed against your body, the warmth of the water caressing your waist as his muscles bunched and his back bowed forwards. He filled you so completely at that angle, and you followed him a second later. He was still breathing like a galloped horse when you had finished, and you stroked his hair as he shuddered violently, gasping, sweat beading on his brow and mingling with the rising steam from the water.

The thought suddenly struck you that it felt as though he’d never allowed himself this kind of closeness with anyone, and perhaps he hadn’t. That was a conversation for another time though. Right now, words were not what he wanted. As if the tenderness of your touch drained him of all his remaining strength and willpower, he slumped against your body, hugging his arms around you and resting his forehead at your collarbones. Killuc’s breathing was harsh and rapid, but the longer he stayed there, the calmer and quieter he got.

Eventually he pulled himself upright, leaning back a little, and looked almost sheepishly into your eyes. “Did I hurt you?” he asked and when you smiled and shook your head dazedly, he seemed to let out a breath of relief.

“We’re not that fragile,” you said. “Humans, I mean.”

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he said, stressing with his tone that there was a difference this time.

You took his anvil of a jaw in your palm and stroked his cheekbone as he had done with yours, and kissed him. It was a gentle, unexpectedly sweet kiss, and he growled softly like a distant thunderstorm or a fireside cat, his golden eyes rolling closed. Killuc’s thick, dark lashes were surprisingly long. You kissed his closed eyes too and another unsteady breath left him, his thick arms tightening around you until you nearly wheezed.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he whispered again, so quietly that you almost missed it.

“You haven’t,” you said. “You never have,” you reassured him.

“You saved my life,” he said. “You nursed me, and then you drove me away…”

“I…” you faltered, leaning back a little too. His arms continued to support you, but he let you draw back. “I thought it was probably best… given that, you know… you’re an Uruk-hai…”

He glowered, dark brows furrowing. “I would not have hurt you. And I’m sorry that they disobeyed my orders. The village was not to be touched. Even before you…”

“I can see that now,” you said. “I’m sorry… I’m sorry I hurt you…”

Killuc grinned, the expression spreading slowly across his brutishly beautiful face. He rolled his hips once, his cock just beginning to soften but not enough that he couldn’t still make you moan.

“You smell better now,” you added, cracking a joke.

With a sound like a contented lion, he said, “I smell like you.”

“Exactly; much better.”

Laughing, he lifted you up and dropped you in the middle of the pool of gloriously warm water only for you to come up a moment later, coughing and laughing and cursing him all at the same time.

—

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[lxme-xss-imxgines]

Entwined

Prompt: A long time ago, long before modern civilization, there were eight souls bound together. Seven of these eight were born immortal, and they passed along their gift to their loved one. Not long after she was hunted by both mortal and immortal for being a living atrocity. Her current body perished, and they could only hope to one day meet her reincarnation.

Pairing: OT7 x reader (eventually)

Word count: 1.9k

Warnings: Death, swearing, cliche’s

Taglist: @thefirewasfriendly

Intro 1

Although Y/n and Mina arrive to the club almost right as it opens, there’s already a long line wrapping around the corner of the building. They can feel the excitement buzzing in the air and can faintly seen the glow of the warm lights surrounding the entrance from where they’re standing. 

Mina lightly punches y/n in the arm,”See! I told you we should have left earlier. I wasn’t exaggerating when I said that this is the most popular club in Seoul. It’s gonna be forever before we get in.”

Y/n scrunches her nose,”I mean, the line is actually moving along kinda fast. I’m sure it won’t be that long.” As they are moving along with the line, a thought suddenly occurs to her. “Mina . . . “

“Yes, sugarplum?” she replies and bats her eyes toward y/n, already sensing the question in her voice. 

Shifting onto one foot and crossing her arms, she raises a brow at her best friend,”We wouldn’t have to be, oh, I don’t know . . . on some sort of list to get in . . . right? That’s not the reason why the line is moving so quickly, is it?” 

