#i just try to be slippery enough that they can’t sink their claws in while i hang out with my sisters | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

cutesuki--bakugou · 4 years

Text

Spawn

Rating: Explicit Warnings: Rough Sex (Vaginal), biting, scratching, breeding, oviposition, dub/noncon, kidnapping, cursing, blood, use of aphrodisiac, interspecies sex (merman and human), mentions of drowning Words: 5579 Pairing: Mer!Bakugou Katsuki x Human Fem!Reader

a/n: I’ve been getting quite a few requests for mermaid breeding. This... is probably not what you were wanting or expecting, so I won’t include anyone’s request here lol. I may write something a little... gentler later on.

BTW, please blacklist the tag cutesuki-lemons if you do not want to see this content from my blog. I will no longer be tagging with specific keywords for this type of content.Thank you~

Due to the nature of this post, the characters are 18+

Tags: @lady-bakuhoe, @hoefortodo, @sunkissedneptune, @softkatsuki, @marilla-eldriana, @sanurrwrites, @hopeismyhope101

There was something different in that familiar crimson gaze today. You hadn’t thought much about it at first, but now, it stuck out to you as something that should have been a huge red flag. The instant you had seen him glaring at you over the water's surface, you should have run away. You should have called to him from the safety of land, to tell him you really weren’t feeling well and decided to go home. Or that you had some type of rash or injury and didn’t want to get too close to the water? Would he have believed you? Probably not. You weren’t sure of what type of fit he would have thrown if he would have tried to persuade you to come to him or just dragged himself up into the sand to chase you down.

He was strong enough to do that. His upper body strength matched the incredible power of his tail, his arms, and core easily able to lift himself up or drag himself around. If you ran at full speed, he couldn’t get you. Maybe. You couldn’t really think about something like that though right now. The fact of the matter was you hadn’t taken his glare as something menacing. You had ignored the rolling sickness in your stomach, the little voice in your head that told you to flee. Now, it was too late for you to do anything.

You were as happy to see him as you had always been, greeting the merman with a cheery wave and a smile as you stepped into the rolling ocean waters. You hadn’t even made it a few steps into the cool water before he was suddenly at your feet, snatching you by the ankles and dragging you deeper into the water. The impact of falling on your back onto the hard, wet sand knocked the air out of your lungs, and before you could even breathe again, you were struggling to keep your head above water.

He hadn’t dragged you out too far, but right now, the distance wasn’t really what mattered. You were completely pinned down to the sand, his heavy red and orange freckled tail resting over your chest to keep you down. Your legs were in his tight grip, held under the knees, and spread open so his head had easy access between your legs. The rolling waves didn’t affect him at all, but as they came washing over your face, you felt as if you might just drown. It was difficult and painful to find the opportunity to inhale as much air as you could when the tide pulled out, gasping and coughing to try and purge the burning saltwater from your lungs before you were overwhelmed again.

It wasn’t just the water that gave you the feeling of drowning. His tongue, slick and hot against the cold ocean water, was lapping at your cunt eagerly. When he had torn your swimsuit, you weren’t sure. But again, you weren’t sure of anything that was happening to you right now. Why was he eating you out like this? He had never shown any sexual interest in you for the months you had known him. In fact, he hadn’t shown any romantic interest at all. At least, not any that you had been able to notice. Bakugou Katsuki, this fierce and aggressive merman, had originally saved you from drowning while out on a tour boat during vacation. You had been so grateful to him, so you made it a point to come visit him as often as you possibly could. You liked him. But this? This isn’t how you wanted things to happen.

You had fallen for him. You loved him. But, how could you? You were from two completely different worlds. There was no possible way that you could be together outside of close friends, and that was even a conversation you already had.

“There’s no way I’d ever fall for a stupid human like you! You can’t even swim!”

So why was he doing this? Why was he holding you down just for the chance to eat you out so vigorously? If he would have just hit on you a little sweeter, maybe you would have given in to him and you could both enjoy the experience to the fullest. But all of this was for his own gratification, for whatever he felt like or wanted to do with you. It was hard for you to think with the weight on your chest, the water crashing down on your face, and the burning heat between your legs.

God, it was hot. His tongue and his mouth were like fire, sucking and lapping at your clit with such fierce intensity. You knew that you shouldn’t be feeling good, that you should be screaming for help and struggling against him. No one would hear you this far down the coastline, anyway, but the point still stands. You should have been trying. Instead, all you could do was lay there, your nails digging into the slippery scales of his tail, fighting between coughing, moaning, and yelling out in pain.

The longer his tongue ravaged you, the hotter you began to feel. It was so odd, how every nerve in your body was so sensitive. You had sex before, but your arousal never peaked to this level so early on. Why? Why was it happening? Why was he doing this? You didn’t want this. Did you? Of course, you didn’t. You wanted him to stop.

“B-Bak-ack!” You hacked and coughed as water rushed into your mouth the instant you tried to speak, using what little strength you could to push yourself up on your elbows. “Bakugou, please-- please, stop-!” A yelp ripped from your throat as his hot tongue left your burning pussy, his teeth and fangs sinking into the plush meat of your inner thigh. Piercing the skin, the saltwater immediately began to burn the wound, but you still found yourself unable to pull away because of his hold on you. Even the slightest twitch had his nails digging into your skin, and by the reaction he gave from your attempt at begging, he didn’t want you to make a single move.

His tongue ran over the now bleeding bite mark, a low groan rumbling from deep within his chest. He had found something new to taste, and he did so eagerly. “Fuck, you’re so delicious. So sweet and healthy… You’re perfect. I’ve always known you’d be perfect.” His words were almost slurred as if he were a drunken man on a ramble. That was the only way you could describe his actions as if he were intoxicated. But by what?

“I… Bakugou, what-” With a swift change of positions, you were suddenly beneath him, his hand on your throat and entire body weight on you. Before you could even scream or attempt to struggle, his mouth crashed down on yours, his tongue forcing its way into your mouth. The metallic taste of your blood would have immediately made you gag if not for the tight grip he had on your throat, which was only further making you light-headed. You tried to push up against his chest, scratch at his arms, and push his hips off you with your legs, but you couldn’t. There was no energy or strength behind your struggles.

In an instant, everything stopped. Bakugou removed his tongue from your throat, snapping his head up to look towards the beach. Before you noticed what he may have been looking at, you could hear him beginning to growl, a deep and threatening sound that made your stomach twist nervously. What was he looking at?

With his grip still on your neck, you didn’t have much movement, but you didn’t need it. You could hear the voices of a group of people. How far away or what they had seen so far, you couldn’t tell, as the sound was muffled by the water around your ears. The need to protect yourself suddenly burst forth and you screamed out as loudly as your burning lungs would let you, forcing your body to thrash and struggle even as your limbs burned with searing pain. Had you said anything comprehensible? Had they heard you?

They wouldn’t have been able to save you, anyway. You already knew that your fate was in Bakugou’s hands.

In a rush of crushing water, churning foam, and stinging sand, you felt Bakugou snatch you by the right ankle and drag you out further into the sea, not even giving you a moment to take a breath or prepare yourself. You couldn’t open your eyes or struggle, not even as your body was suddenly wrapped tightly in a strong grip. Was he holding you now? Where was he taking you? You could tell that he was moving swiftly, and the incredible pressure building in your ears and your chest told you that he must have been traveling deeper.

I’m going to drown…! My breath… I can’t hold it!

As the burning and painful strain on your body grew more severe, you couldn’t control your involuntary thrashing, pushing against his presence and kicking where you could. It hurt so bad, worse than anything you had ever felt, and you wished that you would just drift off into unconsciousness. That’s what you had heard happened to people when they drown sometimes. Why couldn’t that happen to you? Why were you being put through this?

You felt like you had been underwater for hours, but when you finally breached the surface, your body immediately inhaled a massive amount of air, so quick and urgent that you began to cough violently. You didn’t know where you were, and you didn’t care. All you wanted was to find that sweet relief of air in your lungs and something to secure you to reality. When a rocky surface scraped against your flailing and searching hands, you clutched onto it for dear life, somehow pulling yourself out of the strong embrace of your kidnapper to try and claw your way up the ledge.

Before you could get far, Bakugou’s strong presence pressed up against your back, one hand holding your hip while the other took hold of your neck, constricting and preventing your body from pulling in the air it needed.

Too weak to resist, you finally forced your eyes open, tears spilling down your cheeks and further blurring your vision. As his lips came to press against your cheek, you whimpered and tried to gasp in the air to your aching lungs. “Ba… Bakugou, please, stop! Take me back to shore!”

“I found this cave for us last night,” Bakugou ignored your plea, inhaling your scent as if your fear was addicting. “It’s perfect. No one can interrupt us… You’re safe.”

“I’m not!” You glanced around, trying to take in your surroundings the best you could in the dim light. From what you could tell, you were in a cave, the only source of light being a hole above you where you could clearly see the beautiful blue sky. It was out of your reach, and with no other visible exits, you knew that this was going to be your tomb. “I’m not safe with you!”

“You’ve always been safe with me,” Growling in your ear, Bakugou dug his nails into the skin of your neck, piercing the delicate flesh and making you whine. “Now more than ever. I’ll protect you with my life. You and our spawn. Our children…”

What? That’s… he can’t! All of this was because he wanted to mate with you, to impregnate you and force you to have his children. Was that even possible?

“But… I’m human! You can’t!”

“I want you, damn it! No other female is worthy of me.” Moving his hand to instead tangle into your hair, he pulled your head back roughly, leaning in to run his tongue over the new bleeding scratches along your neck. Instantly, that same heat that you could still feel throbbing in your pussy spread like fire from the wounds, making you tremble from the stark difference of cold water against your burning skin.

What is that…? I… It’s so hot! It feels so good. Is it some type of venom? Or… I can’t think…

Your mind was beginning to grow hazy from the heat, his teeth lightly scraping across the skin of your neck and shoulder the only thing you could feel outside of the fire.

Bite me… Oh god… Bite me! No, no- what am I thinking? I don’t want it!

A trembling gasp escaped your lips as his teeth clamped down on your skin, easily sinking into your flesh. The fire returned with another stroke of his tongue along the wound, but this time, it was so intense that your body began to quiver, panting into the stale cave air. You felt like you were boiling, half expecting the water around you to begin bubbling and churning with your flame. Your sex was incredibly hot and aching, and you squeezed your thighs together just so you could feel something.

You needed relief. Whatever he was doing to you with each bite and lick of his tongue against your skin was driving you completely mad. “What… What are you doing to me? Why am I so hot?”

A low, satisfied purr left Bakugou’s lips as he smirked against your cheek, releasing your hair to run his hands down along your sides. His nails caught and ripped holes into your swimsuit, which had already been ripped apart at the crotch, so it grew looser against your searing skin. “My mate… you’re almost ready for me.” With a light nudge of his nose against your cheek, you weakly turned your head in response, immediately giving into him the instant his lips pressed against yours. You didn’t care about the blood on his lips nor the strange sweet taste that rolled down your throat, making your belly flutter and burn.

This wasn’t right. This wasn’t safe. What would happen to you if things went wrong? What was he going to be putting inside of you? He had said children… What did that mean?

You wanted to contemplate these things, to try and focus on the questions bouncing about in your mind, but they slipped from your fingers the instant you tried to hold onto them. Your mind was clouded by nothing but heat, pain, longing, throbbing, and aching. All the fear you had been feeling was only a vague prickle along your spine, but it was nothing compared to the new overwhelming desire.

Both of his hands gripping on tightly to your hips, Bakugou pressed you up tighter against the rocky ledge, the roughness of the jagged surface against your breasts and hard nipples forcing a soft moan from your lips. With the sound, Bakugou released your lips, pressing his own against your ear as he growled deep and low.

“You’re going to be my mate forever. You hear me? You’re mine. You’re my little horny bitch to breed.” As he spoke to you, so dominating and controlling in a way that made your heart flutter, you felt a new presence between your legs you hadn’t noticed before. It was slick with a slimy consistency, with a curved, ridged head and bumps along the long sides that led back to Bakugou’s hips. It was pulsing and twitching up against your sex, every soft nudge to your clit nearly enough to make you come undone that instant.

That’s his cock… It’s so big… How will it fit inside me? It’ll rip me open…!

“Don’t-” You choked out weakly, trying to shift your hips away from him to no avail. “You can’t! That’ll rip me apart-!” Another harsh bite to your neck made you squeal, unconsciously arching back against him and stroking your cunt along the dick still between your thighs. The pain had you squeezing them together around his girth, bringing a deep groan from his chest, teeth still planted in your skin. The longer he stayed there, the hotter the wound became, spreading through your body like the many times before. “Ow, a-ah, that’s hot! It burns, Bakugou, please!”

Instead of responding with words, Bakugou gave a thrust of his hips, stroking his cock along your sex. The instant he ran across your clit, all your restraint snapped like a twig, waves of pleasure rolling over you as you came. Trembling and moaning, you dug your nails into the rocks you were holding on to, spouting whatever words first came to your mind in a jumbled mess.

“F-fuck, fuck! I’m so hot; It’s so hot! I can’t take it! Please, please no more!”

“There’s only one way to make it go away,” Bakugou lapped up the blood on your neck, shifting his hips so that the tip of his cock rested at your still twitching hole. “I have to fill you up, until you’re nice and full of my spawn. Or else you’ll burn until you die.”

“I-I don’t want them-!”

“You do. Don’t you want to feel better?”

“Yes.”

“You’ll love having me inside you.”

“It’ll… feel good…”

“So fucking good…-” Without waiting for your response, Bakugou began to press himself into you, the head of his thick cock slipping in. The stretch as he vanished inch by inch into your clenching pussy was unlike anything you had ever felt, his girth making you breathless. But it was unlike what you had expected. There was no pain, only an intense pressure and feeling as if you were full all the way up to your throat. By the time he had bottomed out inside you, you had cum again, just the feeling of him pressing against every inch of you enough to push you over the edge. With a low groan, Bakugou dug his nails into your hips, pressing his forehead against your shoulder. “Yes, you’re nice and ready for me. My little mate… so obedient.”

Your mind was blank to everything but the heat and his overwhelming presence inside you. The sensitivity of your body was heightened to the point that you could feel every ridge, every bump and groove of his cock. As he gave his first slow roll of his hips, pulling all the way out to the tip before plunging in again, you immediately lost all control, craving nothing but the pleasure.

“Fuck, fuck, I can’t take it! Fuck me, please! Use me! I’m your mate, I want your spawn, please-” Your encouragement immediately set him off to fuck you at a faster pace, slamming into your cunt. Your voice was something that you couldn’t restrain, screaming, moaning, and begging for him to use you.

“Yeah, that’s it! My filthy little breeding bitch. Tell me who you belong to!”

“Y-you! I belong to you! I’ll be yours forever- you can use me whenever you want!”

“You’ll never resist me again?”

“No, no! Never!”

As the pleasure began to build rapidly, you rested your forehead against your arm, your eyes rolling back and unable to stop the drool that dripped down your chin, your mouth permanently open with the most lewd sounds you had ever made. He was using you like a sex toy, fucking you at his own pace and indulging completely in his own pleasures. You didn’t care what he did to you at this point, how many scratches marked your back or how much blood you had lost to his bites. All you could think about was him and his cock inside you.

You were unsure how long he fucked you like this, but after your third time cumming, he gripped you by the neck and pulled your upper body back. His presence inside you had your hips arched up in perfect position for him, and he didn’t stop, not even as he growled into your ear.

