#metal slide? burn or freeze no in-between

[sister-lucifer]

I just want Brian to pull down my panties, cum in them, lift them back up, and send me on my way. I am down tremendously-

content/warnings: noncon, physical restraint, reader is AFAB and wears panties but no gender is specified, “cunt” and “pussy” used to describe reader’s genitalia, thigh fucking, pervert Brian, no actual penetrative sex, reader gets jumped in the woods, little to no build up/plot it’s just straight into the porn

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Without warning you’re suddenly shoved to the ground, a heavy weight coming down on your back to keep you there. You yelp in surprise as you feel a body land on top of yours, pushing you into the dirt and sending a sharp pain through your ribs as they bend beneath the force of two people. 

Your attempt to yell out is swiftly cut short when a gloved hand tangles itself in your hair, gripping it tightly as it muffles your cries with the soft dirt on the forest floor. You can feel the small rocks hidden in the soil leaving scrapes on your cheeks as you thrash.

The stranger’s second hand comes down on your back, grabbing at your waist to pull your ass into the air as he hastily, almost clumsily pulls up the bottom of your shirt. He fumbles with the waistband of your shorts, fingers slipping over your button as the fabric of his glove fights with him. He lets up on your hair for one second just so he can use both hands, violently yanking at the fasten of your jeans until it surrenders to his efforts with a harsh ripping sound. He pulls your zipper down so fast it nearly breaks, and even quicker still he’s jerking your shorts down your hips and then your thighs. You’re only allowed to lift your head long enough to cough and spit, wincing at the feeling of dirt in your teeth. You manage to turn and look back at your attacker for only a split second before your face is back against the ground. You whimper against the earth as the sight of the hooded man flashes before your eyes. 

You swear that you can hear him chuckle under his breath at the squeal that crawls up your throat as you feel him pulling eagerly at your panties. You thrash against him as much as you can, but despite your best efforts the pressure on your head and back keeps you disoriented. It’s clear what he wants, though; he lets up just a bit when you sit still. You’re tiring yourself out fast, and you both know it.

You shiver when your panties are pulled down to your knees, resting against the ground and exposing your delicate cunt to the eyes of this aggressive pervert. He smiles under his mask, an expression of absolute debauchery hidden behind black fabric and a sewn on red frown that’ll be burned into your memory forever. 

The strangled noise you let out when you feel him rut against your waiting pussy through his jeans is mortifying. The denim and its metal button are harsh against your sensitive flesh as the stranger practically humps you like a wild dog, hard on twitching in his pants. You can hear him huffing through his mask, breathing heavily through the gaps in his gritted teeth. He’s desperate, nearly rabid with need for a reason that’s beyond you. 

You freeze when you hear him fumble with his zipper, gloved knuckles brushing your back as he struggles with only thing keeping him restrained. A heavy gasp makes your body shake when you suddenly feel the already leaking tip of his cock brush against your thigh. 

“W-Wait, don’t—!” You stammer, thrashing even harder in his grip with the last of your energy. He shushes you harshly, fingers tightening harshly in your hair as a warning. 

“Don’t be so loud,” He whispers, “You’re fine. I ain’t gonna hurt ya unless you make me…” 

You squeak in surprise when his cock slides between your trembling thighs. You instinctively squeeze your legs together, only to cringe when he moans in response. He lets out a shuddering sigh of pleasure as he repositions himself over you, finally releasing your hair only to pin your hands down, wrapping your body in his to keep you still as he starts to thrust. The noises that are pulled from your throat every time he pushes forward are viscerally humiliating, especially the way your voice cracks when his shaft just barely brushes your clit, not once threatening to break through your entrance but taking horrid delight in using it for his own pleasure. He’s shameless in the noise he makes, huffing and groaning in your ear and cursing under his breath every time he moves. 

He barely keeps a steady pace, his desperation becoming apparent with each thrust. You can feel his cock twitch against your thighs as it slides between them, able to feel every vein that runs up the side, all of them pumping hard and fast with adrenaline and primal need. You shudder to think what it would’ve felt like had he decided to use your hole instead.

“H-Haah…you’re…g-getting wet,” He growls in your ear, as though it’s an insult. It may as well be. You whine and turn away from him, biting your lip and ignoring the fact that you can feel yourself soaking his cock and it slides against your cunt. 

You can feel him starting to tremble, and you know in an instant he won’t last much longer. You suck in a breath, silently hoping whatever he chooses to do won’t leave a mess on your back or thighs. You won’t be able to deal with it until you’ve made the trek all the way back down the trail. 

“Gonna…g-gonna cum—“ He whispers through gritted teeth. His hands squeeze around yours, grip getting tighter and tighter, almost to a painful degree as he chases his release with reckless abandon. He’s staring to lose whatever little bit of restraint he has left, and fast. 

All at once his resolve collapses, guttural noises of pleasure falling from his lips as his hips slam erratically against you. He barely manages to choke out one last word of warning before suddenly he stops, cock head barely nestled between your thighs as his entire body tenses and shakes with the force of an orgasm that nearly makes him cry out. He barely manages to strangle the sound before it leaves his throat, cock twitching as it releases hard and fast. You cringe in anticipation of feeling the sticky warmth trail down your thighs, but the sensation never comes. After a few moments you sigh, relieved to have been granted this one small mercy. 

You’re too dazed and dizzy to move when he finally gets up off of you. You stay on the ground despite your humiliating position, and despite the wicked chuckle your attacker allows to slip. 

His boots crunch on the ground, and for a moment you think he’s just going to walk away, leave you here to take care of yourself. Then you feel your panties being slid back up your thighs. You can only be confused for a moment before you’re struck with the uncomfortable feeling of your warm, soaking panties squeezing around the mound of your cunt. The substance is thick and unbearably sticky, not to mention far too much for it to have come from you, especially without an orgasm. 

You flinch and squeal as he fastens your shorts back in place around your waist, tightly keeping your panties in place and making sure you can’t escape the feeling of his cum soaking your pussy and threatening to stain your jeans. 

He stands back up, buttoning his jeans and adjusting his pants a bit before shoving his hands back in the pocket of his faded yellow hoodie. He’s silent for a moment, admiring his work with a hidden smirk spread across his face. 

“Better get walkin’, sweetheart,” He teases, toe of his boot nudging your pussy through your shorts, “It’s a loooong way home.”

[thesightstoshowyou]

Take Your Pick

Cooper Howard (The Ghoul) x F Reader (NSFW)

Summary: Role play with the Ghoul is always an adventure.

Warnings: Claustrophobia, CNC, gun play, hair pulling, threats, brief blood mention, fuckin’ in a coffin, creampie, there’s some aftercare this time

(Thank you @slasher-smasher for planting the coffin idea into my brain)

A heavy thud startles you awake. You move to bolt upright, but abruptly halt a centimeter before colliding with smooth wood. A flat barrier sits just above you.

The lid.

The coffin lid.

Sleep-addled senses whir to life as memory returns. The cramped, trapped, feeling returns tenfold, suffocating you on all sides. Your heart rate spikes, a frightened staccato. You want to thrash and break out of your skin—air, you can’t breathe…!

Nails bite into your palms to ground yourself and you force your lungs to fill with calm. Breathe. Breathe like you did last night before you’d dozed off.

Your palms come to rest against the lid as you reorient yourself with your surroundings. The scents of damp wood and your own panicked sweat fill the narrow space. Sunlight peeks through the cracks where the lid doesn’t sit flush with the rest of the coffin. It had been dark when he’d tossed you in here and nailed it shut.

He’d left you here all night, then.

THUD

Muscles seize, the urge to shriek almost too great to resist. Someone—and you have a very good idea who—shoves a wedge, no, a crowbar between the lid and the body of your wooden prison. There’s a loud crack, the snap of wood, the groaning of nails as the top is wrenched away.

You throw an arm over your face when blazing light momentarily blinds you. A rattling crash somewhere to your left tells you the coffin lid has been tossed aside, forgotten.

A deep, rasping inhale heralds that familiar drawl. “Well, good mornin’, sunshine.”

Sight be damned. Squinting, you scramble for the side of the coffin, ready to heave yourself up and out, but cold metal against your temple freezes you in your tracks. “Woah, slow down, darlin’. It’s too early yet t’be gettin’ yourself in a tizzy.”

Gritting your teeth and willing your eyes to adjust, you sit back and blink. Eventually, you’re able to peer up into the scarred face of the Ghoul. He grins crookedly when you meet his gaze and playfully taps the side of your head with the gun barrel.

“Sleep well?” he asks while casually hooking a thumb in his belt.

“Like a baby.” You can’t help the impertinent reply, but you know the second it leaves your mouth it will have consequences. The Ghoul chortles and slides the muzzle directly in front of your nose. Your breath shakes as you stare directly down the dark barrel.

“Well, startin’ off the day with sass is certainly a choice. But I know that mouth a’ yours is good for more than just back talk, thanks t’that…rousin’ demonstration last night.” Cool metal presses to your trembling lips. The scents of iron and gunpowder burn your nose. “So go on now, sweetheart. Let’s see how shiny ya’ can make it.”

You swallow thickly and turn your pleading gaze up at the Ghoul. Who knows what horrible substances could be splattered all over its surface. Just the thought has bile stinging your throat.

He lifts a brow expectantly. “I don’t got all day, honey.” He’s not going to budge and you’re definitely not in a position to bargain. Fuck. Hopelessly, you choke down your nausea and look back to the muzzle hovering in front of your face. Your breath fogs up gleaming metal when you lean forward to timidly drag your tongue along the barrel.

Acrid, caustic tang hits the back of your throat. You cough, eyes watering, but you diligently make another pass, the flat of your tongue laving across nickel and leaving streaks of saliva in its wake. Drool spills down your chin when you wrap your lips around the muzzle.

Glancing up through your lashes shows you the Ghoul is intently focused on your every move. His jaw clenches and his chest rises and falls a little quicker than before. His knuckles blanche with how tightly he grips his belt.

After what seems like an eternity, the gun is yanked away from your mouth when the Ghoul lifts it skyward for inspection. Little droplets of spit trickle down the barrel as he turns it this way and that. He hums in satisfaction before holstering the weapon.

“Good girl.” His deep voice is husky, rougher than usual. You squeal when a hand darts out to seize your hair. He closes the distance between you to shove your face against the growing bulge his pants. Indignantly, you gasp and try to twist away only to have your cheek smashed more insistently against the Ghoul. This close, smell of ozone that seems to follow him everywhere overwhelms your senses.

“Looks like we got another problem to sort out,” he comments, using the hand in your hair to give your head a teasing wiggle. He takes a small step back so he can bend down low and bring his face inches from yours. You grunt and squirm in his grasp when his other hand flies up to grip your jaw tight.

“Since you did such an outstandin’ job cleanin’ my gun, I’ll let you pick which hole I use. Sound like a fair trade, sweetheart?”

“Fuck…off!” you grit out. Your hands wrap around his wrist to claw at his skin, but it could be made of steel for all the good it does. A pained cry rips from your throat when the Ghoul twists his fingers tighter in your hair. Panting, you still to keep your locks from being torn out.

“If I have t’choose, it’ll be your ass, and I don’t see any lube ‘round here. Do you?” The thought fills your veins with ice. Quickly, you shake your head as well as you can with how firmly he holds you. “Then what’ll it be, sugar? Tick tock.”

Your eyes close despairingly. Aching discomfort pulses in your jaw from the fingers that dig into your skin. Bitterly, you swallow your pride.

“My…my….” You groan as your cheeks burn. The Ghoul watches you stammer over your words, a smug smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth. Finally, you spit out a grumbled, “My…cunt.”

“Good choice, baby. My favorite.” Lightening fast, The Ghoul hops over the edge of the coffin to shoves you face-first into smooth pine. A strong hand splays out on the side of your head to keep you pinned while the other works your pants off your hips.

You yelp and writhe when scarred fingers dip into your folds. Mortification constricts your chest and sets your face ablaze when the slick squelch reaches your ears. A low chuckle sounds behind you, followed by a purred, “Well shit, sweetheart, if I didn’t know any better, I’d say ya’ like this.”

The chilly metal of his belt buckle brushes your rear as the Ghoul rips his zipper open. Hot, thick flesh slides along your dripping slit to tease your entrance. A little whimper leaves your lips when his nails rake across the meat of your hip to leave fiery stripes in their wake.

Agonizingly slow, the Ghoul feeds his cock into your twitching cunt. Slippery muscles part and stretch around his girth until your mouth falls open and your eyes momentarily unfocus. He’s so deep when his hips finally meet your ass you’re afraid you might break.

He voices his appreciation with a rumbling groan and a murmured, “You’re grippin’ me pretty tight there, darlin’.” Any response you might have had morphs into a strangled shout when he rears back and slams his hips forward.

Hastily, he curls over your back to clap a hand over your mouth. Against your ear, he mutters, “I don’t need us gettin’ interrupted before I’ve had my fill. Keep your screamin’ to yourself or I’ll have to dirty my gun again.”

Though, he doesn’t make it easy.

Your teeth are stained with blood from bottom lip as you fight the wanton moans and heady cries that sit on your tongue, begging to be freed. Each fervent thrust rattles the rickety coffin and your very bones. Evidence of your desire leaks freely down your thighs. You can feel it soaking into his pants, can hear it in the way the fabric slaps wetly against your hamstrings.

“I think that lil’ pussy was made just for me.” You can’t stop the whine his growled words bring forth. It’s not fair how good he feels; all those ridges and dips twisted around his cock hit every single spot so perfectly you swear it’s going to make you see god.