All the heat in Mina’s body rushes to her cheeks, her face consequently turning beet red. Y/n lets out a small sigh at the revelation, slightly frustrated. But, after all, she didn’t even want to go out in the first place, so maybe this will actually work in her favor. 

“How exactly did you think we were going to get in? You thought because we’re dressed like we’re supposed to be here, the bouncers will think we are?” Y/n giggles. “Like our temporary hotness will make our names magically appear on the list?” 

Mina just shrugs, a small smile on her face,”I mean, kind of. We never do anything! Well, you never do anything.” she ignores the fake look of hurt on your face and continues,”So what if we don’t get in? We’ll go down the street to the bar and get wasted. Win-win!” 

Maybe for you, y/n thinks. 

“Yeah, whatever,” Y/n just sighs and shakes her head at her friend’s antics. Maybe if she were one of those people who took everything seriously (kind of like how she was before she met Mina), she’d be mad she didn’t get to finish binging whatever series she had hopped onto this week. All things considered, the night will probably be filled with memories of her and her bestie just enjoying themselves. Win-win, I suppose. 

A sudden noise of a throat being cleared whooshes Y/n’s thoughts out of her head, and a sudden anxiety fills her chest. Worst case scenario, they tell us to get lost. I can handle that. 

Right? 

“I, uh, can’t seem to find your names on the list. Are you sure you were invited to tonight’s event?” the bouncer eyes them suspiciously. 

Mina bounces up and down with a little bit too much enthusiasm,”Of course. There’s no way I would have gotten in a line this long if I wasn’t positive that my name was on the list.”

“Right, well . . . they must have forgot to put your names on here then. I’m sure it won’t be that big of a deal.  You two ladies be safe and have fun tonight,” he shoots them a smile Y/n’s jaw about hits the concrete. 

“C’mon, y/n/n!” and before she knew it, she’s thrust through the club doors by an over-eager Mina. 

***

The sight before them almost stuns them into silence. Almost.

“Ho-ly shit, y/n. This place is fuckin ridiculous!” the both of them gape at the luxurious yet sexy aura of the club, and y/n is suddenly glad she let Mina play dress up tonight. The ensemble she previously picked out would simply not have cut it. 

The whole room is dark, save for the dim and exquisite chandeliers adorning the high ceiling. The dance floor is somehow elegant and heated at the same time, the bodies on the dance floor almost inviting you in. Sleek black tables were sprinkled throughout the venue with beautiful centerpieces, people casually surrounding them and drinking to their heart’s content. There was just something y/n couldn’t quite put her finger on-

“Everyone here is so-”

“Beautiful,” she finishes Mina’s sentence for her, finally coming to realization with what was bugging her. Every single person here was breathtaking; ethereal, almost. It puts y/n in a daze if she looked at one of them for too long. 

“Why does it feel like I’m on drugs when I haven’t even taken any yet?” her best friend questions, only resulting in a throaty giggle erupting from her mouth. 

“Better question is, why haven’t we taken any yet?”

And with that, Y/n and Mina sauntered toward the bar, completely unaware of the small crowd of eyes following them.

***

“Fuck, good thing I had some money put away for occasions like this,” Y/n’s eyes widen at the prices at the bar, hoping that being a lightweight would actually come in handy at a time like this.”Some of these drinks are like, half our rent.” 

“Yeah, well. When in Rome,” Mina replies and downs a shot of tequila. “Alright, we can come back for more shots later. Right now, you have to be sober enough to dance with me.” 

Y/n instantly makes a face at the prospect of dancing, hoping on the low that she wouldn’t be forced to dance. Of course, her hopes are crushed as Mina drags her towards the dance floor, hand in hand. 

It was just like dancing at any other club, and once you find the right person, you can dance the night away. 

Y/n thought that this may be a little harder for her, as she doesn’t go out dancing very often. But, surprisingly, it was easy to find an attractive man who fit with her pace. 

