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yuellii · 8 months

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catching floating clouds ( i’m in stupid love )

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐒𝐓𝐔𝐃𝐘 ;; the heart-stopping, stomach-twisting, gut-wrenching way in which they fall hopelessly in love with you

feat. neuvillette, ayato, baizhu, kaveh ( separately )

notes. gn reader, heavily inspired by @miyosei who you should check out bc she is much better at this than i am, really felt like thinking about my favorite genshin men

NEUVILLETTE falls in love like fresh springtime.

There’s a certain silence in the air that catches his breath, one that forces him to breath in so deeply, he might as well consider himself human. It’s new, like a flower bloom in the spring where the air is crisp and the mornings are tranquil.

He takes notice of it, of course. It was impossible not to when the mere thought of you swarmed his head in instances he needed it most. Amidst expense reports, amidst case filing—you more often than not somehow make your way back into his head. And despite such shortcomings creating an imbalance in his work life, he can’t seem to hate it.

Perhaps he’s fallen ill, or perhaps there was something in the air as of late that has him feeling all sorts of things. Because this feeling was all so fresh, so new, he might’ve sought for it.

Your touch is akin to the end of summertime, when days are hazy and he finds a moment of relaxation. Your voice is a serenity like harp strings attached to his heart; and for once, he feels human.

And suddenly, he begins to notice the simpler things in life that he hadn’t noticed before. Fontaine waters have never smelled so fresh since before he fell in love with you, nor did the evening clouds ever looks so ethereal. These emotions you gave him were a gift from the Gods, showering him in the blessings and beauty of human life. And at the center of it all, it was you, the one who made him human.

KAMISATO AYATO falls in love in hesitance.

You prove to be difficult to get out of his head. He’s frustrated, he’s furious, and he’s fallen so fully in love.

There’s a tinge of stress that comes with the realization, like you’re another item of baggage to add onto his already-tired shoulders; another piece of food dropped onto his full plate, but he somehow hates himself for comparing you to such burdening analogies. You didn’t deserve that.

He likes you. He wishes he didn’t.

Only despondency clogs the air when he thinks of you, late-night thoughts in the dim glow of his office as he twirls his pen between his fingers. His hand movements are the only thing stable right now, for his mind was in disorderly disarray at the shambles of his emotions. Gods, he was in love with you. He had so much work to finish, but he was in love with you. He wanted to stop thinking, but he was in love with you.

He feels sick, like the lack of sleep from nights he went overthinking his future made him close to throwing up. Or like the mere imagination of you coming in to save him from this workload made him sickeningly nauseous.

He couldn’t work like this. No, not when your clouded his thoughts like he was some lovesick fool.

And he was—he knew he was a fool. But when you’ve damned him just from making him fall in love like this… he fears he has to shut you out.

BAIZHU falls in love in the present time.

He is a man of the future, a man that has his entire life set out, from his plans to obtain the grace of immortality and thereafter. When he falls in love with you, it’s a sudden obsession that has him craving the thought of you for weeks. It affects his life, his plans, his work—it forces him to live in the present time where he was still weak, still mortal.

He can’t help but sit there, staring down at his table in a wide-awake agony that eats at his ambitions. It’s not that he’s never felt this kind of love. It’s that he’s never allowed himself the chance to, not once since he made this contract.

He loves Qiqi like family, he loves that he can take care of her; he hates how he can’t do the same with you.

And he hates how you force him to live in the present, the way you cloud his head with thoughts of a future he had not considered. His future never included you in the picture, it never involved living with another human so fragile like himself. This vision did not include a lover that would age so quickly after he himself achieved immortality.

But he can’t help it, not when the mere imagination of living and dying by your side sounded like a love he was suddenly hoping for. He only wishes he could have both lives at once.

KAVEH falls in love like dancing petals.

For a person so human and so gorgeous like you, how could he not? He’s always romanticized the reiterating idea of romance, for it was one of the beauties that human life had to offer. When flowers dared to fade, there was still hope for love.

And when he found that love in you, it was like a breath of the summer solstice. It felt like the longest day of the year, yet simultaneously the brightest. Smiling with joy that reached up to the corners of his eyes, that fluttering feeling flew across his body so long as he was in love.

From there on, every time he speaks to you is akin to a whisper of collective creative minds. They tell him how perfect you are, and it makes him distracted. He begins to admire you like he admires architecture—staring and learning every little detail until all of you is etched into his brain. He’ll start to remember every little detail you offer to him; it’s endearing in a way that’s purely natural.

Genuine, unadulterated feelings of admiration—that was how he continues to fall in love over and over again. Love is beauty, beauty is love, and when you smile at him, it’s so beautiful he swears his heart collapses every time. And when he doesn’t leave you alone, always sacrificing the time just to see you, your welcoming laughter will always be his favorite song.

All life was an art piece in his eyes; you were the most beautiful one, and he would gladly take you as one of his painters.

all inspirational credits to sunny the loml again bc i even referenced her with the title 🫶

#neuvillette x reader #ayato x reader #kaveh x reader #baizhu x reader #kamisato ayato x reader #genshin fluff #genshin men x reader #genshin x gender neutral reader #genshin imagines #genshin x reader

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justporo · 7 months

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i came uP WITH ANOTHER JUST NOW Tav has a bad dream about Astarion dying and is getting irrationally protective- Astarion must find a way to reassure that no, he is NOT going to randomly keel over, and after proceeding to Make It Worse with things like "it was just a dream" ends up resorting to trying to make Tav laugh to lighten the mood

My dear mushy, yet again you present me with a wonderful idea. This struck a chord with me for the last few days because I was feeling a little anxious and thus very much in the mood for some angst. So here you go! Also remember how I said I was taking a breather? I am! But I still love writing too much to not do it… Also this very self-indulgently helped me with some of my anxiety these past days. (Note tho: I am neither diagnosed with anxiety or a an expert, I can only describe what I can relate to and can imagine, just to put it out there)

Pairing: Astarion / Fem!Tav (You)

Warnings: Talk of trauma and nightmares, descriptions of some violence and death

Wordcount: 2,3k

Tav wakes from repeating nightmares about Astarion. She sneaks out of bed in an attempt to hide it but gets caught by Astarion who immediately notices something is wrong and wants to comfort her.

It‘s where my demons hide (I wanna hide the truth, I wanna shelter you)

You woke from your trancelike meditation. On your back, you felt paralysed for a moment, your heart still heavy with dream images that filled you with icy dread. You couldn’t move and felt a single hot tear running down your cheek as a silent sob left your chapped open lips.

The images were still vivid in front of your eyes: Astarion, full of blood, falling over, his face distorted in pain, agony and desperation in his ruby eyes, panickingly grabbing for you; and then: life leaving his ruby eyes until they were only hollow.

And in your dreams you screamed and raged with all your force trying to reach him in time, to prevent what was happening, to at least hold his head in your lap as life passes from him. Never reaching him before it was too late.

The nightmares had come for quite some time now. They always followed the same pattern - and so did you: waking up in the middle of your ‚night‘, freezing from cold sweat, tears running and desperately trying to not wake Astarion.

Because you knew it wasn‘t real. There he was, right beside you. Softly breathing in his own dreams. His face so peaceful and relaxed.

You felt an incredible urge to grab him and kiss him awake to truly know he was there and fine. You just wanted to know that whatever you had dreamt: it wouldn‘t happen, it didn‘t happen; he was alive and well and next to you.

You sat up and felt the goosebumps all over your body and you shuddered. Starting to rub your arms you looked over to where Astarion was. And he was indeed peacefully slumbering - or deeply meditating as was the custom for you elves. You spent quite some heartbeats to watch him - how his chest slowly rose and fell, how a single white lock fell onto his forehead, how his facial expressions softly changed as he was dreaming.

Your heart ached and you couldn‘t shake the dread that kept hold of you. It sat deeply in your bones by now, hands around your throat and closing it‘s fingers. You quickly started to get out of bed, grabbing Astarion‘s shirt that was still laying on the floor in front of the bed and threw it over your head. You felt that the sobs were coming and you wanted to be out of here before the vampire caught onto it - he had enough to deal with, so you wouldn‘t burden him with your brain harassing you with its bad, irrational nightmare fantasies.

The soft pat-pats of your naked feet being the only sound as you walked, you left the bedroom and went down to the kitchen. There you grabbed some of the leftover milk from the day before and then went into the living room. As you lifted one of the thick brocade curtains you saw that it was already pretty dark outside. Some blue was still to be seen in the sky but it was surely and quickly to be chased away by the moon and the stars.

You drew the curtain away from the tall window and sat down in the alcove. Drinking your mug of milk your mind was still on your nightmares. You felt the wound up coil of anxiety in your stomach - it was bad this time. It surely would take some time before you would have calmed down completely. The tension was still way to present this time, making your foot that was on the floor tap nervously while you kept feeling restless.

„My sweet, it‘s way too early to be up…“ The voice of your subject of worry made you whip your head from looking out the window to Astarion. He was standing in the doorframe, sheets messily wrapped around his hips. He looked very drowsy and tired and not fully awake - a very rare look and mood for him.

„Also is that my shirt you‘re wearing because rawr, if I dare…“, his words trailed off when he realised that something was not quite right.

He saw the tension in your body, noticed the unnecessarily hard grip on your mug and your restless foot. Immediately, he was fully awake and rushing over to you: „My love, what is it, what‘s wrong?“ He sat down beside you and pulled you into his lap - no room for protest. His ruby eyes were clouded with worry, brows furrowed and his mouth in a tense line.

You tried to just shake your head and smile at him to assure him that everything was fine, you‘d just woken up a little early. But your body was traitorous, your eyes filled with tears and you could feel your chest start to heave - the urge to let out your sobs and howl in agony almost unbearable.

And as Astarion softly moved a strand of your reddish-brown hair behind your ear and then let his thumb softly wander over your cheekbone, then over your lips and then placed it on your chin lightly, it became too much to bear.

Sobs came and shuddered through your whole body, tears flowed openly. Astarion grabbed you and held you tightly to his chest. You wrapped your arms around him and squeezed him back hard - really having to feel that he was there. The vampire carefully placed his chin on the top of your head and softly swayed you from side to side. He said nothing for a while only humming softly - an old elven lullaby -, knowing that nothing he could put into words would make a difference in this very moment - he just held you. Because he knew what it felt like and had had to go for it alone, two centuries of nightmares, and he‘d never wish on another living soul having to go through something like this with no one there to spare you a little solace. This and the way you could feel his chest slightly vibrate while humming calmed you down slowly.

„Having nightmares again?“, Astarion whispered softly when the acute shudders of grief had calmed down a little. You burrowed your wet face at his chest, not wanting to admit that he had caught you. „Don‘t deny it, my love, don‘t think I didn‘t notice you getting up in the middle of the day and sometimes only returning hours later“, he continued. You could basically hear that his brows were furrowed. With a soft nudge on your shoulders he pushed you a little from his chest so he could take a look at you: „I‘m not one to pry and I respect your privacy, Tav, but I‘m worried. When was the last night of a full rest for you, hm?“ His eyes were so full of warmth and worry that you were sure yours were immediately filled with immense guilt. But you were still reluctant, having promised yourself to keep these problems your own.

Astarion softly cocked his head. „Don‘t you think, just a little bit, my love, that I deserve to know? Wouldn‘t you like to know? I bet if it‘d been me you would have already wreaked all Nine Hells‘ havoc upon me to find out what‘s bugging me“, he said while his tone turned sassy slightly. One eyebrow was raised, signature smirk was now turned on at least to half force.