You do, in a way. Your vision whites out in blinding rapture as waves of molten ecstasy roil in your belly. Distantly, you’re aware of a strained curse from somewhere behind you. The cock buried deep in your guts twitches and spills liquid heat that fills and overflows to join the rest of the mess trickling down your legs.

Limbs shake. Breath returns in heaving gasps. You unstick your nails from the bottom of the coffin and shiver, little aftershocks of pleasure tingling under your skin.

“Jeeesus,” Cooper sighs as he bows over you to rest his forehead between your shoulder blades. A tremulous laugh is the only response you can manage. He sucks down a few more steadying breaths, then, “You’re fucked in the head, sweetheart. Ya’ know that?”

You snort. “I didn’t hear you complaining, Coop.” A wry chuckle greets your words.

“Touché,” Cooper drawls as he sits back. You hiss when he slips from your cunt. He makes a pleased sound in the back of his throat as he admires the deluge that follows. Quickly, he rights his clothes and helps you with your own before pulling you into his lap and slumping back against the side of the coffin. He slings an arm along the edge while the other wraps possessively around your waist.

“You gave a very convincing performance, Mr. Howard,” you comment coyly as you tug the brim of his hat further down.

Yellowed teeth peek out between a crooked smirk when Cooper grips your chin and rumbles, “Ya’ lookin’ for an encore, sugar?”

You bark out a laugh and shake your head. “I’m gonna need at least twenty minutes to recover after that.”

He hums thoughtfully. “Best I can do is ten. Then, you’re mine.”

[charnelhouse]

Something going wrong and Joel using readers body to take out his frustration or blood lust 🤤

A/N: Joel Miller x F!Reader. floor smut. torture. dark vibes.

You feel it. 

It’s deep, scratching at your insides. The heat burrows so far it scorches the lining of your belly. 

Shameful.

But Joel knows. He lifts his head, molasses-black eyes sliding from your hitching chest to your burning hot face. He rips the knife from the man’s knee. The thing moans, twitches like a strummed guitar string, boots frantically scraping across blood-drenched cement. Then - it goes still. Dead.  It's done.

Joel says your name. It tumbles out, smacks the ground and hits you right between the legs. 

“Girl,” he warns. “You best leave if you don’t want it.”

You grin. It’s beyond your control. Your lips pull taut.

It. It. It. 

He shoots upward and storms toward you. He’s stained in red, curls wild and you react by stumbling backward. Your ass hits the ground hard before Joel is on top of you, climbing up your body. The knife clatters somewhere by your head. 

“You liked that.”

It’s a statement rather than a question. Joel says it as he undoes the button on your jeans, shucks the fabric down your legs. It’s freezing cold and your breath is visible - coming up fast and desperate. He uses the flat of his hand to drive your thighs apart, his calloused fingers slide through the folds of your cunt. You’re soaked and he grunts like he’s both pleased and somewhat surprised. 

He drops his mouth to your ear, whispers. “You’re fucked up.”

It’s so blunt that it slaps your clit. It breaks your fragile pieces open. You scramble for his shoulders, dig your nails into the back of his neck. You need every naked part of him he’s willing to give. You want to get his clothes off, but there’s no time. You hear the click of his belt buckle, the shifting denim fabric. He lowers his hips before shoving forward and then he’s inside you. It’s too much, stretching your cunt in half. He’s in your guts. Your lungs. His blood-slick palm slides over your belly as he thrusts up, the head of his cock punching against your womb because it’s meant to hurt. He wants it to sting-ache like a deep, unrelenting bruise. After one violent stroke that makes you whimper, your thighs close up, your knees locking against his hips. He hisses, large hands clamping onto your legs and pushing them back.

“Stay open for me, baby,” he growls. “Be good.”

He’s using you, grinding down in such a way that the ridge of his pelvic bone rubs against the peak of your sex. The room fills with his low rumbles, your sighs and the sound of him fucking into you over and over again. Wet. Squelching. Lewd. 

He covers you with his entire body, pins you to the floor as he splits you apart. “I’ll keep you safe,” he says softly before delivering a brutal snap of his hips that makes you choke. “Save you.”

It’s a strange confession when he’s slamming into you with such force that your head is knocking against cement. Every drag of his cock marks you in a new way. He’s too big. Too thick. When he kisses you, it’s like he’s trying to pierce your throat. His tongue slips over the roof your mouth, it tangles with yours until you submit. You’re dizzy with him, engulfed by the smoke-smell of his clothes and the metallic air of blood that surrounds you. 

You're dirty for this. Dirty for loving him kill even if it's for you.

For you. For. You.

It was a close call. Too close.

“I know, Joel,” you reply, gripping the back of his skull to keep him sealed to your front. “I know.”

[mncxbe]

Come on, baby, don't you hurt me anymore

𝐀𝐤𝐢 𝐇𝐚𝐲𝐚𝐤𝐚𝐰𝐚 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦!.𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈•ﾟ｡𝒄𝒘: light angst, fluff?, itty bitty smut, one bed trope, smoking, mutual pining, spoilers for s1// inspired by an ask i got from my beloved 🐑 anon

"I can feel you plotting something" said Aki, his gaze fixed on a distant spot outside the hotel room window. It was snowing so much that the buildings on the opposite side of the street appeared only as a blurry contour– blocks of dark grey punctuated by neon signs. Aki's voice carried an edge of annoyance which you shrugged off, huffing.

"I'm not plotting anything" you chuckled, shifting away from under the heavy blanket. "Whatever..." he groaned in response "Just stop moving around I'm trying to sleep"

You were grateful he couldn't see you rolling your eyes at his words. He was impossible. It's been a few months since you first started crushing on your partner and now that Makima sent you two to Kyōto on business it was the perfect opportunity to make a move. You were forced to share a room, a bed.

As you laid next to him, you wondered what would be the best way to confess your feelings– a direct approach might've worked, but Aki was too sleepy to engage in any conversation. You sighed, your gaze musing on the snowflakes outside and then it hit you... the perfect opportunity to get Aki to talk to you. Sliding out of bed you made your way towards the window, prying it open.

Your movements alerted the man beside you who groaned angrily. "Where are you going?".

"Just getting some air, relax. It's not like I'm gonna run off or something" you retorted "You should come too"

"Like hell. It's freezing". You couldn't help but laugh at his comment– for someone who grew up in a mountainous area he sure hated winter. "Suit yourself, but you'll have to do without your cigarettes" you giggled, dangling his pack in front of him as you disappeared outside on the fire escape platform. You could hear your partner's groans of protest as he called out your name but you didn't respond.

With an annoyed sigh, Aki got out of bed and slipped on his shoes, following you outside. He found you at the leaning against the metal railing, holding the pack in front of him– daring him to come get it. He wasn't in the mood for this; it's been an exhausting day, packed with meetings with the higher ups and honestly all he wanted to do was sleep but you wouldn't give him a break.

Stepping closer to you, Aki reached for the cigarettes but you quickly pulled your hand away, hiding it behind your back. "Come and get them if you want them so much, Hayakawa" you taunted. The mischevious smirk that played on your lips only irked him more. "Can you not?" he hissed, closing the distance between you as he tried to grab a hold of the pack. He was basically hugging you, his body pressing you further against the icy railing."I'm not joking, y/n. give them back it's cold out here" he whined and you pursed your lips, cooing at him. "I didn't know the great Aki Hayakawa was scared of a little cold"

You could see the shift in his expressing, his lips pressing in a thin line as he yanked the pack from your hands. "You're no fun, Aki" you sighed, content that the man was back to his alert self. "Well, I'm not in the mood for this" he answered mindlessly, taking a cigarette out of his pack and lighting it. The flame glowed red against the grey night. You stepped closer to him, the crisp snow melted under your bare skin, burning the soles of your feet but the sensation felt oddly comforting– a distraction from the heavy tension between you and Aki. Raising on your tippy-toes you gave him a knowing smile "Then what are you in the mood for?"

Aki's cheeks dusted pink at your question. He wasn't stupid, he was aware of your feelings for him but he'll be damned if he was going to give you the satisfaction. His gaze moved up and down your body– from the lace trimmed tank top and cushy pajama pants to your bare feet and he scowled. How were you not freezeing?"Get back inside, idiot. I don't want you catching a cold."

"Didn't know you cared so much about my well-being" you purred, stepping on the vamps of his boots. Your actions took him by surprise and he instinctively wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you flush against him. You were almost at the same level as him, so close he could see the fat snowflakes resting on your hair and lashes. God, you looked so pretty in the soft glow of the winter night. You seemed right out of an old pictures movie. He opened his mouth to say something but quickly closed it, averting his gaze.

"What, Hayakawa, you nervous?" you taunted, your voice dripping with amusement. Hooking a finger under his chin, you brought your lips closer to his ear"Am I making you nervous?" The man shivered– your breath was hot against his skin, the closeness warming up his insides.

"No" he said plainly, still not facing you. He's never been a good liar and he knew he wouldn't be able to hide his true feelings if he were to look you in the eyes. Of course, you were aware of that, but you were dead set on making his composure crumble. Your lips ghosted over the shell of his ear before making their way lower, tracing soft kisses along the expanse of his neck. "You sure, Aki?" you giggled, relishing the way he tensed up under your touch. He smelt well; of tobacco and fresh cologne, making your whole body heat up in anticipation.

Your kisses raised goosebumps in their wake, causing the man to shudder. Still, he made no attempt to stop you- he knew it would've been pointless. Instead, he squeezed your hip tighter, ashing his cigarette. "You know it won't work, right? A relationship I mean"

"Why not?" you asked, nuzzling your head in the crook of his neck. You were perfectly modled in his embrace, as if you were made to fill his sharp, hollow edges with your soft curves. "Because it simply wouldn't work" he insisted, sighing. He didn't want to tell you that he only had at most two years left to live, that starting a relationship would be pointless since he wasn't going to watch it grow into something... more. So he simply remained silent.

As if reading his mind you pulled away from him, looking up to meet his eyes. "If it's about you dying soon, i know already" Aki raised a brow at your words and you shrugged, wrapping your arms around him "Denji told me" you clarified, watching the stern expression on his face melt into something softer.

"Look, Aki... do you really wanna go through life without living a little? Don't you want something more?"

Aki would've lied if he said that your words didn't take a toll on him. You were right, he wasn't allowing himself the comfort of normality– getting attached to you, caring. "I just don't want you to suffer. There's no point in you falling in love with me when I already have an expiration date"

You chuckled at his words, placing a soft kiss at the corner of his mouth. "Be a little selfish, Aki. It's your life, don't let it go to waste. Plus, i'm a big girl I can take care of myself."

"You clearly can't" he commented, gesturing at the way you were clinging to him. Aki brushed a frozen strand of hair away from your face, his thumb lingering on your cheek. "I like you too. i really do but... I don't think we should do this"

You looked up at him with those big doe eyes he so adored, blinking a few snowflakes away from your lashes "Okay, you don't think we should, but do you want to?" you asked in a soft voice that made him melt like a wax candle. "It's nothing wrong with letting yourself have the things you want. for once, think about what you want, not what you think is the right thing to do"

You were so goddamn adamant that you were making him give him, so stubborn– but also right. He never allowed himself the things he wanted most. Looking down at you his heart tightened in his chest; you were so beautifully present, so real and certain, unlike any other aspect in his life. He couldn't bring himself to say no to you. So maybe... just once he could have something good in his life.

Aki let out a low sigh. flicking the bud of his cigarette out on the street, he took a deep breath "And how would this work? Are we going to sneak around? You know Makima doesn't take relationships between colleagues too well" You hushed him, placing a finger on his lips "Don't worry about that, Aki. We'll figure out a way." you reassured him, leaning in to press a kiss to his lips and his heart skipped a beat. His arms tightened around you, squeezing you against him as his tongue slipped in your mouth, ripping a soft moan from you.

Aki's mind went blank, all his worries and doubts melting away as he held you close to him. You were far away from home, so he was going to make the most of the alone time you had together. You were right, he thought as he rushed back inside with you and slid under the puffy blanket, dragging you on top of him– you could figure things out. Give it a try at least. But for now he just wanted to give in, to spill all his want in you. So for once, he didn't hesitate when you kissed him, dipping his hand lower down your body to touch you where you needed him most. you hastly unclasped his belt, the sound of metal piercing through the silence of your room and he groaned at your touch, pulling you closer against him. Any trace of uncertainty was gone the moment you sunk low on him, moaning softly into the needy kiss you were sharing– he knew without a shred of doubt that this was right, you were good for him. And he wasn't planning to let you go.

[dreamerinthemoonlight]

Fire and Dreams in Meropide

Summary: You have a nightmare. Wriothesley is there to pick up the pieces.

Word Count: 1174

CW/TW: fairly graphic descriptions of natural disasters, mentioned (not real) character deaths, hurt/comfort, Wriothesley calls reader duchess, nightmares, panic attacks

Wriothesley x fem!reader

A/N: For the italicized part the theme music is Erlkönig by Franz Schubert and the rest is fragile fantasy/Once-colored Memories from the Vortex of Legends Genshin Soundtrack

You run. Fire falls from a sky clogged with roiling black clouds, the miasma belching from a flickering, glowing fissure.

All around you, your neighbors and coworkers run with you, screaming, shouting.

Of course, next to you, is a beacon of calm in the chaos.