“Take them all into your hot and precious womb… With this, your body will never be the same for any other man or creature. You are mine. You will be mine forever.” With a few final thrusts, Bakugou came to a stop, buried so deep inside of you that you could feel your cervix stretching uncomfortably. At first, all you could feel was a growing heat, coating your walls and making your core tingle relentlessly. Your clenching and tense core began to pulse with your rapid heartbeat in a way that was new to you, allowing you to relax in his grip. Although your mind was still aching to rid yourself of the fire, whatever was happening to you now loosened your anxious, aching muscles.

Then came the first egg. About the size of a tennis ball, it passed through Bakugou’s cock slowly, only taking a moment to squeeze into your cunt. Gasping fearfully as it continued to slowly move closer, you gripped onto Bakugou’s hand that was around your throat, finding that you were unable to feel your legs enough to try and kick him off. “N-no, no! It won’t fit- a-ah!” Leaning your head back with your mouth and eyes wide open in a silent scream, you were unable to stop him as he lightly bucked his hips into you, urging the egg further down his shaft. With each light thrust, it moved deeper and deeper, stretching you open. When it finally reached his tip, Bakugou gave a grunt as he snapped his hips roughly into yours, bringing forth a scream from your throat as you came hard from the pressure of the egg breaching your cervix into your womb.

The waves of your orgasm helped to pass it through, your eyes rolled back as it passed. There was no pain, but you could feel the new presence in your lower belly, tucked safely inside of you.

Releasing his arm, your hands slid down to caress your own belly, pressing into your lower abdomen lightly. You could feel the tip of Bakugou’s cock inside you, and your light pressure made him growl in your ear.

“Watch it, my pet.”

“I… I want to feel it.”

The next egg coming through was just as blissful as the first, bringing you to orgasm as you kept your fingers pressed into your body. You could feel it this time against your fingertips, bringing a smile to your lips as you bit down eagerly onto your bottom lip. Never in your life had you imagined such pleasure would be yours, to be used and adored by a creature in such an intimate way.

It was heaven.

Eight more followed, bloating your belly. Whatever numbing he had done to you had spread to your stomach, so your muscles were relaxed enough to take on the new presence inside you. You felt full, as if you had eaten an incredibly large meal, but there was no pain. Still, that burning need of satisfaction was ravaging your body. It hadn’t gone away like he had promised it would. Was he not done with you?

Removing his cock from your ravaged body, Bakugou flipped you over to face him, resting you back against the side of the ledge. With a weak grip, you kept yourself up with your legs around his waist, your arms resting limply by your sides. For a moment, you just stared at each other, giving you time to observe his brilliant and handsomely fine features. He was perfection, from the blonde fluff of spiked hair atop his head, to flawless skin, to muscular frame that had you swooning the first time you had met him. He was so gorgeous, and all the sudden so… gentle.

With your new position, he found the opportunity to caress your swollen belly, running his hands along your skin as he gazed down at your form through the clear, rippling water. It was such an odd look to you. Was it longing? Love? Or was it just pride in the work that he had done here, filling you up with his eggs and making you submit to him.

Did he even care about you at all? Or did he just care about keeping your body to use as he pleased?

You were pulled from your stupor of staring at him as his hands traveled up to your breasts, taking hold of the remnants of your swimsuit and ripping it apart. The fabric discarded off to the side, Bakugou leaned in to kiss you again as he squeezed and massaged your breasts, pinching your sensitive nipples between his fingers. Your mouth opened for him with a moan, allowing him to kiss you as he pleased.

That sweet taste filled your mouth again, making you writhe and wrap your arms around his neck in discomfort of the spreading fire. Your body began to ache again, digging your nails into his skin as you moaned and panted against his lips, which refused to let yours go. Then, without a word, you felt the familiar blunt presence of his cock at your twitching hole, slipping into place like he was simply putting on a glove. You trembled against him as you tried to moan, begging against the kiss for him to let you breathe with any little moment that came your way. He didn’t. He continued to kiss you, to bite and nibble at your lip and your tongue, his sharp fangs piercing the delicate flesh when he was a bit too rough.

“You’re so delicious,” Bakugou groaned against your lips, glaring into your gaze as your fierce need for pleasure grew more severe. “I never want to stop tasting you.”

“I-I want to be done… Bakugou, I want to stop-” A squeak escaped your lips as he dug his cock deeper into your cunt, a new presence making itself known as it slithered up along your clit and against your pelvis. It was just as slimy and wet as the cock inside you, but it was smooth, pointed, and not quite as thick. You wanted to look down between your bodies to see, but you were too distracted by his smirk, his tongue dancing across his blood-stained lips.

“I’m not done with you yet.”

In that same moment, the new appendage that you couldn’t identify began to press against your cunt, beginning to enter you along with his cock. As you were stretched open, you clutched onto his shoulders, gasping and choking on your attempts to breathe. “N-no, wait-!” Clenching your eyes shut, you pushed back on his chest, but your weak body was no match against his overwhelming presence. “Don’t- not both! I can’t!”

Sighing in satisfaction as his hand slid up your body to grip the hair at the back of your head, Bakugou pressed his lips against your cheek, his smirk only growing wider. “You can! I would have only done one at a time, but you’ve just been so naughty fighting against me like this. I have to teach you a fucking lesson, that your body belongs to me.”

“I-I’m sorry! I’m sorry, I won’t fight anymore! I won’t!” Tears began to stream down your face as he forced both of his dicks into your cunt. If not for the fire within you that begged for pleasure and the still relaxed muscles from the eggs, you knew that you would be in severe pain. There was none. No, the pleasure is what was driving you mad. You couldn’t take it. It was going to make you go crazy if he kept this up, and you couldn’t bear the thought of him moving.

When he finally began to thrust into you, it rocked your body so hard with pleasure that you couldn’t even find the air to scream or moan. All you could do was lean back against the rocks, not even able to feel the scratching against your back as he pounded into you, hard and deep. Head leaning back, you were sure that you must have had an insane look on your face, with your eyes rolled back and a wide, pleasured smile on your lips. But you couldn’t help it.

It was amazing. You wanted nothing more in that moment than to feel his cocks inside you forever, to be fucked and bred at every chance you possibly had. Nothing could ever compare to this bliss, not even achieving your wildest dreams. Your body was going to belong to him. Your soul was going to belong to him.

This wasn’t right.

How could you give in like this? How could he break you so easily?

It didn’t matter.

“You like my dicks inside you, huh, my pretty mate?” Bakugou hissed in your ear, pulling your consciousness to the front just for a moment.

“I-I love… I love them. So good! Bakugou-”

“-No. Katsuki.” He purred against your lips, watching as your face contorted with your oncoming orgasm.

“Yes… Yes, Katsuki!”

“You’re mine, aren’t you?”

“I’m yours, Katsuki! Fuck, I’m going to cum, fuck, I can’t- I can’t hold it! I can’t!” Your entire body seized up with your release, clutching onto him tightly. With his final few erratic thrusts, Bakugou let out a heavy groan, digging his cocks as deep into you as he could. You could feel his hot release into you, the second dick pulsing and coating your walls. What was more, you could feel the very tip of it dug into your womb, filling you up directly with his cum to join the eggs. You couldn’t believe that you could feel it all so clearly, your body so sensitive and yet so in tune with his that it had seemed you were familiar with this.

You weren’t, of course. As he removed himself from you, leaving you feeling incredibly empty, all your energy felt like it left with him and you collapsed forward, head against his chest. You couldn’t feel him caressing you. You couldn’t feel his fingers tenderly stroking your hair. All you could feel, as the fire within your core began to vanish, was an overwhelming sense of shame. What had you just done? What had you just been forced to do? None of this was right. You shouldn’t be here.

Those things you had said to him… you didn’t mean it. Did you? Did you really want to belong to him? Were you really going to just lay down and accept that this was it?

“[Name].”

Jumping at the sound of his voice, you timidly sat up, looking up at him in fear as a new wave of tears rolled down your cheeks. Too scared to talk, you waited for him to continue, not even wanting to blink in fear that he would react badly. Though, his expression was quite soft, his crimson eyes glancing over your face with worry.

“Are you okay?”

“I… yes.” You could barely find it in you to speak, the words coming out as a choked whisper. Why did you say that? Of course you weren’t okay. You were scratched up, bitten, bruised, and filled with eggs, for fucks sake! Why weren’t you yelling and screaming at him?

“Here.” Caressing you carefully, Bakugou moved you both over to a different ledge, carefully lifting you up to sit on it. “There’s a blanket and other things there for you.”

Sitting there with your legs dangling in the water, you slowly wrapped your arms around your swollen belly, beginning to tremble from the cold. “O… okay.”

With a frustrated grunt at the fact that you neglected to move, Bakugou hoisted himself up onto the ledge, sitting beside you and reaching back to snatch the blanket he had mentioned. “Damn stupid woman, you need to stay warm!” As he draped it around your shoulders, you couldn’t stop but flinch away from him a bit, tears still streaming down your face in fear. “Why are you scared of me?”

“I don’t… want you to hurt me anymore.”

Bakugou gave the back of your head a gentle stroke, letting his arm rest around your back. “You got it all wrong, moron. I don’t want to hurt you. Your wounds will heal quickly because of my venom… And being sore won’t last, you’ll be numb for a while.”

“You act like you’ve done this before.”

“... We don’t need to talk about that. It doesn’t fucking matter. You’re all I care about, now. I’m going to protect you.” Bakugou caressed your cheek, turning your head to look up at him. “I don’t just go for random women. I picked you for more than just your body. You should rest…”

His final words were more of a command than a suggestion, and with that gruff growl in his voice, you listened. Scooting back towards the pad of blankets he had set up on the ground, you used the one around your shoulders to first dry off the best you could, before shuffling under the others. It was warm and oddly comfortable, but you expected that you’d find even a bed full of needles comfortable with how exhausted you were. As you settled down on your side, you watched Bakugou as he slipped back into the water, vanishing beneath the surface and leaving you alone in the cave.

With the silence, more tears began to flow down your cheeks, running your hands up and down along your swollen belly as you craved the warmth of the sun and the cheeky grinning merman you had loved just yesterday.

3K notes · View notes

thesightstoshowyou · 3 years

Note

Last one then I'll leave you alone, I promise 😁

3, 5, 13, 28, 30, 33, 34, 37, 38, 43, 54, 65, 70, 71, 75, 79, 82, 93, 95, 97, 99 and 100 with pennywise and/or bob grey

Sorry that was a lot😁

Lmao. I laugh every time I look at this request.

Alright then. *Cracks knuckles* I accept your challenge. I ended up changing just a few words here and there to make the quotes fit Bob a little better, but most of them were left as they are.

Follow-up to this

F Reader (NSFW)

Warnings: Dubcon, creepy elements, degradation, choking, drool, fingering, oral, daddy kink, hair pulling, biting, blood, creampie

The yawning mouth of the funhouse stares ominously back at you. A chilly breeze blows at your back, brushing your hair over your shoulders, nearly pushing you forward. It’s as though the maw is inhaling, trying to suck you in.

“Let’s go!” your friends shout, shoving you toward the entrance. You tag along, squashing down the unease prickling on the back of your neck. It’s a cheap, shitty funhouse. It’s fine, calm down.

The mouth spins when you enter, disorienting you, making you stumble. Your friends laugh and hurry through the obstacle course of swinging, neon clowns. You screech at them to wait up as you dodge the nearest grinning face, but their laughter already grows distant.

When you step into the mirror maze, all sound vanishes. It’s deathly silent, and the prickling trepidation returns full force. The lights above flicker at random intervals and you must blink your eyes several times so they can adjust to the cold, intermittent light.

After you run smack dab into a plexiglass sheet, you move slower and hold your hands out in front of you, calling your friends’ names as you go. Intently, you listen, but there’s nothing, no sound, no laughter, no funhouse music. Only your feverish panting reaches your ears. Everywhere you look is only you, a hundred wide-eyed, sweating reiterations of your face.

“You guys, this isn’t—

You round a corner and crash into a solid chest. Your gaze travels up, up, until it passes over full, wet lips and falls on mischievous blue. You blink, not believing what you’re seeing until huge hands encircle your arms and squeeze.

“Bob!” you breathe. So, he is real. You really hadn’t imagined that strange night in the dilapidated Neibolt house. He’s tangible, warm under your palms, his chest rising and falling with his heavy breaths.

“You know, there wasn’t a single thing to eat in here until you walked in. Tasty slut,” he growls in response, that odd, warbly voice bringing you right back to that terrifying night a few weeks ago. You’re so shocked you don’t think to protest until he has you backed against a mirror.

“Uh, um, I-my friends, I need—

“Um, um, um, um,” he mocks, gripping your jaw and cackling in your face, “Don’t you want to play with me?” He pouts, wiggling your head back and forth. His other hand travels lower, cups your cunt through your pants. You gasp and weakly push against his chest as desperate heat burns through your gut at the contact. You’d be lying if you said you hadn’t thought about him daily since that night.

Bob chuckles low in his throat, “That tickles.” His huge hand finds your throat, shoves you hard against the mirror behind you. He looms over you and a twinge of fear wraps itself around your spine when you realize how completely powerless you are. You can do nothing but comply.

As though he can read your thoughts, he grins, drool spilling over his lips and down his chin to patter onto the front of your shirt. “That’s my girl,” he murmurs, “Show me that pretty fear.” Bob clenches his fist, cuts off your air and your eyes go wide, your mouth falling open in a silent plea. Your eyes dart around, but there’s only Bob and you reflected from every angle. You’re alone, well and truly alone with him.

The fear grows, crawls down your throat, jumpstarts your heart, takes hold of your limbs until you’re thrashing, but it’s useless. His strength is almost inhuman. The helplessness is horrifying.

A groan chokes from your constricted throat when he reaches spidery fingers into your pants. When they dip into your folds and find you dripping, he titters and whispers, “Such a needy little thing, aren’t you? Hmm? Yes, you are, don’t lie to Pennywise.” You gasp, cough, suck in a huge breath of air when he releases your throat.

Pennywise?

Your thoughts derail when long digits sink into you, curl, make you writhe when sticky warmth erupts in your belly. Bob’s teasing, “Pushing back against my fingers already? How pathetic,” only adds to the desire jolting through you.

All too soon, the fingers leave you and you groan at their absence. Instead, he grips the waistband of your pants, tugs the fabric down your legs until one of your limbs is freed enough that your thighs can be pushed apart. Bob kneels, throws one of your legs over his shoulder and noisily inhales the scent of your dripping cunt. Embarrassed heat crawls up your neck and you must look away when he sighs in appreciation.

“You look good all soaking wet. Needy, needy little cunt, aren’t you?”

“Y-Yes, Daddy,” you moan, shocked by the words that spill past your lips. Bob moans, dives in and laves a long tongue across your waiting wetness. The slurping sounds he makes when he sucks on your clit are obscene, but you mewl sweetly in return, hips rolling against his tongue, hands scrabbling for purchase on the chilly mirror behind you.

“Look at you, grinding against everything. You’re really desperate for it, aren’t you?”

“B-Bob, p-please, oh-oh—

You can’t finish your sentence when he sucks you back into his mouth, the sloppy, wet sounds bouncing off the mirrors and plexiglass sounding so loud in the silent maze. One of your hands finds his hair; it’s soft under your fingers when you grip the brown locks and grind into his mouth.

