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earth-ambassador-jim · 14 days

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Forgiveness

Summary: Toby has a nightmare and accidentally hurts Jim.

(A "Changeling Loyalties" side-story. Takes place when Jim is somewhere between seven and eight.)

AO3 - Fanfiction

~~~~

The sound of harsh breathing and growls woke Jim up. He sat up in bed and rubbed at his eyes sleepily. The room was dark, except for a faint glow coming through the window. He frowned looking around until he was able to see where the noises were coming from.

It was Toby.

In the dim grow of Jim’s nightlight, he could see that his friend’s face was all scrunched up.

He must be having a nightmare, He realized. Jim had those sometimes.

He pushed his blankets off and slid his legs out of bed. He needed to wake him up. Then Jim would give him a hug and tell him it was okay, like his Mom did for him.

Toby let out a sharp gasp and whimpered, curling into a tight ball. His hands clenched tightly.

Jim reached out and gently grabbed his shoulder.

“Toby wake up!”

That turned out to be a mistake.

In an instant Toby’s eyes opened and he shot out of his curled position like a snapped rubber band. His bared teeth glinted in the dim light and his eyes seemed to be glowing.

Jim didn’t get a chance to react before Toby lunged.

~~~~

Toby felt his fist connect with something. It gave way easily and he braced himself for the returning blow. Except it didn’t come.

The haze of fear and anger faded and Toby finally realized he was in the blue darkness of a bedroom, not the sickly green of the Darklands.

He frowned in confusion.

What had he hit?

A sob broke through the last of the haze from the nightmare. Toby realized that Jim was in front of him. The fleshbag whelp was sprawled awkwardly against his bed, holding his nose. Even with his inferior human senses Toby could smell the blood that was dripping between the boy’s fingers. Jim whimpered again and tears leaked out of his eyes.

Toby’s eyes widened and he took a step back. His hands shook.

He didn’t… he hadn’t meant to… to hurt him.

His thoughts derailed as Jim let out a louder sob –though still distorted by his damaged nose.

The bedroom door opened and Dr. Lake burst in.

“What happened?”

Her eyes fell on her injured son and she immediately rushed to his side.

Fear overshowed concern and Toby cowered. This wasn’t going to end well for him. He had to get out of here.

~~~~

Barbara hadn’t been expecting to wake up to her son with a bloody nose at three in the morning.

“Come on Jim,” She said, gently tugging at his hands. “Let me see it.”

He reluctantly let go and she immediately felt a sympathetic pang in her chest. It looked like it wasn’t out of place but given the red discoloration, it was definitely going to swell and be painful.

“Okay, we’re going to go downstairs and put some ice on that.” She picked him up and turned to the other boy. “Toby…”

But he was gone.

Barbara frowned. Where…?

Jim let a hiccupping sob drawing her attention back to him. She drew in a slow breath as she rubbed his back soothingly. She would take care of him first and then go looking for Toby. Hopefully he hadn’t gone far.

…

Unfortunately she had no such luck.

By the time she got done taking care of Jim, Toby was still nowhere to be seen. A quick search revealed that he was not in the house.

Barbara returned to the living room where Jim was sitting on the couch holding an icebag to his nose and halfheartedly watching a movie. At the sound of her footsteps he quickly turned around.

“Where’s Toby?” Jim asked, voice nasally and slurred.

“I don’t know,” Barbara said, keeping her voice level, despite the rising fear. “Can you tell me what happened?”

She settled on the couch beside Jim, wincing again at the sight of his nose.

“I woke up and… and Toby was having a nightmare… So I tried to wake him up… then…” Jim’s face screwed up and his lip quivered. “Then he punched me.”

Barbara frowned. That was concerning.

“Is… is Toby in trouble?” Asked Jim quietly.

Barbara sighed and reached out to brush his hair back from his face.

“No… It sounds like he didn’t mean to hurt you, but I will need to talk to him.” Jim nodded slowly. “First I have to find him.”

Soon too. It wasn’t safe to be out at night, especially in Arcadia. According to the police there was a nasty epidemic of rabies going around the local raccoon population.

“I’m going to call Nancy and you can stay with her while I look for Toby.”

“But…”

“No buts,” Barbara said gently but firmly as she stood up. “You’re hurt and I don’t want to lose you in the woods.”

With any luck Toby would be at Nancy’s and she wouldn’t have to run around in the woods either.

…

Luck, of course, was not on her side.

Toby was not back at his house, so, with great trepidation, Barbara left Jim in Nana’s care while she ventured into the forest.

“Toby?”

Her cries fell dead in the stillness of the forest. Barbara shivered. Something about night in Arcadia always felt a little creepy to her. She’d thought about moving once or twice, especially since Jim was born, but had never been able to scrape up the energy or money to actually do anything about it.

“Toooooby!” She called out again.

Still nothing.

This wasn’t good.

Ahead of her she heard a rustling in the bushes.

“Toby?”

~~~~

Toby had taken refuge in a small thicket. Initially he had planned to go home, but he had no doubt Dr. Lake would find him there. He didn’t really want to involve Nana in this.

Things had been going so well. Jim was actually tolerable company… for a human… And Dr. Lake had accepted his presence around the house easily enough.

He doubted she would anymore.

He looked down at his fist. Even in his troll form Jim’s blood was still on his knuckles. He almost licked it off but stopped himself, opting to wipe it off in the thick moss instead.

He sighed and leaned against the tree beside him.

What now?

He couldn’t stay out here forever… Well physically speaking he could, but the Janus Order would be pissed. They would find him and kill him if he deserted his post.

If he remembered correctly killing children was illegal among humans. If he waited until she calmed down a bit Dr. Lake probably wouldn’t kill him. He would still get a beating though.

She seemed pretty fair, maybe she’d let him off with a few blows? A busted nose for a busted nose? He hadn’t meant to hurt Jim after all…

But that didn’t change the fact that he had… and in their own house too.

How long would be optimal to hide out then? Nana would be worried…

“Toby?”

Toby flinched at Dr. Lake’s voice and rose to a crouch, ears pressing back.

“Toooooby!”

The changeling blinked. She didn’t sound mad. If anything she sounded concerned.

Toby moved to all fours and peered out of his hiding place. Barbara was bumbling about the forest in her pajamas, walking shoes, and a coat. Her hair was down for once, which was really weird. Her brows where furrowed but there was no aggression in her posture. He sniffed the air trying to catch her scent. He could smell the sweet tang of fear and bitter anxiety but none of sharp pungent aroma that accompanied anger.

Was she looking for him because she was worried about him?

There was a crackle of something moving about further into the woods.

Barbara shined her flashlight toward it.

“Toby?”

Whatever it was wasn’t him, but there was a strong scent of goblins in the area. The changeling flicked his ears indecisively.

Barbara took a step in the direction of the sound. Toby grimaced, he shifted back to human.

“Dr. Lake?” He called hesitantly.

He didn’t move out from his hiding place. Just because he didn’t want her to get eaten by goblins didn’t mean he was willing to risk her anger just yet. The thicket he was wedged in would be too tight for an adult to enter so he would be able to escape if it turned out he was reading her wrong.

“Toby!”

Barbara hurried over to him. Toby flinched as the flashlight hit him in the eyes.

“There you are!” She crouched down to peer into the bushes. “You scared me.”

Toby eyed her warily.

The human frowned and her eyes studied him.

“You’re all scratched up,” She said. She offered a hand. “Come on. Jim’s over at your house. We can get you patched up there.”

Toby stayed firmly where he was.

Barbara sighed.

“I’m not mad,” She said. “Jim told me what happened. You had a nightmare. It was an accident, right?”

Toby nodded slowly, keeping an eye on her outstretched arm.

Barbara glanced at her own hand and then lowered it to rest on her knee.

“Come on,” She said. Standing up and moving back from the entrance. “It’s late. Time for you to get to bed.”

Toby hesitated a moment longer. He would have to come out eventually and Barbara clearly wasn’t leaving without him.

Toby crawled out.

“Where are your shoes?”

“I forgot them…” He’d been in a bit of a panic.

Barbara extended her arms to him.

“I can carry you back,” She offered.

He couldn’t smell very well in this form, but her fists weren’t clenched and her posture was open. Now that he was a bit calmer, he could feel how sore his feet were. If he damaged them further it would be a pain to wait for them to heal. Toby nodded slowly.

He couldn’t quite suppress his flinch when she picked him up, but when no pain came he relaxed a little.

Barbara let out a quiet breath and brushed her hand across his hair.

“Please don’t run away next time,” She said as she retrieved her flashlight and started to walk. “Your Nana and I were very worried.”

“Okay,” Toby said quietly.

She was warm, he thought. Cautiously he let his head rest against her shoulder.

Soon they emerged from the woods onto the short neat grass of Toby’s lawn. Yellow light spilled from window. Barbara flicked off her flashlight.

“Can you hold this for me?” She asked offering it to Toby.

He nodded and released one of his hands from around her shoulders to grab it.

Barbara opened the door and entered.

“I found him,” She called out softly.

Immediately he was swept out of Barbara’s arms into his Nana’s. She turned his head this way and that, peering at him through her thick lenses. Toby put up with the prodding with a huff.

“I’m fine Nana!”

She pulled him into a crushing hug. Her smell of raisins, pie, and instant coffee surrounded him.

“Oh! I’m so glad you’re alright, Toby-pie. Don’t do that again!”

Toby awkwardly patted her back.

“Okay. Sorry, Nana.”

“Toby?”

Toby looked over Nana’s shoulder to see Jim emerging from the living room dragging his blanket with him. His noses was a fierce red and still had some crusty blood under it.

Toby grimaced. He tugged on Nana’s arm and she let go of him.

Toby hesitantly walked over to Jim. He stopped a few steps away.

“I’m sorry for hitting you Jim,” He said, studying the dirty rag rug on the kitchen floor.

Something collided with him and he let out a yelp, stepping back to catch his balance.

It was Jim. The boy wrapped his arms around him.

“I forgive you,” He said. “I’m sorry that I scared you when you were having a nightmare.”

Toby blinked. Right. That was what started this.

“That’s okay,” He said, cautiously patting his… friend’s?... back. “Thank you for trying to help me.”

He glanced over at the adults. They were smiling at them. Toby grimaced, feeling awkward suddenly. He tried to pull apart from Jim but the boy clung to him.

“Come on, Jim,” He whined. “I’m tired.”

Jim held on for a moment longer and then let go.

“Okay… Are you coming back to my house?”

Toby grimaced. After what happened he wasn’t really comfortable with that.

Barbara must have picked up on it.

“I think we’ve had enough excitement for the night. How about we sleep in our own houses and then have breakfast together?”

“Can Nana make breakfast?” Jim asked.

Toby snorted. Barbara looked taken aback. After a moment she closed her mouth and a wry grin tugged at her lips.

“Nancy?”

“I think that can be arranged,” Nana said, coming over to rest her hands on Toby’s shoulders.

She gave them a little squeeze and he looked up. She smiled at him. He gave her a hesitant one back.

“That sounds good,” Barbara said. “Come here, Jim.”

Jim yawned and walked over to Barbara who picked him up.

“Bye, Toby,” He said, waving over Barbara’s shoulder. “I’ll see you tomorrow!”

Toby waved back.

“Come along. Let’s get you to bed,” Nana said, taking his hand.

Toby followed her quietly up the stairs. They stopped by the bathroom to wipe his feet off and patch up his scratches, then they went to his room.

Toby crawled into bed and Nana pulled the sheets over him.

“Sleep well, Toby-pie,” She said kissing his head.

Something in Toby’s throat tightened.

She turned toward the door, flicking his lights off.

“Nana?”

She paused and turned back to toward him. His heart sped up, thumping wetly in his chest.

“Would you…” love me if I wasn’t your grandson?

He couldn’t get the last bit out.

“Would you turn the nightlight on?” He asked instead.

“Of course!”

Nana leaned over slowly and flicked the little amethyst nightlight on. It cast lavender shapes on the walls.

“Good night dear!” She said closing the door partway.

“Good night Nana…”

Toby rolled onto his back and stared up at the ceiling, thinking through the day’s events. He had hurt Jim but he and Dr. Lake had both forgiven him. He hadn’t been punished at all.

Dr. Lake had even risked going out in the woods at night to look for him and carried him back, even though he wasn’t her child.

Nana may care about him because she thought he was her grandchild but Jim and Dr. Lake had never known his familiar. Which meant…

That they cared about Toby. Toby himself, not his familiar. His heart clenched strangely in his chest. He rolled over and pressed his face into his pillow.

He thought of Barbara’s warm arms as she carried him home and Jim hugging him and forgiving him.

It made him feel warm and tight and light and heavy all at once.

~~~~

Notes:

Toby has a lot of PTSD and other issues from his first childhood in the Darklands. There were a few Gumm Gumm mothers in the Darklands and Toby has seen exactly what happened to anyone who harmed their whelps. As a result he views mothers as a terrifying force of nature. Barbara decided not to ask to much that night because of how scared Toby was, but she tries to find out a bit more of what brought this on later. Based off how he's acting she's worried that a teacher or other adult hurt him at some point. Naturally she finds nothing. This is when Toby first starts to view the Lakes as family. Jim learns to be careful about waking Toby up as a result of this. By the time of the main story Toby is mostly safe to wake up but he has relapses sometimes when he's stressed or if he's just had a nightmare.

#trollhunters #tales of arcadia #jim lake jr #toby domzalski #changeling!Toby #trollhunters fanfiction #changeling loyalties #barbara lake #nancy domzalski #my writing #my posts #fanfiction #nightmares #changelings are all very traumatized

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peaches2217 · 8 months

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🥰 Saying 'I love you' without saying it (Brotherly Mario and Luigi moment!)

YEEEEEEEEEEES! BROTHERLY LOVE LET'S GO!

Freak

AO3 link!

~~~

Somewhere in Brooklyn, sometime ago...

Mario was a mess.

He held his head high, and the spark behind his one good eye told Luigi he considered himself victorious, but he hadn't come out of that fight cleanly in the slightest. His knuckles were split open in three places. His shirt was torn and the collar was stretched beyond what a good washing could save. Thankfully, all of his teeth were accounted for, but he still spit blood every few minutes thanks to a split lip and what was probably a nasty bite to the inside of his cheek.

The further he tended to those wounds, the more Luigi panicked.

"Oh man. Mom's gonna freak." He wiped his brother’s bloodied hands clean as gently as possible; Mario was careful not to show any signs of pain, but he couldn’t hide the trembling in his hands. “Wh— what are we gonna tell her?”

Mario didn’t answer right away. He kept his jaw tightly clenched until Luigi decided his skin was clean enough, easing up only when the younger twin reached for the bandages he’d purchased in haste from the nearest convenience store.

“We’ll tell her the truth,” he said. “Some low-life decided to pick on the wrong guy and I wasn’t gonna let him get away with it.”

He clenched his jaw again as Luigi went back to work, wrapping broken skin in cheap gauze. He wouldn’t have much use of his hands until their mother could patch him up more expertly, but that was okay for now, he decided.

With any luck, she wouldn’t pry. All she’d care about was lecturing him — Mario, mio figlio irascibile, use your words, not your fists! — and then grounding him for the next month or two. That would be ideal. She didn’t need to know the reasoning behind his latest (and, to date, most violent) scuffle. He wasn’t ready for her to know.

Staring down at Mario’s hands, comically stiff from an overabundance of wrappings, Luigi felt a telltale stinging behind his eyes. “You fight for the dumbest things sometimes.”

“I don’t think someone spreading rumors about you is a dumb thing to fight about.”

The stinging became uncomfortably pronounced. Luigi bit his lip and fished through the plastic bag by his side once more, grabbing the water bottle hidden beneath rubbing alcohol and ointment and bloodied tissues.

“...It’s not just a rumor, is it?”

Luigi’s breath hitched. It had been phrased as a question, yet Mario’s voice lacked curiosity or incredulity, laced with a strong but not harsh I knew it sort of tone. Suddenly he didn’t have the nerve to look at him. He simply handed the bottle over to him and wiped the condensation off on his shorts, doing his best not to give into the desire to curl up into a ball and roll away.

It was his own fault. Like many other pre-teens, Luigi had a diary. Most of what he wrote within its pages was common knowledge, or just his own attempts at working through his thoughts. Most of what was inside, Mario already knew. The one secret he kept from his twin brother was tucked into its faux-leather covers. He’d stupidly believed it would be safe there.

An hour after realizing it was missing from his school bag, that secret was plastered on the library bulletin. By lunchtime it was on everyone’s lips: Oh my God, that Luigi kid’s gay! Always knew there was something wrong with him.

And three minutes after the final bell, the one who outed him was pinned to the ground in the courtyard receiving the beating of a lifetime. Had Luigi not found the strength to pry him off, he was almost convinced Mario would have killed the guy.

“You’re a freak!” the battered bully had shouted at Mario, Luigi’s diary splayed open and speckled with blood beside him. “Just like that fucking queer you call a brother!”

Mario was hurt, and he was going to be in massive trouble, and it was all Luigi’s fault. All because he was too chicken to keep it internalized, all because he was the weakling that always needed his brother, all because he was a fucking queer and any and every other derogatory accusation that had been thrown his way today. He pulled his knees to his chest and hugged them tightly and focused all of his energy on not crying, not here, not now.

“Weegee… why didn’t you tell me?” Mario’s voice was oddly soft. Was he upset? Was he sympathetic? He had no reason to be sympathetic. Luigi sniffed.

“Guess I didn’t want you thinking I was a freak, too,” he confessed. Mario and Luigi against the big, wide world. It had always been that way. He couldn’t stomach the thought of that changing, of Mario seeing him differently, of losing him for it. He would have kept this under wraps his whole life if it ensured that never came to pass.

An arm wrapped around him suddenly, and Mario pulled him in, jostling him almost painfully.

“Oh, give me a break, Lu,” he said. “You know who’s a real freak? Mrs. Loriey. She’s got a whole shrine set up to Robert De Niro in her supply closet! Photoshops herself into pictures with him! She’s probably shopped his face onto pictures of naked guys, let’s be real.”

“Mario!” The thought was shocking yet plausible enough that Luigi couldn’t help but laugh. Mario made a victorious noise and jostled him again.

“Or literally anyone who gets a kick out of putting other people down,” he continued, his voice getting lower as he spoke. “You know how desperate for attention people like that have to be? Imagine always thinking ‘How can I ruin some schmuck’s day so I can feel all high ‘n’ mighty?’ People like that aren’t just freaks, they’re losers, plain and simple.”

Luigi nodded, and though the first of his tears began escaping, his smile stayed strong. “So you don’t… think I’m a freak?” He chanced a glance sideways, where he found Mario smiling at him. The skin around his black eye was pale and wet where he’d held the water bottle to it and his split lip made his smile look awkward and crooked, but he knew well enough that it was genuine.

“Nah. But you know what you are?” he asked, squeezing Luigi’s shoulder. “You’re my bro. And I’ll always have your back, okay?”

He reached his other arm around to pull Luigi into a proper hug, and Luigi returned it without hesitation, sniffling and willing his tears to slow.

It had always been them against the world, and that wasn’t changing anytime soon. As far as bad days went, he decided that this one wasn’t so bad after all.

#fun fact! this was actually the very first Mario-centric story idea I ever had #I came up with it like a week after seeing the movie for the first time and it was aaaaallllll downhill from there /pos #so this is a fic I've been meaning to write for a while #thank you!!#peaches' fancy fics #super mario bros #smb #tw blood #tw injury #tw homophobia #peaches’ prodigious prompts

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duesternis · 10 months

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Ohoho, how about some altered mental state? Drunk, drugged, sleep deprived, magic, ye olde sex pollen...

ohoho, thanks for this delicious prompt, anon!

We're still mentally on a dragon ball lockdown, so you get a nice side of Kakavege, vaguely feral saiyan au with some heat nonsense thrown in for the sexiness!

