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just-my-latest-hyperfixation · 5 months

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Morning after

Written for the @steddieholidaydrabbles, day 10

Prompt: First time

Rated: E

CW: Alcohol; Dirty talk; Sexually explicit language; Nudity; One slight mention of BDSM

Tags: Established relationship; Tongue fucking (referenced); Service mouth Steve Harrington; ADHD disaster Eddie Munson; Idiots in love

Eddie wakes to sunlight tickling his nose, limbs heavy with the warm weight of sleep - the kind induced by alcohol and exhaustion.

Memories of last night's gig trickle into his mind. The packed location. Strobing lights, bodies moving to their music. Steve beaming up at him from the front row, deliciously disheveled, eyes sparkling with adoration.

It's funny. A year ago, he was hiding from an angry mob in a dilapidated boat house. Now, one interdimensional war, a near-death experience, and a lot of hush money later, not only is Corroded Coffin finally taking off. He also got himself a hot sweetheart of a boyfriend who loves tagging along to his shows and gets ridiculously turned on by his stage performance. Life is finally looking good for Eddie Munson.

Until he turns and finds himself at the receiving end of a death glare that would even have Vecna quake in his non-existent boots.

Eddie yelps and tries to jump to his feet, but last night's leather pants are bunched around his ankles for some reason, so he ends up face-first on the carpet, naked ass exposed to the cool morning air.

"Ow, son of a- Stevie?" he mutters. "Everything okay?"

Steve is still in the chair next to the bed. He's still glaring.

"Oh, wow," he says while Eddie scrambles to his knees and tries to inconspicuously shrug out of the pants. Why do these motherfuckers have to be so tight? "You actually need to ask after what you did?"

Eddie blinks. His nose is stinging from where it hit the carpet.

Steve huffs and snaps his magazine shut. Eddie has a sneaking suspicion he picked it up purely for dramatic effect.

"So you don't even remember, huh?"

"I, erm …" Eddie says, desperately rifling through his brain for a shred of a clue. "I'm sorry, I don't-"

Steve throws the magazine. It hits the carpet with a less-than-impressive flop but it's the gesture that counts, Eddie guesses.

"I can't believe you," Steve seethes. The chair topples as he jumps up.

"Wait, wait, wait," Eddie holds out one imploring hand. Steve stops halfway to the door and regards him with a wary look. "Lemme just …"

He screws his eyes shut, wills himself to pull images from the blur that is his memory.

Getting crushed in a full-body hug the moment they got off stage, Steve's arms and warmth and scent all around him.

Celebrating the successful gig, the lingering touches and looks and smiles.

Loading the equipment into the cars, saying goodnight to the guys.

Getting slammed against the side of the van, Steve's hands under his shirt, against the curve of his ass. Steve's tongue licking over his lips, warm and wet and eager.

"Woah, big boy. Maybe ask before you shove that tongue down my throat?"

Steve's smug smile as he leaned closer, voice husky and low.

"Let's get you home… and I'll shove it somewhere else."

Throwing himself into the car, because hoooly shit! They've tried a lot of stuff in the months they've been together, all of it great, all of it mind-blowing in fact. Eddie’s had plenty of opportunity to witness that skilled tongue at work, but this? This was gonna be a first.

He remembers nearly vibrating out of his own skin on the way home, remembers grinning like a maniac as they pulled into the driveway, Steve's hand sliding up his thigh.

Remembers tumbling into the bedroom in a flurry of limbs and moans and kisses, toppling onto the bed, hands tearing at clothes, teeth scraping over skin …

… only then, it gets decidedly more fuzzy.

"Um, I-" he mutters. "We were … You were gonna … and I-"

"You fell asleep, you fucking asshat!" Steve blurts. His face is doing that thing where he loses control of his bottom lip and it gets all pouty and quivery. An adorable, flustered blush is creeping out of his shirt collar and up his jaw. "You fucking fell asleep while I was about to- Jesus Christ, I don't believe this. This has never- why are you laughing?"

"Baby," Eddie wheezes, and by some miracle manages to stagger to his feet and shuck off his pants. "Stevie. Darling. Light of my life. You realize that this is our first fight?"

Steve scowls at him. "Maybe. So?"

Eddie can't help it, he breaks into laughter - full-blown, body-wrecking guffaws. "And it's because you didn't get to eat me out? Oh my God, I can't- only you, sweetheart!"

"Fuck off," Steve grouses, but he doesn’t pull away when Eddie reaches for his hands, and the corners of his mouth are twitching the tiniest bit. The blush has reached his cheekbones. "Do you have any- I was down there, all ready to go and you started snoring! Nobody has ever fucking fallen asleep on me!"

He's looking positively mortified now, one hand freeing itself from Eddie’s grip to run through his hair, eyes wide and confused - like a scolded puppy that doesn't understand what it did wrong.

"Aw, honey," Eddie coos, cradles Steve's face in one hand, slots their bodies closer. He's still very much naked from the waist down and he can pinpoint the exact moment this dawns on Steve. The way he licks his lips. "I'm sorry. That gig was a lot, and I guess I just … crashed? You just make me feel so warm and safe and cared for."

Steve hums reluctantly, but his chest swells with the praise and he doesn't protest when Eddie slots himself into his arms, starts to slowly undo his belt buckle.

"How about you take revenge on me now? We've got all day, so … you can go for however long you want. I won't complain, and if I do … you know where we keep the gag, huh?"

Steve's pupils blow wide.

The rest of the morning passes in a haze, but sleep has nothing to do with it.

All my holiday drabbles

#steddie #steve harrington x eddie munson #steve x eddie #steddie brainrot #steddie fanfic #fanfiction writer #fanfiction #fanfic #my writing #steddie holiday drabbles #hype's holiday drabbles

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steddieholidaydrabbles · 1 month

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Spring Pop Up Event Masterlist

Thank you to everyone who participated! I hope your spring season brings new things your way.