Things get slightly heated as the music intensifies, and they begin grinding and grabbing all over each other. Y/n can’t tell how long she’s been on the dance floor, but she doesn’t care. She can’t feel anything other than the man pressed against her, and that’s all she cares about. 

She’s now facing him, and realizes he’s just as beautiful - if not more - as everyone else in the club. Y/n is almost completely lost in him - 

Suddenly gunshots ring through the air, making everyone duck instantly. Some of the more high profile people are escorted out instantly, leaving everyone else to wander in panic. 

Y/n has lost sight of Mina and the man she was dancing with previously, which makes her heart race. Everyone is in a frenzy trying to get out of the club when more gunshots ring out, causing even more panic. In an attempt to find somewhere remotely safe, y/n gets knocked over into one of the tables, causing her to gasp in pain when the edge contacts her ribs. 

The wind was knocked out of her and so she has no choice but to hide herself under the table as the crowd continues to thin. 

Once the number of people have gone down exponentially, she finally gets up in an attempt to exit the club. However, she hears loud and demanding voices as she nears the exit and peers around one of the booths to get a better look. 

“No one else is fucking leaving this club until you fuckers come out of your hiding place! Yes, I know you’re here. I can sense you,” y/n’s breath catches in her throat as she eyes multiple men clad in black, waving guns around like they’re toy lightsabers and not life-threatening weapons. 

They continue to block the exit, but a couple of them break off and walk through the groups of people still left, and then one of them stops suddenly. 

“Boss, do you smell that?” one of them turns back to the man guarding the exit. “Is that a-”

“Human.”

Y/n’s eyebrows knit in confusion, what the fuck do they mean by that? They must be really cracked the fuck out. 

“Find the human. Their morality code would prevent an innocent human from being slaughtered.” 

Y/n instantly ducks back around the booth and slides under the table, doing her best to steady her breathing. She is still very confused about what exactly they mean by human, supernatural creatures do not exist. Why would they refer to me as  . . . human?

She shakes her head vigorously, reminding herself that they’re just some druggies on hallucinogens experiencing group hysteria. Right? 

The table is suddenly lifted from its very spot, causing y/n to look up at the person responsible - one of the gun wielding men. 

“Found you.” 

A scream erupts from her throat as he lunges for her, trying desperately to evade his attack. As expected, the evasion fails and she’s suddenly caught with an arm wrapped around her neck, the cool barrel of a gun pressed to her temple. 

“Oh, no. This won’t do. Simply shooting a poor, innocent human won’t provoke them enough to reveal themselves. I think I’d like to have a taste,” y/n’s eyes widen in fear and confusion as his arm retreats from her throat. 

Time stand still for a moment- that is until a searing pain erupts from the side of her neck, causing her knees to wobble slightly until she’s held in place by the man once again. 

A sudden wave of nausea rolls over y/n, her eyes almost lolling into the back of her head. A warm sensation travels down the skin around her neck amidst the pain, is- is he drinking my blood?

Y/n can feel her body start to go limp, arms dropping down to her sides. 

Then everything happens in a flash. 

The man is ripped from her neck, causing her to cry out in pain once again, all whilst being swept into the arms of another. She hears sickening ripping sounds, and attempts to look behind her, but the man currently embracing her prevents her from doing so.

“Love, you don’t want to see what they’re doing,” she responds to his gentle voice and pet name with a look of confusion, and the pink haired man chuckles,”I wish we could have met under different circumstances, beautiful. Although, I suppose the important thing is that we found each other at all.”

A sudden warmth floods throughout her chest, as if she’s heard these words before. They are familiar and comforting, and for some reason she knows these words bear happiness and safety. 

“I know you don’t remember me yet, but you will, my love. You’ll remember everything,” the man suddenly looks up at a rather loud noise, and his eyes crease with worry. “I’m going to get you out of here, okay?” 