Vegeta feels like he's burning up. He's been fending the coming of it off for days now, and the grip he has on his mental faculties is becoming more strenuous with every breath he draws in between clenched teeth. If he can only make it to his chambers, lock the doors behind himself and get through it. Best without anyone seeing him, or worse: smelling him. And for once in his cursed life the gods seem to look down on him favorably. The hallways are deserted and he can already see the doors, almost feel the warm cocoon of safe around himself. "Prince Vegeta!" Vegeta bites his lip bloody to keep from screaming. He whips around and comes face to face with the last person he wants to see right now. "Kakarot," he hisses, fists clenched so tight he can't feel his fingers anymore. Wishes he couldn't feel the way heat pools in his groin at the sight of this oaf. "You ran off in the middle of training, are you alright, Your Highness?" Vegeta opens his mouth to tell him off, but the only thing that comes out is a mewl. He wants to drop dead. Wants Kakarot to drop dead. Who has that dawning expression, who steps closer and inhales. Who growls warmly, deep in his chest and Vegeta feels his tail unravel from the bruising hold around his hips, feels the way he lifts up on his tiptoes and digs his fingers into the waistband of Kakarot's pants. "My Prince," Kakarot rumbles, hands hovering, teeth showing under lifted lips. Vegeta smells the arousal on him and it's the best thing he has smelled in days. "Come," he hisses, almost biting his own tongue off, trying not to say it. Kakarot swoops him up, the world blurs and Vegeta lands hard on his bed. He cries out in frustration when the hands leave him and then in relief, when they come back on his naked, hot skin. The world stops making sense. Vegeta leans into the warm hold, towards that voice, that scent. "Kakarot," he pants, rubbing up against steely muscle, fingers fumbling for the prize. "Vegeta, my prince," Kakarot licks the words into Vegeta's skin, pries his body open with two hands and his tongue, tail wrapping tightly around Vegeta's. "Kakarot," Vegeta pleads now, body burning up more and more, everything a haze. He's never needed anything this much. Kakarot grunts and then there's a blunt, hot pressure against Vegeta's hole and he will burst apart, if the teasing doesn't cease this instant. He buries his teeth in Kakarot's skin, revels in the cry and then. Finally. Relief. Kakarot, inside of him, to the hilt. Vegeta sighs, curls into the bodyheat, into that familiar, safe scent and keens, when Kakarot starts moving. Fast and harsh and deep and Vegeta squirms into it, wants everything and more. "There," he moans, when Kakarot hits a spot inside just the right way. His big hands cup Vegeta's leaking dick and balls, or maybe it's just one hand, because there's one on his throat and Vegeta's eyes roll back in his head. Every muscle in his body is taut and slack at the same time. The room is filled with noise and scent and Vegeta wants nothing but this for the rest of his life. "My prince, Vegeta, Vegeta," pants Kakarot against Vegeta's shoulderblades. Sweat drips from his nose and trickles down Vegeta's spine. He shudders and comes in Kakarot's hand, clenches around the dick buried inside of him. "More," he moans, drool down his chin. Kakarot grunts, gasps, fills Vegeta up and doesn't stop moving. "More," Vegeta moans again, pressing back into it. He wants so much, it's like a sea with no end. And Kakarot pulls him close and it's like he's parting the sea.

Nothing quite like a proud prince being reduced to a mewling mess by his own traitorous body hehe

Thanks for the prompt and I hope you enjoyed!

Reminder that the ask box remains open for kink prompts!!

#azzy gets asks #anon #dbz #my writing #my fic #my fanfic #my fanfiction #kakavege #gokugeta #love me a good planet vegeta au #kink prompt ask game

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jamietxrtt · 5 months

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Jamie’s been holing himself up in Roy’s guest room, door shut decisively, and Roy’s trying to respect that, trying not to bother him, trying to give him the space he needs.

But as he’s walking down the hall, passing by the guest room door, he hears Jamie’s voice hiss: “Fuck!”

Roy pauses, listening to a string of muttered curses, and then—

“God fucking damn it!” Jamie’s voice cracks with frustration.

“Are you alright?” Roy speaks up before he can help himself, before he can consider if this is a good idea, if Jamie even wants him around right now.

“I’m fine.” Jamie’s response through the door is immediate, but Roy has to wait for him to follow up the curt response. “…it’s just, I’m trying to change my bandages, and this stupid fucking clasp keeps coming undone and I—” He sighs in frustration.

Roy shifts from foot to foot, gaging how likely Jamie is to bolt if Roy is too forward here. “Do you want help?” He asks finally.

A long moment of silence from the other side of the door. Roy shuts his eyes and waits it out, urging himself silently to let Jamie take his time.

“No,” Jamie says finally, but his voice is shaking. “No, it’s fine, I can do it myself, I just…”

Roy’s not convinced. “Can I come in?”

Another beat of silence, but shorter this time. “Sure. Whatever. Do what you want.”

Roy pushes the door open with a creak.

Jamie is sitting on the edge of the guest bed with a pile of bandages on his lap. The spool it was attached to lays on the bed next to him, but it’s clear that he’s had more than one attempt trying to wrap up his torso himself.

And his torso. Good god. Roy represses a shudder.

The doctors didn’t let him see Jamie in the hospital, and it infuriated Roy to no end at the time, but now he was grateful for it. If he had seen Jamie like this there, when Jamie was still trembling, when he had a line of blood trailing out of his mouth… well. Roy would’ve just about fucking lost it, wouldn’t he.

Jamie’s chest blooms with purples and greens. His side, where Roy had tried to help him up on the side of the road, is the center of the damage, the skin nearly black around the areas of his wounds. Roy had expected that. He expected Jamie’s side to be all torn up, like he’d been scraped against asphalt, thick dark blood hiding behind lines of scabs.

What he hadn’t been expecting was the bruising. All that horrible bruising, spreading across his stomach, up his chest, nearly reaching his collarbone. One injury couldn’t possibly have done all that— could it?

Jamie shifts, his eyes cast pointedly at the ground, not looking Roy in the face. His ears are bright red.

Roy shakes himself, trying to keep from staring any longer. The last thing he wants is to make Jamie even more uncomfortable here.

He walks slowly across the room, picking his way around the discarded bloody bandage on the ground, and settles on the bed next to Jamie. When the younger man doesn’t make any moves, Roy slowly holds his hand out.

Slowly, reluctantly, Jamie places the mess of clean bandage in Roy’s hand.

Roy stretches it out gently, shaking the tangles out, but pauses before he gets close to Jamie’s skin. Jamie’s face is turned away from him, eyes shut tightly, and Roy can see his hands balled into fists along the knees of his sweatpants.

“You sure this is okay?” Roy asks.

“Can you just do it already?” Jamie asks, voice thick with irritation. It’s not a yes, but Roy’s already gone this far, so there’s no turning back now.

Roy gingerly starts to wrap the bandage in large circles around Jamie’s torso. “Let me know if I’m hurting you.”

“Just fucking do it, Roy,” Jamie snaps.

Roy doesn’t try to speak again. He finishes wrapping Jamie’s torso and fixes the clasp— Jamie was right, it’s a finicky little fucker— in place. “Done.”

Immediately, Jamie is tearing away from him like a bullet out of a gun, seizing his shirt tossed on the pillow and tugging it over his head— over the bandage, over the wounds, over those horrible bruises. He still seems embarrassed, so Roy decides not to look at him, choosing instead to study the discarded red old gauze on the floor next to his feet.

After a moment, Jamie settles down, and the two of them sit shoulder to shoulder, neither knowing what to say.

Finally, just to fill the silence, Roy says: “You should take some painkillers.”

Jamie’s quick to fight. “It looks worse than it is.”

“Jamie.”

“I told you, it doesn’t even hurt anymore.”

Roy scoffs. “I don’t believe that for a fucking second.”

Jamie goes quiet again, and Roy sighs, biting his mischievous tongue.

“Sorry. You’re an adult. Do what you want.” But he’s already thinking about the back of his medicine cabinet, where he keeps the good stuff hidden, just in case any curious nieces decide to go poking around.

Roy hesitates in the silence, not wanting to push Jamie, but not ready to leave him alone yet, either.

“Do you want to watch something?” he blurts out.

Jamie looks up at him in confusion. “Watch something? Like what?”

“I dunno, whatever you want. You can pick it out. I just…” Roy shrugs. “I’m not tired yet.”

Jamie seems uncertain, eyeing Roy warily, so Roy tosses in, “I can make popcorn.”

That seems to do the trick.

While they’re settling on the couch, Jamie scrolling through previews of nature documentaries, Roy sets the bowl of popcorn on the coffee table between them.

He adds to it a bottle of pills, placed intentionally right in front of Jamie.

Jamie turns to glare at him, but Roy’s hands are already coming up in innocence. “I’m not gonna make you. I’m just saying, they’re there.”

Jamie rolls his eyes, snatching up the popcorn bowl and leaving the pills undisturbed, but he selects the first episode of some random space-themed docuseries.

Halfway through the first episode, Jamie leans forward and knocks two pills out of the bottle, tossing them in his mouth without looking at Roy. Roy makes sure to keep his expression schooled, knowing Jamie is daring him to say something and equally knowing that the reaction will not be positive if he does.

Jamie seems satisfied with his nonresponse, settling back into his corner of the couch. The popcorn bowl has been empty for twenty minutes.

By the time the second episode of the series ends, Jamie is snoring lightly, his head shoved into the armrest of the couch. He’s curled up on his side, his injured left side facing up, and his arms tucked protectively close to his chest. Roy shakes his head fondly as he shuts off the TV. Of course the pills would knock him out.

Roy cleans up the popcorn bowls and then stands over Jamie, debating whether to wake him or not. Moving him upstairs to the bed would be beneficial both for his injuries and his neck, but once he’s up who knows if he’ll go down again?

He’s saved from having to make a decision by the doorbell ringing. Forgetting Jamie for a moment, Roy goes to answer, already knowing who’s on the other side.

Ted looks like absolute utter shit. He’s wearing a baggy pair of sweatpants and a grey sweatshirt with a mysterious stain on one of the sleeves, and his hair looks like he just took a nap in a fucking bush. His eyes have dark circles pressed beneath them.

Still, despite his garbage appearance, Ted’s bright smile brings a wave of relief through Roy, and despite himself, he finds himself smiling back. “Hey, Ted.”

“Hiya, Royo!”

They hug quickly, but Roy shushes him when he starts talking at his usual boisterous volume. “He’s asleep,” Roy explains.

“Oh.” Ted hunches over slightly, slapping a hand over his mouth like he’s worried about getting caught by the teacher. “My apologies. I can come back later.”

Roy rolls his eyes. “Well, you can be quiet, can’t you?” He studies Ted for another moment. “Actually— can you?”

“Oh, hush, you.” Ted shoves lightly at Roy’s shoulder, and Roy buckles into another smile, stepping aside to let Ted in.

They creep past the living room carefully, both of them watching Jamie’s sleeping figure as they pass. Ted lifts his suitcase a few inches off the ground to keep it from dragging.

Once in the kitchen, Roy shakes his head. “The only thing I can think about when I look at him is how much my neck would fucking hurt if I slept like that.”

Ted laughs, taking a heavy seat at the kitchen table. “Ah, I know. To be so young, right?”

Roy grunts, turning to the fridge. “You want something to eat? Drink?”

“Ah— a glass of water would be fine, thanks.”

Roy nods. “Still, right?”

“Uh— yes. Yes sir, definitely not that bubbly concoction y’all call water over here.”

Roy allows himself another smile, if only because his back to Ted. Even despite the circumstances, it’s good to have him back.

“How’s he doing?” Ted asks quietly, casting a glance back toward the living room. “Is he okay?”

Roy lets out a long breath. “Depends on your definition of okay.”

Ted nods sagely. “Mm, yeah.”

“He’s…” Roy sets the glass of water down in front of Ted and sinks into the chair next to him. “I dunno. I got him to take some painkillers today, so that’s good. He let me change his bandages, too. It’s… progress, I think.”

Ted looks much more encouraged by the details than Roy himself is, nodding enthusiastically. “Good. That’s great, Roy. I’m glad he trusts you.”

“Eh…” Roy shrugs, leaning back in his chair. “Not sure I’d go that far.”

“I would.” Ted’s expression is deadly serious. “He called you, didn’t he?”

Roy wants to argue, but the reminder sets a lump lodging in Roy’s throat. He is very, very glad that Jamie called.

Roy concedes the point, nodding slowly.

Ted stifles a yawn with the back of his hand, and Roy takes notice, seizing the opportunity to change the subject. “You must be jet lagged to hell and back, yeah?”

“Yeah, well.” Ted shrugs. “Haven’t been sleeping much recently, so it doesn’t make that much of a difference anyway.”

The bags under his eyes say that clearly enough, but Roy is still taken aback at him admitting it so freely. “Yeah? You okay?”

Ted hides in his glass of water, downing half the cup, then finally takes a deep breath and shrugs. “Ah, y’know.” He waves a hand away at Roy’s concern. “Just life.”

“…Right.” Roy fiddles with the kettle just to have something to do with his hands. The atmosphere is suddenly awkward, so Roy clears his throat and changes the subject. “How’s your little lad, then?”

“Oh, Henry?” Ted immediately brightens. “Yeah, he’s great! He’s off to middle school now, believe it or not— hard to think he’s soon gonna be a teenager!” Ted shakes his head with a grin. “I took him to the mall the other day, and you know what store he couldn’t get enough of?”

Roy hums, happy to let Ted keep chattering.

“Hot. Topic.”

“Oh, lord.”

“I know! I fear many a ‘it’s not a phase, dad’ may be in my future.” Ted chuckles into his glass again. “And how’s, ah— how’s Phoebe?”

“Yeah, she’s good.” Roy shrugs. “She wants to be an artist now. Last month it was a marine biologist. The month before that, an astronaut. I can hardly keep up.”

Ted laughs easily. “Aw, yeah. Kids’ll be like that. Hell, I remember when Henry was a little younger, I would—”

“Ted?” A new voice interrupts him, and both Ted and Roy turn to the entryway of the kitchen, surprised. Jamie looks baffled, blinking at Ted like he’s seeing a ghost.

“Jamie! Hey, buddy!” Ted’s up in a second, turning towards Jamie with a grin on his face. “Sorry if I woke you there.”

“No, it’s— it’s fine.” He looks between Ted and Roy, still confused. “Why— why are you here?”

“Ah, I was in the neighborhood, y’know, thought I’d pop over for a little visit!” Ted smiles pleasantly.

Ted is obviously useless, so Jamie looks to Roy for an answer instead.

“He hopped on the first flight over when he heard you were in the hospital,” Roy explains.

Jamie is shaking his head before Roy has even finished speaking. “Oh, christ, Ted, you didn’t have to fucking—”

“I know, but I’m here now, ain’t I?”

That seems to bring Jamie to silence. He stares at Ted for another moment, his features twisting into something ugly, something almost like anger. For a moment, Roy is worried he’s going to start shouting.

Then suddenly Jamie’s whole body jolts forward, one simultaneous movement, and he launches forward into Ted’s chest. Ted’s arms come up around him immediately, as if he was expecting this, but they press into the spot on his side where Roy knows Jamie’s wounds are. Roy winces, but Jamie barely even seems to notice. The young man is shaking now, face ducking into Ted’s shoulder, as Ted reaches up to hold the back of his head.

“Oh, buddy, I know. I know.” Ted’s thumb runs across the nape of Jamie’s neck, and Roy hears something halfway between a sob and an apology bubble up from Jamie’s hunched form.

Ted shushes him. “Shhhh, It’s okay. It’s okay. I know.”

Roy stares down at the kitchen table, suddenly feeling like an intruder in his own home.

#no context no context for u #tbh i wanna go back through this one and fully rewrite it #i feel like its a bit barebones rn. could use more poetic waxing and introspection-y bits #whatevr im never gonna finish it anyway lol #tw description of injury

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darklydeliciousdesires · 2 years

Text

The Thief of your Heart - Chapter Four.

So, this was supposed to be landing tomorrow, but my little loves @vulgar-display-of-escapism and @mrnd93 couldn’t wait, so here it is! I want to extend my huge thanks to everyone for reading and leaving such glowing feedback. I literally cannot cope with the knowledge that people discuss this among themselves and fangirl so hard over it, my little story! Eeeek! You’re so lovely!

Previous chapters - One Two Three

Tag list - In the comments, please reply below to be added/removed

Words - 4,202

Warnings - 18+ content throughout. Minors DNI!

Belfast, 1995

“Oh my god, ahhh, fuck me, oh shit, yes!”

“Yeah, you fucking love it like that, don’t you, my dirty girl?”

“Yes! Oh fuck!”

“Who’d you belong to?”

“You!”

His hand smacked her ass hard, a red print left behind. “Too fuckin’ right you do, crazy baby. And who owns this pretty, tight little pussy, huh?”

“Ohhh, you do! For fuckin’ ever!”

With her hair wound around his fist, her back arched beautifully for him as he fucked her savagely from behind, her screams filling her flat, Chibs grinned. He was the man who had it all; the dutiful wife at home, raising their beautiful daughter, and the smoking hot girlfriend on the side, who fucked like a machine and let him do anything he wanted to her. And god, did she love him, too. Mostly, Fiona only really had love for their daughter at that point, their sex life almost non-existent by comparison. Abi made up for everything he was lacking in his marriage.

Yes, she made up for it. A thousand times over.

And as long as he could keep getting his cock hard, he’d reward her for that. Even if he was sore and exhausted. Sex multiple times throughout the night and the early hours was a worth exchange to keep Abi happy.

“Jesus Christ, you look so bloody hot, split wide around my cock. Fuck.” He couldn’t get enough of it, watching himself gliding in and out of her, releasing her hair and grasping her ass cheeks, smacking them in turn, growling with desire as she shunted back against him, her slick bathing him thickly. It made something unhinged and rampant charge through him, witnessing just how aroused she got for him.

Again, he would reward it, by giving her the kind of pounding she thrived upon.

Turning her over, he sank back into her before pulling her up so she was astride him, bouncing her on his cock, spanking her a little more as he devoured her neck, glimmers charging through him at her moans. Those sounds, dear god. Her vocal expressions were the sexiest thing he’d ever heard. Holding her tightly to him, he stood up off the bed and moved to press her into the adjacent wall, hands grasping her tightly under her thighs as his broad chest pressed into hers, her nipple piercings adding delicious friction upon his skin.

He slowed the pace, but daggered her hard and deep, rolling his hips up into her so fully, it made her whimper with each exhale, feeling his lips at her neck, kissing and nipping at the column of her throat, her arms tightening around him. God, she felt like utter heaven.

Needing to be even deeper inside her than he already was, He carefully slid his arms under her knees, pushing her up the wall a little further while grasping her perfect, peachy bum so she was held there by his strong forearms, her legs opened wider, facilitating him to drive into her fully. Repeating the mantra of ‘don’t fall over, don’t drop her, don’t shoot your load’ through his head over and over allowed him the concentration needed to fuck her in what was quite a precarious position for a man half a bottle of whiskey in to attempt, but it did mean none of those things happened as his hips began to pound against her like a jackhammer, her wetness dripping out onto his balls, she was so massively turned on.

Of course, as an attractive man, an outlaw to boot - which he’d found to be a sure-fire bonus to women dropping their drawers for him at the snap of his fingers - he still had great sex with beautiful women, but in nowhere near the matching intensity or feeling as he had with Abi, the faces of the women he fucked all fading out, lacking any kind of distinction to commit to memory. Hell, even when he was inside them sometimes, if he thought on what he had with Abi for too long, he’d glaze over.

“Hey, are you even interested in this?” Sarah asked. Or was in Sasha? He wasn’t sure. He hadn’t been paying attention. She had his pre-requisites, nice tits and long legs. That was good enough.

“Yeah, lass. Yeah, I am.” He smiled, that tilt of his mouth not quite reaching his eyes, grasping her waist as he began to bounce her on his cock, shutting his eyes, picturing one woman in his mind. It had been eight days since he’d called her, eight days of having her on his mind just as much as he had after he’d been forced to leave her, eight days of feeling prickled by it, too, the sudden rush of feeling he’d been forced to deal with, everything he’d done well to bury, that survived within him as a dull ache of pain, being without his girl.

Pushing his thumb against her clit, he wanted to speed things up, impatient for it to be over with, wanting the forgettable woman off of him, another few minutes ensuring the flutters of her walls around him had him there with her. “Off.” he spoke, after at least giving her chance to catch her breath.

“You’re so fucking rude!”

He shrugged, pulling off the condom, knotting it and standing, yanking his jeans back up. “Aye, I am.” After disposing of the filled prophylactic into the trash, he walked over to the clubhouse bar, grabbing a beer as he sat down, the girl seeing herself out. His pissed off feeling was added to by the appearance of a moth flapping around his head, Chibs waiting for it to land on the bar before pounding his hand down.

“What?” Juice exclaimed, sitting bolt upright beside him, awoken sharply from the tequila induced stupor he’d drank himself into. He then looked at Chibs blearily, pointing, scanning the aftermath of the party, pass outs everywhere, Tig naked and asleep on the pool table with an equally bare woman draped over him, Happy over in the corner, railing a blonde against the far wall. “I thought you hooked up with that Samantha chick?”