I hope to see you for our only two day event, May 25-26, that will focus on graduation! Check the pinned post for details and some ideas to get you started.

Late Bloomers by @fuctacles | Rated T | no cw | tags: t4t, transfem stevie, transmasc eddie, pre-relationship, mutual pining

my body is my weapon by @steddieas-shegoes | Rated T | cw: canon-typical violence, mild blood | tags: self-sacrificing steve, hurt/comfort, getting together

I keep going to the river to pray by @just-my-latest-hyperfixation | Rated M | cw: child molestation (not from MC), nudity, fade to black sex | tags: Italian steve harrington, naiad eddie munson, past lives

Sprung by @thisapplepielife | Rated T | no cw | tags: future fic, established relationship, struggling to make ends meet, light angst, sacrifice, love, making a life together

vampire nesting season by @katyawriteswhump | Rated M | no cw | tags: vampire eddie, vampire au, established steddie, angst, fluff, non-explicit bloodsucking, dark undertones

Holding Out For Spring by @thisapplepielife | Rated M | cw: alcohol abuse | tags: eddie pov, corroded coffin, future fic, struggling, post break up, hurt/comfort, angst with a hopeful ending, gatorade: not a sponsor

art by @arelliann

spring of malcontent by @lingeringmirth | Rated T | cw: major character death, implied character death, suicide | tags: angst, grief/mourning, post-vecna, depression

Somehow, I just want you more by @sidekick-hero | Rated T | no cw | tags: second chances, blind date, exes to lovers, modern au

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddieholidaydrabbles #stranger things #writing challenge #pop up event #spring

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someguyiguess23 · 4 months

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Art Trades #2.5

I like Hibachi and Nikky! (Trades with @Hibachi.wav with gift for @stamps1879)

[CW: Non-Explicit Nudity]

I like Gui. (Trade with @hastagguigui )

I like Sowilo (Trade with @czalserafino )

#sgigart #other ocs #other people's ocs #gift art #i like x series #art trades #cw: suggestive #and that's all the trades finished!! thank you to everyone that i traded with! it was a lot of fun! ^^

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dailyreverie · 2 years

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Full Moon

Requested by @lavenderluna10

Pairing: Marc Spector x reader

Fall prompts 🍂 Full Moon

Word count: 563

CW: Hints of Steven x reader. Mentions of previous sex but nothing explicit. Non-sexual nudity.

(gif for vibes only, not actually set in that scene, let's all pretend the sunlight here is actually moonlight 'kay?)

It takes a second to recognize it is Marc and not someone else looking at the sky this time, shoulders squared and eyebrows set deep, with his torso still naked and his eyes fixed on the moon as he usually is on more nights than you can count on by now; you know he can’t stay away from it, the moon summons Marc even if unconsciously, even on nights when you are far from home surrounded by pyramids and a moon bright and full lighting up your hotel room. He sits there, watching, waiting, hoping the moon won’t come alive as it had on him before.

The glow from the moon is enough for you to find him in the dark. You slide across the bed to lie right next to where he sits, “Marc,” you speak softly as your hand begins to travel to his shoulder. He finds it with his and brings it to his lips.

When he doesn’t say a word you expect the usual, his battling mind and his past of Gods and monsters keeping him awake, but when you peek over his shoulder to get a glimpse of his handsome face, you see him smiling softly without his eyes leaving the moon.

“What happened?” You ask carefully, not wanting to disturb his happiness. Little did you know you were part of it. Marc only turns his face to look back at you with his eyes shining from the moonlight. "Everything alright?"

“What do you mean?” He reaches to trace your hair with soft fingertips, traces of the shared night still showing on it.

“You look happy.”

“Am I not allowed to?” He cocks his eyebrow playfully.

“You know what I mean.” You reason, chuckling lightly when he does the same.

“He’s gone.” Marc confesses after a beat, speaking in a low voice fearing that any louder volume would bring his past back. “I thought coming back here would somehow bring him back but Khonshu is really gone.”

“I know.” You match his volume, pushing back his curls, admiring his profile that reflects the shine of the night sky. “He is.” You promise, and you want to trully believe it, but when you stare back at the moon, it's glowing presence reminds you too of the days of fighting gods.

But Marc and the moon don’t fight, Marc and the moon are more alike than you would like, with faces and changes and dark sides that you are not supposed to see - like that night he came back with a beret hanging from his fingers and spanish coming out of his mouth: things you are not supposed to see, for his sake and yours.

“What’s with you, now?” Marc calls you back, seeing how, for a change, you’re now the one with the glooming stare. You snap out of it, embracing his shoulders as you could to bring him back to bed, because even in Cairo the nights of fall bring with them a chill breeze that he needed to cover you from.“Nothing,” you smile assuringly, hoping your lie was convincing enough, distracting him by kissing his lips softly and letting him hold you against his body once again. Nothing, you repeat to yourself, because if Marc doesn’t know and he’s finally happy, then maybe keeping that secret between the full moon and you wouldn’t be that bad.

🍂🌙🍂🌙🍂🌙🍂🌙🍂🌙🍂🌙

Thanks for reading! Please reblog and comment if you enjoyed it!

Check out the rest of the fall prompts here!

#marc spector x reader #marc spector x you #marc spector fanfic #marc spector imagine #marc spector blurb #moon knight x reader #moon knight fanfiction

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distinctlywhumpthing · 1 year

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In League — A Lucky Blunder

Masterlist

Summary: The boys finally caught their rival gang's spy but something about him has their leader intervening in his punishment. Beta read by @alittlewhump!

CW: Late-19th century, explicit language, kidnapping/abduction, nudity (non-sexual), restraints, bruising from implied beating, whipping, scars, torture/interrogation, taunting of prisoner, multiple whumpers, dubious caretaker.

A high-pitched keening wound its way through the house.

