#teeth being luxury bones SUCKS

[bogbees]

uhhhhuhhhhj i need like 5k for dental work (without insurance bc adhd brain has me forgetting it exists) and I'm sitting here like "could i do commissions??" and like. maybe.

i would need to do better samples that demonstrate my skill better....

[naffeclipse]

Paper Burn

Animator!Reader x Ink Form!Sun and Moon

Commission Info

I'm not normal about @pure-plum requesting a little hurt/comfort moment from my BATDR DCA AU called The Jester and the Tagalong! I also have to thank Plum immensely for teaching me about animating and what a character like the reader in this instance would do with their work! It was a great help and made the fic so much better for it! Enjoy an inky world that you and the jester are determined to endure <3

Content Warning for self-neglect, pain, and angst.

———

Your inky hands twitch after you jot a number down in the corner of the animation page. A cramp shoots a spasm of pain through your drawing hand and you’re forced to lay down your pencil, then catch it again before it can roll off the uneven table—the muscles at the base of your thumb ache. Sucking a breath between your teeth, you slide the pencil into the front pocket of your jumper.

It’s not enough. The sprawling stack of thin paper lies empty and the few pages you dare to spare for a rushed storyboard are almost crumpled in your offhand. You force your fingers to unfurl and slowly, methodically, fold the storyboards into your front jumper pocket. At least you can take a moment to flip what you do have. Inwardly, you cringe at the inconsistencies you’re sure to find among the pages, spurred on by attacks and sudden escapes to another workstation.

This is the roughest you’ve ever done storyboards and animating with pencils. You have no x-sheet, no light disk, and no peg bar. Inking will be an entirely different hill to climb, but you’ve done it before. Ink the lines and paint the colors, and then you’ll need to find cels. This is stepping farther and farther out of your realm of skills, but the robotic jester promises you that you both will find a way.

Desperation and urgency drip into you until panic overflows into your veins. Just the same, weariness fills your bones after animating for the better half of a day—if such a place as this possesses hours and minutes. The sepia and shadowy colors of Fazbear Studios stain every wall and crevice. You’ve memorized the routes through the sprawling building, each department a massive expansion to work and craft a proper cartoon.

There’s another part of this world you and the robotic jester avoid as much as possible. The Mega Pizzaplex. A living realm for the inky form of cartoon characters to stalk through, beings which you vaguely recall, mostly in keynote frames and final animation sequences.

No place is safe. Only safer. 

A heavy pounding steadily expands behind your eyes as taut muscles in your neck protest the improper angle at which you work. Moon had found an animator’s desk for you to work at, but the inky monsters that sprawl over every inch of this world with gaping, multiple mouths sliding around their glutinous forms, and violet, piercing eyes with vague shadows of bunny ears destroyed it.

This table shoved into a far, forgotten corner of the studio with cobwebs and spilled ink is as precious as each animation paper you’ve collected in runs for supplies. You need it. You need it as much as you and him need your happy ending.

Exhaustion creeps up your back. You close your eyes, rubbing along your temple once to coax away the pain. You cannot stop. There is no luxury for a break. You aren’t certain when more dark, tacky creatures will spill into your hiding hole and sweep away all your hard work in one breath. Worse yet, you must be vigilant for Vanny and Inktrap. 

The former is a dark disciple of the rabbit demon, and she works tirelessly to hunt you and the robotic jester down with the intent to offer sacrifices to Inktrap. The dreaded being also prowls the halls in search of you and your companion. 

Nothing terrifies you more than hiding, caught tight in Sun’s arms as he presses you deeper against the shadows of a wall, shielding your body with his as you both hold your breath. The trembling presence of Inktrap stalking near. You fear if he can’t hear your breath, he will sense the drum-like beat of your heart. 

But he has yet to catch you and the jester. Both of you will get out of here. The cycle will end.

There will be a happy ending for you both.

Don’t stop, you tell yourself. Keep going. Staring down at the current page, there are three figures scribbled in pencil. Two men and what you think—hope is you. The two men are vague recollections from your dreams, possibly memories. One wears a flat cap hat and the other has wild, unruly hair. You press your tongue to the inside of your teeth, overwhelmed by the many more frames you must capture of their figures. It has to be right. You straddle the line between quality and speed, and you just might fail both.

You want to remember more. Vague visions touch you as if you walked through strings of spider webs, invisible, but there, ghosting over your skin. You can feel it, but you can’t find it.

Tears threatening to push past your eyelashes. No. You swallow down the tightening in your throat and slide your pencil out of your pocket.

The first few lines are smooth, practiced, and settled into your muscle memory, but then the cramp returns with a vengeance. You bite your bottom lip and keep drawing. Another line. Pain spasming through muscle, turning to wobbling waves. Your hand closes in the ache. The pencil almost falls from your fingers.

A creak of hinges announces the door opening to your hideyhole. Your head snaps to the entrance. A tall shadow falls inside. Your hands immediately fly to the stack of animating paper, prepared to stuff them into your jumper and then free the gent pipe from where it hooks onto your waist, but the shadow becomes a sharp-tooth grin. Half dripping in black and stained in sepia, Sun strides into the room. He swiftly swings the door shut without taking his glowing yellow eyes off of you.

“There you are, calico," he says as if he didn’t leave you with strict instructions to remain here until he returns. The sound of his voice calms your nerves. His cords are familiar and strong. He possesses such life and heart to his tenor, and you’ve found he can only manage a stage whisper when he desires to be quiet while speaking. You like that. You like a lot about him.

Sun. One half of the robotic jester who stays by your side, surviving with you.

“Hi, Sunny.” You slowly sink back onto the stool which is a touch too high to sit properly with the table you’re bent over. Setting the stack of animating paper back down, you regard him with a smile that takes far too much energy to summon than you like. “Did you find anything?”

He strides inside, moving one crook of his arm and shifting whatever was stuck underneath his armpit into his two clawed hands. The ink of his mouth is dark and lined with sharp incisors curved into a constant grin. Half of his face drips dark ink. His long, lithe body reaches you in moments.

“Yes, and you won’t believe what I have for you,” he grins, bolstered, even in the depths of this sepia-colored purgatory. “I present dinner!”

Your mouth gapes open at the box, realizing the markings upon it are designated for such an entree. When he lifts the lid, you never thought the constant yellow-ting and black colors would ever look appetizing on food, but the full diameter of the pizza, uncrushed and toppings spared of smearing, triggers salivation to flood your mouth.

“Oh my goodness.” You want to touch it, to hold a slice in your hand, but a cramp returns, and your fingers cringe. Sun’s eyes dart sharply to the motion. Quickly, you lower your hand, “Can you feed me while I work? I don’t want to get grease on the papers.”

Sun’s eyes shift, narrowing before he closes the pizza box and carefully sets it on the table, away from your supplies.

“I have a better idea,” he says cheerfully. He takes your wrist and slips his other arm around you, sliding you gently off of the stool and onto your feet.

“Sun, I can eat and work,” you protest. Vague recollections float in the back of your mind through a fog of memories of late hours and coffee cups. Crunch time. “What are you doing?”

“Come here, sweetheart.” He eases you further away from the table. The room is long and narrow, but there’s enough light from overhead to cast your shadow alongside Sun’s. “You’ve been working really hard and we admire your dedication to the perfect sequence, but you need a break.”

“No, there’s no time.” You try to tug on your wrist but he doesn’t budge. 

You watch as Sun takes you by the hand. Gently, he spreads open your fingers as you try to hide the slight ache in the movement. He sets his yellow digit into your palm and begins massaging the pinched muscle. Your eyelids flutter underneath the sweet, almost painful relief from the cramp.

“We will make time,” he declares robustly. His gaze falls over you, softly glowing. “You’re going to save us. The least I’m going to do is take care of you before you run yourself into the ground.”

His fingers begin working over the rest of your drawing hand. His metallic fingertips knead gently into your inky skin, caressing softly over your joints and along the bones of your wrist. The ache calms under the gentle workings of the jester.

Though you long to stay very still and soak it in, you can’t.

“Sunny,” you protest softly. “Please. Let me do this.”

“After some rest,” he says gently but firmly. He boops your nose and then twirls his finger. “Turn around for me, calico. There, that’s it.”

He guides you by the shoulders, softly turning you in place. You do so reluctantly, and with your back to the jester, your eyes fall upon the pages and pages of animation you must fulfill. You must make it perfect. You must make it soon. Your breath picks up in the slightest, anxious, before Sun’s large hands fall upon your shoulders. 

The tension in your neck compounds until the pads of his thumbs, careful with his claws, begin digging into the taut cords of muscle bunching along the top of your spine. A soft groan leaves your lips against your will. 

“Sounds like I found a tender spot,” Sun chuckles softly, but there’s an edge of concern cutting underneath his tone. “We should have made you stop a few hours ago.”

“I’m fine,” you swear but it comes out tired. You would have lost so much time and there’s no telling when another wave of monsters will slip under the door and attack with yellow fangs and inky claws. Even now, you worry about precious seconds. You can lose all your progress in the blink of an eye. Sun and Moon would have to wait even longer for their happy ending. 

But Sun continues unraveling your soreness with rhythmic presses and releases, up and down your neck and over your shoulders. Gently, he turns you back to face him. Your heart beats heavy within you as he takes your hand.

“Sweetheart, if you burn yourself out, you won’t be able to animate, and you won’t be able to make our happy ending.” He lifts one hand to cup your chin. Lifting your head slightly to study you, his glowing eyes miss nothing. He brushes a thumb along the bottom of your lip. You want to sink deeper into his palm until you no longer hold yourself up, but you have to resist. You have to keep going.

“Now, how about some pizza?” He asks in a way that’s not asking as he guides you to the floor. “Come sit on my lap.”

There’s little arguing when he’s made up his mind. You want to fight but the thought of working up all your energy to take on an uphill battle when you’re hungry and exhausted and even the pounding behind your eyes is begging for relief is too much. It’s as if the entire world is against you.

No, not Sun. Never him and Moon. They are always with you.

“You can feed me while I work,” you give but it comes out weakly as Sun’s long arm slides the box off of the table. Settling you into the comfortable fabric of his striped pants, he balances you on his legs and the pizza in the other hand.

“How about I feed you and let you rest?” His voice calmly darkness into something rumbling and sinister. The yellow glow within his gaze vanishes for a brief moment. 

“Sun,” you say softly, but watch him go.

Your heart used to clench at such a sight. A constant fear of being left here alone in the never-ending cycle has never quite fled from the depths of your core, but you’ve learned to wait as Sun’s face begins to bubble with thick inky blots. His entire face darkens like a new lunar cycle until out of the melting dark ink manifests a crescent moon face. His pants shift from stripes to stars, and his claws slip lower, wrapping around your hip to hook you in place. A nightcap sits on his head. The end of it drips with ink.

“Hi, Moon,” you say softly.

A low rasp, sinister and dramatically enchanted as if to be upon a stage, drops from the new jester. “Eat. Before the pizza gets cold.”

His voice might scare children, or maybe just enhance how villainous he could be, but to you, his voice is comforting. You feel safe.

“It’s already cold,” you point out. There is hardly any temperature in the food here. Everything edible has sat and turned stale long before either you or the jester can scoop them up for a meager meal later. You’d rather not think about the number of lukewarm Fizzy Fazs you’ve drunk.

Even the prize of a full, un-squished pizza is still little. All the more reason to escape the cycle.

You wonder if Sun and Moon like hot pizza.

Moon uses his thumb to flip open the box and reveal the greasy sliced food. Even at room temperature, the pizza makes your mouth water.

“It’s good for you,” he grumbles gently like you’re a naughty child. His grip on your hip holds tight as he sets the pizza down and tears off a slice. The cheese thickly tears and you spy glistening, wet sauce underneath. A treasure, truly, no matter how old.

Your heart, however, squeezes tight. Emotion cakes your throat and you try to find the right words.

“Moon,” you say, “Let me up. I need to keep animating.”

“No.” He holds up the slice. His head, sharp teeth grinning, dripping ink down faces you. “You will only work yourself to the bone, doll. Eat.”

You push his arm away but you feel the tension underneath his metallic limb, how he only falls back because he lets you push him, not because you truly have the strength to stop him. His eyes narrow further. You hold his gaze, bottom lip trembling.

“You and Sun protect me while I work. You get hurt. You risk your own lives. This is too important,” you whisper. You clench him tighter in your grasp. “I can’t stop until it’s done.”

Moon slowly lowers the pizza back into the box. His hand, slick with ink, cups your chin. You find your hands falling onto him, holding on as if you might fall. The pressure behind your eyes becomes explosive. The few wet drops upon your eyelashes turn everything blurry save for the piercing glow of his yellow eyes.

“Listen to me.” His voice lowers, intimate and sharp, all at once. “It is not more important than you. You are ours. You are what gets us through this. We won’t let you burn yourself out because you want to keep us safe.”

There’s something there, on the tip of Moon’s tongue. You wait for more but instead, he leans back slightly, as if he already said too much.

“We will take care of you,” he says instead.

“But,” your voice cracks, “but it’s not fair.”

“None of this is,” Moon’s voice softens. His thumb softly slips along your cheek and swipes away an inky tear. Even your weeping is stained by this world. “Please. Eat then rest, doll.”

Another protest is on your lips, but the sob filling your throat cuts it off. Moon caresses your cheek. Weakness overtakes you, the threat of becoming extinguished before you can finish all the pages. Before you can animate yours and his happy ending. 

You’re so scared and exhausted. It spills out of you in dark streaks that stain your sepia-colored cheeks until Moon wipes them away. He starts humming, softly, sweetly, and you lay your head on his shoulder. He pulls you closer until he cradles you in his arms. A hundred things long to fly from your lips. A promise that you’ll do it. You won’t let yourself fail, and the desire for reassurance. That it is okay to rest, just for a moment.

“It’s okay, doll.” Moon murmurs as you weep into his ruffled collar. “I’m not letting you go.”

“Oh, Moon,” you wail, and it sounds so pathetic. You are wasting time. Yet, you have no strength to pry yourself from his embrace—as if he would let you.

“Shush,” he murmurs and kisses your jet-dark, shiny hair. “Calm down. Breathe. When you’re ready, the pizza will be here.”

You hiccup once. You nod, still hiding against him like a child. He doesn’t seem to mind.

“Will you sing me to sleep?” you ask, soft and breathy.

He pauses once. The tapered yet careful points of his claw stroke down your hair, and he breathes a heavy breath. You think he finds it hard to tell you no, at least when it concerns matters such as these.

“I’ll sing,” he decides, “After you eat.”

You nearly wince, but it’s only fair. Slowly, you straighten, still sitting in his lap. Pushing your hair away from your eyes, you nod. Moon gently catches the remaining tears staining your cheeks. A murmur falls from his constant smile that he doesn’t like to see you sad. You tell him the same. 

With a gentle hum, he picks up the pizza slice he left and holds it up to your mouth. You let him feed you, taking a bite and chewing slowly. Moon turns the slice to his sharp-tooth mouth and bites off a chunk. In his harmonic quiet, the two of you slowly eat through the pizza, your energy returning and your mind softening with the comfort of a full belly. 

It’s the best pizza you’ve had in the cycle.

His fingertips slowly work against your hip, rubbing the bone softly through your jumper. Before you can consider asking him to let you return to work, your eyelids grow heavy. Moon’s voice lifts to a gentle bass.

He sings you to sleep.

[meowmeowmeowmeow4x]

Dark Blue Moon and the Suffering Sun Chapter 4

Damian's face twisted in disgust at the offending object.

Phantom's quirked in confusion. He nudged the massive striped bass towards the smaller siren. "What's wrong?"

"I am a vegetarian." Damian huffed. "And it's raw."

"Oh. Uh, whoops." Phantom shrugged. "I don't know how to break it to you, dude, but, like... There's not much better to eat out there."

Damian glared at him. "I would rather starve."

Perhaps he was being too stubborn. With a buffoon of a companion such as this, the situation was better treated as a survival scenario than a mere mission. Damian was no fool. Vegetarianism was a luxury afforded to those with the food abundance to choose.

That, and it had been a solid sixteen hours since his last meal. His tail felt sore and aching in a way he hadn't felt in years. His stomach growled and groaned, demanding something to fill it.

The last time he felt a hunger like this was when he was still in the League, when they sent him out on weeks long missions where he starved under moonlight and ate birds and rats to survive.

"Come on, Damian, you need to eat something." Phantom cajoled, as if his puppy-eyed look could ever match that of Richard's. "And the seaweed's not gonna sustain you. Believe me I tried."

"Are sirens obligate carnivores?"

"No, but-"

"Then tell me why I cannot sustain myself off of kelp and seaweed?"

"Dude, those things have literally no calories in them."

A valid point, but just because he was right did not mean Damian had to cede the point so easily. "Is the siren species so primitive as to not have cultivated plants in order to sustain their population?"

"I literally don't know how to answer that dude. Do I look like an ambassador or something to you?"

Damian frowned.

"Look, it's getting late and we'll need all the rest we can get. I promise it doesn't taste that bad. We'll try and work something out tomorrow, how's that?"

Damian sighed. "Very well, but only because I very my life, thank you very much."

"Thank god for that..."

Damian unwrapped himself from his tail, and approached the poor fish. "I am terribly sorry, fish. I will not let your sacrifice be in vain." He muttered.

He looked up to find Phantom with a small knife, cutting up the fish into messy fillets, like this was the first time he'd done so. Peculiar. Surely he had lived off fish his entire life, and had deboned many before this moment.

"Just so you don't get poked in the mouth by a bone or two. Those things suck."

Phantom offered a strip of meat. Shutting his eyes, Damian took the food, and shoved it into his mouth, chewing minimally before swallowing.

The taste was... acceptable.

More than acceptable. perhaps.

It would be a shame to let the fish's death go to waste.

...

Damian sank his teeth into the side of the fish, eyes almost rolling into the back of his head from the taste.

Some time later...

Danny floats back into the cave, a handful of kelp bundled up in his arms. "Hey Damian, look I know this situation sucks for you, like in every way, so I went out and got some greens for you, just so it's not all meat and- Wait, Damian?"

The boy in question slept fastly, his fins gently drifting back in forth in the small currents caused by Danny's entrance. His head was slumped against the bass he'd brought in earlier, little strips of fish still stuck in his teeth.