Samantha. That was her name.

“I did. Got bored, blew my load and made it clear I didn’t need her to hang around.” He gulped back his beer, a much more sober Juice reaching for one, his mouth like carpet.

“Wow, even you’re usually a little more chivalrous than that,” he teased, hoping to raise a grin. No such luck.

“I’m not in the mood, Juicy.” And he hadn’t been for the last week. Where the club was concerned, he was focused and present, as always, but in the times between, he faded in and out of only being half there. Finishing his beer, he reached for the bottle of Johnie Walker, picking up a shot glass that looked reasonably clean, pouring himself out a measure and sinking it. Four more followed before he slid off the stool and made his way back to the couch, flopping down.

He hoped the four shots, added to the many he’d already sunk would send him to sleep, but instead, his mind was consumed with memories, especially the one where he’d first introduced a certain someone to Johnnie Walker black label...

Belfast, 1994

“Oh let the sun beat down upon my face, and stars fill my dream. I am a traveller of both time and space, to where I have been. And I have forgotten the rest of the words, to this song, la, la, la, la, la la!” A drunken Abi sang, staggering down the street towards the warehouse, Chibs’ arm locked around her, preventing her from wobbling too much.

“To sit with elders of the gentle race, this world has seldom seen. They talk of days for which they sit and wait, all will be revealed.” He spoke, filling in the gaps.

“That’s how it goes! Thank you!” she cried with mirth, fishing her keys from her pocket, wobbling a little and dropping them with a snort of laughter.

“Jesus, you’re wasted,” he chuckled, bending to pick them up from the patchy tarmac, lifting her over his shoulder as well. It was perhaps the easier method of transporting a drunken girl who was wearing a pair of six-inch heeled boots. He loved her in those boots, but something told him he wouldn’t be physically loving her until she’d sobered up a little. Abi was nothing if not determined, though.

“I’m going to give you the most amazing, hic, blowjob you’ve ever had... when we get back,” she told him, a little slurred, hiccups kicking in.

He chuckled, locating the correct key and opening the door. “Are you really, hen?”

“Aye! Just you wait!” She was asleep within five minutes of him placing her down on her bed, taking her jacket and boots off, throwing the duvet over to her and going over to the sofa in the lounge area of her open plan abode, grabbing his smoke box and rolling a joint. He was neither drunk nor tired, flicking through the TV channels but finding nothing of interest, searching her videos instead, deciding on the first Hellraiser film.

He was halfway through the second with another joint on the go by the time Abi stirred, sitting up with a little grumble, stripping off her clothes. “Hello, pisshead.”

“How long have I been asleep for?”

“Couple of hours.”

“Is that hash I smell?”

He held out the joint as she ambled over, luckily seeming a lot soberer than she’d been upon their arrival. “It is.” he confirmed, Abi sitting on his lap and taking a few puffs, Chibs stroking her nakedness, kissing her shoulder.

“I’ll be back, I’m just going for a shower. I feel grubby.”

“Aw, but I like you when you’re dirty, darlin’.” His joke made her chuckle, handing him the joint back and heading for the bathroom, cleansing her face of all makeup, feeling much fresher for the ingress of water, padding back out just as naked, throwing on his black shirt he’d left there, leaving it unbuttoned as she settled in his lap.

He passed the joint to her again, moving the shirt to kiss her chest a few times, hand stroking her stomach as she tucked her head beneath his chin, kissing his neck. She was still a little drunk, but not quite as much as she had prior to her nap and shower, content to stay awake. Whenever he was there overnight, she didn’t entertain wasting time in sleeping much. It wasn’t just because of her rampant desire to have him all over her either. She could spend hours talking to him.

“What would you do with your life, if you weren’t an outlaw?” she asked him a time later, the film finished, their location switched to her bed, her head rested to his chest, her fingers gently stroking the line of dark hair leading from his navel downwards.

His eyebrows twitched a little, contemplating her question. “Nobody’s ever asked me that before, you know. In turn, I cannae say I’ve ever particularly given it much thought. Mechanic, I guess. It’s about the only other thing I do well.”

She looked up at him, running her finger along the line of his jaw. “I don’t know about that. You do have incredible dick swinging skills, after all.”

He rumbled with laughter, kissing her forehead. “I’m not about to pimp out my services, though.”

“You’d earn a fortune.”

He could barely bite back the mischievous grin. “I’ll remind you of that, the next time you want to hop on.” He expected it, the slap he received to the chest, his laughter escalating. “What about you? If you weren’t army, what would you be?”

She turned away, reaching for her cigarettes, offering one to him and lighting up. “Tough question, since this is all I’ve ever known.”

He felt for her, because it was the simple truth. He doubted there’d been a time for her when her choices were ever her own. At least she loved it, what she was. Still, her trajectory was entirely at Michael’s hand.

“Maybe a kickboxing instructor. Makes sense, all I’d have to do is take a coaching course since I reached black belt, I’d be competent enough to do so.” That again was another of Michael’s ideas, putting the girls into martial arts to teach them discipline, and also how to defend themselves in hand-to-hand combat. He didn’t want their toughness to begin and end with holding knives or guns, especially since they were both fairly diminutive in stature. McGee had learned that the hard way, having a little tap around with a fourteen-year-old Monica and ending up with a broken rib.

“Aye, I can see you enjoying that. I think whatever reality we contemplate, it’ll include you handing people’s arses to them.”

“Do you think there’s an alternative reality where that’s what we are?”

Drawing on his cigarette, he contemplated that for a moment. “Possibly. It is a theory, that there could be any number of fringe realities lying right next to the one we’re experiencing. Parallel universes, they call ‘em.”

“I wonder if there’s one where you and me can be out in the open, together without having to hide it. No Fiona, and a version of my da who wouldn’t come for us guns blazing either,” she pondered, Chibs stroking her arm.

“The more time I spend with you, the more I see I want that to happen, you know.”

Her face was surprised at hearing him reveal that. “You’d really leave Fiona for me?”

He reached to stroke her cheek, nodding. “Aye, I think that’s where I’m at with it. The only things preventing me are your da and the guilt of Kerrianne coming from a broken home. She’s thirteen months old, after all. She’ll never have any memories of her parents being happy together, and I feel bad, depriving her of that. I suppose though, it could be argued that I’m not happy and I haven’t been for quite some time, so sticking around longer isn’t going to change that.”

She’d of course fantasised about it, dreamed he’d leave his wife for her, but the harsh brutalities of their reality always dampened them, Abi realistic enough to know it probably wouldn’t ever happen, and she’d have to be content to share him, love him in secret, not be the woman he was with out in the open.

It felt scary, but elating, smiling as she leaned to kiss him. “Sadly, I don’t think my da will be an issue for much longer. The chemo isn’t working. They’re beginning doses of radiotherapy as well, but it doesn’t look good.”

He pulled her close to him, stroking her back. “Ahh, darlin’, I’m sorry. You know I know how it is.” His own father had passed of Hodgkins Lymphoma when he was thirteen, so he knew her turmoil. “Maybe we’ll talk about it more further down the road, ay? We’ve plenty of time.”

Except they didn’t. Neither of them knew it then, but at that point, they only had six months left together, before everything changed forever. As he lay on the couch in a boozy haze, finally drifting off, he imagined her there next to him, her head tucked beneath his chin, her soft snuffles of sleep, her breath fluttering across his chest. The memory was nothing compared to the reality he’d once taken for granted, but it was something soothing, at least.

The coming days served well to take his mind off of it, everything concerning the club and the situation with Abel swirling like a storm, claiming a further casualty in Gemma, collapsing at hearing the news handed to her by Maureen Ashby, that Abel had arrived in Belfast, the club learning of Cameron Hayes’ demise at the hands of the army, and the hashing out of the plan to depart California, bound for Northern Ireland to locate the baby.

With as much as they could carry upon their backs packed, they boarded a plane organised by Elliot Oswald, each of them focused and determined to do whatever they could upon arrival to bring Abel back into the fold, return him to his family, all while Chibs wondered too, would he be returning to the one he’d been snatched from so many years ago? He hadn’t told her of his impending arrival, typing out the message at least twenty times in different wordings, only to grunt in frustration and delete his words. Would she even be there? He didn’t have a clue. She could still be in Africa for all he knew.

Halfway through the flight, while everyone else was asleep, he remained awake, his fingers turning over the cross pendant on the chain around his neck, visions flashing through his mind of seeing it around hers, imagining her smile, how he used to grab it and pull her close to bestow kisses upon her beautiful lips, when she’d taken it off and put it around his neck. Walking away from her flat for the last time had killed him. Leaving Ireland without his girlfriend, knowing he’d never see her or his beautiful daughter again. Even the part of him that still loved his wife was eclipsed by the agony of separation from his darling crazy baby.

One year, and she’d changed his life and claimed his heart forever.

“I’d ask what was on your mind, sweetheart, but I can guess,” Gemma piped up, sitting beside him, her hand stroking his forearm.

He snorted a brief burst of laughter, turning to her. “Am I that obvious?”

Stroking his hair, she ran her fingers over the creases denting his forehead. “These are.”

“I dunno, Gem. Going back to it, where it all happened. Of course, finding the bairn is the priority, but...ahh...” he muttered, sighing heavily as he trailed off.

“She might not be there,” Gemma reasoned.

“Aye, and what if she is?”

“If she is, then she is. Would it really be so bad, to see her again? Might help, putting it all to bed.”

He scratched his chin, half shrugging. “Or stir it all back up again, which is the last thing I need.”

Gemma looked puzzled for a moment, leaning away a little as she viewed him. “You make it sound like it’s all still close to the surface, this you and Abi thing.”

“When I think about it for too long, it is,” he confessed, smiling thinly. “Wasn’t Fi, who was the love of my life.”

“I was under the assumption she was just a bit of fun.” Gemma saw exactly how wrong that supposition had been just by the look on his face.

“She was that, yeah. Made me cry laughing, fuckin’ amazing lay, all round absolute firecracker, she was. Quickly, though, she became so much more.”

She made an inquiring face, her eyes scrunching as she viewed him carefully, expectantly.

“I was ready to leave Fiona for her, Gem.” Well, that was news to her. Taking a few moments to contemplate, though, it wasn’t too much of a reach to believe. She’d only met Abi once, when she’d visited Ireland with Clay a year after John had died. From her reckonings, it must have been very close in time to when they’d begun their affair. Abi was as fearless and mentally strong as Michael, and as beautiful and spirited as Bridie. They’d bonded during her trip, Gemma thinking a great deal of the young girl... as well as being shit scared of her.

There’d always been something she’d found within Fiona to be a little stifling and uptight, but Abi, she had a certain zest, a zeal about her. Yes, she was hardened, her intensity scary, her propensity for rage even more so, very much a product of her father’s upbringing, but she sparkled. Chibs, from what she knew of his tastes, always tended to lean towards women who had that glint of mischief in their eye. He liked them wild, and Abi was most certainly that. “Now that I think about it, I’m none too surprised by that.” she confessed, smiling, reaching to squeeze his shoulder. “So, the love of your life, huh? Even after all this time?”

He shifted in his seat, stretching. He began to nod, pulling his wallet out and showing her the picture of them he kept safely in there. “I carry her with me always. If my love for that girl was a fire, all the water in the world wouldn’t be capable of putting it out. Even for all her faults, too. Her ridiculously bad temper, her inability to listen to reason, the fact she’s nothing short of a fire hazard in the kitchen and can’t cook anything other than curry to save her life. Curry that was so spicy, you needed an asbestos lined mouth to eat it.” he laughed softly there, remembering her almost setting her flat on fire while grilling cheese on toast.

Studying the picture, Gemma noticed something glaring; she’d never seen him look so happy. “That’s very emotionally sincere for you, darlin’, I have to say.” His words truly had taken her aback, though.

“Aye,” he agreed, thumb stroking Abi’s image. “She stirs it in me, if I let her. Most of the time, I keep it well buried. Hearing her voice again, though, when I called her at Clay’s request to see if she knew anything, it shot right back up like a fucking flare.”

“Hence the trepidation,” she assumed, Chibs nodding.

“I’ll be hitting up Seamus for a fucking joint as soon as we land.” She laughed softly at his words, leaning to kiss his head.

“Share it with me?” she could do with a good smoke, all things considered.

He smiled. “Done.”

While they were in the air, Abi was walking into the SAMBEL clubhouse, a set of very large arms opening to receive her with a warm smile. “I heard you got back, but you’ve taken your time showing your face.” McGee spoke in his soft lilt, hugging her warmly. He’d always been so fond of Abi, Monica too, knowing them from infants, such was the depth of his friendship with their parents.

“Sorry, I’ve been catching up on sleep, enjoying me ma’s cooking, too.”

He rumbled a laugh, gesturing to the bar stool next to where he’d been residing, going round to fetch them a couple of fresh, cold beers from the fridge. “Still as useless in the kitchen as you always were, then?”

“I resent that!” she cried, punching his shoulder playfully when he sat back down.

“A fine soldier you are, but a good cook, you most definitely aren’t, so.”

“I make a mean curry,” she reasoned, McGee having to concede somewhat.

“Aye, if you enjoy having your face ripped off from the spice.” Sipping his beer, he eyed her, laughing through his nose at her face.

“I make good pasta, too.”

He almost choked on his beer. “You make abominations. Pasta, with melted cheese and gravy?”

“It works!”

“Jesus fuckin’ wept,” he chuckled. “Wrong, you are.”

“Don’t want me to make you fellas dinner then, no?”

“I’d rather go to the dodgy chippy down on Dale End.”

“Rude,” she chirped, “that you’d rather wish the wild shites upon yourself!”

He laughed richly, shaking his head. Anyone in the area knew well to avoid Dale End chip shop if they didn’t want to be welded to a toilet for most of the following day. “It’s good to see you, kid.”

“Aye, good to be back.”

“And now that you are, I need to make you privy to something,” he began. “I wanted you to hear it from me.”

She could guess. “Does this have something to do with Cameron Hayes snatching Jackson Teller’s son, and turning up dead for it?”

“It does, but more pertinently, it means what follows. SAMCRO are on their way over here as we speak, Filip included.” Her heart all but stopped.

“I thought the word on the street was that the babe wasn’t with Cammie when he arrived?” she needed to distract herself from the fact that he was currently edging ever closer to her, and everything that information stirred within. McGee saw it in her eyes, though, the dilation of her pupils, her throat constricting as she gulped.

He straightened a little, taking another swig of his beer as she lit a cigarette, accepting the one offered to him. “The boys, they need to see it in order to believe, and for that I don’t blame them at all.” He watched her trying to hold herself together in light of what she’d just learned, pointing to the bottles behind the bar. She couldn’t kid him. “Single of double?”

“Treble?”

“Aye.” He got up, furnishing her with the required measure, bringing the bottle back with him, Abi bolting the whiskey back. “Better?”

“No.” Another measure was duly poured and swiftly sank. “Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

He nudged her with his elbow, pouring another measure. “You’ll be grand.”

Keith McGee had a lot more faith in her than she did herself over that notion.

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projectcaramel · 1 year

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Saccharine (5) - Satan x F!Reader x Lucifer

Fortunately, Lucifer wasn’t right.

Unfortunately, Annis is dead in front of you.

At the moment, you’re standing between two shops, the alley just light enough to make out the blue blood seeping from her skin. The darkness however makes it that much easier to see the glow of bright, acid-yellow eyes glaring at you.

Drip. Drip. Drip. The thing’s clawed hands are dripping with Annis’ blood; your horror turns to fear as the thing approaches you on slow, measured steps, and you nervously swallow. This is fine; you may be just a drake, but you’re still strong enough. Strong enough to avenge a friend’s death at the least!

Scales ripple across your skin in an instant, and you let out a low, warning growl. It echoes through the alleyway menacingly, and the thing seems to flinch. Frankly, it’s understandable—despite the fact that you’re “just a drake” (as opposed to a full-fledged dragon), that doesn’t make you any less threatening.

“You...” the thing rasps, and you bristle. Should you jump first and gain the upper hand, or should you wait and see if it runs?

You decide to attack first, and you fly on top of the creature, spitting poison as your claws tear into flesh. This is the right option, you decide, as it grapples with you, yowling and whining in pain.

Still, this creature isn’t to be underestimated either, particularly when its claws catch against your face and tear jaggedly against the scales that protect you, splattering the alley with your blood in addition to your friend’s. You suppose your screech must have caught the attention of someone passing by, since the next thing you know, you’re being unwillingly dragged out of the alleyway, reaching for the monster with your bloody claws, but it’s already running away, slipping out of your grasp.

“Dammit, Satan!” you snap at the green-eyed male, who is both your savior and your annoyance. “I was so close...!”

“MC,” he says, and you notice he’s holding onto you very tightly. “Please, calm down. You’re bleeding.”

“You think I don’t know...” You stumble against him, and Satan quickly wraps one of your arms around his shoulder.

“That was a Paladire,” Satan says quietly. “A kind of vampire that can only feed on demons. You don’t see them around anymore, but I guess that one found its way here. They work by poisoning their victims first before tearing them apart—the bastard got you right in the face.”

“It killed Annis,” you say weakly.

“I know,” Satan soothes, even as he urges you away from the scene. “But you’re still alive, and right now, we have to get you patched up, okay?” It’s only as you see a familiar figure with dark, feathery wings in the alleyway that you finally and woozily agree to Satan’s request for you to stop struggling before the poison circulates any further.

—

You fade in and out of conscious thought as Satan drags you to a safer location, namely the House of Lamentation, and it’s only as Satan is carefully cleaning out the wounds on your face that you’re finally able to ask him what he and Lucifer were doing near that alley. He looks a little sheepish as he holds the bloody cloth away from your face.

“To be honest... I was actually looking for something to cheer you up. Lucifer ended up tagging along by himself saying he needed to buy cufflinks, but he was talking bullshit. He knew there was a Paladire out, and he didn’t tell anyone like usual.” Satan’s fists ball up, his anger flickering violently in his eyes, and without thinking, you find your hands covering his. The action startles him enough that the anger fades.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“You didn’t scare me, Satan,” you reply quietly. “It’s just... I understand what Lucifer was doing. He just wanted to protect you.”

“I’m getting sick of his ‘protection’,” Satan hisses. “If I’d known about that, then you wouldn’t have gotten hurt.”

“Satan...”

“Did that thing cut you open anywhere else?” he asks, even as his eyes search your form for any other signs of injury, and you shake your head. “Then that’s good. That’s fine.” He starts haphazardly putting the medical supplies he had taken out back in the box, quickly becoming infuriated when it refuses to close, and you sigh before you take it from him and pile everything in methodically. “...thanks.”

“You really need to become more organized, Satan...”

“No,” he grumbles. “And anyway... don’t throw yourself into a dangerous situation like that again.”

“Why, because I can’t protect myself?”

“Because I care about you,” he replies coolly, piercing through you with his pale green eyes. “Drakes are strong, but they aren’t invincible. I don’t want to lose you. Okay?” The last word isn’t as firm as the rest of what he says, and you can’t help but wonder for a moment—does he really think of me as “just a friend”?

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#satan x reader #revenge #obey me shall we date #obey me satan #obey me!#romance #mystery #fanfiction #update

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shallyne · 9 months

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SJM Crackshipmonth: Angels and Demons

Flightless Birb

Crackshipmonth Day thirty! Today's ship is Feyre x the batboys! Enjoy! For @sjmcrackshipmonth

Words: 3,122

TW: mention and implication of torture and suicidal thoughts

Rhysand just wants relax after an exhausting day but his spymaster alerts him of an u familiar threat in their camps. Immediately seeing what the fuss is about, he finds a fallen angel in his realm. All three brothers feel a pull towards her

Rhysand

It's been a long day at the Moonstone castle. From daybreak on Rhys had back to back meetings and now he was just tired and wanted to get a snack. Or sleep. Or a bath. He'd decide about the order of these things when he got home. Which would delay even further if the expression on Azriel’s face, who just strode through the big double doors, was any indication.

"Who died?" Rhys asked when Azriel fell into step beside him.

"No one. Yet." Azriel replied, earning a raised brow from Rhysand. "Someone breached the borders. There is no commotion whatsoever, no attempt to cross the castle grounds but someone definitely broke into the realm."

Rhysands stepped slowed as they reached a crossing, one leading to the stairs that led to his bedroom and the other in the direction to the front door. "Where?"