All y/n can do is nod weakly as the man stands up with her in his arms with ease and begins walking in an unknown direction. Everything is suddenly quiet, and y/n is fading in and out of consciousness. 

“Is that-”

“Oh god.” 

“How come we couldn’t feel her?” 

“Has she been in Seoul this whole lifetime?” 

“Something is wrong. We need-”

“What you all need to do is shut up! We need to get her back to the mansion, now. She’s lost enough blood already. I know it’s bothersome to all of you that we couldn’t feel her presence, but we can discuss that once we know she’s stable.”

Y/n hears light footsteps coming toward her. 

“Our poor princess. The universe always gives her such unjust treatment.”

She feels a soft kiss planted on her forehead . . . 

And then nothing.

[happycemetery]

Bullet

(((Prompt!: Not in a relationship, Spidey takes a bullet for Deadpool.)))

~*~

Deadpool  cranked the headlock he had on the would-be assassin. The thug was a  large meaty two-bit for hire, the kind of lug-head amateur that would  never deserve the title of mercenary. Wade halfheartedly hoped whoever  hired this idiot and his three idiot friends to kill the mayor hadn’t  paid upfront, because he and his web slinging BFF basically had this  sorry excuse of a assassination attempt over before it could really  start.   City Hall was evacuated, Spidey was taking care of idiots one  and two, and Deadpool just about had idiot number three down for the  count.

“Shh, go to sleep, princess,” Deadpool hushed in a mock-loving tone. “It’s way past your bedtime.”

Wade  placed his foot up on his unconscious foe’s chest in triumph. “See Webs,  I’m so awesome at not un-aliving people now that I didn’t even make…”  Deadpool was turning his body around as he spoke so he could face the  webbed hero, who was dealing with the other knuckleheads on the other  side of the lobby last he saw. Wade had turned just enough in time to  see a lone fourth knucklehead assassin that had seemingly appeared out  of nowhere in that place instead, the gun he was holding smoking. The  bullet was already on its way directly toward him, and Deadpool didn’t  have enough reaction time to do anything. Except for thinking, fuck,  this is gonna hurt. But it didn’t hurt, because someone else in that  room had the reflexes of a meth riddled ninja —or a spider, whichever.

It  played out in front of Deadpool in slow motion. Spider-Man diving in to  the merc’s line of view, coming between him and the gunman, and Spidey  catching the bullet in his shoulder. Spider-Man landed on the ground  with a painful grunt, and Deadpool’s heart just about stopped. The merc  almost didn’t believe what he just saw, but being flabbergasted had to  wait. Now was the time for rage. Now was the time for Wade to waste that   motherfudgin’ son of a toad pecker who just shot his bestie. Deadpool   pulled out one of his guns, unfortunately loaded with rubber bullets,   but they would do. The vengeful merc aimed true, shooting the gun out of  the offender’s hand. Wade then went into a full on sprint toward the   man, like a lioness after one hell of an asshole gazelle. The man in   turn tried to run away, but in his haste he wasn’t really looking where he was going and ran straight into the large webbed up entry way where assassins Tweele Dee and Tweedle Dum were trapped in there own little   webbing cocoons. The full front of the man was stuck against the web,   and Deadpool had to use all of his willpower not to batter the criminal.  Deadpool needed to do the hero thing and not kill or maim a defenseless  man, even if that man was beneath the likes of toilet scum.

Wade  hurried back to the fallen spider, the bug boy still laying on the  floor where he landed. Deadpool knelt down beside him and winced at the  sound of Spider-Man’s pained breathing.

“Before you say anything, I’m fine.” Spider-Man spoke calmly, almost but not quite keeping the wounded tone out of his voice.