“Yes, that’s it, dumb cunt, just like that. It’s okay, slut, you can pull my hair as hard as you want while I’m between your legs,” he murmurs against your slippery flesh. Then, as suddenly as he started, he pulls away, stands, twists you around, and smashes your cheek into the glass.

“Touch yourself for me. That’s right, do it, whore. Debase yourself.” You’re too far gone to protest, too lost in need and Bob’s menacing presence. Your fingers roll over clit, your breath fogging up the glass when you release a shaky exhale.

Your eyes widen minutely when you meet your own gaze in the mirror. You’re a wreck; mascara smudged, sweat beading along your brow, pupils blown wide, mouth hanging open. Jesus, what will your friends think if they find you….

When a moan slips off your tongue, Bob growls, “I love the sounds you make when you come undone. Come undone for. Me. If you keep making those sounds, I’m not going to be able to stop myself.” He chuckles at that, as though the very idea of controlling his urges is comical.

The drag of a zipper reaches your ears and a little spike up wanton fear pulses within you. Bob laughs in your ear, presses his thick cock to your messy entrance, whispers, “I’m gonna fuck you in front of the mirror, needy whore, yes, I am. I want you to see how pretty you look when you’re spreading your legs for me. Did you lock the door when you came in? I think you forgot, stupid thing, forgot to lock the door. That means anyone could walk right in and see you like this, but that’s too bad, too bad little girl. I need you. Now!”

You’re confused by his words. What door? You’re given no time to think when he surges forward, burying his enormous cock too deep, too quick. You scream, claw at the mirror, pleadingly meet his wild, gold gaze—wait, gold again—in the mirror. You’d beg him to slow down, be gentle, but it’d be just as pointless as your struggle.

Tears stream down your face when his hips slam into you so hard the glass shakes under your palms. Bob coos in mock sympathy, groans in your ear, “You know, you look real pretty when you cry. You know that, hmm? Of course not, silly girl. No one fucks you like I do, do they?

Deliriously, you shake your head, your screams morphing, transitioning into garbled versions of his name. Bob nods, grips your hair, nods your head with him, sings, “Yes, good slut, perfect slut.” He enunciates the ‘T’s,’ the sounds so sharp you can feel them popping behind your ribs, “Say my name over and over again, and, once you think you’ve said it loud enough, scream. IT. I want the whole neighborhood to know who’s making you feel good. These walls are pretty thick, you and I can be as loud as we want.”

Your fingers leave your clit and fly to the mirror. You need another hand to brace yourself, to keep Bob from pounding you completely through the glass. He hisses, tugs your hair until your neck is bared and you can’t see yourself in the mirror, murmurs against your flesh, “Did I say you could stop, cunt?”

“P-Please, I-I’m sorry, please pull my hair, please fuck me, h-hurt me!” You have no idea what you’re saying, needy words tumbling from your mouth of their own accord. Bob laughs, high and loud. The grating sound bounces off the mirrors, worms its way into your skull, makes you wince.

You scream when sharp, needle points sink into your neck, burning pain tearing through your neck. You try to rip your hair out of his iron grip to look in the mirror, but Bob holds you too tightly. Belatedly, you realize he’s biting you when he moans against your skin and wet warmth trickles down your chest, but you’ve never felt teeth like this before.

Bob tilts his hips, assaults your fluttering, sensitive walls with every inch of that unforgiving cock until you’re screaming and begging all at once. Climax washes over you like a rogue wave, twists your insides, sweeps away the pain until you’re sobbing your thanks, “Th-Thank you, Daddy, t-thank—

“How do you feel about adding another person to the mix?” He interrupts you with a giggle, tongue lapping at the blood pooling in your collarbone. Breathless, numb, you frown in confusion, wondering what the hell he’s talking about now. The hand in your hair retreats and your head tips forward, but what you see in the mirror has your mouth falling open in shock.

Bob is no longer behind you. Instead, there stands a…clown; face painted white, a shock of orange hair sticking out wildly from the top of his head, crimson lines streaking down from his eyes to his full lips, your blood dripping from his chin. He bucks his hips and you choke on an inhale, the movement jarring you out of your stunned silence.

A white, gloved hand claps over your mouth to quiet your frantic scream. The clown viciously pistons his hips, the bells of his dingy costume jingling as he cackles wildly at your panicked expression in the mirror.

“What’s the matter, missy? You don’t like Bobby’s new make-up?” Startled by his words and his weird, warbly voice, you meet the clown’s jaundiced gaze in the mirror. You mind races, confused questions and icy fear flicking through your mind just like the flashing lights above you.

The clown inhales deeply, a cruel smirk pulling at the corners of his ruby lips. “You’re such a sweet, sweet treat for Pennywise. Think I’ll keep you here, keep you all to myself. My own, personal slut. Call me selfish, but I don’t ever want anyone else to touch you. Now, be a good girl and let me paint that tight little cunt.”

His hand slides to your cheek, squashes your face against the mirror once more. You shriek and clench your eyes shut as he jackhammers you into the glass. A few more thrusts and he’s grunting, growling, hilting himself and spilling warmth deep in your guts.

Once the erratic jerking of his hips finally subsides, you risk a look. Tentatively, you peel your lids apart. Behind you, the clown still stands. In his hand is—

“Balloon? For being such a good pet.”

#bob gray x reader #bob gray #robert gray x reader #robert gray #pennywise x reader #pennywise the dancing clown #it movie #it 2017 #it 2019 #it chapter 2 #n sfw #writing prompts #thank you for the ask

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remmushound · 3 years

Text

Curse of the Clan part 57! @selfindulgenz @scentedcandlecryptid

Content warning! Injury, cauterization, burns, minor blood

The floor under April’s feet sloped as the press of Krang’s button. The angle became so sharp that April couldn’t resist it and started to slide toward the back of the mech. Her feet fell off the edge, but she managed to cling on just barely by locking her fingers into the curve of the wall. Her muscles ached after hardly any time at all, climbing on tight enough to pale her knuckles. Her muscles worked and they burned, but they held on for a long minute.

Krang’s face split in a cruel grin. “Bye bye!”

April could hold on no longer. She fell, the darkness swallowing her entirely.

***

Bishop moved like a whip around the enclosed space, alluding attacks and capture with all the determined agility of a slippery eel. It didn't take a genius to figure out what Bishop was trying to do as he weaved between the family, knocking them apart with powerful swipes of his tails. They were more vulnerable when they were alone, so they couldn’t be forced apart. Bishop lunged once more, dividing Leonardo from Donatello before turning his attention toward Michelangelo. The box turtle had a tight grip on his chain weapon, spinning it around and around while his ruby eyes kept track of Bishop’s every move.

“What’s the plan?” Michelangelo asked, yelping as he had to sidestep to avoid a vicious strike.

“I was kinda relying on my portals working.” Leonardo admitted, much to the dismay of his family. He moved back in closer to Donatello, both of them falling flat to avoid another pounce.

“You can’t run forever.” Bishop hissed; the demeanor of the snake had changed completely from a suave agent to a beast frustrated he couldn’t land a hit.

“He’s right.” Leonardo said, grabbing Donatello by his mask tails to yank him so they could join Michelangelo. “We gotta find a new way up!”

Bishop had them cornered now, his body swaying from side to side as he sized them up with hungry eyes. Leonardo’s eyes darted around to look for some escape, and the opportunity came in the form of Splinter throwing his full weight against the snake and making Bishop’s attack falter. Splinter was more pin cushion than rat, his fur spiked up and standing on end while his teeth and claws flashing a sharp threat. His fangs sank into where Bishop’s shoulders would have been if he had arms, his claws finding purchase and tearing anywhere they could.

Bishop retaliated by latching onto Splinter’s neck, fangs sinking into the soft flesh and the muscular body immediately wrapping around Splinter, starting to squeeze

“DAD!”

Michelangelo was the first to separate from the safety of the group, his face distorting in fury as he swung his weapon to wrap the chain around Bishop’s neck and tighten it, using the secured weapon to swing himself onto Bishop like a jockey taming a wild bronco. Bishop gave a growl of displeasure that, to the horror of the onlookers, quickly turned to cries of pure agony as his flesh started to sizzle and pop wherever Michelangelo touched him. The pain overwhelming, Bishop let go of Splinter and Leonardo was there to catch the rat, immediately assessing the punctures while Donatello stood back to witness the fury of Michelangelo.

“Get— off of— me—“ Any sense of dignity Bishop may have had were burned away with Michelangelo’s frenzied, furious strikes; his hands had erupted into a blaze that, while they scorched and seared Bishop wherever they struck, didn't seem to hurt Michelangelo in the slightest.

“NO!”

Bishop reared up to slam Michelangelo against the wall, crushing the turtle with his weight, but Michelangelo hung on tight.

Donatello looked up but he didn't know why. He eyed the wires that were above them, and he witnessed them moving and tying around each other like they were alive. On the end of each long tendril were tiny suction grabbers that looked, quite frankly, sticky.

Donatello was being grabbed. Grabbed and snared and squeezed by the wires as they secured a grip on him, yanking him upward. They dug into his flesh but it didn't hurt; each touch of the wires were like ten hands supporting him, sending pulses through the muscles that made them relax so that the wires could do their job. The wires were good, and they were reaching down at them, trying to grab the mutants in their suction grip.

Bishop had finally managed to toss Michelangelo off, but not without suffering significant damage to his scales and to one of his eyes.

“I’m a firebender!” Michelangelo declared, laughing maniacally as he looked down at his flaming hands.

“You’re a pyromaniac.” Donatello breathed, hardly in control of his own words.

Bishop pulled his lips back as he spat his fury; some of him seemed to be peeling, like dead skin after a sunburn healed, showing nothing but red, inflamed flesh beneath. There was no blood, the heat of Michelangelo’s touch having been enough to cauterize the wound. Cauterize. That was it—that was what Leonardo needed! Splinter’s wound was bleeding badly, but Leonardo knew it wasn’t an artery bleed. The flow and position of the strike wouldn’t have resulted in that, and it seemed to be mostly tissue that Bishop had pierced. The bleeding needed to be stopped, even if they would have to deal with a burn later.

“Mike, I need you over here.” Michelangelo was at Leonardo’s side the moment he was called, kneeling beside Splinter and staring in horror at the blood staining his skin red.

“What can I do?”

“I need you to press your hands to dad’s neck and seal off the wound okay— can you do that?”

Michelangelo nodded numbly and did as Leonardo asking, wincing as he felt his fathers flesh and fur burn under his touch. The smell was indescribable. He pulled his hands back quickly and looked up to Leonardo, hoping that had been enough.

“Good— the bleeding stopped.” Leonardo let himself breathe

“Guys.” Donatello’s voice felt painfully dry as he spoke, and then pointed skyward to the wires. “We should go up.”