Azriel crossed his arms, "Illyria, near the training grounds. Cassian already holds off anyone who tries to snoop and waits for you."

Rhys nodded at Azriel, who took his cue and vanished into the shadows. He looked at the ceiling and sighed before he winnowed to the training grounds. Stuffing his hands into his pockets, he strolled through the gathered crowd of training Illyrians who parted for Rhys to let him through. With every nearing step, Rhys picked up a whimpering which made him hurry forward. Finally reaching his brother, he saw what this was all about. Cassian crouched beside a female, his face pale as he looked up at Rhys, the female sobbing and whimpering. "Get back to training." he told the crowd. He didn't raise his voice, didn't snap the command but the growl in his voice made it clear that this was a matter he wouldn't argue. This was a command. Fortunately, none of the Illyrians were testy enough to try to argue.

His attention fixed on the trembling female and Cassian again. "Did she say anything?"

His brother shook his head, his hands balling into fists as he looked at the bloody back of the female. She was wearing a dress which seemed like it was white once but it was drenched in blood and her back– Rhys felt the blood draining of his face as he watched the two stumps. There was a pair of wings on her back that were now cut off. Fury hit him so hard that wanted to unleash his power. Whoever did this to her–

"My wings," the female sobbed. "Please, my wings,"

Rhys swallowed, looking back at Cassian. "Get a healer," he told him. "I'll bring her to my mother's house."

Cassian didn't need further instructions as he jumped up. He threw one quick glance their way and then he flew away.

Carefully, Rhys picked the female up. He tried not to touch her wounds but that was nearly impossible as she started thrashing and crying. "Hey, hey," he said in a calming tone. "You need to listen to me, okay? I can help you but you need to listen," her bloody hands grabbed his shirt tightly, but she stopped thrashing. "I can take the pain from you," Rhysand explained, "but you need to allow me to help you. Can I help you?"

"Please," she croaked, nodding before she buried her face into his neck. Rhysand immediately went into her mind, past the fragile shields and took her pain. When she slumped back in his arms, he winnowed into his mother's cottage, where he had spent his whole childhood. He ascended the narrow staircase, opening the door of the bedroom and laid her down on the soft bed, on her stomach. She groaned.

It was barely five minutes later that Azriel brought the Madja, followed by Cassian, who still looked fairly pale.

While Madja worked on the female, Rhys, Azriel and Cassian waited in the sitting room downstairs. Too anxious to sit down, Rhys walked back and forth through the room.

"Did you learn something?" Azriel asked from the nearby chair.

Rhys sighed, "She's Seraphim," he told them. Rhys had already suspected it when he first saw her but when he went into her mind, he was sure.

"An angel? What is an angel doing here?" Cassian asked.

Rhys shrugged. He didn't have a clue about what happened and how she got here and assuming wouldn't get them far. Wordlessly, Cassian gave him a glass of whiskey that Rhys instantly drank.

"Will she be…alright?" Azriel asked.

"She'll live." Rhys replied. Cassian and Azriel exchanged a look, knowing what Rhys didn't have to add. She'll never fly again.

Cassian murmured, "She's going to wish she died today."

Although Cassian was right, Azriel threw him a look and then asked, "Will she stay here?"

"I'm going to move her to the Moonstone Palace when she's stable enough to travel." Rhys answered, ignoring what Azriel really meant, will she stay in this realm?

It's long past midnight when Madja deems it safe enough to relocate the female to the Moonstone Palace. Azriel was already gone on a mission and Cassian had passed out on the couch hours prior. Rhys told Nuala and Cerridwen to change her out of her bloody dress into nightclothes. Madja had told Rhys that she would be passed out for another few hours but Rhys didn't want to risk her to wake up all alone, so he settled in a high backed chair after Nuala and Cerridwen were done and rested there.

Feyre

Feyre awoke in a strange bed. She didn't remember falling asleep and her memories of the previous day were foggy at best. She opened her eyes and lifted her head, staring down at a black satin pillow. That was definitely not her bed. Sighing, she tried rolling onto her side but a pain in her back had her crying out and slumping back, then strong arms eased her back on her stomach. Memories hit her of the day before and her hands shit to her back, only meeting the stumps of her wings. No. Her throat closed up, tears spilling down her face. He took her wings. No, she did. It was her mother's idea for disobedience and of course he listened. Her father didn't have wings but he knew that they were everything to angels. Only a monster would take their wings.

"Hey," a deep voice said softly. "Look at me."

Feyre whipped her head towards the male, from the striking violet eyes, her gaze wandered up to the set of horns on his head. A demon had entrapped her. She started thrashing, getting as much distance between them as possible. Her back screamed in protest. "Shit." the male murmured, glamouring his wings to make him look normal. Normal for a mortal at least and normal for angels, because Feyre was aware every demon had horns.

She wheezed through the pain as she scrambled back on the bed until her hands met nothing and she fell right off the edge of the bed. The demon stepped towards Feyre, she backed into the curtains of the window. "Stop! Don't come closer!" she yelled.

The Demon stopped and held his hands up, "I'm not going to hurt you, I just have questions."

"What questions?" Feyre asked, clenching the hem of her shirt in her fist. She looked down at herself. That wasn't what she wore yesterday, yesterday she had worn a dress and now she was wearing a loose, turquoise pajama.

Before she could ask, he already opened his mouth, "What's your name?"

She blinked in surprise. That's his first question? "Feyre," she answered quietly.

"Okay, Feyre," he said calmly, sitting down on the edge of the bed, "I'm Rhysand but, please, call me Rhys." he waited for an answer so she nodded, then he continued, "I need to know how you came into this realm."

Feyre put a hand over her heart, silently counting to ten to calm herself down. Rhys only stared at her, waiting, but not impatiently. "I tried to, well, after…" she swallowed and pointed to her back, Rhys nodded in understanding. "I don't know how I landed here. I was in pain and I just needed to get away before they started to hunt me and I winnowed. I needed to get somewhere safe but…" she shrugged, pointing around the room. "I got here."

"You are safe." Rhys vowed, genuinely.

Feyre hissed when her back hit the wall. She hadn't realized she backed farther away. "I don't know where to go." she pressed out. "I'm in exile, I can't go back home."

Rhys stood up and crouched down in front of her, but with enough distance that Feyre could run, if she wanted to. His violet eyes stared at her, so intensely that she feared he was looking right into her soul. "You can stay here, Feyre. Either you stay in this room or we'll find another lodging for you, I won't send you away."

"Thank you." she breathed.

Rhys smiled, extending his hand, "How about I'll show you the palace?"

Genuine, he was so damn genuine that it scared Feyre. No one was ever this nice to her, without expecting something in return, even home. She should be scared. Scared of the tall, handsome demon who crouched in front of her. Still, she took his hand. "I'd kill for a walk."

Rhys's eyes shimmered with amusement, "I think you'll get used to this realm fairly quickly."

Feyre was stiff. Every step she took made her back protest but she needed to walk, so she'd endure it. As they walked the beautiful Moonstone halls, two other demons who looked similar to Rhys joined them. They introduced themselves as Cassian and Azriel. Both were dressed in similar attires, black leathers from head to toe adorned with stones, they were called siphons, Azriel told her. His were a cobalt blue and Cassian's shimmered a crimson red. Although Feyre's eyes fixed in their wings. Not at all like her own were. These were leathery, like a bat's wings, with talons at the apex. Cassian caught her gaze, his own filled with pity but then he smirked and cracked a joke about Rhys being a moody bastard. It's true, Rhys's mood seemed a little down since his brothers joined him. When Feyre looked back at them, Rhys's arm around her waist tightened.

He had wrapped his arm around Feyre when she stumbled, stabilizing her. She had insisted on his arm staying there, because she still felt a little weak. It was definitely not to smell his citrus and sea scent.

Feyre had expected a bustling in the halls, full of servants and royals but the only people wandering the halls were them. There was a faint sound of someone making a bed and another person humming a melody. The only sounds they made were the echoing sounds in the black and white tiled floor until they reached a balcony, where a little table stood laden with fruits and tarts and muffins. Feyre's mouth watered at the sight and her stomach grumbling in response. She couldn't remember when she last ate.

Cassian hurried forward, pulling a chair out and gesturing to Feyre to sit down.

"I can do that on my own." she said but sat.

"Oh, I'm sure you can," Cassian said, taking place on his own chair. Beside Feyre sat Azriel, beside that sat Cassian and opposite of her sat Rhys. The other side of the table was pressed against the railing.

Feyre didn't look to the sky, couldn't look at the birds soaring through the sky like she once did. The wound on her back was deeper than what Rhysands healers stitched together. The missing weight of her beautiful, midnight blue wings grew heavier with each breath.

It was Azriel who brought her back from her thoughts, "So, what's your story then?"

Feyre looked at him, really looked at him. And at Cassian. And Rhys. She hadn't paid attention to them before, not like this. Quickly, she realized she wasn't scared of the horns, she was just used to the stories that they told her. But they also told Feyre that angels are there for one another, guiding and helping and being good. It wasn't good to cut one's wings off for disobedience. Not when Feyre did it to help a lost soul. So she pushed these stories away and looked at the three demon brothers in a new light and she found that they were all fairly handsome. And for the first time in her immortal life Feyre let herself want. She wasn't supposed to want when she was back home, she was supposed to do her duty and go on with it.

Shadows curled around Azriel’s ear and his gaze become predatory, Cassian slightly stiffened and Rhys's nostrils flared. When the scent of arousal hit Feyre, she cursed herself. Of course they could smell her arousal as she could smell theirs. So she shook her head, cleared her thoughts and answered Azriel’s question. She told them everything, from her childhood to the present day. She told them about their parents, who were more interested in throwing parties and keeping the image of a happy family than actually caring about their own kids. Feyre told them about her love for art, told them about her sisters, told them about her first lover that she took to spite her parents. She told them about the female her parents wanted her to be and told them about the female she became. She even told them about her job in her realm, guiding lost souls into their final paradise and how she loved her job, despite all the expectations weighing on her shoulders. Feyre told them about her love of flying, how she spent every free minute soaring in the sky, she didn't bother to wipe her tears away. Feyre told them about the system she worked out for their realm, to make oncoming groups of lost souls less chaotic. How her father ignored her idea and her mother told her it wasn't her business to make these decisions. How Feyre thought, if they didn't listen they would see. How her plan had worked out perfectly, but her mother had punished her for disobeying, taking the thing that Feyre lost most in the whole entire universe, and then setting a target on her back. She told them how she had fallen.

They listened through it all, intently. Their gazes not leaving Feyre once, which made her uncomfortable and grateful all at once. She hadn't realized how much she needed to talk about it until she did.

"I'm surprised you didn't finish the job when you found me wounded." Feyre finished her story, taking a long sip of her orange juice.

Rhys had an arm slung over the back of his chair, the older holding a glass with amber liquid. "On the contrary to what the angels say about us, we are not at war with your kind, Feyre. Many of yours who were exiled before now reside in this realm."

Feyre tilted her head, "Isn't this a place for punishment?"

Rhys smiled, "This is a place for justice." he said. Then he exchanged a look with Azriel, who dipped his chin, then Cassian who did the same.

"It's rude to talk about someone when they sit in front of you." Feyre said, mock hurt.

"Excuse us, Feyre darling, but we just agreed we have the perfect job for you." he told her leaning back. "If you decide to stay, we want you to keep guiding lost souls to their place in death, as you already have experience in this. You can start training as soon as you feel fit enough again."

"And," Cassian threw in. "If you want to join our training sessions every morning, you found yourself a teacher."

Feyre's face flushed in embarrassment. "I was never allowed to do such a thing."

"You are now." Cassian grinned so brightly, that Feyre did too. "Azriel is going to show you the realm so you can navigate yourself."

"You mean it?"

All three nodded. Feyre jumped up, throwing her arms around them and smacking kisses on their cheeks. "I could kiss you right now!"

"Who?" Cassian asked.

"You all!" she said, her back hurting but she ignored the pain for that moment. It would be a long road but at least, there was a road.

Feyre began spending time with each of the males, learning more and more about them and finding that she started to care about them, even feeling protective of them. Although they all decided to not talk about that time when a gorgeous demon tried to flirt with Cassian and she growled at them.

Months later, Feyre twirled in front of her mirror, looking at herself in her flimsy nightgown. Her golden-brown hair hanging down her back in soft waves. She still missed her wings terribly, some days so much that she couldn't even get out of bed but she was healing. Slowly but surely, she was healing.

When the knock finally sounded, she squealed in delight. A look out of the window told her that dusk, fortunately, went by pretty fast and now the stars were shining down on Velaris. Smiling brightly, she opened the door to the three males. Rhys was picking lint off his black tunic, Azriel leaned at the wall with crossed arms and Cassian already smiled at her. Their eyes lit up when they looked at her, then filled with hunger when they traveled down. Excellent.

"You requested us?" Cassian asked.

Feyre nodded, swallowing. She could ruin everything right now but she had to shoot her shot. "I…I wanted you to stay the night." She stretched her legs, which exposed more of her skin.

"With who?" Azriel asked, practically growled.

"With you." she said, pointing at him. He smiled faintly, Cassian and Rhys looking vaguely disappointed until Feyre pointed at Cassian, "and you," Then at Rhysand, "and you."

Cassian tilted his head, his dark hair falling over his shoulder. "Like what? You want to take us in shifts?"

Feyre looked up at the ceiling and sighed. "No," she said, "I want to have you all, in my bed, at the same time." the last words she practically purred.

They all exchanged glances again, as they did so often. Feyre had learned in the previous months that this was how they communicated, with Rhys's Daemati gifts.

"Are you sure?" Rhys asked then. Feyre smiled brightly at the implication. They were interested.

"Mhm." she hummed, then purred, "Why choose?" before she pulled them inside.

A blast of her power closed the heavy wood doors, a blast of Rhys's powers put a hard shield around their room.

Taglist: @timesconvert

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sezja · 2 years

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Falling Slowly, part 2

Previously

Fool, what were you thinking? Sanson scolds himself, trying to tear his gaze away from Guydelot's retreating back. Mortified shame burns in his veins, mingling there with horror and disbelief at his own stupidity - propositioning the man, when only seconds earlier they had been squabbling over Sanson's trial! When not half a bell before that, they'd been engaged in battle with marauding beasts! Matron save him, what had he been thinking?

He remains kneeling in the damp earth by the river, trying not to notice if Guydelot does stop to invite one of the hunters back to "rest" with him. 'Tis no business of his, surely.

So why, then, is his heart in his throat? Why can't he stop looking, stop watching...

But Guydelot makes it back to the barracks without so much as a glance at anyone around him - nor back at Sanson, for which he finds he must be grateful. He doesn't dare speculate what his own face must look like. With any luck, the bard will dismiss the whole humiliating incident as a lark, and they'll say nothing more of it... just as they've not spoken about Sanson's furious, ill-considered kiss on the road, when he'd meant only to-

“How about I let you in on a secret, eh?" Guydelot had said that night, beneath the stars. They'd fallen to arguing again, and Sanson couldn't recall who started it, nor why - he'd meant to make his peace with Guydelot, as Celaine advised, and yet... and yet... "It’s none of your damn business what I do, or who I do it with. Just because you’ve got ice in your veins and can’t be arsed to stir for anyone who might take an interest-”

And then Sanson had-

He growls in frustration, balling his hands into fists, clenching his teeth so tightly his jaw aches. Idiot! That stupid, reckless kiss! And now this!

Well, you'll stop making a fool of yourself now, won't you? He rubs his eyes, sick at heart. That's twice you've been rejected by the same man; are you quite satisfied with yourself now? He'd retreated to his own tent that night, half-expecting Guydelot to follow, but he'd lain awake for an eternity only to find himself still alone in the morning, with Guydelot sitting by the fire where he'd left him.

The bard had been merciful enough - surprisingly - to not mention the kiss at all, and onward they'd trudged, pressing forward until they reached Tailfeather. Perhaps, Sanson reflects, it wasn't mercy at all. Perhaps Guydelot simply feared if he brought the subject up once more, Sanson might take it as encouragement.

For surely if the man had any... any interest in Sanson at all, he would have seized the opportunity to say something, anything?

But then, why should he have any interest to speak of?

'Sanson the Stiff has no soul,' he reminds himself, bitter, as he finally drags himself back to his feet. His coat can remain here to dry; no one here will steal it... and he needs to walk a while, to clear his head. To sort out the tangles in his heart.

He stays well clear of the bloody business surrounding the fallen bandersnatches, making his way out of Tailfeather's walls with only an incurious glance from one of the huntsmen on guard duty. Sanson keeps his lance ready, just in case, but the forest is oddly quiet today - not yet recovered from the noise and confusion of the attack on the camp, no doubt. Still, he keeps to the paths well-trodden by the hunters, the better not to lose his way as his mind wanders.

Why had he offered to... to join Guydelot? Yes, very well, so he can admit to himself that he finds the man ludicrously attractive - those eyes, those shoulders, those hands, that infuriating little smirk, that voice... but they are on a mission, after all, and Sanson knows better than to indulge in these base urges while he should be otherwise engaged - had he not vented his frustrations about Guydelot doing that very thing to Eve? And here he is, lusting after the man himself, and mewling to himself when his adolescent fumbling goes unrewarded!

He doesn't want you, he tells himself, firmly. Why should he want you?

Why indeed. For all their animosity at the journey's outset, Sanson could swear they've grown closer here in Tailfeather, waiting for Master Sylviel to return. They've spoken more, argued less - and when they do argue, it feels less barbed. Almost... nearly friendly, nearly banter. It has given Sanson time to pause and reflect - on their journey thus far, on Celaine's words...

Gods, but he's made a fool of himself on this mission! Taking a stranger's words for truth in Ishgard, when he'd believed wholeheartedly that Guydelot had set out to fight a knight out of blind jealousy... failing to question Celaine as to the nature of her song... Matron, even as far back as the start of the journey, when he'd lashed out at Guydelot in his disappointment, taking out his fury at their superiors on his would-be partner, who didn't even desire to undertake the mission in the first place!

If we had started off better, then perhaps...

Perhaps what? Perhaps he might even now be in bed with the bard, coaxing him to moan with that beautiful voice of his? Perhaps his kiss on the road might have been reciprocated; perhaps they would have spent that night together, after all.

Stop! Just stop thinking about it! He stops walking, drawing in deep breaths, as though thinking of what might have been has left him winded. It makes no difference whatsoever what mad daydreams he might entertain - what of the Ballad of Oblivion? What of his mission? Here he is, mooning over a bard who has made plain his lack of interest, when his mission remains unfulfilled! Surely there must be something productive he can do with this time; after all, there is no promise that this Sylviel will know anything useful. He must make a plan for what they will do if it turns out that this whole venture was a dead end.

That's the trouble, he decides, beginning to walk again, nodding decisively to himself. That's the entire problem - he is stuck here, with no progress to be made but to wait, and so his mind is straying down all the wrong paths. Never has he done well with idleness. Perhaps, he thinks, perhaps a bit cruelly, he ought to ask Guydelot how slacking is done.

And now he is thinking of Guydelot again.

When had he even begun falling for Guydelot the Spent, anyway? It feels as though he woke up one day and realized he'd wanted the man all along, but that cannot be true. He recalls no stir of desire when first they met, nor on the road to Ishgard; in Ishgard itself, he remembers only frustration and indignation. In Falcon's Nest they chafed at one another, constantly snapping and snarling like caged dogs.

And yet.

And yet he remembers recognizing, here and there, that perhaps the bard was handsome enough in the right lighting - or that he looked beautiful when he smiled, when he laughed. Sanson recalls admiring him from a distance one evening, watching while Guydelot put on the charm to coax a lovely young Falcon's Nest mason back to somewhere quiet and private. The way he'd gazed at her from beneath his eyelashes, pitching his voice low and private... Sanson recalls thinking the woman never stood a chance. He'd thought it a cynical musing at the time, but perhaps...

Perhaps he'd envied her. Her and the others Guydelot passed his nights with; perhaps he envied them for sharing in his company, and for their satisfied glow in the mornings.

Envy all you like. He's not for you. Take his refusal for an answer, and do not pursue him again.

It hurts, he realizes. Hurts a good deal more than it ought to.

Matron save him. Has he fallen for Guydelot?

No. That is absurd. Absurd and impossible - they don't even like one another, let alone love, and they have known one another for scarcely more than two moons - two bitter, antagonistic moons, at that.