And he knew you well and he was right, that bastard.

You cleared your throat. „It‘s nothi-“, you started. Astarion‘s face immediately dropped: eyes half-lidded, lips pouting. „We can play this the easy way, my heart, or the hard one - I have all the time in the world“, he threatened but his tone was still soft.

You sighed in desperation and looked up to the ceiling. Then you let your gaze drop. You had withdrawn your arms from around him and now nervously pressed down on your one palm with the thumb of the other hand. „I keep dreaming you‘re dying - and I can‘t do anything about it“, you admitted flat-out but did not look up.

„That‘s it?“, Astarion responded. Now you looked up - did he just say that like it was nothing? You kept staring at him in confusion and you surely felt anger rise up inside you. The vampire‘s gaze jumped from yours to the side and back, obviously not grasping what was so harrowing. When you kept staring, he said: „Well, do you have any idea how often I dream about stuff like that happening to you - and me for that matter? And I‘m here, am I not? It‘s irrational, nothing is wro-“ „You insensitive prick“, you yelled and weakly hit him on the chest with your flat hand.

„Do you know how it feels? Watching you die - vividly- over and over again! Covered in your own blood and I can do NOTHING! Only watch you as the life flows from your body…“ The tears were back and you could see how through your blurring vision Astarion‘s face changed from surprise to shame.

He pulled you in again: „I‘m sorry.“ This time he borrowed his face in your hair - you could feel how his face scrunched in agony as he kept squeezing you. „I‘m so sorry, I… didn‘t know how it is for you…“

You lifted your head from his chest with a gasp. The sobs had subsided once more and you were now at this awkward hiccupy phase of a really bad cry. „It‘s like… something burning in my chest“, you said, emotions still crushing over you, wanting to let it all out this time; to rid yourself of it if possible. Your hands rose to your chest, one grabbing the other. „Sometimes it‘s constant, for days on end, a constant buzz. Sometimes it claws its way up to my throat and I feel this pressure. And it‘s just sitting there, reminding me of the fear I have. And at worst it‘s like this impending doom - it holds my heart in its hand and it squeezes from time to time to make me hurt and my heart can only flutter against it like a hummingbird in a cage that‘s way too small. I don‘t know how it feels for you, but that‘s how it is for me…“ You squeezed your hand so hard it hurt - but still not even remotely close to the hurt you felt in your chest sometimes.

Astarion softly grabbed your hands with his and looked at you, sorrow in his eyes. „Well, if it wouldn‘t be so sad that would almost be poetic“, he replied with a sad smile. „I know the feelings you describe well. Too well. Perhaps I‘ve grown too accustomed to it to no longer relish their absence“, he explained his eyes slowly drifting from yours into a gaze that was a thousand leagues away. And now you understood his reaction a little bit better: his was one of an animal knowing nothing but abuse and imprisonment. While yours had barely scratched the surface of the sorrows of this world.

„Astarion“, you whispered softly, withdrew one hand from his and touched your fingers to his face, pulling him back to you - to the here and now.

The vampire closed his eyes for a short moment. When he opened them again he‘d come back to you. „It was still an insensitive reaction of me, for that I apologise.“ „You shouldn‘t have to feel like that or even get used to it. And I‘m sorry I shouted at you“, you answered with a whisper. You felt guilt now.

„No, my love, it was absolutely right to call me out on that and if it helps: it‘s getting better. Slowly, but better. And I‘m sure these storm clouds will pass for you too“, he answered and pulled your face to his, leaning his forehead against yours and his hand softly cupping your cheek. Warmth filled his ruby eyes again and a soft smile danced on his lips.

„Now, I propose whenever you wake with a horrendous nightmare you poke me in the side so the following yelp and curse tell you that I am still very much alive - or unalive for that matter, you get it - and myself and here with you. Promise?“, he spoke and his eyes widened as he made you look into his eyes.

„Only if you do it too“, you answered as you felt some more sobs threateningly bubble up in your chest; this time they weren‘t in sorrow though.

„Only if you promise to not smother me with your pillow when I raise you from your precious and much needed beauty sleep, my love“, Astarion answered with a big smirk now. You pushed away from him but couldn‘t stop yourself from laughing at the banter: „You‘re such a dick sometimes.“ Astarion just laughed dirtily in response - nothing you didn‘t tell him at least three times a day. „Yes, and you‘re a hag sometimes, my sweet“, he replied with a grin, fangs showing, ignoring the obvious contradictory statement he had just made.

You stuck out your tongue at him and as you did it you realised that he must‘ve very well known what he was doing. The tension and anxiety had actually left your body for good. You hoped it would stay this way. And you hoped Astarion might feel the same. Grabbing his hand, you leaned back against his chest, snuggeling up to him. You pressed your spread fingers against his, watching how his hands and fingers were quite a bit larger than yours.

There was still much to talk about, to unravel, to work through; for both of you - but maybe not tonight. Maybe it was enough that you unraveled just a tiny piece tonight. You had so many more nights to slowly get to the rest.

Astarion stared at your hands that pressed together, obviously lost in his own thoughts. But then he smiled and crossed his fingers with yours, squeezing your hand reassuringly: „Now, promise?“ „Promise and promise“, you replied solemnly and waited for Astarion to say it back. „Now, you say it!“, you said pushingly and squeezed his hand.

The vampire rolled his eyes but with a smile on his face, twisted your joint hands and pressed a kiss on the back of your hand: „Promise!“

#astarion #astarion ancunin #baldur's gate 3 #fanfiction #baldur's gate iii #astarion x tav #bg3 spoilers #baldurs gate #astarion x mc #astarion x oc #astarion x you #astarion x reader #poro writes #request

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alexa-fika · 4 months

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Can you create a story about Mihawk's son who gets injured or kidnapped ?

More Mihawk please 🙏

( sorry for the grammar or spelling mistakes am not good at English )

A/N: Again, I don't know. if this is good, but you guys are popping off with Midnight Lessons so maybe this is up to your tastes? Thank you for the request Anon! Feel free to drop by my ask box to requests or simply to say hi!

Also don't worry English is also not my first language!

Dividers by @/saradika

Papa to the rescue ( Mihawk x male!reader)

Sniffles and stifled sobs could be heard in a cold, dark cell of a ship sailing somewhere on the East Blue.

“Shut up, you damn brat!” Growls Don Krieg.

Glaring at the child, he walks toward the cell, a smirk suddenly replacing his sneer.

“Do you know why you are here, you little twerp?

He sniffles, shaking his head

“Oh my my, aren’t we scared? A shame your papa can’t come and save you; what a disappointment.”

Krieg laughs mockingly and looks toward the small child.

“It’s because of him that you are here, brat so that I can finally have revenge on that bastard! It will be perfect for breaking down your stubborn, cocky father. I bet having to see his little boy die will make the bastard come around, kneeling in front of me and begging for mercy. Or he’s too much of a coward. Either way, win-win for me.”

“Papa wouldn’t do that.”

“Oh no, you misunderstand. Your papa won’t see you die. He’ll see you in agony, a slow, excruciating death by starvation or a beating, a torture that will make you beg for death. All by my hands, too.”

“He wouldn’t bow down to you! “

Krieg grips the small boy by the collar and picks him up to his eye level. His dark scowl is met by the red face of the boy, tears filling his eyes.

“He will, little brat.” His voice is low, threatening.

“Or you die.”

“He won’t! Because he will slash you! You can’t beat papa.”

Krieg’s grip tightens at the mention of Mihawk, his sneer returning in full force.

He growls out a sharp response as a fire of rage sparked in his eyes, his hands tightening around the kid’s neck.

“I will! And he will beg me for mercy before you die in front of him!”

He said, dropping Reader to the ground.

It all happened in an instant; Reader’s mind could barely keep up with what happened in the next few minutes.

He remembered that screams started coming from upstairs. He remembered Kreig turning towards the dungeon entrance, equally confused about the sudden chaos that had erupted from upstairs.

The next thing that happened Reader could remember clearly, as the familiar silhouette of their father came down the stairs into the dungeon.

“Papa!” They cheer as he closes in to the cell Reader was in and towards Don Krieg, who stands in front of it

Krieg made quick work of the cell lock, running inside and grabbing the kid, putting them in a chokehold, and holding a gun to his neck.

“So you finally show yourself, you bastard! Better start kneeling, or you can say goodbye to the brat,” he cackles.

Reader is quick to dig their tiny teeth into Don Krieg’s hand, taking advantage as he winces and slightly lessens his hold to raise his head to headbutt him, quickly running to his dad the moment Don Krieg let go of him to hold their bleeding nose.

His head snaps back as the young man headbutts him; Krieg grunts in pain. A burst of blood spurts down from his nose

He scoffs,

“Damn brat!”

“You’re not going anywhere!” he growls, pointing his gun towards the child and taking the shot.

The next few seconds, although hard to keep up with, Reader was quick to understand what had just happened as his father now stood in front of him, Yoru unsheathed and a sliced bullet landing on each side of Reader.

“Reader. Wait upstairs,” his words curt, but one could hear the aggravation in his tone.

Reader nods, running upstairs to wait for his dad; he does not have to wait long, however, as Mihawk joins him no more than a minute later.

He gently picks him up and jumps onto his small raft.

“Are you hurt?”

The child looks up at him, his eyes watering.

“I’m okay ’cause Papa is here,” he says, hugging him tightly.

“Good,” he says as he puts a hand around the child and smiles.

“I’ll make sure it stays that way,” setting his course back to Karai Barai Island.

“How did you find me?”

“Do not worry about that.”

They smile, a slight idea as to who aided his father in finding him.

“Im glad you found me, Papa; I was scared,”

It’s okay, son,” he says, rubbing his head.

“Let us get you to bed.”

Reader nods, watching dazed as the splashing waves soon turn into flowing grass and soon into the familiar floors as they arrive at their headquarters, soon arriving at their own room as Mihawk gently lays Reader down on the bed.

“Can you stay with me tonight, Papa?”

“I will only stay for a short while; there are things I must attend to.” He responds, sitting down on a chair next to his son

Reader smiles, staring at his father as he slowly lulls himself to sleep after a long and terrifying day.

Despite his words, Mihawk could be seen sitting down next to his son all night; of course, no member of Crossguild would ever comment on this, and neither would they ever comment on the soft look he had on his face as he stared at his son, finally home safe

What do you guys think? Was it as good as Midnight Lessons or kinda, eh? Please let me know so I know what I can improve on next time! Do we like child! reader more than the romantic pieces? Who's next?

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wolfjackle-creates · 3 months

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Bring Me Home Arc 3 Part 1

Happy WIP Wednesday! So last week, we had a tie between Bring Me Home and Answer My Call. The tie breaker didn't come in until Monday after I'd already finished the entire Bring Me Home chapter and half the Answer My Call one.

So y'all will be getting two fic upates today then I'm going to sleep. I'm tired after a full day of work with a call out. XP

If you want a say in next week's update, vote in the poll!

Welcome to Arc 3 of Bring Me Home! 🎉🎉🎉

Story Summary: Danny's parents find out his secret. It doesn't go well. But he's not alone. His friend Tim Drake, better known as Red Robin, and the Young Justice will not let him suffer.

Word Count: 1.7k

Warnings: fanon-typical violence. This is my dissection fic, but I don't think I crossed the line into graphic. Let me know if you disagree.

Arc 1: AO3

Arc 2: First, Last

-----

Danny waved goodbye to Sam and Tucker as he made his way home from school. They had a long weekend and he planned to fall into bed and take a long nap. And then maybe grab some midnight tacos as Phantom for dinner.