Wriothesley holds your hand, pulling you along. Both of your faces are covered, wet rags struggling to protect the delicate respiratory organs from the ash that falls like snowflakes to the burning ground. Despite that, you can see your lover’s eyes, intense and alert, but unpanicked.

The two of you hurry through the streets, ignoring the flame-licked houses you pass.

Ignoring the houses, that is until, a child’s cries come from one of the burning buildings.

Wriothesley stops in his tracks, scanning your surroundings for the voice.

When he sees the child, he tenses, glancing between you and the trapped child.

“Y--”

A tear slips down your face unbidden. “Do as you must. Just… try to come back to me.”

  Wriothesley pulls his rag down around his neck and presses a gentle kiss to your forehead. No matter how you try to convince yourself otherwise, it feels like goodbye. “I’ll do my best. Wait for me at the evacuation point?”

You nod, cupping his face. “Be careful.”

You turn and continue running, feeling the chill of a cryo vision flaring to life. Several yards from your parting point you can’t help but stop and turn, only to see the love of your life disappearing into structure just moments before it collapses into burning rubble.

“Wrio. Wrio. Wriothesley!”

The sound of his name whimpered mere inches from his ear, startles Wriothesley out of a sound sleep. Without thinking he reaches for his vision and gloves, only to realize that you’re still deep asleep, eyes twitching violently behind your eyelids while tears seep from behind your eyelashes.

Wriothesley reaches for your shoulder, intending to shake you gently awake, when you scream his name and bolt upright. 

“Y/n, y/n. Y/n, please look at me.”

The warden shifts, trying to place himself in your line of sight. You curl in on yourself. “No. No. Wrio is gone. Wrio is gone. Can’t be real.”

Wriothesley groans, running a rough hand through his hair while the other sets his vision just behind him. He lets cryo energy coat his hand--not enough to be freezing, but enough to shock you into the moment--and touches your shaking fingers.

The moment Wriothesley lays his fingers on yours, his touch gentle but too cold to be anything but real, your eyes snap to his face. Your breath snags in your throat as the events of your dream speedrun through your mind, culminating in the last image of your lover’s disappearing frame. You gasp, again and again, trying but unable to force air into your lungs. 

Despite the warm bronzes of your shared room in Meropide and the metallic humidity that never seems to abate, the sensation is identical to the ash that clogged your dream-self’s throat.

“Wrio…” You rasp, pleading at him with your eyes.

“Y/n, duchess. Hold on.”

Wriothesley slides out of bed, tosses on his vision and coat, before lifting you in his arms, carrying you down the stairs to his office and setting you on a well-worn couch brought from the overworld. 

You continue to hyperventilate.

He hurries around the room, setting on the music you listened to prior to bed and starting a pot of tea. When everything is settled, he kneels in front of you.

“Y/n. Look at me.” Wriothelsey’s voice, while gentle, takes on a tone of command that you can’t ignore.

Your eyes meet his gray blue ones. Gone is the wary intensity from the dream, replaced by soft, wavering concern.

“Breathe, duchess. In, one two three. Hold it. Out, one, two, three.”

He runs you through the exercise recommended by Sigewinne many years before when his own nightmares ran him ragged, using the cool touch of his vision to center you in the moment.

Ever so slowly your breathing calms.

“Are you with me, Y/n?”

“Wrio….”

“Can you tell me what you hear, love?”

You think for a minute. “Music. We… listened to this last night.”

“Good girl. What do you feel?”

“Your hands are cold.”

“Good.”

Just then the pot starts to whistle. 

“Can I finish making tea?”

You are slow to nod, but when you do, Wrio leaves your side to finish the task. He brings back a mug of tea--fancy cups are useless in a situation like this, if you ask him--making sure your hands are steady before handing it to you and pouring one of his own.

As you take slow, careful sips, tears slip down your face and you start sobbing.

Wrio sets both cups to the side. “Can I hold you? Or do you need space.”

“Please, please. I thought you died. You did die. You left me, you left me.”

The Duke pulls you into a tight embrace, hating every shudder and desperately wishing he thought he were warm enough to give you the comfort you deserve.  “I’m here, duchess. I wouldn’t leave you.”

“But you would. If it were a child, you wouldn’t hesitate.”

“Can you start at the beginning? I can’t tell you the truth if I don’t know what I left you for.”

You stumble through the details of the dream, often pausing so Wrio can soothe re-surging panic. When you’re done, he lays his head on yours. “I would think, my lovely duchess, that I would have a plan for such an eventuality. And that you would--either bravely or foolishly--follow me in.”

“I--maybe. I don’t know. It hurt so bad. Watching the building---”

“Sshhh.”

Thump-thump. Thump-thump. Wriothesley shushes you and shifts your head so your ear lays over his heart.

“Do you hear that, duchess? My heart beats and so does yours. I know it’s scary, but it was just a nightmare.”

“I know. I was still so scared.”

“And that’s ok. I’d probably be terrified if you did the same thing.”

You look up. “You would?”

“You’re my duchess, duchess. You think I’d just see you off like that?”

“You’d follow me.” The words are a statement, not a question.

“In a heartbeat.”

The two of you stay there for several long moments, the sound of his heartbeat easing the last of your tension.

It isn’t long before you yawn.

“Tired again, duchess?”

“No one sleeps well running from volcanoes,” you grumble, shifting so that you’re comfortably curled in the Duke’s lap.

“I wouldn’t think so. Do you want to go to bed?”

“Mmmm. No. Not right now.”

“If you say so.”

Despite your words, it’s not long before both of you are carried off to dreamland.

And if Sigewinne walks in and sees you curled up together and decides that the Duke and Duchess need a day off, then that’s her prerogative. You can always argue when you wake up. Until then, she wishes you sweet dreams and shuts the door tight.

[doll-for-you-11]

Its dark. I don't know where I am or how I got here. Its cold. The only thing I can see is a little red light far away. I think I'm naked but I cant move my arms to tell for sure. Something is holding them behind my back. My legs are burning. How long have I been on my knees? Why do my nipples hurt? Is there something hanging off of them? Theres something dripping down my thighs. Am I wet? Everything feels so strange, the air feels thick, my mind is fuzzy.

I gasp. Something cold runs across my stomach. I can hear breathing. Someone is here, but I cant see. Now its running across my face. It feels like leather. Suddenly it slaps against my ass. I try to yelp but something is shoved down my throat. I gag. It tastes like rubber. I feel straps tightening around my face, holding it in my mouth. Its some kind of gag.

Its quiet again. All I can hear is my own ragged breathing. Each breath pulls on whatever is hanging from my nipples. It starts to hurt as my feeling comes back from whatever I was drugged with. Then white pain shoots through me. Gloved hands grip my tits harder than I thought possible. The metal clamps digging in as they grope me.

The hands move down, tugging on what I assume are the chains hanging from the clamps. I hear a low chuckle before a harsh slap hits my face.

My ears are ringing. I see a flash of light. The flick of a lighter. A can make out the silhouette of a large figure standing over me. He flicks the lighter a few more times. Walking around me. I hear a noise behind me. The lighter flashes again but the light stays this time. I see the shadow of the flame flickering. Moving closer to me from behind before i jump. A sudden burning hits the top of my tits. Just as the burning fades, it hits again, lower this time. Just above my already sore nipples.

He kneels in front of me. Close enough for me to make out the mask he's wearing. Black leather gloves holding a long red candle making me watch as the wax slowly drips before hitting my sensitive skin. Each wimper makes him chuckle as he continues until the candle is almost burnt out.

I can feel the hardened wax covering my chest and stomach where its dripped down. I shudder as he lowers a hand to the floor between my thighs. He brings his hand up again to whats left of the candle light where we can both see the wetness dripping between his fingers.

"So desperate" he says. I can hear the smirk in his voice as he blows out the candle leaving us in pitch black again. I feel him stand. A heavy boot brushes against my thigh. I feel a hand on my shoulder pushing me down until my thighs are spread and I feel leather on my dripping cunt. All he says is "grind slut".

I freeze. I can't possibly do something so degrading. But he grips my hair, a hand circling my throat. His hot breath on my ear. "I said, grind". He speaks calmly but his hand tightens on my neck threateningly.

I slowly slide my hips back and forth. Whimpering as I try not to gag on what I assume to be a dildo still down my throat. My hips jolt as my clit brushes the toe of his boot. Im so wet my cunt slides easily on the polished leather. "Faster". I do as I'm told. His hand loosening on my throat. I press down, grinding my hips. Suprised and disgusted by how good it feels.

I find the place that my clit gets the most pressure and begin circling my hips. For a moment I forget my situation and moan around the dildo before being snapped back to reality by a harsh tug to my hair. "Are you actually enjoying this? What a disgusting whore".

Its the most words I've heard him speak. I whimper again at his words, still moving my hips as he pulls his foot away.

"You've made a mess slut. Clean it up" I don't have time to question how before he presses my face to the floor. His shoe pressed to my lips. I start to lick my own juices off his shoe. When he's satisfied he pulls his foot away.

"Tell me what you want" I dont understand what he's asking and try to ask through my gag. "Don't play dumb you stupid cunt. You dont get that messy and wet unless you want cock. Now beg for it." My eyes have adjusted enough to be able to see his silhouette again. I shake my head only to earn another harsh slap.

My head spinning I try to speak, but the gag makes me sound like a pathetic mess. He laughs as I attempt to do as I'm told. He says he cant understand and slaps me again. This time I fall and he straddles me. Both hands circling my throat as he begins to choke me. My eyes widen in panic as I try to beg but the gag makes it impossible to make proper words.

As tears fall, I feel his hands loosen. They reach behind me. Flipping me onto my stomach, still underneath him as he removes the gag. Pressed face down he leans close to me again. "Enough playing around. Im going to flip you over, you are going to get back on your knees and you are going to beg me for my cock in every hole. Understand?". Shaking with tears pouring down my face I reply "yes sir". Its muffled by the concrete he's pressing me into but he must be satisfied because he stands, aggressively pulling me up by my hair and dragging me accross the room towards the red light. Until I can make out that its a camera.

My stomach sinks as I realize ive been being filmed this entire time. "Do as you were told bitch, or the camera will be the least of your problems".

Crying I stumble over my words as I try to speak. "Please" i mumble quietly. "Please what slut" he growls, getting more impatient. "Please...please fuck me..." i cry. I look up at him and see him step closer so I quickly continue. "Please ruin my slutty holes. Im such a desperate slut. My pussy is dripping with my want to be used by your cock." I cry as I speak. Tears running down my face onto my wax covered tits.

"Keep going, Ill stop you when Ive had enough". I shiver but continue. "Please let me feel your cock in my tight ass. Tear me apart and Ill thank you when you've decided youre done with me. Let me choke on your cock. I want to taste your cum. I want to feel it coating every inch of my body. Pouring out of every hole. I want to lick it off the floor and beg you to stuff more and more of it up my ass"

Im still crying as I continue to humiliate myself, I can hear him laughing under his mask. "Please use me as your personal fuck doll. Fuck me so hard I black out and then keep using me. Im a set of holes for you to enjoy. Im a cum dump for you to abuse. Please let me serve you, I want to be..." im cut off as he pulls me close by the nipple clamps making me scream.

He drags me up to standing by my hair before throwing me to the ground. My hands still bound behind my back. He pulls the camcorder off the stand as he presses a knee into my back forcing me down as he pulls my hips up filming what he's about to do. His hand grips my hair pulling my head up as he leans down growling my ear.

"The only hole you have thats worth fucking is this tight virgin asshole. You dont deserve the pleasure of my cock in your whore cunt, and I wouldn't dare put my cock in the same mouth that cleans my shoes"

With that he rams his cock balls deep into my ass. I try to scream but the pain shocks me to silence. He presses my face into the ground as he rails into my ass as rough and fast as he can. My tits and face scrape against the ground, but he doesn't care how much pain Im in. All that matters is him filling my ass with his hot cum.

He fucks into me at an animalistic pace until he finally presses in as deep as he can grunting as I feel hot ropes of cum shoot deep inside me. My body tenses as he holds himself inside me, panting as he leans down a final time. "Little bitches like you only deserve to be used if it hurts, and you're such a little whore that you probably liked it anyway. Look at the camera and say thank you."

My eyes are clouded with exhaustion as I look up into the camera he's holding in my face. I groan at the feeling of his cock still in my ass and I know he's right. I did enjoy it. I speak slowly. "Thank you for using me" he wrenches my hair up again. "You call me Sir, and you thank them for watching. Do it properly cunt".

I whimper again. "Thank you for using me Sir. And thank you all for watching me be broken in like a proper fuck toy". He lets go as my head falls back to the ground and films a close up as he pulls out of my ass, his cum leaking out after it. He grabs the dildo gag from earlier and shoves it up my ass. "There, make sure you hold that up your ass and feel how disgusting you are".

I hear him set up the camcorder on the stand again before walking away. I'm left in this dark room being recorded. Covered in wax, tears and spit. My hands bound behind my back and dildo up my ass. And I shudder at the knowledge that he'll be back. But more so at the fact that no matter how much I want it. I'll never be allowed to feel his cock in my slutty little rape hole cunt.

[lenreli]

steel-framed, concrete form [Dreamling Week Day 4 - Dirty]

[AO3] | [Dreamling Week '24 Masterpost]

Title from SHIV-R's Burning Chrome!

E, 2.8k. Dream visits his friend at his new job.