But he feels himself drawn to the bard, more and more. The feeling that rises in him when Guydelot comes sauntering up to him these days is no longer simply resigned frustration tempered by simmering fury - it's become something altogether more complex; a strange, fluttering sensation, somewhere between anxiety and... and...

Joy. He shudders a laugh, mirthless. Joy. Just as Celaine advised.

Gods help him.

One more deep breath, and he stands still once more, gazing skyward. Let it go, he advises himself, willing whatever it is he feels to wither and die, before it grows to poison whatever small friendship he and Guydelot may stand to salvage. Let it go, and let something easier grow in its place. Friends, yes; he can manage to be a friend to Guydelot, he believes - a friend and, perhaps, one day, a worthy commander. Yes, it's for the best after all that nothing comes of his foolish infatuation, he realizes, for one day he does hope to have Guydelot join his unit - provided they successfully complete this mission. Which will, of course, be a good deal easier once Sanson gets his mind back on track.

Guydelot's lack of interest in him can only be a good thing, he assures himself, turning to return to Tailfeather, resolved.

He grimaces as he walks, recalling abruptly the peculiar little smile on the bard's face when he'd said, "Some other time." Perhaps he won't simply pretend it never happened, after all, Sanson realizes - no, this will be the perfect opportunity to relentlessly tease Sanson the Stiff for his foolishness. Ah, well. He cannot claim he hasn't earned it, and in being prepared for the ridicule, he supposes, he may be better prepared to shrug it off.

He hopes.

#sanson smyth #guydelot thildonnet #my writing #i thiiiiink there'll be a third part of this

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awesometothe3rd · 3 years

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“What is wrong with you?”

#Legacies #legaciesedit #landon kirby #hope mikaelson #handon #handonedit #I love Hope but this line HURT.#You can see the concern on her face but it's that sliver of judgement in her voice that really cuts.#And you can see in his eyes how much it pained him to have her look at him like that. Like he was a monster or something.#A stranger she didn't recognize.#He's surrounded by all these people who are staring and judging and are afraid of him. But it's only her opinion that truly matters.#It's her voice that pulled him out of his feral state.#Broke him free of his frenzy.#And to then hear her ask that question with that face... it just ends him.#The world around him comes rushing back and it’s like he can’t breath.#His bloodied hand is still balled up tightly into a fist like he needs to protect himself #Like he's still fighting a battle he can't see #And her question lands this critical blow that makes him realize he's shattered that fragile image she still had of him #It confirms that he's still the same mess he thought he was all those weeks ago when he finally got out the prison world #The mess he didn't want her to ever see #She wants to help him. To understand. But he never felt he deserved her love and now that he’s this shell of his former self #he knows he doesn’t.#they're both hurting for different reasons and it's hurt breaking to watch #I just need their reunion already #thanks for coming to my landon/handon breakdown

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ninetailedfoxmanchi · 3 years

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Mafia! BTS! Yandere - Rival Gang Member Tries to Hurt You but They Think You Wanted to Escape

Warnings: yandere, toxic, trigger warning, explicit violence, abuse, profanity etc. -> read at your own risk <-

He was still at work while you waited at the apartment as always. When the door opened, you were certain it was him but you were deeply mistaken. There was no greeting nor another sound so you went to the lobby to see what was going on. You clutched your book to your chest, breath catching in the back of your throat as your eyes fell upon a stranger. The man looked up at you, the door behind him opened.

"So, it's true," he spoke, a smirk growing on his lips, "I thought I'd get some documents but I see M/N's got a new toy."

You quickly took a step back as the man entered into the apartment, your mind rushing with countless thoughts, beginning with how the man even knew the code of the lock.

He ran his thumb across his lips, closing the door behind him but he did not notice he left it cracked open.

"Who... Who are y-you?" you stuttered, taking a step back for each he took forward.

"I'm M/N's friend," he spoke slyly. You did not believe him, you couldn't.

The book fell from your hands as you ran into a sprint but the man was right on your track. You stumbled against the coffee table and cut your knee on the edge, whimpering out in pain. The man grabbed your arm tightly, but you managed to yank it free. The marks of his fingernails traced your forearm when he tripped himself and hit his head on the edge of the sofa.

You went for the front door and swung it open as tears streamed down your face. You made it down the hallway but as you turned the corner to the elevator, you collided with none other than M/N.

Jin

Jin grabbed your arms and stopped you on your tracks. His eyes widened in shock of you escaping but his eyebrows formed a terrible frown. You were breathing heavily as you stared up into his eyes, shaking like a leaf. His grip on your arms grew tighter and tighter. You wanted to tell him what was going on, but nothing would come out but dry sobs as you began to hyperventilate.

"Where do you think you're going, princess?" growled Jin so close to your face you wanted to melt with the wall. You only managed to shake your head as tears fell down your cheeks uncontrollably.

"Were you trying to fucking escape?" he asked, his entire body trembling with anger. You were shaking your head like mad but you could not manage a single word out of your mouth.

It was then that the man caught up to you and you winced so hard you nearly dislocated both of your shoulders in Jin's grip. He looked at the man then back at you who were now staring at the ground and shaking like mad.

In an instant, Jin let go of you and jumped the man, knocking him on the ground easily as his fists rained on the stranger's face. You dropped to the floor and hugged your knees, flinching when you heard the bones crack. The guy managed a swing at Jin before he knocked him out yet Jin did not stop. The rage radiating off him was biblical. Jin almost broke his promise and hurt you for thinking you were trying to escape when it was this man's fault all along.

Sweat dripped off Jin's forehead, his white shirt sticking to his back once he was finished with the guy. He knew him too. The stranger was part of a rival mafia yet his position was insignificant.

Jin was sitting on the ground and pacing his breath as were you. His knuckles were bloodied and bruised like you had never seen them before.

"It's okay, princess," he breathed, "Come here." Jin opened his arms for you. You hesitated at first, seeing the blood drip from his hands but you needed him. You quickly scooted into his arms, pressed your head against his shoulder and buried your nose into his neck.

You began sobbing hard, your entire body shaking as your fists balled around Jin's shirt.

"It's okay, princess, it's okay," he whispered against your ear, running his fingers through your hair. Jin picked you up and carried you to his apartment where he saw what had happened without having to ask. He left butterfly kisses on your forehead, your cheeks and your lips, trying to make it up for doubting his princess.

Namjoon

You felt sick to your stomach as you and Namjoon stared at each other. You were breathing heavily, your entire body feeling as if it were on fire.

"T-There..." you began but you couldn't manage a full sentence because you were trembling so much. Tears fell from your eyes as you tried to pace your breathing but it only got worse and worse.

Namjoon propped your chin up and made you look him in the eye. He was frowning terribly yet he thought your reaction was due to you thinking he caught you trying to escape.

A blind-red rage stormed behind Namjoon's eyes and you could tell exactly what he was thinking. His palm slipped down your jaw and to your neck, slowly pushing you against the wall. Breath got knocked out of your chest and your eyes widened. You shook your head frantically, trying to explain what was going on but you could not find the words.

"Are you trying to escape, princess?" asked Namjoon as he was in disbelief himself.

"N-No," you managed to stutter and wrapped your delicate hands around his arm that was holding you pinned against the wall.

"What are you doing here then?" he asked lowly and tilted his head to the side. His nostrils flared and his jaw clenched.

Your assaulter stumbled into the hallway, reaching you at last.

"You little bitch," he growled, pacing his breath. His lip was bust, his mouth full of blood as he bore his teeth before his eyes fell upon Namjoon.

You whimpered, clutching your hand around Namjoon's shirt when your gaze met the stranger's.

"Who the fuck are you?" asked Namjoon so threateningly it sent shivers down your spine. He let you go immediately and pushed you behind his back. The man turned pale as a wall and you let out a quiet sob. Namjoon turned around, his heart giving a squeeze.

"It's okay, I'm sorry, princess," he whispered and caressed you cheek. You nodded, sniffling back some tears. "Look away now, okay?"

You nodded again yet he could not stop you from hearing loud bangs of his gun.

Namjoon stood over the body of the assaulter, noticing a distinctive tattoo on his wrist. He was a member of a rival mafia yet it seemed he was not very good at what he did unlike Namjoon.

When he turned around, you were already hurrying back to the apartment on the other side of the long hallway. When he saw little drops of blood leaving a trace behind you, his stomach twisted into knots. Namjoon ran after you, reaching you just before you could lock yourself in the bathroom. He caught the door with his hand and came in after you.

"Baby," he breathed, "Are you hurt?" Namjoon cupped your cheeks, his heart beating faster for not thinking of this first instead of thinking you wanted to escape.

He saw the cut on your knee and the scratches on your forearm. Namjoon sat you up on the counter and placed a wet towel on your knee, apologizing over and over again for thinking you'd want to leave him. He gently caressed some lotion into the scratches on your arm that did not hurt that much, but he bandaged your knee well.

You pulled your legs up on the counter and hugged them, leaning your head on top of your knees.

"I'm sorry, princess. This is all my fucking fault," said Namjoon and raised your chin. "I should have kept you safe." He brushed the hair from your face and caressed your head, placing soft kisses on your forehead.

Yoongi

Yoongi steadied you as you stumbled backwards, his lips parting but his eyebrows falling into a horrible frown.

"C-Come on," you stuttered in between sobs, "We.. We have t-to go!"

You pulled on Yoongi's hand and tried to go for the elevator but he did not move from his spot. Instead, he yanked your arm towards him and trapped you against the wall with his entire body. His forehead almost leaned against your own as you got knocked out of air. Your eyes widened because you knew immediately what he was thinking.

You began shaking your head as you looked down, your entire body trembling like it was below zero.

"Where the fuck do you think you're going, huh, kitten?" asked Yoongi and propped up your chin so that you looked him in the eye.

"We... We have to go," you stuttered so quietly he barely heard you but he did. Yoongi frowned even worse.

"I know we do," he growled, although he was referring to your punishment.

Your eyes widened and you felt something warm trickle down your leg out of pure fear - you peed yourself. You were trembling and your mouth was opening and closing but no words came out of your mouth so that you could explain what was going on.

At the same moment, the man who tried to hurt you caught up to you. You whimpered and dropped to the floor, covering your head to protect yourself.

Yoongi looked at the man and his bloodied temple then back at you.

"You fucking-" snarled Yoongi and grabbed the man's collar before he slammed him into the wall, leaving a dint in it. The man tried a swing at him but Yoongi dodged it easily. His lip twitched with anger when he shoved his fist at the man and broke his nose with a sickening crack. The man dropped to his knees, holding his face but Yoongi was just beginning. He sent a kick to his abdomen and another and another. Then he climbed on top of the man and began raining his fists on him until he lost consciousness and his face was unrecognizable.

Blood dripped off Yoongi's knuckles, his face splashed with tiny red drops as he turned to you. His eyes fell on the nail marks on your forearm, the bloody cut on your knee where you hit the coffee table.

Yoongi licked his lips as he paced his breath and closed his eyes in regret.

"We... We have to go," it replayed in his head. You wanted to protect him too, although you did not know he did not need to be protected. Protecting was something needed by those who tried to come at you.

Yoongi got to his feet but you did not even react. You were staring at the floor, hugging your knees. Your face was stung by tears, your lips parted as you breathed shakily.

"It's okay, baby," whispered Yoongi when he picked you up and leaned his forehead against your temple as he carried you into the apartment. Some of the furniture was knocked over, but Yoongi only closed the front door with his leg and carried you to the bathroom. He helped you take off your clothes as he drew you a bath.

"It's okay, baby, it's okay... I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," he whispered, although deep down he could not help but wonder how guy even got into the apartment. His heart was beating fast at the thought of leaving you alone again and him being too late.

Yoongi caressed your cheek and kissed your forehead, leaning your head against his shoulder as you broke down into another heart-breaking sob.

Hoseok

Hoseok's lips parted and his chest tensed before his eyebrows furrowed into a frown - you had all seen it before and the thought made you whimper.

"I... I didn't... I promise I d-didn't... T-There's..." you pointed at the hallway but you couldn't manage to tell Hoseok what had happened. Instead, your heart caught in your throat and your insides twisted into knots as Hoseok took a step towards you. You backed away and hit the wall immediately, but managed to slip past and ran back towards the apartment.

Hoseok was on your track, his heavy steps making you sob out in fear. It felt like you had nowhere to go to. Before you could reach the door, Hoseok grabbed your elbow, your back colliding with his.

"What did I tell you about running away, baby?" he murmured against your ear as you began crying. Your chest shook with sobs, your nails digging into Hoseok's forearms.

"I... I didn't," you stuttered, a loud gasp escaping your lips at the sight of the strange man stumbling from the apartment. For but a split second, you thought that Hoseok might have planned this, that it was some sort of test and he was going to hand you to the man.

You started crying even harder and backed away into Hoseok's chest, begging him not to let the man hurt you. Hoseok held you close, his glare flickering between the familiar stranger and you. The man tried to push past Hoseok, but he slammed the man against the wall by his throat, releasing you immediately.

"Who the fuck are you and what the fuck are you doing in my apartment?" snarled Hoseok against the man's face. Hoseok recognized him from one of the gang throw-downs. He was just a nobody. They were crazy to send such a pup to deal with Hoseok.

"Nevermind," said Hoseok, pulled a gun from behind his waist and shot the man in the head. Blood splattered across Hoseok's face as you screamed, running into the apartment. You hid under the kitchen table, crying your eyes out.

Soon you heard Hoseok's footsteps approach you and you quietened down like a mouse. Your body was trembling like a leaf, waiting for what was going to happen. Hoseok pulled out one of the chairs and made you flinch as he knelt down to look at you.

"It's okay, baby, you can come out," he soothed and offered you his hand but you backed away.

"I-I didn't... I didn't try... t-try to escape," you stuttered, salty tears wetting your mouth.

"I know, I know that now, baby. You were such a good girl," Hoseok praised you gently and held out his hand a bit longer. You glanced between his hand and his eyes, wondering if he was being serious.

"It's okay, baby," he whispered again, his hair falling onto his eyes. You carefully scooted towards him until he could reach you with both of his arms. Hoseok picked you up and sat down with you in his lap.

"It's okay," he kept repeating as he caressed your cheek and softly kissed you lips.

"What's this?" asked Hoseok and rubbed your knee where it was not cut. He sat you on the kitchen table and placed a band aid over your knee. He saw the fingernail marks on your hand too and you saw what your own nails did to Hoseok's forearms.

"I'm sorry," you mumbled and started crying again.

"Oh, it's okay... It's okay, baby, it was my fault," said Hoseok and made you look him in the eye. He brushed the tears off your face and kissed the top of your nose.

Jimin

Jimin frowned immediately, his jaw locking tightly. His hand snapped to your neck and slammed you against the wall. Breath caught in the back of your throat and your eyes spilled with tears.

"One thing," said Jimin darkly, "I asked you one thing - and you can't do it," he growled against your lips, his eyes narrowing.

"I-I didn't..." you stuttered quickly but it was not fast enough. Jimin slammed his hand into the wall right beside your head, making a dint into the plaster and you cower. You shut your eyes tight and sobbed aloud, your stomach shrinking entirely. You were nauseous out of fear, barely keeping the sickness down.

"P-Please, I... I didn't t-try to escape... N-Not from y-you," you stuttered again yet so quickly Jimin could barely understand you. His grip on your throat tightened, leaving a bruise for the future days.

"I told you I'll have to punish you if you tried to escape, kitten. Why didn't you obey me?" he snarled against your face, his forehead touching yours. You sobbed even louder, turning your head aside.

Your eyes widened and although there were tears in your eyes, you could see it well enough. It was the strange man but he had a gun in his hand, one of Jimin's guns from the apartment. You whimpered, causing Jimin to follow your gaze. Every emotion drained off his face.

The gun was aimed at Jimin, not at you, but the rookie's hands were shaking almost as much as your own. Jimin's nostrils flared as he frowned so deeply it made you shiver. With a single move, he grabbed the man's gun and turned it around in his hand, noticing the man did not even remove the safety guard. After doing so, Jimin emptied the gun into the man's head until it was not even a head anymore.

You scrambled off the floor and ran back into the apartment, Jimin's gaze following you before his legs did. He locked the door behind him and put away his empty gun before calling his men to clean up the mess. Then he took a walk around the apartment searching for you. You were not in the living room where he saw the furniture knocked over, nor the kitchen, not under the table or in the bathroom. He pushed the door to his bedroom open last, yet you were not there either.

Jimin frowned yet as he scanned the room, he noticed the door to his walk-in closet open. He made his way inside, finding you sitting curled up at the bottom of one of his shirt closets. You were hugging your knees close to your chest, the blood from your cut smeared across your calf. You were crying quietly, your body shivering.

"What are you doing here, kitten?" asked Jimin softly and knelt down beside you. You whimpered and backed away, although there was nowhere to go.

"Shh, shh, shh," Jimin soothed the moment he saw you this afraid. "Why don't you tell me what happened, baby?" he suggested, trying to get you to talk to him.

It worked because with a little bit of trouble you told him exactly what happened. If the guy had not been dead, Jimin would have ended him all over again because the sole thought of another man touching you made him burn inside.

"I'm sorry I thought you were trying to run away when you're being such a good girl," said Jimin once you had finished talking. He caressed your cheek with the back of his index, brushing away some of your tears. You could not help but look up when he called you 'good girl' because it made your heart skip a beat.

"You... You're not m-mad at me?" you whispered.

"I'm not mad at you, kitten," said Jimin and tucked a loose lock of hair behind your ear before you melted your cheek into the warmth of his palm.

Taehyung

You and Taehyung were staring at each other. His eyes sparkled like diamonds and an amused smile spread across his lips. He ran his index down your nose, brushing away a tear from your lip.

"Where are you going, kitty?" he asked calmly and took a step towards you to which you backed away immediately. You would rather have him shout at you than be this calm because you had no idea what he was thinking.

"I... I..." you stuttered, "There... There's s-someone," you wanted to tell him everything that's happened but you couldn't find the words.

"How did you get out of the apartment?" asked Taehyung bemused and walked towards you but for each step he took you took a step back. He was still smiling and it sent shivers down your spine.

"P-Please..." you whispered as more tears slipped down your cheek, "Please h-help... Help me," you stuttered just as your back hit the wall and Taehyung stopped but an inch away frown you. He narrowed his eyes at you, his smile disappearing entirely as a frown fell onto his big brown eyes. He was taken back by your request, somehow not fitting in the context.

Taehyung licked his lips, trying to touch your cheek but you turned your head and shielded yourself with your hands. There he saw the nail marks on your forearm and the tremble in your body. He glanced down, noticing a bloody trickle down your leg.

His lips parted and as he was about to ask you what happened, the man who managed to get into the apartment rushed after you. His head was bleeding from where he hit himself against the sofa but there was red in his eyes too - red from anger. Yet when he saw Taehyung by your side, his knees went weak and his cheeks as pale as the wall.

Taehyung's nostrils flared before he charged at the man, taking him off his feet easily. He knocked him on the ground and rained down heavy, sickening punches.

"Did you touch her?" he shouted at the strange man and you winced with every punch Taehyung served.

"DID YOU FUCKING TOUCH HER?!" roared Taehyung so loudly you nearly peed yourself from fear. But the man could not respond him. He was unconscious or even dead, but that did not stop Taehyung from hitting his face.

Blood dripped from his hands and face when he was done with him. Taehyung was breathing heavily, little drops of sweat gathering on his forehead as he turned to look at you. You were staring at the floor, your entire body shaking.

When Taehyung got up and approached you, you pulled your legs in and hugged your body. He knelt down in front of you and waited as long as necessary for you to look up. When you did, the softness in his eyes made your heart skip a beat. Your chin quivered and your cried again but you scooted into his arms as well.

"Shh, it's okay, kitten, it's over," he spoke, running his fingers through your hair. "Do you want to go home?"

You nodded, sniffling against his neck as you wrapped your trembling arms around his neck.

Jungkook

Breath caught at the back of your throat at the sight of Jungkook. Your first instinct was to wrap your arms around him and hide in his chest, but he beat you to it yet not in a good way.

"Where the fuck do you think you're going little kitten?" he whisper-growled against your lips and trapped your arms above your head. Jungkook's perfume hit your nostrils, leaving goosebumps down your arms.

"What did I tell you?" he snarled, "I told you not to try and escape if you don't want to get punished, kitten."

Shivers ran down your spine and your stomach twisted into hard knots that made you nauseous. Your lips parted to say something but nothing came out. You wanted to scream at the top of your lungs of what happened, that the man was coming, but you couldn't force yourself to speak.