He hummed as he thought about how awesome those tacos would taste when reached his home. Still lost in his daydreams, he unlocked the door and pushed it open.

Only for electric pain to shoot up his arm. Danny screamed, paralyzed to the spot. He tried to pull his hand back, but something held him in place. He fell to his knees, arm still held out and radiating pain through the rest of his body.

“What? Danny!”

“M-mom?” he forced out between cries. “Hurts!”

He could feel his transformation tugging on his core and he tried to force it back.

“Jack! Quick, it’s Danny!”

“Please,” begged Danny. Even kneeling was getting to be too much. Blackness was threatening the edges of his vision so he closed his eyes. He had to keep from transforming. He had to.

He didn’t even have the breath to scream anymore.

He heard his dad’s voice. There was a flash of light. And then nothing.

---

The first thing Danny was aware of was that everything hurt. His muscles were aching and his right arm was practically numb. The next thing he noticed was that he way lying on something hard. He tried to roll over, only to realize he was strapped down. And not just at his wrists and ankles, but also at his waist and neck.

His eyes flew open in shock and he yelled in panic. Had Vlad gotten him?

“It’s awake, Mads!”

Orange filled his vision as his dad leaned over him.

“D-dad?” asked Danny. He felt his core humming in his chest. His core, not his heart. He twisted his head just enough to see a black jumpsuit.

He was Phantom. His parents knew.

His dad’s face contorted with anger, an expression he’d never once seen there before. “Don’t you dare call me that, impostor! What have you done with my son?”

“Dad, it’s me. I swear. I—I can explain.” He tugged on his restraints, trying to phase through them. Only to scream as the anti-ghost shielding shocked him.

His mom’s steps echoed from out of sight. “You aren’t escaping us that easily, ghost,” she spat the last word. “How long have you been possessing Danny?” She finally came into view, goggles blocking her eyes and her mouth hard.

“I’m not possessing him, I am Danny!”

She sneered. “Jack, now.”

“Release our son!” shouted his father. Then he pulled out a spray can and held down the nozzle.

Danny saw the mist approach him and scrunched his eyes closed as he turned his head to avoid the spray. But of course it was impossible. He whimpered as it settled on him, tiny pinpricks of burning. As he lay there, the feeling grew more and more intense until he couldn’t help but cry out.

And that’s when he breathed it in.

It was all agony, inside and out. The mist settled in his lungs, pure fire trying to melt core.

With a flash of light, he was Danny Fenton again. His heart beat in his chest and his lungs screamed for oxygen. The pain didn’t go away, but it lessened. Danny gasped in deep breaths, his limbs shaking in their restraints as he tried to push through the pain.

“Did it work?” asked his dad.

Fingers brushed his hair off his forehead. “Sweetie? Are you back with us?”

Danny opened his eyes, tears gathering and looked up at the face of his mother.

Her expression turned from hope to hatred so fast he thought he was dreaming. “Green eyes, Jack. The ghost is just trying to trick us.”

“The ghost repellent has never failed before. How are you surviving, ghost?”

Danny screwed his eyes shut so he wouldn’t have to see his parents’ faces. “It’s me, I promise. It’s me. I’m alive. I’m alive.”

“Stop lying!” screamed his mom.

Then he felt a sharp pain in his side, followed by a wave of agony. He felt like he was being electrocuted again. In defense, he transformed back into Phantom—his ghost form was so much more durable.

But the pain only got worse. He screamed. His wail was crawling its way up his throat, only to fizzle out into a wave of electricity when it hit the anti-ghost restraint strapped around his neck.

“Loud, isn’t it?” asked his father.

“Let’s shut it up, Jack,” said his mother.

“No, no please. It’s me, Danny!”

They ignored him, though. The pain stopped just long enough for him to gasp in a few breaths. Then piece of metal was being fixed under his jaw and over his mouth. His head was yanked up so it could be strapped in the back. Danny tried to yell into the muzzle, but it muffled all sound.

After that, he lost track of what they did. So many inventions were taken out, used, and discarded. Anything to destroy the ghost part of him or force him out of his living body.

He wished he could obey. That he could just be their son again and not Phantom. But he’d learned many times over the last three years that it was impossible. He was both Danny Fenton and Danny Phantom and spitting himself apart would only ever lead to destruction.

He didn’t know how many times he was forced into a transformation as his body tried to choose the form more resistant to the torture. It didn’t seem to matter, though, if he was Fenton or Phantom. His parents would check his eyes or use the ghost tracker and then the next wave of pain would wash over him.

Eventually, however, even his parents ran out of inventions to use.

“This isn’t working, Jackie.”

“What if we can’t force it out, Mads? What next?”

“We’ll cut it out. You know we’ve long hypothesized about the existence of a ghost heart. What better way to test our hypothesis than cutting the parasite out of our own son?”

Danny’s eyes flew open and he tugged with aching muscles, twisting as much as he was able. His muffled protests were ignored just as much as his words had been.

“Where do you think it’s hiding its heart?” asked his dad.

“We’ll use the Fenton Scanner to find the areas of densest ectoplasm concentration and search each of them.”

His mom stalked out of sight and Danny could hear her rummaging through various bins and cabinets looking for the scanner.

His dad, however, stared down at him, eyes hidden behind his goggles and his mouth in an uncharacteristic frown. “If you’re still in there, Danno, we’re gonna get rid of it. We’ll free you, son.”

Danny wanted to tell him he wasn’t trapped, to say again that he was himself, whatever he looked like. But all he could do was whimper and blink away the tears.

Then mom was back, a small scanner in her hand. She pointed it at Danny and he tensed, expecting more pain.

But he felt nothing. Soon enough, the device beeped and she waved over his dad.

“Look at this, sweetie. It’s working better than I expected. Only two main areas of ectoplasm concentration: his brain and his chest.”

“That’s awfully close to his heart, Mads. I don’t know if we can remove it without hurting Danny.”

“If we don’t remove it, he’ll be dead anyway!” Her last word caught on a sob.

Danny was crying in earnest now, too. This couldn’t be real. It just couldn’t. How long would it take anyone to even notice? Jazz was away at college, Tucker had plans with his parents all night, Sam was trying to get along with her parents to get out of a rich-person function later in the month, and he and Tim didn’t have a check-in until Sunday.

Could he survive his parents for two whole days until then?

He forced his eyes open to see his parents hugging. All he wanted was to be between them, caught up in their embrace. But instead he was strapped down to a hard, cold table.

They separated.

“Hold him still, Jack,” said his mom.

So Danny did the opposite. He ignored the ache of his muscles, the way they protested, to twist and yank and move as much as he could.

But his father’s hands were big and he was strong and Danny was tired. When his dad spread his hands over his shoulders and pressed, Danny couldn’t fight back. Above him stood his mom, holding a scalpel that glowed green.

Danny closed his eyes tightly when he saw her lower the blade. He couldn’t watch this. Then agony as it sliced through his skin.

Danny screamed into the muzzle. The pain was so intense that he could focus on nothing else. He didn’t know if his parents were talking to each other. He didn’t know what they were finding inside of him.

Instinct forced him to hide his core, to push it smaller and disguise it. But he knew that nothing would stop his parents forever.

He had no way to judge the passage of time. It felt like an eternity; it felt like a second.

Then the hands on him ripped away suddenly and new shouts, new voices, rang out in the lab.

Danny blinked his eyes open to see Sam and Tucker above him. Sam was paler than he’d ever seen her and Tucker didn’t look any better. He tried to talk to them, but the muzzle still covered his face.

Sam turned her head away and shouted, “Kon!”

A moment later, Superboy was landing next to her, his face grim. Then Danny’s restraints, muzzle included, fell to pieces. He was free.

He pushed himself up, needing to see, only to cry in pain and fall back down when the cuts on his chest protested the movement.

Sam and Tucker shouted at him, told him to stay still. Their words were fuzzy and hard to focus on. Everything was hard to focus on. But in the brief moment of time he’d been able to see more than the ceiling above him, he saw Tim in full Red Robin get up using his staff to keep his parents away.

Tim was here. And the world went black.

-----

I no longer tag, but if you want notifications when I update, check out the Subscription Post.

After about 40k of writing, we're finally back to the scene that started it all! Only now with 4x the number of Young Justice on hand. About three years have passed between Arc 2 and Arc 3, so they've all gotten quite close. There's group chats. So many group chats. Danny's met more members of the Young Justice (and I may write a few of those meetings in the future which is 80% why I decided to make this a series rather than a single work on AO3).

But on the rescue team we've only got Red Robin, Superboy, Wonder Girl, and Impulse.

I'm about a third of the way through with major edits for Arc 2. So I'll probably start cross posting to AO3 quite soon! Main changes are in what Tim tells Bruce about where he is and what he's up to.

#dpxdc #bring me home #now with arc 3!!!#Hope you all are as excited as I am!#dissection fic #vivisection fic #gore #not super graphic #by dp standards at least #but tagging just in case #danny is not having a good time #but his friends weren't gonna let him suffer for too long

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imaginedreamwrite · 1 year

Note

I am begging BEGGING BEGGING for protective Jake Seresin? PLEASE?!?!?!

maybe reader’s ex comes looking for her, finds her at Hard Deck?

I got you!

Your head felt like it was being split in two, you felt pain shooting up from your brainstem like a wicked fog until every inch of your brain was melded into one thick layer of searing agony.

And he stood there in the makeshift parking lot with a scowl on his face and his piercing eyes. He was waiting for you while you stood firm on the bottom step of the bar, knowing full well that eyes were on you from inside. The usual crowd, the men and women you’ve come to know while you were here, some more obvious than others.

Rooster and Vida, the two who were coupled together and inseparable, his hand on her back while she bit her tongue. It wasn’t her battle to face, it was yours, but seeing your cheating ex after he destroyed you it had pissed her off to no end.

He was back, declaring that he was going to take you home because he felt like he owned you. There was never a wedding, there wasn’t even a full engagement.

And he…he chose to break you when he brought another woman into your bed.

“Get your ass down here-“

“No!” You cut him off, your mind turning to mush. “I already said no!”

“Dammit, Y/N!” He raised his voice and even over the music you knew Jake was watching you, listening for the moment he needed to step in.

“Get your ass in the vehicle, right now!” Your ex-fiancé was now a brute and maybe he had always been one, or maybe it was a new symptom.

“I’m not going-“

“Your mama said you moved across the country. Why’d you do that, huh? Why’d you move so far from me?”

“Don’t make me fucking drag you-“

“I’m not going back! I’m not going back to you, and I’m not going back home!” You denied him, you denied him again and again.

In your denial, you had left yourself open. He stalked toward you and ripped you down the steps with such force that your legs gave way. You fought against him and felt the crack of flesh on flesh, the sting immediate.

One minute he was angry, the next he was soft after he let you fall and reached for you again.

You cupped your cheek, vision blurring and your eyes watering. You stumbled to your feet, hands bruised and cut from the pebbles and the small stones on the makeshift gravel road. You stumbled again, shock running through you and it took you a moment to hear the eery quiet of the bar, there was no music, and the weight of watchful eyes was more intense.

You could hear chairs scraping across the wooden floor, it cut through like a knife, and the door opened with a heavy thud. You knew who was there, you knew that Jake Seresin was standing on the edge of the door with a seething anger in his veins.

“Come back inside.” Vida had called for you, stuck and blocked from your ex’s view by Rooster. “Sweetie, come back inside.”

“Get in the fucking vehicle! You’re going home!” He screamed, he took another step toward you before strong, heavy footsteps came down the stairs and crunched gravel beneath them.