Wyatt paused, pencil hovering over his place in the row of numbers. It was early evening. Sunlight entered the window at a low angle to cast long shadows through yellow-orange light. The boys would be winding down from the day which meant they were winding up for the night.

“Tommy?” He called for Frankie’s lad, the portrait of his ruddy-haired father in miniature. A child of about ten years who was always close at hand, ever-keen to make a farthing running errands. Especially if he could smugly tell younger boys later that he wasn’t at liberty to divulge the particulars. As though he was the rare child-confidant of the entire gang. He did have a fair pulse on what was going on, if a little slanted by the perspective of his youth.

Another cry, twisting all the way upstairs, most likely from the cellar two floors down. In the house—their house—not a thing could transpire unnoticed, such was the size and layout. Wyatt liked that. All was within reach and what one could hold in the palm of his hand, one could command.

Although, his appreciation and pride were diminishing by the second as the cries continued and grew more insistent. He leaned back in his chair with a sigh and almost ran his fingers through his hair before he remembered they were smudged with graphite from doing the books.

“Tommy!”

Finally, a clatter and then short, snappy strides as the child scrambled across the kitchen and up the stairs. “Yessir?”

“What is that fucking noise?”

Tommy swallowed, trying to catch his breath. “They found that man. The one ‘tipped off Keats.”

“Is that so?”

About a month ago, a beggar had shown up on their streets. He’d seen the man in question himself—more of a boy really, no more than twenty—huddled outside the door of the pub and shuffling around the streets covered in a ratty blanket.

Around the same time, a number of plans had been mislaid. At first, it had seemed only as though they’d mismatched their timing. Until one night, when they’d had a raid planned on a warehouse, expecting just a few guards and found its owner—one of their biggest rivals—Keats, had two dozen waiting instead.

It had nearly cost two boys their lives and one still had a bullet in his shoulder. They had pulled the usual threads, made sure to reassess the loyalties of certain parties. The beggar, on the other hand, was nowhere to be found. No one thought twice about an urchin disappearing. But then, a handful of days later, Jack’s sister had seen the very same accompanying none other than Keats himself.

A short ten days later, here he was, apparently paying for his trickery in the cellar, having finally been apprehended.

No one noticed Wyatt coming down the stairs. All backs were turned, including the one getting belted. Their captive was stark naked and covered in grime with patches of bruises darkening along his ribs. His wrists were tied together and hooked over his head so that he was forced onto the balls of his feet. From the looks of it, he’d managed to bear his due reward silently for a not-insignificant length of time. Raised welts crisscrossed from the back of his neck down to his calves. It was plain by the scars on his back that this was not his first beating. Not much of a distinguishing feature around these parts.

Alfred was winding up for what would no doubt be the first lash that drew blood. The rest of the group surveyed from a loose half-circle, some sitting on overturned crates and others leaning against the soot-blackened walls. Wyatt hadn’t been down here in ages, couldn’t say what was in half of the cobwebbed crates stacked in the corners. The air in the cramped space was beginning to smell pungent, cigarette smoke clinging to the ceiling in spite of the open street-level windows.

Wyatt put his hands in his pockets and leaned against the wall at the foot of the stairs. He waited until Alfred was about to strike. “What’d you find, lads?”

At least one of the men jumped, a few others sat up just a fraction straighter. Alfred let the swing fall short. Only the tail end of the belt met its target, who hissed as another welt rose on his pale flesh.

Wyatt wasn’t the oldest nor was he the longest-standing member. The group operated mostly by consensus but he was indisputably its leader. After all, he had been the one to rescue this house of cards from collapse before they had completely lost control. He’d recast the senior members into roles that didn’t require temperance and recruited younger men to fill the ranks instead. The younger the better, hungry to prove themselves and yet to develop the arrogance and pride that had prevented their predecessors from changing with the times.

They had swiftly replaced brute force and standoffs in broad daylight in favour of subtler methods, refocusing on activities with higher turnovers that required a fraction of the effort and didn’t put them atop wanted lists. Half the city was still under the impression the gang had in fact collapsed and retreated back to the slums.

Alfred turned, face as red as the skin he’d just been beating raw. Either from the strength he was putting behind his arm or from feeling caught. He wasn’t the type to come up with the first idea himself but was always the first to volunteer to carry another’s. “It’s Keats’ spy.”

“We finally caught up with him,” someone else chimed in, making a few others chuckle.

Frankie sauntered over to clap the accused-spy on the shoulder, making him tense. “Just having some fun.”

That earned a few laughs from the audience and the boy ducked his head as if to hide.

Wyatt cleared his throat. “Come on, let us have a look.”

As Frankie made the captive turn on his toes, Wyatt was struck by two things.

The first was the curious wound on the soft side of his hip, looking as though someone had inexplicably carved a piece of meat off him not long ago.

Secondly, and more notably, Wyatt was struck by the fact that this was altogether a different boy.

Part II

Together/Apart taglist: @painsandconfusion @deluxewhump @no-whump-on-main @whumpy-writings @maracujatangerine @whumptakesthecake @subject-v @susiequaz12 @writer-reader-24 @whumpinthepot @wormwriting

#whump #whumpee #whump writing #multiple whumpers #dubious caretaker #captivity whump #torture whump #interrogation whump #prisoner whump #restraints tw #captivity tw #beating tw #nudity mention tw #burns tw #loss of consciousness tw #kidnapping tw #institutionalized slavery tw #abduction tw #smoking tw

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yuripoll · 1 year

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KNOCKOUTS: Liar Satsuki Can See Death (2020 - ?)

Liar Satsuki Can See Death is an ongoing thriller series by Ryouko about a girl who can see when people are about to die.