Holding your arms above your head, Jungkook noticed fingernail marks on your forearms and frowned even more if that was even possible. Then his glare flickered to the rest of your body, scanning you head to toe. There was a trickle of blood running down your calf from where you cut your knee.

The man finally caught up with you, stumbling because of the cut he gave himself on his temple. He was out of breath but when he saw Jungkook he stopped breathing entirely.

You whimpered and hid behind Jungkook, clutching onto his shirt. He turned around and took a good look at you, then glared at the man. The longer he stared at him, the more Jungkook realized he actually knew him. He was a member of a rival gang yet his role was as insignificant as that of a fly. They must have sent him if he succeeded in his mission by some miracle but they wouldn't miss him if he failed which he did.

In a heartbeat, Jungkook pulled a gun from behind his back and emptied the entire clip into the man's body. He started from his feet and ended with the last bullet into his brain so that the man felt the pain of every other body part.

You turned around for the whole of it, covering your ears and shutting your eyes as you dropped to your knees. When it was all long over, the banging still echoed in your head.

Jungkook tried picking you up into his arms but you flinched, not knowing he was done already. You looked up, your eyes meeting his. You threw your arms around his neck and hugged him tightly.

"I... I didn't... I really didn't try to escape... I promise, I promise, Jungkook," you cried and held onto him for dear life.

"Shh, I know, I know," spoke he and picked you up, "You're such a good girl, kitten, such a good girl..." whispered Jungkook reassuringly as he carried you back into the apartment.

He sat in bed with you in his arms, pressing a cold wet towel to your bruised knee. He ran his thumb across the fingernail marks on your forearm, his body nearly shaking with anger at the thought of someone else touching your beautiful, soft skin. Jungkook kissed your forehead and ran his fingers through your hair, trying to pace his anger. Suddenly he felt regret he had not left the man alive longer because his death would have been much sweeter.

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nightttdreamers · 2 years

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Dude (Lovingly) / Stan x Kyle

hi heres my first south park fic :) u can read it on ao3 as well. i hope to write more so any and all feedback is appreciated and will bring me immense joy. thanks!

Link | 3k words | One-shot

Kyle knows something is wrong. Not just because Stan just climbed through his window with a nasty bruise on his cheek and a bloody nose, but because he won't tell him why.

AKA, late night conversations and confessions

“This is gonna sting,” Kyle says, holding the cotton ball just above the other’s brow, hovering. Stan makes a noise that barely counts as words, but it's enough of an answer for Kyle to continue. He presses the cotton ball to the open wound, trying to keep the pressure light. Still, he can see Stan wince, pulling away from him slightly. “Stop shifting around or its gonna take longer.”

“Sorry,” Stan looks up at him with a surprising sincerity that instantly makes Kyle feel like an asshole. This isn’t the first time he’s cleaned Stan up. The two have stuck band-aids on each other and even gone to the emergency room together for as long as they’ve been friends. They have their cadence; Kyle barks at Stan for doing whatever stupid thing that got him hurt, and Stan rolls his eyes and tells Kyle he doesn’t need another mom. But this isn’t like the times before, everything feels off. Stan isn’t meeting his eyes, just picking at the cuts on his knuckles. Kyle doesn’t often find himself at a loss for words with Stan, but every time he tries to talk, his mouth just feels dry.

He takes in the other’s state, watching Stan’s slumped posture as he sits on Kyle’s bed. When he gets close, he gets the faintest whiff of beer from Stan’s breath, but he doesn��t seem drunk, just exhausted. Kyle sits at his desk chair which has been pushed to the bed, giving him some height over the other.

“Is it bad?” Stan asks, breaking the silence.

Kyle pulls the cotton ball away, having cleaned most of the blood off. It’s not deep, but it did split the skin on his eyebrow. He pulls away, looking over Stan’s face, taking in the bruise beginning to blossom on his cheek and the dry blood beneath his nose. “Could be worse, I guess.”

“Let me stay here tonight.”

Stan says this suddenly, taking Kyle’s wrist and pulling his hand down, forcing the ginger to look him in the eyes. Kyle recognizes that desperate look, Stan’s gotten worse at hiding it over the years. Or Kyle’s gotten better at reading him.

“Yeah, sure, okay,” Kyle says with a short nod, reaching back to the first-aid kit for a band aid. “I still have shit to do, though. Fucking gov’ test tomorrow.”

“I know,” Stan says, gaze returning to his knuckles. A small smirk crosses his lips. “Maybe I’ll go hang with Ike. Show him my badass new injuries”

Kyle punches his arm, though not as hard as he usually would. “That’s not funny, dude. He looks up to you, to all of us. I don’t want you guys rubbing off on him.” Kyle reaches to put a bandaid on Stan’s face, but he pulls back.

“Because it would be so awful if he turns out like me, right?” Stan asks. He doesn’t sound angry, voice falling flat, it’s hardly a question.

Kyle presses his lips together tightly, he doesn’t want to be the second person to fight Stan tonight. “Getting his shit rocked by Eric Cartman on a Thursday? Yeah, I don’t want my little brother turning out like that.” His voice is tight, but there are much worse things he could say.

Stan lets out a little puff of breath, but doesn’t say anything else. Kyle presses the bandaid to his brow, then kicks his desk chair back away from the bed. “Which, by the way, is so fucking middle school of you.”

Stan rolls his eyes, leaning back against the wall. They’ve just started their senior year, and though there’s been plenty of petty fights between their circle, it’s been a while since anyone’s had a playground-style fist fight. “I’m tired of him, dude, I should’ve wrecked his ass a long time ago.” He sits up a bit. “Wait, that came out wrong-”

Kyle snorts. “Sounds like I missed a pretty homoerotic brawl.”

“Shut up!” Stan retorts, voice raising. Kyle’s smile falls and Stan leans back once more. “Why do we still put up with him? Because he has these little moments of humanity? He’s a total shithead.”

Out of the four, actually, out of their entire grade, no one hates Eric Cartman more than Kyle. It’s a deep-rooted type of hate, the scowl that comes across Kyle’s face at the mention of the other is intrinsic at this point. Though he’d love to take the time to go on a ramble about why Cartman deserved to be ditched years and years ago, there’s something brewing in Stan right now that stops him. Kyle can practically feel the rage radiating off him.

“I mean, yeah. We’ve known this forever. I don’t get how he could’ve said something so bad that you’d literally fight him, though. Since we’ve been listening to him spew the same stupid shit for years.”

Stan looks at Kyle for a while, something unplaceable about his gaze. Kyle just looks back, brow furrowed, waiting for an answer until Stan speaks up.

“Don’t you have to study?” He asks, looking at the open textbooks on the other’s desk.

Kyle looks down at them, forgetting what he was doing before Stan came climbing through his window earlier. “Uh, yeah.”

Stan nods curtly. “I’ll be quiet.” Before Kyle can speak again, Stan is already kicking his sneakers off, laying down on Kyle’s bed. He curls up, avoiding Kyle’s pillows, simply rolling over to face the wall. How quickly he can shut down a conversation is frustrating, but it’s typical Stan.

When you see someone basically every day since birth, it's hard to notice the gradual changes in them. Stan is a fixture in Kyle’s life, an extension of himself. Wherever he is, whoever he’s with, Stan’s impression can be felt. There was nothing else Kyle was more sure of than his best friend. People would make jokes about them in elementary school. Then, snide comments and taunts in middle school. The boys learned to be quieter, stop walking home together every day, and spend time with other kids. None of their friends would understand what it was like to have someone that was just as important in your life as your right hand. Of course, Kyle noticed when Stan started changing. It just took him some time to realize that same sadness that had followed him since they were little was starting to consume him. Sure, his random emo phases told everyone else that Stan was hurting, but there was something deeper, something below-the-surface. Kyle was sure that he was the only person who could see it. Stan knew he couldn’t lie to his best friend when he asked what was wrong, so he’d simply close himself off.

Staring at Stan’s back, Kyle let out a breath. He hated when he shut down like this. Still, he’d return to his desk, opening his textbooks to attempt some practice questions. This was the routine they’d fallen into. It started with more impromptu sleepovers on weekends, then during the week. Stan would show up at the front door or climb through his window depending on what time he’d show up. Sometimes he brought video games, sometimes he brought his headphones, sometimes he smelled like pot or booze. If Kyle didn’t have work, the two would stay up and mess around, talk. If he did, Stan would keep to himself, playing games on mute and listening to music. Right now, he was just laying there, silent except for his breathing.

Kyle studied for what felt like ages, but was probably closer to an hour. He was consumed with thoughts of Stan to properly focus anyway. Why did he fight Cartman? Did he finally snap? Were they too drunk? Wasn’t Kenny with them, why didn’t he stop it? Most concerning, why wouldn’t he talk to him about it? Kyle closed his textbook, making a big gesture of it so Stan would know he was done. It worked, the dark-haired boy rolling over to face the other. “You done?” Stan asked.

Kyle nodded before standing and heading over to his closet. He pulled his sweatshirt off, looking back at Stan. “You want pajamas?”

“No, that’s okay,” he replied. Kyle grabbed a clean t-shirt and sweatpants, heading to the bathroom wordlessly. They knew their nighttime routine by now. He took a quick shower, returning to his room after changing into the pajamas. Stan had done the same, sitting cross-legged on the bed in his boxers and t-shirt.

Kyle stood in the doorway for a second, just looking at Stan. His hair was getting longer. When it covered his face like this, hiding the bruises, he looked younger. Football had bulked Stan up a little, but he quit last year, so he’d lost that visible muscle. Kyle had a quiet pride for the few inches of height he had over the other. Stan was fit, built despite how he stopped trying to maintain it, while Kyle stayed gangly no matter how much he tried to change.

“You can keep a pair of pajamas here if you don’t want to squeeze into mine,” Kyle said, crossing his arms. “What is this, the third night you’ve slept here this week?”

Stan rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah, it is. Shit, sorry, I should just head back to mine. I didn’t really want my mom to see me, but she’s gonna see it anyway. I’ll go-”

“Woah, Stan,” Kyle stepped forward just as Stan stood up, grabbing the hem of his sleeve. “Dude, I’m not kicking you out. I’m literally trying to tell you that you’re welcome here.”

Stan turned back to him, his face all scrunched up. “Yeah, but you’re trying to study and you’ve got important shit and I get that you’re being nice ‘cause we’re friends but you can tell me to fuck off, I can handle it.”

“Why are you saying this shit? I just said I don’t have a problem with you being here!”

“But do you want me to be here?”

A silence fell over the two. Stan’s breathing was shallow as he held Kyle’s gaze. That dry mouth feeling returned, but Kyle swallowed it down. “Of course I want you here, dude.”

Stan sat down on the bed, resting his elbows on his knees. “Sorry. Um, I haven’t really been able to sleep.”

Kyle sat cross-legged beside him, hands folded in his lap. “I can tell.”

Stan looked over at him briefly. “Really.”

“I mean, you’ve got bags under your eyes and you slept through two classes the other day. It’s not hard to tell. Do you know why?”

Stan shook his head, his foot tapping restlessly. “It’s easier when I’m with you. I mean, like, in your house. I dunno, probably because it’s not my room. It’s weird.”

Kyle doesn’t refute that immediately. It is a little weird, being told that Stan can’t sleep unless they’re together. But, he does sleep a lot better with the other beside him, even if they don’t touch, just feeling Stan’s weight and warmth beside him is enough. “I get it.”

Stan is quiet, shifting to face Kyle. “Cartman called you a faggot earlier.”

It stings to hear, but mostly because it’s Stan saying that word. Cartman’s been throwing slurs at him since they were nine, it doesn’t quite have an impact anymore. “Cartman says shit like that all the time.”

“No, not like he did tonight,” Stan says. “He asked me where you were. Me, him, and Kenny went to Stark’s. We were kinda drunk, throwing shit at the ice, whatever. He asked me where my boyfriend was and I told him to kiss my ass. He kept going, saying that you probably went to the motel to suck Mr. Garrison off for an A in the class. And I warned him to shut up, but he just wouldn’t fucking stop-”

“Stan, Cartman calls me gay more than he calls me by my actual name. Who gives a shit what he says? Why are you letting him get to you?” Kyle asks. He can see the anger building up in Stan again, his fists clenching.

“He didn’t say gay, Kyle. Not fairy, not gay, not queer, not even fag. He looked me in the eyes and said you were a faggot and that you-”

“Stop it! Jesus! I don’t wanna hear this shit!” Kyle gave Stan a shove, but the other wouldn’t give up.

“I had to hear it! I’ve had to hear it for years! He doesn’t get to talk about you like that!” Stan’s getting as loud as he can without risking waking Kyle’s parents up, his face getting red.

“So you fought him? I don’t need you getting hurt for me, you’re not my fucking boyfriend, Stan.”

This hit a nerve, Kyle could see it. Stan didn’t stop though, talking over him. “He can’t say that kind of shit about anyone! I can’t just sit and listen to him anymore!”

“What changed? Where was this attitude when Cartman was making my life hell? God, who cares if he calls us gay? He’s a fucking idiot!”

“Because it hurts, Kyle!” Stan’s voice breaks and he looks down before Kyle can look him in the eyes. “I care if he calls us gay. I know he’s an asshole, I know he’s an idiot, it doesn’t change the fact that what he says hurts.”

Stan can’t hide his feelings, never could, not from Kyle. He’s breathing heavily, fists clenched, cheeks red, looking anywhere but straight ahead. Kyle watches him, jaw tense. His chest feels tight, like it’s about to burst. How could he be so blind? Stan’s been protective of him, sure, but why else would getting called gay make him so mad? His brain works this out quicker than his mouth, and when Kyle tries to speak, all that comes out is a very stupid “Why?”

Stan looks at him, finally, letting out a breath. “God, you’re so fucking stupid,” is all he says before he leans forward, his lips crashing against Kyle’s. They stay like that for a moment, lips pressed together awkwardly. Kyle doesn’t shove him off, he barely even moves except for a slight parting of his mouth. Stan kisses him for real, not just slamming their faces together. It’s weird, they don’t exactly fit together, their noses squished, and Kyle can feel how Stan is holding his breath the whole time. Stan is the one to pull away, moving slowly at first, then all at once. Kyle can hardly think, only feeling a soft buzz on his lips and the pounding of his heart in his chest. Stan watches him, eyes darting all around his face. “Are you gonna say anything?”

Kyle had forgotten that he needed to speak, he was just trying to breath. “Yeah, once I think of something that doesn’t sound as stupid as ‘Dude.’”

Stan lets out a breath, his lips slowly curling upwards. “Dude.”

Kyle laughs nervously, though it doesn’t sound quite right. “Sorry, fuck. I just- That’s not what I thought you were gonna do. I didn’t know you, uh…”

“That I’m a fucking faggot?” Stan offers, smirking.

This snaps Kyle out of his daze. “Don’t say that! I don’t want to hear you talk about yourself like that.” Stan raises his hands apologetically. Kyle looks at them, then reaches out and takes one in his own. His movements are tentative, he’s not quite sure how to go about this. Sure he’s had flings with girls over the years, but this wasn’t some chick that would dump him in two weeks, it was Stan Marsh. Their hands fall to the bed, Kyle still holding on as Stan curls his fingers around him.

“Sorry. Just, you still haven’t really said anything,” Stan says nervously, and Kyle is surprisingly entertained by the fact that he is making Stan nervous. Before he can quite understand what’s happening, he’s leaning forward to kiss Stan. It’s better this time, still clumsy, but in a sweet way. Kyle uses his hand to pull Stan closer and the momentum continues until Kyle is laying on his back, Stan straddling him. He has no idea how long they stay like that for, but he starts to feel dizzy when Stan puts a hand on his chest.

“Hey-” Kyle says, pulling back. Stan looks down at him like he’s just now realizing he’s on top of his childhood best friend as they make out. “Is- is this okay? I mean, can we just do this?”

Stan understands what he means without further explanation. He lets out a little laugh, flopping onto his back besides Kyle.

“I came out to you like, five minutes ago, Kyle. Yeah, it’s okay if you just wanna kiss. I’m just happy you didn’t kick me out.”

Kyle nods. “Cool, cool.” He shifts a bit, grabbing his comforter from under himself and sliding it over the two. Stan helps, both of them staring up at the ceiling once they’re under the blanket. “I can’t believe we just proved Cartman right.”

Both boys begin laughing at this, taking turns shushing each other and clasping hands over their mouths, which only causes them to laugh more. When they quiet down, they’re facing each other, smiling.

“Sorry it took me so long,” Stan says.

“Sorry I didn’t notice sooner,” Kyle replies. “You don’t have to talk about it more tonight, if you don’t want to. But, I do want to talk more.”

“About what happened with Cartman? Or about,” Stan gestures vaguely between the two of them, “Us?”

Kyle holds on to that for a moment, it’s always been him and Stan, but now there’s an ‘us.’ “We can figure it out in the morning.”

Stan nods, still smiling. “Yeah, okay. So, like, you’re cool with me, um, being gay and also wanting to kiss you and stuff?” His voice is small, it’s adorable. Kyle wants to kiss him again, so he does.

“Of course. You’re my best friend. And stuff.”

That’s the last thing spoken that night. Of course, there’s a million things left unsaid, but for once Kyle’s not rushing to get it all out. Tonight, he’s going to sleep next to his best friend and relish the feeling of their hands still holding each other.

#south park #south park fanfic #fanfiction #stan x kyle #stan marsh/kyle broflovski #style #style south park #style sp #stan marsh #kyle brovlofski #kenny mccormick #eric cartman #friends to lovers #first kiss #confession #one-shot

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quindolyn · 3 years

Note

hello bug! you put your requests off but I’m going to forget if I don’t send it in now (sorry). feel free to ignore until you’re ready love!

james potter stuck in subspace (mommy kink!)

Strawberry Lips || James Potter

Word Count: 2594

A/N: Okay so I’m an idiot, half way through I realized I both had the reader fucking him and a butt plug in and I had to go back and rework it. I procrastinated on his all day so it’s currently 11:!5 and I have to be up at 6 tomorrow and I require 8 hours of sleep to function like a real human being. There’s probably a million little mistakes but I’m too impatient to wait until morning to reread, please tell me if you notice anything super fucked up

Warnings: mommy kink, sub!James, male penetration, my first time writing subspace and all the subspace blurbs I’ve read before have been from the perspective of the submissive so please don’t judge me too harshly on this, slut is used like once, aftercare

Masterlist

800 Follower Celebration

“You can take it, pretty boy,” You murmured, gazing down at him adoringly, flicking your thumb over the weeping head of his overused cock as you pumped your hand up and down his shaft.

You could tell that he was completely submissive to you, from the glazed look in his eyes to the muffled whimpers and gasps that carelessly slipped from his mouth and the way his hips had stopped trying to squirm away from the combined stimulation of your hand on his member, the heavy glass of your strap on pistoning in and out of him. He was a drooling mess for you as you reached with the hand not on his cock to slap his ass, his body jolting at the unexpected, though not unwelcomed contact.

It was like there was fire flowing through your veins, with the alertness one feels after downing a few shots of espresso but minus the jitters that often accompanied it you were completely tuned in to the man before you.

Splayed out on his back you observed with a careful eye the way his thighs clenched in his efforts not to cum until he was given your permission. You studied the furrow of his brow and the drops of glistening sweat rolling down his face, examining every aspect of his appearance to make sure that he was okay.

When James slipped into subspace he slipped hard and more often than not couldn’t even remember his own name, never mind the safe word the two of you had previously established. No, it was up to you to make sure that he was alright, and the very prospect that this man, this beautiful, beautiful man, trusted you enough to allow you to take care of him in such a way was thrilling.

“Taking Mommy’s cock so well baby, is it nice and deep inside of you, making you feel nice and full?” You smiled as you let go of his cock, watching it as it bounced along with the rest of his body, in time with your rough, fast paced strokes.

“Uh huh,” He gasped, squeezing his eyes shut as he offered the pathetic nod of his head, “Feels so good Mommy, want more, want your cock.”

“You’ve already got it, baby, it’s all yours. Or do you want more?” You questioned, slapping his erect, sensitive prick without ever ceasing your thrusts in and out of him, keeping your speed consistent while watching his body jump at the sudden contact.

“Mommy,” He whimpered, his cock throbbing as you traced just the tips of your fingers up and down his shaft.

“Come on baby,” You cooed, trailing your fingertips down his shaft to his balls, taking them in the palm of your hands before griping them tightly, smirking as his face scrunched in pleasure, “How do we ask for more of Mommy’s cock?”