“Darlin’,” that soft and smooth voice came as he came to pass you, unafraid of your ex or his rage, “go back inside.”

“Jake-“

“I’m not asking.” He looked back at you, his eyes locking on your own. “Go back inside, darlin’.”

You turned, coerced by his voice and the soft demand that meant safety and security. You were met by Vida and Penny, the two of them stealing you away into the bar and a wall of pilots sealing off the entrance.

From behind you you could hear Rooster speak. “Hangman, you good?”

“Yeah, Rooster. I’m good.” He still had that cocky twang, but there was an air of severity in his voice. “We’re just gonna have a little talk.”

“I’ll get some ice.” Penny left you to walk around the bar, moving quickly while Vida you to sit by a table, one that was isolated from the rest.

“Shit, Y/N-“ she paused when you waved her off and raised your head, your cheek already feeling swollen and sore.

“I’ll be okay, I swear.” Vida frowned and furrowed her brows, looking over her shoulder to spy Penny coming over with a bag of ice in one hand and a drink in the other.

“You’ll be okay.” She set both down and turned, taking a wide birth as those heavy steps back toward you. “Hangman, you need ice.”

“Thanks, Penny.” He didn’t take the seat by Vida like you expected, instead he had come to your side. “Let me see.”

“Just leave it-“ you turned your head and reached for the ice, his soft hands catching your chin.

“Let me see, darlin’.” He turned your head and you were captivated by his bright eyes, his captivating charm and charisma even when you were in such a state.

“Got the shit smacked out of me.” Your lips moved on their own accord, and Jake had cracked a grin in return. “Face hurts.”

“Hand hurts.” He trailed his fingers down the side of your face, marking the place where your bruise would be. “Knocked him on his ass.”

“You hit him?” You winced when Jake pressed the ice against your cheek, tenderly brushing your hair out of your face.

“Right on his ass. He was thrown back in his vehicle by Coyote, Fanboy and Payback.” Jake’s smile was small, and when Penny had delivered another few drinks, he had grabbed one glass and set it front of you.

“It’ll take the sting away.”

“Will it go down smooth?” You wondered, spying the liquor within the glass.

“Smooth enough, darlin’.”

#jake hangman seresin #jake seresin x reader #jake seresin #Jake seresin x reader fluff #Jake seresin x reader angst #jake seresin x fem!reader

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synnamonroll666 · 6 months

Text

Intoxicating Scent

Prompt 27: Breeding Pairing: Syzoth X Fem!Reader Description: Being in heat was difficult for Syzoth. Every three months, he would struggle to keep himself from tackling you 24/7. But he always managed to refrain from doing so. However, when you end up in heat at the exact same time, he loses all control... Warnings: HUGE Breeding Kink, Pregnancy Kink, Syzoth In Heat, Dirty Talk, P In V, Creampie, Talk Of Oviposition... Word Count: 1.2k Main MasterList: 🖤 Kinktober MasterList: 🖤 Synny's Angels: @lorebite, @mornandil, @queenkhepri, @bihansthot, and @mmeerraa.

⭒⛥⭒⛥⭒⛥⭒⛥⭒⛥⭒⛥⭒⛥⭒⛥⭒⛥⭒⛥⭒⛥⭒⛥⭒⛥⭒⛥⭒⛥⭒⛥⭒⛥⭒⛥⭒

When I wake from my slumber, I am drenched in sweat and my heart is racing. I swallow a few times, discovering that my throat is feeling sore and dry, like it hadn't seen water in days. It roars within me—my Zaterran instinct—demanding that I succumb to my desires.

Usually, this voice was redundant, constantly reminding me of the purpose of my reproductive system when I was in heat. But today, its whispers have become screams. Being in heat was hell, but this was something else—I had never experienced a feeling like this before. And when I am breathing deeply to catch my breath, I smell something—something that makes my blood boil with need.

I look to my side to see my lover lying naked between the sheets. She is fast asleep, exhausted from our activities earlier this night. She looks so pretty—the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. I always found my mate attractive, but something about the way she looks now is just too addicting to pull my eyes away. I lean over her and inhale deeply to take in her scent, and it hits me: she's in heat too. She is at her most fertile at this moment, and my body is going absolutely crazy for it.

Both of us are in heat at the same time; the poor girl doesn't stand a chance.

My reptilian instincts kick in, and I nudge her neck with my nose—a small courting ritual Zaterrans do before breeding. I bury it just under her jawline and take a big sniff, letting her scent fill my lungs and intoxicate every corner of my feral mind. She wakes, her pretty eyes glancing up at me as the corners of her lips curl into a sweet and loving smile.

Luckily, it doesn't take long for her to figure out what I want, and I am relieved when she lays flat on her back and spreads her legs.

A low growl emits from somewhere within as I stare at her willing form. The rest was a blur. I don't remember ripping the bedsheets from her body or how they ended up in a torn-up mess on the floor—I don't remember how I ended up bending her so she was ass up in the air and her face was buried within our pillows.

All I remember is sinking my twitching, aching member into her core and sighing as her warmth finally cured the agony I had suffered from. But that moment of peace was merely the calm before the storm, because that primal voice within screams at me, ordering me to stuff her full of my seed. I have to get her pregnant.

I NEED to!

I pull out quickly, earning a soft whine of disappointment from her. But soon, those displeased sounds would be turned into moans of ecstasy when I would reenter with brutal force, my tip instantly bruising her cervix. I hold her down by the shoulders with one hand and hold her hips up against me with the other. I pound into her over and over, allowing her tight walls to milk me of everything I have.

I press my chest against her back, enjoying how her form trembles beneath me as I trap her between me and the mattress. She has no room to move—barely any room to even squirm like her body naturally desires to do in this state. I croon her name as the heat radiates off of her feverish flesh and warms me like a fire. I could stay buried within her for hours, siphoning that heat from her and basking in its company.

She whines and begs as I claim her—as my nails dig deeply into her flesh as my hips hastily snap back and forth furiously on a mission. Though her words fall on deaf ears, since I am too in my wild Zaterran nature to comprehend them. My throat grows more torrid by the second, and my tongue intuitively lashes out to lave her throat, flickering against her rapidly fluttering pulse to collect the droplets of sweat upon my pallet.

I can't hold back my moans, as it tastes sweeter than any drink I have ever consumed. It is like I have been stranded in a dry desert—dehydrated and dying from thirst—and she was the oasis that saved me from my fate. She is not only my goddess but also my savior.

Her trobbing core embraces my length tightly, suctioning on to it and pulling me back each time I begin to pull out. That is the only language I understand now. This shows me that she needs me just as much as I need her in this moment, and I am more than willing to provide for her what she so badly craves.

However, I am unable to fully focus on what she wants now, as my nature has me wanting one thing and one thing only—that one thing that I'll do anything to get, which is fill her with my children. I am already leaking within her, but it is not nearly enough. No, I won't be satisfied until her little belly expands with my seed, pearls of it dripping down her legs since she is too stuffed to contain it all. But I would make sure that she would take as much as she could.

"I'm going to fill you to the brim with my seed and make your stomach swell with my kin! I'm going to put a whole clutch within you and make you the mother of my children!" I growled deeply, my voice growing daunting as it now sounds more animalistic than anything, much like the voice I hear inside my head.

With each pump of my member into her soothing heat, that bubble of arousal grows larger, threatening to pop at any moment. And when it does, a feral roar tears from my throat as I release all of my semen into her gentle womb to coat its walls. I place my hand on her stomach, feeling it finally swell with my seed as I stuff her full. After my member showers her womb thoroughly, she collapses on the bed, rolling slightly onto her side since she is unable to lay face down now. Soon, I see why

As I rest on top of her, I look down at her now-inflated stomach. I gently brush a hand over the rounded flesh, and knowing it will soon grow even more as my seed develops into my offspring makes me smile. I feel my heart flutter as I imagine them fresh from their eggs—my little hatchlings will look so adorable. And their mother—she looks so beautiful right now, my heart can barely handle it. But... Something is still wrong.

She is not nearly swollen enough—she needs more. Instinctively, my hips retract and push back against hers once again. She responds with a tired whimper, but I ignore it, too distracted by my yearning desire to release yet another load into her already-overflowing womb to focus on anything else. I will not stop until I have emptied myself fully in her—I won't stop until she is filled completely with my young.

⭒⛥⭒⛥⭒⛥⭒⛥⭒⛥⭒⛥⭒⛥⭒⛥⭒⛥⭒⛥⭒⛥⭒⛥⭒⛥⭒⛥⭒⛥⭒⛥⭒⛥⭒⛥⭒

#mortal kombat 1 #mk1 #mortal kombat reptile #mk reptile #reptile #reptile x reader #mortal kombat syzoth #mk syzoth #syzoth #syzoth x reader #kinktober 2023 #SinnamonsSpicyFics

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adrift-in-thyme · 2 months

Text

I wrote this a few months ago for Febuwhump...Day 13 I think? I was super excited about sharing it. But when my schedule got crazy I had to change my plans and didn't get a chance to post it.

So here it is now!

CW for blood, injury, vomiting, and torture (including sleep deprivation)

--------------

Another slap snaps Time’s head back, stinging across his face. Stars explode before him and turn the semi-darkness spotty. He grits his teeth against the rising tide of nausea.

“I asked you a question.” A wiry, whiskered man leans forward, malice glinting in his small, rat-like eyes. “And you will answer me.”

Time drags in a breath. The air is stale, tinged with the sickening iron scent of metal chains and his blood. His attackers loom over him, knuckles red from their assaults upon him, faces sneering.

He ignores them. He has seen quite enough of them, after all, in the past few days. And he doesn’t doubt that he will be seeing quite a bit more.

He has no plans to give in anytime soon. It doesn’t matter how they pressure him, or how many torture methods they try. He will never give up one of their own.

“I told you,” he croaks, “I do not know anyone with the power to resurrect Ganon.”

A meaty fist grasps his shoulder, fingers digging into the stab wound there. Time just barely manages to bite off a scream.

“Wrong answer!”

The man steps closer. The magic that emanates from him is all wrong. Upside down and inside out and not his own in the least. The people he has dragged it out of, stolen it from, cry out with every movement he makes. It is all Time can do not to gag as the sounds and smells of it smother him.

“I am a sorcerer– ”

“You’re a thief and a coward,” Time spits. Fingers turn into a fist, slamming into his wound with a ferocity that makes him lightheaded. He hardly hears his own cry.

“I am a sorcerer,” the man repeats. He grabs Time’s chin, forces his head up so he has no choice but to look at him. “One who has sworn his very life to the Demon King. I have the power to do what must be done. I will bring him back and help him take his rightful place as ruler of Hyrule. I need only for you to give me the answer I seek.”

A bitter smirk lifts Time’s lips, even as blood drains down from them.

“Ganondorf would be ashamed to have a follower such as you. How long have you held me here now? Four days? And you have wasted that time on repeating the same question. Perhaps, you should use that skill with magic you pretend to possess and find another avenue to resurrect him. Because searching for someone who can do it for you is a fool’s errand.”

Another blow knocks his head back. It hits the damp stone wall with a nauseating crack. Time pitches forward, retching, and the wizard steps back and out of the way.

“You are full of pride, hero,” he sneers. “You forget your place, you ignore your situation.”

Time skewers him with as severe a glare as he can muster. “I have not forgotten either. In fact, I know them quite well. Which is why I have told you the truth. No person exists with the blood that can resurrect Ganon.”

“Truth? What truth? You have done nothing except to mock me and spew lies.”