-

The automobile repair shop smells of gasoline and burning electricity, filling Dream’s head as he looks around for his precious friend. “Hob?” He calls, looking around at the various cars, a motorcycle suspended by bars, lifted off the ground as he walks around the area. 

“Here!” His friend calls and Dream halts, staring at the ground, considering that’s where the voice came from. Looking around, he eventually spots legs covered in oil-splattered jeans underneath a hideous bright yellow car. “Just a mo’,” Hob says, the sound of tinkering and metal and Dream blinks, tilting his head. 

“A mechanic,” he states, baffled as Hob continues his work, eventually sliding out from underneath the car and Dream freezes. Even with a screwdriver in his mouth, his bright smile is unmistakable, and Dream feels hot under collar, wondering if the shop was always this stuffy and he never noticed it, or if it’s because Hob is shirtless. 

And dirty, grime and oil all over his arms and neck, a streak of black going through the greys at his temple, even more on his hands as he gets out a dirty rag from his jean pocket to wipe them, taking the screwdriver from his mouth. “As much as I love the teaching and research, and I’ll definitely go back to it at some point,” Hob says as he gets up from the dolly holding him, Dream can only trail after him, a creature attracted to a magnetic north as Hob pulls on ratty black hoodie, “it’s good to do something with my hands after all this time.” 

“Of course,” he says. I know something you can use your hands on, he doesn’t say, the line popping up from somewhere deep in humanity’s consciousness ― and something he wants as Hob writes on a clipboard, presumably for the car he was just working on. Dream tries not to stare at the hair on Hob’s chest too obviously, listening as Hob talks about setting up his new life as they go outside, and Dream blinks at the lake view that greets them. “America?” 

Hob laughs and nods, getting out a cigarette and lighter, and Dream can feel nearby American birds and wildlife dreaming. “Think it’ll only be a few years, this one. Maybe go back to Europe somewhere,” Hob muses around his cigarette, shrugging. 

Dream nods, staring intently at the lake as Hob continues to smoke, the smell combined with oil making him feel ― something, as he tries to get a hold of himself, to not touch the dirty jeans, leading up to undoubtedly soft skin and splatters of oil through the hair in Hob’s happy trail. 

“Never realise how hot it is in there,” Hob grumbles and zips up his hoodie, and Dream snaps his eyes back to Hob’s face and he swallows, saliva pooling in his mouth without his say-so. 

“You are the only one working,” he points out, confused. 

“Slow week, so the other’s are mainly doing weird hours. Although, I may be the weird one, considering it is like seven in the morning.” Finishing his cigarette, he puts it out on the side of the shop, then puts it into a tiny bin inside as they walk back in. “That’s what they say about me, aside from referencing my Britishness.” 

“You are known for being odd,” he remarks after a while. Hob, getting a toolbox to bring to another car, this time a dark green ute, cracks up, laughter echoing.

“Wow. He’s got jokes today,” Hob says between giggles. “My oldest friend, telling me I’m odd, I’m struck,” he continues with a dramatic air and bright grin and Dream pushes down the smile he can feel forming. Even with Hob being shirtless, the hoodie makes it almost bearable and less like Dream’s going to lose his mind as Hob opens the hood of the ute. 

Hob starts to talk more about his history with cars and Dream listens, putting his hands in his pockets to resist reaching out as eventually, the heat apparently gets to Hob again, and he sheds his hoodie. Swallowing, Dream puts his hands in coat pockets, lest he reach out to touch the sweaty biceps, or the shoulders as they work on the car. 

And Hob keeps asking him for items, thankfully distracting him so the subconscious can tell him what specific type of screwdriver to give Hob. Instead of ― speaking in innuendos involving screwdrivers, or wanting Hob to stop, gripping his thighs and kneeling, tasting the sweat and oil on the other’s belt― 

Not that he would say those banal innuendos, but they stick under his tongue anyway, ready to be let out, so he swallows them down, breath leaving him as Hob stretches, arms going above his head as he leans side to side. Dream averts his eyes to Hob’s knee, the jeans ripped up over it as Hob goes over to another car, tinkering with it. 

There’s vague sounds of welcome and laughter, two of Hob’s co-workers coming in, since they also begin to work on cars, talking about their night’s and how another one of them has reception duty today. Hob talks with them, expression confused as they look over at him, but Dream keeps unnoticed by them, which Hob doesn’t comment on. 

So far, Matthew hasn’t come in, panicking or calling for anything urgent, so Dream stays, fascinated with seeing Hob talk and share inside jokes with his co-workers, their casual touching make him itch under his skin. Hob’s occasional glances at him as they work on cars, the garage doors opening to let more cars in, people milling about outside. 

Enough time passes that Hob goes for his lunch break, Dream follows along silently as he wonders where the time went as Hob gets out something from the fridge ― a salad which he takes to his office, Hob putting his feet under him as he sits on the ratty leather sofa. “Not bored yet?” Hob asks in between bites. 

Dream stands near the sofa, hands still firmly in his pockets, “it is fascinating, compared to your other job I’ve seen you at,” he says, looking out of the window to see a car being levied onto the metal bars, lifting it up so they could work on it. 

Hob laughs, “I bet. More than just books or essays to grade. Though you know everything about mechanics, of course, being all,” Hob gestures at him, “like which of these bastards keeps stealing my Reese’s.” Dream opens his mouth to answer, but is stopped by Hob holding up a finger, “I don’t want to know actually. I’ll find out on my own.” 

“Incorrigible man,” he mutters and Hob laughs once more, most of his salad already inhaled. 

“Pot calling the kettle black a bit,” Hob says between mouthfuls of food as he sits up to lean on the sofa, joining him in watching the garage work. Salad now gone, Hob gets up with a groan, and Dream watches as the container gets stowed into a small bag. Hob gives him a look, dark and piercing and Dream stills ― not that he was moving, expecting something out of a stare like that, but all Hob does is leave the room. 

Dream follows. And he tries to not stare so blatantly at the small of Hob’s back, a thumbprint of oil on his side ― and even as the other mechanics won’t notice him, he still feels obvious as he follows Hob to an area in the large garage without any cars in the vicinity. 

The quiet corner feels private as Hob sighs, crossing his arms and Dream’s sight is redirected to the hairy chest in front of him. “Dream,” the tone, almost afraid, makes him look up as Hob huffs, “if I do something stupid right now, would you leave?” 

“No,” he answers, confused with how serious Hob is. 

“Promise?” Hob steps closer, “on the Dreaming? That even if you hate it, or curse me or whatever, you won’t leave?” Hob continues ― and puts his pinky finger in the air and Dream blinks.

“I promise,” he confirms, joining his own pinky with Hob’s, noticing the oil he can feel on it― 

So focused on the smear of oil he can feel, it takes him a few seconds to realise that’s Hob leant forward, lips pressed against his, pinkies still joined between them― 

And it’s only as Hob’s mouth leaves, does the warmth of him creep in, and he reaches out with his free hand, stopping him from getting even further away as he kisses back. There’s a sigh against his lips, Hob’s other hand grabbing onto his coat collar as they kiss, tentative and new. 

The kiss ends, but Hob stays close, laughing quietly between them, “thank fuck for that,” Hob says, and Dream marvels at almost feeling another quiet laugh, Hob’s eyes crinkling. “I was pretty sure, but y’know, fear that you’d run out on me again,” he says softly and Dream’s eyes widen. 

“I am sorry,” he frowns, “had I known―” 

He’s interrupted with another kiss, Hob letting go of his pinky to scrape a hand through his hair and he shivers, the touch hot, gasping as his hand between them touches the other’s chest, the hair coarse and slick from oil and Dream moans, arousal coiling tightly and Hob laughs into his mouth. “Later.” 

Unwillingly, his face heats up, unwilling to let go of Hob’s chest hair and the way Hob stares at him ― like he expected it. “I was that obvious,” he starts to frown, though Hob doesn’t let it sit before he’s being kissed again as he’s tugged even closer, can feel the heat warmth and smell sweat and oil, filling his senses. 

“A bit, yeah,” Hob grins into their kiss, and an embarrassing sound gets pulled out of him as the hand on his cloak trails up to cup his cheek. “Thank you for whatever it is that lets us do this without getting jeering from my coworkers,” Hob says between more kisses, and Dream breathes, clutching tightly onto Hob’s chest, the warmth of the other man overwhelming. 

Dream has honestly forgotten that others were around, and he drags Hob into a deeper, filthier kiss, shivering at the way a hand clutches his waist, fingers pushing up and under his shirt. “I want,” he doesn’t finish, too busy biting down Hob’s neck, enjoying the taste of sweat and the scratch of stubble along his tongue. 

“Have a pretty good idea of what you want,” Hob breathes, and Dream whines at the way a hand in his hair tugs him up so they can kiss. The hand under his shirt goes up his back, and he can feel the oil on his skin ― and there’s a prickle at his awareness, a passing daydream of a silver car―

“Like that?” He asks as he pulls the car out of the daydream and Hob freezes, eyes going wide at seeing the car ― another bit of perception to filter away as Hob gapes at it. “Why this one?”

Hob blinks, brown eyes wide and then Dream finds himself pushed against it, both of Hob’s hands going under his shirt as they share a frenzied kiss, the car cool against his back. “I had it in the ‘80’s,” Hob replies, opening up the back door and pushing Dream onto the backseat, and Hob’s eyes get darker as they stare at him. “Though often about just,” Hob leans over him, making Dream swallow as a finger tugs at his jeans. “Can I?” 

Hob’s head is filled with old daydreams ― of him and this car, fantasies of skin and sweat and blinding pleasure―”please,” Dream chokes, leaning up to kiss Hob, hands going to pat his chest, going down to take off Hob’s belt, skin hot under pants as they moan, as Hob’s nails scratch up his skin. 

His head hits the car door, too focused on the ways they’re joined, touching and kissing, the feeling of callused fingers flicking his nipples making him whine and arch up, disappearing his coat and shirt with a thought. Hob lets out a sound, fingers digging into his skin, “so beautiful,” Hob says, voice strangled as he looks down, and Dream has a split second of seeing oil on his chest before Hob goes for his jaw, biting down to his throat. “Fuck, please, let me.” 

“Anything,” he moans, grabbing onto one of Hob’s hands, feeling the calluses on his palms as he sucks a pointer finger into his mouth, acrid oil and hot sweat as Hob shakes above him, teeth scraping his neck as Hob looks up with wide eyes as Dream sucks the other fingers clean, tongue laving the other’s palm. 

Hob lets out another strangled whine and takes back his hand, Hob grinding onto him, hard cock against his thigh. Looking past the other man, he can see the windows are black and opaque, no glass in sight as he works on pulling Hob’s pants off, with Hob laughing as they kiss messily, Hob moving against him to tug his boots off. 

The lower half of Dream’s clothes vanish, only the sound of skin and moaning as Hob puts a finger inside, making him keen at the pressure, Hob’s other hand digging into his stomach, leaving oil as Hob starts to speak, praise falling from his lips easily.

“There is no need to prepare,” he stresses as Hob adds another finger, twisting them and Dream shudders and leans forward to bite at the edge of Hob’s beard. 

“Getting that, but I want to,” Hob chuckles and Dream tries to scold him, though the words become a whine as Hob presses against his prostate as he’s stretched open. “Thinking I probably don’t need a condom either, which is lucky, considering I’m not in the habit of taking those to work,” Hob continues and Dream cries out, hands scrabbling up to the other’s shoulders. 

“Hob,” he aches, wants even more, and there’s an embarrassing sound as the fingers leave, then returns with four ― brushing persistently against that nerve and his cock twitches. “Stop, now,” he tries to order, the words coming out broken and pleading. 

“Impatient, huh,” Hob grins, brown eyes sparkling as the fingers twist and press into him even more, making him shiver, Hob’s other hand eventually digging into his hip to keep him still. 

“Very,” Dream growls and Hob seems to get even more gleeful, fingers crooking inside―then suddenly leaving him empty. Opening his eyes, he glares at the other man. 

Hob pants and soon enough something bigger presses against him, and Dream bites back at a cry at the feeling, the other man slowly filling him. There’s a strangled whine from Hob, who stops for a moment and kisses him roughly―and he gasps as the other’s cock is slammed in. “Dream,” Hob whispers, forehead resting against his as they breathe each other’s air. 

Dream tries to hold onto every emotion, every sensation as Hob fucks him, but he can only manage snapshots. The tang of sweat on his tongue as he licks up the other’s shoulder, up to his neck, the pleasure burning through him like a wildfire, Hob’s cracked pleas of his name, of how good you feel― 

And then coming, Hob first, him following at the way the flood fills him, frenzied pleasure becoming something more soft and bearable as they share lazy kisses. 

Hob sighs, and Dream keens as Hob leaves him, “I know. But, I’m still on the clock,” Hob says softly, kisses just as delicate and Dream pouts ― and gets a soft black towel from a swimmer’s dreams, which Hob uses to clean them up. Hob pulls him out of the car, still close enough for them to kiss even more, and Dream relaxes against the car as Hob puts on his jeans and boots, oil now more smeared over him than before. 

“Should I leave?” He asks, fearing the answer as his clothes appear on himself, Hob blinking before putting hands on his waist. 

“Definitely not. Just let me complete my shift, then we can get out of here,” Hob says between kisses and Dream sighs as Hob nips up to his ear. “The car may have to go wherever it was before, but that’s it. And. Well. The whole perception for me, obviously.” 

Dream frowns and the car vanishes, so grabs onto Hob’s jaw, stubble pleasant under his hands. “Fine. I will do the arduous task of watching you work more,” he says solemnly, making Hob do a crinkly-eyed smile. 