“Sure  you are, just like I didn’t get off on a Justin Bieber/Bea Arthur  crossover fan fic last night. Oh bless you rule 34.” Wade hummed  cheekily, but he rushed back into seriousness. His beloved spider was  hurt, and Wade’s heart ached for him. “We should get you looked at. That  bullet needs out. What were you even thinking? Did you forget I have a  healing factor? Did you…” Deadpool trailed off, his brain truly coming  to realize what Spider-Man did. “Wait. You took a bullet for me.”

“Yeah, and it was a pretty stupid idea.” Spider-Man sat up with a grunt and used his opposite hand to shoot webbing over his bleeding wound.

“True,”  Deadpool relented. “But you took a bullet for me. Like literally dove  in front of a bullet so I wouldn’t get shot. Like literally threw all  caution to wind to so I wouldn’t get hurt. Like flew in like Miley Cyrus  on a wrecking ball and-”

“Okay  okay, I get. Just shut up.” Spidey interrupted. “Don’t make this a big  thing, Wade. It was just…just a dumb lapse of judgement on my part.”

“You  mean like, you care about me soooo much that when you saw me in unknown  danger you just had to save me? Oh, baby boy,” Deadpool beamed,  clutching his hands together in joy, “you love me!”

“Oh  god…” Spider-Man face palmed, and whether it was from annoyance or  embarrassment was up for grabs. “I don’t… What I mean, I just… Ugh,  just stop acting all giddy. You were a friend in harm’s way, and I had a  knee jerk reaction.”

Deadpool squealed. “He called us friends!”

“Despite me seriously regretting stopping that bullet, yeah, of course we’re friends.”

Spider-Man  grunted as he moved to get to his feet. Wade knew Spidey was admittedly  one tough mamma-jamma so the merc felt pretty sure that the hero didn’t  need his help staying steady, but Wade helped nevertheless, slipping  one arm around the spider’s waist, and his other hand gripping Spidey’s   uninjured shoulder. Happily, Spider-Man let Deadpool keep a hold of him,  and Deadpool may have been beaming a little because of it. The   victories of Spidey’s obvious love just kept adding up.

“Best friends?” Deadpool questioned in a sing-songy tone.

Spider-Man  let out a sigh, almost like in defeat. “Maybe it’s the blood loss  talking, but yeah, I think somehow during all the madness we’ve been  through… Yeah, you’re my best friend.”

Wade felt like magical unicorns were prancing around in his insides. He couldn’t help but give his true bestie a gentle squeeze.

“Wade.”

“Yeah?”

“Get your hand off my ass.”

Okay,  so yeah, it was less of a hug and more of a grope. Deadpool let out an  innocent chuckle. “Can’t blame a brotha for tryin’.”

“Just get me outta here, would you? The cops can handle it from here. I can’t travel by thwip-thwip like this…well, I could but I’m just gonna be annoyed by myself saying ‘ow’ the whole time. How’d you get here anyway?”

“The  Deadcycle. No, the Deadbike. No, the Motorpool? Whatevs, still  workshopping the name. Let’s just call it my pimp ass motorcycle for  now. So get ready to snuggle up all close to my backside, love bug.”  Deadpool grinned through his mask.

“I can think of some other things I’d like to do to your backside,” Spidey quipped.

“Woah, hot flash,” Deadpool fanned himself with his hands. “You flirting with me, Webs, or making a threat?”

“There’s only one way to find out.”

Deadpool  moaned in spite of himself. “Damn, baby boy, keep talking like that and  you’ll have more than a bullet inside you tonight.”

Deadpool was promptly shot with a face full of webbing.

~*~

more spideypool works at my Wattpad & AO3

[monstersandmaw]

Here's another Orctober (!) prompt, of which my lovely, patient Elves had a brief preview a while ago. The prompt was 'injured', and this one got so long that it practically grew legs and ran away with me...

I'll pop it up on Tumblr in a few days' time, but as always, it's up here for Patrons to read first! Hope you enjoy! Don't forget to let me know if you like it. If you don't, I have no idea what kind of content you folks want to see on here...

