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kudossi · 2 years

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until the stars blink out

Much like the day of her apprentice ceremony, it dawns cool and clear. Dovewing can see patches of pink sky from the partially-destroyed den she’s inhabiting — with the warriors’ den collapsed, they’ve been shuffled into one den or the next, with little thought for comfort or repairs. Dovewing herself is in the apprentices’ den, surrounded by all of the other young cats in the Clan.

Except for the ones that had died, that was. But she wouldn’t — couldn’t — think about that right now. Couldn’t think about how even powers had not prevented a massacre, couldn’t stop the end.

On the older end of the cats assigned to this den, Hollyleaf’s side rises and falls slowly beside her. There are deep gashes gouged into her old mentor’s flanks and shoulders, covered in what herbs and cobwebs could be spared. She looks like she’s been mauled by a badger, all the dressings bloodied through, but she’s alive. Alive. It sounds more impossible than anything today. There are several young cats missing from this apprentice-assigned roster, and not all of them are occupying the medicine den. Some are stretched out in the clearing, awaiting their vigils.

It had been a strange thing, not sitting vigil the night of a death; stranger still to know that Firestar was not the cat to lead it. Squirrelflight, chosen firmly by a dying Brambleclaw, had taken one look at the exhausted survivors and had ordered them all into dens, telling them to sleep before they mourned. But how could they not? She thinks of Foxleap, who had always been there with a joke or a story, distracting from even the worst of happenings; she remembers Ferncloud and Dustpelt, who had defended the camp until their dying breaths; thinks carefully of smiling Molepaw, who had been terribly, impossibly young.

Even with their orders, no one had gotten much sleep that night. They had lain awake, whispering to cats who weren’t there – sending prayers and wishes to StarClan, that they might receive them well. With mercy, in a few cases; the cats who had turned had seemed to all turn back, but they had betrayed their Clan still.

(—Flashing claws, gnashing teeth, hot blood spilling across her muzzle — a flurry of paws, an exposed throat, a gray-patched maw opening in surprise, blue eyes glazing slowly over—)

She does not remember Ivypool. She cannot think of Ivypool.

She knows that she shouldn’t leave the den, knows that Hollyleaf would want her to wake her. But Dovewing struggles to her feet anyway, dislodging the black tail slung comfortingly over her side, and picks her way into the clearing.

It’s all too bright out here, in the open, with nothing but stone and leaves and sky to distract her from the fallen. They’ve been laid out neatly by what remained of the elders, looking as if nothing more had happened than them deciding to sleep under the stars. But the fantasy can’t hold long — already the scent of rot is creeping past the lavender and thyme, spread so sparingly throughout the victims’ fur. Dovewing spots Sandstorm, placed back-to-back with Firestar, protecting each other one last time; sees Brightheart, still living, curled around Cloudtail’s unmoving form. Squirrelflight ordered us to sleep, Hollyleaf’s voice says in her mind. We’ll be of no use if we die, too. But no one could ask Brightheart to leave her mate’s side, and it looked as if the she-cat had not moved all night. She was the last of her litter, now, with Brackenfur and Thornclaw curled nearby; Brightheart’s gaze is fixed almost unnaturally on her brothers, who lie just beyond Cloudtail’s fluffy white tail. Blinking, Dovewing purposefully kicks a rock to warn her grandmother of her presence, but Brightheart doesn’t so much as twitch an ear.

When Dovewing presses her muzzle heavily into her grandmother’s too-cold pelt, it’s with a numb sort of awareness. The fact that she’s dead (dead, dead, blood and ichor and entrails) buzzes fleetingly through her mind, but fizzles out without her quite realizing the meaning. She sits heavily next to Brightheart’s corpse, grooms a stray, blood-matted patch of fur, and gently closes her eyes.

By the time she’s finished, cats have started to emerge from dens. Spiderleg looks helplessly at the warriors’ den and back to the line of dead Clanmates before him. She can almost hear his thoughts — with Dustpelt and Brackenfur gone, who will lead repairs?

A shadow falls along Dovewing’s side, crawling up her pelt and over Brightheart’s head. “What do you want?” she croaks out, hearing the way her own voice muffles through fur and cold, cold skin.

There’s a rustle as the cat sits down beside her. “Have you visited her yet?” Hollyleaf asks, because of course it’s Hollyleaf. There’s no blame in her voice, no anger at her former apprentice leaving the den without her.

“No,” Dovewing says quietly. “I don’t think I can.”

“You can,” Hollyleaf assures her. There’s only soft sympathy and cold sorrow behind Hollyleaf’s mew, and when Dovewing looks up, her former mentor’s shape is framed by the rising sun, the morning turning the tips of each hair to gold. “You will.”

Dovewing closes her eyes. “I don’t want to say goodbye. I’m not strong enough.”

“Not strong enough?” Hollyleaf asks, settling alongside her. “You’re the strongest cat I know.”

“Don’t patronize me,” Dovewing says, irritation sparking along her spine. “You know that’s not true!”

“But it is,” Hollyleaf says softly. “All of this — my brothers and I didn’t know about the prophecy until we were almost warriors. But you… you’ve known since you were a kit that you were different.”

Dovewing hangs her head. “Different,” she repeats dully.

“You didn’t get the kithood and the apprenticeship most cats get,” Hollyleaf continues. “I tried, I did, but it wasn’t enough. No, don’t look at me like that,” she adds when Dovewing opens her mouth to protest. “You still had powers. You still had a prophecy hanging over your head. You still couldn’t relate to your peers; you still couldn’t be yourself.”

“So?” Dovewing asks sharply.

“One day, I hope you’ll forgive yourself,” Hollyleaf murmurs, tucking her head on top of her once-apprentice’s ears. It isn’t what Dovewing had expected her to say, and the sentiment bubbles in her chest like acid. “You deserve peace.”

“I brought it,” Dovewing snaps, defensive. “That’s what the prophecy said, didn’t it?”

An exhale through her mentor’s nose. “At what cost?” she asks, and both cats fall silent, taking in the soft sounds of grief echoing through the hollow.

“Ivypool’s life,” Dovewing whispers. “Everyone else’s.”

“No!” Hollyleaf denies. “No, Dovewing, no. That wasn’t your fault. The cost I was talking about — it was you, Dove. The very ability to be you was taken away. You have a chance now, but—”

But now Ivypool’s dead. But now the Clan is in disrepair. But now my adulthood will be just another extension of the day Jayfeather told me I had powers. “Oh.”

“Oh,” Hollyleaf repeats, soft and sad.

There’s not much else to say, Dovewing thinks. She looks out upon the rows and rows of the deceased, catches Ivypool’s pelt and winces away, tucking her head into Hollyleaf’s side like she’d done when she was young and anxious and so very, horribly afraid.

Hollyleaf starts up a purr, even though Dovewing knows she has nothing to purr about. Still, it’s soothing, like cooling herbs over a burn, and she lets herself fade into it, pretending for a moment that she was still that sad, scared apprentice, one who didn’t have blood on her paws. Despite everything, Dovewing wishes she could go back. Wishes she could reconcile with her sister. Wishes everything had been different, different, different.

“Someday we’ll learn to live again,” Hollyleaf says, though Dovewing hadn’t spoken aloud. “But even if we don't, it'll be okay. I promise you that. Remember what I told you when you were first apprenticed?”

Dovewing looks up at her old mentor. The sky’s gone blue, now, not a cloud marring the sky. The wind whips eagerly through the branches, and for one impossible moment Dovewing thinks she sees stars amongst the leaves. They stare down at her, and she can't decide what they're trying to tell her. Would they want to tell her anything, now that ThunderClan was in tatters? “That you’d love me until the stars blink out,” Dovewing recites. It's a practiced phrase, one repeated over and over again by the only family who'd ever truly seen her, and it flows like comfort off her tongue.

She chances a glance at her sister once more. Goodbye, Ivypool, she doesn’t say. I’ll love you until the sky crashes to the ground, she doesn’t say. I’ll love you until the stars streak from the heavens. I’ll love you, I’ll love you, I’ll love you. And until then, I’ll live for you.

“That’s still true,” Hollyleaf murmurs. “It’ll always be true.”

“I know,” Dovewing says, and a smile pulls at her despite herself. “I love you too, you know. We’ll see the end together, won’t we?”

“If it’s within our power,” Hollyleaf promises.

The stars in Dovewing’s vision seem to spin almost merrily as they fade from her sight, a blue-tinged one lingering for just a moment longer. “It will be,” she breathes. “I can feel it.”

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surplus-of-sarcasm · 3 months

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31st Story, Part 2

TW: Blood, implied past captivity and torture, stitches, wound description, angst, corrupt system, issues regarding figure (brief), bruises, angst, knife, touch starvation

Part 1

Guess who's back with a hella long piece. vacay from college for some time with semester 1 over, woo! enjoyyy 💙

“So how did you sleep?” the vigilante asked as she walked downstairs to find the villain sitting cross-legged on her couch.

“Well,” he answered evenly, emotionlessness overtaking his tone as usual. It wasn't a complete lie; he'd slept better than he had in a long time, but his eyes had wrenched open a little after sunrise, even though he wasn't a morning person. He couldn't relax too much into this life, the knife he took shoved into the pocket of his sweatpants, but she didn't need to know that.

“I'll make us breakfast,” she announced.

“I'll help you out,” he offered, even though he knew she could probably infer what his motives were. He still wasn't taking any chances anyway.

She nodded curtly in response, leading him to the kitchen. And he'd almost wished someone had warned him about the whiplash of doing something so outlandishly casual with your enemy, as he watched her make a sandwich and soon enough followed suit, still hyper aware of the knives and the boiling water in the kettle.

And of course, nothing was lost on Vigilante, even if she probably wasn’t half as nervous as he was, the half-frantic, wild animal wrapped in the poorly fitting garment of someone calm and collected. “Are you always this tense?” she questioned as she sat down at the table and he sat opposite from her.

“Just hungry,” he shot back smoothly, a seasoned liar. Sure, he technically was half-starved, trying to eat slowly just so he wouldn’t retch, but if that was the case, he would’ve relaxed when he ate.

The vigilante said nothing as she took a bite of her sandwich, but her disbelieving eyebrow raise needed no further additions.

The villain’s grip tightened on his mug as he worried his frayed bottom lip between his teeth,”What do you want? If you’re going to question every micro-gesture of mine, then why’d you bring me here?” His voice was hoarse with exhaustion, probably from all the screaming he couldn’t muffle, not that he cared.

“I get it,” the vigilante said placatingly, even though it was clear she was somewhat irritated. She wasn’t a goddamn bleeding heart just oozing compassion and patience, not that he expected any different. “You’re afraid of getting hurt.”

“I am not afraid of crap, Vigilante.” It came out softer than he’d intended, almost as though he was the one trying to calm the situation, a new trait of people-pleasing a new and heavily despised survival skill he’d recently acquired.

The vigilante wanted to argue, but she also knew that from the day she’d walked into his cell and pulled him out, that she’d been walking on thin ice. That the man in front of her wasn’t his normal, unflappable self that could dish out a lot worse than whatever she dared to throw at him, so for the rest of this tense, awkward breakfast, they both remained quiet.

It had taken them about two hours of trepidation spent in the opposite ends of the living room for Vigilante to break the silence. “So, about the plan,” she started.

“Yeah?” he asked, now turning to face her.

“We can’t fight her by traditional means. We don’t have the time to amass an army big enough to rival my sister’s own. The main thing we need to do is find some way to desecrate that shining image of hers,” she explained.

The villain let out a low hum as though he was contemplating something, but the slight shift in the nature of his gaze indicated he’s noticed something. “Knocking your sister off of her pedestal is surely going to gain you some traction,” he noted.

“I don’t care much for the spotlight,” she countered.

“I know. But you seem to care about making sure your sister doesn’t have everything. Still, that isn’t the issue anyway.”