With eyes the color of blood, Satsuki Minazuki can see death; specifically, she can see the illusion of corpses exactly 24 hours before they manifest in reality. Unfortunately, her reputation as a compulsive liar who spews ominous warnings about impending deaths means that no one ever believes her—even though she has never once told a lie. Shunned by her classmates, Satsuki is accustomed to being alone, until she prevents the death of the ever-kind Komako Komachi. This small deviation in fate ripples outward, creating a massive change. What lengths will Satsuki go to in order to save a life? - MAL

Original JP available on Book Walker. Hasn't been picked up in ENG (yet).

CWs under the cut. General severity rating: significant (mostly for the gore).

no sexual content but there is a little bit of non-explicit nudity

bloody violence & gore. wide variety of fatal traumas including decapitation, being hit by a train, overdose & falling from a height.

attempted suicide, behaviour so reckless that is borders on self-harm

bullying

child abuse / physical abuse (by a father) & emotional abuse (by a mother - not inflicted on the same person) & emotional and physical abuse by a teacher (again, not inflicted on the same person). additional shitty parents who arent quite on that level, too.

ableism? - ch54, brief scene, adult humiliates a child over facial disfigurement. ch18 of the dynastyscans translation uses the r slur.

sexual assault? - one creepy scene in ch20

do note that while there are plenty of yuri sprinkles, it's not like... blatant. no real romantic subplot in the ~60 chapters we have rn. just giving a heads up.

#knockouts #liar satsuki can see death

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zilodak · 4 months

Note

Does simspring include nsfw scenes?

Yes, including gore, nudity, and non-explicit sex scenes. Each chapter will have a CW and TW list.

#asks #anon

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wereshrew-admirer · 2 years

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Duvall giving Chine a rub-down post Sapodilla, inspecting for damage

(full image below cut, CW non-explicit nudity)

heavily inspired by this wonderful fic

#chine/duvall #cw blood and bruises #guess what went overboard on skin details that are almost invisible with this unnecessarily intense lighting?#my art #thank you anon i owe you my life #goodnight!

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shywhumpauthor · 10 months

Note

creepy whumper for Noah?

So this is my first time posting something like this that’s more than an implication. In my writing before I’ve never really written anything with the purposeful intent that this piece ends with. There is and will be nothing explicit within this series. Just read the cw. The “creepy” and “whumper” part don’t come in until the very end. Also I didn’t edit very well so if there’s typos or something please let me know

Wait

Directly following The Newest Decor

Surveillance Masterlist

Cw: aftermath of torture, implied future noncon/assault (nothing explicit is mentioned and it’s never outright stated, just intended implications, and then scene cut right after), kind of forced nudity (non-sexual, open shower setting), stress position, restraints, light manhandling, descriptions of physical abuse, mentions of mass murder/death, burns, mention of branding

Noah couldn’t move for a while after he was finally let down.

His limbs felt like the muscles had been torn to shreds, ligaments ripped free from the bones and stretched out like an elastic, no longer able to draw enough tension to move.

The guard who had cut the cable stood back by the door, which he had left cracked open on his entry, allowing Noah time to just lay there like a crumpled piece of fabric dropped in place while the blood flooded back through his extremities.

No amount of time would ever be enough, Noah thought faintly, finally able to turn his head and rest his cheek against a cool spot of the wood. The pressure hurt, pushing against the fresh scald marks that burned red against the side of his face. They were nothing like the old burn scars that speckled across his ribs and thigh, even patches that had been placed by a steady handed lighter. Those had been bad, enough to sear through the skin and leave blistering welts along the edges.

These weren’t enough to do anything more than irritate just the surface of his skin, but that was just enough to push him past the breaking point.

The coffee had long since gone cold and dried against his skin, plastering his hair to his head and making the floor around him sticky. He could feel it, tight like a film across his cheek, over his forehead, where he hadn’t been able to do anything but blink rapidly to keep it out of his eye. Even now, his arms that had been released from the restraints felt completely, achingly numb. He hadn’t dared to move yet, terrified of the world of needling fire that would stab down his body now that the circulation was somewhat released.

The guard had pushed him onto his side when he had released Noah of his bonds, a boot prodding against his ribs. At the time, he hadn’t really understood, the pressure combined with the freshly released tension in his chest enough to steal his breath for a few long moments, but now he could comprehend. His mind was clearing, slowly, the fog dissipating until only the tug of exhaustion weighed on his mind—but he could think straight, at least battle through some of the disorientation.

He would not have been able to move himself, Noah admitted with an embarrassed certainty as he twitched his fingers and toes for the first time, gritting his teeth as pins stabbed all up his legs. On his side, his legs had been freed from their trapped position, folded under his weight. Able to stretch them out, movements agonizingly slow as he tried to counter the cramps with patience. It didn’t do much to stop the pain jolting up his legs like fire.

The guard gave him time to sit up himself. It took long. Too long. Eventually he was able to get his palms beneath him and push up, groaning as he did so. Only once he was upright and his head had stopped spinning, the guard stepped forwards to take his arm, pulling him up the rest of the way. Not rough and wrenching, a firm hold to support the weight that nearly made Noah’s knees buckle as his lightheadedness rushed across his senses.

Noah couldn’t remember the last time someone had waited, actually paused and waited until he was ready to take the first steps. He was so used to being dragged, tugged along by a hand on his arm of in his hair before he could even get his feet under him, it felt almost strange. He knew not to get used to it.

The guard’s palm was cold and tight against his bicep, escorting him out of Declan’s office. Slowing his pace when Noah paused or stumbled. Setting an even step that Noah could keep up with, for the most part.

He led him down the hall, out of the nice part of the northern wing. Deeper into the sector, through a locked door that he had to scan his badge at and into a hall that matched the cold, industrial design of the rest of the compound. He recognized the path, somewhere through the disoriented haze, following the path the guard led without much falter. The guard only stopped briefly before at a closet of types, once again scanning his badge for access before gathering a fresh set of clothing and a towel from the stacks of linens, as well as some toiletries.