“Please!” He begged unabashedly, “Please Mommy, please!”

“Aw baby,” You lilted, dragging your open palm down the expanse of his muscled chest, moving up and down before finding your way to his nipple which you pinched harshly.

“Owie, Mommy,” James whined trying to squirm away from your touch.

“Gonna cum one more time for Mommy baby,” You decided after dragging your eyes over James’ quivering form to assess him, “One more, can you cum one more time for me, pretty boy?”

You spat onto your hand, returning it to his throbbing length, your ministrations on his member were faster than last time, wanting to get him right to the precipice of cumming and making him beg for it.

Sure he’d already cum four times but Jamesie was your good boy, he could take another. With the resumed stimulation of your hand, all James could manage from his lips, bitten a bright rosy red, was a desperate whine accompanied by what was supposed to be a nod was more of a jerk of his head, too fuzzy from the pleasure coursing from his veins to properly control his body.

“Good boy,” You praised, “Just one more,” You leaned back to watch your strap on slide in and out of his tight hole, thanks to a spell you and he had spent months perfecting it was like the cock strapped to you was an actual appendage of your body and you could feel every time James clenched around the glass. It was heavenly, being buried so deep in him and you couldn’t get enough of it.

Balancing yourself by gripping onto his hips you sped up your movements, lifting his bum slightly to push deeper inside of him with every stroke.

Only a fool wouldn’t be able to tell the signs that your ministrations were bringing James dangerously close to climax as he incoherently blabbered on and on, “S’too much Mommy, need more, need more of your cock.”

“Aw has Mommy fucked you dumb baby? Don’t even know what you want, you want Mommy to stop?” You mocked, smirking wickedly when his eyes flew open.

“No no no no no, please don’t be stop Mommy, don’t want you to stop, please don’t stop, need your cock,” He pleaded shaking his head in efforts to convince you.

“You’re pathetic Jamie, such a slut for my cock,” He released a high pitched whine at your teasing which just spurred you on even more.

Living up to the title of slut you’d bestowed upon him he squeezed around your strap on at the degrading name, as much as he loved praise, degradation turned him on more than he’d like to admit, “Please let me cum Mommy, pretty please, I’ve been a good boy, I wanna be your good boy, please let me cum.”

Satisfied with his begging you gave a curt nod of your head, too so focused on the pleasure that zipped up your spine warming your body as you continued both thrusting in and out and sliding your hand along James’ shaft.

“Make a mess on Mommy’s hand baby boy, be a good boy for me and cum,” Your verbal permission was all he needed, cumming almost instantaneously, covering your hand in his warm, milky white release. The feeling of his cum on your skin sent shivers up your spine and the sight of him erupting on your hand drove you over the edge too, stabilizing yourself on his thighs you felt pleasure overwhelm you.

“Fuck Jamie,” You swore under your breath as you let your head fall forward, it becoming too heavy for you to support as you felt yourself clench around nothing. You were brought back to reality from the bliss of your orgasm by the pathetic little whines that left James as his cock twitched against his stomach, he was still cumming.

“Poor baby, made you cum five times and you’ve still got cum in you” You crooned, slipping your strap on from his hole you heard him whimper, comforting him by placing a steady hand on his thigh, dragging your thumb over his skin in small circles. You knelt before him, lifting up his balls to place a gentle kiss on the sensitive skin.

James’ ragged breathing sounded through the room as he recovered from his orgasm and slowly regained the ability to speak, “W-was I your good boy Mommy?” He managed to stutter out, his eyes flickering open as he spoke. He sounded far off and dreamy like he was high off his orgasms.

“You’re always my good boy baby, you did so well for me like you do every time,” You extolled, sliding one hand up the crimson, silk sheets to find his hand which still had the bedding scrunched up in his fist. Once you’d slowly eased his hand slack you intertwined your fingers with his, keeping that contact as you stood up to peer down at him.

You studied him with a critical eye, examining every inch of him, taking note of the cum beginning to dry on his stomach and cock, the teeth marks from where he’d bitten his plump lips which looked bloody from where you stood, and the sweat covering his entire body from hours of going at it.

“Really?” He asked you, his tone genuine as he looked up at you with wide eyes.

You smiled at him before leaning down over his ruined form, melding your lips with his in a quick kiss, allowing your tongue to trace his bloody lips, “Always baby.”

He winced as you shifted above him and looking down you realized your strap-on was brushing against his ruined cock.

“M’sorry baby, let me take this off yeah?” You started to push yourself off of him but he soon latched onto your wrist, pulling you down on top of him.

“No Mommy, don’t go, want you please,” He murmured against the soft skin of your shoulder.

You allowed your head to fall against your shoulder but you were careful to keep your hips up as to not hurt Jamie but you’d gone just as long as James had and the position was soon becoming too strenuous for your overworked body.

“Gimme a second baby, m’not going anywhere just have to get comfortable too,” You explained, and though he didn’t respond James seemed to understand as he allowed you to stand up and remove the harness from your body, abandoning it on the dresser, making a note to clean it up in the morning.

Glimpsing at James you noticed that his eyes were closed and you took the opportunity to sneak away to the bathroom where you wet a washcloth to clean up James. But as you ran the soft fabric under the warm water coming from the faucet you failed to notice him slip into the bathroom behind you.

In fact, you weren’t even aware of the dark haired man’s presence until his strong arms scooped you off of the floor, his grip on you was surprisingly sturdy given his foggy headspace and that every time he moved he winced as his cock rubbed against his muscled thigh.

“You said you weren’t gonna leave me, Mommy,” He whined into your ear as he carried you back to the bed, you shifted in his hold so that you could run the damp washcloth along his toned shoulders, he visibly unwound under your touch.

“I know baby,” You murmured not wanting to speak too loudly, “But I need to clean you up and I thought you wouldn’t notice.”

His response was unintelligible as he dropped you down on the bed with a little less care he would if he wasn’t so out of it.

“Thought I fucked you dumb baby,” You teased, pulling him to sit down next to you before gently pushing on his shoulders so that he was propped up against the fluffy pillows arranged on the bed.

“That’s not nice Mommy, m’not dumb,” He grumbled, making grabby hands for you to move closer to him to which you obliged, settling in between his legs with yours thrown over his hips, keeping enough distance between the two of you so that you didn’t agitate his used member.

“Aw baby Mommy didn’t mean to upset you,” You grinned at his vulnerable state, pressing a delicate kiss to his nose to distract him as you gently brushed the damp cloth against his member.

Despite your most valiant efforts he still jumped, mewling at the stimulation while trying to squirm away from your touch.

“I know it hurts baby,” You ran a hand up and down his flexed thigh, “Gotta clean you up though.”

“Want your lips, Mommy,” He sniffled, puckering his lips and closing his eyes.

You leaned forward to meet his soft cushions to distract him as you finished cleaning up his prick. You kept the kiss soft as to not push him even further under or to agitate the wounds on the red pillows.

Pulling away you plucked a tube of lip balm from the bedside table, leaning over James’ face to reach it. Seeing an opportunity and taking it James latched his lips onto your nipple, sucking lazily but just hard enough to not let you pull away. When you tried despite his hold on you he threw a strong arm around your waist pulling you flush against him, not reacting when your knee bumped his dick.

“You gotta let go of Mommy’s titty baby, she’s gotta help you, darling.”

His response was muffled by your tit stuffed into his mouth so you pulled back so that you could hear him, “Say that again baby?”

“Want your titty Mommy, wanna make you feel good,” He begged, replacing his mouth with his hand, palming the flesh of your breast.

“You have James, you’ve made me feel so good. But s’not my name anymore baby, not Mommy anymore, it’s (Y/N), yeah?”

Your words seemed to go in one ear and out the other as he just continued groping at your tit, watching it like it held all the answers in the universe. Easing his fingers from your body you sat back in your original position tapping James’ lips to signal to him to pucker them again for you.

“Good boy,” You praised as you ran the lip balm over his lips, smearing the strawberry flavored balm over the cracks.

As you pulled back to recap the tube of lip balm James stuck his tongue out, sliding it over the balm before tucking it back into his mouth, humming approvingly, “I taste like strawberries,” He smiled goofily.

“Yes you do baby but you’re supposed to keep it on your lips so that it’ll help you, pretty boy,” You shook your head as you reapplied the balm to his lips.

“You gotta taste (Y/N/N),” He said eagerly, the fog starting to clear, puckering his lips once again, “Tastes so good!”

“Okay Jamesie,” You giggled, meeting his lips with yours, tasting the strawberry lip balm he seemed so fond of in his fragile state.

“What do you think (Y/N/N)?” He asked you as you used your finger this time to reapply the shimmery balm.

“You’re right baby, tastes very good,” You agreed to appease the boy in front of you.

You began to lift yourself from the mattress but you were tugged back down and into his chest. “No leaving, not again,” His discontent was evident in his voice as he nestled into your hair, inhaling to take in your scent.

“Gotta get us clothes,” You tried to explain, drawing shapes on his pec with your finger.

“Don’t need clothes,” He mumbled, “Wanna feel your skin anyway.”

You pulled your head away to look at his face, though he was talking his eyes were closed, he was beautiful with his hair a messy dark halo around his face and his pretty glossy lips, his lips parted as his breathing began to slow.

“You’ve come back to me baby?” You needed to make sure before you let him fall asleep.

“Uh huh,” You felt his chin bump against your head as he nodded his head, “M’back (Y/N).”

“Okay love,” Unable to stop yourself as you gazed up at his plump lips you ran the pad of your thumb along his bottom one before popping it into your mouth to suck on it, “Strawberries,” You murmured.

“Strawberries,” He agreed, wrapping his arms around you to pull your body as close to his as possible.

“You’re right love, tastes really good,” You snuggled closer to him, gripping one of his well defined biceps as you too felt sleep begin to overwhelm you.

“Told you.”

tagging: @randomoutsiders @weasleyposts @amourtentiaa @kittykylax @superbturtlemakerathlete @oliviashea05 @gxtitobxby @thotbutpurple

#harry potter fanfic #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter #marauders #marauders x reader #harry potter imagine #james potter #james potter x reader #marauders fanfic #James potter smut #sub!james potter #sub!james potter smut

1K notes · View notes

duesternis · 9 months

Note

Also because I don't know how to not send these prompts in bulk. Cannibalism and vore ? As in, someone /is/ getting eaten, in part or in whole, and getting off on it. We are not talking fantasies here, we are talking Filth <3

oh yumi my dear, this was ruminating in my brain ever since you sent it in. Gonna do Sukuna and Yuji for this. Boy is used to eating him hehe

Yuji's head is spinning, Sukuna can see it in the way he blinks sweat out of his eyes and the way the knife shakes in his hand. "Come on," Sukuna says, teeth scraping over his top lip, to entice. The wound on his chest is bleeding sluggishly now, the blood on Yuji's chin almost dried. "That can't have been enough for you, boy." Yuji whimpers, stumbles forward and falls to his knees in front of Sukuna's chair. "You must be hungry," Sukuna croons and Yuji's knife slices another piece of meat off of Sukuna's chest. It's sharp and quick, the air hitting his flesh more painful than the cut itself. Yuji places the piece of meat against his lips and sucks it in, bites down. Sukuna almost creams his pants. "Chew," he begs and Yuji does, with gusto. His face radiates heat against Sukuna's thigh, where he rests it. The muscles of his jaw work as he chews and Sukuna's balls twitch. Yuji swallows, shows his empty mouth, the blood on his lips still glistens.

"Good?" Yuji nods, licks his lips and then leans forward, lapping the blood off of Sukuna's abdomen, where it has dripped from his chest. Sukuna's hard cock bumps Yuji's chin and they both gasp a bit at that. When Yuji moves up, towards the wound, a string of pre-cum connects Sukuna's cock to his bloody chin. It breaks on the edges of the wound and Sukuna strains into Yuji's mouth pressing into him. The knife teases his belly button, cold and sticky with his own blood, the tip catching on his skin. Yuji doesn't cut him on the belly, doesn't plunge the knife in, doesn't bite into Sukuna's intestines to pull them out with his teeth. But he does slice another piece of meat from his chest, scrapes his teeth over the flesh, bites down on the edge of the wound, and his hand - Sukuna's blood on it - fists around Sukuna's leaking cock so tightly that he screams. Yuji straddles his lap, chews right next to Sukuna's ear, the knife pressed over his heart. "Yuji," Sukuna moans, pulls him in for a kiss and swallows the chewed up meat Yuji pushes into his mouth. His knuckles creak around the seat of the chair, blood welling out of his wound, cum dribbling over Yuji's hand.

"Fuck," Yuji breathes into Sukuna's ear, "You do get off on this." "Told you. And since you like eating me so much, let's just say, we both get what we need." Yuji inhales sharply, presses the flat of the blade to the wound on Sukuna's chest and looks him deep in the eyes. Sukuna's balls are pulled up tight, he can't get enough air into his lungs and Yuji cuts down, flat blade scraping over his ribs. "Fuck," he hisses, cock dribbling and giving a weak spurt through Yuji's chokehold. "Come on, boy, let me come." The piece of meat Yuji sliced off hits Sukuna's lips, wet and warm and Yuji kisses him through that, bites down and eats him up. The knife hits the floor, both of Yuji's bloody hands cupping Sukuna's face. Sukuna goes cross eyed to see that piece of himself vanish behind Yuji's teeth, be chewed up and swallowed down and lost inside of Yuji. Become part of him. He comes so hard he can't feel his toes.

Yuji swallows, adam's apple jumping and Sukuna whimpers, sliding down in the chair. "Wanna see?" Yuji asks and Sukuna nods. The open, empty mouth, hot breath hitting his face, Yuji's eyes fixed on him. Sukuna doesn't know if he comes again or pisses himself. It feels great either way.

"I still want more," Yuji says. "All-you-can-eat-buffet, so go right ahead." The knife scrapes on the floor as Yuji picks it up and Sukuna is the happiest he's ever been.

gosh I hope you like this haha

#azzy gets asks #kink prompt ask game #crescentmoonrider #jjk #sukuita #sukuna #yuji #tw blood #tw cannibalism #tw vore #consensual cannibalism #cannibalism kink #knife play #blood play

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witch-hazels-musings · 3 years

Note

I had an idea what if the boys help the reader through a nightmare? Would it be possible for this to be Childe, Albedo, Xiao, and Diluc?

^ I don’t know why this was such a challenge for me - listen - I want you to know I tried so hard to write a lullaby and gave up - so maybe in the future - but I’ve been bested.

Warning -> *possible trigger warning (panic attack) panicked reader, difficult breathing, heavy chest, fear // COMFORT*

Character X GN Reader | Anthology

Includes: Childe, Albedo, Xiao, Diluc

Childe

He’d be right there, his arms wrapped around you tightly, holding you

In his arms, held close to him, he’d remind you that you weren’t alone and that he was there with you

He’d listen and would help you breathe through your fear - he knows very well about the troubles of nightmares, they haunt his mind too

“CHILDE?!” You lurch awake, the sheets flying away from you. There was a tightness in your chest that enhanced your fear, and when you tried to breathe through clenched lungs all that came out was a horrid rasp.

Childe was awake in an instant, his hand gripping your shoulder and as you looked at him you could see his face twisted with concern. You placed a hand over your chest and lifted the other to rest against Childe’s shoulder, and through panicked breaths, you tried to find solid ground.

“It’s okay. It’s okay, look at me.” He begs, his eyes troubled by what they saw. When you look at him, peer into his beautiful blue eyes an image flashes in your mind. The violent, graphic image that woke you from your sleep and stole your peace. “It was just a dream.”

“It felt real.” You beat your hand which was now balled into a fist against your chest and shake your head. “It felt so real …” the words catch in your throat and get lodged in the dry pit of your despair.

“Come here.” He wraps his arms around you and holds you against his chest. His body is warm, his arms comforting and strong, a stark difference to the images that had filled your mind. There Childe was weak, bloodied, his body unmoving and so far out of your reach. You watched the life escape from his eyes, his smile fade, and the memory made you shiver.

Childe lifted you from where you sat on the bed and pulled you into the space between his legs. He adjusted the two of you until his back was against the headboard and you were nestled comfortably against him, your back against his chest, his arms wrapped around you, legs perched on either side.

He rested his head against the edge of yours and pulled the sheets up to cover the both of you. “When my siblings and I used to have nightmares, my mother would sing us a song.”

You turned your head toward his neck and looked out the window, the stars bright in the sky, “That sounds lovely.”

“Hah, I’m not the best singer, but I think I still remember it.” He cleared his throat and began to recite the words. His voice was quiet and a bit shaky as he sang the first few lines, but as he went on he became more comfortable.

As you laid in his arms and listened to the steady words spilling from Childe’s mouth, you let your mind drift to a place of comfort, and soon, the sound of his voice lulled you to sleep.

Albedo

He’s very well versed in most things, and he read a book once about nightmares and panic attacks, he’d know how to help support you

Albedo is kind and thoughtful, he cares about the wellbeing of others, even if he doesn’t outwardly express that, and watching you fall into distress is something he can hardly take

when it comes to you, nothing else matters

You sat on the edge of the bed, your leg bouncing on the ball of your foot, arms crossed around you as you tried to squeeze your chest tightly.

The images clouding your mind sent shivers through your body and made you feel cold, even as the warm air drifted in through the window. The bed creaked and you froze.

“Y/N?” Albedo’s voice drifted toward you and you heard him shift in the bed.

“I’m sorry. Did I wake you?” You do your best to hide the tremor in your throat.

“It’s okay ... you’re shaking ...” He’s moved closer to you and you feel his hand touch your arm, the sensation makes you jump. “y/n …?”

“I’m okay … I’m sorry ... “ Your heart begins to pound in your chest and the tears are pooling at the edge of your eyes. You shake your head and try to keep them back, but it’s starting to become a challenge. The bed dips next to you and out of the corner of your eye you see Albedo’s hand.

“Was it another nightmare?” You nod and look at him sheepishly, your hands hidden in the sheets and legs bouncing. “Walk me through it.”

“We don’t need to. This is the first night you’ve gotten to sleep in days .. you should ..”

“Hold on.” He brushes the tears from your cheeks, pushing the sheets out of the way to grab your hand. “Do you think I’ll be able to sleep if you're suffering?”

“ … no.”

“Listen, you don’t have to tell me about it if you don’t want to, we can just sit here if you’d like.” He slid back against the headboard and gently pulled onto your arms to follow him. “Come here.”

He positioned you on his chest and placed your head over his heart.

“Listen to the sound of my heartbeat. Just focus on that.” He stroked your hair and drew circles on your skin.

“It was terrible …” You finally say after some time.

“I’m here to listen …”

Xiao

He wouldn’t really know what to do, to be honest, the whole thing would be such a shock for him and he’d revert back to the quickest thing he could think of

He’d let you talk about it and may even do some of the things the other yaksha’s would do; hum a melody that is lost to the sands of time, perform a simple ritual to banish the darkness, hold you tightly to let you know this path wasn’t one you had to walk alone

You screamed, your arms flying out in front of you and, as they collided with what felt like fingers, you tried to push them away. You gasped and took in as much air as you could, your wrists were captured and when you turned to look at them you found Xiao.

“X-Xiao?” You exhaled, your throat dry and heart pounding in your chest like a hammer, you wondered if it were possible to bruise a bone by how painful it was.

“You were gasping in your sleep.” He reached to move the hair clinging to your forehead, resting the back of his hand against the sticky skin. You shivered and pulled the blankets closer to your body.

“I was having a terrible dream. I was running in the darkness, it felt like something was constantly at my back, and then …” You swallowed, the action painful because of your dry mouth. “Then I was underwater and … I … it felt so real. I couldn’t breathe.”

“Hmm. Well, you are awake now, can you breathe easily?” He shifted closer to you and forced you to straighten your spine so your lungs could work easier. His hand resting against your back as you took in a few deep breaths, they were shaky but became less so as you focused on them.

“I think I’m okay now.” You took in another deep breath and as you let it out your rattled nerves began to ease.

“Nightmares are pretty common for me.” You looked at him and his eyes seemed sad, even in the shadow of the night they were incredibly easy to see.

“What do you do?” The news of his nightmares wasn’t all too shocking, the trauma of his past was something hard for him to discuss, but he had told you the story once.

“When Indarias still walked this plane, they taught us a way to purge ourselves of the miasma which empowered the nightmares. I can teach it to you.” You nodded your head and he returned the acknowledgment.