Now that he wasn't making faces and being angry at Danny, he was honestly pretty cute.

Danny wiped some of the bits of meat off Damian's cheek, careful not to scratch his soft scales with a misplaced claw. Despite being so small, Damian managed to chew through a sizable portion of the fish that was easily half his size or more.

Setting the child's body to the side, and draping a small blanket over him, Danny set to finishing off the rest.

He hoped everyone back home wouldn't worry too much. If the GiW boats didn't clear out by tomorrow, then they were in for a big problem. He and Tucker were working on making waterproof earpieces, but they weren't ready yet, and his waterproof phone had been left in his room when he'd rushed out to get Damian back. That meant no communication with Amity Island whatsoever. No way to get in contact with Bruce Wayne, and no way for his friends to know he and Damian were ok.

He was really in over his head, wasn't he?

The morning came with a very loud wake up call.

"YO BABYPOP!"

Danny jolted awake and bumped his head into the nearest desk overhead. "Who's attacking us?!"

Beside him, Damian jerked himself into a defensive stance (or as close to one as he could manage.)

The curtains of the cave were pushed open, allowing streams of sunlight to stream in and blind the boy with its glare. Peeking into the cave was the head of one Ember McClain, a vicious grin plastering her face.

"You never told me you got a kid!"

Damian chirped indignantly.

Danny sputtered. "Whawhwh Wh Wait a second!"

Ember pulled out of the cave, and squealed. "Yo Kitty! Dipstick's got himself a kid!"

A woosh of water rushed past, and Kitty's neon green and teal scales showed themselves. "Omg! Phantom aren't you like fifteen? What the heck?!"

Danny blushed deeply teal. "He's not mine I swear!"

Ember pushed Kitty out of the way. "Oh my gosh he's so tiny. Who's the lucky woman?? Or man??? Phantom what have you been getting up to without us?!"

Damian hissed at him from behind Danny's shoulder (when did he get there?) "Begone, harpies! And cease your accusations! I would sooner perish than be related in any way to this incompetent fool."

Ember trilled in adoration. "He's so freaking adorable. Where did you get him, Babypop? An orphanage??"

Danny would've done a spittake, if he was above water. "W-what?! Dude, literally where would even find an orphanage around here?"

"Did his parents dump you on him like Johnny was?"

"Uh I'm not even gonna question that."

Ember clasped her hands to her mouth in scandalous shock. "No way, did you finally turn to the dark side and kidnap him?"

Damian piped up again, gripping on Danny's shoulders with his unsheathed claws and rising higher. "Nonsense, I claim no familial relationship with this person, not by blood, law, or emotion. He is as close to me as any stranger would."

"Ouch Damian. I literally saved your life."

Ember and Kitty chortled and shorted. They clutched their bellies and lead against the walls of the cave. "It's just... PFPFTT Phantom you total scoundrel, ahah!"

"Yeah yeah, look I gotta get this kid back to his dad on Amity, and quick. He's probably losing his mind over there."

Kitty gasped. "So you did turn him."

Danny shushed them. "Don't scream it out for the whole ocean to hear!"

He rushed out the entrance of the cave and shooed them in, covering the doorway up as they entered.

"Look I'd really, really rather you guys keep this on the down low. This is kind of a huge deal right now." Danny said.

He turned to Damian, still perched on his shoulder, his little tail brushing against Danny's ghostly white sail. "Is it ok if I tell them?"

"if it will convince them to vacate the premises."

"If you have to know, Damian's the son of some ultra rich guy. Skulker got him for whatever reason, and I was forced to turn him."

"Dude, Skulker went for a literal child?!" Ember clenched her first, likely hiding her extending claws. Right, Skulker was a bit of a touchy subject for her. "Of his own kind, no less?!"

"That's fucking low, girl."

"And now the GiW are going crazy too. Probalby got a huge donation or whatever. We're just waiting untli they go away so I can get Damian back to his dad, without any dissections. That also means none of you guys should be going near the place either."

"Pfft, too late for that."

Danny froze. "Who did they get?"

"Relaaxx, Dipstick. I was just preparing another concert, only for like fifty boats to show up out of fuckin' nowhere. Luckily I heard them before they saw me, but come on! I was miles from Amity at that point!"

"Miles?" Damian whispered.

Danny felt the same way too. They were only increasing their patrols now, shit.

"It's bad enough that the rest of the Pod are freaking migrating. We haven't migrated in years!"

"Yeah, actually, Phantom you wanna join us? I know you have this whole, err, thing, with Amity Island, but we hardly see you. And Johnny's been itching for a rematch."

Danny looked over his shoulder, to where Damian was lost in thought. This might have been the first them he'd seen the kid not glaring.

"Thanks for the offer, but I need to get Damian home. It's my fault he's like this, and he's got a whole family out there waiting for him."

"Don't you too?"

Danny swallowed a thick of water. He did have a family, a family that was probably going crazy. But at least part of that family, and his friends, knew he could take care of himself, knew that he was a siren, knew that the water was his element. Damian's family didn't have that luxury.

"We'll figure it out."

The girls shared a look, and shrugged. "The offer still stands, Babypop. Oh, and i'll be sure to fuckin' dice Skulker next time i see him, lying, cheatin' bastard.

For a moment, the boys watched the two siren teens' trailing tails, before they turned a corner and disappeared.

"Gotham."

"What was that?" Danny asked.

"If Amity Island is inaccessible to us, then we have to go to Gotham."

"Isn't Gotham-"

"On the East Coast? Yes, it is. It's our only option."

"That's thousands of miles, and you can't even walk!"

"Would you rather we stay here, waiting for the GiW to approach us and kill us both?"

Danny clenched his jaw. Damian was right, wasn't he.

"The only way to reunite me with Father is to go to Gotham. They will not be expecting us there."

"How can you be so sure?"

Damian dislodged himself from Danny's shoulder and floated in front of him. "Because they are unaware of the sirens' power of transformation, am I correct?"

"Good point, but wait, how did you know that?"

"I did some cursory research before coming here. The prevailing theories put forth by the supposed 'experts' on the matter asserted that sirens eat their human victims, with no mentions of turning. They have no reason to believe I am not dead., and no reason to suspect any siren activity in Gotham."

"And you're ok with that. Thousands of miles of swimming in the endless ocean full of things wanting to eat you?"

"Are you not?"

"Ok ok, calm down." Danny had to chuckle though. Rich as this kid may be, he was definitely not spoilt enough to sit still and wait for his dad to save him.

"And the fastest way to get to Gotham is via the Panama Canal." Damian puffed his chest out in what was probably pride. Danny stared at him, dumbfounded.

"You're kidding, right?"

"Have I ever jested to you before?"

"No seriously. The Panama Canal. You realise that place is monitored up and down, right? Literally the moment we get spotted, the locks are gonna, you know, lock down, and then we'll be stranded and sitting ducks to be chopped up by the GiW."

"That will not be an issue. You possess the power of camouflage, do you not? And again, they will not be expecting us in Panama, so they will have no reason to bring any sonars there."

Danny wanted to bang his head against the wall. This idea sounded so stupid, but not stupid enough that it was unfeasable.

"In addition, you said it yourself. Your negligence resulted in my permanent loss of humanity, so it is your responsibility to do whatever you can do right your wrong."

Shit. Came with being the son of a businessman, didn't it? This kid was guilttripping the hell out of him and Danny could honestly not say he didn't deserve it.

"Fiiiine. We're going to Panama."

"Excellent." Damian grinned. "Let us leave immediately."

Danny could only pray that none of the 50 things that could go wrong, did go wrong, but when was his luck ever that good?

No, instead, Danny strapped in whatever supplies he had laying around in the cave. To Panama we go...

[amostnobleyandere]

A Team Effort (Yandere! Diluc × GN! Reader) (Suggestive !!!)

*not quite nsfw, nothing happens except for a make-out session, but there is a huge implication at the end.

A/N: diluc and reader are both “nobles” bc I am eating these historical manwhas UP man. this is a little cringe but I needed an outlet

warning(s) 🚨: !!! yandere !!!, possessive behavior, non-consensual touching, non-consensual kissing,🚨 !!!! implied non-con at the end !!!!🚨, reader has a bad family but it’s not described in detail, kidnapping, forced marriage, obsessive behavior, betrayal, captivity, slight exhibitionism?? (Diluc is making out w reader and Kaeya’s just chilling there, watching)

*is suggestive but only bc diluc is getting friendly w reader’s neck and lips and leaving a bunch of hickies and the last line is !!VERY!! suggestive (it’s a tad bit steamy and very implicative), Kaeya is there too and he’s also *creepy* (they’re both morally questionable in this), Kaeya is in on Diluc’s yandere behavior, reader is an innocent bystander in all this bs, !!! Reader has a Shit Family (TM) !!!

summary: Feeling that the distance between your worlds was too wide, you never acted on the feelings you had for Diluc Ragnvindr. When Diluc proposes, you reject him. His brother decides to take matters into his own hands by delivering you to Diluc himself. Diluc doesn’t oppose the new arrangement, as long as you’re with him.

—————————

Soft lips trailed eagerly up your neck, across your collar bone, over any skin they could reach that had been previously covered by the light night shirt you wore. You felt an insane amount of heat seep through your skin at the contact. For hours your neck and lips had been receiving his attention; biting, bruising, worshipping to no end.

You tried not to squirm as his hands—his hot, hot hands—held you firmly in place; both of them settled on your hips, his unnatural warmth bleeding through the thin fabric and into your skin. Your back was pressed up against the headboard of the luxurious bed you had been sat upon. The man you were holding onto for dear life buried his head into the crook of your neck, using his tongue and teeth to suck and lick blooming marks into the sensitive skin. The deep scent of firewood, ink, and a strong cologne surrounded you, suffocating your senses and putting you into a delirious haze.

Your shirt had been tugged down and rested just above your chest. The man laying passionate kisses across your upper body had not dared to pull it any further. How gentlemanly he was, being considerate enough to allow you to cover up from his wandering eyes, and yet everything else he was doing was still highly inappropriate. He had pulled it down just enough to allow himself a taste, to run his fingers over the smooth expanse of skin that was once hidden to him by layers of clothing, and perhaps to make you look just the slightest bit debauched as his mouth marked anywhere it could reach.

—————————

You had been brought to the Ragnvindr Manor against your will. It was more like a quiet ambush than a kidnapping and, as you found out when it was was too late, it had been planned by your family without your knowledge.

It started when maids swiftly funneled into your room and started packing up your belongings; then those maids plus additional servants hurried you into an unfamiliar carriage, ushering you in. You found yourself sitting across from Kaeya Alberich, a man you had only exchanged a few polite words with in your entire life. He was grinning from ear to ear.

When you tried to open the door, it wouldn’t budge. Anxiety rose in your chest as Kaeya watched you struggle with a satisfied smile. That was when you had started to panic. No matter how much you insistently pressed the man for answers, he danced around your questions and was unmoved by the nervous waiver in your voice, saying that a surprise was waiting for you at the end of the carriage ride. He never spoke a sentence that gave you a clue as to where you were going.

You peeked out of the window after seeing the carriage pass through a large gate and were met with the impressive sight of Ragnvindr Manor. Kaeya, who had remained irritatingly calm for the entirety of the ride, languidly got up from his seat across from you and reached for the previously locked handle. You heard a click from the outside. He pushed down. With a sly smile, he turned to you and gestured to the now open door.

You couldn’t help the resentful glare that settled in your features at the borderline mocking gesture. After shooting him a dirty look, you hesitantly stepped out of the carriage. You jumped when you felt Kaeya’s hand settle on your lower back, who seemed amused by your startled reaction. He grinned down at you; that and his arm around your waist was anything but comforting, as the weight felt like it was trapping you, shackling you from running away.

You were ushered through the large, yawning doorway and led into the dim front hall. You stared in awe at the luxurious wood interior that was bathed in a warm glow from the candlelight reflecting, flickering off the high walls and shadowed ceiling. Your mind was momentarily distracted from the anxiety thrumming in your chest, with Kaeya’s hand still resting lightly on your back as he pushed you forward.

He led you through the initial archways and up the stairs, his pace annoyingly (and yet eerily) slow, which you were forced to match. He stopped in front of a door that blended in with the rest of the dark wood that was characteristic of the architecture. There was nothing special about it. It only made you more nervous.

“Well,” Kaeya finally spoke, voice smooth and suave as it always was. “This is it.”

As you processed that you had basically just let a stranger pull you into someone else’s house and isolate you from any form of safety, your frazzled feelings formed a heavy weight in your chest, a raging combination of panic and fear.

“What’s going on?” You asked. “Why am I here?”

His grip curved against the side of your waist and tightened, keen on not letting you bolt.

You were seconds away from running into the maze of hallways and hoping you could find your out when Kaeya gingerly knocked on the door. He shot you a glance, seemingly reading your thoughts as his other hand, the hand tensely holding your waist, idly played with the fabric underneath his fingers. His demeanor was infuriatingly casual as you stressed over every decision that could have possibly led you here. Despite his feckless expression, you felt that he understood the weight of what he was doing. He wasn’t oblivious to your fear or your anxiety, and there was a serious expression in his eyes that looked like determination. Whatever he brought you here for, he was planning to see it through, unmoving and stubborn.

You wondered what could make a man such as Kaeya, who had always seemed so removed from any conflict in society, so motivated. You wondered what role you had in him achieving his goal.

The door opened, revealing a very surprised Diluc, dressed down more than you had every seen him. His usual heavy outer coat had been removed, leaving him in a white undershirt and vest. Long crimson hair was thrown up in a high ponytail. The candlelight from inside the room reflected off of it, making a shining halo form around his head. From what you could tell, he was in the middle of getting ready for bed, with a few stray buttons undone at the top of his shirt. You felt your face heat up at the sight.

“Kaeya? What….”

His gaze first landed on his brother, sending him a confused look, before it landed on you and stayed, a wide eyed stare that told you he was not expecting your visit. You squirmed awkwardly under his stare, too bewildered by the situation to say a proper greeting. You pressed down the urge to cover your now burning face with a hand as you were pinned under both his and Kaeya’s full attention.

“Diluc,” Kaeya spoke, unbothered by the obvious tension in the air. He fully encircled his arm around your side, a happy smile forming on his face. He pulled you towards him. Stumbling gracelessly, you were pulled closer into Kaeya and the doorway where Diluc stood stiffly, still staring at you.

“An early birthday gift.”

….What? You felt a cold dread immediately begin to pool in your stomach, the words freezing and repeating in your head. You had been nervous before, but now your body was going into survival mode as fear took over. What the hell was he talking about?

Your mind ran at the implication. You were a person. Not an item to be passed around. Was this some kind of sick revenge for rejecting someone so much higher than you in status and power? Was your family in on it? Were you suppose to be some kind of offering for Diluc?

You nearly flinched when you heard Diluc make an affronted and angry noise in response, almost something like a growl, as he glared at his brother with burning red eyes.

After that, you found yourself sitting on a plush couch inside of what could only be Diluc’s chambers. Across the room, Diluc and Kaeya spoke in harsh whispers, sparing furtive glances towards you every few seconds. You pointedly tried not to look at the very large four post bed in the middle of the room, feeling much too awkward and uncomfortable in what was obviously the personal room of a man you were not married to. The taboos of society all began to rise to the forefront of your mind, and you realized how inappropriate this all was; if it got out, there would be a terrible scandal, and your family would drag you through the mud for dirtying the reputation of both theirs and the Ragnvindr names.

Your damp hands clamped down on the fabric of your clothes, clenching into tense fists as the only other people in the room left you to stew in your anxiety.

Suddenly, there was a shout.

You nearly jumped five feet into the air. You had to tense every muscle in your body to keep yourself from rising off the small couch, though you could not stop your head whipping around to the source of the noise. You heart rate, after finally calming down, sped up again as the dread in your stomach churned. You had a bad feeling that this odd situation was coming to its climax.

The sound had came from Diluc. In Kaeya’s hand was an outstretched piece of paper, too far away for you to make out whatever was written on it. Diluc swiftly took the sheet from Kaeya, scanning over it with wide eyes.

“We’re….?” Diluc breathed, suddenly looking at you with wide eyes and flushed cheeks, his lips parted in surprise.

“Officially.” Kaeya said, a laugh in his merry voice, clearly amused by Diluc’s reverent expression. The calvary captain titled his head towards you, his eyes barely glancing your way, signaling to Diluc to go over to you. Your chest tightened.

Diluc looked at Kaeya, then turned fully to face you, taking slow steps as if approaching a startled animal. He walked over to you, expression nervous, seeming almost shy as he came to stand in front of the couch you sat on. He looked down at you from above, not speaking. Opening his mouth, then closing it, he balled his fist onto his knees as lowered himself down to sit beside you.

He was close. Too close. To close to be normal, for two people who were in such an odd situation. You were paralyzed by dread and didn’t try to move away from the startling, sudden heat that came with Diluc sitting next to you.

He looked away from you, his head facing the ground in front of you, then turned his body to angle himself towards you. For a moment, he stared ahead, right past the edge of the sofa. He opened his mouth to speak and a breathy, light voice came out, so different from his usual deep timber.

“Your family….,” He started. Your heart stopped. “has agreed for us to be wed without a ceremony. My brother,” he shot Kaeya an accusing look, turning away for a second before returning his gaze to the ground at your feet, “has taken it upon himself to take care of the all the details and bring you here. I’m sure you weren’t aware of this, and this all must be very confusing, but we are now legally…..” He stopped on the last word, finally looking up into your eyes, his own burning with a passion so bright it scared you.

You could do nothing but stare in horror as he opened his mouth and tied you to him forever.

“Married.” Ah. There it was. His usual voice, deep and pleasant. He grabbed your clenched hand, gently but insistently pressing it open and laying his much larger palm flat atop your own before intertwining his fingers with yours. Your joined hands rested atop your knee, which is where Diluc’s gaze stayed, entranced by the point of contact between his skin and yours.

In any other situation, the action would’ve been incredibly romantic and sweet; a tender moment that would’ve set your weak heart aflame and stirred butterflies in your stomach. Your crush, holding your hand, looking at you with all the adoration in the world? It sounded like a dream. Yet, this was possibly the worst situation you had ever found yourself in; dragged to the house of someone you barely knew and finding them infatuated with you. Knowing that you’d been given to them like a wrapped gift.