“Oh yes. So terrible. Not at all like you didn’t want to jump me the entire time.” 

Dream scoffs and twirls a strand of brown hair over a finger, eyeing the streaks of black oil over the greys at Hob’s temple, “I do not jump.”

[Fin]

[p-taryn-dactyl]

i bled for free, your wretched victory (1)

a/n: timeline? who's she, don't know her. i just wanted to get this idea out before i focused on my requests and WIPs lol, hopefully y'all like it! i might be beefing with marvel rn but my brain won't stop giving me ideas. also i apologize for how bad this is but it is something i want to post <3 word count: 1.3k warning(s): blood; injuries; i can't not put reader through hell sorry; really slow paced, sorry i want this to be a slowburn series prompt: when meeting a friend for coffee doesn't go to plan, you realize you've been caught up in a scheme much larger than you could ever have thought

Leaning against the wall, you listened to the footsteps behind you. Blood dripped in between your fingers as you clutched the wound at your side. The pain kept you focused, aware of your surroundings. You were tense as the footsteps passed you, the heavy falls of your attackers boots echoing through the hall. Sliding down the wall, you allowed yourself to breathe. Each breath sent shooting pain through your ribs, making you stifle your gasps with your fist. You couldn’t remember how you got here, how you went from the crowded streets of NYC to the cold sterile halls of this facility. All you remember was waiting for your friend Yelena, who you had met while serving drinks at a Christmas party, in a small cozy cafe. She wasn’t late, you were just early. You didn’t know if she ever showed up as your memory had gone blank. The gap filled with nothing opened in your memory to when you had woken up, surrounded by tubes, plastic and metal. 

“She couldn’t have gotten far, keep looking.” A male voice echoed down the hall, sending shivers down your spine and freezing you in your spot. His voice haunted your mind, fear lacing through your thoughts. You couldn’t remember why but this man was dangerous. Waiting until you couldn’t hear any words, footsteps, or even breaths, you stood up again, staggering slightly from the pain. Something told you to follow the path to your right, running was a struggle, every part of you fighting against the action. You left bloody footprints for your captors to follow but you wouldn’t let yourself think about that. A door was in front of you. A door busted wide open, the metal bent and contorted, slash marks surrounding the frame. You could’ve cried with relief. But before you could take a step outside, you felt something graze your thigh then searing pain followed. Some words were called out, a name that brought back the fear. You could feel people surrounding you from behind, slowly advancing like one would a wounded animal. 

“Now, let’s not be dramatic-” That voice. He was behind you. A burning smell filled your nostrils as you spun around, screaming and throwing your arms in front of you. The man and his men flew backwards, hitting the walls with sickening cracks. Turning back towards the door, you ran out, ignoring the feeling of rocks and broken branches piercing your feet. You clung to your side, your eyesight blurring at the edges as your blood stained your hand. It felt like centuries had passed before you saw a road, the happiness overlooking the fact that armored cars blocked it off. Panic clawed at your throat. How far did his reach go? How far would you have to run before you could escape this nightmare? You thought about staying where you were, letting your body become one with the woods but something in you pulled you to a part of the forest where you couldn’t see the cars or the militarized camp. You couldn’t see anything special, making you wonder if the blood loss was finally making you go crazy. But then you saw the static. Looking up, your eyes followed the glitches towards the sky. 

“Oh, I’m definitely going crazy.” You muttered to yourself, turning away from the wall of static, removing your hand from your side so you could hold your head in both hands, ignoring how you were getting blood on your face and in your hair. You sat on the ground in a slump, shaking your head as you continued to ignore your pain. 

“Hey! What are you doing? Get out of the way! Are you okay?” A loud shout caused you to jolt backwards, your back hitting the wall of static. Before you were pulled in, you saw a woman with glasses running toward you and a FBI agent following her, their eyes full of horror. 

—

Every part of your body cried out in pain, the feeling of being torn apart and being put back together adding to the disorientation. When it stopped, you found yourself in the middle of a road. Collapsing on your knees, you started to cry, no longer able to ignore the pain. It took a minute to realize the oddness of where you were. There was no color. Everything was black and white, like the reruns of shows you used to watch with your grandparents. But when you looked at your hands, you saw tendrils of color under your skin, weaving between your veins. Orange, pink, purple, glowed until it settled into the monochrome you found yourself in. A sense of danger lingered around you, furthering your tears. 

“What the hell is happening to me?” You cried out between sobs, struggling to once more stand. Looking around, it hit you that you had nowhere to go. You had no idea where you were, no idea how long it had been since your last clear memory, you had no idea if you were even in the same state. The air around you was quiet, eerily so. You convinced yourself to start walking, heading towards the first house you saw. It looked old, it’s architecture one that you normally would admire, but now it just added to the uneasy feeling in your stomach. You headed up towards the door, your head pounding, eyes blurry with pain as you felt like your body was finally about to give out. Before you could pass out, you raised your hand to the door and knocked as loud and hard as you could. The door opened surprisingly fast, causing you to stumble backwards a bit. The woman in front of you had a look on her face you couldn’t describe, the only thought in your mind being your pain. 

“Please,” you stuttered out, gasps of breath interrupting your words, “please help me, I don’t know what’s-” 

Before you could finish what you were saying, your mind gave into the pain. Everything went dark as you collapsed. The last thing you saw before you closed your eyes was a cloud of purple wrapping around you. 

—

Agatha felt the disturbance in the air before she heard the knocks on her door. She made her way up from her lair in the basement, her magic curling around her hands. It couldn’t be Wanda, she told herself, this felt like something else. Her magic sang as it felt power but quickly the excitement died down as she realized this wasn’t a magical power. This was something else, something she didn’t know. The loud knocking at her door shook her out of her confusion, but adding more to it. Surely Wanda couldn’t be making a storyline in her sleep, she couldn’t be that aware just yet. Agatha opened the door quickly, her eyes widening as she took in the image in front of her. A young woman stood barely holding herself together, blood staining her skin and matting her hair. She begged Agatha before falling to the ground, Agatha’s magic just barely catching her. Agatha brought the girl into the house, snapping her fingers bringing the two of them to the basement. Wanda wouldn’t be able to sense the disturbance here. Agatha watched as color came back to the girl's skin, gasping as tendrils of orange and pink mixed with her magic, working together to mend the injuries that riddled her skin. She knelt on the ground, pulling the young woman closer to her, watching as the wounds closed and healed. Agatha brushed her hand on the girl's face, magicking away the blood and tear tracks. A low humming noise filled the air, causing the witch to startle as she watched the runes protecting her basement thrum. They could sense the power but couldn’t contain it. Agatha’s eyes returned to the girl in her lap, running her hands through the tangled hair, an attempt to calm whatever storm she had brought into her home. 

“Who, or what, are you?” Agatha whispered, her mind racing for any explanation the Darkhold could give her. The book would’ve laughed in her face if it could, answerless as Agatha realized Westview was in more danger than she thought.

[raccoonfallsharder]

heartspur.⋆☁︎ :･꧂

a scene from cicatrix .⋆☁︎ :･꧂ pearl portrait | the runabout | rocket fanart masterlist let me love your OCs masterlist | main masterlist

only a couple chapters until rocket gets a whole new ship and i finally have this scene from chapter thirteen done. let it be known i have almost every gun in mcu-rocket's arsenal in here except like, katie and vicki. (excerpt + feather-free version below too!). now time to get back to the OC doodle queue!

He wakes up with claws already hooked, ready to rend — ribs tight, lungs heaving — teeth bared and eyes wide, darting, scraping over every shadow and bright hot light — he looks for cinders, for sparks, nostrils flared and searching for any shred of smoke — for fur, for blood, for the burnt smell of the laser pistol— “—only you and me. I’m here — it’s just me.” The voice is a caress. “Herb— Sire is far away, and so are the Recorders. It’s only you and me.” He rakes in another scorched lungful of air, and the burnt scent in his nose suddenly seems dampened, softened by clear water and dewdrops and lilies. Pearl. “Did I scratch you?” he pants. “Did I hurt you?” Her eyes are big and careful on him, shifting from his own stare toward something just a little below his left ear. Unassuming, nonthreatening. “Not at all,” she soothes, and her voice is the softest little brush along his senses. “I’m fine.” “I can’t—” he seethes, peering around the bunk. It’s still swaying recklessly on the straps that suspend it from the ceiling, and the pillow is hemorrhaging feathers: a soft spill of downy guts, scattered across the mattress between them like a silk sacrifice. He reaches out — the fabric that had been underneath her head is in slivers. “I shouldn’t frickin’—“ —be here.

Her thumbs dip below his collar and he freezes — suddenly terrified of her feeling his scars and metal bits, even though he knows she’d caught glances of them on the Arete; suddenly terrified she’ll dig her digits into his swollen, sore tissue and hurt him. But she pauses when she feels him stiffen — so quickly that it almost feels like she noticed his fear before it even rose to the surface. Then the delicate touch shifts safely back outside his shirt, coasting tenderly over his clothed shoulders and then back to his neck. His muscles stay strung-tight — cinched up under the memory of what he’d done the last time he’d had his hands on her throat — but her thumbs just stroke lingeringly along either side of his spine, then up to the base of his skull. She dips them into the fur there, below the surface layers and into his plush undercoat, rolling the pads of her thumbs carefully over the bone. It’s like she’s found a dial he hadn’t known was there. His heart and lungs are still pummeling his bones, too much momentum to slow them down — but his shoulders go molten, becoming flux under her ministrations, and his head tilts forward, suddenly too heavy to hold up. Her fingertips float to the sides of his face — light as Foresterian moonmoths brushing against his whiskers and fur — while her thumbs continue to stroke up from the nape of his neck to the crown of his skull. They rove against his head in petal-like ovals, and then slide back down again. Circs and circs before, trapped on HalfWorld, the muscles in Rocket’s neck and shoulders had been manipulated into new shapes: shortened, lengthened, split; twisted into tendons. They force himself to hold his shoulders broad and his head upright. He’s pretty sure there’s no name for any of the stuff he’s got going on in his body. But it’s here — in these strange manmade muscles between his neck and his shoulders — that pearl carefully kneads her thumbs. Her fingertips are still stretched upward, cradling his jaw like he’s— Like he’s something precious. Fragile. His breath hitches on a strangled sound. His ribs spasm upward, eyes suddenly wet and burning. “Drink,” she murmurs, gliding her thumbs deep into whatever agonized mess has been made of his trapezii. He grips the straw with his teeth, and takes a long pull of the water. It floods his mouth, cool and sweet and clear, and his eyes flicker closed — just for a second. The tears on his lower lids spill over and river into his fur. (from cicatrix .⋆☁︎ :･꧂ chapter thirteen. heartspur.)

pearl portrait | the runabout | rocket fanart masterlist let me love your OCs masterlist | main masterlist

[h4sanz]

ichor.

pairings: nikolai gogol x f!reader

warnings: smut, roleplay, hints of primal prey, intense knife and blood play, dumbification, degredation, name calling, brat taming, impact play, dacryphilia, manhandling, bondage, major consensual non-consent, hints of dub con

word count: 1.4k

a/n: started writing this late 2022 and finally finished LOL. deleted and rewrote this SO many times, but finally got a result i liked ;)

your heart is pounding in your chest as you hear footsteps approaching. they still for a moment while you try to breathe as quietly as possible so he doesn’t hear.

you almost let out a sigh of relief when you hear those light footsteps again as they fade away. holding your chest with your hand, you use the other to quietly push the door open.

“there you are.” you freeze. but he walked away… is all you can think as he slowly steps towards you. you whimper when you feel the cold steel touch your lips. “you think you can hide from me? hm, you really are stupid.”

“k–kolya.. wh..” you’re cut off by the white-haired man shushing you, a finger against the grin on his lips. tsk, tsk, tsk. you never seem to learn, he thinks, jotting down a mental note to go over his rules again, later.

anxiety courses throughout your entire body, leaving you paralyzed. you knew better than to try to fight back, the man’s ability rendering any sort of attack from you useless; and that’s just how he wanted it. a monster: what every person who’s had some sort of encounter with him seems to think about him. the silence is tense, dragging out the uncomfortable feeling in your stomach whilst nikolai… enjoyed it? the disdain on your face amuses him; and that thought makes you sick, knowing he is getting off on your terror.

a loud cackle makes you shiver in fear, your eyes snapping towards his humored face as he throws his head back. “ah, even if you’re stupid, you’re still the most adorable human i have ever come across,” nikolai comments as he takes notice of the way your thighs just ever-so-slightly squeeze together. the knife glides across your lip, scraping towards the apple of your cheek. the glimmer of the steel shines in your eyes, the reflection of yellow irises barring into you.

wincing, your face scrunches up in pain at the sharp sting on your face, a trail of blood beginning to fall as you hold in a cry. a burning sensation then takes over, the feeling of wetness sliding along the bright red mark on your portrait. “who knew blood could taste so good..” he remarks, now dragging his finger over the wound, gathering the blood on his fingertip before rubbing it against his thumb.

nikolai begins writing on the other side of your face, the letters messy and almost unintelligible due to the messy ink. ‘mine.’

fingers are shoved into your mouth, a metallic taste clashing with your tastebuds. a moan slips out of your throat and through his digits, just barely loud enough to make him throb between his legs.

when he pulls his fingers from your wet cavern, he picks you up and throws you over his shoulder before making his way towards the room. you thrash against him, kicking your legs and banging on his back while sobbing out soft pleads for mercy. “kolya! pl–ease.. don’t, i promise i’ll be good!” you beg once he reaches the entrance to the room he’d gotten made specially just for you. “baby, i promise i won’t do it again. please don— ah!” a cry shatters out of you as you hit the ground with a deep thud.

you quickly scramble to sit on your butt, your arms holding you up whilst staring at him with tears in your eyes. “i don’t remember saying you could talk, let alone tell me what to do.” he lifts his shoe to rest on your crotch before deeply pressing down. a shiver crawls up your spine when the metallic blade suddenly appears against your throat, pressing into the skin, but not hard enough to pierce it. “the more you act like this, the more difficult it’ll be for you.”