Leonardo followed his brother’s finger and spotted the wires reaching out for them. Then he looked back down and seen Bishop making rapid advancement toward them, each movement awkward with the pain of his body, and Leonardo felt he didn't have much else of a choice. He grabbed Splinter and heaved the unconscious rat over his shoulder as he and his brothers started their upward ascent toward the wires reaching out to them.

~~~

April landed feet-first in a deep pool of chilling water that sucked the breath right out of her. She kicked out her feet from pure instinct and resurfaced as quickly as her frost-swallowed body would allow her, padding toward what she could only assume to be the shore. When she felt her feet sweep against metal at the bottom, she was greatly relieved, and she followed the upward slope until she was able to collapse onto solid ground.

“Oh, ground, sweet ground.” She kissed the floor and then immediately regretted it when she got a mouthful of bitter cold. “Ah… S-Sunita!”

“In here…” The yokai’s voice carried, and it was the only thing April had to guide her in this dark place.

She held her hands out in front of her, feeling her way through the open, pitch room until her hands touched a wall. She used the wall as her guide, leading her to an open doorway, and only when she had gotten a few good feet inside did she spy a faint green glow.

“Sunita!”

April ran when the light was bright enough to let her, practially sprinting right into the slime yokai. She sank slightly into Sunita’s form, quickly pulling away with a disgusted grunt and tried to shake the goo off of her. The slime naturally left to return to their host, but Sunita didn't seem to care either way. The yokai had hardly reacted to the impact! Something else had caught her full attention, and pretty soon it had April’s too.

“Woah…”

Both girls found themselves standing before a giant glass chamber, and in the chamber was a great amount of green that April could almost mistake for mutagen! Then she realized it was too vibrant, too fluid! Mutagen was thick and dark and clumpy, but this was almost like water! She knew exactly what this stuff was.

“Empyrean…”

#Bishop attacks #mikeys power revealed!#a shocking discovery #tmnt #teenage mutant ninja turtles #rottmnt #tmnt au

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isis-astarte-diana · 4 years

Text

Mercy

Summary: Five times Missy pushes your limits (and one time she doesn’t).

Word Count: 3879

Warnings: NSFW. MIHOW. Dub!con, just to be safe. Bad BDSM etiquette. Crying during sex. Overstimulation. Forceful fellatio. Painful sex. Anal. Caning. Safeword use. (This sounds like my Christmas list).

NB: Hey, so, uh... I can’t excuse this. I won’t even try. If you want some gratuitous soft!domme Missy with an excessive amount of praise, read on. If you don’t, there is a chance this may not be the blog for you.

“Do you have another one for me?”

Combing her fingers through the sweat-damp hair at your temple, Missy presses a soft kiss to your forehead. She reclines beside you on the bed, fully clothed, curled comfortably against your side. You whine at the question.

“I don’t know,” you admit breathlessly. “It’s hard to tell.”

“I’m sure it is.” Her lips quirk at the corners when she sweeps a few stray hairs from your overheated face. “Shall we find out together?”

Swallowing hard, you twist in your restraints. “If you like, Mistress.” It comes out soft and tentative. She smiles wickedly.

“That’s a good girl. Let’s give it a try, hmm?”

You offer her a small nod, drawing your bottom lip between your teeth. When the vibrator buzzes to life once more it drags a whimper from your chest. She sits up to better see what she’s doing. You crane your neck, barely managing to lift your head from the pillow, to watch her bring the toy back between your hopelessly spread legs.

The first touch makes you shriek.

With your vulva so oversensitive already, every fold drenched and every nerve spasming, the relentless vibrations are torturous. You jerk in place, uselessly trying to shift your hips away from the excruciating stimulation. Your thighs tremble and try to close but with your ankles firmly bound to the bedposts it’s impossible. She follows your movements, offering you no reprieve.

“I can’t,” you gasp, tears starting to sit sharp in the back of your throat. “I’m done, I’m done-”

“No you’re not, poppet,” she chides gently, her other hand coming to rest on the damp skin of your inner thigh. The pressure is grounding. “You still have more to give me. I know that you do.”

A harsh tremor rocks your spine. Through gritted teeth you beg, “I don’t, Missy, I swear I don’t!”

“Of course you do,” she soothes, swiping her thumb across your skin in firm, steady strokes. It’s a confusing juxtaposition to the frenetic vibrations that ignite your clitoris in twitching discomfort. She speaks low reassurances over your harsh panting and desperate whines. “It might sting a little bit, but you can give me another one. Do it for your Mistress.”

+++++

“Does it hurt yet?”

The implicit threat of pain to come makes your breath catch. “No,” you admit tentatively. “Not really. It just feels...” Averting your gaze from hers for a moment, you whisper, “tight.”

“Tight is good.” Missy grins, all teeth, and leans down to press a kiss to your jaw. With her straddling your waist like this, stripped down to the chemise she’s hitched up around her hips, you can feel her, hot and slick, on the bare skin of your stomach. It’s startlingly erotic. “We can do better, though.”

She watches you intently as her skilful fingers begin to manipulate the clamp on your left nipple. You can’t look; watching the pink skin pinched tighter with every turn of the screw is unbearable. When the pressure finally turns to biting pain you make a choked noise low in your throat and she chuckles.

“Better?” Her fingertips trail along your breastbone, ostensibly for comfort; really, you suspect that she’s measuring your breathing and your heartbeat.

“It hurts now,” you squeak, and her smile widens.

“Good.”

She sets to work on the other side even as you squirm beneath her. While she tightens the clamp, you can’t help noticing the slight rocking of her hips, the way she grinds against you to stimulate herself. The captivating spectacle robs so much of your attention that you cry out at the sudden shock of the metal clip drawing painfully tight on your right nipple. Her head falls back with an ecstatic chuckle.

“Oh, poppet. You’re so much fun to play with.”

You prickle with delight at her words, even as the throbbing pain from the clamps sinks in and makes your eyes burn with tears. “Thank you, Mistress.”

Without warning Missy slaps her open palm against the side of your left breast. The impact stings but, more presently, it tugs at the clamp and sends shooting pain through your nipple and straight to the core of you, intense enough that adrenaline races hot and cold down your spine. Yelping, you tug at your restraints. They’re unforgiving.

“You didn’t like that much, did you?” She quirks an eyebrow and does it again, this time on your right breast. It seems more painful here, but your stunned cry is still pitifully lewd. The first few tears roll heavily down your face and you shake your head, breathing hard. She tuts in sympathy. “I’m afraid you’ll like this next part even less.”

When she dismounts and turns around, showing you her back, the streak of her arousal on your stomach turns cold in the air. She retrieves the third and final clamp from the bed beside you and holds it up for you to see, throwing you a saucy wink over her shoulder.

“You might just feel a little pinch, dearest.” Two fingers stroke through your folds, sliding easily with your overwhelming slickness and coming to rest either side of your clitoris. The touch makes you gasp. “Can you guess where this one goes?”

+++++

“Just take your time.”

Missy drags her fingernails against your scalp, drawing swirling patterns there. The palm of her hand applies the faintest pressure to the back of your head. She’s not pushing, nor really holding you in place; just reminding you what you’re here for.

It would be hard to forget with the tip of the strap-on nudging the back of your tongue.

“You’re doing very well so far.” With her other hand, she brushes a few tears away from your cheek. “Just relax. I know you want to hold your breath but it’s easier if you don’t.”

You concentrate on keeping your throat open, suppressing the urge to gag with every ounce of strength you have. As you tilt your head and take her deeper into your mouth, steadily approaching the point of no return, she increases the force behind her palm just enough to prevent your retreat. Every bit of depth gained is under your control; Missy, for her part, makes sure that you do not lose it.

“Breathe,” she reminds you, tapping the underside of your jaw with one finger. Your brows tighten with the effort of splitting your focus between staying pliant and maintaining slow breaths through your nose. “That’s it. Good girl.”

For as long as you can keep the two tasks in balance - the breathing, the conscious battle with your gag reflex - it’s easy. There’s some discomfort, the muscles in your throat reluctantly accepting this unnatural invasion, but the fullness is hypnotic and the sound of her pleased voice above you is more than enough to sweeten it.

It’s immediately obvious when your attention slips.

Your throat convulses, a vulgar retching sound robbing your breath. The unyielding thickness of the toy pushing into your throat obstructs your attempt to steady your breathing and, in a familiar rush of panic, you brace your palms against her thighs and try fruitlessly to push yourself back.

“None of that,” she chastises, tugging lightly at your hair. It doesn’t hurt, but it serves to ground you, prompting you to claw back some control over your muscles. “Don’t panic. You’re alright. You just need to concentrate.” Her free hand entwines with one of yours, squeezing gently. She presses you a little bit further down on her length, heedless of your choked sobs. “You can do it, poppet.”

+++++

“Open wide.”

Cold, blunt metal pushes at your lips and you part them on her command. The toy that Missy presses into your mouth is heavy. It rests against your tongue, not wide enough to fill your mouth, not long enough to make you gag, but sufficient to keep you muffled and complacent. The tapered shape of it ends with a narrow stem around which you close your lips.

“Good girl. You just hold onto that for me.” She trails her fingertips up to your hairline, skimming the soft blindfold as she does so, and combs her hand through your hair. “I’ll need it back in a minute.”

You nod as best you can and hum around the object. Resting your cheek against the duvet, you shift a little bit over her lap, settling into your position. It’s awkward with your wrists bound in the small of your back but she’s attentive to your comfort. She smooths her palm along the base of your spine.

“I’m sure you must be very sore by now,” she coos, sounding entirely unapologetic for her part in it. “You’ve gone the most delightful shade of pink.” She punctuates the words with a sharp pinch to the undercurve of your arse, abusing the stinging, heated flesh there. You whine around the makeshift gag and she chuckles. “You’ll be glad to know that we’ve finished with the hairbrush. For now, at least.”

Somehow, the words offer you little reassurance.

From behind you comes the click of a bottle cap opening. You make an indignant noise when she spreads you apart with thumb and finger. It turns into a squeak at the first touch of her slippery, cold fingertip against the tight muscle there.

“Cold, isn’t it?” Her voice is teasing, but she rubs your back again. “Trust me, you’ll be grateful for this very soon. Keep still.”

It doesn’t hurt, but the strange, unwelcome sensation of her finger pressing steadily inside of you, overcoming your meagre resistance, has you dropping the toy from your mouth with a wavering moan. Missy tuts.

“What did I just tell you?” Her hand moves from your back and swats the left side of your arse with enough force that your hips jerk. The movement makes your muscles clench around her probing finger, drawing your attention squarely back to this new invasion. You gasp and squirm, tugging uselessly at your restraints as if you could push her away. Ignoring your plight, she slides deeper, filling you to the brim. “You’re not fooling me, poppet. I can see how much you’re enjoying this.”

“I am not-” you protest, but she brushes her idle hand between your parted thighs, emphasising the arousal that floods your cunt. As she does this, she wiggles her finger inside of you. Burying your face in the duvet, you try and fail to muffle a soft cry. She laughs and wipes the evidence of your enjoyment on the back of your thigh where it dries sticky and cool.

“Now,” she taps your cheek with one finger as she picks up the tapered metal toy that you’ve dropped on the bed. Your breath hitches at the realisation of what she plans to do with it. “I would strongly advise you to relax, or this could get very uncomfortable for you, very quickly.”

+++++

“Take a nice, deep breath for me.”

Nodding shakily, you do as she says, bracing your hands on her shoulders. Missy makes a soft noise of approval. The curve of her smile is tender, but mischief sparkles in her eyes.

“That’s it. Good girl.” Her voice makes you shiver. The muscles in your thighs are tight and trembling from the strain that this position puts on them; standing astride her as she sits in her chair, half-crouching on your tiptoes, poised to sink down into her lap. You wince with anticipation when she lines up the strap-on. It’s thick enough to drag your labia inwards, a pinching pressure that threatens to steal your hard-won breath. “Now let it out, slowly, and relax.”

“I’ll try,” you whisper, and she chuckles. Two fingers slide under your chin and tilt your face towards her. She presses a single swift kiss to your mouth.

“I’ve got you,” she murmurs against your lips, and it’s as much a threat as a reassurance. Her palms on your hips keep you steady. “Go as slow as you like.”

Your eyes flutter closed as you exhale, and you cling tighter to her shoulders, easing yourself down onto the toy.

It breaches you with a blazing stretch.

“There you go,” Missy soothes over your startled cry, sensing the tension returning to your body. “You see? I told you you could do it.”

“Missy,” your voice cracks and she shushes you, wrapping her arms around your waist. “It hurts-”

“I know,” she croons, stroking a hand down the length of your spine. “I know it does, poppet. Keep going.”

Holding this position for long will be impossible; you know that. You can already feel your legs wobbling and threatening to cramp with the awkward angle at which your knees are bent. Straightening up and clambering off of her would mean shrugging off the strong arms that pull you into her chest. As if she notices the temptation, the heel of her hand lands at your tailbone and pushes.

It knocks you off balance just enough that you sink further down, impaling yourself another inch on the incredible width of the toy. Your nails clench into her shoulders, so tightly that it must hurt, but she just leans in and nuzzles at your neck.

“Keep going,” she whispers again, even as she guides you further down with inescapable hands. “You’re alright. You can do it.”

“I can’t,” you protest brokenly. The slow drag of it pushing deeper inside of you makes the walls of your cunt burn, even with the ample slickness of your own arousal and the cool lubricant smeared over the toy. “I can’t, it’s too big-”

Her arms tighten around you and she makes that soft clucking noise of sympathy that always softens you. “It’s not, dearest.” She kisses the curve of your neck. “It’s just a bit more than you’re used to, but you’ll get there.”

+++++

“Number?”

In the brief reprieve between strokes of the cane, your harsh breaths are deafening.

Missy's hand rests in the small of your back and she presses her thumb into the sweat-tacky skin there, rubbing tight circles. It does little to soothe the blazing streaks of pain that criss-cross the flesh of your arse and thighs. Your legs tremble beneath you and you fight to control your voice, muffling a plaintive cry with your clasped hands.

“Nineteen,” you manage, high-pitched and keening. “I think.”

“That’s right! Good girl.” There’s still an edge to her voice, but the praise is genuine. She presses more firmly, rough swipes of her palm across your back easing the sobs from your chest, helping you to steady your breathing. “You’re being very brave for me.”

You don’t feel brave. Spread out across her desk, crying into your hands and bouncing on the balls of your feet in a futile attempt to take your mind off the stinging welts that consume your senses, you feel decidedly pathetic. With arousal slicking the insides of your thighs and sweat cooling in the dimple at the base of your spine the sensations are overwhelming.

“Don’t lose count,” she reminds you, bringing the cane back up to tap against the fullest swell of your arse. Even the lightest touch makes you flinch. “Deep breath.”

Nodding as best you can, you draw a harsh breath. It wavers and tugs at your throat. As you exhale unsteadily, the cane cracks down again.

You jerk in place, back arching, rising up onto your toes and howling like a wounded beast. Your hips rock and shift as the pain blooms, the bite turning into a burn that sinks down into the flesh beneath. Missy coos with pride, rubbing your back again.

“Very good,” she praises. The cane taps the back of your right thigh, which shakes violently. “Keep that leg still.”

“Sorry,” you squeak, forcing your heel back to the floor to stop the tremor. Her remark leaves you feeling thoroughly chastised and you sniffle pitifully. “Can’t help it.”

“I suggest that you try.” She picks out another mark with a rough twisting motion of the cane on the undercurve where your thighs meet your arse. Against the injured skin there it feels like sandpaper. With a broken whine, you press your forehead back to your clasped hands. “Another big breath for me, dearest. You’re alright.”

You’re alright, you repeat to yourself, as if you could make yourself believe it. Your bare feet shift on the cold floor.

Another stroke drags a strangled wail from your throat. This low down the impact makes your knees buckle. You catch yourself quickly, gripping the edge of the desk with white knuckles, hiding your face against the polished wood. Tears puddle on the surface under your nose.

“Number?” Missy asks again, light fingers sweeping along your spine. Panting hard, you shake your head. Speech escapes you. Her palm follows the curve of your back as she moves closer. Her fingers wind into your hair, firm but without cruelty, and ease your head to the side until you’re forced to look at her.

Above you, her brow is raised in challenge. “What number was that, poppet?”