He had confirmed all your fears. You knew that your family had gone behind your back and lied to you, betrayed you, despite how much you had insisted that you not be engaged to Diluc. It would be too painful when he eventually, inevitably broke it off to marry someone else. Your romantic feelings for him were only the beginnings of a fervent admiration. Still, you knew it would come to nothing, and that your feelings could not change the nature of the world. The two of you lived in different worlds, different circles, and he had better marriage prospects from people that could give him more than you ever could: power, wealth, and all the things that you would always have to look at but never be able to touch.

The emotions you were seeing in his eyes when he stared into yours could never be described as a shallow admiration. No, now you wish you had discouraged being engaged to him for a different reason; his feelings went far beyond the bounds of admiration. They burned in his eyes; they burned you with their intensity.

You had seen a side of Diluc today that scared you. You knew your simple crush couldn’t hold a candle to his raging inferno, something wild and uncontrollable. It would consume you. You now knew that he would consume you, if you allowed him to.

It must’ve shown on your face. The confusion, the bewilderment, one of the many emotions you were feeling must’ve seeped into your expression.

Diluc began to attempt to comfort you. His hand slipped onto your face, shocking you out of your raging thoughts and back to the present as his eyes scanned over you. He looked like he was savoring touching you, perhaps happy to finally have you in his arms, under his hands, after so much longing. (How much longing? How long did his feelings go unnoticed by you?)

“You need not worry, dearest. I’ll take care of you and treat you well. I’ll be a proper husband to you and more, I swear it. You have my word.” A man once nervous and flustered was now scarily serious as he spoke, maintaining eye contact as his binding words promised you a lifetime by his side.

Diluc leaned into you, his hand still pressed to your face as he glanced down at your lips, his own parting. You saw his tongue dart out to wet them, too distracted by the movement to see that his gaze now rested on only your lips.

“I will try each and every day to make you love me as much as I love you.” He spoke softly.

You gasped as Diluc pressed his lips against yours much more harshly than you were expecting him to, and he chased after you as you leaned back into the couch.

—————————

As shocking as it was to find out, you couldn’t do much to ignore Diluc’s now obvious feelings for you. With his words, he ruthlessly broke down every mental barrier you had put up to convince yourself this was all just a bad dream. He loved you, he told you. He was going to protect you, he vowed. He was going to give you everything your heart could ever desire.

The words were meant to bring you comfort, and you had never felt more terrified in your life.

You could feel his hands wandering over your body, curiously mapping out every dip and crevice like they had been waiting for the chance to touch you. Diluc curved his body over yours, hovering above you, not quite on top, not quite upright, just crowding into your space as if he could only breathe the air near you. You winced as you felt his teeth latch onto your lower lip and pull, a soft groan escaping from his chest as he took in the sight of you; you could only imagine what you looked like right now, and the thought that Diluc was looking at you, admiring you like this, made your face burn and your body tremble. Unwillingly, a fire lit in your stomach.

And then, a raspy and low laugh brought you out of your thoughts.

"Looks like their mind is wandering, 'Luc."

Your eyes immediately flew to the owner of the voice, who was standing against the doorway with his arms crossed, an amused smirk painted on his lips. He was watching Diluc fervently push his lips to your neck, face, lips, with the same affection and bemusement one would have after getting pushed into the snow by a sibling. His look of ease, and slight surprise, betrayed no discomfort toward the sight in front of him.

You distantly thought that these two brothers had a lot more love for each other than what they let on.

After all, Kaeya was the one who had paved the path to you being in Diluc’s ever tightening embrace. Kaeya was the one who brought you here and practically threw you into Diluc's arms. From what you could guess, and from what you knew about Kaeya, he had most likely learned of Diluc’s puppy love and had seen no problem with pulling a few strings to help his brother along with his “courting.”

Never mind the fact that you had already said no; you had rejected Diluc months before. The proposal had came as a big surprise, especially when Diluc requested a private audience and asked for your hand in person. And still, you rejected him. At the time, you thought that if he wasn’t already engaged to someone other than you, someone who met his status, he would be soon, and you weren’t going to risk being the fiancé of a man who belonged to someone else; you were protecting yourself from the inevitable heartbreak that would come with letting Diluc court you. And what were you meant to do when he was forced, or worse, willingly began to court someone else? Pine after him from the sidelines, hopelessly adoring and praying he’ll come back? The thought was comical. Laughable.

Kaeya, however, clearly didn’t seem to think so.

If you knew that Kaeya had been plotting to serve you to Diluc on a silver platter, he would’ve dragged you here kicking and screaming. And if you could get past what a conniving and manipulative bastard he was, you would think it was sweet and endearing that he would do so much for his estranged brother, if only to make him happy. Even if it was at your expense.

And to make matters worse, it had been incredibly easy for him to trap you under his palm; you had pieced together how he managed to pull it off fairly quickly.

When Kaeya had visited your family’s estate under the guise of delivering a marriage proposal on behalf of the Ragnvindr household, your family had signed you over without a second thought. Even if they had taken the time to think about the fact that Diluc and Kaeya were rumored to never talk or even exchange pleasantries with one another, that they constantly acted like they were strangers, that it was incredibly odd that Kaeya, of all the people Diluc could have asked, would be delivering the news, it was still too much to ask for them to bat an eye at the proposal.

You weren’t naive; your family wasn’t keen to hang on to you. The only reason you hadn’t been married off already was because of how strongly you had batted your eyes and schemed your way out of wedlock. But now? They wouldn’t dare reject Diluc’s proposal after they found out about it, even if they had noticed every glaring red flag that came along with it. Any suspicion they may have felt was swiftly overcome by Kaeya’s relentless charm and the naturally powerful influence of the Ragnvindr name.

You were doomed the moment Diluc proposed.

You were doomed the moment Kaeya found out you had rejected his brother.

You had practically been held captive inside the manor since you had arrived a few hours ago, and Diluc didn’t seem keen on letting you out of his sight.

Kaeya, who had walked close enough to relax against the post at the end of the bed, leaned towards you and smiled.

"Oh, don’t give me that look. I wasn’t originally planning on taking you here,” he smiled at you like he was sharing a joke, the corner of his eye crinkling with mirth. “I only found out just recently about Diluc’s little infatuation with you. And here I always thought my dear brother would end up with someone like Jean. You were quite the surprise, you know?”

You resisted the urge to throw the nearest object at his handsome face after that comment.

That was who Diluc was meant to be engaged to right now, if the rumors of their long awaited marriage finally being planned held any truth to them. It would be a good marriage; a classic case of childhood friends to lovers, and their personalities fit well together, their friendship naturally wholesome. And most importantly, Jean held one of the most influential positions anyone could have; she was above many and bowed to few. Her status matched Diluc’s; her mere existence made the chance of your betrothal to the young Ragnvindr heir practically nonexistent. It was a key contributing factor in you giving up on confessing your feelings for Diluc.

You had assumed that he had Jean and could never reciprocate what you felt for him. How wrong you were.

A hysterical laugh bubbled up into your throat, one that you pressed back into your chest before it could escape. Kaeya wasn't that far off the mark; Diluc was practically destined to be with Jean. If you were a little bit more romantic, you would even call them star-crossed lovers.

So why were you here now, helplessly holding on to the back of the man’s waist coat while he suckled and bruised your neck to no end?

You gasped as Diluc seemed to get a little bolder at the sound of his brother’s voice, feeling his teeth nip harshly against your skin as he finally pulled away. You could see that his lips were kiss-swollen from his efforts, full and pink, something that unfairly added to his already devastating good looks, which were only enhanced by the glow of the candlelight. He angled his face away from you to look at his brother, something akin to jealously swirling in his eyes.

“Kaeya,” he warned, a growl in his voice. Kaeya chuckled and shook his head before holding his hands up in surrender.

“Alright, alright. I’ll leave the two lovebirds alone.”

He shot you one last wink before he sauntered towards the door, opening it before pausing with his hand on the handle. You watched him lean back to make eye contact with the red haired man on top of you, a smirk spreading across his lips:

“Oh, and Diluc?” He cooed.

“Be gentle.”

[inkyquince]

anyway, here's gortash.

characters.... enver gortash. cmon now

content warning. gore mention? kinda? its not detailed. dark urge reader. they're in the middle of a long fuck sesh but its not that nsfw except gortash is fucking hard and it'll take talking about thorm to make him go soft.

The sound of Baldur's Gate's people going about their day always managed to steal through the windows, even with the thick curtains darkening the room. So many individuals walking around, haggling, buying, working, crying, loving, living.

So many beings. So much blood to spill, till the cracks in the cobblestones were stained red, never to be washed away.

Between your thighs, Gortash gives a low hum of contentment, looking up at you with his intensely dark eyes glinting in the low candle light.

"Thought about something you like, did you?" He murmurs, dragging his thumb over his slick covered lips, spit and precum gathering on his finger just to be tucked into his mouth to be sucked clean.

"Maybe," You muse with a smile, adjusting the way your leg lay over his shoulder and along his spine. "Maybe I enjoy you being on your belly for me."

Enver chuckled, low and amused. His reputation meant that he was held in high respect, and to tell him to take a knee to anyone other than maybe the Duke, was absurd. But here he was, on his stomach in his bed, with luxurious sheets, naked as the day he was born, with his face nestled between your thighs. You'd have considered this a victory, if it wasn't that he gave this freely to you. Gortash was the one who greedily hooked your legs over his shoulders, the one who always needed a hand against your back or cupping your elbow, no matter the looks he got from Thorm, or servants around his manor.

It was... Cute.

He licked his lips again, before slowly nosing over your pubic bone, up, over your stomach. Dropping kisses to the naked skin, he didn't stop till you felt his teeth against your throat, beginning to suck and bite away.

Now, this? This was adorable.

The only way for your lover to hurt you, the weapon your father favoured above all other, was to attack you with kisses and bites, till your neck bloomed with love marks and bruises. You had slaughtered so many in your father's name, and there was countless ways to gut Enver as he tended to your throat, but he could never.

What was clear to you, but maybe clouded to him, that he would never be able to bring harm to you. His hands weren't clean of blood, and the sulfur of the hells always stuck to his skin, as one's past often does, but you had no doubt that if the time ever came where he wanted the Brain all to himself, you'd fell him easily.

You gave another low sigh of pleasure and Enver answered with one of his own, finally abandoning his need to mark up the one person who'd never fully give themselves to him, not in the way he craved. But at least the love marks were pretty. Instead he kissed you deeply, his lean forearms caging you in.

His cock was hard again, dragging over your slick thighs as he lost himself in the taste of your mouth, something sweet and something metallic along your tongue giving him a head rush.

"Again?" You murmured against his lips, your tone inquisitive as you felt his heartbeat pick up.

"How could I ever show restraint towards you?" Gortash pulled away, his dark hair falling into his face. Despite spending most of the morning in bed, with the initial meeting he called fully abandoned, he had already spent three rounds with you on his cock, and when you weren't milking him for all he was worth, he was worshipping you. Between your thighs, with his fingers deep inside of you, demanding more orgasms from you than he had. According to the whores around town, he was a selfish lover, so you were surprised when you two first shared a private room. He had you against the desk, demanding you to cum twice before he even thought about pressing into you.

"Hmm," You mulled his words over, dragging your fingers over his chest, enjoying the hammering of his heart. "Might be wise. Thorm looked repulsed at our last meeting when you mentioned that red was definitely my color."

Gortash snorted softly, leaning back so he was on his knees yet still towered over your body.

"Hard to believe he had a wife, given his disgust towards any romantic intent shown."

"I doubt it's romantic intent he hates." You laughed softly as he curled his fingers under your ankle and brought it to his lips to press a kiss to the skin. "I bet he was a big old romantic, given his plans for the future. But coming from you? No doubt he nearly had a heart attack, if he could still have one."

"You wound me." Enver murmured, contiuing to kiss up your shin, till he got to your knee, when he ran his nose over the side of it. "I'm quite the romantic I'll have you know."

"More like a roguish flirt." You smirked at his short, bark of a laugh.

As his chuckles died down, he didn't resume his exploration of your body with his lips, which surprised you. He was usually so dogged in his chases. Instead of lust in his eyes, it was clouded with something else, despite the way his cock remained hard, jutting against his stomach with precum still slowly leaking against his skin. Something vulnerable, something scorching.

It was as if you had taken your favourite blade and sliced open his chest to admire the way his heart thumped amongst the gore. You waited, intrigued to see how long he dared to give you such a soft look, as if you weren't brought up with nothing but hard edges and burning brands. You wondered what you'd do, if he bared his heart to you willingly. Would you kiss the ruined organ? Embrace the stench of sulfur and rot and lick over it, or would you dig your nails into it, ripping it asunder and watch him twitch and scream? It worried you a bit that you didn't immediately settle on ruining him if he dared to whisper heartfelt confessions over his murmured lusts and desires.

Maybe he remembered what you were, a foul child of Bhaal. Maybe he saw the way your eyes flickered. Maybe he remembered how hard his cock was and craved to feel your insides around him once more before you killed him for a sickly love confession.

So, while the softness of his eyes didn't leave, a dirty heat clouded them.

"Now, let's abandon all this talk of Ketheric, lest I go soft. Instead, can I recommend we see how much I can make you scream before the servants get worried."

You awoke with a low hiss of pleasure, the luxurious surroundings of your lover disappearing for the chilled wilderness of your camp. It was dark, too dark, so you doubted anyone other than you were up, except maybe for Astarion.

Slowly sitting up, you raised your fingers to your neck, feeling as if the bites still lingered there, fresh and raw. You were unsettled. More unsettled than when your first dream visitor started appearing, more than waking up with Alfira's blood under your nails.

You were privy to what felt like someone else's life, rife with blood and gore and the feeling of someone's hot tongue pressing into you. It was calling to you, as if you were being offered this path again, to come back and take your proper place.

It wouldn't do to wonder about if this past lover dreamed of you like you did of him. You had things to do, memories to recover... Someone to look after.

Little did you know that Nautiloid Ship ride away, Gortash lay in his own bed, idly dragging his fingers over the pillow next to his. He felt foul. Orin's flirations were usually dredged in promises to gut him, to spill his blood till she could bathe in it. It usually left him feeling disgusted, but today it left him feeling nostalgic.

You weren't like Orin, despite having the same Bhaalspawn blood running through your veins. Your flirations were more subtle. Teasing. Flashing the dog a bone only to hide it away, and smirk as it sniffed hopefully at you. She was nothing compared to you.

With a low exhale, Gortash once more began to ruminate on where you were. Why you let Orin take over. What she had done to you.

And what must be done to get you back. No matter how much blood would be spilt, throats slit, lives lost, he knew that none of the dreams he had would cease until you were back at his side.

[gardenofnoah]

kirishima has always been looked at as strong and commanding—always larger than life and in control—so he has no idea what to do when he’s pined underneath you and at the mercy of the way you play his body like a well-tuned instrument.

he’s out of his depth and feels half out of his mind as the tip of your tongue drags over his hip bone. you’re touching him everywhere—fingers bruising against his waist, his thighs, his calves—he knows that you are taking from him in a way that no one has ever, and he’s giving all of it to you willingly.

“b-baby,” and it’s stuttered and breathless as he feels your teeth sink into the skin of his inner thigh—he fights the urge to harden his skin subconsciously over the pain because it’s so good and he wants to feel all of it—

“so good, Eij—“ you coo into his skin, dragging the plush of your lips over the trails of raised, reddened skin your nails leave behind as you move down his body, “you’re so good, letting me play with you like this.”

to his shock, his hips kick at your works, completely enthralled by the notion of being a play thing for you—of giving in, of going soft for the first time in his life—

he feels your fingers dig into the muscle of his calves and has to shut his eyes so you don’t see them roll back into his head. the foreignness of his own submission is wearing off now—replaced by the heavy, slippery feeling of needing you, of leaning into this space where he can just be worshipped by you and know that you will be there to hold him through it.

you climb back up his body and he savors the feeling of your weight on him—pressing him into the sheets, the tension in him bleeding out from where your skin meets his—and he lets out a pitiful whine when your nails scrape over the taut muscles of his belly. can’t help it when his hips buck into yours, but feels the need to apologize anyway, because what’s happening right now feels so far removed from his own base desire to be buried inside you. this feels too refined, like more luxury than he deserves, and he feels like a neanderthal.

“it’s okay Eij,” you reassure him, and something inside him goes molten at the way you forgive him, love him— “i know it feels good. you can take what you need to, my love.”

and he shakes his head at that, frantically, because he doesn’t want to take. he doesn’t want control of this—he wants you to hold his pride in your hands and turn it into something malleable and fluid. he can’t trust himself to speak—he presses his palms into the bed and tips his head back, baring his throat to you, just hoping, begging you to understand—

he feels you take one of his hands in yours, feels you bring it to your face and press your smile into the inside of his wrist, nipping at the sensitive skin, sucking it into your mouth gently and laving your tongue over it.

“i see,” you murmur, and it sends a shudder up his spine so violent he feels his toes curl. your eyes rake over his body as you drag your free hand up his chest. he has to remember how to breathe when your fingers circle around the base of his throat.

“you’re such a good boy, Eijiro.”

[befuddled-calico-whump]

Augusnippets, Day 12: Trapped

cw: building collapse, broken bones

next

for the @augusnippets challenge // word count: 431

=~=~=

He knew the alleged storehouse would be dangerous. That’s why he took it for himself, giving the others tasks he’d deemed lower stakes. That’s why he's alone, with no way to call for help.

Sahota knows he'll be fine. He's been in worse places before, alone, found his way out alone. He'll be okay. He always figures it out, somehow.

The confusion when he triggered a booby trap in the ramshackle house quickly gave way to panic as the rubble came down on him, which soon gave way to a calm acceptance as he forced his eyes open, mentally inventorying the new pains that wracked his body.

Ribs, bruised. No issue.

Head, minor concussion. No issue.

Leg, taking most of the weight of the support beam that has him pinned. Possibly broken. That one’s trouble. He knows he could probably drag himself back across the desert on a bad leg, but he can't do it quickly.

He can't do it at all if he can't clear the beam.

Sahota inhales through his teeth, closing his eyes against the cloud of dirt that was kicked up in the collapse. It's in his lungs, making him cough, spasming pain through his ribs that makes him wince, sucking in more air; a frustrating cycle he's doing his best to ignore.