The sorcerer whirls away and a streak of flame zips through Time’s veins. He cannot restrain his harsh cry as agony washes over him. But just as quickly as it comes, it is gone. And he has a split second to drag in a few, desperate wheezing breaths. Then, the sorcerer begins to speak once more, every word like another assault.

“You are correct in one way, however. I have consistently used the same methods to pry the words from you. No torture, whether by magic or physical harm, has moved you from your stance of silence.” He pauses, hand held to his chin in contemplation. “Perhaps, it is time to try another avenue. Bring in the other one.”

With a wave of one bony hand, his companions jolt into action, rushing from the room, and slamming the leaden door behind them.

Time’s eye widens, fear slicing through him. He had thought he was the only one the thugs had captured. He had been alone, after all, scouting the far perimeters of the camp, when they had knocked him out.

The sorcerer looks back at him, now, a sly grin stretching his wide mouth.

“Your little friend happened to spot us dragging you away and decided to try and be a hero. Fortunately, my little sleeping spell worked as effectively to knock him out as it did with you.”

The door slides open with an eerie creak and Time turns toward it, heart in his throat.

“Ah.” The sorcerer sets a hand on his shoulder, fingernails digging through his tunic. “And there was another fortunate development for us. You well know that my spells are excruciating. Wonderful for convincing, to be certain. But you spared me the trouble of exerting too much magical energy on you two. You are quite the collector of masks, it seems. And while some were childish at best, others have proven…very useful.”

A familiar form stumbles over the threshold, wrists clasped in the unforgiving grip of manacles. His tunic and trousers are splotched with dirt and dried blood and his shoulders sag with exhaustion. His long, blonde hair has been freed from its hair band and falls limply forward to hide his features. But his ears peek through it and the sight of them makes Time’s stomach turn.

They are encased in a prison of wiry black metal. Time would recognize that sight anywhere.

“No,” he breathes.

Wild lifts his head and the leaden weight in Time’s gut twines itself tighter.

The cage of unyielding obsidian extends to the rest of his face, curving in web-like strands across his cheeks and forehead. Eyes once the same shade as Malon’s are now blood red and rimmed in white. They stare wide and terrible, fixed in an expression of permanent horror.

Despite it all, a shaky grin quirks Wild’s lips.

“H-hey, old man,” he slurs, fumbling to keep his feet beneath him.

His captor practically drags him the rest of the way into the room. They hurl him down beside Time and he lands on the hard floor with a grunt.

Laughter rings out, echoing off of the walls of the cell and Time drags his attention away from his cub to scowl at the wizard. The man meets his stare without fear.

“I don’t have to explain the implications of this little development to you, do I? You know full well what that horrid device of yours does.”

He turns away, arms crossed and a victorious smirk on his face. “It has been four days for him as well. Four without a wink of sleep. I wonder…how long can one go without slumber? I will leave you both to ponder that.”

The door screams as it is once again pulled open. And the sorcerer glides out in a rush of nauseating power and swishing robes.

“What a creep,” Wild mumbles, gazing at the spot where he had stood. He lists slightly to the side, bumping against Time’s uninjured shoulder. Time wraps an arm around his shoulders, pulling him close.

“Have they truly forced you to wear that for four days?” He asks, worry turning his tone sharp. His own pain seems inconsequential now, the ache of his wounds a far-off thing. All that matters is the broken boy slumped against him.

Jerkily, Wild nods. A small sniffle sounds from beneath the mask.

Time’s heart clenches. “Oh, cub, I’m so sorry.”

The champion shrugs, weakly. “Least it doesn’t…doesn’t put me to sleep. Rather be kept ‘wake.” He giggles, drunk on exhaustion, fighting against the tears Time hears in his voice. “And ‘sides…got hundred years of sleep under m-my belt. Gotta count…right? Be fine.”

With a sigh, he shifts, head slipping down to rest on Time. The harsh edges of the mask bite into his abused flesh. But he doesn’t move away. The least he can do is act as Wild’s makeshift pillow.

If he could, he would tear the mask off of him and shatter it on the hard ground. But once the cursed thing has latched onto its victim’s face, only the one who put it there can remove it. And if the blood visible beneath its dark edges is any indication, Wild has already learned what happens to anyone else who attempts it.

“They hur-hurt you too,” the champion murmurs, after a pause. His tone is more somber now and fearful. Like a lost child, pleading with a parent for reassurance. “I…I can’t really see straight anymore but…they told me…they told me they were. ‘M sorry.”

Time shakes his head. “Don’t worry about me, cub. I’m alright.”

Gently, he brushes Wild’s bangs back, trying not to wince as his fingertips touch icy metal rather than warm skin. The champion leans into his touch, curling up like the barn cats do when they are seeking warmth. Any other time, the older hero would find it amusing. Now, it only makes his heart ache.

“Can’t tell them,” Wild mumbles, barely audible now. “Can’t tell ‘bout Rule.”

Time draws in a trembling breath. “No.”

But that doesn’t mean there aren’t other ways to save his cub from this terrible fate. And by the goddesses, he is going to find them. Even if he has to burn the place down.

#trin writes #febuwhump #torture tw #blood tw #injury tw #linked universe #lu time #lu wild #linkeduniverse fic #whump #angst #sorry about the open ending #i meant to continue this one #but you know #anyway #wild and time my absolute beloveds #they're such a good duo #also that all night mask is soooo creepy #i love it

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iamthecomet · 9 days

Note

hi, do you still take requests? I would love to see some broken limbs related comfort (does that count as a sick fic?). like mountain helping rain walk cus he lost his crutch or cirrus helping cumulus wash her hair since it's hard to do with a cast on her arm. (implying there's a reason they can't insta heal)

I do still take requests! It just sometimes takes me a really long time to get to them. But this one got my brain whirling. I haven't written much (any?) of it in the Ghost fandom but I am a big fan of whump (the injury version of a sick fic). So thank you for giving me an opportunity to inflict some pain (and comfort) on our favorites. Almost 1.2k of Aeon & Swiss hurt/comfort under the cut (no broken bones, because this is what came to me instead).

Aeon loves quintessence. He loves the electric shock of it. The tingling warmth. The way he can ease pain, and loosen muscles with a little press of his fingers. How he chases away Dew's headaches, and Cumulus' lower back pain. How he can loosen up Rain's hips, and Mountain's shoulders with barely a flex of his muscles. The only thing he hates about it, is the limitations. The fact that he can't do it to himself. Can't turn his power around and soothe his own aches. Most of the time, it isn't a problem. He's flexible, loose, spry. His vessel isn't prone to tense muscles or joint pain--maybe a product of his quintessence nature. He doesn't know. What he does know, is he's in agony. Something happened during Square Hammer. He got a little to overzealous with his movements and slipped on errant confetti. Hand coming up to grip the closest thing to him--the edge of Mountain's drum platform. His grip kept him upright, but wrenched on his shoulder as he regained his balence. Forcing an uncomfortable pop in his shoulder that he felt radiate through his entire body. A sickening thud, followed closely by immediate alarm bells in his head. That's not right. Something is wrong. It didn't hurt--not right away. Too caught up in the sudden wrongness of it. Adrenaline, already pumping through him from the show, dumping into his blood at an alarming rate. He thought he was fine. The pain started just before the end of the song. A dull ache radiating across his shoulder. Slowly gaining heat and intensity. Now, he's standing next to Swiss, about to bow, feeling like if he doesn't get off of this stage right now he's going to collapse in front of twenty thousand people. His stomach twists. The pain is bright and not now. Molten. Deep in his shoulder. Moving it, even just a little, raises a strange sense of dread through his body. Like something at the base of his brainstem knows he shouldn't do that. That catastrophe will happen if he does. Fight or flight directed toward his own body--his own pain. He wishes he could run from it. That he could just take off--run fast enough to leave this pain on the stage. Spread out and abandoned. Instead it's all he can do to bow without bursting into tears. When Swiss claps his hand over Aeon's shoulder, he winces. Pain drags up his neck, into his skull. Swiss notices, of course he does. Gaze lingering on Aeon for a second too long. Aeon flushes under his mask--embarassed even though he doesn't know why. He can't see Swiss' eyes but he can picture the way they're narrowing behind those dark lenses. Aeon looks away first, he shrugs it off. He makes it off stage, into the dressing room, and halfway out of his uniform before the trouble really starts. Everything is fine until he goes to pull his compression shirt off. The vest went fine, and the button up shirt beneath. He'd shrugged them off, letting them fall to the floor in a heap. But now--this--fuck. He should have just worn the sleeves tonight. He curses himself, looks at the compression sleeves sitting neglected in his trunk. He thought about it--but after a few shows of constantly having to adjust them back up on his arms he'd opted for the full shirt to save him some aggravation. He swears, under his breath. Glamor rapidly failing him as he feels fangs prick against his lip, and the bite of claws into his palms. He tries to get it under control, grasping at straws for any hint of control, of magic, of relief. "You ok, Bug?" Swiss is gentle this time when he touches Aeon. Avoiding the shoulder all together and opting for a heavy warm palm on his waist. Aeon feels panic crawl up his throat, hot and insistent. Filling him with the need to go. To run. To scream. Instead, he whines. Pain breaking out through his clenched teeth. Swiss stiffens, the usually casual air of his evaporating, replaced with worry. "Aeon." "I did something--my shoulder," Aeon's cheeks get hot, eyes watering. "It's not getting better. And I can't get my fucking shirt off."

"Let me help." Swiss is gentle when he slips his fingers beneath the compression fabric. Aeon allows himself to be undressed--not much else he can do. He can barely lift his arm, but Swiss manages, gentling the fabric of hot swollen flesh and dropping it onto the ground with everything else. "Hurts," Aeon says as Swiss looks at his shoulder--investigating without being asked. Aeon wishes Aether were here, he'd at least talk to him while he did this. He'd make Aeon feel better. Swiss just looks, shifts Aeon's arm this way and that like he knows what he's looking for. "I'm sure it does," Swiss mumbles. Then Aeon feels it--a tiny spark. Quintessence. Just a little. Tenative. Like Swiss isn't used to using it like this. "I'm not Aether, obviously. But I think it's a sprain. You'll be alright." Aeon feels those words somewhere at his core. Solid. True. Maybe it's Swiss' quintessence. The power of suggestion. But he believes him. Even as the pain rages, barely touched by what little quintessence Swiss has given him. He wants to beg for more, he almost does--but Swiss is still talking. "....get you dressed and back to the hotel. I'll take care of you." "You?" Aeon looks up at him. Swiss laughs, lopsided grin finally slotting back into place. "Yeah, me. Why you hoping for someone else to play nurse?" "No! No, I just mean--you're not--I figured you had better things to do. Weren't you and Dew going to go to that bar or something? I'll be ok--" "I know you'll be ok. But I want to help. So let me." Aeon wants to protest. He knows he's a part of this pack as much as anyone else--has never been lead to believe he isn't. But he's still new, still worries that he's one misstep away from being rejected. But Swiss has never given him a reason to think that, and he looks so earnest when he asks. Wearing his glamor. Looking so startlingly human with warm brown eyes and that crooked smile that always makes Aeon's stomach flip. Swiss grabs Aeon's t-shirt and holds it out to him--ready to help, and Aeon sags in resignation. He can do it alone--he can take care of himself and battle through this pain without any help. But why would he want to. "Will you even wash my hair for me?" Aeon asks, half a joke, grinning just for the opportunity to see Swiss grin back. "Maybe," Swiss laughs, helping Aeon into his t-shirt. "But, I might just dose you with enough quintessence to knock you out so I can go party with Dew." "You won't," Aeon says, sure. Feeling lighter despite the pain radiating down his arm and into his fingers. Swiss pulls him close, guides him out of the dressing room with a steady hand on the small of his back. "No," he concedes. "I won't."