It takes a few more choked breaths before you regain enough control to speak and, when you do, your body chooses the word for you. You know, vaguely, that the answer is twenty-one, but what comes out is a weak plea. “Mercy.”

The effect is immediate.

Her lips part, all trace of severity draining from her expression and leaving tenderness and an odd sort of horror in its wake. The cane drops to the ground and she follows, kneeling in front of you, her soft eyes level with yours.

“Good girl,” she whispers, her fingers turning gentle and combing through your sweaty hair. “Well done, my dear. That was very brave.”

The weight of her words floods you with crushing guilt, setting your lip trembling, bringing a lump to your throat. “I’m sorry!” You try to pull back, resisting her tenderness, but she doesn’t let you. “I’m sorry, Missy, I’m sorry-”

“No, no, my lovely girl,” she presses her forehead to yours, cupping your cheek with her other hand, stroking the heavy tears from beneath your eye. “You did so well. You were so good for me.”

“I thought- I wanted-” and the pain catches up with you, the adrenaline failing at last. Wracked with near-hysterical sobs you start to shiver. “I thought I could do it but-”

“But nothing, my darling.” Her fingers rest against your temples. She doesn’t push the psychic link but you can feel her there, warm and calming, balm to your racing mind. “You did more than enough. You were magnificent. You are magnificent.”

“I’m alright,” you stammer unconvincingly. “I’m fine, I’ll be fine, you don’t- you don’t have to-”

“You will be fine,” she agrees, sweeping the damp hair back from your face. “But we need to get you more comfortable, first, alright?” You whimper an affirmative. “Can you stand up for me, do you think?” Dragging your bottom lip between your teeth, you nod again. “Good girl. I’m here, I’ve got you.”

Missy straightens up, and with firm hands on your shoulder and your waist she helps you to rise to your feet. Despite yourself, you lean heavily into her side. The shifting of your weight reignites some of the welts when you stand up straight and you twist your fingers into the fabric of her blouse, wincing through the sting.

“That’s it.” She rubs your back firmly, leading you the short distance to the sofa. “That’s my girl. I’m so proud of you.”

“I’m sorry,” you whisper again, ashamed of your unsteadiness. “I’m sorry for freaking out, being so dramatic-”

“I hit you with a stick, poppet, you’re hardly being dramatic.”

Her words have the desired effect; you laugh, and it’s genuine, if watery and breathless. With obvious relief she tugs you closer and nuzzles into your hair, scattering soft kisses there.

“Come on.” Her breath fans warm across your ear. “Let’s get you some water, and then you can lie down for a minute.”

“I’m fine,” you protest weakly, but she tuts.

“It’s not a suggestion, love. You need it.”

Ever prepared, Missy keeps everything she might need for you within reach. There’s a bottle of water on the reading table beside the sofa and it’s this that she opens and brings to your lips, still combing her fingers through your hair while you drink gratefully. She holds it steady all the while.

“Alright, dearest, that’s enough for now.” Setting the bottle down, she kisses your tear-stained cheek. “Lie down for me. Let me have a look.”

“I’m alright,” you croak once more. “It’s not that bad, I just-”

“Enough of that,” she chastises gently. “You don’t have to be alright, you know. You really don’t. It was a lot today.”

“But it was my idea.” You wince at how petulant it sounds. “I feel so stupid, I asked for this and then-”

“Enough.” She nudges your chin with her fingers until you’re looking at her. “Dearest, I won’t have you talking like this. You’ve nothing in the world to be ashamed of.” Her thumb traces your wobbling bottom lip. “Lie down, and let me see. I’ll be the judge of what’s alright and what’s not.”

When you tentatively nod your acquiescence she guides you down onto the sofa, spreading you face down across her lap with your head pillowed on your folded arms. She leans down to kiss your shoulder blade.

“This is going to sting, my love,” she warns softly. “It’ll help in the end.” You hum your consent and bury your face in your crossed forearms.

The balm she keeps in a ridiculous, decorative glass jar on the reading table is cool against your skin. The blazing welts burn with the first touch and you squeak, shifting your hips, when she starts to rub it in.

“Good girl,” she soothes, working her fingers tirelessly across the injured skin. “No real damage, but I should think you’ll be very sore for a while.”

“Serves me right,” you mutter bitterly. “I should have known this was too much.”

“Why should you?” You hiss and twist under her hand when she touches a particularly painful spot. “You don’t know until you try, dearest.”

“Can we try again?” The question comes out tremulous. “If you want to. One day. I just- I think I can do it. I want to impress you.”

“You impress me every day.” Another feather-light kiss, to the nape of your neck this time. “We can have another go. When you’re feeling better. For now, though, I’m afraid you’ll have to be spoilt rotten for at least a week.”

“You don’t have to do that, Missy.” You twist awkwardly to look at her over your shoulder. “Really, you don’t.”

“I want to.” Resting the weight of her palm against the back of your thigh, she trails her fingertips across your cheek. “For all that you give me, poppet, I think you deserve to be looked after.”

Feeling tears tug at your throat again, you take her hand and bring it to your mouth. “Thank you.” You whisper it across her knuckles. “For looking after me.”

Missy smiles. Her thumb runs along the stinging welt at the top of your right thigh. “My pleasure.”

#mine #nsfwork #missy x reader #the master x reader #gomez!master x reader #hi this is a compendium of some of my kinks and im just putting it out into the world #pls be soft with me #soft!domme missy is my biggest weakness #at least i think so but im so weak for every version of missy #no thoughts head empty

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arans-princess · 3 years

Text

I wanna play

Sakusa-nii x reader x atsumu

Degradation, rough sex, spitting, cnc, this gets dark yall, light somno. Poly relationship

- Omi-nii doesn’t like most people except you, you are the only exception, he loves his little sister to death. He would do anything to keep you happy.

- He doesn’t like bodily fluids unless they come from you, everything you do is so adorable to him, you’re his Imōto

- The way you whine as he eats out your cute little cunny, music to his ears

- The way you claw at his back as his thick cock splits you open, is so sweet. He knows his dick it too big for you, but the way you tell him you’re a big girl and you can take it, any thing for nii-chan; makes his cock throb.

- The way you babble and drool as he fucks you silly, your eyes rolling back as he bounces you on his dick, one large calloused hand around your throat using it as leverage. The other holds you at your hip with a bruising grip as he plows into you.

- The bathroom sink is frigid on your feverish body, but it does nothing to quell the heat inside you. He applies just enough pressure to your neck so that you're looking at yourself in the mirror.

- He gladly pounds your third orgasm out of you, his hips unrelenting as the post game adrenaline has flooded his veins. Gosh, when they said he was a part of the generation of monsters they weren’t kidding.

“Omi-nii, ugh, fuck I-I Im gonna cum!” you babble through strangled moans, your pulse pounding in your head as his thick fingers press against the sides of your throat, cutting off blood supply to your brain. Drunk off the pleasure, you can feel your head swimming, drowning in the sensation of his fat cock brushing against your sweet spot, the cold counter digging into you adds to your pleasure.

“Yes, you can y/n-chan, yes you can. C’mon, be my good girl, cum on for me, cum for your nii-chan.” he bends down, leaning into your neck and bites. Leaving a trail of marks from your collarbone to your ear. “Just a little more for me, baby” the hand on your hip travels to your clit and rubs tight circles on your overused bud. His hips still as he increases the pace of his fingers. “You're clamping down so hard, baby girl, you gonna squirt for me?” he looks up at your blissed out expression, your legs are trembling, arms desperately clinging to the arm attached to your throat.

“Omi, please I wanna taste you.” You mewl out clawing at his forearm, nails digging deep into his veiny flesh. Somehow, he takes you to heights unknown as his cock throbs in your wet heat. Now that he stopped thrusting you can feel your cunt pulsing, your slick is dripping down your ass onto the sink below making your ass slippery; you would have slid off, if not for you big brother supporting you, such a good brother. The hand on your throat migrates to your chin gripping it harshly, prying open your mouth. His face draws closer to yours as he gathers a glob of saliva and plops on to your tongue. You hold it in there waiting for him to give you permission to swallow, both of your fluids mingling in your mouth. Tongue twitching in anticipation, your eyes meet his in a silent plea.

“Swallow princess. Be a good girl and squirt for me, c’mon” he coos while looking at your fucked out face; eyes rolling back, mouth open in a silent scream. With his encouragement you let go of the knot building in your belly, and all at once fluid gushes out of your cunt as he continues to rub your clit, working you through this mind numbing orgasm like a good big brother. Not even the groaning coming from one of the stalls can snap you out of this bliss.

“Holy fuck Omi-kun, I didn’t know she could squirt!” Both of your heads snap in the direction of the voice in search of the owner. Omi is shocked to find the owner, it’s Tsumu, his teammate. Oh fuck. “Poor little y/n-chan too fucked out on your brother's cock to care? Look at you. You look so fucking pathetic. You like when your big brother uses you like a toy? Don’t you?” Tsumu teases while inspecting your used body, he’s right. You’re covered in drool, cum is seeping out of your puffy cunt. You’re a mess. But you’re Nii-chan’s mess, right? “So this is what’s going to happen. I’m going to play with your toy. You can watch or leave, I don’t really care. Unless you want me to tell the press you fuck your baby sister like a whore? You can kiss your career goodbye. Yeah it would suck to have you off the team but; rumor has it, this Kyōtani Kentarō kid is being scouted for the team next year. I would love to set for him. Hate to see you go though.” That damn smirk never leaves his face, and he doesn't take his eyes off you, not even for a second. You can feel nii-chan stiffen between your legs as the realization hits him. He has to comply if he wants to keep your lives from derailing.

“Fine,” Omi spits, “can I finish here first? I'm still hard.” his question is harsh, you can practically see steam coming from his ears, his face that was already red from the exertion deepened. His chest is still heaving, but you can't tell if it's from anger or not. It most likely is. This anger is only intensified with blond’s response. “ Yeah no. I want my payment now.” the blonde chuckles, looking very pleased with himself. Omi’s grip on your body tightens immensely, painfully even, yet somehow through this exchange you have not come to terms with what's happening quite yet. It's not until Omi withdraws from your heat that you understand the gravity of the situation. Your relationship has been found out, after years of being so careful, this is what happens. All because you couldn't keep your greedy little hands to yourself. You should feel more responsible but you can't bring yourself to. You're too far gone, trapped in your own mind, locked away in subspace.

Next thing you know Tsumu plunges into your heat roughly and sets a brutal pace from the start. His cock isn’t the same and nii-chans, it's not as long. It doesn’t hammer into your cervix, but it's twice as thick, and the stretch burns. It’s not a good burn, it hurts. You dont like Tsumu fucking you. You're not his toy, you belong to nii-chan, not his teammate. You look over at Omi and see him standing in the corner. His cock is still hard and throbbing, the tip is a bright red, and he looks so ready to burst. ”Nii-chan, make him stop, I-I don't like him inside me. H-hurts, it hurts.” you croak out, attempting to reach out for him. The sight breaks his heart in two, he wants nothing more than to fling that shit-head off of his precious baby sister, but he can’t. He takes a half step towards you then stops himself, knowing if he interrupts his career is over, and with that so is your life of comfort. He simply can't have that. Omi swallows his pride and tries to tune out your wails of anguish as Tsumu defiles you, but your cries only get louder and louder as he continues.

“Such a slut, aren't you y/n-chan? This little hole just weeps for anyone doesn't it?” Tsumu questions while leaning in your face, breath fanning over you. The rank smell of coffee assaults your nostrils, making you try and turn away, but he roughly snatches your face back to look at him. His fingers are roughly digging into your cheeks and the pressure forces your jaw open. Your eyes widen in fear as you realize what is about to happen. He hocks a fat glob of spit inside your pliant mouth, the look in his eyes tells you to swallow or risk harsher treatment. So with fat tears welling up in your eyes, threatening to spill over, you do as he asks. The pounding never ceases as he beams brightly down at you. His smile, one you once found endearing, now makes your stomach turn, and you close your eyes and hope for him to finnish quickly.

“Aht aht aht, c’mon princess, look at me. Look at me and be grateful that someone is stuffing your stupid little cunt at all.” he chuckles as he thrusts harder into your womb, the stretch doesn’t burn like it did before, as your body finally adjusted to his massive girth. Reluctantly you open your eyes and look at his figure looming above you. He’s drenched in sweat and his face is flushed with exertion. He looks almost appealing like this, with his eyebrows furrowed, eyes blown wide in lust and some other emotion, hate? No, it doesn't bite the same. Its- its love.

Love? He loves you? Oh yeah that's right , when Omi joined the team and brought you around to meet the team, he made it a point to keep Tsumu far away from you. One time Tsumu had managed to snag you away from the group, and while you don't remember much about that night, you do know that Omi was really mad about it. Omi said he was flirting but you didn't even realize it. The whole time you only had eyes for your Nii-chan. That must be why he was lurking in the bathroom. Now that you’re thinking, Atsumu was always around when you two would run off, and you always felt another set of eyes watching you… oh yeah, that’s right… You’re snapped out of your thoughts when you feel a pressure on your clit. The rough pads of his fingers circle your clit, you can feel the calluses on your sensitive nub throwing you over the edge into yet another orgasm. You claw at his back, unconsciously pulling him into you. The way your pussy clamps down on his length makes him gasp, professing his love in your ear as he shoots his load into you. But they dont say he is a part of the generation of monsters for nothing, he doesn't stop his relentless pace, pushing all of his cum out of you. Your vision starts to get blurry, between the tears and the haze of overstimulation taking over. You can hear Omi get angry somewhere in the back of your head, but it sounds far away, like he’s yelling underwater.

You feel your body tense up for yet another orgasm and then your vision cuts out. When you come to, Atsumu is still fucking you, but the pleasure is gone. It’s too much, and when you register this you start fighting back, pushing his face off your neck, shoving his shoulders back to try and dislodge him. Then you hear him chuckle darkly.

“Don't worry y/n-chan, I'll be done shortly, I was able to cum a few more times when you went to sleep on me. Did you know you cum even when you pass out?” he places a gentle kiss on your forehead. You look over to the side and see your big brother sitting in the corner. You look in his eyes and see barely contained rage. The fire in them looks like it could melt a diamond. Tsumu lifts your shirt to take a nipple in his mouth as he cums, sheathing himself in your heat completely, filling you up beyond what you thought was possible.

Your legs start to give out and Omi notices this, he rushes to your side to hold you up-right. “ATSUMU, I told you to be more careful with her! We can't break our princess. Well at least not somewhere so public. Come here baby girl, Nii-chan will take care of you.”

“I’m sorry princess, I got a little carried away. Here, let's get you home. We can cuddle and watch some movies. And up you go!” Tsumu looks at you sheepishly as he apologises, then he lifts you up and pulls his hoodie over your head. He carries you out of the bathroom, uncaring for the strange looks you three get. Your face is buried in his neck and your legs are wrapped around his waist. Omi glares at anyone who even thinks about asking about your identity.

Your relationship might be a little unorthodox, but it’s yours and everyone is happy with it. More importantly you and Omi have realized what happens when Tsumu feels left out.

#kiyoomi x reader #sakusa kiyoomi #kiyoomi smut #kiyoomi x reader smut #atsumu x reader #atsumu miya #atsumu x reader smut #tsumu x reader #tsumu x reader smut #tw.cnc #Kayla in the dark #Aran's bby writes #tw: incest

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bennysiegcls · 4 years

Text

I don’t usually post these kinds of things, but considering how quiet I’ve been on here lately I figured it wouldn’t hurt to toss this out there for the fun of it to say I’m still alive. Not much context besides a post-full moon wake up call with the werewolf oc I posted art of a bit back- I wanted to try and delve a bit more into his headspace after having a ‘bad night’. Hope you enjoy!

He doesn’t pass out immediately after the shift this time around. There’s no reprieve, no solace to take in an endless void of black. His bones crunch under the weight of his body forcing itself back into a smaller frame, muscles rippling and clenching and spasming until he hits the floor on his knees with a strangled yelp. His body jerks like a puppet on strings, bows his back as his insides writhe and squirm around below his flesh, and his jaw is barely locked into place before he lurches forward with the force of his stomach emptying itself all over the hardwood.

He chokes, gags, retches again. It brings tears to his eyes; they sting like the back of his nose and his throat, and he claws his fingers over the floor and prays to whoever can hear him that it'll be over soon.