“m’ sorry, kolya.”

he laughs at the whimper that falls from your lips as you apologize, crouching down to forcefully make you face him. “i know, darling. but you still need to be dealt with accordingly.” you’re once again being hoisted up onto his shoulder, hanging lifelessly in defeat.

it feels like hours before you’re dropped onto the leather doctor’s office-like chair. you beg nikolai with your eyes one last time, causing him to shoot you a dirty look as if to say ‘don’t you dare’.

you don’t even notice you’re fully strapped down until you reach to feel the cut on your skin, hands and ankles bound to leather cuffs. “no use trying to get them off. there’s no where to run.” he clearly finds pleasure in being condescending, always making sure to assert his dominance and position of superiority over you.

the tip of the weapon trails along your abdomen, inching closer and closer to your to your core, stopping right below your navel.

the steel spins, the tip digging into your skin ever-so-slightly just before it trails even lower, aiming for your thigh. it digs down, causing a prick of blood to bubble up, then gliding it across the expanse of your upper leg, leaving a thick trail of your ichor. you scream out in a pained cry, your whole body tensing. this cut is much deeper and larger than the previous one on your cheek, the pain almost unbearable.

“oh, what a wonderful view. however, i bet the sight of you coming because of our mixed blood would be absolutely delightful, my kryhitko.” suddenly, the knife scrapes across his fourarm, the delicious blood dripping directly onto your cut.

fingers then trace the fresh wound of yours, smearing the fluid around the perimeter. the now drenched appendages make their way towards your pulsing core, slowly beginning to draw up and down your folds. you hate how wet you are—how turned on you are because of the heiness acts the white haired clown is committing.

“you seem to be enjoying this almost as much as i am,” he smirks at you before slowly inserting his fingers. they softly graze the walls of your core, the slightest amount of pressure making you twitch. gliding in and out of you, they curl ever-so-slightly, reaching towards your g-spot. nikolai begins to rub slow circles on your clit, in a massage-like pattern. he’s mesmerized; the color of your blood and slick combining look so delicious on his fingers; the way you flutter when he applies pressure on your most sensitive spot; the lustful look in your eyes as he works wonders on your body–all of it. he’s absolutely enthralled with you. and the way you so gracefully murmur his name helps not one bit.

the sound of your cunt fills his ears–one of the greatest sounds he’s ever heard, to tell the truth; everything about you drives him wild. the closer you get to release, the louder your pants and whines get. when you start to buck your hips up towards him, he slows his pace but continues to go even deeper inside of you.

you’re getting close to your release when he stops, removing all hands from you.

when he sees the pout in your eyes, he looks at you mockingly, “aw, so close, weren’t you?—well you know the rules. no coming until i say so, dove.” a sigh falls from you, almost like a groan, but your face stays still, knowing if you look at him a certain way, things will get ten times worse for you.

once your breathing has calmed, pleasure begins to start building up once again, harsher than before.

and then—

it’s gone: again.

his torture continues for what feels like hours to you: bringing you to the brink of release, then removing all contact from you. you can’t even remember how many times he’s done this, already, but it’s got to be at least more than five.

your impending orgasm begins to build up, urging you so, so close until it storms over you like a tsunami. your eyes are blurry, scrunched up in fixation whilst your whole body convulses due to the pleasure. words spill from your mouth, like ‘sorry’ and ‘please’. however, your mind is still just barely conscious enough to realize your fate; your fate that is in the hands of a clown, a man who loves tormenting more than anything. and for a moment, his smile quivers in ire.

“oh, my sweet dove,” he coos softly into your ear, feigning sympathy; although irritation discernible in his voice.

the apologies coming from you slip right past him. you think you deserve forgiveness? absolutely not. and he’ll be sure to help you understand that.

sorry abt the shitty ending (◞‸◟) but if you made it here , thx sm for reading !! tis my first (fully completed) one shot ;> so feedback more than welcome! feel free to dm with any tips :]

© h4sanz 2024

[buckgasms]

Let's talk about Bucharest Bucky 😍

So last night I couldn't sleep again so I thought about this and then I kept thinking too much and was awake till 4am but sometimes life is like that....

I've written some of the text like this so you can know what's being said but only the bold is what the reader understands. Hopefully that makes sense!

Running

You have escaped from the Hydra base, running blindly through forests, across railway tracks and through deserted city streets.

Your body is aching and burning from your running, but you can't stop, can't listen to it until you know they can't find you any more.

You've been frozen and unfrozen so many times you have no idea how old you are. You were taken and used and made to be some sort of baby making machine for Hydra. But it never seemed to work.

All you had now was broken Russian, scars, fear and twisted memories that you couldn't make sense of.

Finally you reached an abandoned building and squeezed through the holes in the window, you might have even nicked yourself on the glass but you didn't care. Your blood pumps through your ears and all you can hear is your own heartbeat thudding.

You sneak through the building until you come across a small room. It's got a beat up mattress and a blanket, a little radio and a table and chairs. It looks abandoned so you sink down to the mattress and let your exhaustion take you.

Meeting

You awake suddenly, aware of faint music being played in the background. Your body freezes as you hear soft shuffling.

"Are you awake?" A man's voice asks in the quiet of the room and you manage to turn over, putting your back to the wall and clutching your knees to your chest. He looks almost as nervous as you feel.

"You must be hungry? Come and eat" he places a bag of something on the table and it smells divine. Your stomach betrays you and growls so you tentatively hobble over to the table and take the food. You look inside and grab a fry, it's salty and warm and delicious, but you nibble slowly. Still watching him.

"Do you have a name?" He asked

You nod and manage to whisper it out. You point at him and he takes off the chain around his neck and slides it over to you.

The words "James Barnes.... 1917.... Brooklyn" stand out to you.

"My name is James" he says, almost as if he's telling himself as well. You rub the metal between your fingers as you nibble on the food.

"Brooklyn?" You say eyeing him. "Where?" He smiles and tells you it's America and your head nods because you think you might be from there too! You point at yourself and say "America!" Which makes him smile, which you like a lot.

"You're hurt" he says after a moment and he points to your feet which are quite bloody and dirty. You also have cuts on your limbs from your nighttime adventures. He moves and rustles around the room until he returns with bandages, water and other things from a makeshift first aid kit.

You start to shake when he approaches but you continue eating and stick your left foot out for him to help you. You think maybe he would have done something by now if he was going to hurt you. You can be brave. You can.

"What happened to you?" He asks but you don't understand him. Eventually he points at your injuries and says, "How..." He sets to work and you rack your brain for the words in Russian for your ordeal.

"In the lab. Unfrozen.... Lights go off... Very dark. Noises, very loud. I ran... Got away" your shaking intensifies as you talk so he gently squeezes your ankle as he wraps your foot in a bandage.

"Why?" He asks and you shrug. You had been asking yourself that over and over for the last, who knows how long. He finishes tending to your feet when he asks, "Who?"

Your fingers grip his tag and your hands shake when you whisper, "Hydra."

His hands let go of your foot and he stands up, backing away until he hits the wall. His face is pale as a sheet and he looks like he's going to be sick.

"Hydra had you? Did they follow you?" He shakes and it scares you because he had been so calm before but you don't understand everything he says as he rants, his brow covered in sweat.

You begin to cry, you don't understand and it's not your fault. As tears track down your cheeks he seems to calm down and comes back to you, kneeling and taking your hand in his.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I know.... I know Hydra.... We just have to be safe...." He says and squeezes your hand in his. "It's ok, let me think. Eat and I'll think... Just let me think..."

Eventually he removes his jacket and glove from his arm and you are shocked to see his arm is made completely of metal. "They hurt me too" he says softly. You nod and wipe your tears away as he returns to mend your wounds.

Learning

After a few days you settle into a little routine with James. You don't ever leave the room you just stay put and potter about. You listen intently to the radio, trying to pick up more words to improve your Russian when James goes out. He sometimes leaves his little book behind and you study the pages, running your fingers over his neat writing.

He brings food, he seems to like fruit and he shares soft peaches, crunchy apples and juicy plums which you both smile at as you eat.

You managed to learn enough Russian to insist he gets a mattress for himself after spending a week sleeping on the cold floor. When he was out you arranged them so your heads were next to each other in a little L shape.

Whatever Hydra had done to him it must have been awful. He wakes often at night sometimes shouting at a mystery spectre. It scares you at first, and you would lie dead still until his breathing returns to normal.

But as time goes on you feel braver and reach a hand out to him, pressing on his shoulder and whispering "I'm here". Words he taught you when you woke him up with your cries in the night. It seems to soothe him quicker and it makes your stomach ease when he relaxes at your touch.

Tonight he takes longer, shakes harder and you notice little tears slipping down his cheeks. Feeling brave you crawl off your mattress and perch on the side of his. Your hand rests on his tags and you rub them between your fingers.

"James Barnes.... 1917.... Brooklyn"

You whisper it over and over again, his hand grips yours and his breath finally evens out. You shiver in the cold and he pulls you down keeping you close and your eyes slip closed as your body warms up in his arms and your body relaxes.

Moving

James decides one morning it's time to find somewhere else to stay. "Never linger too long" he says as you help him pack up a few little things and you smile at him.

"Never linger" you say in a gruff voice at an attempt to mock him and he smiles, walking over and nudging you with his hip. It makes you giggle and he smiles more.

He brings you to a little apartment block and walks up to the fifth floor. It's a dingy little place and you don't feel very safe but you know being with James it'll be ok.

You help him cover up the windows and clean the room. He moves the bed into the kitchen as you scrub the sink clean, noticing there's only one now. It makes you feel....something.

He goes out again and returns with some essentials. A few more clothes, some fresh bedding and some food. He also pulls out a pot plant out of his rucksack and he turns almost beetroot red as he slides it across the table towards you.

"I can't buy you flowers. But I can buy you this..."

You smile and shuffle round the table sliding your arms around his waist. He presses his lips to your head and you both stay there for a moment, before going back to your chores.

Summer

As the heat builds in the city you feel braver about being outside. Sometimes you don't go out together so he has sorted out a plan in case anything goes wrong.

While he does his thing, you do yours. You spend time at the nearby library and take books home to read with James. You sit in his lap and run your finger along the page, following the words. He holds you close and rubs circles in your skin, soothed by your soft, determined voice as you learn more and improve everyday.

"That was great" he says softly as you close the book and lean back, his lips just inches from yours. You hesitate for a moment before leaning forward and brushing your lips against his. It's electric and then he's pressing his lips against yours, sucking and wrapping you up closer as you whine in his mouth.

You shuffle around a bit in his lap before you are straddling his hips. His metal hand grips at your waist as his flesh hand strokes your cheek. Your fingers grip his face and you lean in for more.

It's suddenly boiling and you pull off your dress and tug at his red shirt until he drags it over his head. Your hands skim without hesitation across his skin, loving everything you see, wanting him against you and closer than you've ever been.

"Beautiful" he whispers as he dips his head down to take your nipple in his mouth, sucking harshly as you tug at his hair and moan. He lavishes attention to you until you become impatient and needy.

"James please" you whine and he finally relents pushing you backwards and laying you down in front of him. He takes a moment removing his jeans and underwear as you lay there, unable to move. You feel scared all of a sudden as he climbs over you.

"Talk to me" he whispers softly as his nose runs over your face and he presses kisses to your cheeks.

"M'scared" you mumble as he gently presses his body down and covers you in his warmth. He soothes you, reassures you and relaxes you until you need him all over again. He chuckles as you kick off your underwear and drag him back on top of you, his thick length pressing against your stomach as you kiss each other with abandon.

"I love you" you whisper as he sinks into you and he exhales a smile. "I love you too"

When your bodies are worn out you lay, wrapped in his arms, a cool breeze dancing over your skin as he kisses your forehead. Suddenly into he dark he mutters,

"Bucky... I'm Bucky"

Loss

One day everything goes wrong. You come back from the library and see the apartment block surrounded by police and army types in tactical gear and guns. Some men are being carried out on stretchers while others head inside.

You almost drop your stack of books but manage to keep walking as you feel panic set in.

Like you've practiced, you walk for 20 minutes towards the local park and you sit in the bandstand for an hour. Then, leaving the books behind you walk for another half and hour and go to the train station and buy a ticket. After the train departs you walk to a coffee shop 10 minutes from your apartment and wait there.

You were hoping Bucky would be there. That was always the plan. You kill time and regroup together later. But as you sat there and waited it was clear he wasn't coming.

Was it hydra? But you had been so careful not to be found.

When the cafe was closing you didn't know what to do so you did the thing you shouldn't do. You headed back to the apartment. It was totally deserted from military activity so you snuck in.

As you climbed the stairs you noticed broken bars on the staircase. Neighbours were attempting to fix their broken doors and dust and the smell of gunpowder was everywhere.