The beam is too heavy to allow movement, keeping him trapped on his stomach, little opportunity to claw at the entrapping wood with his hands. Attempting to drag himself forward only strains the wounded leg, flashing agony running up his body, leaving him biting back a cry, a pained gasp, more coughing.

He's stuck.

The thought spurns more panic than the physical predicament itself; the ingraimed fear of being immobile—helpless—threatening to drown his wits.

There has to be an option. He can push through the pain and inch his way out; he can wrench his body around at the risk of dislocating something and claw at the beam until his fingers are bloody and the wood gives, just enough.

He could be rescued.

The realization is a strange one, an option he hasn't had the luxury to consider in years, but here it is; possible. The team knows his approximate location. When he doesn't return in a timely manner, they could realize something is wrong. They could save him.

It seems frivolous to believe and foolish to plan for, and Sahota tells himself he'll keep trying to escape on his own, just like he always does.

But when he hears the hum of an engine somewhere in the distance, he dares to hope.

[chaosdisorganized]

I haven't made a post on here in while.

I've been improving in some areas and getting worse in others. My system communication has significantly improved, I'm not as dissociated as I once was and I've been recovering some memory of my childhood, we're able to recognize switches more, have identified and named over 100 parts in the system, and better understand our structuring and functioning.

Which is a sign of recovery right! But it sucks. My life fucking sucks and I hate it. It sucks now just not as badly as before. Through system communication, I've also discovered many of my parts don't like me, the host, and me and another alter started a campaign to try to get everyone "on my side" because I'm trying to help us heal and get better but I can't really do that with an incooperative system who doesn't trust me. And then while going through all this inner turmoil and facing my problems instead of dissociating from them all this shit started happening in my life. My ceiling fell, my landlord won't fix it and it's been like a month. It's been a headache trying to deal with her, I've been threatening legal action because mold was found on the ceiling that fell, it's a health hazard and she couldn't give two shits! Fuck her. Then my mom got diagnosed with cancer, that was a hard blow none of my system was prepared for. I would think im coping with it fine only to discover I've just been dissociating and I'm actually not fine or coping with it. Well I guess the dissociation is kinda coping but I'm trying to not rely on dissociation so much anymore. And this of course brought up all this shit about my mom I wasn't prepared to discover or know and it sent me into a deep depression. All this stress has been getting to me and effecting me physically, I have been sick 4 times in the past 2 months, I have an infected tooth I can't afford to fix that keeps getting absessed and idk what to do about it because they can't just keep giving me antibiotics right? There's another absess forming rn and this will be the 4th time this tooth has gotten an absess. I told my partner it will keep coming back if I don't get the tooth removed and I saw a dentist, they want 1,500 fucking dollars. 1500$ I don't have. 1500$ I will never have. Fuck the dentist. Fuck teeth being luxury bones. And fuck my life. I'm like in this weird in between stage where I feel like im getting better and worse at the same time. It's frustrating and I hate it. Ugh.

[galionne-speeding]

um um, I found a Zavazz oneshot I started a loooong while back ; it's not finished but I'm genuinely shocked at how good it is so I will post it under the cut and hopefully I'll be able to wrap it up at some point because damn, I really like it??

The nocturnal breeze of Windy Hill felt cool on Zavok's skin. He sucked in a deep breath, closing his eyes, letting his chest expand as far as it would go before slowly exhaling through gritted teeth. He was… Still tense aftera full day of both training and scouring Lost Hex for stray Badniks. It was hard to let go of his instincts and unwind ; to stop being on edge at every unexpected sound.

He sighed and took another deep breath. A particular hill was slowly drawing closer in the distance ; a hill atop which sat a familiar spherical mech and an even more familiar horned silhouette. Instinctively the red Zeti hastened his pace and quickly climbed the grassy slope, coming face to face with none other than his right hand man (or Zeti?), Zazz. The purple-horned demon greeted his leader and beckoned him to sit down. Zavok obliged. His heavy tail rustled the grass as he moved, leaving a trail of flattened greenery before coming to rest behind Zazz. It had been a while since the Deadly Six leader's last nocturnal visit to Windy Hill and he had quite missed the soothing feeling that seemed to float in the air.

He took in another long, slow breath of chilly air ; relaxing his muscles as much as he could and letting his chest expand. The tip of his tail rose just slightly before falling back down, rising again, falling, rising,… Zavok closed his eyes and let out a content sigh. He didn't get to be this calm very often. He was expected to shout and fight and destroy all that stood in his way ; to lead his pack to unchallenged victory. Getting to simply sit down and not say or do anything for any period of time was quite the luxury.

Zavok heard movement next to him but didn't open his eyes. He felt Zazz's hand gently, carefully reach for one of his horns. The pink Zeti's palm pressed lightly against the rough surface as his nails delicatly followed the grooves in the keratin.

It was comedic- ironic, even, for Zazz to be the one enabling these moments of peace.

Zavok trusted every member of his pack. Whenver they fought, he was putting his life in their hands just as much as they put theirs in his. He knew them. He was close to them. And yet… He only allowed himself to be vulnerable in front of the most violence-hungry and merciless member of the Deadly Six.

And Zazz simply let him.

He let him be soft and tender and warm without ever questionning him ; without the slightest hint of contempt- and in return Zavok let him be quiet and gentle and sweet.

Maybe it was because Zazz understood. Because they were both -more so than anyone else in the Deadly Six- expected to be cruel and unfeeling killing machines ; they were expected to maim and break and brutalize ; with claws made to slice flesh and teeth made to crush bone. They were expected to harm and they could do that just fine- until the moment came where they needed a break from the bloodshed.

Zavok opened his eyes and turned quietly towards Zazz. The other Zeti barely reacted. His gaze was focused on his leader's horns- at least until Zavok raised a hand and traced one of the many scars that criss-crossed the pink skin beneath his fingers. Zazz shivered ever so slightly and looked down at the hand that was so carefully touching his chin. It kept moving lower, reaching the spiked collar around his neck. The metal felt cold under Zavok's fingertips ; the leather coarse and rough. He toyed with one of the points for a moment, before Zazz reached up and around the back of his own neck. He fidgeted for a second before the collar came undone with a muted 'click' and was slid off and down ; spikes knocking together in an unrefined melody.

Zavok unconsciously held his breath for a split second at the sight. Then, just as slowly as before, he ran his fingers down the side of Zazz's neck, his thumb sliding over his throat. He could feel the muscles tense under the skin. Feel as the other Zeti swallowed. Feel his pulse.

He took in a shuddering breath.

Right now, right this second, he could end the life beating under his fingers with a simple flick of his claws. It wouldn't even take any effort. It would be… Scarily easy. It would be…

He looked into Zazz's eyes, eyes that glinted a soft gold under the moonlight, and saw nothing but trust and tenderness in them. His grip released, slowly.

Zazz said nothing, only reached out his hands and slid them behind the red Zeti's back. He could feel so many scars there ; small and recent scrapes ; and deep wounds from before the Deadly Six even came to be…

[bracketsoffear]

Since my submission didn't make it I'm pasting it here because I need people to know about the trollhunters book and how fucked up their version of Gunmar is

First up he looks like this:

Titles include: Gunmar the Black, the Hungry One, He Who Sups of Blood, the Untangler of Entrails

He's a troll trying to invade the human world to "feast at will".

Him and his followers kidnap and eat humans with a preference for children (190 of them the last time he tried to take over). He's about the size of a building, his spit is boiling, he can retract his spine and he sits on a throne made from their bones. Other trolls' bodies mutate just from being in his proximity. They've rebuilt the Machine, a giant meat grinder with pipes leading directly to Gunmar's maw, which are at that point filled with 45 year old kids meat mixed with rat meat (and other body parts, there's teeth in there).

When the protagonists cut open his belly there are hundreds of tinier versions of him inside.

Some body parts of his can move despite being separated from him (like his eye) and can latch onto other living beings giving him partial control over them, also like all trolls unless his gallbladder is destroyed he can completely reform his body.

The entire book starts with a page-long paragraph on how You are Meat and the later descriptions are just as visceral:

'You are food. Those muscles you flex to walk, lift, and talk? They’re patties of meat topped with chewy tendon. That skin you’ve paid so much attention to in mirrors? It’s delicious to the right tongues, a casserole of succulent tissue. And those bones that give you the strength to forge your way in the world? They rattle between teeth as the marrow is sucked down slobbering throats. These facts are unpleasant but useful. There are things out there, you see, that don’t cower in holes to be captured by us and cooked over our fires. These things have their own ways of trapping their kills, their own fires, their own appetites.'

(Gunmar quotes)

'It is believed that Gunmar chose to center his clan in San Bernardino specifically to spite the self-satisfied pacifists who populated the local underworld. Whatever the reason, he and his minions wasted no time stealing children. One per month for the first three months. Then one per week. By the time 1969 began, several children were disappearing every week in San Bernardino, each one of them dragged screaming to a hidden underground labyrinth and caged for weeks before being grilled over an open flame and eaten.'

'The Killaheed Bridge had been the ancestral home of Gunmar the Black in the far northern region of Scotland known in Gaelic as A’ Ghàidhealtachd . It is where he murdered every blood relative, erasing his surname in favor of “the Black,” and began the Gumm-Gumm cult with himself as the principal deity.'

'It was the soggy voice of one who’d spent decades gnawing on his tongue. Gunmar the Black, the Hungry One, saw me, smelled me, wished to eat me. From somewhere within the pupil’s void I could hear the splintering whack of what I knew was his wooden arm. He was aching to add another few slash marks of conquer, and as much as he’d prefer to do it in person, he wasn’t strong enough yet, so he’d just use this handy, four-ton puppet.'

'Even without the plateau, the Hungry One would’ve outsized us all. He sat upon a throne of yellowed bones collected from the 190 kids who died during the Milk Carton Epidemic, and with long icicle teeth he gobbled at the meat that spattered across his face and chest. The “Black” of his title was metaphorical; his skin glistened a deep, blistered red. With each swallow, his limbs convulsed along several unexpected joints—two elbows to each arm, a scabby, wrinkled knee on each leg, and all of them adept at bending in any direction. His crooked spine elongated and retracted like a periscope, rifling the thick porcupine spikes that ran from the back of his head all the way down his back. Luxuriously he spread the six arms that sprouted from his sinewy chest, each of which was encumbered with seeping tumors, except for the topmost left arm, which, as promised, was a weathered block of wood marked with his numerous kills. Gunmar’s jaw dropped open to reveal the mangled tongue that he’d been chewing on in resentment for over four decades.'

'The braids of their hair were hardened by dried blood and their bodies had mutated from residing too close to Gunmar: scabs birthed extra eyes, sores sprouted extra fingers, rashes gleamed with newly grown teeth.'

'Gunmar’s humungous jaw grinded and the stake-sized teeth fought for placement. His single eye blazed as he rose from his throne. Six sausage-stained arms, including the wooden one, spread open as if preparing to greet his attacker with an embrace. The Eye of Malevolence leapt from Gunmar’s shoulder and scuttled in gleeful circles through its master’s boiling drool.'

'But the spines along Gunmar’s back sprung outward like a regiment of bayonets and I heard the excruciating sounds of several of Blinky’s tentacles being torn in half.'

'What was not expected were the dozens—no, hundreds—of tiny trolls that fell from the opened cavity. The first few thumped off Jack’s helmet, wiggling and mewling, and Jack just stood there, shocked stupid. But as they continued to pour, Jack backed away, picking the parasites off his armor and flinging them to the ground in disgust. In seconds, the little trolls were everywhere, writhing in the grass, blinking tiny new eyes at the strange world around them.'

'Each was the size of a baseball and an exact copy of Gunmar: glistening red body, six little arms, a cape of quills flexing experimentally along its back. Worse, each of the beasties appeared to grow larger with each breath, as if the smell of so much human meat were enough to fortify their young bodies. Gunmar shook his torso so that a few more babies fell to the field, and he grinned down like a proud papa.'

'Blinky was struggling to his feet to our right, but the three of us still looked pretty wretched when compared to Gunmar, who stood shivering above us as if sobbing over the destruction of his infernal litter.' (they got lawnmowered)

'Gunmar lorded above us, blood streaming from between his teeth and down a torso that, emptied of babies, flapped with loose flesh. He’d lost control and was flailing about, stamping his feet like an infant, flogging himself front and back with his double-jointed arms, quills extending and flattening with the sound of a hundred falling guillotines. He spread his limbs and swooped down at us, big as a fireworks finale.'

'Gunmar the Black had waited forty-five years, but here it was at last: the final demolishing of the trollhunters, no more difficult than a little kid’s squashing worms on the playground. Afterward, he and his kind would infest the surface of the earth, gorging themselves on the meat of man and growing fat and surly in the way of the Old World. He lifted a foot over the nearest trollhunter—me—aiming so that when my runny guts squirted out they would bleed into those of the hundreds of his slaughtered offspring.'

'Gunmar’s body swayed and his six arms tried to push his skull back together to cover the exposed brain. His manifold hands, though, became confused and tussled with one another before giving up. Then the mighty lord of the Gumm-Gumms, the Hungry One, He Who Sups of Blood, the Untangler of Entrails, Gunmar the Black wavered in place for a long moment before dropping to his back with all the ceremony of a chopped tree.'

'It took only a few slices to carve out Gunmar’s heart; the leathery, tubed organ skipped around in an attempt to dodge my blade.'

(The Machine or Meat quotes)

'We climbed over a berm of melted steel and found ourselves behind a conveyor belt, a crudely sewn patchwork of stained textiles that shuttled cargo into a large tin funnel. At the moment the belt was empty of everything except greasy stains, but nonetheless I followed the progress. The funnel fed into a thundering box the size of a treehouse, held together with railroad spikes and constructed from miscreant metals: a dented go-cart frame, a child’s red wagon, a neon sign from a strip club. Scorched wires snaked in and out, while virulent fumes poured from electrical circuits gone haywire. The box shook like a laundry machine about to explode and I could hear from inside it the whirring of saw blades and the music-box plinking of a grinder churning through gristled remains. It all led to a spout on the other end.'

'A corroded pipe held aloft by spindly stilts ran from the Machine, and from inside it I could hear the squish of pulpy matter. It stunk like death, but I leaned toward a section of pipe that had been rusted away. Inside was meat, a lumpy sausage equal parts red muscle, white bone, and gray tendon mashed together with the multicolored gristle of internal organs. The fleshy sludge slugged through the pipe in uneven spurts as the Machine shoved it along. The kaleidoscopic viscera dazed me, and so I was caught unaware when the meat squirted forward and revealed something else sunk into the ground flesh.'

'I couldn’t help but see what he wanted me to see: loose teeth, embedded in the meat, white as pearls. This made me all the sicker until the meat rolled and I saw that the teeth were tiny and pointed. “Rats!” Jack shouted. “The meat is mostly rats!” Within the threads of muscle I saw a long pink tail. “Can’t you smell it?” Jack demanded. “This meat is ancient. Left over from the last war. He’s had to cut it with animal parts to keep him strong until the Killaheed is finished. Which means your friends aren’t in there, not yet.'

'From the open end of the pipe, clods of meat plopped like wet dog food into the open mouth of Gunmar the Black.'

'Their mouths were crusted with unidentifiable slop, evidence that Gunmar had been fattening them with tasty stuffing before making sausage of them in the Machine. These children and teens hadn’t been buried, they’d been planted so that the rich dirt and underworld clay could properly season their bodies for the troll palate.'

'yummy tubes of fresh meat packed into shirts, pants, jackets, and hats.'

This book could be a Flesh Leitner

.

[zofiawithaz]

Fight Club

PARTIES: Metzli @muertarte & Sofie @sofiedupont

LOCATION: Outside Mansión Mexicana

TIMING: Current

SUMMARY: Sofie goes to Metzli for tips and tricks on how to fight.

TRIGGER WARNINGS: broken bones/injury

Sofie looked down at her phone to check the address, then up at the mansion in front of her, then back down to her phone. She raised an impressed eyebrow before opening her car door and walking up to the door. It almost reminded her of home with how grand it was. She rapped her knuckles against the wood of the door and waited. 

She wasn’t entirely certain of what to expect. All she knew was that she had managed to acquire clothing she wouldn’t care about if they got destroyed. She plucked at the hem of the sweatshirt, rocking back on her heels as the seconds ticked by. She checked her phone again, making sure she hadn’t gotten the date wrong, when she heard the door swing open. “Hello! I’m here to learn how to properly stab.” Sofie stood there like an eager pupil awaiting her first instructions. 

Regret almost settled in as the door opened fully.

Metzli wasn’t sure what to expect when Sofie agreed to have a small training session, but it definitely wasn’t an attitude full of glee. “To learn how to stab you have to learn how to be stabbed too.” They teased, actually being playful despite there being a layer of truth. Their face remained blank and unmoving, not giving any real indication of their attempt. 

“Follow me,” Stepping out from the doorway, Fluffy barked and made his way out just before the door closed. He never ventured far, which made it easy for his owner to continue on their journey to the open area on the property. “Take this,” Metzli removed one of their many knives from their belt, and handed it to Sofie. “You have two hands so you it will be easier, but do not underestimate. Am good at fighting.” When the pair reached the area Metzli had in mind, they removed their hoodie and remained in their sweatpants and binder. It was just easier than soiling many items of clothing. “Any questions first?”

Sofie pouted. “Well you might have mentioned that bit in the lesson plan, myszko.” The vampire grumbled. She couldn’t be entirely certain if that was an attempt at humor or not, but despite the potential announcement that she’d be getting stabbed today, her eyes gleamed with excitement. She cooed at the little dog that barked, reaching down to scratch between its ears before she followed Metzli inside. “What’s their name?” She asked as they walked along, pointing back at the door the dog was now outside of. 

She took the dagger in her hand and examined it. Sofie wasn’t sure what the defining characteristics of a good knife would be. But it was on Metzli’s belt, so she had to assume that it definitely wasn’t a bad knife. She weighed it in her hands a moment before looking back to her instructor for the day. “I may have two hands, but neither of them have been in a fight.” Her eyebrows rose a fraction of an inch as Metzli took their hoodie off. All muscle and scar. Definitely not underestimating them. “Do I have to take off my sweatshirt too? Because I don’t have the luxury of being all muscled and fierce. I’m delicate.”