And again, he was right. There is something so utterly sickening of being born in someone’s shadow, of having all your power from someone else’s name. Vigilante was only formidable in people’s eyes because it was required of Superhero’s sister. Again, she’d never claimed to be dramatically selfless.

Still, she took note of how the villain made no effort at eye contact, his eyes trained on the pattern of her wooden coffee table, but she refrained from commenting. “Right. The general idea is, if the adoring public find out what she does to the people in her custo-”

The villain, in his most daring act of the day, had let out a sardonic snort. “Oh, save it. I don’t think you realise that how people like me are treated doesn’t really irk anyone. Because that’s how the world works, it’s easier like that. I’m not the most notorious, but it’s safe to say I’m ‘famous’ enough,” he made air quotations with his fingers, “People usually want to know about the trial, when it comes to people they’ve heard of, but no one gave a damn. No one cared to know I never really got a trial in the first place. Because they were just relieved that the Big Bad Guy was off the streets. Locked up somewhere. It doesn’t matter that my record says I’m guilty of crap I’ve never done. Because technically, I’ve committed my fair share of my crimes, what’s more to the pile? Hell, if it keeps me locked away for all eternity, then why not?”

This time, the villain’s gaze was steely, his teeth gnashed together and his tone harsh, and yet before she’d even commented, the villain was quick to force the muscles of his face to work on pulling it into a blank expression, his hand going to his pocket.

Where, unbeknownst to Vigilante, the knife from yesterday was. . .

It took her a moment to register his words and realise he was right. The likes of Villain wouldn’t garner the sympathy of the same people that cheered when they were locked up, at every suffocating press conference where her sister’s airy voice seemed to ring in her ears.

But how else was she supposed to rouse some sort of public outcry against her sister? She needed the key, the concept, the idea, and from that she could form a plan. It was why she thought of asking the villain in the first place.

“Then what should we do to get people to notice?”

The villain’s pale hand made its way out of his pocket, his expression still nearly unreadable. “Your sister’s clever. She’s almost untraceable, and uncovering her shady past would be difficult. Or actually, more difficult than having her do something terrible now.”

“So you’re saying we somehow force her to commit some sort of terrible crime?”

“Force is the wrong word. It wouldn’t be a choice she wouldn’t make on her own accord. And that’s our selling point. No one needs to make her pull underhanded crap because she’ll take that choice anyway. And from then, whatever it is you want to reveal is actually going to have a basis.”

The villain straightened his posture, pulling his now slightly loose fitting hoodie down so straighten a wrinkle only for it to come down with a strange difficulty, like it was stuck to his skin, the man letting out a soft hiss.

“You alright?” she asked.

“Fine,” he answered curtly, getting up. He knew exactly why his jacket had stuck to his form in the first place, and he really didn’t need Vigilante’s supposed concern. There’s a lot worse he’d seen in his life, in those three months alone than some old scratch reopening. Walking into his room, he shrugged his hoodie off in front of the mirror only to notice that the stupid scratch was in an area he could barely reach, deeper and uglier than he thought, blood running down it in crimson rivulets, exposed tissue that was barely healing showing too. He didn’t know where the gauze was, or how he’d even manage treating the wound. And somehow, his past vanity, or rather basic awareness of his appearance that he now called vanity hadn’t completely faded away considering he noticed bone and skin where muscle used to be and the ridiculous amount of bruises adorning his figure in various shades of dusty purples and browns; every sign of how his captors had turned him into a punching bag for all their sadistic cravings.

“Villain?”

Hell no. He didn’t want anyone in this room with him while he looked like this, frantic again and wishing he could rip his hair from its roots. He almost didn’t care that he was still bleeding and it hurt to shift even slightly, or that his wound felt warm to the touch and was probably infected. He sat there on the bed, gripping onto the sheets like they were the only thing tethering him to the world around him. “Just,” he faltered. As much as the villain hated it, he couldn’t do crap right now without her help. He bit his lip again and exhaled slowly. “Come in.”

She cursed softly when she looked at the wound, the scarlet already snaking down his lower back now. It didn’t take her long to come back with a whole lot of first aid equipment. “This’ll hurt,” she said slowly.

All she got was a low grunt in response as she pressed antiseptic-soaked gauze to his back, and even though he barely let out a noise, didn’t move out of the way, his shoulders still tensed up under the pain.

Involuntarily, she stroked a hand through his hair, a reflexive action even though the vigilante wasn’t particularly touchy, especially with her enemy turned ally of convenience. He turned to stare at her, looking nothing short of surprised, but not irritated or afraid. He turned around again as she stitched up his wound and tended to his other scratches, surprised how well he was holding out. The villain barely flinched through the process, but again the man had always been surprisingly enduring.

The villain seriously didn’t remember the last time anyone had tended to his injuries, even before getting captured. He’s sure someone did, during the times he couldn’t do it himself, but no one had ever run a hand through his hair when he’d tensed up or anything of the sort. He despised the fact that it hadn’t irritated him, instead he was left there dumbfounded, half-wishing she would do it again and half-grateful she refrained from it, from making him feel so bloody exposed like that. This entire ordeal, how strangely gentle the vigilante had been with him, how he slowly relaxed even though the idea of being this vulnerable, this close to one of his enemies terrified him.

The villain didn’t like to feel things that weren’t dry, controlled anger or smugness or absolutely nothing. So he didn’t, pretended he couldn’t until he believed it.

Every lie dies in the end, no?

The vigilante had got up to hand him a new t-shirt that he slowly pulled on, minding his wounds but still refusing any help with it. “Thanks,” he mumbled awkwardly.

“Y-you thank people?” she asked, half out of genuine surprise and half to lighten the mood.

The villain didn’t smile, but his lip twitched up ever so slightly with a half-smirk, “I’m a villain, but I’m not a complete tactless bastard.”

“I guess you could say that, and you’re welcome. I’ll just go clean up. Put your jacket in the basket over there.” The vigilante looked down at her bloodstained hands, and the villain gave her a curt nod.

He was lucky she hadn’t taken the jacket herself, or noticed the knife somehow, and he could still keep it. It felt even scummier after right now, when she could’ve just let him bleed out, or made it worse since she was this close to him. He didn’t even know what she would try the second he was no longer useful.

Carefully, he lowered his form onto the bed, letting out a soft groan. This was the strangest stage of his life yet, he presumed.

So many times, life is about choosing the worst option, the choice you’d swore to never make, about condemning yourself to being at the mercy of the unknown. People will scream at you to avoid the lion’s den, but sometimes it is the only shelter from a raging storm ready to destroy you into nothing. And yet, maybe there is wisdom in the most foolish decisions, and safety in the most dangerous risks. Because even if you’re riddled with deep wounds and scars, even those can heal under care, even in the most unexpected places.

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liveleak00 · 4 months

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conditionaljewel · 5 months

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I was bored. Is this anything?

“Ah, fuck!”

The knife clattered to the counter, before bouncing onto the ground. Imogen, clutching her hand tightly as a drop of red hit the countertop, danced away from the counter as the knife fell and rattled on the ground for a brief second before coming to rest.

“What is it, darling,” Laudna said as her attention was pulled away from the book she was reading in the solarium adjacent to the kitchen. She looked up to find Imogen turning and holding her hand, a stream of blood now starting to appear through her fingers. Immediately, she noticed the red streak, and hopped up from her chair, dropping her book onto the table. “Oh!”

Imogen looked around frantically for a towel, only finding a small rag that was already a bit damp. “Shit,” she said as she continued to peer around the counter for something to stem the bleeding.

Laudna, meanwhile, scurried around to the washroom for clean wash rags, and fetched the first aid kit that was kept behind the closet door nearby in the process. Within moments, she came back to the kitchen to see Imogen still looking but unable to focus. “Here, sit,” Laudna said as she walked over to Imogen and slowly ushered her over to a seat.

Imogen looked up at Laudna as she walked her over to the chair she had just been sitting in. Laudna could tell Imogen was biting her lip in an effort to mitigate the pain, the sting quite pronounced still in her hand.

“What happened,” Laudna asked as she sat Imogen down and began to examine her hand. She could now see the deep gash across the palm of Imogen’s hand, a good two inches long, but didn’t appear to be very deep.

“I was cutting apples for a pie,” Imogen began to explain, her hand trembling as Laudna examined the cut. “I got a little too careless and wasn’t paying attention…” her voice trailed off in embarrassment.

Laudna remained focused on Imogen’s hand however, looking it over and taking the wash rags to stem the flow of the bleeding. As she squeezed Imogen’s hand applying pressure, Imogen sat with her head in her other hand, still in discomfort but feeling more calm and less shaky. “It’s okay,” Laudna said calmly. “It doesn’t look bad.”

Over the next minutes, Laudna sat there applying pressure and ensuring that the bleeding had stopped. She took a few rags and wet them, cleaning Imogen’s hands of the dried blood that stained her fingers, wrist, down to her arm.

Laudna cleaned the last of the blood from Imogen’s hands, not wanting to leave a drop not even under her fingernails. She dropped the rags to the floor and took a clean, dry towel to Imogen’s hand, patting it dry over the wound that was still very red and tender. She pulled the towel away and placed it on her lap, as she took Imogen’s hand into both of hers now.

With her hand sandwiched between Laudna’s, Imogen could still feel the slight sting of pain emanating from her hand. She closed her eyes, her head dropping from her other hand as Laudna continued to squeeze gently. Suddenly, she felt one of Laudna’s hands pull away and her hand start to lift up from where it had been resting, being held by Laudna.

She opened her eyes and saw Laudna place her lips to Imogen’s hand where the wound was. It didn’t hurt any more than it had a few moments ago; in fact, she thought it might even now feel a little bit better, though the wound was still quite visible.

As Laudna brought Imogen’s hand back down to the table, she continued to hold it delicately, as she prepared a bandage with her free hand.

“Thank you,” Imogen said as Laudna began to carefully wrap the bandage around Imogen’s hand. Within a minute, she had covered the wound and secured the bandage around Imogen’s wrist, leaving her fingers exposed just enough so she could keep the use of her hand for the next few days as it healed.

“Always,” Laudna said as she pulled Imogen's hand back up toward her lips once more. She kissed the knuckles of her hand this time, as Imogen held it aloft daintily. She blushed before retracting her hand delicately.

Laudna began to clean up the mess as Imogen leaned forward and kissed her on the cheek. “You’re quite the doctor,” she said with a light giggle, before walking back over to where the knife still sat on the kitchen floor.

Laudna smiled as she gathered the wash rags that were soiled with Imogen’s blood and stood up from the table. “Only for you,” Laudna replied. She left the room with the collection of rags and deposited them into a bin that was nearly starting to overflow with other dirty linens and clothes.

She returned in short order to the solarium, walking past Imogen as she went by and giving her a little tap on the ass as Imogen placed the rest of the apples into the pie crust. She jumped playfully as she felt Laudna’s hand impact on her backside, letting out a little squeal, before saying “be careful, wouldn't want me getting cut again, not unless you’re gonna take care of it?”

Laudna stopped in her tracks and turned back, approaching Imogen from behind and wrapping her arms around her as she pressed her stomach against Imogen’s back. “I would always take care of it, darling.” Laudna kissed the back of Imogen’s head and gave her a squeeze.

Imogen felt a warmth wash over her, and a shiver as the kisses on her neck sent a shockwave down her spine. “Careful, you,” she said to Laudna playfully. “Let me get this in the oven.”

Laudna stepped away and allowed Imogen to do as she had wished, the apple pie now prepared and ready to be placed in the oven to bake. As she did, Laudna poured them both fresh cups of tea and prepared a tray with the necessities. "Put that in, then come have some tea with me,” Laudna said as she resumed her walk back toward the solarium, carrying the tea tray with her.