Finally you reached your door. Well what was left of it. The room was in chaos. Bullet holes everywhere, the bed ripped to shreds and a telling hole in the floor where Bucky kept his getaway backpack.

You managed to reach the bed and collapsed into it, sobs wracking though your body. He was gone. Someone had hurt him and taken him from you. And now you were all alone again.

Steve

A few days later you heard footsteps coming up the stairs. You ran into another room but you were spotted and heard a voice say, "Hey!"

You hid behind a wardrobe and a tall blonde man walked into the room. He looked a bit worse for wear and desperate as he looked at you.

"I'm Steve. Rogers. I'm a friend of Bucky."

You had definitely heard that name before. Bucky talked about Steve all the time, and now you looked at him, it was definitely Steve Rogers. Bucky had pictures in his little red book.

"Bucky told me to find you. He's safe, he's with me. He told me he wouldn't go any further without you, so please, please come with me..."

Throwing caution to the wind you removed yourself from your terrible hiding place and nodded. He gave you a moment to grab some belongings and change then you were on the move.

He led you on a short walk until you reached a little blue VW. Another longer drive until you reached a miserable looking warehouse. But you didn't care because then you saw him and you ran as fast as you could to Bucky, jumping into his arms and sobbing.

"Dudes on the run and he still finds a girlfriend?"

That was Sam, you learned later and apparently he and Bucky had met before, but the less said about that meeting the better.

Parting

Your heart hurt as you said goodbye to Bucky to leave with Sharon Carter. You didn't want to be away from him, or for him to be in danger. This all felt wrong and unsafe. What if you were found by the wrong people?

He pressed a kiss to your lips and took off his tags, placing them around your neck. "I'm coming back for these, and I'm coming back for you. I can make a difference and knock out Hydra just that little bit more. It's for us."

You smiled stiffly as tears clung to your eyelashes. He kisses you again and holds you tight. "I won't be long doll, I promise."

Endings

After the fight that left Bucky without his arm and damage to egos and friendships, Bucky and you were hidden in Wakanda. It was a paradise for both of you.

You were left to your own devices for a good while and you'd never felt so at peace. Mornings were spent lazily kissing each other as the sun warmed the little house you occupied. You had a small garden to tend to and Bucky herded goats. Children often came by to gawk at you, but eventually they got more involved in feeding the goats and helping you with your planting. The evenings were a mix of good food, warm fires and making love.

Eventually he was prodded to try and remove the trigger words which you added your own encouragement to. It took a lot of work and pain, but one night he was finally free. In fact you were both finally free....

(and then endgame never happens and they all live happily ever after 😫)

[direwombat]

tagged most recently by @socially-awkward-skeleton and @simplegenius042 to share some wippy stuff (thank youuuuu~ i promise i'll start catching up on tags later this evening i know i am. behind orz) some werewolf au syb waking up from her nap after getting home from the hope county clinic after her incident at st. francis. this is. uh. a little gross, so trigger warning for a human (or. werewolf in human form/human unaware she's a werewolf) consuming raw meat.

It’s her stomach that draws her out of bed before she’s fully awake. The soft haze of sleep still clings to her vision, blurring the harsh edges of reality into gentle shadows and muted colors. Pale light from the waning moon streams in through the windows as she stumbles in a stupor out of the bedroom and into the kitchen. She stops in front of the refrigerator. Her fingers curl around the handle, flinging the door open.

She reaches inside not for the pitcher of water nor the bag of shredded cheddar, but rather the pound of ground beef sitting on the top shelf. The plastic wrap gives way as she tears into it. Her fingers dig into the soft, wet meat, curling her index and middle finger to spoon it into her mouth raw. It squishes against her palate and between her teeth, smooth and creamy. The flavor bursts on her tongue, sharp, metallic, but with an underlying sweetness that only seems to stoke her hunger, rather than sate it. 

A low, satisfied moan rumbles deep in her chest. She leans back against the counter and slides down to sit on the cool linoleum floor. Already, her hands are tacky with blood. Her tongue curls around her fingers as she sucks them clean, desperate to savor every last drop. 

It isn’t until she’s shoving her face into the styrofoam tray and licking the cellulose pad in an attempt to suck out more blood that she registers what she’s actually doing. She freezes and the empty tray falls to the ground as she stares aghast at her red-stained hands while her chest heaves with rough, ragged breaths.

and some of the viking au that's been coming together in bits and pieces. here's some syb (a frankish christian living in england and a prisoner of war) having a bad shroom trip because faith gave her a potion (bliss) that made her see visions of her and jacob (pagan, the one holding her hostage) where she is behaving in very. uh. un-christian ways.

[Sybille’s] head throbs and her stomach cramps, her guts threatening to turn her inside out. Tears burn her cheeks as they streak through the dirt and grime, and she stares up at the wicce who forced her to drink that vile potion. “Why do you show me these things?” she sobs. 

Faith dips a rag into a bowl of water and gently dabs the sweat from Sybille’s brow. 

“She shows you nothing,” murmurs the False King, “all she has done is open your mind to the Will of God.” He leans in close, piercing blue eyes staring into her very soul. “Tell me, what do you see?”

taglist (opt in/out)

@josephseedismyfather, @la-grosse-patate, @knakrack (tumblr was only letting me tag your retired oc blog, sorry), @florbelles, @statichvm,

@fourlittleseedlings, @wrathfulrook, @harmonyowl, @ivymarquis, @carlosoliveiraa

@cassietrn, @confidentandgood, @strafethesesinners, @trench-rot, @miyabilicious,

@g0dspeeed, @inafieldofdaisies, @josephslittledeputy, @aceghosts, @adelaidedrubman

@finding-comfort-in-rain, @voidika, @strangefable, and anyone else wanting to share a wip today!

[triplesilverstar]

One thing Vash doesn't want to wash (but probably should)

Rating: 18+ Minors DNI

Pairing: Vash X F!Reader

CW: P in V sex, riding, clothed sex, creampie

Word count: Roughly 1.7K wordsA/N: Part 21 of the series. A chance to relax in a hotel, and you and Vash need to do laundry which isn't out of the ordinary for the two of you since you do go several weeks out in the desert. And while Vash is in the shower, you keep looking at a piece of his clothing that isn’t getting a wash. After a while you find it hard to ignore.

At the sound of running water you glance at it, hanging there, before going back to the book the hotel owner had let you borrow. Barely a paragraph read and you’re looking at it again. Back to the book. Shifting in your underwear since the rest of your clothes was downstairs being washed, the only clean clothes left in the room belonging to Vash. Shaking your head and trying to focus on the book again.

Where you keep re reading the same damn line. Slamming it shut, mind decided, you stand up dropping the book on the mattress and heading towards it. Vash’s coat. You’ve felt the soft fabric between your fingers enough that as of late, your mind has been wandering to what it would feel like wrapped around your form. Fingers ghosting along the pauldron that’s permanently attached to the left arm, fabric folded in such a way that it sits against the metal. 

You realize it’s now or never, because you honestly don’t want Vash to know how much you’ve been curious about his most eye-catching piece of clothing. Pulling it on you laugh softly, it hangs off your shoulders like a child in their parents clothes. You’re not a small person, but you certainly don’t have the broad build that Vash does, carefully hidden beneath his clothes. 

Wearing it you realize how well it does hide his size, and minus the broadness of the shoulders it feels good wrapped around you. Something else begins to invade your senses as you stand there, the smell coming from the fabric. Sunbaked sand on arid winds, used gunpowder, and a hint of citrus, you just aren’t sure what kind. All you do know is, it’s a smell that encompasses everything you associate with Vash. Hearing the bathroom door open you freeze. Shit. You weren’t supposed to still be wearing this, and certainly not in just your underwear. 

A soft chuckle resounds in your ears as he steps into view, towel wrapped around his neck to catch the water droplets, another around his waist. “I was curiou-” he presses two of his fingers to your mouth to silence you, before reaching behind you to pull the hood up over your head. So careful as if he’s touching glass as he runs the damp skin of his hand along your face, looking at you with a look you can only describe as one of adoration. Feeling your heartbeat speeding up inside of your chest. Feeling a little strange, fully encased in the fabric that normally adorns your lover. Removing his hand and reaching onto the table beside the two of you and unfolding his sunglasses and sliding them onto your face with a tenderness you didn’t was possible. 

“You look cute in my clothes” you feel the heat racing up your cheeks, eyes meeting his, which are dancing with mirth. Stepping closer so there’s almost no space between the two of you, leaning down to catch your lips in a tender kiss. 

Well. A kiss that starts out tender, quickly growing more desperate, his damp hands coming to rest on your hips, giving them a squeeze. Your own hands reaching out to touch his chest, fingers dancing along his skin and tracing patterns into the skin and metal. 

Gasping you have to pull away from him, your lungs starting to burn from the lack of oxygen inside of them. Sliding your hands up along his chest, and behind his neck, interlacing them behind his head. Playing with the dripping tresses, always so soft, freshly showered or not. 

Still watching his face, his own hands now sliding up and down your sides, the pupils of his eyes dilated with his desire. Licking his lips “how long before the laundry needs to be turned over?” Voice hoarse as he moves his face closer, running the tip of his nose along your eyebrows, warm breath washing over your face. “I’d say about another half hour based on your shower and the cycle you said you selected.” 

Pressing a kiss to the tip of your own nose before standing to his full height “Good” gripping your hips and picking you up, a show of his strength you don’t often see. Squealing in surprise and wrapping your legs around his towel covered lower half. “I wanna watch you fuck me in my sunglasses and coat.” 

Nipping your lips and neck as he moves you over to the bed, using that strength once more to pull you off his body and dropping you on the mattress, watching you bounce before ripping the towel from his neck and waist. 

Hands hooking the edge of your underwear and pulling them down, tossing them to the top of the table. An easy find for when the two of you finish. “Leave everything else on” his voice dropping an octave as he watches you, giving his cock a few pumps and you’re licking your lips. “I want you to ride me Mayfly.” 

“Then get in bed.” You tease, reaching out and fondling yourself making a show as you moan from your own fingers and toss your head back. Bed dipping as he joins you, settling in the center and tapping his thighs. An invitation you don’t need to be told about twice. Scrambling along his body and laughing as the sleeve of the right arm gets tangled under you. 

Both of you laughing as Vash pulls you onto his body, hands quickly moving to roll up the sleeve somewhat so you can at least touch him without the fabric getting in the way.

Lifting you hips and shuffling again, wrapping a hand around him and smirking as his hips jerk. Feeling the precum smearing against your skin from the contact that came with that movement, lining him up and pressing his head into your slit before dropping your hips and taking him in one go. Remaining in place while your core adjusts to his size, licking your finger free from the wetness that had landed on them from both of your bodies. 

“Damn, you look good like that.” Now that you're settled, his hands are going to your hips giving them a brief squeeze while he’s waiting for you to finish adjusting. “Just remember Mayfly, we’re on a deadline.” 

Raising your eyebrows at him you slow your licks, making a show of sticking the pink muscle out and around your fingers. Groaning as he watches you, eyes narrowing and you can feel him twitching inside your walls. A soft giggle and you start to ride him, almost right away moaning, his cock hitting all the right places inside your body. Catching his eye you grin, squeezing your inner walls and adding a roll to your hips having him press against different parts inside of you. “That’s it Sunshine.” Humming and placing your hands on his abdomen for more leverage, growing sweaty with his much too big for you coat wrapped around your frame. 

Laughing as a thought hits you “Save a Toma, ride a Plant.” Vash snickering under you, pinching the skin of your hips. “Sorry Mayfly. This Plant wants to be a one woman mount.” Laughing more at his response, feeling it warm your heart while you take pleasure from his cock rubbing hard deep inside of you while you keep moving your hips. Lifting almost halfway up his cock now, moaning as you work both of you to completion. A harsh inhale from him drawing your attention and opening your eyes. “Damn you look good wearing my stuff and fucking me senseless.” 

You’ll have to take his word for it, reaching up and pushing his sunglasses more onto your face, feeling them slowly sliding down your nose. World once more changed to the shade he sees it in you smile, dropping your hips to his choosing to roll your body. Clit hitting against the fine hairs at the base of his cock. 

“Fuck I feel sweaty.” Panting as you keep rolling your hips, how the hell does he even run in this thing? His hands squeeze your hips again and you can see the veins of his throat starting to stand out as his neck arches.

“Almost there Mayfly.” His own hips moving now, bucking up into you while you keep rolling your own. Panting as he keeps going, hitting deep inside of you before his hands are pulling you hard against him. Hissing and you feel his cock throbbing as he cums inside of you, spurting his sticky seed deep inside you. Feeling those spasms weaken, Vashs’ hands slide up your body tugging you towards him, so your chest is pressed against his. 

Hand rubbing along your back, keeping the fabric of his coat from pressing against your skin. Coming down from his post orgasm high you giggle, looking into his smiling eyes. “So, you gonna throw your coat into the washer after this?” 

A snort and a light smack. “Nah. It I'll smell like you now, so when I smell it I’ll be reminded how good you look in my clothes and sunglasses. Unless you wanna go for a few more rounds?” Wiggling his eyebrows and giving his hips a wiggle making you laugh and slap his chest. “Go deal with our clothes first.” Rolling off his body and still wrapped in his scent wafting from his clothes, making sure none of it is under your dripping slit. Pressing his lips to yours as he sits up, grabbing his clothes and getting ready to head down to the main floor of the hotel. 