A snap- that’s his femur- and a crunch- that’s his spine- and he gasps a rough, ragged noise and almost instantly goes limp. He just barely manages to catch himself on his elbow when he teeters to the side to keep himself from hitting the floor like a sack of rocks. His head hangs, bobbing with each stuttery pant that leaves his lungs, and he stays like that for a long while. Everything hurts. Even in the aftermath it’s nothing but pain, this vicious ache in his muscles that leaves him feeling like he’d been backed over by a steamroller. He swallows, coughs, and slowly brings a hand up to rub at his eyes.

It’s sticky and wet when he touches it to his skin, slips and slides across his forehead and it makes him pause and pull it back.

Red. Squishing between his fingers, caked under his nails like he’d dug his hands into a chest and 𝘳𝘪𝘱𝘱𝘦𝘥. He breathes in- it’s shaky and weak and full of every ounce of trepidation he feels crawling over his skin like a hoard of roaches- and brings his fingers back to his face. Red. Red, red, red everywhere, smeared over his cheeks and dripping off of his chin. He can taste it behind his teeth underneath the bitter bile and acid on his tongue, and it nearly makes him heave again. The beast under his breast shivers excitedly, like it’s proud of what it’s done. 𝘓𝘰𝘰𝘬 𝘢𝘵 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘐'𝘷𝘦 𝘨𝘰𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘯 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰, 𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘬 𝘢𝘵 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘸𝘦 𝘥𝘪𝘥. It’s satisfied at the same time that it isn’t, and the blood in his mouth reawakens something inside of himself that nearly sends him into a frenzy again. He wants it. He wants it, fuck, he needs it, he-

He cuts off that train of thought with a pained noise in the back of his throat. Shut the fuck up. 𝘚𝘩𝘶𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘶𝘤𝘬 𝘶𝘱. 𝘞𝘩𝘰 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴. 𝘞𝘩𝘰 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙨? The question is asked like he doesn’t already know the answer. The monster that has become him agrees.

Moving his hand away to the floor, he pushes himself up to sit and finally, after blinking the haze out of his blurry eyes, takes a moment to look around.

It’s a mistake. But it’s unavoidable. No way to run and hide his head in the sand without the blinding reminder of what he’s done.

He’s not even sure he can call them bodies anymore. They’re too far gone, piles of viscera and gore with the occasional limb or tatter of clothing. It freezes him where he sits; he stares for a long, hard few minutes at the remains of a woman closest to his side, throat working, jaw trembling, eyes searching again and again like he’s waiting for the whole thing to be a fever dream. Some sick joke of the mind- any second he’ll awaken to the woods and go on with his life while the beast stays angry and caged below his skin.

Seconds pass, minutes, maybe hours. The scene never fades. The smell of rot and innards and shit stings at his nose in an undeniable accusation of what he’s done. His whole chest hitches and catches when he tries to breathe in, and he tears his eyes away to the floor. There’s half of a face lying there, one eye and a bit of a nose staring up at the ceiling cold and foggy and blank.

It’s blue. He doesn’t know why he notices it so vividly, but it crawls under his flesh and gets his nails digging into the bloodied floor beneath him.

A turn of his head, and everywhere he looks there’s hunks of meat and bone and tissue. Two other bodies besides the woman, one male, one something he can’t make out. He sits there among them, a dead man surrounded by the dead, and he doesn’t get up until the rays of sun peeking in through the shattered windows have moved themselves halfway across the room.

He needs to- he needs to get clean. Shower. Something. He needs to focus on that, make it his one task to accomplish and occupy his mind.

His eyes flicker back over the mess around him a few more times- he feels numb. Carved out and hollow and charred like a fire ate away at him from the inside out and left him with nothing.

Maybe it’s shock. It’d be funny if it was, he thinks- he’s seen so much death, 𝘤𝘢𝘶𝘴𝘦𝘥 so much death, that it’s become as much of a part of him as the beast since before the beast had even made its presence known. But there’s something about the carnage that lies at his feet now. He doesn’t know what it is, what makes staring into what’s left of the eyes of these unfortunate strangers send shivers of unease up and down his spine. But he looks to them and it pangs something deep and raw in his gut- a type of guilt he hasn’t felt before. A monster of a thing gnawing away at what’s left of what he tries to call his humanity. Carve another chip off of that block, one more point on the side of the wolf.

He goes to heave himself upright, but the floor is stained with red and slippery and nearly sends him careening back onto his side; he catches himself with both hands and pants, shifts his legs and tries again. He gets to his feet on the second try, and he keeps his eyes ahead as he stumbles and trips off down the hallway in search of the nearest bathroom he can find.

There’s splatters of blood painting the walls like some morbid facsimile of the art hung here and there in picture frames. He finds a fourth body with it’s belly missing and a hunk out of its neck on the floor in front of a door. The door leads to a closet when he opens it, so he shuts it back and continues on his way.

The bathroom finally reveals itself to him at the end of the hall. It seems to be the only room so far untouched by his bloodlust; the walls are a clean, crisp baby blue and the floor an unstained white tile. He ruins it the second he puts his foot through the doorway, leaving bloody prints of red in his wake. The door gets closed behind him despite him being the only living creature inside the house. He needs the space to himself. He needs somewhere to hole up for a while that doesn’t reek of death and corpses.

His reflection in the mirror catches the edge of his attention when he moves to pass it by, and he pauses, backtracks and takes a moment to look over himself even when everything in him is screaming to let it rest- some part of him wants to calculate the damage. Maybe he just wants to look himself in the eye so he can remember who it is to blame.

He looks like shit.

Eyes swollen and bloodshot, ringed with dark circles of purple and blue. His skin is sallow and pale beneath the exterior of red; he looks like he’s been fucking bathing in it with the way it coats his flesh like it belongs there. He stares at himself. Maybe it does.

A droplet beads at his hairline, slinks down the side of his face until it falls off of the edge of his chin to land against the rest of the blood caked to his chest. He watches it, and all he can think about is the rivers of red flowing out of the throat of that woman as she screams- he can see it plain as day, can feel the warmth of her body as he rips into her like a paper bag, and the man stands behind him and screams and cries bloody murder before he’s silenced with a pair of jaws to the jugular. Jax tries to swallow, then hunches over and empties whatever is left of his stomach into the sink.

The noise of the shower echoes against the walls when he finally heads over to flip the switch. He doesn’t step in until it’s scalding enough to sting his hand when he slips it under the spray to test the temperature, and he lets the fire consume him, ducks his head under the cascade and burns alive. It’s the only way he can find to wash off the feeling of the gore glazed over his skin enough to live with it; it never disappears, not truly- it stains him with a permanence like the neverending shooting pain through his bones- but it wipes away the outer layer. Fools his brain into thinking if no one can see the visible remains of what he is that they’ll never think to look deeper below the surface.

Jax’s eyes find the floor, tracking the way the red drizzles out of his hair and off of his shoulders and chest and swirls away down the drain. He reaches up and runs a hand over his head, shakes it out, and flecks of flesh and bone come away and fall to his feet to join the rust brown on its way down the sewer pipe.

Screaming- it bubbles up in his ears and he moves his head side to side like a tired old dog, trying to knock the memory of it out of his mind to no avail. He closes his eyes and sees the terror on her face, so he opens them up again and looks at his toes. They flex, and each movement pushes more blood out from where it’d been caked between them. He looks away.

Tipping his head back, he lets the water fall over his torso while he reaches a hand up to rest over his eyes. Something wells up in his chest- shrieking, crying, 𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦, 𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦, 𝘨𝘰𝘥, 𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦- 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘱! 𝘚𝘵𝘰𝘱! 𝘗𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦!- and he locks his jaw like a dam against the emotions that threaten to swallow him whole.

He digs his fingers into his eyes. His teeth chatter before he clenches them to silence it. A deep breath gets sucked into his lungs, and when he finally releases it a whimper comes out along with it and his face crumbles for a split second before he moves his hand and pushes his face into the spray. It’s convincing enough to his mind that he’s drowning for a moment that anything other than blank panic gets pushed to the side to deal with later. He uses the time to clean the rest of what he hasn’t yet- scrubs his hands over his body and through his hair in quick motions until the water running down to his feet is clear.

There’s a towel hanging on the rack beside the shower, and he grabs it once he shuts the faucet off and buries his face in it for a beat before moving to dry off the rest of himself. It’s all on autopilot. His body moves but he’s not really there, gazing with unseeing eyes at the wall while he drags the towel over his arms. His mind keeps feeding him flash images of the night before. He’s stopped his futile attempt to fight them off; he lets it happen instead.

The towel ends up on the floor- he’s struck with the vague realization he hasn’t got any clothes to change into, and he briefly considers seeing if he can find something in one of the rooms before he leaves, but he shuts the idea down before he can think on it for too long. He’s in the middle of a forest. No one will see him here. He’s done worse than a naked trek through the woods to get back to wherever the hell he parked his truck.

No, the hardest thing he has to do now is make it down this goddamned hallway.

He’s procrastinating it, he knows this. The second he opens that door everything he’s been trying to pack away inside becomes unavoidable. He gazes blankly at it for a good minute, eyes the doorknob like it’s liable to bite him if he reaches a hand in its direction. He does it anyway; it doesn’t bite him in the end, but the smell of death that hits him like a slap to the face when he eases the door open nearly sends him reeling back and slamming it closed again. He twitches his nose and steels himself, tenses his whole body like he’s preparing for a fight, and walks forward.

Eyes up, keep your eyes up. Ignore the walls, ignore the squish beneath your feet, ignore the body on the floor. He steps over it, and that’s his first mistake; his foot glides a bit on the floor and on instinct he tips his head down to look at it as he steadies himself with a hand on the wall.

He meets their eyes; it’s always the goddamned eyes, every fucking time. The one piece that the beast always seems to leave behind, like it wants him to see them when he wakes the morning after. It wants him to know what he’s done in a way he can’t easily brush aside. They bore holes into his skin, burning themselves like a brand into his brain, and that’s the crack that starts the slow decline of the walls of steel and concrete he’d tried so hard to build around himself. He clears his throat, bites his tongue, and walks on.

His feet stop him in the living room again. He tries in vain to get them to move, to carry him forward, but there’s an invisible barrier that keeps him at bay.

He parts his lips on an inhale that catches and sticks to the inside of his throat. He’s still looking forward, resolute and stalwart in his stubborn attempt to keep himself together, but his eyes are traitors and seek out the most ruthless betrayal- they slip undaunted from the doorway ahead of him, slowly but surely until they land on a hand on the ground. It reaches for something it’ll never touch, and Jax’s gaze traces it back to the mess of a body it’s attached to. The crack grows larger, eats away at his resolve.

His hands flex at his sides, and his trigger finger is going wild, jumping and twitching without his say so in the same way his head, and then his whole body, starts to turn and move and shift with restless, almost disbelieving energy.

It’s easier to see them all spread out when he’s stood up like this. The damage he’s done, claw marks in the wall and tearing the floor to shreds, claw marks in their flesh where the beast- where 𝘩𝘦- wouldn’t stop digging even after they were long dead. He scrunches up his face in an aborted effort to clamp back the stinging behind his eyes- the emotion chokes him like a noose, and all at once the hollow void in his stomach is flooded with things he didn’t even know he could feel, building and building and building until he’s fit to burst with it all.

He wonders for a moment if he could. If he’d join them on the floor in a bloodied up pile of guts and gore. 𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘥𝘰𝘯'𝘵 𝘨𝘦𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘳𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘦𝘧. 𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘨𝘦𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘭𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘪𝘵. 𝘚𝘵𝘦𝘸 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘵 𝘶𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘭 𝘪𝘵 𝘬𝘪𝘭𝘭𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘢𝘥.

He coughs out a little noise that tries to make itself a cry- he thinks about the worlds he’s ended, the future plans he’s snapped in half, the hopes and ambitions he’s crushed, and his walls tumble and break around him before he can get on his knees to try and build them up again.

The first tears down his cheeks do him in for good; once they start they can’t stop, and Jax raises his arm, presses the back of his wrist to his mouth to try and muffle a sob.

It doesn’t do much to help- he steps to the side, turns, lands his feet in a puddle of crimson and turns again. It closes in on him on all sides, inescapable, and he surrenders himself to it. Let’s the guilt eat him alive until he’s nothing but skin and bones and endless, echoing sorrow.

He screams.

He sobs.

He ends up on his knees, clutching the ankle of the woman with whiteknuckled hands as he dips his head and wails. The beast wails with him beneath his bones- they cry together, for who he used to be, for what he is, for the lives he’s ended, for the lives he knows he’ll end, the lives he’ll come to ruin and wreck. They cry for the hollow, never ending ache inside of them that can never be filled, they cry for the pain that racks over their body and leaves them shaking like a dog in the cold. They cry from exhaustion. He’s tired.

He’s so, so tired.

His body jerks and heaves with his sobs, tears dripping off of his nose and his chin to mix with the blood on the floor. It almost feels like a violation. That his grief dare get mixed with their sudden demise.

He stares blankly at where they land as they continue to fall, making soft ripples only to be swallowed by red. And he stays like that for a long time. Until his throat goes raw and his voice goes hoarse, and the numbness returns to take its place in the pit of his stomach like it’d never left.

He pants and he swallows and he pants again, finally unlatching himself from her leg and taking a beat to sit there before he fumbles and stumbles upright. His eyes flicker over the room once more.

He takes it in, ingrains it into his memory. There’s consequences for a thing like him.

And standing here, he knows, he must reap what he sows in spades.

#my writing #tw : death #tw : gore #tw : vomit #tw : blood #tw : mild body horror #tw : panic attacks #an umbrella of all the bad things that come with being a werewolf I'd assume #also guilt #lots and lots of guilt #werewolves #OC

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imagines-dreams · 5 years

Text

Beauty and the Spirit Part 3 - Zuko Imagine

Rating: PG-13

Warnings: mentions of violence/war, cuz Fire Nation

Summary: Part 3 to Beauty and the Spirit (Part 2). You had run away from the castle ruins, away from the beast and his horrible temper. But the woods aren’t always kind.

Word Count: 1942

~ - ~

The winter was endless. You weren’t sure why, but you couldn’t seem to find your way out. You had been riding for at least an hour in one direction, but everything around you was still covered in snow. You groaned and stopped your horse. “Spirits,” you muttered. The logical thing to do is to go back to the castle of ruins and try to retrace your steps from the night before.

But, you did not want to go back there.

You sighed and dismounted. You needed to find another way to your friends. You searched your bag for anything that could help you. You smiled. There were a few snacks, obviously from Iroh’s tea cart, carefully wrapped and ready to eat. You sighed and searched. None of your inventions could help you, but your maps could.

You pulled one out and tried to decipher where you were.

“Ah, finally.”

You froze. “Zhao,” you whispered. You whipped around and took out your one dagger.

The esteemed general of the Fire Lord stood before you, about five or six guards behind him, ready to strike at a single command. “(Y/n), I didn’t expect to find you here.”

You gulped. There were too many of them.

“Where’s the avatar?”

“No clue,” you admitted. “I feel like you know better at me at this point.”

He hummed.

You scanned the soldiers around you. You wouldn’t be able to match them in skill. That’s for sure. You weren’t an amazing fighter like Sokka or a master bender like Katara. You knew the terrain slightly better. That was one thing you had on them. You still had a horse. It seems like they didn’t expect to run into anyone here, much less a friend of the avatar’s. Maybe you could outrun them.

You just had to get enough time to get on your horse.

“Keep her alive.”