“Now that sounds lovely,” Imogen said. She slid the pie into the awaiting oven, then removed her apron and placed it onto the counter. Letting out a sigh of accomplishment, Imogen joined her wife in the solarium, where they enjoyed their afternoon tea as the aroma of a freshly baking pie filled the cottage.

#critical role #fan fic #cr fan fic #critical role fan fic #fan fiction #cr fan fiction #critical role fan fiction #imogen #imogen x laudna #laudna #imodna #southern gothic #tw blood #tw knife #tw wounds #tw blood imagery #soft #not violent #just an accident

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freddiefcknmercury · 11 months

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**Hey so I'm literally gonna post a much longer piece of work today too so like WOO! But in the middle of editing that I decided to crank this little thing out real quick before I lost it lol. I'm honestly not sure what or when or where but I thought I'd share it with y'all bc I don't know how to be hurt in private lmfao.

*Some Hobie Brown and reader interaction. Idk if it's romantic or not, if I'm gonna continue with this or not, and no it's not smut sorry y'all lol but it's definitely "~intimate" so enjoy??? It's only 500 words too🤌🏾

TW: for abuse and moderate descriptions of wounds.

••••••••••••••••••••

You excuse yourself under the guise of being injured from a fight earlier in the week. The truth is you let Miguel toss you around too hard again. You struggle to walk normally down the hallway, holding your side until you can duck into one of the barely used restrooms. Ripping a paper towel and running it under some cold water before lifting your top and pressing it against the fresh fang marks there. It's intense but soothing. You look yourself over in the mirror. The bags under your eyes, skin a bit pale, you look exhausted and you are. You hadn't noticed how dark the set of marks on your throat have gotten. You pull the collar of your suit up more to hide it, shifting as upright as possible when you finally notice Hobie standing in the archway watching you.

"Don't."

Your voice is soft but you almost bark it at him. Knowing what he has to say about your little arrangement with Miguel. And knowing you don't want to hear it from him right now.

He just rolls his shoulders, stepping closer to lift up the hem of your suit top and take a good look at the marks there. He expected teeth but the obvious finger or... claw shaped marks throw him just a little.

"Hm."

He wets another paper towel and replaces the now warm old one. He presses it firmly against you, it stings a little but you both know Hobie would never hurt you intentionally. But then he grabs your shoulder as he tugs slightly on the waistband of your pants, noticing an even older set of bruises on your hip, and a couple newer ones...

You snatch yourself away from his grip, staring deep into his eyes for a long silent moment. He drops his gaze to your throat, knowing Miguel was particularly angry yesterday so the worst of it is probably there. He steps forward in an attempt to see it up close and know just how angry he should be with him.

"Just stop Hobie."

You place your palm against his chest firmly but it doesn't deter him. He quickly pulls down the collar exposing the wound: an ugly purple black bruise with two sets of four deep distinct holes. He bit you three or four times last night, the effects from his paralysing venom still making you groggy. You hiss as his fingers graze the tender flesh and slap him across the face, taking a few steps back.

Unfazed, he steps forward again to speak into your ear.

"I don't know what he has over you, but this isn't worth it."

He pulls back looking over your face before slowly taking his exit. You grip the counter to steady yourself hearing him call back to you.

"If this escalates... I'm steppin in."

He disappears around the corner to the outside world. You don't bother protesting, knowing his mind won't be changed. Standing there you get a good look at yourself in the mirror wondering if you really are okay with this.

#hobie brown #hobie brown fanfiction #Hobie Brown au #Spiderverse au #spiderverse fanfic #tw abuse #tw wounds #quick fic #hobie brown spider punk #hobie brown Spiderverse #fan fiction #one shot

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burnt-h0ney · 1 year

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my intense fear of romance VS my innate desire to be seen for who i am and loved unconditionally

#i stepped away from dating because i realized im not in the right headspace for it #i'm still very wounded from my last romantic relationship and fearful of being that vulnerable with someone again #i see how toxic and unhealthy the dating scene is nowadays and i want no part #ive resigned myself to being single the rest of my life and made peace with it #but it still hurts thinking about it.#and of course as soon as i swear off dating everyone decides they suddenly want me #i dont understand.#i dont want to be in love i dont want to fall hard i dont want to become so attached to someone that we enmesh #i cant do it again #and i wish people (men especially) would understand and respect that #i really wish that i could live out the romance i dream and fantasize about #but its impossible #escaping in fiction is safer for me #my fictional other will never harm me #i cant say the same for someone real #vent post #delete later #romance tw

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snufkinsnogger · 11 months

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Started this one before I started to write Breaking Strength. Thus why it's Lemony and not Mouser

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storyofmychoices · 2 years

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Wound Care

[Troy Hassan x Astraea Callen Masterlist]

Pairing: Troy Hassan x Astraea Callen (F!MC) ; Shannon Fox Book: Wake the Dead :Chapter 7 Word Count: <1.1K Rating/Warnings: General with non-graphic mentions of blood, gunshot wound, injury Prompts: @choicesjuly2022challenge : Friends to Lovers A/N: Dialogue lines in italics are from WTD chapter 7.

Synopsis: After getting grazed by a bullet, Astraea offers to treat Troy's wound.

The pent-up nerves from their daring chase released as Astraea exhaled. Her muscles relaxed, her grip upon Eli loosening. The warmth of his back against her chest was nice. Her lips curled as she glanced at the tranquil scene surrounding them. This was nice.

The Raiders were lost in their trail. No signs or sounds of zombies. Just lush majestic forest surrounding them. She closed her eyes, letting the cool breeze brush through her hair. Her thoughts filled with the beauty of the seemingly peaceful woods. If it could stay like this—if they could just keep driving, could this peace linger forever?

As her thoughts drifted, the soothing green of the trees turned a harsh red. Her heart caught in her throat. Troy!

The gunshot replayed in her ears, his jacket darkening as his blood seeped over the fabric. Her stomach twisted more with each passing second. How could she let herself forget?

As soon as the colony came into view, Astraea barely waited for the bike to come to a stop before jumping off and rushing toward the van. "Are you okay?"

Troy was just sliding out, his shoulder slumping to the side as he held his injured arm. "Stings like hell, but I think it only grazed me."

Shannon took his arm in her hands, attempting to assess the wound still covered by the leather of his jacket. "I still want to take a look at you in my lab, just to be sure."

A grin grew on his face as he leaned into her touch. "If you wanted to get your hands on me, Doc, you just had to ask."

"Wha-- That's... I didn't--" Shannon stuttered, letting his arm fall as she took half a step back.

Astraea's pulse quickened at their interaction. Without a second thought, she slid herself between them. "Why don't you look after Elder Rain; he needs you more. I can bandage Troy."

"Are you sure? I don't mind."

"Positive." Astraea insisted, guiding Shannon further from Troy. "Basic wound care I can handle. You handle the real doctoring."

Shannon glanced back to Troy and nodded. "Okay. If you need me, come get me."

"Of course." Astraea agreed. As Shannon left, she stepped closer to Troy, ready to examine his wound.

A smirk pulled on his lips. His fingers raked through his hair.

"What's that look for?"

"First the Doc, now you!" His grin widened. His shoulders pulled back with new confidence. "You ladies can't keep your hands off me. I can't say I blame you, though. I heard scars make a man more attractive."

"You wish." She scoffed softly, attempting to walk away.

"I'm just saying, you were very insistent just now, how you came running over and pushed the Doc away." His brow quirked as he turned in front of her causing her to stop. "It's almost as if you wanted me all to yourself."

Her face warmed for a second, but she shook it off. She held the back of her hand against his forehead. "Oh, no! It's worse than I thought. Your blood loss has led to fever and delirium." She shoved him playfully.

"Ow!" He held his arm, feigning pain even though she had pushed his other side. "What kind of nurse are you?"

"I guess you'll have to wait and see." She smirked. "Let's go get you cleaned up!"

Troy followed her closely into the lodge, where Astraea led him to the bathroom with the first aid kit.

"Sit." She pointed to the ledge of the tub. "Take off your jacket and shirt."

"You know it's just a flesh wound on my arm. My t-shirt isn't in the way. I could roll up the sleeve."

"Are you the nurse here?" She insisted, "Shirt off!"

"Demanding—" he smirked, doing as he was told, "I like it."

Her gaze raked down his tanned, toned torso.

He watched her intently, enjoying her darkening gaze. "Like what you see? I don't have insurance, but if you'd like to make a full exam, I'm sure we can come to some arrangement."

"You're relentless." She turned away to hide her smile. Quickly, she filled a bowl with water and grabbed a cloth.

"You were the one staring."

"Was not," but even she knew her words rang hollow. Astraea sat beside him. She let the water drip from the wet cloth onto his arm. The thickened blood around the injury loosened and pooled into the base of the tub. The bowl of clear liquid darkened with each rinse.

Troy focused on her gentle care, trying to stay as still as possible despite the growing pain.

Her careful fingers inspected the area around the wound. Some blood still escaped, but the injury wasn't deep. His arm trembled as she applied antiseptic wash. "Just a flesh wound."

He relished her soft touch despite the intense sting. He swallowed hard, keeping his tone strong and even. "I believe that was my assessment as well."

She nodded. "I guess even you can be right sometimes."

"So you admit it... I was right, and you just wanted me all to yourself." He wagged his brow, his lips pressing into a cheeky grin.

Astraea pressed slightly harder into the wound as she wrapped his arm in a bandage.

"Easy," he winced.

"Whoops. My bad. I was having trouble focusing. Obviously, my thoughts of ravishing you now that we're alone were too much for me to handle. I can barely restrain myself." She hoped her sarcastic tone and eye roll would deter further presses into the issue. She exhaled purposefully, hoping to relieve the warmth that continued to grow in her cheeks at the actual thoughts of him clouding her mind.

As she looked up from the wound, she caught his gaze. He was closer than she expected—his face just a breath away, though neither of them moved.

"How does it look?"

"You'll live."

His hand settled on hers on the edge of the tub.

She licked her lips, her eyes locked with his. Any attempt to inhibit the warmth in her cheeks was lost at the moment.

"Astraea?"

"Yes, Troy?"

His thumb brushed across her knuckles. The heat of his breath tickled her lips. "Thank you." He leaned forward, closing the gap. He pressed a kiss to her forehead, lingering a moment longer than he probably should have.

"Don't mention it." She quickly turned away, cleaning up the mess they'd made.

Troy slid his shirt back on and attempted to wash the blood out of his jacket.

The two shared the small space, stealing glimpses of the other, a subtle smile on their faces each time their gaze met.

A/N 2: Sorry for the lack of creativity in the title. Nothing was coming to me.

Thank you for reading. I hope you enjoyed this. I don't like when other characters get to tend to my LIs wounds. Like no. Let me do that!!! Soft touches and tender moments!

Tags in a reblog, let me know if you'd like to be added or removed

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english-professor-wraith · 1 year

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Crescents

There was no moon yesterday, its light blocked by the shadow of the planet. Today, she stares out the window at the tiny sliver of silver, her legs curled up and pinning her arms to her chest. One hand wraps around the wrist of the other, her nails almost piercing the skin as the faint moonlight glimmers in the tears rolling down her cheeks. She finally looks away from the sky, glancing at the clock and startling when she sees how late it has gotten. Peeling her hand from her wrist, she glances at the faint red imprints, then grimaces as the air hits them and they start to sting. Shaking off the pain, she finally gets in bed, forgetting about the tiny marks.

The next night she is at the window again, looking up at the fractionally-larger moon hanging in the sky. Her hands aren’t trapped against her chest, but the red marks still sting as if they are fresh. As she looks in the mirror after her shower later, she notices a small red mark peeking over her shoulder, but brushes it off as a mark left over from her heavy backpack.

It’s a few more nights, each evening spent staring up at the growing moon, until she notices that something is wrong.