“Don’t move” a wink and a grin sent your way. “I’ll be back for round two.” Laughing as he leaves, glad you had given into temptation and put his coat on.  

Back to Masterlist for the series

[manwrre]

i am absolutely ravenous for a jennifer’s body themed harringrove fic. and if i write it, it’ll be purely self indulgent so please don’t make me (make me make me make me).

like, i kid you not, when i say that billy’s the perfect character/candidate for any kind of possession trope. he’s pretty and popular— with his half-wild grin, fervent eyes and untamable hair. he’s smart and charismatic like no one’s business and anyone would be drawn in by him; he’s a perfect homme fatale.

he’s also strong and young. he’s healthy and quick and in his prime, so if a demon really wanted to make an apex predator out of someone, he’d be ideal. because no matter how great of a hunter anyone or anything is, isn’t it all the more rewarding when the prey comes to you?

so i can imagine steve and billy becoming such good freaking friends after the night at the byers’. once he’s sobered up and off the adrenaline high, i know for a fact that the sight of steve’s bruised face would probably make billy sick to his stomach. so he’d apologize, right? and they’d get on like a house on fire because they have sm in common.

it doesn’t take long for them to start crushing on each other (unbeknownst to either party because we love pining). so one night, billy takes steve to this underground metal-grunge club and in steve’s head, it’s a freaking date (and billy’s too). they spend most of the show just wrapped up in each other at the bar and messing around in their familiar, little way that makes steve’s heart race.

until yk, he goes to the bathroom and comes back to find billy’s seat empty. the bartender’s no help, really. he mentions something about billy walking off with a guy and steve’s stumped. he’s hurt because surely, he understood this right, so why would billy leave with someone else? so he waits and waits and waits before heading home, livid.

but imagine his surprise, hours later, when he wakes up to a commotion in his backyard and it’s billy.

billy, whose usually perfect curls are a mess and who looks like he can barely stand on his own two, god-given feet. billy, who snaps his head in steve’s direction at the sound of the door sliding open and stares at him with wide, frantic eyes.

“steve,” his voice cracks and his shoulders slump in what might be relief.

“jesus christ— billy, where the fuck have you been?” steve hisses, dropping the bat and rubbing at his burning eyes because he’s exhausted.

because at the core of it, he’s still pissed that he’d been ditched, of course and so sad and he would hate for billy to see him cry.

that is, until the blonde practically falls into his arms and all steve can do is cradle him against his chest while billy shakes.

he’s cold, like he’s been out here forever in the midwestern fall but he doesn’t seem bothered as he blindly clutches at whichever parts of steve are closest— his shoulders, his arms, his back and presses his face into his neck.

all the while, he’s murmuring something low enough that steve can only pick up bits and pieces; his own name and a mantra of pleasepleasepleasepleaseohgod.

it’s only then that he notices the dark sludge staining the blonde’s clothes and the front of his bare chest; half-dried and pungent and he freezes.

“billy… billy, what’s this? are you hurt?”

and he’s looking him over for a sizable wound because the amount of blood spells nothing less than extensive damage and gore. so it’s safe to say that he’s confused when he finds nothing but a few scratches. nothing that warrants this amount of blood, which means that it’s not his. but,

it’s someone’s.

he doesn’t notice that billy’s stopped moving until he looks up to find the blonde already staring at him, though.

his eyes are damp with unshed tears and he’s got his lower lip caught between his teeth; worrying the skin there. and he looks so far away. closer to the outskirts of hawkins, than here in steve’s backyard.

“steve– i, listen…i just,” he whispers, his brows furrowing and face contorting into something ugly for all of a second; something pained.

when he speaks again, it sounds wet. it sounds wet and he’s so scared. steve’s never seen him this scared.

it makes his own heart race in response; filling the spaces where billy’s must be skipping a beat.

“i think there’s something wrong with me. like really, really, really wrong with me— i dunno what i did, i dunno what to do, god, it was just…i think….”

“steve, i think there’s something inside of me.”

[breannasfluff]

Too Little, Too Late - P1

Whump Rating: 5/5

This is a 3-parter over the next few days, with an eventual happy ending!

TW: MCD, blood, burning, impaled, throat injury, injured Wolfie. Look, it’s not pretty. But it’s definitely whumpy. I will point you back to that happy ending note.

“Just hold on.” Hyrule presses his hand to Warriors’ stomach, swallowing hard. Blood squirts between his fingers; hot and precious. It’s something that should be inside the captain’s veins, not spilling into the mud and grass. “Just a little longer.”

Why is he out of magic? Why can’t he heal this? But the overextended feeling is familiar and damning. Until he gets a magic potion, he has to rely on basic medical supplies. And right now, in the middle of battle? That means keeping pressure on the wound.

Warriors coughs and more blood squirts. This isn’t working. His body is pumping it out faster than Hyrule can keep it in.

“Hold on, hold on, Wars. I promise, help is coming.” He glances up, eyes darting around the battlefield. Please, please let his words be true.

Yet no one is coming. The others are locked in battle or injured themselves, limping away from the fight. Hyrule is going to have to check on them soon. But first, Warriors—

He looks down and freezes. Cooling blood coats his hands; slippery and metallic. Warriors is still, eyes staring sightlessly past him.

“Warriors? Hey, captain?” The traveler removes a hand from the wound; it’s not spurting now and he refuses to acknowledge why. “Hey, hold on, okay?” He presses his fingers to Warriors’ neck, but they slip with blood.

With a frustrated growl, he wipes them roughly on his tunic and tries again. There’s no heartbeat to greet his fingers.

Warriors is gone.

Hyrule drags himself away because maybe he can save someone else. Warriors can’t just be—gone, yet he is. Maybe, maybe, maybe—

But all the maybes in the world won’t save him. Numb, he turns to rake his eyes over the battlefield.

Wild’s scream decides his direction. He sprints in the direction of the champion, pulling his sword to swipe at the bokoblin attacking him. The force of his swing separates the head from the body and it bounces to a stop. The traveler shoves the body out of the way and falls to his knees by Wild.

The hero blinks up at him, numb. His throat—Hyrule sobs, already trying to lift his hands to heal. There’s no point; he’s got no magic left.

The bokoblin attacked with teeth and Wild’s throat gapes through bloody flaps of skin. Air whistles through the holes; he can’t breathe.

“Wild—” His eyes are full of tears as he meets his friend’s eyes. “I…I’m sorry.”

Wild tries to say something; a terrible, raspy gurgle is all he can manage.

“Please—please!” He swipes at his wet eyes, clutching Wild’s hands. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry! I don’t know what to do!”

The champion lifts a hand and manages to spell a single word. H-E-L-P. Then it falls limp on his chest. The gurgle of air stops. His chest doesn’t lift again.

Hyrule finds Sky pinned to a tree. The chosen hero manages a whimper when he meets the traveler’s eyes. “Rulie…help me.”

“I…” Hyrule stares. The Master Sword is plunged through Sky’s upper chest. It glows; the same burn when it’s raised against her masters. The monster that did it lies to the side; hands and arms charred.

Hyrule reaches for the blade, even though he can’t touch it. Warning heat sears his palms and he glances at Sky again.

“She…” he coughs and blood spills from his lips. “She’s burning me.”

“Right. Let me—” Hyrule doesn’t finish, just steals himself and wraps his hand around the hilt. The sword burns. More than burns; it’s like gripping a live coal. He jumps back on instinct, shaking his hands to try to remove the stinging heat.

“Why won’t you help me?” There’s only betrayal when Sky looks at him. “Why?”

“I’m trying! The sword—it burns!” That shouldn’t matter. He can deal with pain to help Sky, right? He’s already lost two heroes.

Stealing himself, he grabs the sword again and yanks. Impossibly, it slides deeper, rather than out. Sky screams and he keeps on screaming, even when Hyrule jerks his hands back. The sound rises to a shriek and the sword glows so bright he has to look away.

There’s a whump, a burst of heat, and when Hyrule looks back, Sky, the blade, and the tree are on fire. Skin blackens and curls away, revealing red muscle beneath. The chosen hero’s mouth is open in a soundless scream.

Hyrule stumbles back, then turns and runs.

He finds Twilight in the bushes; only he’s transformed. Wolfie. The wolf whimpers when he sees him and tries to pull himself forward. There’s something wrong with his back legs.

“Shh, shh, let me see.” Hyrule pats the great furry head and moves around to check what happened.

The hamstrings on his back legs are cut. Blood stains the grass in a smeared trail, showing where Wolfie tried to drag himself off the battlefield.

Hyrule dives into his bag for bandages. While it’s bleeding, it’s not life-threatening yet. Maybe. If he can get the backs of his legs bandaged; if he can get Wolfie to transform back into Twilight—he can save him.

“Hold still, let me help.” He wraps the bandages around severed muscles; shutting out the whimpers of pain as he pulls it tight. “I know Twi, I’m sorry. But I’ve got to stop the bleeding.”

There’s a sound in the bushes and he pauses for a moment, looking up and around. Then he turns back to the other leg. “Just a little more, I’ve almost got this.”

The bushes rustle. Again, he looks up, but there’s nothing there. Just a few more passes and—there we go. Hyrule ties the bandage off and takes a shaky breath. It’s not enough; never enough, but at least he’s saved one of them.

“Ok, let’s get you—”

A lizalfo explodes from the bushes. Wolfie pushes off the ground with an animalistic scream, jaws wide.

The lizalfo slashes at the wolf as his mouth closes on its throat. Gravity aids his teeth in ripping it open and Wolfie slams into the ground. The lizalfo gurgles, stumbles a few feet, and falls to the ground.

“Wolfie!” Hyrule trips over his supplies as he falls next to the wolf.

The jump used the last of his energy. Dull eyes meet his and red-tinted foam bubbles at his mouth and nose.

Twilight gave his life to save Hyrule.

[hrodvitnon]

Woe! Another SIGNALIS fic preview be upon ye!

---

"Noooo," Ariane whines.

"You don't have to do it right this second, but it does need to get done."

"I don't wanna."

"Not right now, I said. Also, it is your turn."

"I'm doing a thing."

"Okay, but consider: it's still your turn."

"Okay, but consider this, and you may take it as an order, LSTR-512..." Ariane stands at her full height as imperiously as possible even with Elster half a head taller than her, fists haughtily planting themselves at her hips in a show of establishing dominance.

The scout officer squares her shoulders, puffs her chest out and looks her Replika subordinate in the eye, stating with all the authority her position affords, "Bite me." She tops it off with a self-satisfied lift of her eyebrows, an unspoken 'whatcha gonna do about it?' hanging in the air.

Elster stares at her for all of three seconds, long enough for one to reach multiple ideas of what she will, in fact, do about it. Repeatedly prod at Ariane's defenses over how it's her turn and it wouldn't be fair for Elster to do the dishes twice in a row, simply stand silently in a staring contest until Ariane gives up, or hoist the woman over her shoulders and carry her kicking and screaming to the appliance in need of emptying. What Scout Officer Ariane Yeong does not consider is the etymology of her Replika's namesake and how that will unexpectedly be made manifest.

Elster means magpie. Magpies are corvids, like ravens and crows. Corvids are intelligent, resourceful, and mischievous.

The instant those blue eyes narrow fractionally, the corners of her mouth ever so slightly curving upwards, Ariane realizes her mistake.

Elster lunges forward with teeth bared to snap at Ariane's neck. The petite Gestalt shrieks and dodges out of the way; Elster clearly doesn't mean to actually bite her, but the suddenness of it has her heart hammering and a breathy, startled laugh bubbles out of her. Elster locks eyes with her, crouched slightly like a predator about to spring an ambush.

"You wouldn't dare!" Ariane gasps.

"Just following orders," Elster quips and clicks her teeth.

Ariane eyes the door just behind Elster and feigns a step to the right, the Replika copying her movements. Now she rushes to the left, ducking over Elster's grabbing arms and makes a break for it, smacking the door panel so escape opens itself to her. Metallic hooves stomp after her and Ariane bursts into laughter, skidding right towards the ladder and sliding down it to lower deck with a dogged technician bolting after her. Oh, this is new! This is exciting! She rushes for the stern observatory, looks behind her and Elster is scurrying low to the floor, invoking a schlocky monster flick they'd riffed to hell and back the other cycle, eliciting more cackling as the chase goes on. Ariane should be a pain in Elster's ass more often if she has this to look forward to!

The plan is to use the chairs in observation to place a barrier between them so she can double back in search of a hiding place, but Ariane has never been athletically inclined and she's being hunted down by a scouting Replika. The observatory door only barely opens before she's caught, strong arms locking around her middle and pulling her off the floor, Elster barking out a victorious laugh. Ariane laughs with her, feet kicking and only halfheartedly trying to squirm away.

"Okay, okay! Mercy! I'll do the—"

The word dishes is just on the tip of her tongue when she feels Elster's teeth on her neck.

Ariane suddenly chokes into a gasp that morphs into something else. She freezes, face burning, sucking her lips between her teeth. Elster locks into place, her jaws releasing the spot where she'd nipped pale skin. Ariane musters the bravery to look over and sees their faces close together, close enough to touch. Elster's eyes wide, a flush growing on her face. She didn't know Replikas could blush. If this were a scene in her books, this would be the prelude to a heated kiss. Ariane glances down at Elster's lips, recalls an indirect kiss from some time ago, and licks her own; Elster leans in a fraction of an inch, eyes half-lidded. Ariane holds her breath. She turns her head just so.