Metzli sucked their teeth, groaning at Sofie’s response. “Lesson plan? Do not be idiot. Is common sense. If you fight, you will take punch. If you use knife in fight, you will get cut or stabbed.” It was impossible not to roll their eyes. “The dog is Fluffy, but focus. He play somewhere else.” The lack of forethought in something so simple to them was baffling. 

That was the key phrase though, wasn’t it? To them. Metzli’s clan trained endlessly to be the most ferocious soldiers in Mexico. Each one of them could be reduced to a puddle of their own blood and still fight. If not, their time was done. Sofie, on the other hand, didn’t have the luxury of training. She lived in luxury instead. As such, she could exist happily. Tell jokes and laugh and drink without any need to hunt. Metzli didn’t know if that was a benefit or not. 

“If you wish to take off sweater, fine. Will not stop you.” Looking around the area, Metzli pointed in front of them. “Stand here. Will start with basics in fight. No knife for now.” They stood still and tall, waiting for Sofie to do as they said, continuing their explanation. “You are small. Many will be bigger so you will use weight and balance for advantage. Tackle me. Hard as you can.”

“I suppose that does make sense,” The three hundred years did nothing to prevent Sofie from sounding petulant. And it wasn’t like Metzli would actually be attempting to end her spectacularly long life today. This was a training exercise. She glanced over her shoulder as they walked away, waving at the dog and mouthing ‘bye Fluffy’ as Metzli led her away. “Cute name for him.” 

Sofie shrugged, pulling the sweatshirt off and tying it around her waist before plucking at her tank top for a moment. That should do nicely. She swept her hair up off her shoulders and tied it off into a ponytail. Basics. Basics sounded good. Basics sounded easy. And the longer she could go without a knife in her hands, the better, since she’d probably wind up messing that bit of it up. Sofie moved into place and watched Metzli diligently. She tried not to look surprised. Just tackle them? That couldn’t be too hard, could it? Without giving the order too much more thought, she ran at Metzli, going to throw her arms around their waist in an attempt to drag them to the floor with her.

Okay, so there wasn’t much meat on Sofie’s bones. Sure, there wasn’t much on Metzli’s either, but they at least had some sort of definition. Some markings that showed they were not to be trifled with. Sofie had no such thing. She didn’t scream ‘attack me’ but she did scream ‘vulnerable’. Metzli hoped they’d be able to offer some sort of skill set to her so she could better protect herself, with a kinder hand than they’d experienced. The ability to fight was the only thing Eloy had given Metzli that was worth anything, and in Wicked’s Rest, it came in handy more often than not. 

“Okay,” Metzli’s feet dragged across the grass with the force of Sofie’s attempt. She had above average strength, could be stronger given her age, but the lack of know-how was her undoing. “Try again.” Turning Sofie by her shoulder, Metzli pushed her away and took a defensive position, low and ready. “Am tall, Sofie. Go lower. Remove my balance. You have strength.” They took a breath, trying their best to be kinder. “Let instincts come. You have them. Promise.”

She had pushed with all her might and moved Metzli a grand total of… Maybe a few inches? She was certain if it had been a regular human that she had launched herself at, they would be face first on the ground, but Sofie knew full well that Metzli wasn’t going to be as easy to bring down as a human would be. She let go of the other vampire with a huff and stalked back to her starting point.

One side of Sofie’s mouth stilted itself up. “Any instincts I have have been dormant for a very long time.” Even back when she had first changed, when it had all been so overwhelmingly new, she never had to hunt. Everything was simply provided. She need only say she was hungry and she had a glass in her hands moments later. She’d never had to worry about hunting, much less fighting for her continued existence. “Lower,” She echoed. “Got it.” Sofie dropped her stance lower so that when she collided with Metzli, her shoulders would hit at about their hips, and she ran at them again.

The tackle Sofie sent to their waist didn’t do anything in regards to air, but it did send the vampire stumbling backwards with a smile that nearly turned into a grin. Metzli wrapped their hand around her wrist before she could pull back, and held her in place. “Good job, but you will need to know what to do next.” Pulling her arm sideways, they threw her onto the ground, using the force to propel them with her.

They landed above, hovering closely to her face but no longer applying pressure in an attempt at lightening up a little. She was learning, didn’t need the same tactics Eloy had used on them. “What do instincts say to do now?” Metzli propped themself up with their arm, staring daggers at Sofie as they kept themself in place. “Have one arm. Use weakness against me. Make sense?” 

Well, shit. 

Sofie hadn’t thought much past the initial instruction of tackle. And now Metzli had her pinned to the ground. How to get Metzli off was going to be another ordeal entirely. “They’re saying there’s a vampire pinning me to the ground right now.” She squirmed, annoyed that she didn’t know what the correct way out of the situation was. 

An eyebrow lifted as Metzli mentioned their arm. Sofie huffed a breath pushed at Metzli’s arm in an attempt to pry herself free. If she had control of Metzli’s arm, maybe she could wriggle herself out of this. “Are my instincts decent?”

At last, Sofie listened, knocking their arm from under them. Face met earth in an instant, a groan escaping in the process as a crunch echoed. Metzli felt their nose fill with pain, black blood running down to their chin as they rolled over to sit. “Yes. Good instinct. Got me to bleed.” No sign of pain marked their expression. Not even when they forced another crunch when they set their nose back into place. 

“In other time, you knock me and then take vantage. Use knife and put into me over and over. Understand?” Metzli unlatched their holster and removed their knife, pointing with the blade where its home should’ve been had they been fighting fully. “Would maybe go here and then drag up. Want to try?”

Sofie let out a little surprised squeak as Metzli face planted in the dirt. “Oh shit! I’m sorry!” She scrabbled back on the grass, trying to give them whatever space they needed. They didn’t seem mad, but it was as hard to judge Metzli’s reaction to most things. 

The vampire stared at the blade that Metzli held out. “Are you asking me if I want to stab you?” Sofie sounded incredulous. “For practical experience?” Sofie was going to owe Metzli big time for making them face plant on the ground, and now they were offering to show her the finer points on how to ensure her attackers stayed very dead with a practical exam?

“No hurt. Promise.” With an almost humorous smile, Metzli wiggled their half-limb. “Would not hurt much. Not even arm hurt when master ripped it away.” They shrugged, standing up. The look on Sofie’s face said many things. Most of all that she wasn’t ready, and that was okay. Learning how to fight needed to be on her time, it needed to be different than the way Metzli was taught. They knew better than anyone how unfair and painful the use of force was. 

It may have been decades ago, but the tears were forever burned onto their cheeks after their first experience with a knife in their belly. That wasn’t something anyone forgot. Not even Metzli, who was only numb because of those teachings. “Maybe we finish for today.” They muttered, laying down slowly and feeling the cartilage and bone settle in their nose as it repaired itself. “Was not much but you did good. Small steps.”

There was a difference between something not hurting, and not hurting much. Sofie certainly wasn’t sure she believed the removal of Metzli’s arm didn’t hurt much at all. Just because they were technically dead didn’t mean they didn’t suddenly didn’t feel pain.

Sofie sat back on her heels, watching as the vampire laid back, and removed the offer of the knife from the table. For now at least. “It was definitely a start. More than I would have done yesterday.” She sighed, sitting in the grass. “You’re sure you’re okay? And yes I know we are both very hard to kill, I just want to make sure we can’t magically die by breaking our noses now.”

Metzli scoffed, a little offended that Sofie didn’t take them at their word. They had already explained that they didn’t lie, hadn’t they? And how on earth did Sofie not understand or know the physiology of a vampire? They were a durable species, with very particular kill methods. Needless to say, Metzli was both annoyed and confused as to why Sofie was asking questions she already should have known the answers to.

“I am sure. Not know if you notice, but I have many scars. Many fights and many stabs. Stop hurting a long time ago.” Metzli rolled their shoulders, feeling the cold earth press against their back. Looking toward Sofie, they offered a small chuckle, “Will not magically die from broken nose. Is impossible. Do not be idiot.” They shook their head playfully, propping themself up on their elbow. “Stakes kill us. Holy water or holy items hurt. You know this.”

Sofie had definitely noticed the scars that littered Metzli’s body, but that didn’t mean that Sofie believed every single one of them hadn’t hurt. The durability of their kind had nothing to do with their ability to feel pain. She rolled her eyes playfully. “Of course I know, Myszko.” It was an aspect of humanity that she’d clung to for one reason or another. Perhaps it was because she hadn’t been hurt for so long when she saw friends injured it alarmed her, even if the injuries were superficial. Perhaps it was because she knew what it would take to kill them that made her fuss and cluck like a worried hen. “I know very well.”

“I did warn you I’d be a pest, didn’t I?” She grinned. “Regretting agreeing to be my friend already, Metzli?”

“Good. Was worried you were not taught everything and some reason made it this long alive.” Metzli watched the way Sofie disregarded their truth, only taking what they said at face value. It bothered them a little, but they didn’t know why. Or maybe they did and they didn’t want to face what it meant to be given her response.

“Hmm…” Metzli looked up in thought, pondering on Sofie’s question. Of course, this was a tease. They just hoped Sofie would start to see the subtle nuances in their mannerisms enough to tell. “Not yet.” Metzli joked, “There is still time.” They went quiet, worrying their lip as the words on their tongue began to take shape. Sighing, they turned to face Sofie, brows furrowed with a mixture of curiosity and frustration.

“Did your master take your insides away? The things that make you feel. Did they hollow you?”

“I exist purely out of spite, my dear Metzli. Purely out of determination and spite.” It was only kind of a joke. She had made it far longer than she should have been able to by just existing. The existing for the spite of it hadn’t really kicked in until the mid-nineties. 

Sofie sat unnaturally still, watching the other vampire. She must have said something or done something, because she had thought this a relatively light-hearted conversation. She slowly shook her head in answer. “My sire was like my mother,” she said softly. “It was only hollow after they were gone.” And she knew that wasn’t the case for Metzli. She knew and yet there was nothing she could say to change either of their pasts. “She was not my master, she was my friend.”

“Mother.” Now that had to be a joke, right? Mothers weren’t friends. They were judge, jury, and executioner. Like the story of Cinderella, minus the evil step-sisters, but all the wickedness attached. From the start, with no one else to choose from, Lupe Bernal’s first and only born was chosen for the role of Cinderella. But not just her. Baltazar Bernal, too. That was just how parents operated, wasn’t it?

Wasn’t it?

Metzli stayed silent in thought, seeing just how opposite both the vampire’s experiences were. On their experience alone, it made sense that their new, vampiric parent despised them, and used them for work. It was bittersweet to discover not all operated as Eloy did. Others had the opportunity to flourish and enjoy their time. Metzli asked themself what they did to miss out on that. 

“I’m sorry,” They finally muttered, their voice going soft and shaky. Sofie lost something beautiful. Metzli couldn’t help but wonder if it was better to have had it and lost it, or never to have it at all. Maybe their path was happier, as painful as it was.

She nodded as they echoed her words. She had loved her birth mother, yes, but Sofie wasn’t sure the woman had ever understood her. Seraphine had known her practically from the moment she’d met Sofie. She understood her. Seraphine didn’t make her feel silly for wanting more. No, her sire had given her everything she could have dreamed of. And more importantly than any of the material things, she gave Sofie friendship. She had felt so unmoored by the deaths and disappearances, but none so much as Seraphine’s. 

But Metzli hadn’t had a Seraphine. From the sounds of it, if Seraphine was good and understanding and giving, then Metzli’s sire was the antithesis. They deserved a Seraphine. Everyone deserved a friend like that, but none so much as Metzli. 

“Thank you,” was all she could say because it’s alright would never be the answer. She looked at Metzli with a sad smile. They deserved a friend like Seraphine had been hers. She hoped they had found one in the time since they’d been free of their sire. “I’m sorry if I said something to bring up a bad memory, Metzli.” Sofie finished quietly.

Unlike Sofie, the vampire opposite of her believed the pain was fine. That it was okay to have yet to live and have only survived in over a century. If it wasn’t, what was the alternative? Metzli didn’t want to think about it, so they didn’t. Whatever emotion threatened to tidal wave through, they simply willed themself to swim away instead of drown. Maybe they were left stranded in the middle of such dark waters, with no end in sight, but Metzli didn’t care. They just kept moving until the vastness of their hollow soul welcomed them.  

“Did nothing wrong.” Voice lost all softness, returning to its default and rigid tone. “Is all fine, Sofie. Feel nothing.” Metzli rose to their feet, patting away the dirt and grass from their clothes and skin. There wasn’t much training done, but hopefully it was a good enough start. “Maybe we just walk. Maybe…” Metzli trailed off, looking toward the trees in the distance. They offered their elbow to Sofie, inviting her to hook her arm with theirs. “Walk and talk. Sounds nice. For now.”

She managed not to wince as Metzli snapped back into their usual demeanor. Sofie didn’t know the other vampire very well, but she was fairly certain to know that it wasn’t fine at all.  

A crooked grin stilted up the corner of Sofie’s mouth, and she got up off the grass and dusted herself off she linked her arm through the one Metzli had extended to her. “Walk and talk it is, my friend.” Maybe Metzli didn’t have a Seraphine. But they did have a Sofie. And Sofie was determined to be as good a friend as she could, to makeup for the unkindnesses fate had dealt both of them. 

[thetrishtalgem]

Whumptober Day 13: Can't Make an Omelet Without Breaking a few Legs

Fracture || Dislocation || "Are you here to break me out?"

Being one of the least stealthy and most hotheaded members of the party, it was inevitable that Sylvain would be captured alone. Thankfully, he's able to find allies even in the most unlikely of places.

Tag List: @poetic-leigh-me @writerofscribbles @whumptober-archive

Fandom: Dungeons and Dragons (OCs)

Sylvain woke to the sound of guard change. He’d always been a fairly light sleeper, even after learning the clockwork-like schedule of movement in the prison. Perhaps he should’ve considered himself lucky. If it had been Cyrric that found him, he’d be dead. Instead he had the luxury of rotting away in a prison cell. He wasn’t sure how long they were going to keep him here.

He leaned his head back against the wall again and tried to make himself comfortable. There was a sharp pain in his right arm each time he moved. He’d done the best he could to keep it still. The guards had seized his holy symbol and other effects when they’d brought him in, making it impossible for him to heal his injuries. From the way it ached, he was fairly certain that the bone had been fractured. He closed his eyes, hoping he could drift back off to sleep for the time being.

It wasn’t long before he heard one of the soldiers let out a grunt of pain and metallic crumpling. Curious, he peeked one eye open to see one of the guards laying on the floor. The other was fumbling with a ring of keys at the door of his cell. Sylvain opened both of his eyes to see the silhouette of a half-elven man pushing the door open and waving for him.

“Sylvain! C’mon!”

Sylvain’s eyes widened in surprise as he recognized the voice.

“Chad!?” Sylvain struggled to pull himself up. “Are…are you here to break me out?”

Chad’s head whipped backwards before turning back to look at Sylvain, “Yes, now come on! Before someone notices!”

Still somewhat stunned, Sylvain quickly got to his feet. He held his arm gingerly and ran to the edge of the cell. Chad closed the door behind him and wrapped his arms tightly around Sylvain. The pressure made Sylvain cry out in pain. Chad backed away, worry plain on his face.

“Sorry, I’m sorry,” Chad muttered. “I just…I’m glad you’re alright.”

“I can’t say I’m not happy to see you, but I am a little lost here. Aren’t you one of Cyrric’s knights now?” Sylvain asked.

Chad turned his head again and gestured for Sylvain to start walking. “Yeah. An Imperial Angel. But I just…I don’t know. It’s a lot to try and explain in so little time.”

“The whole devil-aligning thing didn’t sit right with you.”

Chad laughed humorlessly. “You bastard. You always did see right through me, huh?”

“You wear your heart on your sleeve. It’s not a bad thing,” Sylvain smiled.

“It is when you do it like you do.”

“If I remember correctly, that was one of the things you liked about me.”

Chad playfully punched Sylvain in the arm. He only realized his mistake as Sylvain’s face twisted in pain.

“I’m sorry,” Chad gingerly rested his hand on Sylvain’s shoulder. “I’m sorry.”

“Just-!” Sylvain sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth to control his voice. “Don’t do it again. Please.”

“R-right,” Chad stuttered.

There was an awkward moment of silence between the two of them.

“So…” Sylvain trailed off. “What, exactly, was your plan?”

Chad stopped for a beat and stared at Sylvain. “Did you think I just bust you out without knowing what the next step was? Seriously?”

“Listen, I know you’re good at sneaking around. That’s never been my forte,” Sylvain had a nostalgic grin on his face. “The more you can tell me, the better.”

“Right. Well, right now the plan is to get you to the armory so we can get you into a set of armor and blend in with the rest of the soldiers. From there, it’ll be easier for you to move about freely,” Chad explained.

Sylvain chuckled. “Fancy. So I’ll get to have Imperial Angel armor all of my own. It’ll be hard letting go of the set I had before.”

“Yeah, about that…”

“Let me guess. When my stuff got seized, the armor got taken back. Didn’t it.”

“Yeah…”

“Eh. Kinda figures. I’m definitely more of a mythril man myself nowadays. Turns out silver is a stunning color on me.”

The two of them shared a laugh despite the tense circumstances. Sylvain found that even after more than a decade apart from each other, there was something to be said for the way he felt comfortable around Chad Nair. Chad had always worked hard even though he’d been born into wealth and nobility. He was an honest man that desired helping others more than anything else. Sylvain was glad that despite their differences in alignment, he was able to find his old friend.

Chad stopped him at a larger set of iron doors and pushed through them effortlessly. Sylvain’s eyes scanned the room to see the stockade of weaponry and armor before him. The silver of the breastplates glistened in the dim candlelight of the room. Every pike and every dagger was perfectly in line. Not a hair was out of place. Chad closed the doors behind him and breezed past Sylvain towards one of the supply cabinets.

“Here. I know the equipment we’ve got isn’t your usual, but it’ll do in a pinch I’m hoping,” Chad took out a longsword and a dagger and handed them off to Sylvain.

Sylvain grimaced and gestured at his right arm, “Yeah, well…I think the fractured bone is gonna have a little more to do with my lack of proficiency here.”

“Better you have them than nothing. Now hurry and get yourself suited up. It won’t be long before the usual patrol finds my companion knocked out cold, and I’m nowhere to be found.”