Noah appreciated the shower room much more than he had the hose and freezing cold water. This one reminded him a bit of the one back in the Chamber, ten or so shower heads lined against the two long walls. A small raised tile beam across the floor a few feet away from the wall, separating each shower into a different section with its own drain.

Though, the ones back in the chamber were nicer. They had dividers, and curtains, allowing for a shred of privacy among the recruits. The water would sometimes even grow lukewarm, but at the very least they were never freezing.

These were sometimes worse than freezing. Cold, relentless jets of water that beat against his back, feeling like bullets against his skin. There was no privacy here. The half walls that framed each shower section barely came up past his waist, and provided nothing but a ledge for the toiletries he was provided to sit. A bar of soap about as long as his pinky—or at least, what his pinky used to be—and one of those small plastic bottles of shampoo like the ones given out in hotels. The later was a newer addition to the routine. Maybe Declan had finally gotten sick of Noah’s disgusting, greasy hair, especially now that he was becoming more of a regular in the eyes of the meeting attendees.

The guard let go of him once they had entered the room, door sliding firmly in place behind them. The familiar black cameras stood out against the white and grey tiles, tucked in the adjacent corners of the ceiling that touched the wall with the door. Noah hated to think about this room’s intended purpose, so he tried to push his mind away from it all. Just be happy that it’s not the hose, he told himself.

He couldn’t help but wonder just how many people had walked in here before him. How many terrified, stuttering steps as they filed in rows, scrubbing their skin and hair just to be torn to shreds an hour later as the dummies in the demonstrations. Wonder just how long it would be before he was part of that line. Would he even be able to tell that time from the rest? Would they bunch him with all the others, or would Declan find it funny to make one last twist. Have him get dressed into a fresh pair of scrubs only for the fabric to be torn to shreds as his body was destroyed beyond recognition.

“Five minutes,” was all the guard said, passing Noah the soap and bottle, nodding towards the first shower on the left.

Noah had long since gotten used to being naked, especially in front of the guards. Every time, he still felt the faint flicker of humiliation in his chest, but he had learned to swallow it back and suck it up. If he acted unbothered, they would usually leave him alone. And this guard didn’t seem to be too interested in much of anything.

Still, he ducked behind the half wall before peeling off his shirt, the fabric clinging to his skin with the dried coffee. He dropped them over the wall, having to brace a hand against it as the world lurched for a moment, before he pressed the metal button and the shower sputtered to life. It took a few moments for the jets to settle into their chosen temperature, which seemed to have no influence other than the plumbing’s twisted humor. Today, though, the water was almost bit freezing cold. He tried to avoid standing directly in the spray for too long. He washed his hair first, leaning forwards so he could rinse the soap from the overgrown locks without subjecting the rest of his body to the fucking ice water.

“Thirty seconds,” the guard warned, which Noah supposed was more than enough. He turned around, letting the water beat mercilessly against his back. It stung against the welted flesh, tearing through the healing brand, but at the same time it felt almost good. Soothing. The cold numbing his muscles until the ache was concealed under the ice.

The water shut off automatically maybe twenty seconds later, not that Noah was counting or anything. He pushed his hair back from where it had plastered against his face, swiping away some of the excess water from his eyes. A moment later he stepped out of the small shower sector, hunching in on himself slightly as he held out his hand for the towel.

It took him a second to realize that the guard wasn’t holding it. Or the clothes he had gathered for him to change into. The fabric lay crumpled in a messy pile in the corner.

Noah’s brow knit with confusion, looking up to the guard’s face.

The guard was staring back at him.

His expression was blank, lips pressed in the same bored line. But there was something behind his eyes, something that made Noah feel unsteady as he stepped forwards.

“What-” Noah’s voice crackled slightly, the words falling off his lips as water dripped from a strand of his hair onto his chest. “Wait,”

He saw the baton as the guard’s hand moved towards his waist, a strike of fear spiking through his chest, but it wasn’t the electrified rod he was reaching for.

———————————————————————

Tag list: @pickleking8 @blood-enthusiast @t0rture-me @sparrowsage @enigmawritesstuff @whump-me

I’m going to start maybe adding in a few characters to the series. Not anyone really important, just some side characters with actual names that can help move things along sometimes. If anyone has suggestions on what I should write for Noah, please lmk!

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starlit-hopes-and-dreams · 1 year

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Chapter 7 ~ Trust

Hidden Depths AU

Previous ~ Masterlist ~ Next

Genre: Fantasy whump

CWs: captivity, lady whump, nudity, dead bodies, shoulder dislocation, setting of said shoulder... painfully, blood, threats of harm and death, knife to throat, panic attack(s), mildly scrambled memories causing confusion and distress, very brief recounting of noncon (piecing memories together, non explicit)

WC: 2800

Taglist: @kixngiggles

A/N: BITCH CHAPTER I AM DONE WITH THEE

Seriously, I can't take any more of this chapter 😅 Can't say I'm entirely happy with it, but it's passable. I want to move on. I'm ready to move on. And the longer I have this thing, the more I'll change it and... no. I refuse. I KICKETH THEE TO THE CURB. Enjoy my insanity :D

Carr

It felt like waking from a dream.

A really fucking awful dream.

Her ears were no longer ringing, and her vision wasn’t fractured. She hurt, but it wasn’t nearly as bad as she remembered.

Or thought she remembered. Carr blinked up at the white limestone ceiling.

A pained cry split through the fuzzy feeling of unreality surrounding her, and she jerked up, only to bite her lip against the shock of injuries that turned out to be all too real. Her muscles felt like jelly, quivering with the strain of holding herself upright.

Propping herself on her elbow it would be, then. Had killing Marcus been a figment of her imagination? Had he finished with her and gone after Resh now?