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mitsuki91 · 5 months

Text

Characters analysis about Coriolanus Snow and Lucy Gray Baird.

(This is copy-pasted from a chat so forgive me if it's kind of messy).

Premise: Lucy is well aware of where the weapons are and makes Coryo find them on purpose.

Analysis: In my opinion Lucy recognises that Coryo still wears a mask in front of the world. She frames it immediately because she, in her own way, does too. She loves him, because she has seriously fallen in love with him (trauma bonding lol), but she also knows deep down that Coryo will always want to go back to the capital and make a political career, because it's the only way he can feel in control (and in a way she even understands this). She is worried that he will force her to follow him and put her in a cage and she is torn anyway because she loves him and would like to be with him but does not want to become a canary in a gilded cage... So she is slowly trying to make him understand that there is an alternative, that Capitol City and politics are not everything, that there is a life beyond power and beyond hunger. Only it all comes crashing down in 0.2 seconds. Coryo shoots the mayor's daughter and Lucy thus has 1) confirmation that Coryo would do anything for her anyway 2) sees how his paranoia starts, especially when Sejanus is hanged. She knows, because she knows him, that he sold him out to try to save his own skin. But she also knows that he is terrified and see himself already dead. She would like to reassure him and tell him about the weapons etc. but she knows that it is only prolonging the agony, because if Coryo could feel 'free' and return to the capital he would, and she is not up for it. So she finds a way to make him find the weapons - she first has confirmation that, even at the moment when Coryo loses everything, he still chooses her, because he loves her - and she watches him to see what he intends to do, but as she suspects he is not yet ready. She sees, in his eyes, that for him that discovery means 'freedom', a freedom greater than the truly free life he could have had with her. So she decides to take the first step and stop him from really choosing.... Because Coryo might choose her in that moment, but in one, two, five years etc. it would blow up in her face (between recriminations and various things because, basically, they want two different things out of life). Their love is not enough, Lucy knows that. So she does not give him the power to torture himself into a slow descent and chooses for him, leaving him. And he goes mad because he loses control, possession, over what he considered to be his by right because of the love he feels (his view of love and life: he sees possession as the highest form of love, because he grew up in a world where he had nothing and now only values the things he possesses).

Basically Lucy Gray values her freedom above love and Coryo values power/wealth/control above love.

Love exists between them, it is true.... But they have two different visions of life.

They have both betrayed each other in the worst way for each other.

Trust and loyalty.

But it wasn't a selfish spite, at least not on Lucy Gray's part.

He was still in full paranoia about the trust issue so he wasn't clear-headed, but she wasn't loyal thinking she was doing him a favour in the end by leaving him 'free'.

In the end, they 'gave' each other the most important thing they consider to themself: Coryo was giving her himself - "I am yours, Lucy, and I will follow you to the ends of the word" - i.e. possession. She gave him freedom instead.

#coriolanus snow #lucy gray baird #coriolanus snow meta #lucy gray baird meta #lucy gray x coriolanus #coriolanus x lucy gray #snowbaird #characters analysis #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #tbosas #the hunger games #thg #please remember I don't read the book yet so this ideas are from the movie and the little quote I see only about Coryo unhinged mind

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whatitshouldvebeen · 6 months

Note

“…stops the moment being with you is more difficult than it worth…” ((this is from your post a couple days ago))

Imagine a timid, broken reader trying to win back Johnny’s affection. He’s abusive but to her its still affection he gives and she can’t live without him. She has attached herself to this killer.

“If it will make you happy… you can hit me… you can pull my hair.. or choke me… I’ll even make you feel good… just don’t stay mad…please”

Johnny Slaughter x Reader

Contains: extreme abuse, gas lighting, and the unhealthiest relationship known to man

Too Much Trouble

In the dimly lit room, Johnny's return was heralded by waves of pure hate that seemed to radiate off him.

"You stupid fucking bitch," Johnny snarled, his silhouette looming menacingly in the doorway, hands clenched into fists.

"I'm sorry!" you sobbed, collapsing to your knees with hands clasped in front of you, a desperate plea for mercy echoing in your voice, a prayer to a merciless, vindictive God.

He stood there, a simmering rage evident as his fists clenched and unfurled.

"Johnny, please don't stay mad," you pleaded, bowing your head submissively. "I'll do anything. You can hit me, choke me, or do whatever you want to me. I am so, so sorry."

"You're sorry, huh? How many fucking times have I heard that bullshit?" His open palm met your cheek with a resounding slap, reducing you to grovel at his feet, tears streaming down your face, your cheek ablaze with red.

"I don't need your permission to beat you, you little rat fuck."

"You're right, I'm sorry," you muttered, nodding erratically.

"You're gonna be sorry. This time, I'm not holding back."

His kick landed squarely in your stomach, the force sending you sprawling onto the floor, clutching your abdomen in agony.

The illusion shattered again. The happy façade crumbled, the façade you could pretend was your reality when Johnny was pleased with you, when you were perfect.

He had expected you to pack him a meal when he went out to "work," criticizing you for forgetting his snack for a week. You leaped up, ran to the kitchen, and returned with the snack, only to face his wrath.

"Just like you to be a full-blown fucking retard. Can't listen for one goddamn minute. If I wanted you to go get me a fucking snack right this second, I woulda said to do it," he complained.

"I didn't realize you'd been without one for so long, so I felt bad and wanted to fix it. I shouldn't have worried about it right now, and I'm sorry," you said, attempting to de-escalate the situation.

"Can't go a fucking week without making me explain some basic shit to you. If you thought I cared about the fucking snack, maybe ask if you should go pack it instead of running off?" he berated.

You ducked your head. "You're right, I'm sorry."

"You ain't sorry. If you were, you'd learn a goddamn thing without me needing to tell you a hundred fuckin' times," he growled.

Truthfully, you were amazed he wasn't beating you already. You peeked up at him. "I swear I'll try to ask you if something is bothering you rather than trying to fix it right away," you said, hoping it would appease him. His glare deepened.

"Always with the promises. The swears. 'Oh, I won't do it again, Johnny!'," he mocked.

You started to tremble. "I don't know what to say," you said, struggling to hold his cold gaze.

"If I gotta tell you what to say, it won't make a difference. Why the fuck do I waste my time trynna teach you any goddamn thing? You're useless, lazy, spineless, and pathetic," he spat before leaving the room and locking the door.

Alone, you curled up on the bed, replaying the event in your mind, wondering why he hadn't hit you this time. Maybe you weren't even worth correcting anymore. Maybe you were more trouble than you were worth.

The thought hit you like a sack of bricks. You clutched the sheets, sobbing, desperate to be enough, to be worth keeping.

A timid voice from outside the locked door interrupted your thoughts. "Mommy? Are you okay?"

"Honey, I'm okay. Go to grandma's house, alright?" you said, masking the pain in your voice.

"Mommy needs rest?" they asked innocently.

You smiled through the pain. "Yeah, honey, mommy needs rest. Go on to grandma, baby. I love you."

As their little footsteps padded down the hall, you lay in silence, trying to hold onto the scent of him in the sheets. For almost a month, things had been good. You could almost believe Johnny loved you.

If you had any self-preservation, you'd plan an escape or consider self-defense. But you're stuck, desperately trying to think of what you can do or say to make him happy, knowing deep down there's nothing. With him not having touched you, you feared he had grown tired of tormenting you.

So, as you clutched your aching stomach after he kicked you, part of you was relieved. If he was bothering to correct you, maybe he was still going to keep you.

"I fucking hate you," he declared, kicking you over. "I wish you'd die."

His words cut deep as he grabbed your hair, a blade scraping under your chin. "One little slit is all it'd take to be rid of you. To spare me and our kid from growing up with a shit-for-brains mom."

You said nothing, tears and snot falling onto the floor. Johnny looked disgusted.

"You got nothin' to say? Maybe I should cut out your tongue," he sneered, tilting the blade to nick your skin.

"Baby, please, I-" you started. His eyes narrowed, bloodlust evident.

"Say one more goddamn word. Give me an excuse. I'm dying for you to let me be rid of you," he hissed, eyes filled with hate. "God, it'd make me feel so good to kill you. I can feel the tension leavin' my body just thinking about it. Honestly, I'd probably cum the moment I saw the light die in your dull eyes."

Appalled and mortified, you said nothing. You needed him. He was all you had. You stayed silent as he unleashed his frustration on you, beating you within an inch of your life. When he got tired or bored with it, he left without another word.

You lay on the floor in a pool of blood, body shattered, eyes too bruised to see, but alive. A broken smile crept across your face. He still wanted you. You weren't yet more trouble than you were worth.

#johnny slaughter #johnny sawyer #texas chainsaw massacre game #tcm game #texas chainsaw game #tcm #johnny slaughter x reader #texas chainsaw massacre #tw abuse #abusiveboyfriend

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cassieoz · 8 months

Text

Sultan's Heir

Sapphire screamed wildly! The birthing pangs brutally raged through her core like a fire storm. She collapsed and clutched the silk quilting in front of her. Sapphire could feel the enormous head spreading her. The torture of birthing a royal heir was completely overwhelming the mother to be. Her eyes were filled with tears as her suffering echoed through the curtains of the birthing tent.

"It started at dawn, Your Highness! She has been taken to the main tent in the encampment. The princess has her birthing assistants. They are very experienced and will help her to bring your royal heir into the world!"

The Sultan looked at the other men in the room. They were all married and had many children. They reassured the Sultan that the princess would deliver a healthy child. He slowly nodded but he secretly longed to be with her.

Sapphire bent forward and yelled out loudly. The head pounded her savagely as the pangs grew more unbearable. She curled her hands in the soft cotton sheets as she rocked back and forward. On her hands and knees, she could feel the full force of the birthing head between her folds. Sapphire shouted in birthing agony as she bore down on the merging dome. She was shaking and sweating profusely from the intense throbbing of each contraction.

The Sultan walked the halls of the Palace. His nerves were raw and his mind was racing. It was not acceptable for him to be with his princess as she gave birth. He was crazy about her! He had passionately impregnated his heir into her womb. He could only hope she could endure the turmoil of releasing the child into the world.

Sapphire frantically panted as she pushed and strained heavily against the crowning tip. Sapphire layed with her legs wide and supported as the need to bear came without mercy. Her echoing sounds filled the entire encampment as the birth slowly progressed. The agonisingly strong contractions bombarded the first time mother. Sapphire shoved down hard whenever a pain exploded at her entrance. The orgasmic intensity erupted with each surge. Sapphire shook wildly as she rode the exhausting journey towards delivery. The mixture of bearing and stretching made her orgasm painfully as the head grew enormous at her opening.

The Sultan ordered for his helicopter to fly him to the desert encampment. It had been one long day and still no news. As the helicopter landed, attendants rushed forward to welcome him to the encampment.

Sapphire howled madly as the next pain detonated like a mega bomb at her entrance. The head thrashed forward as her cries became deafening. She was finally entering the final stages of birthing. Sapphire vibrated wildly with an unstoppable pulsing as the head thrusted her wider and wider. The princess was completely exhausted. She was lost in the final round of contractions. Her torturous birthing ordeal was coming to its dramatic end.

The Sultan could hear her suffering but his attendants held him back from entering the birthing tent. He was white with fear as he listened to the roaring screams of his princess fighting to deliver.

"I can't!......I can feel all of it!......Make it stop!......I have to push!......I need it out!......RIGHT NOW!"