It’s a few more after that before she realises what that ‘something’ is. She looks down at her arm and sees that the marks of her fingernails are still there, despite the days they have had to heal. In fact, as she inspects them–their stinging still fluttering at the edge of her consciousness– they are larger than they were a week ago. She moves to the window to open the curtain, hoping that the moon will provide enough light for her to inspect them more easily. As the fabric covering the panes shifts, she stares up at the moon for a moment, then back down at her arm. The red marks are even clearer in the white light, and their new shape mirrors the very thing that shows them- the moon’s first quarter phase, with its half-circle shape.

She carefully wraps the cuts and goes to bed, hoping that this pattern is nothing but a figment of her imagination. With the marks covered and a long-sleeved shirt, she forgets about them until a couple days later. She’s changing for gym when someone gasps and asks what happened to her, then leads her to a set of mirrors when she looks down at her covered wrist with confusion. When she looks at the reflection of her back, she can see a different kind of reflection- huge red cuts along her back, shaped exactly like those on her arm save for their size; a hundred times larger.

When her friends push her to go to the nurse, she says she will. Instead, she goes to the library, finds a moon calendar, and stares at the phase chart, counting the dwindling days until the full moon.

#tw spooky #tw wounds #tw self harm #<only faint hints but better safe than sorry #flash fiction #spooky writing #moon

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sansxfuckyou · 2 years

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You clearly don't get it man

Summary: Karkat goes blind, luckily, someone gets it and helps him through.

Warnings: Wounds, minor blood, swearing, faking blindness, check tags for further warnings.

Authors Note: Here, have some Solkat for fic seven, this one is the seventh right? Nonetheless, I think they could be doable, once again, I take reblogs as a form of currency over likes.

Blindness.

A disease causing blindness ran rampant through the streets.

Some say Trolls brought it with them, others say it was bound to happen one day.

Everyone agreed they didn't want to catch it.

None of this affected two Trolls in specific, they had been blind for longer than they can remember at this point.

Terezi Pyrope and Sollux Captor, two blind bastards leading a failing society.

They explain wearing glasses with colored lenses helps dull any sensory nostalgia of being to see, it blocks out extra light and can be your favorite color you'll always faintly see. Sollux teaches braille, or, the Alternian version of braille at least, he's a bit sloppy but everyone seems to understand. Terezi teaches alternative ways to find their way around life, most of them have a hard time adapting. Nothing clicking in their heads as they stumble about the new world that's exactly the same, turns out they don't know it as good as they say, dogs are in high demand.

Most humans are a lot less susceptible to said disease, Trolls getting caught up in the loss much easier.

Except for Karkat.

Something about his mutant blood keeps him safe from it, and he hates being the last one who can see.

All his friends have been affected greatly.

Kanaya can no longer sew, her fingers are full of pinhole wounds where she nicked herself, and what she finishes is hideous. Equius can't build robots or train anymore either, he's probably close to his last straw with how unskilled he's become in a second. Nepetas unable to hunt anymore, she has it easier though, she's trained her other senses over her life.

It's almost tragic, thousands if not millions of living beings losing their most used sense.

At least two have experience, among many other humans, to lead the afflicted to a livable life.

You are Sollux Captor.

You're blind, but you have skill and have figured out how to glitch the matrix into eyesight again.

Yeah, you got fucking skill.

Definitely didn't find a cure all that half healed you and forget to tell Terezi before you lost it in your old hive.

You're roommates with Karkat for the weekend, he hasn't left his apartment in a while and kicked Eridan to the curb. Everyones been getting worried for the mutant blood, so they sent you in for some reason. Feferis the healer, and immune to the disease, why would they send you of all people in?

You suppose it's a better choice than Gamzee.

First you knock on the door, you get a muffled go away followed by a small crash and an utter of expletives. You give warning that you're entering anyways, and you hear a plead of no as you push open the door. Karkats not in the living room, you press further into the small apartment until you reach the kitchenette.

You see a cupboard flung open with Karkats favorite mug missing and you know something is wrong. You walk around the small island serving as a table and find Karkat on the ground, blood oozing from his arm to his hand. He's whimpering, no shirt on and you can see a few scabbed over wounds there as well, on the ground is his favorite mug, shattered.

Fear shoots through your veins and your crouching and helping him up, he's berating and hissing that he said not to come in, his eyes are shut and he stumbles. You ignore him as you grip his arm that isn't cut wide open and guide him to the couch, you realize his entire apartment is empty. He sits on the couch, eyes still shut and you take a blanket and wrap part of it around his arm, he chitters angrily, making a crab like noise.

Eventually, he calms down after you sit there silently, his eyes don't open the entire time you sit there.

Then, he sighs, he opens his eyes, they're cloudy, he's blind.

"Congrats, you found me out, bastard, rub it in, Karkat is fucking blind," Karkat said, he sounded exasperated and he hung his head, holding it in his bloody hands, "you can leave if you don't want to see me like this, a broken mess who lost every inch of self confidence."

"What, why would I- look, you clearly don't get it man," you said, you took off your shades, able to see Karkat regularly, well, with one eye at least, it was better than nothing, "I'm not gonna let you rot away just cause you can't see for jackshit."

"Ha, you should, I'm useless, I'll be culled for sure," Karkat said, he knew they wouldn't be culled anymore on earth, but instinctual fear resides stronger than factual knowledge.

"Did you let Eridan rot?" You asked, Karkat shook his head.

"No, I didn't, who would, he would be complaining on his death bed and I don't have the patience for that," Karkat said, you smirked a little bit, he did have a point.

"Exactly, so I'm not letting you rot, and we won't be culled anymore, it's earth, we can be safe now," you said Karkat nodded again, he seemed a bit shaky, his blanket was now drenched, you pulled it away, the wound was better, not exactly good though.

"Ok, can, can we go get some food, in a restaurant?" Karkat asked, he sounded desperate, he hasn't had restaurant food in forever one must assume, you patted his back before helping him up.

"Of course, but first, let's get you in a shirt," you said leading him across the apartment to his room, he sat on his bed, eyes open, you were sure he could still see the light, see the colors somewhere behind his glass like gaze.

You pulled out a shirt and helped him get it on, it was only a small struggle, but he managed. It wasn't even, but it was good enough, and so you led him out of his room, out of his apartment into an elevator. He shook as the elevator descended, and his steps were shaky like everyone else was as you led him out of the complex into the streets.

He covered his ears upon hearing the sound, that's what improved with loss of sight, hearing. At least there are no more cars with how many people are blind now, it would be a pain having to hear those cranked to eleven every day. As you lead him through the streets, he's unfocused on the destination, but the journey, you can tell as he snaps his head to where the birds sing and the dogs bark.

It's like watching someone see for the first time in an ironic sense.

You'll probably end up having to help him with this from here on out.

That doesn't sound bad.

He is technically your Matesprit.

And by technically, it just happens to be that you vaccilate between flushed to pale very, very often.

It's a weird relationship that being in a human world has brought to light for the two of you, even before blindness.

But now you're sure it'll be leaning flushed more often.

You hope at least.

flushcrushes never die and this could be it's high.

#homestuck #homestuck fanfic #homestuck fic #every ship challenge #sollux captor #karkat vantas #solkat #sollux x karkat #terezi pyrope #feferi peixes #writing #fanfic #fanfiction #fan fic #fan fiction #tw wounds #tw blood #tw swearing #tw disability

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hittingthebrainsfunnybone · 1 year

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Ignition Point - Character Introduction? Featuring whump

Can skill be accumulated from the moment a child is born?

Zhu hefted his weapon and gripped it tighter than his master would have recommended. The dirt beneath them had definitely been treated to more of his blood than his opponents’ recently. But that was just all the more reason to accept this challenge.

The rough, unofficial arena Zhu now stood in had a couple dozen of his fellow students kneeling in the grass along the sides. The only thing denoting the boundary was where they had decided to sit and the stark contrast between the well-worn, scorched patch of earth that had long stopped growing grass, and the vibrance of the surrounding field. Zhu had heard that this spot was so ubiquitous because even their masters held their off-the-book spars here. No one would admit it at the main house, because this technically wasn’t allowed, but there was honor in getting to fight on this spot. It wasn’t the same hallowed ground as their dojos… but it was something. And a first step.

Zhu sensed a ripple in the crowd. They were no longer whispering about him. He turned to face whoever they were all looking at behind him. It was, of course, his opponent. Right on time, but within seconds of the given deadline.

Songyi’s expression was a guarded neutral, but to a crowd very well versed in reading the tiniest details in expressions, it was obvious he was annoyed. Annoyed by Zhu’s determination, or maybe just by his existence. Either way, this child many years younger than him had the gall to rush the process of climbing rank and displace the successes of his seniors. The will to fight to the last breath, the ferocity of an animal, and a stubborn unwillingness to surrender even an inch of ground were admirable traits in a soldier, tolerable traits in a young boy, and a hindrance in someone of higher breeding meant for bigger things. In short, Zhu was reckless and stupid, and the quicker he was irreparably disgraced, the more time he would have to rebuild himself as something else.

Zhu carefully examined the weapon Songyi selected. He sneered, making no effort to hide his feelings. Zhu had been training with bladed polearms from the very moment his master allowed him to pick one up. It wasn’t really a weapon suited to his build, so it took a lot of work to even get permission to train with one, but Zhu persisted. He had poured hours into the strength training, mastered the forms, passed his master’s tests, and now he was the best student in the compound with the particular weapon. And here came Songyi, an archery specialist, waving a spear with its puny point in lieu of challenging him on his turf.

“Songyi… since when did your spite and envy build up and overwhelm you enough to make you pick that up…? It’s unbecoming to make a crude show of technique when you’re so talented! I really don’t mind sparring open handed if it helps you save face, big brother~”

Songyi ignored Zhu’s taunts for the most part. There was no subtlety to his words and the malice shining in his eyes was scarcely hidden by his aggressively cheerful and “accommodating” tone. The older boy stepped into the ring without relinquishing the spear. “I had to pick this up, would you really accept the loss any other way?” His question was uncharacteristically honest, but his voice was laced with more pity than cruelty. Songyi’s presence even translated to the audience. A few of them shifted uncomfortably as they realized what was about to happen.

Zhu practically growled, and the moment Songyi crossed the threshold, he sprang forward and thrust the point of his blade right for his dull, bitter, condescending face. Of course, Songyi side stepped and easily parried, but that hardly mattered. Zhu had indomitable stamina, to the point that he had no reservations exerting all his strength to throttle full speed and full force at Songyi with every slash and jab. Songyi was a good bit skinnier than Zhu, and he wasn’t the type to participate in this style of combat very often. He was just barely able to dodge and fend off the monster by sticking to defense and keeping light on his feet. Zhu’s feet pressed into the ground and kicked up dust every time he charged in for the kill- the metaphorical kill. The ones getting dust in their eyes didn’t leave or complain. As confident as they had been of the outcome moments ago, they collectively wondered whether Zhu would catch up to the artful dodger before Songyi succeeded in tiring him out. With how… Zhu was, one good strike could be the end, disabling even. It was hard to watch without holding your breath. The occasional crash as Songyi blocked a swing was the only sound rippling over the silent crowd.

Thunk.

The sound and sight of a weapon burying itself in a body strained the audience’s ability to withhold a gasp. For a moment, they leaned in and recoiled back again like a wave. Was someone going to carry him off the field…?

The very moment Zhu first sensed that exhaustion was starting to brush up behind him and he realized that he’d slowed down a fraction of a beat, he felt a heavy blow to his gut. It felt like the blunt force of a punch managed to penetrate his skin and muscle to strike the most vulnerable depths of his core. Then when Songyi yanked the blade out, Zhu tried to ignore that his hands were shaking as they traveled across his body to compress the wound. Seeing just how much of this warm slippery substance was flowing out of his stomach was making Zhu’s vision swim. He hated to admit it, but his first scream came from a mixture of panic and distress.