She scanned the room, heart thumping hard in her aching chest. Not Resh, she couldn’t… her eyes fell on the back of a man who should not be in this chamber. He was wearing dark brown breeches with a black jacket, and his not blond, not brown braid fell over his shoulder.

He also had Resh pinned to the wall with a blade digging into his throat. Carr saw his arm tense, and a spike of terror turned her blood to ice.

“Nykim, no!”

A tremor passed through her when he paused. Oh gods, he’d almost slit Resh’s throat. What was he… why wasn’t he moving away?

“Please, don’t kill him,” she whispered.

Resh’s eyes flicked over to meet hers for a moment as Nykim slowly lowered his dagger. When he turned around, she thought she saw relief in his blue-gray eyes. Which confused her even more.

“Did you just say please?” Nykim asked incredulously.

Carr flushed. Surely she’d said please at least once before…

“Why are you here?” she blurted. Like that was the most important question. Fuck, her brain felt scrambled.

Nykim raised his eyebrows, and it was at that moment Carr remembered she was naked. She glanced down at herself. Yup, the coating of blood did nothing to disguise her breasts or the fact that she had nothing between her legs. Her next breath stuck in her throat, and she couldn’t quite meet Nykim’s eyes when she looked back up.

“I…” Nothing would come out of her mouth. What could she say? I can explain? I’m sorry I deceived you for the last ten years? Please don’t kill me? She pressed her lips together instead. Her other arm crossed over her chest. Oh gods.

Something like irritation crossed Nykim’s features, and she flinched when he moved.

“For fuck’s sake, Carr,”–Nykim only shrugged out of his jacket–“Did you think I would leave you here indefinitely? I gave you time to get out yourself. I was tired of waiting.” He approached her, and she couldn’t stop herself.

She flinched again.

The corners of his mouth turned down, but all he did was drape the jacket over her. Carr clutched it to her chest.

“You should lay back down, Carr. You have a lot of injuries. I’ll get you out of here in a moment.”

She did, and they hurt, but they didn’t seem quite right. Nothing seemed quite right. Where was Marcus? Why was Nykim saying nothing about her being a girl?

I’ll get you out. His phrasing slammed into her, knocking any other worries to the wayside. She looked over Nykim’s shoulder at Resh, who was pressing a hand to his bleeding neck. His brows were pinched with pain, but the way he looked at her… it took her breath away.

“Nykim–”

“Carr.” He cut her off with a warning look. “The boy’s a liability. Are you seriously suggesting we leave him alive?”

We? There was no way he was asking her opinion as a beta after finding out–feeling a bit woozy, she decided to lie down. Her vision swam, and when she blinked, tears fell free, trickling down her temples. She quickly wiped them away.

A scuffle broke out. Carr turned her head to find Resh had tried to come to her, and Nykim too, based on how close they were. But Nykim was holding Resh back with an arm across his chest… and a dagger right over his heart.

“Stay away from her,” Nykim said, his voice low and rough. “She doesn’t like people hovering.”

“You think… I don’t know… that?” Resh forced out. He was obviously hurting. It was also obvious he didn’t care as he tried to shove past Nykim anyway. “Ah! Carr, you okay?”

Her eyes stayed trained on that dagger. “Nykim, please! Don’t hurt him.”

“The fuck is going on here, Carr?” Nykim grunted, shoving Resh back.

It was too much. Her head swam with unanswered questions and fears she couldn’t assuage because of them. Nykim showing up here was undoubtedly good, but he was trying to kill Resh, which was bad. So, so bad. She couldn’t allow it but didn’t know if she held any sway over Nykim now. She certainly didn’t have the strength to stop him if she didn’t.

Carr covered her mouth to stifle her sob, but it didn’t completely mask the sound. Both men went still as statues. Oh gods. She threw her arm over her eyes, just in case any more tears decided to break free.

“Did you miss something?” Resh asked, his tone accusatory.

“She’s still going to be in some pain,” Nykim said, sounding confused.

He probably was. She’d never once cried in front of him.

There was the whisper of fabric over stone, and then Carr felt a presence at her side. She tensed and lowered her arm to see who had come to gawk at her.

It was Resh.

She couldn’t look away from him to check on where Nykim was. Resh kneeled just out of reach, the fingers of his left hand digging into his thigh. The positioning had to be painful after the way he’d been chained. His right arm hung uselessly at his side, the deformity of his shoulder obvious without his shirt. Both his wrists had deep grooves cut into them, and blood painted his forearms.

“Get off your knees,” Carr mumbled. Her chest felt tight; gods, he’d tried so hard to get to her.

He huffed a laugh while he shifted his weight, sitting beside her head. She finally summoned the nerve to meet his eyes. They were the same deep brown pools she’d allowed herself to drown in while… her brow wrinkled.

She was pretty sure that had happened, that Marcus had been on top of her… that she had waited, held by Resh’s eyes until the… she shuddered. Until the right moment before wrenching the dagger from her shoulder and slitting Marcus’ throat. Not too deep. No, she’d needed a little time to… fuck. Had she really–had that actually happened?

“Is he dead?” she whispered, tears clogging her throat. Her fingers dug into the leather of Nykim’s jacket. “Did he… did I… was that real?”

Resh bowed his head, releasing her from his thrall. “Yeah, it was all real. I’m… I couldn’t… fuck.” His left hand clenched into a fist.

It wasn’t his fault. It wasn’t, and yet he had never stopped trying. Carr remembered that much. He had begged and pleaded and offered himself up in her place, all while tearing himself apart–she looked at his arm–literally, in an attempt to help. He shouldn’t blame himself; it wasn’t his fault. She didn’t know how to say any of that, though.

Instead, she steeled herself and said, “I need to see. Will you help me?”

The shock on Resh’s face was painful to witness. His gaze drifted to the side before coming back to her. “Are you sure? Maybe it’d be better if Nykim helped you?”