The princess roared at the top of her lungs. The orgasmic birthing explosion split her wide as the head pushed its way to freedom. Moments later, the second eruption brought the rest of the baby out of her exhausted frame.

The Sultan rushed forward and hurried into the bed chamber.

"Darling? Are you alright? I am so sorry that you had to suffer for our child!" Sapphire looked up with tears of joy, holding their child within silken wraps.

"I would do it again, my love. Whenever the pain came, I thought of you and I knew our son would be born safely. I can't wait to do my duty all over again....and soon!"

#birth

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miasmaghoul · 5 months

Note

*hands you a comically small microphone 🎤*

miasma, which one of the ghoulettes do you think has a piss kink?

*stands here patiently waiting*

I think they will all play in that space from time to time, but that could just be my overactive pissboy brain.

All flavors of piss girl thots below the cut!

(Please note I am wicked high and this is probably A Lot lmao)

Cirrus does it only on rare occasions, if someone needs to be treated with special cruelty. To be debased and degraded. It doesn't happen often, but every now and again Aether will come to her with a certain look in his eye. Will kneel at her feet with his head bowed and ask for it with soft, distant words. She indulges him every time; the sound Aether makes when she soaks him from the neck down is simply exquisite.

Cumulus is into holding. Likes to chug a huge bottle of water and then work on a craft project, or open a long book. She sets goals for herself once pressure starts to build low in her belly - 20 more stitches, one more row, ten more pages, and then she'll reassess. See if she can keep holding it. She can, of course, but she squirms. More and more as the minutes tick by. She's full after three hours, wriggling by four and absolutely aching by the time the fifth hour passes. So much pressure she can hardly stand it - she really, really has to go...but, well, she hasn't met her goal yet! And Cumulus is anything but a quitter. She clenches her thighs, breathes deep, and tries not to think about how far away her bathroom is.

Sunshine is the biggest pissboy amongst the girls, i think. She likes when Mountain will let her whip it out in the greenhouse so she can water the plants. Sometimes she even waters him, while Mountain tugs at himself and thanks her profusely. But she also adores having someone soak her - loves when someone lets go while they bounce on her cock, loves to be made a mess every now and again. She's also super into wetting, happy to drench her uniform while she sits in Copia's lap and sucks his gloved fingers until he cums in his pants about it.

Mist, when she indulges, likes desperation. She wants her victim partner in beautiful agony, wants them so full they can't help but shiver and leak. She absolutely used her magick to her advantage, drawing fluid into already straining bladders until they're fit to burst. Likes them to beg and plead and tremble like frightened kittens until they simply can't hold back any longer. If her partner has a cock, she takes special joy in forcing them hard and telling them to hold it. Keep it in so she can make them feel good even in their misery. So far, no one has been able to cum before they make a mess.

Aurora thinks of it less like a kink and more like a game. She like to see how full she can get, likes to see the way her bladder bulges out between her hips. Sometimes Cumulus will join her, but Aurora doesn't take things as far as Lus like to. She prefers to hold it as long as she can, and then sneak outside to find a place to let go. Somewhere she can hear people milling around, with extra points gained if she can see them too. Her favorite spot is a portion of the roof overlooking the rose gardens - she'll sit on the wide stone rail edging it and spread herself open, groaning as it arcs out of her and rains down onto the grass below. One time the stream managed to catch the sun just right, and Aurora joyfully told everyone at dinner that night that she could piss rainbows.

#miasma's work #the band ghost ficlets #the band ghost headcanons #cirrus ghoulette #cumulus ghoulette #sunshine ghoulette #mist ghoulette #aurora ghoulette #cw piss #piss kink #god im such a pissboy :(

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withacapitalp · 1 year

Text

Cocaine Bear AU Pt 2

Part One

Because I am deranged okay here we go have some more. As always....blame the discord

Eddie was having a pretty shitty day.

First he got woken up at two in the morning because his father got a tip off about a potential DEA bust and had to high tail it to their warehouse to move a shit ton of cargo. Then, their normal runner had to call out sick because of food poisoning, so Eddie had to make the drop instead.

Now the plane he was in was about to crash.

So, yeah, Eddie was having a pretty shitty day.

“Please remind me why you had to try and do a barrel roll?!” Eddie shouted over the wind as he continued to toss duffle bags full of product out over the Indiana wilds.

“I thought it would be fun!” Rick called back, still laughing his ass off even as the plane emergency lights began to blink rapidly, “You need to learn to live a little, Eddie.”

“I’d like to live, period!” Eddie shouted back, kicking the final bag into the dark. The duffle bags were bright red with rainbow straps, impossible to miss, but innocuous enough that most people wouldn’t touch them.

Hopefully.

God, his dad was going to kill him if he lost this much cocaine.

There was another bout of shaking as the plane took a mini-nose dive, and Eddie narrowly missed smacking his head against the open doorway, almost dropping his parachute as he did.

“This is our final stop, ladies!” Rick screamed over the beeping alarms in front of him, “Thank you for flying Air Junkie!”

Eddie rolled his eyes, strapping on the parachute and looking out into the inky black of the world below. He wasn’t exactly comfortable with heights per say. But it was a choice between jumping and potentially dying, or staying in the plane with Rick and definitely dying.

Eddie jumped.

It was better than any high he had ever had. Eddie was instantly awake, his heart racing at top speed as he hurtled towards the ground. He let out a primal scream, laughing deliriously as he pulled the ripcord and his stomach shot out of his ass from the force of the chute deploying.

Damn, that hurt.

Eddie pinched his face in agony as his hands reached up, scrambling to find the stabilizers to course correct his landing. It wasn’t exactly ideal to have the plane crash, but things could be worse. All of the cargo was safe… well, as safe as possible. Eddie would have it back in his hands in no time, and his father wouldn’t need to know about any of it until he was safely across the border.

Hell, maybe he could even spin this in his favor. With the plane downed and Rick dead, the feds would probably think all of the drugs burned up in the fire too. Problem solved. It was all going to work out just fine.

His hand finally grasped the stabilizer, and it promptly tore off of the cheap ass parachute he was wearing, leaving him no way to steer.

“Oh, fuck me,” Eddie swore, throwing it down to the earth below and holding onto the cords for dear life, closing his eyes as the wind began to whip him around. There were a few wild moments of blind panic as his body was jerked around, but by the time the first trees touched the tips of his toes, Eddie was passed out cold.

—————————

As Eddie slowly began to drift towards consciousness, a few pressing things made themselves known.

One- He was still alive. Somehow.

Two- He was shirtless and every single part of his body hurt.

Three- There was something poking his cheek.

“Dustin, stop that,” a male voice said from above Eddie’s head, and whatever was poking him stopped. Eddie kept his eyes shut, staying limp as he listened.

“Are you sure he’s not dead?” A younger boy, presumably ‘Dustin,’ asked.

“He has a pulse still.” The first man replied, and Eddie felt something being wrapped around one of his forearms. “I have no idea how, but he barely seems that hurt.”

“And remind me why we didn’t just call the cops?” A girl’s voice piped up from somewhere by his feet.

Uh oh, someone used the C word, Eddie thought deliriously, pulling away from the man touching him and faking like he was just waking up. If the police somehow miraculously hadn’t already been called, then he wanted to keep it that way.

“Holy shit!” ‘Dustin’ squawked, and when Eddie opened one eye he caught a glimpse of a curly haired nerdy-looking kid stepping away from him.

“Jar,” the man said as if it was a reflex. Eddie opened his other eye, staring up in shock as a veritable Adonis looked back down at him with a soft smile.

“Good morning.” He murmured, his voice soft and sweet. The man had honey brown eyes and a strong jawline, the exact kind Eddie would love to nibble on.

“Hey guys! The dead dude’s awake!” A boy with long hair screeched at the top of his lungs, the complete antithesis of the man’s tone. The girl, a little spitfire with box braids and a look on her face, rolled her eyes, and Dustin bounced over to her side, all three staring at Eddie like he was an exhibit in a zoo.

How many kids did this guy have?!

“Mike, he’s not-” The man cut himself off with a sigh as all three kids bolted out of the room, completely ignoring him. He raised a hand to his temple, shaking his head. “Sorry about them. They’re harmless, but they are teenagers.”

“The horror,” Eddie answered dryly, sitting up slowly and wincing as he did, looking down at his body and taking stock. He was ripped to high hell, cuts and slashes all over his chest and a pulsing pain beating alongside his heart, but he was alive, and that was enough for right now.

“Thanks for patching me up…”

“Steve. Steve Harrington.” ‘Steve’ said, filling the gap and holding his hand out to Eddie to shake.

“Eddie.” He replied, purposefully sidestepping the last name reply by adding a question. “Where exactly am I?”

“My house. I would’ve taken you to the hospital, but Hawkins General just went belly up due to budget cuts, and I was worried you wouldn’t make it if I had to take you all the way to Mercy.” Steve explained, stepping back and putting his hands on his hips. “You know, you’re really lucky you aren’t more hurt. What exactly were you doing?”

“Oh you know, the usual.” Eddie said evasively, trying and failing to stretch. “What’s my prognosis then, doc? ‘Cause I have things I gotta get to.”

Namely like finding all of the product that had fallen into the woods before anyone else did.

“I’m not a- Hey! Woah! Hold up, you can’t go anywhere.” Steve snapped, pushing Eddie down as he tried to stand, mindful of the places he was bandaged up.

“I found you hanging from a parachute in a tree. You have two broken ribs, a definite concussion, a shit ton of lacerations, and possibly a broken ankle. There’s no way I can let you just walk off.” Steve stated, looking ready to fight Eddie if he had to.

Goddamn good samaritans and their stubborn little bleeding hearts.

“Pretty sure you have to, otherwise it’s kidnapping.” Eddie joked, looking around the room for his shirt and shoes. Hopefully he could sweet talk his way out of his mess like he usually did, but if not, he was going to need to be able to run.

But before either of them could argue anymore, an explosion of children burst into the room.

Eddie couldn’t even count the number of little people who were pushing their faces close to him, poking and prodding him where they could and all yelling over each other in an effort to be heard.

“GUYS!” Steve roared above the melee, dragging them all out by their collars. “Out!”

“But we wanna-“ One of the kids protested from the doorway.

“Out!” Steve insisted, shoving the door shut, making sure no little fingers got caught as he did. He let his entire body fall against the door, running a hand through his hair haggardly and groaning.

“Look, what’s so important that you can’t wait?” Steve asked, glaring at Eddie.

About 10 million dollars worth of cocaine stashed in three fucking duffle bags somewhere in the woods, Eddie thought, biting his tongue so he didn’t accidentally say something stupid like that.

“Stuff.”

“Well your ‘stuff’ has gotta wait until at least tomorrow. It’s gonna get dark soon.” Steve stated, crossing his arms.

“No can do, doc,” Eddie replied, standing up. “See? Totally fine,”

Then he tried to take a step and his injured ankle immediately gave out. He would’ve fallen flat on his ass, but there were two extremely strong, very muscular arms holding him up, and a beautiful but unimpressed face only inches from him.

“I’m not a doctor,” Steve deadpanned, helping Eddie to sit on the edge of the bed and kneeling down to check the splint around his ankle. “I’m an EMT- or I’m studying to be one anyway.”

“Regardless of your qualifications, Sweetheart, I gotta be on my way.” Eddie gasped, trying to ignore the pain making his stomach twist up into knots.

“No.”

Seriously. Seriously. Of course Eddie had to be found by the single person on Earth who would not take him to the hospital, but also not just abandon him the second he could.