You slashed the guy who came at you first. You grabbed your horse’s reins and mounted him quickly, kicking a soldier in the face in the process. You led your horse the way you came, firebending soldiers on your tail.

You had no escape route. You vaguely recognized the terrain, but you knew one thing. If you never turned, then the Fire Nation soldiers would find the castle, the home of fatherly Iroh and sweet Ty Lee and Lu Ten and Mai and the beast.

The beast, spirit, cursed, whoever he was, you didn’t care to be his friend, but nonetheless, you couldn’t live with yourself if you led these barbarians to him and his family. He may suck, but the Fire Nation was way worse. You swerved to your left and hoped to the spirits around you that somehow, someway, you could escape them.

“Surrender peacefully!” Zhao offered.

You and your horse only galloped faster. You had to get away from Zhao. You had to find somewhere safe.

Fire exploded right in front of you. You horse reared back. You fell to the ground. Your head screamed in pain, and the silence was so loud. You closed your eyes. The ringing in your ears only grew.

“Surrender.”

You squinted, the white snow and cloudy sky too bright for your eyes. Zhao stood in the center of it all, his fist still smoking from his successful shot. You shook your head and grabbed your knife.

“So be it.”

You struggled to get to your feet. The cold and slippery ground only made it worse. You fell to your knees once. Twice. You groaned and dug your blade into the ground and leaned art of your weight on it.

“It’s no fun when you can’t even stand, nonbender.”

Fire burst at your feet. You screamed and scrambled back. Your toes and part of your right heel were burnt. You couldn’t give up. If they had you in custody, Aang and Katara and Sokka, they’d have to get you. And you wouldn’t wish a rescue mission into Zhao’s clutches on your worst enemy. You couldn’t go down without a fight. You still had your dagger.

You threw your dagger at him.

Zhao easily dodged it, and it struck the ground with a dull thump.

Your horse was too far, detained by soldiers. You had no weapons. You had injured feet. You had nothing.

A roar rocked the ground beneath you, and your muscles tensed. You recognized that roar. Chills ran and stuck to your spine like deadly ticks. You covered your head and threw yourself to the ground.

The beast jumped right over you and growled at the soldiers. “This area is forbidden! Leave!”

The foot soldiers didn’t need any more warnings. They scampered away like scared little guppies. The general, however, only stared. “Impossible.”

The beast only sneered and pounced. Zhao dodged most of the attacks, his eyes still wide with shock. Then, his eyes narrowed, and fire erupted from his fists.

The beast moved swiftly, avoiding most of the burns. When the fire singed his black attire and reached his chest, he roared again, and suddenly, something ignited within him. He fought harder and faster. He defended himself and attacked immediately afterward, his claws sinking into Zhao’s flesh.

For the first few minutes, you admit, you were in awe of the man who imprisoned you. He was obviously trained. He was a bit impulsive in his fighting skills, but he was still talented. He knew how to spot weak spots and how to exploit them, and when it came to it, he knew how to use his energy wisely.

But, you still needed to survive. So you crawled to your horse. When you stood up, your right foot whined in pain. You dug it into more snow and sighed.

The beast was still fighting the general, and he was winning.

Just as you grabbed the reins, Zhao was running away, screaming about how it wasn’t over. The beast heaved. His shoulders slouched, and he shivered in the cold. He turned to you, his eyes dull and his breaths terrifyingly slow. He smiled when his eyes met yours. His lips practically cracked his cheeks. It had been a while since he had smiled.

Then, he collapsed.

You grimaced and stared at your horse. Your companion innocently stared back at you, nuzzling into your palm. You could easily leave. Maybe find your friends. Zhao and his soldiers were going to regroup and wait for their general to get well. You had the time. The beast was horrible to you. He imprisoned Aang, then you, treated you like an animal. You had every reason to leave.

Still, the beast saved you. You had no clue why. It could’ve been because he didn’t like anyone on his property. It could’ve been that he knew Zhao. It could’ve been that he had nothing better to do. But you couldn’t leave him there. Zhao burned him. He needed help.

“Sokka is going to kill me.” You limped over to him. “Please, you’re gonna have to help me out. I can’t lift you by myself.” You strained to support him on your shoulder. He was tired but awake, so he tried to walk to your horse. You draped him over the saddle. He blinked the fog from his eyes. “Your feet,” he whispered.

You scoffed. “You’ve got it worse.” And with that, you led your horse back to the castle.

~ - ~

You had a salve that would help with infections and bandages surround you. The fireplace was ablaze, keeping the room warm. After wrapped your feet, you sat on the bed and watched the sleepy beast.

“Hey,” you said.

“Hm?”

“I need to remove your robes to tend to your wounds.”

He shook his head.

You sighed. “It’s that or die of infection.” You reached out your hands.

He growled at you.

“Stop that!”

“It won’t help!”

“Yes, it will!” You took a deep breath. “Look, you were burned by a high-ranking Fire Nation soldier. It’s bound to hurt. I can make it hurt less.”

He glared at you. “You won’t like what you see.”

You shook your head. “I’ve seen a lot of burns.”

“I’m not talking about the burns.”

You gulped. Oh. Right. For a moment, you forgot he was cursed. You glanced at the one white horn sprouting from his forehead and the blue spots still moving from his neck to his face to his ear to his scarred eye. “You mean whatever cursed you, right?”

You took his silence for a yes. You bit your lip and admitted, “I’ve never encountered anyone like you.”

He bared his fangs and growled lowly.

You laughed. “Spirits, I’m not finished!” You sighed. “You are nothing like I’ve ever seen before and you’ve kidnapped me and my friend.” You took a deep breath. “But you’re also the one who saved me.” You smiled. “Now, please, can I help you?”

The beast grumbled, but still, he relented. He pulled down the blanket and you held in your gasp. The blue bruises migrated to his chest and stomach too. There were so many of them. He had one minor and one major burn from the encounter with Zhao.

Still, his skin continued to shock you.

There was a flower, a fire lily, tattooed on his left hip. Like the moving blue bruises, the flower seemed to be alive as well. Mostly anyway. Its few remaining petals swayed with an imaginary wind. Even the fallen petals quivered in response.

“What are you staring at?” he snapped.

You jumped a little and smacked his leg. “Stop scaring me like that!”

“I wouldn’t need to scare you if you didn’t stare!”

You laughed. “It’s your fault for taking a fight to General Zhao.”

“Well, if you didn’t run away, I wouldn’t have to fight him to save your life.”

“You didn’t have to scare me out of the castle!” You crossed your arms and smiled. “Ha, I win.”

He grumbled. “Did not.”

“Whatever helps you sleep at night.” You sighed and grinned. “Now, let’s take a look at those burns.”

The beast stayed quiet as you tended his wounds, only hissing and glaring when appropriate. Then, a miracle happened.

“I’m sorry.”

You froze. “What?” you asked softly.

“I’m sorry for treating you, and your friend… horribly.” He avoided your gaze. “No one deserves that.”

“You’re right.” You bit your lip as the air around the two of you grew tense with something you couldn’t quite put a finger on. The silence was too constricting and his wounds and the blue bruises were starting to swirl in your vision and so you broke the silence. “I was going to escape.” You gulped and stared at him, waiting for his anger to explode and preparing to defend yourself.

He just sighed. “I know.”

“You know?”

He shrugged. “I checked your room after you left. You have an… interesting way of planning an escape.”

You laughed lightly. “Well, you won’t have to worry about that anymore.”

He blinked. “You’re not going to leave?”

“No.” You pointed to your feet. “Can’t ride properly with a burned foot. Mind if I stay here for a week or two?”

The corners of his lips twitched slightly, but he restrained himself. “Yes, I mind.”

“Good.” You laughed a little. “I enjoy annoying you.”

Just as your hand wrapped around the bandages, he interrupted, “I’m Zuko.”

You blinked a few times. “Zuko?”

“Yeah. That’s my name.”

“No, I mean, I know that’s what you were saying but…” You shook your head. “I swear I heard that name before.”

His face grew pale, and for a second or two, the blue spots froze in place. He gulped. “I get that a lot.”

~ - ~

Tags: @chims-kookies @lunashaw57

#atla #zuko #zuko x reader #zuko imagine #zuko oneshot #zuko fanfiction #atla x reader #atla oneshot #atla fanfiction #atla imagine #avatar the last airbender

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keelywolfe · 4 years

Text

Kinktober Spicyhoney Shorts

FIC: Sore Loser

Prompt: Spanking

WARNINGS: Spanking, Dom/Sub, (kind of. Why do they have to be like this??), lemony goodness

Notes: I know what you’re thinking. Kinktober is over, what are you doing?? But I would argue that kinktober is with us in our hearts and hormones, so, uh. Yeah. Sorry, I was supposed to write something else today, but welp! Here, have this.

Read it on AO3

Read it here!

~~*~~

Edge knew better than to make bets with Rus.

Bets with any of the Sansy-ones never ended well, no matter who won. Somehow, the simplest wager ended in unexpected debts and property damage, and Edge knew better, he truly did. But the smirk that graced Rus’s face was a vicious goad and Edge had given in, recklessly, wagering his own obedience against Rus’s for a single round.

Winning would have been a heady reward, the chance to have Rus without a single yammering complaint, to fuck his mouth until lovely tears streaked his face, listening to him plead for Edge to finish him, to let him come, ah, yes, the very idea made for a tempting bargaining chip.

An excellent reward, yes. If Edge hadn’t lost.

Losing a simple bet was how he ended up here, stripped bare and an ectobody summoned, on his knees in front of Rus while he smoked one of his foul cigarettes, his hooded eye lights roaming over the sight at his feet.

“Get on with it,” Edge gritted out. Much as he enjoyed these little games with Rus, usually he wasn’t the one on his knees. But he wasn’t about to use his safeword this soon into the game; one round versus weeks of mocking about being able to give it but not take it? That was more debt than he was interested in earning.

A teasing hand smoothed over the generous globes of ectoflesh that made up his ass and Edge struggled against lurching away from that touch. He might be bitter about losing and he didn’t give promises the same weight as Rus or the Sanses, but he kept his word. Obedience for one round, yes, even if it was grudging. This was what Rus wanted and it meant nothing, less than nothing. He could do this.

He could.

Rus only laughed softly and crushed out his cigarette in a half-filled ashtray. There was a pillow on the floor, not for Edge’s knees which were scraping against the hard wood, but for Rus to sit on and he settled on it with an exaggerated sigh. There was a certain sadistic glee as he said, "gonna count for me, baby?"

"What do you--ahh!"

The first blow caught him off-guard, a sharp, open-handed crack against one cheek. Pain flared through the summoned flesh like nothing he was accustomed to and Edge shuddered, his head dropping between his shoulders as he hunched down, bracing himself. The discomfort from ectoflesh was different than directly against bone, less brutal and confronting somehow, but it was still pain.

"i can if you don't," Rus said cheerily. His voice was always faintly raspy, as smoky as expensive whiskey. The way it suddenly dropped on his next words was richer yet, heavy with warning, "but if you make me count, we'll be at this a while."

The word was like acid on his tongue, but Edge spat it out, "One."

"there you go, good boy!" And before Edge could offer his scathing opinion on that moniker, another blow fell, stealing his breath. The pain of impact seemed to reverberate, spreading out from the point where Rus’s hand struck. Worse, something of it seemed to reach between his legs, sending conflicting signals to the pussy Rus had demanded he summon. He could feel the creeping wetness there, uncaring of Edge’s conflict; there was only one reason for his cunt to exist and it was eager to be used.

Edge squirmed, clenching his formed thighs together in an attempt to stifle that sensation. Only for bony fingers to pinch his stinging ectoflesh warningly and Edge remembered, gasping out, "Two!"

"oh, honey," Rus said with mocking solicitude. Narrow fingers traced the aching outline left behind by his hand and Edge wondered wildly if Rus could see it, if the false flesh glowing hotly from the strike. "you better just pace yourself, we’re only getting started.

Another hard slap against his asscheeks, another, Edge stuttering out the count. Pain was nothing he couldn’t handle, but this, this was different. Trapped in the frustrating helplessness of his promise mingled distressingly with the unseemly need growing between his legs.

He could taste the spice of his own magic, tears, Edge realized dimly, but he didn’t stop counting, couldn’t. Not anymore than he could stop himself from trembling, his clawed fingers gouging curling scraps from the wooden floor. Almost unconsciously lifting his hips into the steady rain of blows as they peppered over his backside, occasionally straying to the backs of his thighs to drag free a desperate howl before returning to more generous, giving flesh.

His face was soaked, fouled with tears and sweat, and Edge kept counting, desperately, the numbers meaningless and rising. He needed it to end, needed the throbbing in his ass and his cunt to stop, yearned for it, for the heady throb to coalesce into what it was promising.

The steadying hand on his spine moved, tracing vertebra and tweaking sensitive cartilage. It was a tender distraction, enough that Edge shrieked hoarsely when a particularly vicious blow fell along with it. He let out a thin sob as Rus’s hand lingered, fingers delving between his legs.

“so wet,” Rus crooned as embarrassingly slick sounds rose, slim fingers parting the lips of his cunt to glide along his slit. “your pussy is so wet, baby. you want another one, don’t you. want me to slap your ass again.”

Edge shook his head, words choking in his raw throat. His ass was throbbing, every slap outlined in sharp relief. A shameful whimper escaped him as two fingers pushed inside him, scissoring and stretching his walls, the light pressure of a thumb circling teasingly against his clit.

“i’m gonna fuck you, you know.” Conversationally, as idle as a chat in an elevator. “keep you on your knees so i can see how pretty and swollen your ass is while i do it. but first—”

His fingers withdrew with an obscene sucking sound, his pussy trying to clench around them, keep them inside, and he was expecting the blow, knew it was coming, knew it. And he still screamed when it fell, hard, right between his legs, catching both asscheeks and the tender lips of his pussy in one slap.

Conflicting pain and pleasure wracked him, his orgasm as fierce as another blow, washing over him in a devastating rush. Edge reeled with it, sobbing weakly as he sagged down to the floor into the mess of his own fluids. More trailed down the inside of his thighs, slicked up by a hand that was suddenly gentle, soothing over the tender, aching flesh of his ass, petting Edge through the tremor of aftershocks, his bones clattering against the floor as he trembled.

That gentle touch didn’t linger, Edge mumbling a discontented protest as it withdrew. It was cut off by the jangling sound of Rus’s belt, a rough knee parting Edge’s legs. He moaned faintly, raised his hips the best he could as Rus settled over him.

“fuck, you’re so beautiful,” Rus gasped, “so fucking beautiful, i can’t—" That taunting calm was lost and Edge arched his back as Rus thrust into him, crying out as bony hips slapped against his abused flesh.

He’d lost the bet, Edge thought dimly, listening as Rus panted and swore, hauling Edge back to his knees as he fucked into him. He’d lost, but he’d never expected losing to be so sweet. Sweeter still was Rus losing control inside him, gripping Edge’s abused asscheeks roughly in both hands, and he came in a rush of pulsing wet heat, collapsing down onto Edge, pushing him painfully back into the hard floor.

Edge allowed it, folding back to the ground, ignoring the renewed throb of his pussy for long enough to roll out from under Rus, grappling him down to straddle his pelvis.

“what—” Rus started, barely struggling, still blurry with pleasure.

“Your round is over,” Edge reminded him. Rus’s cock was still formed, softened and resting at his pubis, streaked with crimson magic. The shaft jerked when Edge rubbed his pussy against it, slick lips catching, and Rus’s sockets widened, his eye lights blowing wide. “Now it’s my turn.”

“edge,” Rus began, perhaps as a warning. It trailed off on a yelp as Edge caught his hands, pinning his wrists roughly against the floor. Trapping him, his hips struggling to arch even as Edge shifted until the head of his cock found his still-slippery entrance. He slid down with a hiss of his own, Rus’s stiffening shaft stretching his pussy, filling him. But when Rus squirmed restlessly, trying to move, Edge refused to allow it, using his greater weight as leverage until Rus sank back in surrender.

“Now, let’s see if you can count,” Edge said, letting his razor-sharp grin widen. He rose up, slowly, let Rus’s cock nearly slip free before sinking back down, a long, slow glide that left Rus shaking, whimpering as he was achingly engulfed. Edge took a moment to catch his breath, then leaned in to whisper, hoarse and soft, “That’s one.”

Watching the dawning realization fill Rus’s eye lights was nearly as sweet as an orgasm and Edge savored it greedily, craving even more.

Perhaps Edge had lost the bet. But he wasn’t yet losing the game.

-finis-

#spicyhoney #papcest #keelywolfe #underfell #underswap #underfell papyrus #underswap papyrus #kinktober #lemon goodness #read those warnings

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heather1815 · 5 years

Text

My little test subject: Chapter 16

Chapter 1, chapter 2, chapter 3, chapter 4, chapter 5, chapter 6, chapter 7, chapter 8, chapter 9, chapter 10, chapter 11, chapter 12, chapter 13, chapter 14, and chapter 15

Angsty Tomtord fic with slight Paultryk on the side.