Quickly, skillfully, he set up incense on your bedside table. He instructed you to sit with your legs crossed and face him.

“Close your eyes, I’ll tell you what to do.” He explained as he settled into place in front of you. You weren’t sure what to expect, but as your eyes closed and the feeling of darkness came back you shivered. “You are safe, I am right in front of you.”

You nod and take in a breath as he starts to walk you through the movements.

He explains the process slowly, starting only when you are ready, and as he walks you through the process the fear of the dark starts to fade, and your body relaxes. After completing the movements with your hands, you open your eyes and look at him. He’s smiling, the shine of the moon highlighting the side of his face in a cool glow.

“How do you feel?” He asks you, his voice soft and gentle.

“Better.”

“Good, let’s do it again.”

Diluc

Diluc would be so afraid, afraid of what would be plaguing you, and afraid his touch might make it worse

His hands reach out to you, extended to support and hold you but he’d pull them back before they connect - his fear at not being enough, his worry of making it worse pulling at the back of his mind

He doesn’t want to be the reason you are more stressed/anxious - he just wants to keep you safe and take away your pain

You woke up in a panic, your skin damp from sweat, hair clinging to your head, heart racing.

Images of your nightmare flashed in your head and each time you closed your eyes they came flooding back, invading. Through labored breaths, you tried to calm down but the pressure in your lungs made it hard and instead you ended up wheezing, your voice cracking from the pain.

Diluc was wide awake. He had felt you sit up suddenly and was staring at you as you shook. His arms extended but his hands never reach you.

“Hey …” his voice was quiet and concerned, he sounded unlike his usual calm, instead there was stress in his throat.

You tried to speak, and reassure him it was okay, that you were okay, but the words wouldn’t come out, instead, you began to cry. The hot tears dropping onto the mattress and heating your cheeks. You shook your head and desperately wanted to cover your eyes, but the images were still there every time you blinked.

A hand stroked your face, when you looked and saw Diluc inspecting you with fearful eyes you reached up to take his hand and broke.

In an instant, he was holding you, his strong embrace surrounding you. His hand at the back of your head, pulling you in, and his other arm wrapped protectively around you. You buried your face into his chest and while you did your best to relax, you couldn’t stop your body from shaking.

“I’m here. I’m right here.” He whispered into your hair, leaving soft, gentle kisses in the spots where his voice warmed your skin.

“I … it was awful.” You choke out, your tone pressed as if your throat was being squeezed.

“Shh, It was a dream. I’ve got you. You’re safe.” He tightened his grip and the pressure felt so reassuring, you wrapped your arms around him and rested your hands on his back, under his hair.

“You were gone. I couldn’t … there was nothing …” The words spilled out and the memory of your nightmare rose to the surface. It felt so real, so possible almost as if it was a warning. He pulled away from you and the absence of him was terrible. “I don’t know what I would do if I lost you … I won’t be able … I can’t.”

He pressed his head against yours, the warmth of his body seeping into your overactive imagination. “It was a dream, I’m here now, I’ll always be here.

“Promise?”

“I promise.”

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guardianofrivendell · 3 years

Text

A Royal Tease

Thorin x fem!reader

Requested: kind of - this was a favor to a very special person!

Warnings: NSFW with an E rating, so please only read if you’re 18+!

A/N: Wowee... that was a ride! Writing smut is definitely NOT the same as reading it :) Let me know how I did it and if I should write more smut in the future. I still feel like it jumps from here to there sometimes, but the longer I worked on it, the worse it got so I decided to stop editing and throw it on here 🙈

Before you start reading, another friendly reminder that English is NOT my first language, so if some sentences feel forced or the vocabulary feels too simple or not descriptive enough, that’s why!

Thorin was lying on his back in the sand, eyes closed and panting heavily.

“Another one!” he growled after a few seconds. “Are you sure you can take another one? Married life sure is taking a toll on ya!” Dwalin teased, getting in his starting position again. He rolled his muscles and Thorin could hear his bones crack. Dwalin was enjoying this far too much.

Thorin might be losing his touch, but Mahal be his witness, he would never admit defeat. He couldn’t give Dwalin the satisfaction. So he pushed himself back up while muttering a line of very colourful words, ready to smack that smirk of his best friend’s face.

These late night sparring sessions with Dwalin were a godsend to get rid of the tension and frustration in his body, but that didn’t mean he would let him off the hook so easily.

Wiping the sweat of his brow with the back of his hand, he walked towards the opposite side of the training field. His tunic clung to his body, dripping with sweat so Thorin decided to take it off.

“What in Durin’s name are those?” Dwalin’s voice boomed across the field.

Thorin immediately held his tunic in front of him, as if he had been caught doing something that he shouldn’t. He completely forgot about them.

“S’none of your business,” he muttered.

“As your personal guard it is my bloody business, Thorin,” Dwalin retorted, making his way towards his King.

“Who gave ya those bruises?”

Thorin stared at his best friend and felt his cheeks flush. He could see Dwalin’s thoughts take a turn for the worst, blaming himself for his King’s injuries. But he couldn’t tell him the truth, could he?

“You were not the one who caused them,” Thorin said in a tone that made it clear he wasn’t going to elaborate.

“Then who did?” he pressed on.

“Leave it, Dwalin.”

But Dwalin was quicker and snatched the shirt out of his hands so the bruises were visible.

“Thorin…”

Dwalin’s eyes traveled over the King’s bare chest. His pecs, abs and hips were covered in dark purple bruises, each one of them the size of a gold coin. His eyes landed on the waistband of Thorin’s breeches and it looked like the bruises didn’t stop there.

“I’m supposed to protect ya, Thorin. Who mistreated you like this?”

Thorin kept his eyes focused on Dwalin’s, as if he wanted to have a staring match. Dwalin could see the internal battle his King was fighting, before Thorin broke eye contact and turned around to put his tunic back on.

“They’re Y/N’s alright,” he hissed, without looking at him.

Dwalin stood completely shocked for a few seconds, before he balled his fists and almost bristled in anger.

“Dam or not, she can’t treat ya that way, Thorin,” he said through clenched teeth.

Thorin placed his hands on Dwalin’s shoulders to calm him down.

“No, my friend. No, it’s not like that at all… They happened during…” Thorin took a deep breath and lowered his voice in case someone could overhear. “During our lovemaking.”

Dwalin’s eyebrows shot up and his eyes went wide. But he didn’t back off like Thorin had expected. If any, it peaked his interest.

“She hurts ya for… Pleasure?”

Dwalin’s nose scrunched up, like the thought of someone hurting their One for pleasure was the most ridiculous thing he ever heard. Which, in his humble opinion, it most certainly was.

“In her world what happens at night is a lot more... interesting, to give it a name. We’ve been missing out, Dwalin. You can trust me on that.”

“But she hurts ya?” he repeated.

Thorin chuckled. “Believe me, it doesn’t hurt one bit. On the contrary...”

They started walking out of the training halls, their sparring session long forgotten.

Thorin knew it might not be appropriate to discuss his love life so openly with his friend, but he was almost certain Y/N wouldn’t mind and he felt relieved he could finally talk to someone about it.

“You don’t know half the things she’s capable of, Dwalin… The way her hands feel when she… Mahal!” Thorin groaned at the memories of your late night activities.

“Easy there, lad,” Dwalin chuckled. “Ya don’t want to ruin those trousers too, aye?”

Thorin shoved him in a playful jest, but the seasoned warrior didn’t even budge. He shook his head, tutting at the poor attempt of his King. “Pathetic.”

While they were walking towards the Royal wing of the mountain, Thorin told his friend about some of the things he learned the last few weeks.

Dwarrows were a bit old fashioned in the bedchambers, or ‘rather prude’ as Y/N had called it, and she helped him discover a different side of himself.

By the time Thorin had told Dwalin about the different positions he definitely should try besides the classic one, they’d reached the heavy double doors of Thorin’s chambers and Dwalin’s cheeks had turned a few shades darker.

Dwalin halted and nodded at the guards posted at each side of the door.

Thorin opened the door and the right corner of his lips twitched. He was still a bit agitated that he couldn’t beat his friend on the grounds but there was always another way to get the upper hand...

“Oh and Dwalin… They use their mouth too.”

“Well I may hope so, it’s hard to kiss without yer lips,” he said, not understanding what Thorin meant.

“Not for kissing, Dwalin. Not only for kissing.”

Thorin closed the door, leaving a speechless and heavily flustered Dwalin in the hallway.

When he turned around with the intention of entering his chambers and relaxing for the night, someone forcefully pressed his back against the door and pulled his face down in a heated kiss.

It only took him a fraction of a second to wrap his arms around his wife and happily return the kiss, not wasting any time with deepening it by swiping her bottom lip with his tongue. He felt her smile against his lips and she broke the kiss.

“Eager, are we?”

“I do recall it was you who couldn’t resist me, ghivashel, you didn’t even let me come in properly,” Thorin chuckled, keeping his arms tightly wrapped around her while he placed a soft kiss on her forehead.

In the meantime, her hands started traveling on their own, making their way over his broad shoulders and upper arms, before finally settling on his chest. His tunic was still damp from his earlier activities and left nothing to the imagination. Not that she needed to imagine it, she knew exactly what he was hiding underneath. What was hers…

Y/N smiled. “I can’t greet my husband after a day’s hard work?”

She reached up and caught his lips in another kiss. Thorin hummed softly.

“Aye,” he said, his hands lingering on her back, but he couldn’t resist slowly lowering them towards the delicious curve of her buttocks. He gave them a firm squeeze and pulled her flush against his body.

Y/N could feel someone else greeting her. “Well hello to you both,” she smirked.

Even though she knew Thorin was that kind of dwarf who gets easily aroused - which was incredibly fun during meetings and official visits - he still caught her off guard with how fast his soldier could report for duty.

“We’re at your service, little one,” he said, lowering his voice.

Licking her lips in anticipation, Y/N grabbed the hem of his tunic and lifted it upwards. Thorin raised his arms and helped her get the tunic off his body, carelessly tossing it aside. His breathing growing heavy already with the adrenaline still in his body from the earlier workout.

His trousers and undergarments were next, she tugged at the laces and let the fabric pool around his ankles.

She took a few steps back and took the time to admire the view before her. His silver and black hair screaming at her to get her hands in, so she could tug it just the way he liked it. The dark hair dusted across his broad chest, trailing down towards his V line and circling around his member. The bruises her lips left the night before stood out on his skin, proof of her claim on him. Thorin was absolutely stunning. A work of art.

“Like what you see?” he hummed, his voice still a deep rumble, hitting her right in her core. Mahal, bless that voice!

“Always,” she whispered.

When she turned around and started walking away from him, Thorin grabbed her wrist and pulled her back.

“You’re not going to leave me like this, are you,” he growled.

He knew she was capable of it, she’d done it before. There was nothing his wife liked more than teasing him and leaving him hanging for a while. According to her it was fun, she liked getting him all riled up, but for Thorin it was absolute torture. He wasn’t used to not getting things when he wanted them.

“Easy tiger, I was just going to draw you a bath.”

Thorin sighed deeply when he reclined in the tub, the warm water soothing his aching muscles.

“Feels good?” Y/N smiled, getting a washcloth ready.

He nodded and hummed softly, closing his eyes. His nose filled with the scent of the burning wood from the fire and lavender from the bathwater, and combined with the warm temperature of the water it made him finally relax.

She sat down behind the bathtub and took the bottle of oil for his hair. Y/N brought the opened bottle close to her face, smelling the herbal fragrance. She inhaled it deeply, loving the smell because it reminded her of Thorin. Her husband. Her King.

“I’ll start with your hair.”

She poured a little oil on her hands and rubbed them together to spread it evenly. Her fingers purposefully moved around his scalp, working in small circular motions. He moaned when she added just the right amount of pressure to massage the oil in his hair and again when she started delivering gentle strokes around his ears and neck. With a cup she poured hot water over his hair to rinse it. Thorin kept his eyes closed when she was finished, his body completely relaxed and at peace.

Seeing how he turned into mush under her skilled hands, made washing Thorin’s hair something Y/N loved to do. It was not her favorite part… no, that part came up next.

She leaned over and pressed a kiss below his ear, and took the washcloth from the side of the tub. Carefully pouring some oil on it, she kneaded the cloth until it was properly soaked, before she let it glide over his chest.

A smile played around her lips when Thorin groaned as soon as she started massaging his muscles with the cloth, washing away the tension in them.

Her hands let the washcloth glide over the muscles in his arms, shoulders and legs, adding enough pressure to work the knots out, leaving no skin untouched.

Except the part where he needed her touch the most.

Every time she came close, Thorin bit his lip in anticipation but she always changed direction or directed her attention elsewhere. He grew more and more desperate, she noticed. So far so good.

“What were you and Dwalin talking about?” she asked, curious about the subject of their conversation.

Thorin opened his eyes, but couldn’t meet hers.

“Ah… yes. Well, I may have taken off my tunic during our sparring session tonight.”

Oh. So Dwalin got curious, she thought. She abandoned the washcloth, letting it float around the water.

“I bet he had some questions about these?”

Her finger started trailing the contours of the bruises. First in a faster circular motion, but as she got closer to his hips she slowed her pace down and adjusted the pressure to nothing more than a feather-light touch.

Thorin closed his eyes again and let his head fall back against the sloping side of the tub. His breath came quicker and when her eyes wandered down his stomach, she was pleased to notice his member was back at full attention again. When she let her finger linger near the tip, she could hear him hold his breath in anticipation.

“What did you tell him?”

But Thorin didn’t give her an answer, too focused on her movements and ministrations. She was so close, just a little more to the left...

But instead of doing what he wanted her to do - and she knew he was desperate for it, her teasing and lingering touches had made him wild with desire - she changed direction again and traced the inside of his thigh and pelvic bone, purposefully ignoring his hard on.

“Tease!” he groaned, clutching the edge of the tub in frustration.

Y/N raised an eyebrow in question. “A tease? Me?”

She stood up, clutching her chest like she was actually shocked by his accusation.

“I would never,” she smirked, and Thorin loved the way her eyes twinkled with mischief. “You’re the one who doesn’t want to tell me what you told Dwalin.”

“I merely gave him some advice based on our experiences, ghivashel. I believe master Dwalin will keep his flushed cheeks for the remainder of the week. Serves him right.”

Satisfied with his answer, she turned to grab a towel, dropping it on a nearby chair for him to use later.

“I’ll leave you to it then.”

Her eyes lingered on his pulsing cock for a few seconds before she winked at him. “Don’t enjoy yourself too much.”

Before she could leave him, he called out to her.

“The least you can do is give me another kiss.”

Y/N smiled and leaned down to peck his nose.

“No, a kiss worthy of a king,” he groaned.

But when she leaned further down to press her lips on his, she missed how his eyes held the same twinkle hers did a few moments ago…

Before she knew it, Thorin had grabbed her by the waist and pulled her on top of him. Their movements made the water splash everywhere and Y/N shrieked when her dress got soaked with the bathwater.

“Oakenshield,” she growled, pushing her off his chest with her hands and settling in his lap.

She enjoyed the lustful clouding of his eyes when she moved just the slightest, giving him the friction he longed for.

“Always trying to get what you want,” she reprimanded him.

“Can you blame me?”

His hands drifted admiringly over her body, following the curves of her bossom and hips.

“Yes!”

He was taking over control and she had to stop it before she gave in. With some difficulty she managed to climb out of the tub and wrung the water out of the dress of her skirt, turning the bathroom floor in a small pond. Seeing as Thorin made no move to get out of his bath or apologize, Y/N decided to take the teasing to a higher level.

Keeping her back to her husband, she slowly unhooked the fastings of her dress and let it drop to the floor with a slap. She heard the sharp intake of Thorin’s breath and the slosh of the water when he sat up.

Oh, that’s right… Did she forget to mention she wasn’t wearing anything underneath? Oops…

He wasted no time in getting out of the bath, not even bothering to take a towel to dry himself. The only thing on his mind was to get to his wife as fast as possible.

She whimpered when their bodies clashed together, the evidence of his arousal poking between her butt cheeks. His lips attacked her neck, and she was almost certain the firm grip of his fingers on her waist would leave bruises the next day. Not that she minded.

He guided them into their bedroom, and when the back of her knees touched the bed frame, her mind cleared and she tutted at him.

“Since when are you in charge, yâsûn?”

He cupped her breasts, softly kneading them and letting his thumbs flick over her nipples. He lowered his head to take one in his mouth, not stopping his caresses on the other one.

Y/N sighed and let her head fall on her shoulder, her hand finding its way in his hair. His damned mouth...

“I don’t hear you complain,” he smirked.

She certainly didn’t complain when he slid one of his thick, calloused fingers between her folds, and Thorin moaned when he felt how slick she already was.

“You’ve been enjoying your teasing,” he accused her. “All this for me?”

She grabbed his length and he hissed at the sudden contact. She stroked a few times to spread the precum, and when her thumb flicked the head it took all his strength not to come all over her hand right that minute.

“I couldn’t stay behind with all this for me...” she smirked.

With a growl he connected their lips again. His wife knew exactly which buttons to press and he both loved and hated it. Without breaking the kiss, he grabbed her thighs and squeezed them, urging her to jump up. Y/N did as asked - which surprised Thorin - and locked her ankles behind his back to keep her balance.

Not bothering to clear the furs from the bed, he laid her down on top of them, her hair sprawled out on the pillows.

She bit her lip when she noticed how his eyes had darkened even further, Thorin looked like he could devour her any minute. She didn’t realise how close to the truth she was. Maybe he needed another round of teasing...

Before she could follow through with her plan, Thorin took the lead.

He flipped her on her stomach, grabbed her by the waist and pulled her onto him, all in one fluent move. It was a position they only did once before but he had already claimed it as his favorite.

Knowing what he wanted, she placed her knees on either side of his hips and let her back rest against his front. The hairs on his chest rubbed deliciously against her soft skin and she had a hard time staying still. The muscles in his thighs and stomach were rock hard, just like her toy in between. Y/N’s hand went up his hair and tugged it harshly when her clit came in contact with his cock.

“Are you ready for me, little one?”

His voice got even lower if that was possible, the words wrapping around her like a silky smooth blanket. If he kept talking like that, it would be over for her before they even began.

“Thorin, please,” she begged.

“I thought you liked teasing?” he chuckled.

She grabbed his member, guiding it to her entrance and lowered herself down in an attempt to shut him up, a desperate moan falling from her lips when their hips connected. Thorin tightened his grip on her. She felt absolutely divine.

“Only when I’m the one doing it,” she gasped, enjoying the feeling of being stretched out.

One of his arms slid around her stomach and settled between her legs, circling her clit with his thumb when he began to thrust upwards.

They soon found a steady rhythm, and Y/N could feel her orgasm building quickly.

No, too soon, she thought and she slowed down the pace, slapping his hand away from her clit.

She leaned forward, keeping her body up with her hands on the furs. The new angle made her feel every inch of him and a loud moan escaped her throat.

This is what she had been craving the entire day.

She raised her hips until only his tip was inside of her and then lowered herself down, agonizingly slow.

“You’re such a good girl for me. Mahal, keep going, do not stop!”

She loved it when he got vocal, and with each curse and praise he murmured, she felt herself getting closer to her release.

Thorin noticed her change in breathing and pitch of her moans and sped up the pace.

This was all feeling too good and with the help of his encouragements she came undone, clutching the furs until her knuckles turned white.

He cursed heavily when she clamped down on him, but did his best to help her ride out her high. He kissed her neck and stilled his movements to give her a break, only resuming them when she nodded that she was okay.

As he began to thrust even harder and faster, Thorin gathered her hair in one hand to keep her in place, his other hand firmly on her waist while he chased his own release. His moans became increasingly louder, less controlled with each thrust and a curse escaped his lips.

“You feel too good, ghivashel, m’not going to last,” he hissed through clenched teeth.

He came with a shout and a cutoff curse but kept thrusting in and out of her until he felt himself soften. When he finally pulled out, he covered her back in kisses.

Y/N laid down on the bed and opened her arms for him to cuddle. Both their bodies were covered in a thin layer of sweat, and it took them a while to catch their breath.

These were the moments when she felt the safest. In his arms, in the after bliss of their lovemaking, listening to the soft and even breathing of her husband. She kissed his head and trailed the muscles of his upper back with her finger, earning her a content sigh from Thorin.

A chuckle escaped her throat and he looked up at her questioningly.

“Now you have something new to tell Dwalin,” she said with a wink.

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