Zhu struggled to stay on his feet, with one arm clutching his side and the other clinging to his spear for dear life. Tears were streaming down his face now, but it was clear to everyone watching that it was taking a lot of effort for him to steady his breath and avoid exacerbating the pain by crying aloud. He glared at Songyi and moved his mouth to say something but it was inaudible to the onlookers. Zhu got about half way through a vicious lunge at Songyi before collapsing and passing out.

Songyi did give Zhu a glance over, just to confirm he hit his mark and avoided hitting anything vital when he skewered his cousin. As half the crowd lurched forward to tend to Zhu with the light first aid they brought, or sprint off to find something better, the other half lingered uncomfortably for a minute or so before leaving to continue going about their day. Before anyone was able to return with a doctor or one of their masters, Songyi left.

#whump #whump scenario #whump writing #whumpee #writing #oc writing #oc whump #oc - zhu fan #tw violence #tw blood #tw stab wound #ive barely posted my oc stuff lol #i hope this scene pulls you in xD #original fiction #original character #this is kinda backstory moment #rarely the age i write him #he's like 13 here #but probably young adult if when he gets a prop whump plot haha

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surplus-of-sarcasm · 11 months

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The 24th One

TW: Blood, guns, attempted murder, fear, pain, stitches, painful wound cleaning, emotional breakdown, threats, slightly flirtatious drama queen villain, male whumpee

"Take it easy," a firm, but somehow saccharine voice called out from Civilian's living room.

Treading lightly and letting out an involuntary sharp gasp, her gaze flitted over to a figure mostly hidden by the shadows, like a charcoal drawing, the first rays of the sun peeking through the sheer, half-open curtain outlining his edges.

"Who are you?" she questioned, going back into her room to fetch a gun from the safe.

She tiptoed into the room, fingers tightening on the weapon as she flicked off the safety.

Civilian was met with a soft, amused chuckle. "I thought the spandex would be telling," the man she now identified as Villain replied, practically slouching in her armchair like he owned the place.

Her breathing went shallower, and her face paled. The all-too-happy figure in a dark, form-fitting suit with heavily mussed up light brown hair lounging around in her living room was one of the city's most dangerous criminals. And she was all alone with him and a gun she barely used. She wished to curse the fact that she'd chosen to live somewhere quiet, right on the outskirts, closer to her job. It didn't seem all too convenient now, did it?

"I'm gonna need you to put that down, love," the villain crooned, voice gentle and silky, but the hint of warning in it wasn't lost on her, much like a rose with thorns scattered across its stalk in a subtle manner, but still not invisible to the keen eye.

"And why should I do that?" she challenged, strengthening her death grip on the gun, defiance ablaze in her eyes. She wished she was as brave as she might have looked.

Except that didn't matter because the criminal seemed entirely amused with the situation, raising an eyebrow and letting out a soft laugh, greyish blue eyes sparkling in the sunlight with mirth. "Ah, as much as I admire the courage, I'm not in the mood for any games, so put the gun down and don't even think about calling the police. Not that it would save you anyway," he growled. The playfulness was still there in his demeanour, but he didn't make an effort to mask the threatening air of his tone.

"I hope you don't think I'm joking," he drawled lazily, pulling out a gun of his own and training it on Civilian's face.

"No," she stage-whispered, trying to ignore the nausea washing over her and the tightness in her chest. She mentally cursed herself for not shooting him the second she'd recognised him.

But killing people was not like the movies. It isn't something you walk away from, something a good night's sleep, if you could even afford such a luxury, would help you forget. Only truly terrible people, like the villain in her armchair, she presumed, could treat murder as a mundane part of their daily routine, like how one regards brushing their teeth.

But now, she didn't hold an inkling of power on the crime lord because while the civilian might hesitate, might back out completely, he wouldn't.

And besides, he had goddamn superpowers at his disposal; he could create wind. She would have to be extremely lucky to get a hit on him, and that was never something she was willing to gamble over when it came to her life.

She pried for any weaknesses, anything to use against the villain, but all she saw was a calm, almost relaxed person and a deadly weapon in his merciless grip.

"You know I really didn't want to do this. In all honesty, it's been a while since I've seen a girl this cute," he supplied, and if she didn’t know better, Civilian would've sworn he actually sounded disappointed, "but I don't like having to repeat myself," he concluded, a slight downturn of his lip being the only indication of any negative emotion he may have felt, with nothing behind those cold, steel-coloured eyes.

He rose up from the chair, and panic gripped the civilian. Both of them shot and missed, except the villain cried out, letting out a sharp gasp as he fell to the floor, holding onto the chair's leg like a lifeline. His gun was hurled across the room with a loud clattering noise, far away from his grip. A nasty laceration across his his abdomen spurted out blood.

She wondered how he'd gotten hurt if no bullets had hit him, and when the sunlight moved further into the room, she noticed that he'd popped some poorly executed stitches with his sudden movements. He tried to use his powers to pull his gun closer but to no avail. The pathetic, little breeze he'd created could barely move a leaf. Apparently, his injury had affected his power tremendously.

For a moment there, Villain looked terrified. Frantically groping around for his gun, looking two seconds away from howling out in agony as he moved as fast as his injured body could handle. There were bruises on his face, no doubt from a previous fight, and his eyes were wide as saucers, his breathing laboured. He was now at Civilian's mercy, and he knew it. This was his end, no way around it. For a man the heroes said claimed to 'dance with death', he seemed incredibly frightened of it. For the first time that night, he looked unbearably human.

She didn't understand why some sort of misguided empathy had led her to crouch down to his level and ask, "Can you walk?"

"What?" he choked out, snapping his head up sharply at her. And as though the fear from before had never been, he clenched his jaw, contracted the muscles in his face to pull it into something stone-hard and expressionless, trying his hardest to pull his form up into a semi-standing position, holding onto the coffee table with a white-knuckled grip. He tried again for his powers, but they failed him once more. Still, she could see the hint of wariness in his eyes as his gaze trailed over to her gun.

She got up and threw it aside. "Goddamn it," she snarled, drawing in a sharp breath and exhaling slowly. Well, if she died for being foolhardy, at least it would be a noble death. However, she'd made sure to keep both guns in her room. No more chances.

The villain's eyes widened again, not out of fear, but out of shock, clearly not being used to any displays of kindness. She walked over to him, letting him put his arm around her shoulders, struggling to shoulder his weight. He was incredibly tall, lean muscles outlined by his suit. The civilian finally managed to get him over to the couch. "I'm a med school student, final year," she supplied, and he let out an overly exaggerated sigh of relief.

She would've smirked, but she caught herself. Don't get too familiar. "Friendly reminder that I don't have any anaesthesia on hand right now."

He simply responded with a scoff, rolling his eyes at her.

"Alright tough guy, how would you rate your pain on a scale of one to ten?" she asked, looking for a needle, thread and some antiseptic.

"Seven," he answered coolly. It still surprised her how he managed to preserve his composure while wounded like this, no wincing or shivers. But she reminded herself again that he was not a normal person.

Civilian unzipped the suit down to his abdomen, and the villain gave her an unbearably cocky grin, somehow managing to do that with blood snaking down from the ugly laceration on his body.

"Don't flatter yourself," she scolded, and she didn't understand why she'd said that, as though they were old friends used to exchanges full of banter. The civilian wondered if she'd become so secluded and terribly lonely that human interaction with anyone seemed appealing to her.

"Don't flatter me yourself with those eyes, love- ahggg!" The velvety tone and the lazy, half-lidded gaze were swiftly replaced with a sharp hiss as the villain squeezed his eyes shut, contracting and relaxing his muscles rhythmically to distract himself from the agonising sensation of the alcohol seeping into his wound, leaving his skin feeling like it was on fire.

"Easy, it'll be over soon," Civilian soothed awkwardly, unable to conceal the pang of sympathy she felt for him right now.

"Don't coddle me," he snapped, clearly more concerned with his wounded ego above anything else. Even beneath the smug smiles and stoicism, he clearly loathed the vulnerability. He hadn't been afraid of dying, she realised; he was afraid of dying in such a humiliating state.

Tragically poetic how he had the words 'Pride is my sin' tattooed on his right arm in all capitals, dark ink and a stylish font.

The civilian got him through the stitches, years of intensive studying and practice overriding her nervousness, stopping her hands from shaking the way they desperately wished to. Villain barely shivered or flinched during the process, and while he raised a sceptical eyebrow at her when she offered him a glass of water and painkillers, he swallowed them readily.

She washed her hands and threw him an icepack for the swollen bruises.

"I'm going to get ready for bed, and you should be uh, fine here," she supplied, gesturing to the couch with one hand as she zipped up the criminal's suit with the other.

"I guess this means I owe you a favour," he stated bluntly, a thoughtful, enigmatic look in his steely eyes.

"What?"

"I'm a crime lord, but that doesn't mean I'm a complete bastard," he reasoned, "you didn't kill me even when you had the chance. It's only fair."

"Why would I need a favour from you of all people?" She raised an eyebrow at him, moving a strand of ash blonde, wavy hair away from her eyes.

"In this city, you'll never know when you might need a favour from a guy like me. Anyway, take care of yourself, love." He sounded genuinely concerned, and the civilian hated it, so she awkwardly nodded at him.

When she got into the shower, finally away from the villain, her emotions came crashing down on her shoulders like solid rock. Her brave face in front of the villain had been a facade. She was terrified, incredibly guilty, all of the worst outcomes tormenting her mind in flurries of terrible thoughts. Try as she might, she couldn't stop the tears from streaming down her face. There was no going back now.

Civilian may have preferred to stay awake after sunrise, but she was too exhausted. Or actually, she wished to escape her hellish thoughts, and this was the fastest and easiest way to free herself from her shackles.

We all dream of being kind, of offering help to those in need, yet in an imperfect world, acts of kindness come with an expensive price, one not everyone is willing to pay. This hour's enemy is the next hour's victim, today's proud and cruel are tomorrow's weak and defenceless. But the beautiful irony of life is that no matter how far one runs away from it, vulnerability is a destined fate, written in stone, an unavoidable risk. It is the one thing in a person's nature that marks a human being as such.

Almost forgot, tagging for comfort fics: @roblingoblin285

✨️Le Taglist: @larinzz @syberianjade @lateuplight @altu-interactions @enbious-prince @astr0-mj @thelazywitchphotographer @a-fucking-simp-00 @addictedsandwhichaki @justalittlecorrupted @quaggasus @theangstyclown @vernilliom @mothmancommitsarson @starssabove @kurai-hono-blog @talkingsperm @muffinrebel44 @sunnynwanda @annablogsposts @cardboardarsonist @itsmyworld23 @onlywhump @shr3ya @crotchgoblin69 @wtfevenisausername @pendarling @avloki-pal

Wanna be on the taglist? This'll take you there!

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simpychocochan · 2 years

Text

Listen. I am so WEAK for Ships, where one takes care of wounds of the other ;-; <3

Btw. this is a zombie scratch. Zombies r mean ;;

(OK TO REBLOG, PR*SH*PPERS DNI)

#tw: blood #tw: wounds #Please tell me when I tagged sth wrong aaa #self ship #self shipping #self ship community #f/o #fictional other #selfship #romantic f/o #self shipper #OC: Lila #self insert #self insert art #self ship art #s/i x f/o #🦇 Two Dorks casually saving the world

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allur1ngs · 6 months

Text

✮ enflame ✮

TW: bada being too fine for her own good, a little bit of possessive!bada, lots of protective!bada, cold!bada (to anyone who isn't you), super brief mentions of violence, bada having beef w your bodyguard, pushy men, btw the picture to the farthest right is purely for aesthetics and not meant to represent reader’s skin tone or body type!!