She stared at him, trying to figure out if he didn’t want to touch her out of guilt or because of what had happened. More fucking tears pricked her eyes at the latter thought; fucking pits, none of her defenses were in place. They’d all been stripped away.

Nykim cleared his throat, and they both looked over at him. “If she asked for your help, boy, she means it.” He wiped his bloody hands on his pants. “I’ve got some bodies to take care of. You can have a few minutes, then we need to get out of here.”

“‘We’ includes Resh, Nykim,” Carr said harshly. Her heart beat wildly though, unsure if he would listen, uncertain if what she wanted still mattered–

He sighed heavily. “For now, yes. Further discussion can be held at the lair.”

Nykim stood and took a few steps toward the door before he pivoted, changing course. He crouched at Resh’s side, his eyes taking on a stormy gray hue. “You do anything to hurt her, and I’ll strip the flesh from your bones. Then I’ll mount them in my office.”

His hand shot forward, and a bolt of fear shot through her, stopping her heart, but he only grabbed Resh’s right arm and yanked. All color fled from Resh’s face. The pop of his shoulder sliding back into the socket was audible even over his scream.

“What the fuck, Nykim!” Carr shouted, struggling to push herself up.

“Couldn’t have him tensing up, now could I?” Mischief danced in his eyes.

He was up and out of reach before Carr could knock him on his ass as he so richly deserved. She was angry enough that she could’ve done it. Maybe.

To Resh, he said, “Hold that arm close to your body, and don’t fucking use it.” Then he swept out of the room.

“Shit,” Resh gasped, clutching his arm to his chest. Perspiration dotted his forehead. “He’s… intense.”

Carr glared at the door. “Yeah.”

“So, uh, how would you like me to help you?” He looked nervous when Carr transferred her gaze back to him. “I… I don’t want to make you feel uncomfortable, is all.”

Her skin prickled, and she suppressed a shudder at the thought of anyone touching her right now. But she was so weak, it couldn’t be helped. Besides, she trusted Resh...

The thought rocked her to her core. When the fuck had that happened?

“Just help me sit up, and we can go from there,” she said, pushing that revelation away.

He did as she asked, as best he could with only one arm. The warmth of his palm met the chilled, bare flesh of her shoulder, and Carr was shocked to find she didn’t mind the contact. Which had her thinking that maybe, from him, a hug would feel even better.

For a moment, she allowed herself to imagine how it might feel to be held, comforted. Resh’s warmth would soak into her, and she could listen to his heart beat, like she had when the tunnel collapsed. The steady rhythm would soothe the ache in her chest, that ever-present need she had to be seen, accepted.

Anger–at herself–rose swiftly before plummeting just as fast into a hole of dark despair. Her breathing quickened as she mentally castigated herself; she fucking knew better. Gods, she could feel herself unraveling, thread by carefully woven thread. She bit her lip, forcing back that longing.

Focus on the task at hand. That’s what she needed to do. Focus.

With Resh’s support, she put Nykim’s jacket on properly, fastening it over makeshift bandages she only now noticed. Her chest warmed, and not from the nasty gash between her breasts.

“Did you bandage me?” She caught Resh’s nod in her peripheral vision while she fastened the last button.

Whatever else she intended to say vanished from her mind when she lifted her eyes and caught sight of the body lying not six feet away from them.

Marcus.

He was very fucking dead.

Relief, along with a savage sense of satisfaction, filled her, and she clenched her fists while the holes in her memory filled in. He’d fucking deserved every moment of suffering. She wished it could’ve lasted longer.

She had killed him and–

The heir to the godsdamned throne was dead.

“Shit, this is bad,” Carr muttered. Gods, all those guards had seen her and Resh in here with the prince. And Resh–what was he thinking? He’d seen her kill Creve, but this… this was on another level.

Stiffening, she jerked away from where she leaned against his chest. Shit, she had been leaning on him, had felt like he was… safe. A pit formed in her stomach.

Safety was an illusion.

It was. She’d always known that, had never known any different. The only safety she’d ever known had been the safety she created, and even that wasn’t foolproof.

The carnage blurring in front of her eyes proved that.

She pressed a hand to her chest and winced when her wound cracked open. Fresh blood slicked her palm while she tried to remember how to breathe.

Distantly, she recognized she was falling apart. It didn’t matter; she couldn’t seem to stop it. After everything, the thing that broke her was feeling safe? She would’ve laughed if she could get any air in her lungs.

Behind her sat the one person who had ever evoked that feeling in her. Gods, how she wanted to give in to it. But she didn’t know how. And there was–

There was blood all over her; Marcus had been all over her. Her skin crawled, and she tried to scramble away.

He had seen it all. He couldn’t… she couldn’t…

Resh caught her before she could fall on her face. “Hey, what’s going on–”

“Don’t touch me,” she shrieked, but he didn’t let go.

He didn’t let go, he didn’t let go, he, he, he moved. In front of her. Her hand shot out on reflex, and Resh winced when her palm hit his chest.

“You don’t want to touch me,” she sobbed, dropping her arm, but he pulled her closer. She didn’t fight it, didn’t want to fight it.

Resh was warm, and she was so, so cold. She shivered against his chest, holding her breath in an attempt to stifle her crying. Hiccuping sobs rewarded her efforts.

He wrapped his arm around her in a loose hold. Even as weak as she was, she could’ve pulled away if she wanted to.

“Breathe, Carr,” Resh said softly, stroking her hair.

She tried.

“If you think I’ll judge you for what happened, you’re wrong. I’m glad you did what you did. I don’t care about any of that. But I understand if you truly don’t want to be touched.” He pulled his hand away from her head, loosened his hold even more. “I just didn’t want you to hurt yourself. Tell me what you want me to do. How can I help?”

She whimpered, pressing herself closer to him. “Don’t stop.”

His breath caught, and she melted into him when he resumed petting her hair. Just a few moments, she told herself. Then she had to pull herself together.