“Look, Harrington, was it?” Eddie asked rhetorically, starting to get frustrated by the good guy act. “I’m not-“

“Why don’t we just go with him?” A voice behind Steve asked.

What?!

“Erica!” Steve snapped. “We’re not going out into the woods with a complete stranger!”

“You have something you’re looking for in the woods right?” One of the other girls asked, pointing to Eddie. He nodded and she shrugged. “You were gonna take us on a hike anyway, Steve, so let’s just go with Dead Guy.”

“My name is Eddie.” He interjected stubbornly. He wasn’t dead yet.

“Eddie.” The girl with the red hair amended. “You’re not dead. Steve’s happy. We get to get some fresh air. Everybody wins.”

“Complete stranger.” Steve repeated, looking completely done with the situation. “We should just call the park rangers to find your stuff…”

“No!” Eddie blurted out, grabbing Steve’s arm and holding it in a death grip.

The last thing he needed was cops. This was already enough of a clusterfuck as it was. Steve paused, looking first at the hand on his arm, then at Eddie’s frantic eyes.

“You’re that set on going?” Steve asked. Eddie nodded tightly, and Steve sighed, gently pulling out of Eddie’s grasp and holding out his hand. “Fine. But only for a few hours. If you can’t find what you’re looking for by sunset, we’re coming back here and calling the rangers.”

That could work. All he had to do was give Steve and these kids the slip and he was home free.

This could work.

This had to work.

“Deal,” Eddie said, doom pressing down on his shoulders.

Tag list: @thing-a-ling @maya-custodios-dionach

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lorcandidlucienwill · 11 days

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For Day 3 of @tamlinweek , I am posting part of my Tamlin fic (Tamlin's Life Story: A Tragedy)! We are told that the mating bond is beautiful and everything everyone should wish for, but I don't believe Tamlin has a very good experience with the mating bond; his own parents were mated and terrible for each other.

So, this is a little dark, but what if Tamlin's mate was Amarantha? It would explain her obsession with him. Tamlin, by rejecting Amarantha in that little gathering (right before she took the High Lords' powers), rejected the mating bond and incited rage in Amarantha. What was it like for Tamlin when he first met Amarantha, when he was forced to be with her UTM, and after he killed her? Full fic can be found here: TW: mild descriptions of child SA, violence, angst

He still dreamt of it. When he was just a child, and he'd seen the Hybern general for the first time. Red hair with streaks of black, like her hair had been soaked with so much blood that it had mostly changed color, the streaks the only remnant of her that hadn't been corrupted. When he'd longed for acceptance from his father, receiving nothing but the barbed whip across his back for being a failure of a courtier, for playing his fiddle for the handsome Night Court lord he couldn't help but love, Amarantha had spoken to him.

She'd embraced him and told him he was worth every last bit of Prythian, and their mating bond had clicked in. So what if she caressed his chest far too possessively to be casual? So what if she grabbed him through his pants, sometimes squeezing hard enough to cause pain? She had told him he was valuable. That was more than his father ever did. The scars on his back were so numerous that nobody would be able to count them. But while Amarantha left bruises, none of them stayed.

It was only when she'd tried to strip him that he'd begged her to stop. He told her he was too young, that he was scared, that he had no idea what he was doing, that he wasn't comfortable with a sexual relationship at this point in time. In her rage, she'd ripped his antlers out with her bare hands and carved out his abdomen with them. It was only by a miracle that he'd escaped that place. He'd barely made it to his father, who'd saved his life.

Only to give him the worst beating of his life. By the time it was done, Tamlin was crying tears of blood. Yet, that wasn't the worst pain in the world. No, it was nothing compared to the hollow feeling in his chest. The golden thread, his last hope for joy in this world, snapped in one moment. The mating bond. He was in such torment that he was sure it would kill him. Unfortunately, he lived. And lived. And lived.

*********************************************************************** He lost track of the days. He couldn't remember his own name. He remembered nothing. At least in his earlier days of pain and abuse and sexual assault and torture, he'd felt something. There was meaning to his life, a hope for better. But now...it was an endless sea of agony. There were no coherent thoughts in his brain, only a dull, throbbing ache that sought to take him under and finish it. He wished it would. He prayed that the yawning blackness would simply embrace him. Unfortunately, it didn't. It was almost worse this way, that he'd gotten the taste of what it was like to have the semblance of a happy life, only to have it ripped away from him at the last moment.

He tried to remember something, anything, to make him keep going. Feyre, a phantom voice sometimes whispered. Lucien. But the burning pain quickly whisked those words away. He did not understand their significance, anyway. They sounded like made up words. Soon, he stopped trying to remember. He'd forgotten what he was fighting for. Amarantha demanded answers out of him that he couldn't give- she didn't understand that he was broken. Nothing she did to him could break him when he was already in pieces.

Until she came. Until suddenly breath returned to his lungs and he had a reason to breathe again. And reason to be absolutely terrified. He begged her to go, but she didn't. She stood there, bold as brass, and claimed him as her own. And Tamlin had never loved anyone more. He watched her get tortured, and he felt again. Rage and sorrow beyond a human's dizziest daydreams, but it was feeling. When the court had adjourned, Lucien had snuck over to him. His face was pale and ragged, but Tamlin also glimpsed something there he hadn't seen in a while: hope. Just the slightest glimpse of it.

"I swear to you, Tamlin," Lucien whispered, hands on his face, staring into his eyes, clouding Tamlin's senses, "I will do whatever it takes to keep her alive. Everything within my power, I will do it." Oh, Lucien. His bold, brave, selfless Lucien. Tamlin choked out the words, "Thank you." Lucien's face hardened with resolve. "Thank me by never giving in. No matter what happens, don't you dare give up." Tamlin stared into his beautiful mismatched eyes. "I swear it." **********************************************************************

However Tamlin had felt under the mountain, it was gone now.

Now that everything had settled back in, he could feel it. The mating bond threatening to split him in two. He'd rejected his own mate and then he'd killed her. And now it drove him mad at times.

Lucien was no longer enough to help him. He hired Ianthe to help with the wedding preparations, and he tried to forget his pain. He succeeded for the most part, his trauma only coming back to haunt him at night. Amarantha touching him, Lucien's broken back before him, Feyre's neck snapping-

It was the mating bond that bothered him most of the time. It was like a migraine that just wouldn't go away. His temper, which wasn't the best, he could admit, got much worse owing to the constant migraine. But how could he tell anyone his secret shame- that he'd been mated to Amarantha? That there was once a time he'd sought comfort in her?

He couldn't let her train. Ianthe was right. What if they came after her? What if her power drew Rhysand back? He couldn't allow that. He'd heard her neck snap, heard it in his dreams again and again and again and-

"Please, let her train," Lucien pleaded. Tamlin tried to concentrate on him over the roaring in his head. "Let her master this, so that she can protect herself when enemies come."

At the word enemies, Tamlin's entire body seized up. Magic exploded out of him, falling on Lucien and blasting him backward. Lucien glared at him, loathing simmering in his eyes. But he said nothing after that; only walking away before Tamlin could get on his knees and beg for his forgiveness.

#lucien vanserra #tamlin #tamlin week 2024 #feyre archeron #feylin #tamcien #pro tamlin #angst #amarantha

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 11 months

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Fresh Pain

Epilogue for Sweet Treats AU: by character | chronological | epilogues

Warnings: these drabbles will include dark elements such as noncon, control, intimidation, and other stuff that may not be specified. Take this as you chance to scroll by.

Please let me know what you think <3

🍭🍭🍭

Hot pain shoots down your arm. You groan as you wiggle your fingers and give up. It hurts too much. You gnash your teeth and whimper. You puff through your nose as agony courses through your muscles.

The gunshot echoes in your mind. Birdy. You should’ve known she’d blab. You really didn’t think she was that stupid. Why couldn’t she just keep her mouth shut?

You sigh. What can you do now? Stay angry? She might deserve it but not as much as they fuckwads who took you.

“You’re not helping yourself,” the man says as he rouses in the chair. He sits up and stretches his neck. “You tense up like that and it’s only gonna get worse.”

“Like you give a shit,” you growl. “Easier to trade us like cattle if we can’t fight back.”

He snickers, “well, I did tell him not to fire into the goddamn car but I think he did us all a favour clipping your wing.”

Your eyes roll back and you curl your lip. His arrogance reminds you of Sam in a way, but there’s less humour there. He’s king shit among the shitlords.

“So, how much am I worth? Is it a bundle deal?”

He pokes his tongue out, gliding it over his lower lip as he runs his index down the cleft in his chin. He’s amused. You’re not.

“You know, I don’t think there’s a price worthy of you. As much as I could use the pocket change.”

“Bullshit. You’re working for them. I know a goddamn pig when I see one.”

“Ex-pig. Fed.” He explains, “pays a lot more to work for myself.”

“Oh, yeah,” you wince and hiss as another pang coils in your arm, “and what about the other two?”

“Business partners.”

“Oh, if you asked me, I would’ve thought the other one with the shit stache was the leader. You fall in line right behind his greasy ass, don’t you?”

He rumbles, half a growl, half a chuckle. He leans forward, hands clutched together, “you’re trying to provoke me.”

“If this is a job to you, you should finish it,” you sneer, “arm hurts so bad, you’d be doing me a favour.”

“And what about your friends? You don’t care about them? You haven’t even asked.”

“I don’t gotta ask,” you suck in a breath and shake a hand in front of your arm, not daring to touch your wrapped wound, “goddamn it. God… urgh.”

“I told you to relax,” he chides.

“Hard to fucking relax with a jackass sitting in the corner like a goddamn Bond villain.”

“August,” he stands, “if you’re wondering. And you’re Candy. Fitting, you are a sweet thing, aren’t you?”

Your eyes list away and you drop your head back weakly. He’s irritating, almost as much as Sam. This is why you sold a dream to mean and not the real thing.

“I got some painkillers,” he lowers himself onto the edge of the bed, “if you ask nicely, I could slip you a few. Strong stuff, too.”

You glare at him. You’re not stupid. A bullet wound isn’t going to save you. It’s just another disadvantage.

“I’m good,” you snip.

“Strong, I like it. Stubborn, don’t like that so much,” he traces his fingers along your shoulder, “but that face balances the tables, don’t it?”

“You’re fucking disgusting.”

“Hmph, aren’t you a picky bitch?” He scoffs and grips your arm, squeezing until you shriek. You kick as lightning shoots up to the joint and ripples through your flesh. “I’m tryna be a nice guy here and you’re not helping, are you?”

“Fucker–”

He rips his hand away from your arm and taps your cheek. Not a full slap but enough to sting. He frames your chin and forces your head straight.

“Enough of that. I don’t like girls with ugly mouths,” he seethes as he leans in.

“Talk about an ugly mouth,” you retort.

He shoves you back, slipping his hand down to your neck. He squeezes and pins you to the pillows. You cough, arm thrumming until you squeak. As if this couldn’t be worse. A new set of psychos to deal with.

“You got two choices, cupcake. I can feed you some pills or something else. All I’m asking is for a little gratitude. Just… be nice.”

You furrow your nose defiantly. A scream curdles in the air and permeates through the wall. Birdy. As much as you hate her, you don’t want her to be hurt. Your eyes flit to the door and you try to sit up without thinking. He keeps you down without effort.

“She’ll be fine,” he bends over you, close enough that his breath wraps around you, “as long as you behave.”

#august walker #dark august walker #dark!august walker #august walker x reader #august walker x candy #au #sweet treats #mission impossible: fallout #series #dark!fic #drabble #drabble series

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