SUMMARY: you manage to tear bada away from her work for an evening of shopping, where the soft spot she has for you is unveiled.

part iii. bloody knuckles

WC: 2.9k

A/N: read this for more background on this au. this is not exactly a part two to the headcanons but i got this idea out of nowhere so yeahhh

DISCLAIMER: all characteristics portrayed are purely speculation and fiction, they are not meant to reflect bada's actual character, values, or attitudes. please keep this in mind!!

From the moment Bada arose from her slumber, she sensed that her day would be draining. Usually, waking up before the sun had the chance to peak above the horizon wasn't difficult for her—so many years of doing so had made sleep fatigue all too familiar. However, last night, she stayed awake into the wee hours of the morning, something she typically tried to avoid.

So when her body starts to naturally wake up only a few hours later, she groans loudly into her pillow, squeezing her eyes shut and mentally cursing her past self for staying up so late.

Although all she wants is to stay in bed more than anything, she forces herself to rise from her plush king-sized bed and tosses the warm sheets aside.

Briefly, she turns around to gaze at the spot where she had just been lying when a thought strikes her. You must be asleep in your own bedroom. Curled up in a similar, large bed, a pocket of heat cradling your figure while your chest slowly rises and falls. Your eyes must be tightly shut, eyelashes fluttering as you fight to remain asleep despite the rays of sunlight that will soon begin to peek through your curtains. Your soft lips must be pursed together. Your lips...

Bada wishes you both shared the same bed. She wishes she hadn't been so courteous to buy you a new bed, comfortable sheets, and all the amenities you needed when you first arrived. She wishes instead that you were lying in her bed. She wishes she could wrap her arms around you, and pull you close whilst you slept. She wishes she could foster a beautiful heat between your two bodies. She wishes she could run her fingers across your skin--

Bada shakes her head, sighs loudly, and turns away sharply from her bed. She rubs her eyes as she makes her way over to her dresser, mumbling berating words under her breath for thinking of you in such a way. It's not appropriate and beyond that, those types of thoughts lead to feelings, which she does not--cannot have for you.

Bada's day seems to worsen after dressing herself in her usual attire, a freshly ironed black suit and slacks. The fabric touches her uncomfortably, and still feeling the edges of sleep mar her vision, everything is suddenly bothering her.

But the final nail in the coffin is when Lusher, one of Bebe's most trusted mafia members, walks into her office hours later, carrying a tray of breakfast.

Immediately looking up from the papers in front of her, Bada expects to see your lovely face greet her, but is met with Lusher's cheeky expression instead. She tries not to display her palpable disappointment, but concealing her feelings has never quite been her strong suit. Her mother had told her this many times when she was younger.

"Don't jump out of your seat in excitement, now." Lusher jokes, placing the breakfast tray on the desk.

Bada's lips tighten into a firm, thin line as she stares down at the food, feeling her hunger quickly escape her. "Thanks."

"I know I'm not who you wanted to see, but I can't lie, your disappointment hurts me." Lusher moves a hand to her chest, acting like she'd been wounded.

Bada sighs, shaking her head. "Why isn't she here this morning?"

"Still in bed, apparently." Lusher clasps her hands behind her back. "We found her asleep on the couches late last night. She must have been waiting for you to leave your office so she could wish you a good night, but ended up falling asleep out of exhaustion."

The butterflies that dance in Bada's stomach internally, are a stark contrast to the disapproving expression she wears externally. "I've told her many times not to wait up for me. It's not healthy to be staying up so late."

Lusher sighs dramatically. "You're telling me. How many times have I asked you to head to bed earlier?"

"That's different." Bada denies while picking up her golden ink pen and continuing to write. "I have work to do. Waiting so late into the morning just to wish me a good night is..."

"Sweet? Incredibly kind, and definitely a testament to how endearing your fiancée is?"

Bada clicks her tongue in annoyance. "What are you still doing here? Don't you have something better to do than bothering me?"

"You know there's nothing I like more than bothering you." Lusher shoots back with a sly smile.

Bada tried to continue working, she really did. She attempted to push through filling out papers, even though her wrist was screaming at her to take a break. However, come midday, she was already fed up.

Ruffling her hair and groaning loudly, Bada stands up from her table, the chair she'd been sitting out whining loudly against the floor. She wastes no time in shuffling to the door, grabbing the handle, and pulling it open.

Right when she does, she catches a flash of your figure walking down the hall toward her, your bodyguard only a few paces behind you. As her gaze connected with yours, she felt as if the world transformed, shifting from monochrome sketches to vibrant watercolor paintings

"Oh." You speak first, an easy smile finding your lips. "Good afternoon, Bada."

"Good afternoon." She greets back, trying her damnedest not to sound overjoyed at your presence. "Were you coming to see me?"

"I was." You nod. "I just wanted to let you know I'm planning on going to the mall."

"Are you now?" Bada says absentmindedly, her hand coming up to clutch at her tie and loosen it. The fabric suddenly feels much too tight around her neck.

"Yes..." You trail off, your eyes taking in how Bada's pale and lithe fingers grab at her tie and jostle it around, making it dangle a bit messily across her collarbones. Such a simple action should not be so attractive, no--it shouldn't. It's really ridiculous how easy it is for your fiancée to be so naturally alluring.

"That sounds nice." She hums. "Are you looking to buy something in particular?"

"No, not really." You shake your head. "I'm really just going to look around, and not stay at home all day."

Home. Bada's heart warms at you calling the mansion you both reside in your home. Although it technically is, it's different for you to perceive it as such. It means you feel comfortable here, with her--living with her--

"You should come with me." Your voice brings Bada out of her stupor, her eyes immediately finding yours.

Her mouth opens and closes dumbly, a clear look of shock painted across her face. She tries to quickly gather her bearings, half-heartedly muttering out, "I--I wish I could, but I have a lot of work to do--"

"Bada, all you do is work," you remark, crossing your arms over your chest. She has to force herself not to think about how cute you look doing so. "You deserve to have some downtime. Even if it is only for a few hours."

She stands there, still a bit shell-shocked, staring at you before her eyes shift to the figure behind you, finding your bodyguard, who is trying very hard to conceal her amused smile behind a shaky hand.

Bada's gaze turns icy as she eyes down your bodyguard, prompting the subordinate to immediately turn away and dispel her smile. "All right. I'll come with you."

"Wait, really?" You awe, your eyes going wide and your smile growing. "I didn't think you'd actually say yes."

"Well, you're right. I do need a break. At the rate I'm working at now, I'll never do anything productive by the end of the day." Bada admits with a tired smile. "Are you ready to go, then?"

"Yes." You begin to nod, but your smile slowly turns into a frown. "But you should change into different clothing."

For the second time that day, Bada is left surprised by your boldness. "Change? Why?"

"Don't you want to wear something other than a suit for once?" You ask innocently. "It seems... stuffy to be in it all day."

"Stuffy." She laughs breathily. "I guess you're right." Bada looks between you and your bodyguard. "Will you be all right to wait for me?"

"Of course." You smile.

"Great." She smiles back.

When Bada comes back, she isn't wearing her usual black suit. And although you'd been the one to suggest it, you're not quite ready for how amazing she looks in casual clothing.

A black leather jacket is draped over her shoulders, with slick white lines running down the sleeves and across the chest. She has paired the jacket with matching black leather pants and a black shirt.

In that moment, you want to scream at whatever higher power exists for making your fiancée so unfairly attractive. How were you supposed to act normal around her when her mere presence makes you hot below the collar?

Well, despite your internal struggles you give her a compliment before you're off to the mall, hopping into a sleek black sports car and speed away.

Your first destination in the large mall is a relatively luxurious clothing store. You can't lie; you had wanted to go into the store since you passed it on one of your trips to the mall without Bada, but you were too intimidated to enter. However, now, with her by your side, you feel much more comfortable stepping into the expensive store.

Approaching the door, your bodyguard begins to step forward, about to open the door for you like she always does, but Bada is quicker. She grabs onto the handle and opens the door, stepping aside to make room for you to walk in.

You look at her and smile while mumbling a soft thank you, to which she gives you a small smile back and nods. Your bodyguard begins to walk in after you, but again Bada is faster and enters the store, letting the door swing closed behind her. It almost hits your bodyguard in the face, making her flinch back and sigh.

"Keep a look out from there," Bada tells her sternly through the glass doors.

"Yes, Boss," your bodyguard begrudgingly mumbles back, understanding that this is payback for teasing your fiancée earlier.

Bada turns back around, her eyes easily finding you in the small crowd of people. You're looking around the store with wide eyes, a smile gracing your lips as you observe the embellished clothing around you. She smiles fondly to herself, finding every expression of yours much too cute for your own good.

However, before she can make her way to you, the familiar sound of a voice greets her from behind. Turning around, she finds In-Su, one of her business partners and the owner of the clothing store. Greeting him back, an air of professionalism immediately envelops her as she begins to engage in conversation with him

Meanwhile, you're in your own personal heaven. The clothing you've been browsing is exactly your style, and despite the high prices, you know you can afford it all, thanks to the black credit card Bada had gifted you.

A few minutes later, your hands are already starting to get full as you reach to pull another article of clothing from the rack when you suddenly feel a firm force push into your side, causing you to lose your balance and almost fall to the floor. making you lose your balance and almost fall to the floor. Thankfully, you manage to steady yourself before you do, huffing while turning to your right to see what--or more accurately who--had bumped into you.

"Excuse me." A well-dressed man stands a few feet away from you, his lips forming a snobbish frown.

Despite your irritation, you instinctively apologize. "Oh, sorry--"

"It's fine." He cuts you off, eyeing you up and down. "You should be careful where you stand."

Internally, you scoff at the man, but externally, you only mumble another half-hearted apology before turning away and walking down another aisle.

"Have I seen you before?" The man follows after you.

"I don't think so." You answer back flatly, trying to ignore him and busy yourself by flipping through pairs of jackets.

"I swear I've seen you before. I never forget the face of a beautiful woman."

This time, you're unable to control your expression and outwardly cringe. Is this random man who bumped into you flirting with you right now? After acting so rude?

You say nothing to him in response, choosing to completely ignore him instead.

"You know, when someone compliments you, it's common courtesy to say thank you."

Now you're starting to get increasingly anxious. You don't feel brave enough to confront the man, but he doesn't seem to understand that you're not interested and clearly uncomfortable with his advances.

Taking your silence in offense, the man scowls before grabbing your wrist rather roughly, making you drop all the clothing you'd been holding, and twists you around to face him.

You gasp at his painful hold, attempting to break away from him but unable to due to the sheer strength of his grip. "Let me--" you begin, but the words die in your mouth upon seeing someone standing behind him.

The man, who had been staring you down, notices the shift in your expression and suddenly becomes aware of a very strong presence behind him. He turns around, still gripping your wrist, and comes face to face with a scarily calm Bada Lee.

"Do you need something?" He snaps at her dumbly.

Bada stares down at him with steely eyes, her expression so devoid of emotion you're almost terrified for him. "I believe I should be asking you that question. Is there a reason why you're touching my fiancée?"

The man looks between you and Bada, scoffing disapprovingly. "Tch, she didn't tell me she was engaged."

"Even if she wasn't, in what world would it be appropriate to touch a woman who clearly isn't interested in your pathetic advances like that?" She asks rhetorically, her voice rising with every syllable. Clearly, her anger was getting to her.

The man grits his teeth, feeling his ego bruise because not only is Bada embarrassing him, but she's also easily intimidating him with her presence. "Hey, just who do you think you are?" He raises his voice to match hers.

"I think the real question is," Bada takes a step closer, leaving hardly any space between her and him, "who the fuck do you think you are?"

In that moment, the man's entire demeanor shifts. He turns to look around the store, finding every shopper, worker, and even the store owner staring back at him, eyebrows furrowed, and eyes set into firm glares. Some of them have their hands in their pockets or are grabbing something hidden next to them. His face pales, and looking back at Bada, her face starts to become familiar. He hadn't recognized her out of her normal formal attire, but now--

He gulps, quickly letting go of your wrist like your skin burned him and steps away from you both, his posture shrinking. He starts to make his way toward the exit, attempting to ignore the stares of everyone in the store but is stopped before he can make it out.