“Chad, wait.”

Chad turned, looking at Sylvain expectantly.

“Thank you,” Sylvain said quietly, “for hearing me out back then. And getting me out now.”

Chad gave him a weary smile, “It’s what we do. For the people we love.”

“Yeah. I guess it is,” Sylvain felt a pang of guilt in his chest.

Fortunately, Chad seemed to understand the urgency of their situation. He gave Sylvain a small nod before pulling the door open. Sylvain turned to begin donning the heavy armor.

"Your things should still be in the spare barracks. Leave this room and turn down the first hallway on your left. It's the third door on the right," Chad explained. "And good luck."

"You too. I don't want to hear about Commander Nair's death, you hear me?" Despite the smile still on his face, Sylvain's voice was serious.

"Same goes for you, blockhead."

With a note of finality, the heavy iron doors swung shut, leaving Sylvain alone in the armory. It took him a bit longer than usual to suit up with the fracture in his arm, but he managed to do so with little issue. He chanced a look at himself in the mirror and grimaced. Imperial Armor, "angelic" or not, definitely did not suit him.

Outside of the armory, he heard chaos beginning to erupt. Several soldiers seemed to be rushing by, shouting about the attack on Commander Nair and his partner. Many were trying to deduce where the prisoner had escaped. Sylvain quickly slipped the helmet on his head and shut the visor before rushing out through the doors himself.

And truthfully, it was one of his better prison breaks.

[sunrisefairy]

i’m sorry the way u did my last request was SO GOOD i just had to ask for another. could you do one with charlie weasley as a care of magical creatures prof and he finally gets with the professor he’s been flirting with? you write spicy fics so well i cant even

omg stop, ur making me blush. I had fun with this one! 

NSFW 18+ below the cut

You told yourself no boys this year, no distractions, you vowed that this year you’d focus on your career; Dumbledore had given you a position at Hogwarts and you were ecstatic and determined to make him proud. You didn’t think it would be too hard, to have a year free of boys, the male professors at Hogwarts weren’t exactly eye candy. That was until you met the new care of magical creature’s professor, damn that Charlie Weasley.

He was handsome, no argument about it, his rugged good looks and charming, sweet personality had your panties dripping whenever he was in close proximity (even the mere thought of his strong arms and those long fingers had your core throbbing) not that you would ever tell him that.

Charlie Weasley seem to make it his mission to make you flustered, within the first 10 minutes of your initial introduction he told you how breath taking your eyes were and how gorgeous his name sounded when it fell from your lips. You obviously blushed at this and brushed the comments under the rug, assuming he was just being cheeky and kind and didn’t mean anything by it. However, Charlie made very clear he found you attractive and having to endure months of his shameless flirting was proving to be very difficult to ignore the sexual tension between the two of you.

You stared down at the pile of forgotten essays on your desk, your mind was elsewhere, and you couldn’t seem find the concentration to focus on grading them right now. Your brain was preoccupied but a certain gorgeous redheaded wizard. You imagined his rough fingers and how they would feel against your skin, unbuttoning your blouse slowly and teasing your nipples, would he be soft and gentle and caress your breasts or would he prefer to be rough and pinch and tug at your skin? You bit your lip at the thought, arousal already pooling in your panties. It had been too long since you last had sex and you were beginning to grow frustrated and desperate for it.

“Thinking about me again, love?” you’re snapped from your thoughts and immediately clench your thighs at the sight before you. Charlie was leaning against the door frame of your classroom, his arms cross in front of him causing his muscles to strain against his shirt.

You smirk, “how I manage to get anything done when you plague my thoughts 24/7 is beyond me.”

Charlie chuckles at this assuming you’re joking and enters the room, approaching you at your desk. You take this time to rack your eyes over his body, his shirt stretching deliciously over his torso, the top few buttons undone allowing you to scan his neck and collar bone. Merlin how you wish you could sink your teeth into his creamy skin-

You cough to shake yourself of this thought, no boys, no distractions.

“What can I do for you Professor?” you muse, straightening up the long-forgotten essays.

If Charlie noticed you hungrily scanning his body moments before, he doesn’t comment on it. “Oh nothing really, was walking around and had the strong urge to come visit my favourite professor.”

You blush before he continues, “Snape was busy though so thought you were the next best thing.” He’s smirking at you now and you scoff rolling your eyes.

“Ha-ha,” you say sarcastically, “well as you can see, I’m insanely busy grading these essays so can’t say it would be much fun if you stayed.” You pick up an essay from the pile and furrow your eyebrows hoping it looks like you’re deep in thought when really you’ve re-read the same sentence 3 times, still not comprehending what it says.

“I can think of ways we can have fun,” Charlie’s low voice sounds from right next to your ear. How did he get there so fast? “none of which involve boring essays.”

You gulp and turn your head. He’s leaning over your shoulder, invading your personal space, one of his powerful arms is braced against the dark wood of your desk. You can feel Charlie’s soft breath fanning your face and you shudder. You can’t think of anything to say right now, Charlie’s rich scent is swarming your senses and any thoughts that do manage to form inside our brain are not appropriate to say out loud.

Charlie’s eyes glance down at your lips, your tongue darting out to wet them instinctively, he’s unsure if you are aware of the effect you have on him. Such a simple innocent move of licking your lips has Charlie growing hard. He leans closer to you, wanting you to give him the go ahead to continue, as you part your lips Charlie’s certain you’re about to tell him to kiss you.

“The doors open,” you squeak, suddenly very aware of this compromising position and not really eager on an unsuspecting student waltzing past and seeing this scene. You know you should ask Charlie to leave, you have essays to grade and a ‘no boys, no distractions’ rule to follow but Charlie is so close you can almost taste him.

He grins smugly, pointing his wand at your classroom door which slams shut and you can hear the lock click, he whispers a silencing charm too which has your heart beating faster in your chest. Are you really about to do this? Charlie looks down at you waiting for your next move. It feels like eternity before you make your decision, is it the right one, you’re not sure but you’ve dreamt about Charlie’s lips for too long to turn them down now.

In a flash, you connect your lips together, it’s rushed and messy but neither of you seem to mind. You can feel Charlie’s hands all over your body, he’s unbuttoning your shirt and squeezing your hips and arse and pulling you closer and palming your tits and it’s heaven. His lips find their home against your neck and you gasp as his nips and sucks at your skin. Somehow, you’ve change positions and Charlie has you pressed hard against your desk and you can feel his cock hardening in his pants.

“Fuck, want you so bad darling,” he growls into your ear. You tug roughly at his hair forcing his eyes to meet yours. His are dark with desire and you have to force yourself not to come right then and there.

“Then have me,” you respond.

The both of you waste no time, very aware of the fact that you don’t have the luxury of taking your time right now. You’re pulling off each other’s clothes and clawing at skin and leaving scratches and love bites and groaning and whining. Charlie hoists you onto your desk, pushing aside any papers and quills in his way. He wishes he had more time because the desire to kiss along every inch of your beautiful body and explore every freckle or birthmark or scar you have, is so strong. But he just prays you’ll give him another opportunity to do just that, because right now he needs to be inside of you.

Charlie is standing in between your open legs as he takes his fingers and runs them along your slick folds. “Fuck baby, so wet for me huh?”

The sarcastic comment disappears from your mouth as Charlie pushes 2 of his long slender fingers inside your heat, you moan at the sensation. He quickly begins scissoring his fingers set on stretching you out as fast as he could. “F-fuck, Charlie. Feels so good.”

“Wait till you get my cock darling. I’ll have you screaming,” he teases.

You kiss his lips before responding cockily, “go on then.”

Charlie removes his fingers and you whine at the emptiness, “shh darling, I’ll feel you up soon enough. You want that? Want me to fill you up with my cock?”

You’re nodding desperately, “yes please Charlie, please need your cock so bad.”

He grins widely at you, “as you wish.” The both of you groan as he lines up his cock and pushes inside of you. None of your fantasies would have prepared you to how amazing it feels to have Charlie’s cock stretching you out like this. You wrap your legs around his waist as his starts to rock his hips into yours.

Charlie begins to snap his hips faster and faster finding a deliciously rough pace, you’re grateful for the silencing charm he casted because you wouldn’t be able to contain the moans otherwise.

“Holy fuck Charlie,” you whine against his lips letting yourself run your fingers all over his sweaty naked body before they find their home on his hard shoulders.

The groan that rolls out of Charlie’s mouth is borderline pornographic, “I know sweetheart, I know.”

Charlie can feel himself growing closer and closer to his climax and he’d be daft if he lets himself finish before you. Charlie reaches in between the both of you and his thumb connects with your clit, forcing a loud moan to erupt deep from your throat. Charlie starts rubbing tight circles against that bundle of nerves while nipping and sucking at the soft skin on your neck. He can feel you clenching tightly around him.

“S-so close,” you gasp as that familiar tightening sensation pools in your belly.