“Mother fuck,” Nykim said. “What the fuck did you do?”

She hadn’t even heard him come in. Unacceptable. The tangled, swirling mess of her emotions stilled, and she stiffened at his tone.

“He d…didn’t do.” Hiccup. “Didn’t do anything,” Carr mumbled. Godsdamned hiccups. Deep measured breaths. She knew how this worked.

In.

Out.

Resh’s arms tightened protectively around her.

Disbelief colored Nykim’s voice as he muttered a few more choice curses.

All Carr could think about was how Resh shouldn’t be using his right arm to hold her like that. She squirmed, then thought better of it when he flinched. Instead, she tilted her head to look at Nykim, gauging how much trouble she was in.

Nykim caught her eye and cocked his head, studying her silently. She could only imagine what she must look like. If being female hadn’t doomed her yet for some reason, Carr knew her behavior wasn’t exactly fitting for one of Nykim’s betas. Carr didn’t even breathe while she waited on his judgment.

“Okay.” Nykim sighed, and she drew in a ragged breath. That was a sigh of resigned acceptance if she’d ever heard one, thank fuck.

“I can’t wait to hear this story. But for now, let’s get the fuck out of here. You’re with me, Carr.”

She nodded and pushed away from Resh. He wouldn’t be able to help her, not with how fucked up his shoulders must be. If she couldn’t get her legs to support her, Nykim would likely end up carrying her. Wonderful.

At least her hiccups were gone. Suppressing a groan, she reached out to take Nykim’s hand.

Nykim may have questions, but she had some of her own now. Like why he kept shooting Resh those ‘keep your mouth shut’ glances she was so familiar with.

She wondered if it had anything to do with how she was still alive.

Image Description

[ID: The banner is a sepia-colored version of the original blue-green background, with tree branches arching over a set of blue-green eyes, forming an approximation of a face. The words Hidden Depths AU are written in white above the eyes. end ID]

#fantasy whump #lady whump #whump #whump writing #original writing #original characters #alternate universe #hidden depths au #captivity tw #blood tw #knife tw #dead body tw #nudity mention #panic attack tw #dislocated shoulder #reference to noncon #warnings above the cut

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fujoreads · 4 months

Text

Umineko: Episode 2 // Review & Thoughts

Heey it's Episode 2! I've just finished Episode 4, so I might as well catch up on these.

VNDB | Steam

SPOILERS AHEAD!!!

CW: Murder (duh); non-explicit nudity; child abuse

P.S.: There are broken youtube previews due to my blog's theme, so they won't look as good, but I refuse not to show them.

If Episode 1 was crazy enough, this episode just gets crazier—and so on. I don't remember much of the details from this, but I do remember it focusing more on Shannon and Rosa this time.

There's even some cool foreshadowing I understand now after finishing Episode 4! I will only reference it in my EP4 review, though.

By the way, unlike EP1, I won't go into as much detail since we're all aware of who the characters are.

Let us begin!

PLOT

Different deaths, different order, different victims!

We get to know more about Shannon and her inner desires for a successful romantic relationship with George. They are very cute together, though I found the whole aquarium date a bit slow.

THEY SAID THE THING!!!

Hahaha, it's fun to see how this sentence can apply to so many different situations, meaning different things.

CHARACTERS

Ushiromiya Battler

This might be the most emotionally brutal episode to him. Well, to an extent they all are, but the way Beatrice made him submit so hard is something else.

This was a fantastic episode for femdom enjoyers such as myself kekw

Ushiromiya Eva

Eva plays a huge role in Shannon's view of herself (and her role in George's life) as an obstacle.

I don't have much to add—she'll have her time next episode.

Ushiromiya Jessica

I almost forgot this was the episode we discover Jessica has a crush on Kanon. I'm not going to lie, I hate this ship. Well, hate is a strong word, but I don't really feel any chemistry and it feels forced, so it's kinda funny how Kanon keeps rejecting her.

Ushiromiya Rosa

Her relationship with Maria is a continuous focus over the entire arc, but this episode focused a lot on how her relationship with her family shaped her into this well-meaning but abusive parent.

This dynamic will be better developed in Episode 4, but I really enjoyed these scenes, even if they hurt a lot to read through.

Rosa is the leader this time. It's fun how our reaction towards her with a gun is completely different from EP1, when Natsuhi was the surviving parent.

It's the eyes, I tell you. They have malice in them o_o"

Though I'll admit, the last scene with her and Maria was hella badass, and it was nice to see her trying to save her at all costs, even if she was a bit greedy as well.

Her Tea Party torture scene was... man, that was tough to read.

Shannon

Shannon had huge character development throughout this entire episode and I loved it. But to be completely honest, I can't remember a lot except for Rosa's paranoia.

The Stakes

Ooooh man, I wasn't expecting to see actual demons. I don't know why I wouldn't expect it, but I just didn't. I liked Asmodeus, she seems fun!

Atmosphere & Soundtrack

youtube

My favorite banger for the episode! It's such a great ending scene aaaa

Mechanics & Gameplay

We get introduced to the red truths. I finally understand the memes!!

I love how Ryukishi is always introducing new concepts even within the game. It keeps things fresh, especially considering how long this game is.

Final Thoughts

Well, this was it for me! I think the next episodes might be more detailed, I just forgot a lot about this episode. Of the Question Arc, this may be the least memorable, unfortunately.

It was still a great episode, and I finished wanting more! I'll give this a 7.5/10, aka 4 stars!

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Thank you for reading it all to the end! I’m working full-time and looking for another job to make my life possible; would you be so kind and consider giving me a little tip? It can be as low as 3 bucks and it’d make a huuuuuge difference!! If you tip 10€ (or higher), you can dictate my next read and be credited (if you’d like) on that review! Have a nice day!!

#umineko no naku koro ni #visual novel #review #ryukishi07 #07th expansion #when they cry

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