"And where do you think you're going?" Bada's hardened voice echoes through the store, making the man freeze in his spot, his entire body going rigid.

Bada's footsteps slowly approach him from behind again and stop just shy of him.

"You made her drop her clothing."

The man turns around, avoiding eye contact with Bada and finding your eyes instead. He's about to mumble an apology when she speaks up again.

"Pick it up." She demands flatly.

The man stays still in his spot, shocked and embarrassed. But clearly, he didn't move fast enough for Bada's liking, because he feels himself get shoved in your direction, almost falling onto his face.

"Do it. Now." She says, her voice bordering on yelling.

Immediately, the man throws himself onto the floor, scrambling to pick up every article of clothing he made you drop. He does so as quickly as possible, then stands up, about to pass you the clothing, when he feels Bada's unwavering gaze bore into him and decides it's in his best interest not to touch you anymore, so he carefully drapes the clothes across your arms.

He turns back to face Bada, approaching her with a cold sweat.

"Hold on." She stops him yet again. "You bumped into her, didn't you?"

"I--" He tries to explain himself but is cut off.

"Apologize."

This time, the man wastes no time in fulfilling her demands. He turns to you, apologizing profusely while shaking like a leaf. You're unable to even think about accepting his apologies before he practically runs to the store doors, throws them open, trying to leave the mall. But as always, Bada is ten steps ahead.

She nods at your bodyguard, who grabs onto the man's suit with little effort, turns him around, and punches him straight in the gut.

Bada then steps in front of you, blocking you from seeing what your bodyguard is doing to the man. Her hands grab the clothing from your arms, relieving you of their weight before slinging them across her right shoulder. She then gently holds your wrist up to her eyes, the ice behind them shifting to a warm and caring glow.

"Does it hurt?" She asks softly.

You feel your body turn to mush at the attention she gives you. "A little."

Bada sighs, leans in, and places her soft lips against your wrist, kissing it with a reverence and sweetness everyone besides you is surprised to see.

It's clear to everyone that the ice around Bada's heart melts only for you.

enflame: to excite to excessive or uncontrollable action or feeling

#bada lee x reader #bada x reader #bada lee #bada #street woman fighter 2 x reader #swf2 x reader

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yanderestarangel · 11 days

Note

Will there possibly be any more Tio Miguel O’Hara au???

𝐌𝐈 𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐋 ┆ 𝐓𝐈𝐎 𝐌𝐈𝐆𝐔𝐄𝐋 𝐎'𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐀 - 𝐄𝐑𝐎𝐓𝐈𝐂 𝐌𝐄𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐇𝐎𝐋𝐘

꒰∩´ ᵕ `∩꒱ ── Hi guys, I remembered I have a blog, hehe:3

˖ ࣪⊹ ִ┈┈┈┈ ♰ ┈┈┈┈ ⊹ ִֶָ𓂅

౨ৎ ⋆｡˚ "Before you, silence and emptiness for me were like an open, painful wound that stained my clothes a calloused, uncomfortable red. But with you, silence became just a space to be filled with your laughter and ethereal presence. My thoughts turn to you, my sweet nephew, loose and deliberate... I really shouldn't feel this way, but you don't know how much it affects me just by you being you." - 𝐒𝐈𝐆𝐍𝐄𝐃 𝐁𝐘: 𝓽𝓲𝓸 𝓶𝓲𝓰𝓾𝓮𝓵.

˖ ࣪⊹ ִ┈┈┈┈ ♰ ┈┈┈┈ ⊹ ִֶָ𓂅

➜ This AU will probably become a fic with non-linear chapters, that is, I will post in non-chronological order of the canonical events that happened. [ There will be several alt. routes and you can suggest more ideas about this AU. ]

˖ ࣪⊹ ִ┈┈┈┈ ♰ ┈┈┈┈ ⊹ ִֶָ𓂅

★☆ Notes: This is a work of dark romance/content, please do not read if you are a sensitive person, I am not romanticizing abuse or abusive relationships, this is just fiction.

♡ ┆ TW: written in the form of a poem, corruption, step!incest, dark romance, ftm reader, abusive relationship, mourning, dumbfication, manipulation, age gap, eat out, creampie, sex without a condom, dub con, afab anatomy

You weren't so naive as to not notice your Tio's lascivious gaze on your body ─ especially when you wore short, white dresses on hot days, your skin shone with a thin layer of sweat while your curves were otherwise hidden by thicker fabrics and dense spaces were exposed to the world and the cowboy's dark eyes.

The same lips that kissed you so innocently one day, held the hot tongue that would bring your ruin filled with lust. He had a negligent look, a harsh air, he was the same man who had made you taste the fruit of forbidden desire ─ far from everything and everyone, you two did not share the innocent courtship of being just a nephew and uncle... But before for you to stop like a whore, with your legs open for someone you swore would never feel anything... It hadn't started like that.

Desire, like all things in the world, had to have an origin, guidance and explanation ── everything could have started with the cruel grief of losing the wife that Miguel loved so much, the woman's name was not even uttered by his mouth, the same painful memory of lost nights of empty promises cut by the tragic and sharp scythe of death and destiny. The tanned-skinned man spent nights questioning the direction of his life and the classic question: "why me?".

Without an answer however, he sank even deeper into his own mind, the emptiness of his home now without a wife and the future children that were idealized by both of them had not come to fruition.

A foolish, lost and purposeless man was what he was.

So, just as the devil tries to make sin, he had finally found something that filled the void that was once held in his hard and dirty soul ── you. He tried to repress these feelings, it wasn't love, it wasn't a pure and polished love, it was a corrupted feeling of possession and obsession ─ he wanted to control your life, control you and make you his forever, trap you somewhere where you would stay safe from the dangers of the dirty world where they lived; but he himself was this dirt.

Then, slowly he began to enter your life even more like a parasite implanting the dirty thoughts you would later have about him. Taking you away from your family and manipulating everything and everyone into believing that he was the best person to take care of you ─ after all, he was just a concerned Tio... Or not?

Like a waltz with the devil, it all began that hot summer night with a dance ─ without protests and murmurs of complaints you followed him to an isolated place where your family's celebration was taking place that night, the warm orange light coming from the old tile ceiling warmed your cheeks and made you blush even more under the brunette's deep gaze.

Miguel watched as you moved to the music, his gaze mesmerized by the fluidity of your movements. A soft smile graced his lips as he took in the sight before him- the youthful vigor and elegance you possessed. He couldn’t help but be drawn to you, even if it sometimes stirred up a whirlwind of conflicting emotions within him.

He wasn't just your tio, was he? No more, if he ever was to begin. His large hand caressed his waist, gently but firmly gripping the fabric of your blouse soft under his touch. His thumb brushed against his back, effortlessly guiding you through the dance.

"My precious angel", he murmured, his voice practically low. "You look like a dream, like a celestial being that has somehow landed among us mortals. It makes me want to take that dream and hold on to it forever."

He brought you closer, as if he was going to devour you ─ He moved like a predator, he looked at you like a predator... He was a predator.

Tio Miguel's lips traced a burning path along the sensitive skin of your neck, each kiss leaving a trail of heat as his hands slid down and squeezed your ass possessively. His breath was hot against your skin, a mix of whiskey and desire that sent shivers down your spine. His moans were hoarse, filled with a primal hunger.

He pulled back slightly, dark eyes ablaze with lust, his gaze falling to your chest, where your breasts strained against the fabric of your blouse. The hunger in his eyes was almost palpable, tacit and obscure, there was no point in running and maybe you didn't even want to escape, it was like a tempting trap that would hurt you deliciously.

"Mi prince," he rasped, his voice rough with need. "You're so beautiful. So fuckin' beautiful."

He let out a low chuckle, the sound dark and predatory, as he grabbed your waist with one hand and pressed you against him. His hardness nudging between your legs, making you aware of his desire for you.

"Let's go somewhere more private, mi vida. It's time to show you just how much I want you." His lips crushed against yours, the intensity of your kiss staggering. His tongue thrust into your mouth, tangling with yours, the taste of whiskey and raw desire overwhelming. His hands moved with purpose, tugging at your clothes, urgently trying to rid you of any barriers between you both. He nibbled gently at your lips, pulling back to whisper against your mouth.

"Don't fight me, mi chico guapo. We both know you want this." With a low growl, he pulled you close once more, your lips crushing against his as your hands moved with purpose. His fingers expertly explored your soft body, teasing and coaxing you to the edge of pleasure. As his thumb brushed your clit, he swallowed your moans, his own desire heightened by the sacred taboo of his actions.

"Tell me if you want me to stop, my life. But I can't promise I will." Miguel said, but you both had the idea that that wasn't what was going to happen, especially when his tongue licked your pink flesh so well and made your legs tremble around his head ── his calloused and warm hands separated the flesh again softness of your thighs, making your breasts bounce and you tremble and whimper slyly for more.

Sin was good, so you two were condemned to a hell of unlimited pleasure and lust, without judgmental looks from others. Just you and your dear Tio Miguel. You moaned dirty, incoherent sentences, just looking for more friction with the other man's mouth, you were both moaning with need ─ you were both a mess of repressed desire and unthought-out consequences.

Your tio's hot tongue left your entrance, but before any scream of protest you saw him take off his pants quickly and lower them to his knees, exposing his muscular thighs and his thick cock with veins pulsing strongly, the smell of musk filled your nose as you felt the heat radiate from the older man’s member.

Uncle Miguel's cock pulsed as it passed your entrance, the swollen head teasing your clit before entering your comfortable, warm pussy. Every inch of their sensitive flesh reveled in the forbidden embrace, eagerly awaiting the moment they would finally become one. He growled softly, muscles tensing as he thrust inside, filling you with his thick erection.

Miguel's grip enveloped you like a vice, the sensation overwhelming you both-- his eyes locked with yours, the intensity of the connection incendiary, as he slowly advanced. His size made him feel huge, stretching you despite the ample lubrication. His moan of pleasure joined his groan of pain, a symphony of raw desire and urgency. His hands shook slightly as he thrust into you, the animalistic sounds of your union echoing in the small space.

Each thrust was deliberate, calculated to maximize his pleasure and his own desire. "Mi rei, are you okay?" he panted, the muscles in his abdomen flexing as he continued to move. "Tell me if you need me to stop..."

Despite the agony of his position and his size, your nod was slow and deliberate. Your eyes never left his, each thrust bringing with it pleasure and submission. You could count how many thrusts there were by the weight of his balls that hit your soft ass, leaving a red, painful mark on your sensitive flesh.

"Good boy... Taking everything in that cute pussy..." He growled as the veins in his neck bulged with each effort of his hips to not stick it all in and feel the tip of his dick tirelessly kiss your uterus ── but he didn't I could scare you now, despite wanting to take out all the frustration and excitement accumulated in your cunt. Your breasts bounced as you cried with fat tears coming down from your orbs, pleasure, guilt and undefined feelings in your mind made you bite your lip and just enjoy the moment.

"Fuck, mi angelito," he groaned, his eyes locked on yours. "F-Fuck, I can't control myself... Mierda-"

His movements became erratic, his need overpowering him as he drove into you, chasing the peak of his release. His breath came in ragged gasps, his body slick with sweat as he thrust deeper, harder, his desire fueling the intensity of your coupling.

"Just like this, mi carinõ," he cried out, his voice hoarse with lust. "Just like this, with you..." His words are the catalyst for your own release, your orgasm crashing over you like a tidal wave, wracking your body with pleasurable contractions that milk him of his release.

Miguel follows suit, his cock twitching inside you as he fills you with his warm, pearly essence, marking you as his once again. He collapses on top of you, his breathing ragged and his heart pounding, both spent from the intensity.