“Come for me darling, I got you,” Charlie responds, his free hand holding you firming against him as you come undone. His name dripping from your lips like a sweet poem. It only takes a few more thrusts until he’s groaning into your neck and releasing deep inside you, his load painting your walls. The two of you are panting heavily as you try and catch your breath. You chuckle quietly to yourself, enjoying the sensation of Charlie’s now soft cock still inside of you. So much for no boys no distractions.

~~~~~~~

imma start adding my taglist to blurbs too, so if you would like to be added/taken off just send me an ask (if your name is crossed out i couldnt tag you)

@hufflepuff5972 @inglourious-imagines @horrorxweasley @anxiousblanketqueen @dracoswhore007 @georgeweasleyswhre @pandaxnienke

[keilemlucent]

tiles & released tension

(r18+)

gang orca | sakamata kugo x reader

continuation of this fic 

word count: 2.2k

the cycle of lust 

warnings: fem reader, monsterfucking, weird tongue, weird dicks, marking, mouthfucking, heat cycles, 

commission for @baroque-baby!!! thank u so much!!!!!!! 💗💗💗

a/n: wow here it is!! the second of the two comms :’’^) enjoy some more... Monster fucking esque stuff AND heat cycles!!!! enjoy y’all :’’^)

|||||||||||||||||||||

Despite how physically demanding the overall experience of Kugo’s rut was, you were well taken care of. Beyond that, even. He spared no expense, forgot no detail, and left no need or want unattended.

He was a dutiful lover despite his carnal hunger.

...

You vaguely knew when it was day and night. Your temporary home had large, arching windows and skylights that let sunbeams in to bend against the rippling pool. You knew when it was bright outside, though the exact time of day didn’t seem to matter much to Kugo or you.

That ‘morning’ (whenever you awoke, it was light outside), you’d woken up in the pool, tucked against Kugo’s chest in the lapping, gentle current of the water. It was always a bit scary, waking up being naked and half-submerged.

Yet, you were always mentally-reminded that no harm would come to you. Drowning? Absolutely not. Kugo was literally holding you. If any other danger entered a twenty-meter vicinity, you were sure Kugo would be ready to crush the threat instantly.

But, there were no threats. A peaceful courtyard that let in nice light during the evening with lots of pretty flowers and landscaping.

In some of your more fucked out and fucked up moments, arms braced against the wet tile as Kugo reamed you for the umpteenth time, you found yourself dazing off at the reflections and colors as you blinked back overstimulated tears.

Yet, that morning, you’d woken up without a writhing cock in you. Though it was close by and ever-hard, just as always.

“Mornin’,” You yawned, stretching to pop a kiss onto Kugo’s cheek. His chest rumbled out a sound too low for you to hear, a new, cetacean-based feature he’d developed over his rut. “Sleep well?”

“Very.”

Considered how much cum he spilled into you and the surrounding pool the night prior, he had to be exhausted, right?

To some extent.

He was a pro hero, with the stamina to match. Not to mention most of your days were spent in the pool of perfectly treated and temperate water, allowing Kugo to be in his most optimal state whether he was fighting villains or fucking your brain out.

You weren’t complaining.

Once again, dutiful.

Kugo adjusted you as he needed, a low growl pitching from his throat.

You ended up on your knees, skin scraping the tiles on the submerged bench below. It was a favored position, allowing the upper half of your body to be up and out of the water. Though you had, several times, gotten a mouthful or noseful of water due to Kugo breeding you (so fucking well) in the pool, it wasn’t preferred.

(Most of the time.)

Kugo rumbled as he floated in the water behind you, thickly-taloned hands coming to rest on your hips under the water, “You’re so beautiful in the mornings, you have no idea.”

He’d been waxing more since all of this started. In the moments he wasn’t insatiably worked up by his primal state, he was lavishing you in compliments and kindness as you’d never seen.

Kugo fished around in a nearby float basket, pulling away with a fancily crafted bottle of lube. It was a light lavender, oil-based, and heavenly smelling as he poured a bit of it on his hand.

Considering how long and sharp his nails had become, it was far too dangerous for him to prepare you like he once did.

Good thing his cock was tapered.

You could feel the bump of it against your ass, almost slivering against your hot skin under the water. Kugo slicked it down with the lube as he grabbed another item from the basket— a small bullet vibrator, waterproof and strong.

You beamed as he laid it on the pool deck by your arms.

“Am I allowed to use that?” You asked, keeping your voice teasing and sweet, still scratchy from sleep.

Kugo grunted another primal noise.

Consider it’d been several hours since he’d had his fill of you, he was bound to be insatiable. He tended to get a bit more... animalistic when he got so needy for you.

Social conventions had been mostly negated during the weeks of Kugo’s rut, it was a necessity. Not to mention that they were difficult to even think about with the distractions at your disposal.

The tip of Kugo’s cock, slick and squirming, teased as your entrance as he settled behind you, towering over your bent frame. The water sloshed around both of you, though neither of you minded.

You were far more focused on the way the appendage was teasing from your clit to your leak cunt without rest.

Laying your head on your arms, you arched your back at an even harsher angle, just barely grinding against Kugo as he prepared you as much as his cock would allow.

(It wasn’t entirely necessary considered how often he’d been stuffing you full— your cunt was practically shaped to him by that point.)

His chest bore down on your back, heat radiating off of him as he pressed you into the tiles and pool wall. You swallowed as his hand grabbed around your throat and jaw, pulling your head to the side so his long, (also) tapered tongue could lave along your shoulders.

“You always taste so good in the mornings,” Kugo spoke low and rolling. You squeezed your eyes shut, rolling your hips back to bump against his own.

As much as he fluffed you up verbally, you could feel how he was holding himself back from wrecking you.

His talons bit into the meat of your hips, his tongue licked its way to your ear, gooey saliva mixing with the water and sweat against your skin. His deep breaths, coming harsher each minute, made his chest bear down on your own, flattening you to the til, though not fully squishing you.

“Kugo,” You spoke in a singsong voice, grabbing the vibrator and flicking it on. “Why don’t you fuck me like you mean it instead of being polite? I thought we were past formalities.”

He went still, aside from the twirl of his thin cockhead at your entrance.

“I mean,” You were pressing your luck, but that was part of the fun. “I know you want to breed me so well that I leak all day, so why not get to it?”

You hummed, just for a moment, before Kugo was pressing you down, hard, squeezing the air out of your lungs in the best possible way.

“Is that really what you want?” Kugo growled, the sound shaking in several different pitches as he fucked into your cunt in one clean stroke.

You choked on your breath, scrambling against the wet tile as the vibrator slipped out of reach into the water.

Taking him at full length in one go wasn’t impossible, but the stretch of it all at once ached. His cock pressed and writhed in your cunt as he held his hips steady, shaking slightly.

You took a shuddering breath as his fat tongue rolled over your shoulders.

“How badly do you want to be ruined?”

If you could’ve melted into the water of the pool, you would’ve.

Part of you wanted to give one last fiery retort, but you were far too mushy to muster it up as Keigo thrust fully once more. He nearly bottoms out, you figure, considering the way his cock twists against your inside, pressing at your knot of nerves.

You moaned, lips parting and falling open.

Kugo greedily took the opportunity to further crane your neck, his thick tongue dipping into your mouth, snaking along the backs of your teeth.

You were caught up in it all, the sensations seemingly so fresh after sleep. Each new slam of Kugo’s hips, the taste of him filling your mouth, and the sounds of slapping water all felt magnified.

Whining, you bucked back into his thrusts, feeling the slow expansion of his cock inside you as Kugo grew ever closer.

His throaty laugh vibrated into your own mouth, the sound almost too loud for you to fully catch as your bones rang in your flesh with the tone He took your shock to push his tongue further, deeper into your mouth, licking at the back your tongue and molars.

It was almost too much, as oxygen became a luxury.

Except, Kugo grounded you easily, the hand on your hips and the pressure of his body above yours tethering you to reality as he fucked you in earnest.

Each slap of his body against your own ignited a new wave lust in your, slick spilling down your inner thighs and into the water. Your clit ached, helplessly ignored under the pseudo-surf. You didn’t have the mind in your to try and clamor for the lost vibrator, your mind swimming far too deep to think that far.

Instead, your ground back into Kugo all your could, your noises and moans dampened by the tongue throat-fucking you.  

He didn’t seem to mind at all.

You could feel yourself getting fuller and fuller, as impossible as it seemed. Kugo’s cock expanded as it neared climax, pressing at your walls before painting them white and sticky.

The grip on your jaw released, his tongue recoiling from your mouth as his head fell against your shoulder.

“How is this for ‘breeding’ you?” Kugo knew your asked, but asked anyway, chuckling at the way you desperately dripped for more of him.

You nodded, “Very, good. Very—”

Kugo’s pace became rougher.

His hand slipped under your, into the water to rub the meat of his palm into your clit in small, insistent circles. The nearby scrap of his claws only served to make you twitch and want more.

“P-Please, more!” You cried out, laying your head onto the tile as his thrusts got rougher, his teeth scraping and sucking at your neck, and his tongue soaking your skin—

And with a few final pressed of Kugo’s hand and you were coming undone for him in time with him absolutely filling you up.

It was filthy in the best possible way.

You sputtered out profanities as you came, Kugo’s hot seed spilling into you in thick, creamy spurts. The heat of it was almost scalding against the temperature of the bathwater.

Kugo kept a firm grip on you, despite the way how his skin had become so slick, fucking you through his long orgasm. It was something to do with his rut, but Kugo tended to spill into you not for seconds, but rather minutes.

It gave you time to come down as his fattened cock filled you.

You went pliant against the pool deck as another spurt of cum filled your core. Kugo was still in the throes of it, grunting every few moments and grinding into your insides. You weakly pressed back, shaking with your own breath.

Kugo’s hand pressed into your stomach, feeling the bulge of his own cock and cum filling you. The touch only strengthened your own sensations, the mix of it, and your full womb causing your eyes to roll back in your skull.

And then, it all slowed.

You were both still for a moment, the remnants of your movement told in the slosh of the pool and its harsh ripples.

Kugo gently turned your face to his, smoothing back some of your hair and dropping a few deliberate kisses against your cheeks, “Are you alright?”

You nodded, blissed-out and fucked out, “Very alright.”

It was all the response you could manage.

You couldn’t help but feel a bit disappointed as Kugo pulled out of you, an odd rush of water and fertile nut mixing below you. The absence of the stretch of his cock left you wanting.

But, Kugo was a dutiful mate, even in this state.

He carefully lifted you in his arms, carrying you out from the breeding pool to a nearby room.

It was one of the rooms you slept in, that of a handful of others. This one had a rounded ceiling and high windows, cream-colored walls and a large, water-proofed lounging bed.

Kugo gently set you down on it, grabbing a blanket-sized towel and wrapping you in it as fully as he could.

He tended to focus on your physical needs after fucking, especially when you two had been doing it so much. You’d never complain about how there was almost always a perfectly chilled water bottle in your hand and a bottle of massage oil at the ready.

Still, you wanted him—

That was why you were there, after all.

Kugo had stepped out, undoubtedly gathering up the supplies to tend to your body as he knew you needed.

You flickered your gaze to a nearby mirror, taking in your own visage.

Clearly, you’d been through the wringer. Dark circles punched under your eyes, your skin pruned from so long in the sweet-smelling water, and a smattering of rakes from Kugo’s teeth laid across your shoulders.

You looked like hell.

...

You smiled.

Kugo walked back in a moment later, just as you were standing up, wobbling on your jellied legs.

He was quick to wash to you, pulling you up against his slick body (as his cock began to re-harden again), “Sit down, love, please. I can get you anything you need.”

“You can,” You beamed up at him, craning on your tiptoes and pulling him down by his neck. “And guess what I need?”

He rumbled out a laugh, undoubtedly knowing where your words were going based on your suddenly tender affections, “And what's that?”

“You.”

[uniquevocashark]

A Good Servant Part 5

Content Warnings for:

graphic descriptions of gore, blood, murder, threats of murder, lady dimitrescu and her daughters eating people, threats of violence, assault, bodily harm, grievous bodily harm, blood baths, implications of murder, mentions of experimentation (very brief), mentions of manipulation, mentions of excessive eating, mental fuckery done by the protagonist

THis monster is 11 PAGES ON WORD DOCS, AHHHHHHHHHHHH

You cast a look at Daniela, who sneers at Vanessa with more venom than a viper. Vanessa’s hands raise up and she backs away from you, the cut on her neck shallower than you expected. Daniela pushed her sickled down harder until Vanessa was forced backwards, several meters away, then dashed back in front of you. She left her sickle loose in her hand, then flashed an imitation of Cassandra’s smile.

“Why did you touch our things?” She repeated, the joy leaking back into her voice. She turned her wrist slightly and her sickle caught the light brilliantly, a clear demonstration of an agonising amount of time and effort spent polishing it.

“Your ‘things’?” Vanessa said and you would have intervened if a bug hadn’t flown into your mouth.

Another crawled along your collarbone and down your hands and when you looked found that they had red eyes rather than green. Miss Bela bit down on your tongue gently when your mouth twitched into a frown and you smoothed your expression before Daniela noticed.

She grabbed your choker and yanked you forward along with it, displaying the Dimitrescu crest that usually sat proudly cradled against your throat, “This isn’t just decoration, you stupid man-thing. They belong to House Dimitrescu.”

“They don’t.”

“She does!”

“We,” Vanessa said, winking at you over Daniela’s shoulder, “Work for Mother Miranda.”

“But she doesn’t love Mother Miranda,” Daniela pouted, so caught up in stamping her foot that she yanked you even closer, “She loves us. And you aren’t allowed to touch what I love!”

Vanessa raised her brow, and you shot her a glare. Gently, you placed a hand on Daniela’s, and she looked at you moon-eyed after Bela had flown out of your bleeding mouth. “It’s alright, Daniela.” You said softly, rubbing her taut knuckles.

“It is not alright,” She insisted, then released your choker to grab your arm tightly. “Only House Dimitrescu can touch you.”

“I’m aware,” You said, and pushed her hand away, “Now, I must settle Vanessa in, Miss.”

“Fine.” She pouted, much like her mother, and disappeared in a haze of bugs. Another bug, with a bulkier wing set and yellow eyes bit your finger before fleeing as well. You brushed off the blood on your apron and shot a glare at Vanessa. The cut, you noted, had already disappeared. Mother Miranda must of improved how quickly she could regenerate.

“What?”

“’What’.” You mocked, averting your eyes.

“I am right,” Vanessa said, clutching her chest like a Victorian lady in need of a fainting couch, “We, technically, belong to Miranda. Not her adopted anger issues.”

You rolled your eyes and wiped the smears of blood of the walls that Daniela had made in her haste to get between the two of you. “Whether or not you are factually correct is irrelevant.”

“You’re not serious.”

“I am,” You said tiredly, “Part of my very serious job is keeping the girls happy because it’s more important than the semantics of my situation.”

“It’s more than just semantics,” Vanessa insisted, “You’re lying to them.”

You sighed, “It would hurt them too much.”

“You’ve gone soft.” Vanessa bumped your shoulders together and smiled that smug grin you could never forget.

You crossed your arms and bumped her back. “Shut up.”

…

“Stop complaining for two seconds, would you?” You said, holding the door open for her.

Vanessa shrugged, leaning over you instead, “Who said I was complaining?”

“Go in the room.”

“I’m supposed to observe you.”

“And I need to attend to Lady Dimitrescu, now in.” You nudged her towards the room, and she stumbled more than she should have.

The room was small but warm. It was set next to your own and had been empty for as long as you had been there, so you had hijacked it for personal use until then. Lady Dimitrescu had given the room to Vanessa for the duration of her stay and, while you were attached to it, you cleared your extra things and remade it for her.

Vanessa, on the other hand, didn’t appreciate the spartan room all that much. She didn’t seem to like the lack of windows, or how dry everything was. You frowned at her for that.

“You should be used to this kind of living.” You said.

Vanessa sat down at the desk and propped her legs on the desk. “Maybe I got used to luxury.”

“Yes, Mother Miranda’s operating table is so clearly the height of ostentatious luxury.”

She laughed, then covered her mouth a moment later.

“Get comfortable,” You said after a moment, “I’ll be back later.”

“Do you have to help her?” Vanessa asked.

“I work for her.”

“You also kiss her ass when she isn’t around.”

You frowned, “I do not.”

“You do,” Vanessa cooed, “Every conversation you manage to sneak her in. Lady Dimitrescu this and Lady Dimitrescu that.”

“Not this again.”

You rubbed one of your temples. Vanessa shrugged from her seated position, her eyes barely moving from you. “She isn’t even here.”

“I’m not entertaining this,” You said flatly, “Stay in here, I’ll be back by the end of the day.”

“Define ‘end of the day’.” She said, picking up the axe you kept under the bed.

“Before dinner.”

“Okay.” You heard her say before you shut the door.

You walked halfway down the hallway then turned to look back at her door. It was closed, the corridor was well lit and warm and the noise of the kitchen from further down was the only thing you could hear. The only difference from yesterday was a thick black line that marked one side of the walls.

…

Lady Dimitrescu’s rooms were emptier without her pet, something that you always noted when she lost one. The extra bedding was gone, the extra candles, the smaller set of care products that she usually kept and the trunk for clothing. It almost looked too stark, and you could almost understand her obsession with always keeping a pet.

“Madame.” You greeted and she blew a stream of smoke at her own reflection.

“Wesker,” Lady Dimitrescu murmured, removing her gloves, “Is the bath ready?”

“Yes, Madame.”

“Good.”

She didn’t move from her spot, slowly removing one glove at a time.

Her vanity mirror was covered in a viscous substance that drooled down onto the mahogany

“Come here.” She said softly, extending one hand towards you without turning to look at you. Her hand gleamed grey in the darkness and you were halfway to her before you realised you had moved. She planted the hand on your shoulder and untied the choker around your neck.

Her mouth was dark with blood, spilling into a cascade down her dress. What you assumed was the remains of Mihaela, a few bones, a dark patch of blood and intestines strewn neatly on the floor, sat at her feet. She caressed your cheek and brought you closer to her. You flinched and she smiled, her eyes burning gold, leaning over to capture your other cheek.

“What’s the matter?” She murmured, pulling you tight against her, smearing blood over your face and chest, “Are you afraid of me?”

You sucked in a breath that reeked like open bowels, “What is going on?”

She tilted her head slightly, and her mouth split too widely when she smiled, through her cheek and near her ear. She opened her mouth and her cheeks split open, her long black tongue pouring out of the side to lick blood off her jawline.

You moved your head away gently and she moved, licking your face from chin to forehead to clean away the blood she had left. She cradled you in her lap, dragging her lips over your forehead then her teeth and you stared at her blood covered neck quietly.

“Who did you use for the bathtub?”

You cleared your throat, “The chambermaids, Madame.”

She licked one of her fangs, “How many?”

“Fifty-four.”

She growled, moving to hold your waist and hug you to her chest. Lady Dimitrescu licked the blood from your cheek, her tongue as rough as a tiger, then rested her chin on the top of your head. You weren’t sure how to move; when you moved even slowly, she tensed, and she would periodically hum before she licked your face. It did not help much that her tongue scraped the flesh from your face and that she took obvious pleasure with each scrap she took from you.

Her face slowly sewed itself back together, but it was not a painless or soundless process. You watched her face, the cheek slowly come together, veins re-establishing before being filled over with flesh that reddened as soon as it grew. Her tongue grew softer, and she was no longer slurping down your flesh to fill her stomach.

“Bring up a few of the serving staff, I’m in desperate need of a good bath.” She said but didn’t let you go. You cautiously push her face away, and she nibbled at your fingertips softly. She was staring at you, her pupils wide and eyes hungry.

“Would you prefer the pastry chefs or the line cooks, Madame?”

She smiled, and it was normal, though her lipstick was smeared down her chin, “The line cooks should suffice.” She said and licked your bloodied cheeks clean.

…

You prided yourself on many things, because you were good at many things, but avoiding the suddenly clingy Dimitrescu family was nearly beyond your capabilities. The girls you could at least avoid for most of the morning, as they were always busy with one thing or another, but Lady Dimitrescu took every opportunity to have you with her as long as possible. It seemed not a minute could go by, even if you were cleaning her room, that she didn’t have a hand on you. By thirty past ten that morning, she had already called you five more times than she usually did.

When you could get away from her, and the endless workload she had decided to gift you after eating Mihaela, her daughters were there instead. Even dragging yourself through the dungeons and moving past the ghouls, one of them would find and attach themselves to you. And the first to find you as she always was, Daniela would appear and grip your sleeve or hold your hand in greeting.

She always bounced between anxious and forward when she wanted to start a conversation, not that you minded. She was, you thought, a reflection of what you were like when you were younger but made of flies. She was also hyper conscious of how she acted when the staff were around you, which you appreciated even if the extra effort was unnecessary.

“Are you thinking of leaving us?” She asked, sitting three steps down from you on the ladder you stood on.

“Thinking?” You paused, “Something like that.”

She wrapped her arm around your shins and looked up to you, her insects buzzing reminiscent of a cat’s purr, “Yes, or no?”

You stopped wiping at the thick black stain for a moment, “A bit of both.”

“That isn’t really an answer.”

“It’s more complex than yes or no,” You continued, rubbing at the stubborn spot with more force, “And try not to sound so unsure, it lessens the stern attitude you’re aiming for.”

“Okay,” She said, resting her cheek against your calf, “Can you explain the complex reasons?”

You rung out your rag, dipped it in water and tried to wipe the stain away again. You did so again, and Daniela watched you with a growing pout. “Please?” Daniela continued, kicking her feet into the air, “Don’t you love me enough to tell me?”

“There is no need to resort to emotional manipulation,” You countered, and pointed at the brush you needed, “Practice your sternness again.”

She cleared her throat while she handed you the brush, and her tone went serious, “You manipulate people too.”

“For complex reasons, and never about love,” You said lightly, patting her hair carefully and watching her smile bloom across her face, “I don’t really have a say in whether I leave or not, Daniela. If I must go, I go.”

Daniela dug her nails into your skin, but you didn’t mind it much. She held you a little tighter against her and frowned down at the floor. “I don’t understand, she gave you to us. So, you’re ours.”

“It doesn’t always work that way, Daniela,” She nodded but looked unconvinced, “Don’t frown so severely, it makes you look upset rather than stern but that was perfect vocal control.”

“Thank you.” She said but you could see that she was still lost in thought. She touched her necklace gently and toyed with one of swords, staring at you more severely than she usually did.

You looked out of the window you had just cleaned, to the sun shining down on the village and smoothed her hair down the side of her face again. “The day is rather fair, Daniela. You should ask your mother for a horse-riding lesson.”

She perked up, looking outside the window herself. “That sounds like fun.”

She hopped off the ladder and you followed her. The stain on the window had left your water black as ink and you still needed to finish the rest of the windows in the corridor before lunch, so you said your goodbyes to her. Daniela kissed your cheek and transformed into a swarm of bugs before you could react, already gone by the time you had registered the kiss.

She had always been more affectionate than her sisters, so you could almost excuse the sudden change in farewell. Out of all of the Dimitrescu, she was the one who liked you enough to want to be physically affectionate. You knew she had started doing it out of jealousy, though, ever since Vanessa had gotten too close to you than she liked.