Content: gender-neutral reader, belligerent, tough-as-nails Uruk-hai warriors, one seriously injured mountain of muscle, some violence (not lasting) towards the reader, one loyal centaur bestie, and some sexy times Wordcount: 9769

___

At the clamour of two opposing orcish war-bands sweeping through the countryside to the north of your village, the sounds of the skirmish carried on the wind, people went scuttling for the shelter of their cellars. The orcs and Uruks in the area didn’t tend to bother your remote little community because they knew you had little to offer, but still, being caught in the crossfire was a frighteningly real possibility.

Although it was better to gather plants in the morning, when they were still hydrated and fresh, you had been out in the meadow in the late afternoon light, gathering chamomile both for tea and for (separate) use in medicinal poultices when the first orcs had climbed the ridge on the outskirts of town and your heart had stopped beating. Instantly, you dropped into the long grass, crouching low and holding your breath. As they spilled down the steep incline towards the curving, shallow river, you saw with plunging horror that their skin was not the green of the orcs who lived in relative peace at the nearby stronghold, but the dark, bruised looking, purplish-brown of Uruk-hai. This was a true war band then, and they roared down the hill like a tide of locusts, their hooked scythe-blades held high, their harsh, rough voices yelling in their own language.

You prayed in silent whispers to every deity you’d ever even remotely heard of and hunkered down as low as you could get like a leveret in long grass.

The first group that thundered past were few in number, bloodied and battered. They were the clear losers of the fight; driven to fleeing by the stronger horde following on behind. As you hunkered down in the sussurating grasses, heart in your mouth, praying that none of them would see you as they thundered on towards the trees to the north west of the village, you saw the second band clear the ridge, and almost passed out with fear.

Numbering easily twenty five in strength, they raged on, relentless, yelling and snarling. They caught up with a straggler who had been hobbling desperately on a nastily wounded leg, and simply cut him down, hamstringing him and moving on in an inexorable tide of muscle and leather, white and blue war paint, blood and steel.

You stayed still in the fallow pasture for a long time, letting the sounds of pursuit fade into the woods before you stood shakily and looked around. The meadow had been trampled in a wide swathe at their passing, their black blood staining it in places. The corpse of the one who had not made it just lay there like a felled tree, cooling in the late afternoon sun.

Your eyes drifted away from the sight of the corpse towards the woods, and your heart leapt into your mouth when you saw a figure at the very edge of the trees, leaning against the thick trunk of an ash tree. He was one of the largest Uruks that you’d ever seen, larger by far than any of the passing horde, but as you stared at him, you saw him sway and then stagger off into the shadows of the forest, clutching at his middle and limping badly.

He was wounded, and severely.

As the village’s healer, you felt the instinctive tug to help him, to ease his pain, but this wasn’t just another member of your community in need of aid - this was a violent, vicious Uruk-hai. They were best left well alone unless you wanted to risk being captured and taken as a human slave to one of their awful camps, or passed around for their pleasure. You shuddered at the thought and looked away from the gap in the trees where he had been.

Turning your back on the meadow, you picked up your basket in trembling fingers and walked back to your simple cottage on the outskirts of the collection of brick and wooden houses. People were beginning to emerge again now that the immediate danger had passed, and you looked up to see a familiar bay centaur trotting quickly towards you with a mix of worry and relief on his handsome face.

“Gil,” you smiled, pausing and waiting for him to catch up to you. “You alright?”

“Are you?” he asked, his dark eyes wide. “Fuck, I was so worried about you. I saw you going out into the meadow earlier, and then when I saw all those Uruks pouring down the hill and into the woods… I thought for sure you’d have been cut down or trampled, or… or…” his lip trembled and he surged forwards and threw his arms around you, picking you up and hugging you so tightly that your ribs creaked. “I thought they might have taken you…”

“I’m fine,” you wheezed with your face pressed against his softly-rumpled linen shirt. “Gil, put me down… I can’t breathe…”

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