"I don't deserve you, boy, but I need you."

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narcissarina · 3 months

Text

Darkened Desires

Prologue and Chapter 1: The sun || Chapter 2: The moon || Chapter 3: The moon || Chapter 4: The sun || Chapter 5: The sun || Chapter 6: The moon

Pairings: Mafia!Scaramouche × Barista!Reader

Word count: 2,267

Tw: praise kink, degradation, kidnapping, tourture, dub/non-con, forced breeding, dismembering, gore, deaths, age-gap, corruption, use of force, trauma, use of drugs, stalking, mentions of human trafficking on the near chapters, slowburn.

Warning: This fanfiction may contain kidnapping, torture, dub/non-con, forced breeding, dismembering, age-gap, corruption, vigilante Scaramouche, use of force, trauma, use of drugs, stalking, and more. This fiction will continue grow darker as chapters goes by.

Your mental health matters.

□ This chapter contains smut, unprotected sex. What you read is entirely your fault.

CHAPTER 7:

THE MOON

Got patched up and doctor gave me their advice and we went home—well, her home, not mine. I look at her as she got out, I got out too. She turned and looked at me funny, “why are you following me?”

“Oh? You’d nurse me back to get well, no?” I snicker and tilt my head as I took the lead and walk toward her house, “I didn’t agree.” She said, “and I didn’t asked nor requested it.” I added.

She let out a soft hmp, then proceed to walk beside me as we reach the door. Running her hand to her purse, got the key and turn the knob of the front door—revealing what’s inside,

“you didn’t give me a choice.”

“I didn’t even put out an option for you to choose from, so..” I sarcastically answered as she entered her haven annoyed, “don’t be rude to a guest, give me a tour.” I pretend to sulk, pointing to my patched wound that keeping me company would heal it faster.

She rolled her eyes, I smiled and shake my head. She’ll be rolling her eyes in a different way, in bed, under the sheets where she and I get freaky.

“When do I have to keep you entertained and by my side?”

“Until I say so.”

“You’re impossible.”

“but, darling. Don’t you like an impossible man?”

I smiled and lean down, wrapping my right arm around her belly and gave the crook of her neck a peck—making her shudder.

“Don’t you like me, sunshine?” I asked, my tone soft and quiet—only for her to hear, “you’re a threat, a danger to normal citizens like me.” She hisses and tries to resist my grasp, “let go!” she said, smacking my arm off but she couldn’t, she could hurt me all she want but I’m not letting her go.

I smiled and the more she resist and move, the more the her ass grind against my fabric pants, she’s making this hard for me. I lean to whisper in her ear, “sunshine, have you ever come so hard that you wouldn’t even remember your name?”

She froze and stared at me, snapping her neck to look et me as if I’m beyond crazy. “Next question, please.” I could only laugh and just throw her in bed—luckily, we’re in her room, I tilt and wrap both of my arms around her.

“Have you ever got fucked by a man like me?”

This question left her stunned, not knowing what to do as she just looked at me with those wide doe eyes. I buried my face to her neck, taking a deep breath and exhaling—letting my breath hit her skin, sending shivers down her spine.

My lips made contact with her neck, she yelp and shiver against my kiss, “stop!” she protest, “no.” I respond, “keep struggling where your ass is grinding up my dick and I’ll shove my cock into that sweet cunt.” I playfully threaten, seeing her scared and her adrenaline rushing.

I smirked, chuckling against her neck—I let go.

“Let’s play a game, I’ll give you a head start to hide. And if I caught you, I’m dragging you to bed and make you see heaven by riding my cock.”

She froze and I gave her a head start, “One… Two…” I count slowly—seeing her in a panic ignites the fire inside me, or is it just my dick going hard?

She sets off running downstairs, I could hear her foot stomp on each every step she make—I laugh at her reckless movement sets by her panicking on what I said. Then, the noise stop—guessing that she did damn good at picking a hiding spot.

“Eight… Nine… Ten…” I finish, sinister chuckle came out of my mouth, “ready or not, I’m going to fuck you good, sunshine.” I remark and made my way down stairs—inspecting my surroundings and analyze all the objects that’s been moved.

She’s in a panic all right, I want to threaten her a little—just for fun. She’d be shuddering in her hiding spot all day.

“I could smell how wet you are,” I spoke, maybe too much but there’s no backing out now. “I bet it clenched over to nothing, wanting to be full and stuffed with my cock.” I made the heels of my shoe click, letting her know that I’m near and that I can sense where she hid.

I stop at the kitchen counter, tapping the glass and give myself a drink of glass of water. I let silence take over, I could hear her breath shudder and how she’s calming her heart down, I know for sure that she’s in this drawer.

Slowly kneeling down, I held two of the handle with my hand—slowly but surely, I quickly open the drawer and pull her figure in my arms again, “caught you, sunshine.” I said.

She screamed and smack her head onto mine really hard, “fuck! Son of a bitch.” I cursed, my hand falling off of her, making it her chance to escape me. “You like to play a cat and mouse game? I’m going to fuck you really hard once I fucking get you, sunshine.” I grit my words in my teeth, she’s starting to piss me off.

The more piss I am, the more severe the punishment is, I hope she’s looking forward getting her pussy wrecked.

I chase after her, looping around her bedroom and throwing her plushies at me to buy her some time but it didn’t, she got downstairs and started chasing around in circles in the sofa.

“Don’t you wanna feel my cock inside you?”

“Nuh-uh!”

Before she knew it, I threw myself at her—arms around her as I flop her body into my shoulder like a sack of potatoes. Going upstairs for who knows how many times, kicking her bedroom door open and threw her in.

“you know you can’t make an injured person chase you around like that, hm?” I grit my teeth, taking off my blazer, vest and unbuttoned one or two buttons on my polo—my scent filled with my own sweat, “I’m going to have my fun with you sunshine.”

“I’m against this.”

“You’ll change your mind once I stuff my cock in you.”

“on your knees.” I command, my voice still soft but full of authority, my belt around her pretty little neck like a collar—I should buy a collar specifically for her. I smiled and pulled the belt closer, making her face close to my crotch, she frowns and whines.

“Come on, you know what to do.” I taunt, my fingers on her chin, sliding up to the back of her head—gripping on her scalp and nudge her face against my hard bulge.

Got her hands to work and unzip my pants, letting my cock spring free. She stared at it, her eyes screams in terror, I smirked and pat her head.

“is it not to your liking?” I asked, she shot me with a glare, “It’s too girthy, it won’t fit.” It pierce me that I’m only worth in girth and not how long my dick is, “is my size that average?”

She shakes her head, “hm… not too much, I say about 6 inches.” I laugh, covering her mouth and pulling my belt to make her yelp, “quit describing my dick, now work on that pretty mouth of yours.” I said and nudge to encourage her to open wide and suck it.

She opens wide and sucks it in, I hiss and groan in pleasure as I feel her wet little mouth around my length, “fuck, that’s it…” I praise, bucking my hips forward a little, she bobs her head and make sloppy noises.

Her head goes up and down, pulling out to lick every side of my dick and jerking me off, this girl is going to make me lose my mind.

I held her head, push it down until her nostrils hit my pubic hair—she gag and taps my thigh, “no, no. My mother taught me to always finish my food in my plate.” I said and growls, smile creeping in as I use her head like a fleshlight, “so I don’t care whether you choke or gag, I’m going to make sure that you fucking. Finish. Your. Meal.” I punctuate every word as I stood up, turn her hair into a bun and started jerking myself off using her wet mouth.

I look down as I see she’s soaking in her panties and how perk up her nipples were, “fuck, that’s right. Good fucking girl, yeah?” I keep praising her, tears streaming down her cheeks as she gags and find it hard to breathe, closing my eyes as I start to speed up, thrusting my hips as she pleads to slow down.

“I’m going to fuck you like a whore you are.” I breathe in and groan, “fuck, I’m going to cum, sunshine.” I warn, hissing as I shoot my load deep in her throat, her scream muffles as her mouth is full of my cock.

Gushing all my loads out, I thrust a little—making her grunt and tear up just for me to empty my balls in her mouth, I still have a lot to shoot at.

I pulled her out, covered her mouth with my palm as I force her to stand up. “Let me see you swallow,” I growl, brows knitted together as she sniff and force herself to swallow my load, I kiss her temple and whisper praises to her. “Good girl.” I said and pushed her down in her bed.

“Still up for riding my dick?” I taunt, seeing how wet her pussy is, tears drying in her cheeks as I chuckle and laugh at how cute she is.

I lie down and tap my lap for her to sit on, “come sit and put it in yourself, you’re a big girl hmm?” I hum and watch her gather herself together and sit on my lap.

Her glistening pussy nutting on my soft dick that instantly got hard, my hands on her thigh as she whimper at the minimum pleasure she’s giving herself. Arousing herself until she’s ready to be stretched out.

She held herself as she guide my harden dick right at her entrance, teasing herself with my tip as she bounce off my tip—preparing herself as she sinks in.

She screams and moan, head throwing back as I held her arm—preventing her to lose her balance, I thrust forward and she moaned loudly.

“that’s right, darling. I’m just helping…” I grinned, it took her a couple of seconds to get use of my girth as she finally started fucking herself in to my dick.

“that’s right, fucking tight. My little slut, that’s good. Bounce on my dick like a little whore you are.” I degrade and praises her performance, her hand on my chest to support herself as I buck and thrust a little to get a reaction out of her.

“I’m cumming…” she moaned, pulling up to my tip and slamming herself in—my head on the pillow as I curse out loud, “fuck, darling. Don’t do that or I’m gonna cum early…”

I smiled and held her hips in position, preventing her to move. She groan and whines at me and asked why I stopped her from getting her high, “switch,” I said, “I wanna make you scream.” I added and flip her over, my dick still inside her.

I pulled out and thrust harder, she screams and held on to my back and locks of my hair, “oh my fucking god!” she screams and drools, “that’s right, baby. Scream for me.” I taunt and kiss her neck, lifting her thighs up to her face to hit deeper, “too deep!” she complained and arch her back, moving her pussy away.

I pushed deeper until my balls were hitting her ass, she cried and came undone onto my cock, “I’m not fucking done yet, sunshine.” My pace sped up, making her bed creak and squeak. Her cries brings music to my ears as I’m lost in ecstasy inside her wet sponge pussy.

Hitting harder and deeper, I’m close.

“There darling, I’m so fucking close. Want me to shoot my load deep inside you like a slut you are, huh? Beg for it, beg for me to shoot my seeds inside you.”

She pleads and begs, tears coming down as she became a spouting non-sense, along the lines; “mhm, coming!” “Oh my god! Shit, yes, yes!” “ngh, fuck me—!”

My hips stutter as I push my cock deeper, pulling out and slamming my hips as I came inside her. Her legs giving out and trembling, her throat sore from all the screaming and her whole body a mess.

I laugh and growl at her, leaning down as I thrust a few more to get all my load out. “Don’t cry, sunshine. I’m not that rough.” I smiled and kiss her cheeks, “you just had one of the best orgasm you had in entire of your life.”

I pulled out and took tissues to clean her up, zipping up my pants and took her some fresh clothes and dress her up in her pj’s.

She’s getting sleepy, her eyes puffy from all that tearing up because I made her cry from my cock. I scoot over and wrap my arms around her, letting her go with her sleep slumber.

I kiss her temple once again, “I hope you dream about me, sunshine.” I said before going to sleep after her.

Link:

Chapter 8: THE SUN

#genshin impact #genshin smut #dark romance #darkened desires series #scaramouche smut #scaramouche fanfic #scaramouche x reader #scara x reader #scaramouche #genshin scara #Mafia!Scaramouche #Mafia!Scara #Working on chapter 8!!#sorryyy for taking too longgg!!#I'm doing smthing sorry:(

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