After Daniela had disappeared and after a late lunch, around two thirty in the evening, Bela would find you as you left the kitchen.

Bela spoke the most and had mastered that stern tone that Daniela only practiced around you when they were too busy to find her. Her bugs had brilliant red eyes and settled along your collarbone with growing numbers each time she saw you. Now she kept a few bugs on you regardless of the time and you had woken to them buzzing above your head for the past three days.

“Thank you for recommending that exhilarating horse ride.” Bela greeted sarcastically.

“Miss Daniela wanted something to do.” You replied simply.

“Daniela has her books if she’s bored.”

“Miss Daniela has had trouble with riding for the past three years, it was an opportune time for her to ask.”

Bela walked closer to you than she usually would, and though she looked at your arm she didn’t take it. “Are you leaving?”

“What gave you that idea?” You replied flippantly.

“Are you planning to leave?”

“I can’t say.”

“Were you ever going to tell us?”

You didn’t meet her eyes.

Bela grabbed your elbow and made you face her, “Were you going to tell Daniela, at least?”

You pulled your elbow free from her grasp.

“I see,” She said severely, in perfect imitation of her mother, “Does Mother know?”

“She does.”

Bela frowned then let you go and then, softly. “She does?”

“I told her the day before last.”

Bela continued walking with you for a few minutes then turned to you as you were polishing a bust. “I need to talk with Mother about these secrets,” She spat the word out, “Don’t say anything to my sisters.”

Then she was disappeared in a swarm, and you were left with a group of flies clambering along the crest nestled along your throat.

…

Cassandra was never much of a conversationalist, focused more on her latest project that was undoubtedly a present for her mother than you. She had most strongly inherited her mother’s disposition towards people. She didn’t consider you a person, for example, more like a walking meal with the potential to be a person. Any opinions you expressed weren’t headed very much; it seemed to be a particular trait of the Dimitrescu family. It didn’t stop her from hooking an arm around yours after breakfast and not leaving you alone for the rest of the day.

Unlike her sisters, she kept a silent vigil over you, only speaking to shoo Vanessa away when she tried to get close to you. It wasn’t until just before dinner, when you were trying in vain to get your staff organised while Cassandra loomed over them with her sickle bared, that she started talking to you.

“You upset Bela yesterday.” She said.

You sent three maids back into the kitchen for messing up the placement of the cutlery, “Yes, I am aware.”

“What did you say?”

You paused, and the remaining maids looked at you and each other uneasily. They slowed down and you snapped at them to adhere to proper form.

“Well?”

You bit the inside of your cheek to stop from pursing your lips when you turned back to face her, “You’ll have to ask Miss Bela.”

Cassandra forced her sickle against your throat, where your neck met your head and cornered you against the unfinished table. “If you hurt my sister on purpose, I am going to gut you no matter what Bela or Mother says.”

You pushed her sickle away from your neck. “Then you should aim your sickle at my gut and not my neck, Miss Cassandra.”

Cassandra chuckled throatily and moved away from you. She smiled and thumbed the point of her sickle with a smile, wiping the edge you had touched almost wistfully. She gave a flourished goodbye, waving her sickle happily and walking into the main hall.

…

Vanessa took up the rest of your time before dinner, still seating pleasantly at the desk in the same position you had left her. She grinned at you and sat up properly.

“Hey there, stranger.”

You gave her a look.

“You’re not looking so good,” Vanessa said, coming over and gently rubbing the scrapes along your cheeks, “Are you doing okay?”

“You know what’s strange?” You said instead.

“What?”

“I don’t feel anything. I’m not even sore and I’ve been talking all day.”

You moved into her room and sat down on her bed, gripping the mattress and letting out a long sigh. The black stains that had been plaguing you all day were also here, you noticed. Vanessa came over to you, sitting down and wiping your cheeks with a wet cloth. You hissed at the cold and she stopped, uneasy.

“It’s fine.” You said and pushed her hand away. The cloth was black with blood.

“It isn’t.” She insisted.

“It’s just a little blood.” You murmured and collapsed onto her pillows.

She lay next to you, dabbing against the scrapes on your face. She looked worried so you let her clean away the blood while your face knitted itself back together. She sat you up gently and poured you a glass of water, not leaving you alone until you had three glasses. When the bell rang you wobbled upright, and she looked almost ready to dive to catch you.

“Dinner will be ready in twenty minutes.”

“Will you make it that far?”

You waved her off, “Follow me if you must.”

“That would be for the best.”

You frowned, unnerved by her complete lack of blinking, “I suppose.”

…

Lady Dimitrescu was fully dressed by dinner, with her makeup freshly reapplied and her dress clean of any stains. It was one of her newer dresses, red as the wine she drank with buttons that were white around her wrists and down her back. Her hair was still wet and was kept in a bun instead her usual bob, tightly held at the side of her neck.

You dabbed at the loose droplets of blood that trailed down her neck after she sat down, and she bent her head away from you to give you ample room. It exposed the entirety of her neck to the light, and it glowed warmly in the candlelight. Vanessa slurped on her wine a little louder than usual and you frowned at her.

Lady Dimitrescu ignored the flagrant misuse of manners and turned to the cooked liver and sliced heart she was served that evening. If you were not mistaken, three bodies went into her meal, from the sauce made of blood wine, the thick liver from Rachel’s husband and Rachel’s heart. Vanessa looked comparatively smaller, nibbling on her veal and carrots drowning in gravy. It was comical to see such a normal dinner served at the Dimitrescu table and you smiled.

Daniela noticed immediately and dropped her knife on the ground.

“Whoops,” She said when you walked over and picked it up and pulled a new one from your pockets. “Thank you.” She smiled.

Lady Dimitrescu sipped her wine, “Be careful, my dear.”

“Yes, Mother.”

Bela was much quieter than she usually was, not jibing Cassandra for eating without a fork or rolling her eyes at Daniela for being so obvious. Her eyes were fixed intently on Vanessa and barely strayed while her hands dissolved into bugs and ate her meal for her.

“Tell me, Vanessa,” Lady Dimitrescu began, drawing all eyes towards her, “How are you enjoying my castle?”

Vanessa swallowed the half-eaten potato she had in her mouth, “I haven’t seen much of it.”

“Oh? Not one to explore, are we?”

She looked at you, “I was advised against exploring.”

Lady Dimitrescu put a hand to her chest, the other planting itself on your shoulder and smiled magnificently, “I assure you, me and my daughters don’t bite. You are free to explore to your hearts content.”

Vanessa leaned back into her chair, “Thank you, I think.”

Lady Dimitrescu laughed and turned her smile on you, well pleased with herself. Her eyelids drooped for a moment and her smile went softer, “My dear Wesker will always be busy, of course, but my daughters do so love entertaining foreigners like yourself.”

You cleared your throat and she hummed then turned to Vanessa and returned to their last conversation. It was a clunky transition, one that she wouldn’t have made without reason, and you moved back to where your staff were. Their numbers were halved, the others the dinner on the girls plates, and you were left with only the best of the bunch. The perfect additives, the Lady called them, fit for her most expensive of wines.

You were glad to see that two more were worthy than the last round of cattle.

But that was out of your hands now. Lady Dimitrescu had ensnared Vanessa with a menagerie of questions that had clearly been building since their last conversation and you found many of your secrets were gouged with extensive glee.

Within the hour Daniela had eaten through an entire cake and was on to her second, while Cassandra had disappeared once again, kissing her mothers’ cheek as she left. Lady Dimitrescu’s menagerie had expanded to a national park of questions, and she spoke on and on without seeming to pause. Vanessa would finish answer one and have a dozen more posed within the next minute and she was ruddy faced and out of breath from talking so much.

Bela nibbled at her own slice of cake, strawberry and lemon tonight, looking so intensely at Vanessa you thought her eyes would merge. She listened too, more seriously than her sister did, and you could practically see her drinking in every detail of the conversation with interest. She looked at you a few times, for wine or in surprise, and at one point leaned over to murmur yikes after one particularly child unfriendly story.

You remained out of the interrogation, refusing to answer any question outright. That was how the Lady got in, she asked one innocuous question and then bombarded you with a million more until she was satisfied. Vanessa, it seems, hadn’t learned her lesson after the first time and fell for it faster than a plane landing on an airstrip.

Lady Dimitrescu laughed at one point, eyeing you, “Did you really?”

“I have no recollection of what she’s saying, Madame.”

“Surely you must, it sounds so outlandish,” She licked the wine from her lips, and you dabbed away the spit. “Unless you two are playing games with me.”

“No, Madame,” You said innocently, “We aren’t.”

She smiled, “Is that so?”

“It is, Madame.” You said and began clearing the table.

…

The morning after, you and Vanessa were in the kitchen, the windows open to the cold breeze. You were cutting vegetables, Vanessa’s dexterity with knives as good as a wad of putty left in the sun, and she instead kneaded dough poorly. Daniela had inadvertently whipped her sisters into an emotional frenzy after dinner last night and caused a series of unceremonious gorging on whomever was unluckiest and unwanted by their mothers’ palette.

With the chambermaids gone, it was the cooks who took the brunt of their hunger. Your sibling remained with his most trusted sous chef and the pastry chefs.

You had taken the last line cook down to the cellar last night, while she was still alive and kicking, dragging her feet along the floor in a vain effort to stop you. She had made excellent bread and glazed wonderfully; she smiled while she kneaded and had the best work ethic of all of them. it was for that reason you had recommended her for cadou experimentation and that reason alone why she had been spared from being eaten alive.

You had cleaned her hair up after you had restrained her and tucked a bit of hair behind her ear.

“You shouldn’t glare so ferociously,” You said, setting down a plate of mouldy bread, “You’ve been given a great opportunity.”

She looked mortified.

“You aren’t going to remember,” You continued, pouring a glass of water, “You don’t understand it and you won’t remember what I’m saying now, but you should be honoured by being brought here. It’s much better than being made into a bath.”

“What?”

“What precisely did you think happened to your paramour Jessica?” You smiled at her expression and set down the candle while she strained against the shackles. “The rest of the chambermaids were put into the Lady’s bath as well. They were sorely needed.”

This was perhaps your favourite part when you cycled through staff. There was something greatly satisfying about watching the pieces fall into place, faith wavering as they learned the truth and then visiting them afterwards and seeing the light in their eyes dead but for hunger.

Playing games, as Lady Dimitrescu said once, after she had caught you unravelling one of her subject’s entire life thread by thread. She had seemed pleased by your tendencies and even instructed you on how best to reveal certain information bit by bit. But you weren’t here for the joy of it, not right now at least.

“You’ve always been good with people, Bronwyn.” You said conversationally and she looked at you oddly.

“Clearly not, since I trusted you.”

“I’ve been manipulating people into liking me for years,” You waved your hand flippantly, “What would you have done if you had known I was like this halfway through your stay?”

The chains rattled, the ghouls scuffled past you and the cell and deeper into the dungeon. You heard the girls giggling down in the darkness, the scream of a man ringing so loudly as to hurt your ears and the cackling after. You stared at Bronwyn and watched her morph from horror to disgust and everything in between.

“Escape?” She said.

“But to me, personally. What would you have done? Would you stop talking to me? Forget things? Pretend you’re fine when you’re obviously so stressed pretending as to be breaking apart at the seams?”

She swallowed and you backed away from the bars. You had ruined your mood already, and you had only been here for five minutes. The bars were grimy and rusted and you rattled them absently.

“Nevermind,” You said instead, picking up the candle, “You’ll want to rest before Lady Dimitrescu gets down here.”

As you left you heard her sharp intake of breath as she spotted her sister in the cell opposite her.

…

“You know, you really had me convinced.” You said to Vanessa when you walked into her room. She was, as ever, sitting blank faced on the bed where you had left her, her chest cavity open to reveal nothing but black mold beneath it.

“Did I?” She said, looking at you and smiling, “I don’t really remember much.”

“The last time I saw you, you were opened exactly like this on a bench in a cell. Do you remember that?”

“No,” She confessed, “I don’t remember how we got to this shit village either.”

“We were still recovering from waking up, they shoved us in a potato sack together and hauled us here.”

“I don’t remember that.” She said and moved her hand to watch it as it crumbled.

You removed the pins holding her skin open, folding them back against her ribs carefully. You lay beside her as she morphed into a blob of black fungus, nestling into the crook of her neck and hugging her chest to you carefully. She still retained a semblance of her former shape, but you could see the details of her face smudging away.

“Vanessa?”

“Yes?” She gargled; the words distorted away from her usually cheerful voice.

“What is it like? Is it painful?”

Her head was growing a large mouth, so you grabbed the knife you kept strapped to your thigh and straddled her chest after you had drawn it. Her chest was a mess of black and it had cooled drastically, like steam as it rose and changed to rainwater. A tongue lolled out of it and long black claws sharpened from her fingernails.

“I see.” You said and started cutting through her neck.

[jadelynlace]

NSFW Prompts / Ink Drinker Modern Vikings AU Request [Ivar x F!Reader]

request by: @quantumlocked310 & @alexhandersen-marcoilsoe-fandom (I combined two!)

author’s note: you can find the complete NSFW prompt list here, and you can find the request by the love of my life, I mean @quantumlocked310 here. the notes on this post contain the request from @alexhandersen-marcoilsoe-fandom

content warnings: angry sex (spanking, doggy & creampies); prompts will be bolded.

synopsis: Ivar wants to help you, and you just want to forget.

✎

You couldn’t say you had better coping mechanisms, dark humor and caffeine fueled mock-heart attacks were usually how you dealt with what horrors came from work. Bottling things up, shoving them under the rug that simply could not hold much more. But you never called Ivar a name out of anger. Or out of any emotion other than petty annoyance because there were times you couldn’t believe “Jack Ass” wasn’t his legal name. 

Bitch. 

You’d been called that before, by patients, by your ex, by Hvitserk if there was a loving application to the wording and there always was. But with how the name dropped off of Ivar’s tongue over the phone, there wasn’t an ounce of love in sight. And when the line went dead after his small outburst Ivar knew something had nipped at you. He just wanted you to consider the problem from his perspective—Ivar wasn’t one to talk about his own mentality and although he wasn’t the best example, he still saw someone professionally. You lacked that luxury and he thought you should do it. And you thought you should not.

“Why do you have to be a bitch about this?”

Sigurd even sucked in a quick hiss when the words left Ivar’s mouth, and then when his brother pulled the phone away from his ears quickly, damage was done. Ivar mumbled something about a smoke, anger on his face as he stomped through the shop, but Sigurd couldn’t tell if it was anger for you or anger for himself.

You were no happier when you went home after an unplanned extension to your shift. Taking a patient to the medical center almost an hour away on their own wish was your least favorite thing to hear when your shift ended five minutes prior. Anger might as well spill from your pores as you walked in to see Ivar at the dining table, a bottle of whiskey, two glasses, and eyes on you. And he looked pissed.

“Sit down.” He demands.

“Fuck you, Ivar,” You spit back.

“No, you don’t get to do that if you’re going to be a bitch about this,” Ivar says and he stands. You can only laugh, spoiled and rotten as the joke rings through you and annoys you even farther.

“Like you’re someone who talks about their emotions,” You say, stepping in through the threshold.

“I never said I was,” Ivar starts. “But there’s someone who gets to hear them once a week and all I want is for you to fucking think about that. That’s all I asked. Because I only know half of what you see on a daily basis, and what I know ain't great, and I can’t imagine what else there is.”

“Well, it’s a good thing you’re not a medic,” Your words come to be blunt as you walk past him.

“Oh my fucking god,” Ivar groans and pushes the chair back to thunk his weight across. “Why aren’t you letting me help you?” His words come next and you hear the bottle being opened, and you hear the sloshing of the liquid across the lowball glass and then your hear him toss it back. “I just want to fucking help you,” And Ivar is speaking to the table top now, eyes pinching shut as he scrubs his hands to cover his face. There’s another pour into the vessel and he tosses it back again. “Call me when you want to talk.” He says as he stands, feeling far too unwelcome, pulling his leather jacket back on and fishing through his pockets for his lighter and final cigarette. You hear the stomp from his boots and the deadbolt unlatch and you turn stalk out from your room. Now with bare feet that waltz you back over to where he is, slamming the door into its home and Ivar turns. There’s a look of confusion on his face, unlit cigarette ready to fall from his lips as your eyes bore back up to him.

“I’ve had a shit day—one where nothing goes right no matter what because some people can’t be pleased. Even when I drive them to the medical center, an hour away, and they have to wait in line to get checked in. Do not come over here to be a dick because I don’t want to talk to a shirk about the stupid shit like that. Have you ever seen a burnt body, Ivar? I’ll talk to a shirk about that—but not petty shit that comes with my certificate because it’s called petty shit for a reason.” You say lowly.

“Then what do you want me to do?” Ivar replies.

“Take the fucking cigarette out of your mouth.” And as soon as he complies you’re tugging his face down to yours. His hands move clumsily for a brief second, shocked in a sense with your change of emotions, and they finally latch on to your face. Your feet take you backwards, Ivar with you and you’re all but dragging him. There’s a wait for him to take control, and when you stand back alongside your bed simply looking at him, he catches his cue. 

You’re spun quickly, pushed to bend across the sheets and his hand is over your pajama pants. Slapping a palm across your ass and the sting sends your mind back to the present and it makes you moan. It makes the sharp thoughts dull and you ask him for another one. And another one. A balancing act starts between both of his hands, swatting your back side again because with each time you moan louder, you get wetter and Ivar is still trying to quickly get his own jeans off with his free fingers. He watches you climb up the bed, leaving the shorts in your wake and your wiggling from your shirt, on all fours before him. His jacket lands somewhere behind him, climbing up after you and you’re covered by that man, his hand back along your ass as he slaps it to darken a brilliant shade of red.

“Hang on,” He says lowly by your ear and he can’t help but dip his fingers between your folds, parting you to see how wet you’ve grown for him. A moan slips through your mouth as he does, pulling his fingers back and sliding your juices across his shaft, lubricating his journey and there’s a final slap before Ivar pulls your hips back. As you arch your back in response he grabs a hold of himself, nudging your thighs to part with his knee cap and there’s no slow pace as he pushes himself into you. Spreading your walls roughly and the tip of his cock pushes against your sweet spot instantly, melting into the sheets and your hair is yanked forcefully from his grasp. “I just want to fucking help,” He grumbles from behind you, gritting his teeth and he wants to stay mad at you but the ways your body conforms for him makes it a battle he’s willing to lose.

“Harder,” You beg and he hasn’t even moved yet. “Ivar, harder,” And he watches your fingers dig into the sheets as his free hand grips your hip bone. “Please—I need you so badly,” You whimper and that catches him. “Just make me forget,” The first thrust he offers you snaps you up the bed, rutting the headboard to bounce back off of the wall and you moan. “Harder,” Comes your plea and he drops your hair, free hand taking home to your other hip for leverage and he pulls back to slam into you even harder. The wetness radiating from your cunt echoes to meet the noise of the headboard as Ivar fucks you, your mouth dropping open and the angered thoughts from the prior hours are all gone. Taken up by the pleasure as his body meets yours, torso coming to cover you and Ivar reaches forwards, bending your body so your back meets his chest, and his lips can rest on your ear.

“I want you to forget everything and everyone else, but me—and this,” Ivar whispers in your ear, craning your chin as his hand slithers to grab your throat, sending his point home as his cock pierces you, causing you to whimper as your only way to respond. “And I want you to come all over me,” He grumbles, his voice faltering as his hips stutter, trying to starve off his own end to make you meet yours first. You can only nod in response, not even sure that he sees it as your climax creeps across your skin. Taunting you just out past your grip and the frustration makes you whine.

“Harder—‘m so close,” You whimper and one of Ivar’s hands drop suddenly, pushing against your clit and that sends you to cry out, dropping forwards as his hips moves as fast as his tired body will let them. Snapping up as his wrist moves to try to match it and he feels your walls grab him like a vice, a scream of his name rolling off of your mouth as you lurch in his grasp, soaking him and the whole complex surely hears you come. Crushing aftershocks of your orgasm ripple against Ivar’s shaft and there’s a few final slower thrusts, stuttering as he halts when he comes, the sound of his long groan heavenly on your ears while his arms all but crush you. Panting soon echos between the two of you and Ivar’s quite certain his back popped out of place with the force of his orgasm. As he trails his lips to your temple, gone slick with sweat that lingers from his own hair line, you finally apologize.

“Don’t need to be sorry—I get it,” He says quietly and the grimace from his earlier words are lightyears away. “Just tell me what you need so I can do it,”

“This,” is all you can reply.

“This might have to wait like an hour,” Ivar mumbles, his lips moving to your shoulder blade. “I can’t feel my back,” His confession sends laughter to ring from your lips, his echoing not too far behind and its the first sliver of decency you’ve actually felt since you left for work that morning.

“Bring the whiskey back,” You say, turning your head to seek out his lips and when they plant along yours you can’t help but hum. 

“Don’t like it when you’re upset,” Ivar adds, slowly creeping away from you, slipping back out and you climb through the sheets. In the plush oasis you curl around with the duvet, watching Ivar pull back as his eyes scan to find the path where his clothes were haphazardly flung. Red boxers are back on and he’s looming back over you, grabbing your cheeks to push them together with his fingers as he places his mouth on yours. “You’re not a bitch,” He tells you as his lips move only millimeters from yours.

“I’ll be the first to admit that I am,” You say, cheeks still squished together and Ivar can’t help but smile. He’s back a few seconds later with the bottle, tossing it to roll along the sheets and you’re quick to take a hearty swig. “Is he taking new clients?” You ask as he climbs in beside you.

“She is,” Ivar says back, palm out reached and you hand him the bottle.

“You have a lady therapist?” You say and he nods, setting the bottle back on the night stand. 

“We’ll talk about it in the morning,” Ivar tells you and you turn, moving to rest back along the sheets and his head comes down on your chest, slinging an arm loosely over your waist as he gets comfortable. And then he’s squeezing you closer as your hand take to his hair. “Wait—hold on,” Ivar says after a minute, laying back next to you and you’re suddenly pulled, laid across his chest as your naked body moves limply and he snickers at how easily your limbs are oozing. His arms are around you then, pushing hair from your face as he curls the ends around his fingertips, sliding those same digits down your spine, the swell of your bare ass, and then back up again. The warmth of his hand presses against you as you rest over him and he pulls the covers back over the two of you. “That’s better.” Ivar whispers and he presses his lips against your hair.

“Thank you Ivar,” You say from your spot.

“You’re welcome baby, get some rest,”

“I love you,” and Ivar squeezes his arms around you once more as you say that, the words always sounding better each time you speak them.

“I love you too Y/N,”

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