Warning! This fic contains: Foul language, scenes of torture, use of medical tools, drug use, self-harm, suicidal tendencies, violence, self-neglect, blood, and a little bit of stockholm syndrome and force feeding. Viewer discretion is advised.

Ear tips aching with cold, Edd sullenly kicked a pile of snow that was standing on his path. It was only the beginning of the day but he was already in a foul mood.

In front of him, Matt was chatting rather loudly with Mark; discussing the best brands of hair mousse, or something or other. Eduardo took the lead walking a couple paces ahead, while Edd did the same for the rear end of the group.

Some time has gone by since Edd and Matt's argument. Thinking he had given both of them sufficient time to get over it and move on, Edd tried to make more of an effort in spending time with Matt, and hopefully make amends. But things didn't go as he'd expected. Matt was more than happy to accept the offer, but only if their so called "former rivals" accompany them and Edd give them a chance.

Edd had begrudgingly agreed, but he wasn't the least bit happy with this arrangement. He wanted to spend time with Matt all by himself! Can't Eduardo and Mark have the least bit of sense and take a hike?

The supermarket came into view just right up ahead of them. The ground was more slippery the farther they walked, and Matt slowed down his pace exponentially until he was merely shuffling along. He remembers the near fall he had the other day and he doesn't want a repeat of that! The others were already well ahead of him, and Matt searched for the best way to go about this without the risk of slipping.

His gaze landed on the layer of untouched, fluffy snow beside him and Matt got an idea. Edd noticed the look in his friend's eyes and watched Matt hop right into the snow; immediately sinking knee deep.

"What are you doing, Matt? Get out of there!" Edd admonished. "The snow is a lot deeper than you think – you're gonna sink right through!"

"Nonsense!" Matt brushed him off, hopping from one leg to another in the snow as he sank deeper and deeper, trying to keep up with the rest of the group. "I won't risk hurting my beautiful face when there's a perfect good way to go about this- AH!"

His words cut off abruptly as the next step he took resulted in him sinking his entire weight through the snow until he was nearly shoulder deep.

Edd shook his head unimpressed. "See? Now look what happened!"

Matt's eyes widened in shock. "H-help!" His hands scrambled against the snow, desperately trying to claw his way out of the hole he made; but his hands merely sank through snow, creating an even bigger hole.

Edd rolled his eyes and quickly moved to help him. However, before he could reach him, Eduardo had turned back around and reached out toward Matt; grabbing the ginger by the back of his hoodie and hauling him out. Edd watched his actions in surprise before instantly switching to suspicion. His brown eyes narrowed, body going rigid as he prepared to jump in to Matt's defence at the slightest sign of aggression from his counterpart.

"Th- th- than-ks, Edu-Eduardo." Matt uttered through chattering teeth.

"Don't mention it. Bloody idiot." Eduardo grunted.

He released his hold on Matt as soon as he was standing back on the ground, and hurriedly moved away to put a good distance between himself and the others. Edd kept his gaze fixed on his rival the entire time.

They finally reached the grocery store, and Edd wasted no time going off on his own. If Matt prefers their company so much over his own, then Edd won't waste his time trying. Yet, even after he zigzagged his way through the aisles, trying to lose sight of the others, Edd conveniently could hear their voices just right behind at all times.

He glared back at them over his shoulder as they entered the cereal aisle. Mark appeared beside him, looking over the vast selection of cereals for the healthiest choice. Edd hunched his shoulders as the blond settled next to him. Couldn't he stick close to Eduardo and leave him in peace?

"What a shame. There are only kid brands here!" Mark tsked in disappointment when he couldn't find what he was looking for.

"Who cares?" Edd sniffed. "It's cereal. No one ever eats cereal to be healthy; not unless you're the boring kind of person."

"Oh c'mon, don't be grumpy." Mark nudged him good-naturedly. "I already have to deal with one grump; don't make me deal with another one." He gestured toward Eduardo standing a few feet away from where they are.

Edd rubbed his nose with one hand, trying to warm it up. "You can thank Matt for that." He grumbled under his breath and stalked away. He found Matt standing by the bakery section, gazing pensively at all the fresh baked goods. Edd neared him and when Matt was within reaching distance he pulled him aside. "I know what you're doing. Don't think that I don't!"

Matt blinked in bewilderment. "Oh? And what am I doing?"

"You're trying to get me to be friends with them! It's not gonna happen, Matt." Edd warned ill-tempered. The mere idea that Matt genuinely thinks he can get all four of them to be friends is absolutely ridiculous! Doesn't he see all the bad blood between them? And Matt has the audacity to bad talk about Reagan, when he is hanging around people like Eduardo!

"You said you would give them a chance." Matt ducked his head, looking at him imploringly.

Edd glowered. "I said I would consider, and I concluded that this arrangement is a bad idea." Matt opened his mouth to retort, but Edd barged past him before he could take the chance to do so.

The brunet marched his way toward the soda aisle, letting his bad temper run freely as he did so. Edd felt resentment and frustration flare up so intensely inside of him he lashed out at anyone who so much as breathes in his general direction. Even Hellucard, who greeted him in his usual cheery way didn't escape Edd's wrath unscathed, and got shoved out of the way right into a stack of soup cans. Edd was itching to pick a fight with someone – start a riot, or do something completely crazy and out of his league! Anything to snap the mundane facade that's been trying to mask his broken reality as normal; because things are absolutely not normal!

Tom is gone, and his rivals aren't rivals. That's not how things were supposed to be! Even Matt seemed happier nowadays.

Traitor.

Had he forgotten about Tom?

Edd grabbed a pack of cola at the same time as Eduardo appeared next to him, grabbing his own disgusting preference of the brand. Edd rolled his eyes. "I see you still like that trash." He growled. "Guess you haven't changed as much as you claim."

His words sounded lame even to his own ears, but at this point Edd was desperate to release his frustrations with a good fight – and he knows only Eduardo can deliver what he is looking for. His rival is so temperamental, Edd is sure it wouldn't take much to get Eduardo to throw a punch at him. Even with the major possibility he gets his ass handed to him, at least Edd will have let out some steam.

But both to his surprise and dismay, Eduardo only fixed him with a disinterested glance and turned away from him. Edd couldn't believe his eyes. He ignored me?! He glared at the burly brunet as he walked away from him.

Determined not to let Eduardo get out of this so easily, he hurried to catch up and ducked in front of him to stand on his path. "Oi! I'm talking to you here!" Anger flared up in Edd's eyes, and he took a pace forward that brought him practically nose to nose with Eduardo. "What's the matter? Not tough enough to pick on me anymore?"

Eduardo's nostrils flared minutely as he released a patient sigh. "I'm not giving in, Edd."

"What?"

"I'm not giving you what you want from me. Trust me, it's not worth it." Eduardo murmured calmly and narrowed his eyes. "I understand you're having a bad day and all; but this doesn't give you the excuse to act like a d#ck or treat the rest of us like trash."

Edd snorted. "Oh, act like you, you mean?" He flexed his fingers. "Don't pretend you suddenly grew a heart and you care for me all of a sudden! You may have Matt eating at the palm of your hand, but I know your tricks!"

"Edd, stop it!"

The shrill cry jerked Edd's attention away from his rival. He glanced behind him to see Matt and Mark watching their argument; in fact, he was causing such a scene that literally everyone in the supermarket stopped what they were doing to observe. All around him, people stared at him as if he'd gone mad. Matt looked upset as he approached the two of them, putting himself between Eduardo and Edd to stop the argument from escalating any further. He fixed his glistening blue eyes on Edd the whole time though.

"What's gotten into you?" Matt demanded, his usual chirpy tone hardened. "You've been sulking ever since we left home!"

Edd stared back at him, breath catching in his throat as he was momentarily caught off guard by Matt's spontaneous assertiveness. For a split second he felt almost ashamed of his actions, especially since he was making a scene over absolutely nothing. But then his eyes caught sight of Eduardo behind Matt, and irritation exploded inside of him.

Without another word, he whipped around and stormed away. Matt tried to catch his eye, but Edd simply ignored him.

"Sorry." He heard Matt squeak apologetically. "He must be in one of his moods."

How dare Matt apologize for him? After paying for his groceries, Edd shouldered his way out of the supermarket and into the streets. Taking any random direction he started to walk away, one hand shoved into the pocket of his hoodie while the other carried the shopping bag. The icy ground was slippery beneath his feet, and the freezing breeze made him shudder with cold.

He's in one of his moods! Edd fumed as Matt's words echoed in his ears.

He stomped farther down the street, trying to ignore the guilt pricking at his skin with every given step. It's not Matt's fault he felt so angry all the time. Every morning since Tom had died, Edd wakes up to the same hollow sadness opening like an old wound inside his chest. His body always cold and numb – feeling empty. It should be Tom helping Matt out of the snow, not Eduardo. If Tom were still alive, he would be the one accompanying them to the supermarket instead of their not-so-new neighbours. Why wasn't he here?

Things are too different – I can't keep up! I don't want to!

A few steps on, the path he randomly took widened and Edd emerged into an enclosed familiar area, surrounded by wire fences and tall buildings in crude painting. An empty playground lay ahead of him, which gave way to a narrow and shadowy path between two of the buildings.

An alleyway.

Curiosity getting the best of him, Edd stepped closer and peered into the shadows. Trash cans were tipped over next to a dumpster. The alleyway ended in a turn, with shadows moving around the corner. Loud and rough voices could be heard coming from within.

With a start, Edd recalled his many outings with Reagan and the grim warning the Irishman gave him the other night regarding venturing into this area on his own.

But Edd felt angry enough to take on a whole army of brutes. He was anxious to pick a fight with someone for once, and forget his troubles. Edd took a careful step forward into the alley. Even though his common sense was screaming at him to turn back, Edd pressed on despite himself. Avoiding some of the trash that littered the ground, trying to make the least amount of noise as possible, Edd stalked farther in. He pressed himself against the wall just a he was about to turn the corner. The voices were louder now; complaining and discussing things beyond Edd's understanding.

Edd stiffened, ready to fight, as footsteps thumped closer to him. His breath hitched, panic taking over for a brief moment before he braced himself.

He was about to rush in when a hand came out of nowhere and clamped over his mouth. Edd gagged, eyes widening and he began to struggle when pulled back down the other end. Once standing outside the alleyway the mysterious person let go of Edd, who whirled around to meet with Eduardo's furious stare.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" He growled incredulously. "Don't you know there are thugs around?"

"Of course I do!" Edd snapped back. Sh#t, I didn't notice him following me!

"There's probably a whole bunch of them in there." Eduardo nodded toward the alleyway. "Just waiting for some dumbass like you to wander in and give them an easy time." Edd met his stare defiantly but didn't say anything. "Do you really think you can take on all of them?"

Edd opened his mouth for an angry retort when something stirred deep inside the alley— the sound of voices growing increasingly louder and garbage cans tip over and rattling against the hard floor. Two looming, and distinctive human-looking shadows appeared from around the corner, followed by a pair of gruff voices—fear shot through Edd.

Eduardo whisked behind him and shoved him back the other way. "Hurry!"

Glancing over his shoulder at the shadowy alley, Edd let Eduardo guide him back along the path. His heart was racing as they reached the safety of the busy streets.

Eduardo turned his head and observed his surroundings for a couple heartbeats. "No one followed us."

Edd lifted his chin, hoping Eduardo couldn't sense his relief. "Where are the others?" He asked between breaths.

"I told them to go ahead on their way back home," Eduardo told him, "and get brunch started for all of us."

Without another word, Edd nodded, feeling numb, and turned his feet toward home.

"Hold up, loser!" Eduardo's voice halted him. "We're not done here yet. I want to talk to you." He swept the excess of snow from the nearest bench with one hand, then sat down and cleared another space beside him. "We're not going back till you tell me what's going on, right now."

Edd grit his teeth. He didn't feel like talking to Eduardo. He didn't feel like talking to anyone. He just wants to go home and curl up in his bed, far away from the snow, the cold, and his neighbours. Is that too much to ask?

"There's nothing wrong." He began tightly, forcing himself to approach his former rival. "I'm just cold and tired."

Eduardo's stern gaze didn't stray from his. "We're all cold and tired. But it doesn't give us the right to be rude or reckless."

"I wasn't being reckless!" Edd snapped.

"Oh really, now? You were about to challenge some thugs in the back of an alley!" Eduardo's voice hardened to anger. His gaze burned so fiercely that Edd averted his eyes to study his feet; his ears suddenly hot despite the freezing air around them. "How do you think the airhead would have felt if you'd been beaten to a pulp, huh?" Eduardo went on. "He's only just recovering from Tom's death. He doesn't need you to die on him as well!"

Anger flashed through Edd and he scowled at him. "I wasn't going to die!" He insisted.

"Then what were you going to do, eh?" Eduardo challenged. "Invite the bandits to come home for supper?"

Edd sulked and looked away with a stubborn shrug.

"Now, sit the f#ck down and tell me what's wrong!"

Reluctantly Edd sat down beside him. The bench felt cold and damp as he sat, and he involuntarily shivered. "I'm just having a bad day, that's all."

"Well, it seems like every day is a bad day with you."

Shut up! Shut up! Edd would give just about anything to make Eduardo stop talking and leave him alone, but his wishes went on unheard.

"We each have to do our best when it comes to moving on from a hard situation. But as far as I can tell, you're not even trying." Eduardo murmured. "You act like everything's a chore. Sometimes I feel like we're all wasting our time trying to help you. You're so bad-tempered with everyone you meet they're starting to avoid you."

His words stung like needles, and Edd found himself shrinking inside his hoodie as he went on. At least Reagan likes me.

"Why should anyone try to look after you if you won't do the same for them, huh?" Eduardo continued more firmly. "I know you. Not on a personal level, by any means, but I know you enough to see that this isn't like you. News flash: acting like a complete jerk isn't going to bring your friend back from the dead any time soon!"

"Nothing will, anyway." Edd muttered crossly.

Eduardo's eyes narrowed. "And that's an excuse to be as much a prick as you want, then?"

"I—I..." His voice choked, his eyes glistening. "Everything's gone wrong!" There was a heavy pause. Edd hated himself for feeling the urge to burst into tears; especially in front of his supposed nemesis. He then looked up, surprised when he felt an awkward hand pat him on the back.

"You miss your friend." Eduardo continued solemnly. "Of course you do. But you gotta move on – no amount of grieving is going to bring him back."

"What do you know?" Edd bristled, lifting his chin. "All we've ever done is fight one another! Don't try to pretend now that we are friends or something. You are never going to replace him!"

Eduardo pulled his hand away, blinking with surprise. "Wait, what? Don't be ridiculous! I'm not trying to replace him. Where did you even get such crazy idea from?"

"Are you sure?" Edd glared at him accusingly. "Because it sure as hell seems like it!"

Eduardo met his gaze, unblinking. He took a deep breath or two to maintain his patience. "Look-" He resisted the temptation to call him loser. This was not the time for this. Eduardo sighed. "You are going through a rough patch, your emotions are confused and this is leading you to do reckless things out of anger and frustration." He continued more calmly. "I know you don't really mean the things that you're saying right now. Nor do I believe, as stupid as you may be, that you would purposefully seek out trouble."

Edd's eyes blazed and he bristled with anger, before his fury deflated all at once and he looked away unsurely. Truth be told, he was kind of dumbfounded with how on point Eduardo is.

"You know that I am not trying to take your friend's place in your life. Heck, I don't think it's even physically possible given how close the two of you were!" Eduardo kept on ranting. "But… Tom would've wanted you to move on and be happy, just as you were before."

How do you know? Indignation washed over Edd again.

He dug his nails into the wood of the bench as Eduardo took a shaky breath. "I wish Jon were still alive, too." He murmured, with a sadness so intense that it nearly nulled Edd's fury away. Then he shook his head and stood up, pulling the hood of his jacket over his head. "But he's not, and we can't grieve forever. Your dumb friend needs you. Concentrate more on what you're doing now, rather than what you could've done. Otherwise you'll just be repeating the same mistake all over again before you know it." His voice was brisk as he began to walk away with his hands on his pockets. "It'll give you something else to think about."

Edd stood up from the bench, his legs so numb with cold that he staggered clumsily as he did.

Eduardo glanced back at him. "Are you gonna be okay?"

Inspecting his surroundings for a few heartbeats, Edd released a tired sigh. His rage hasn't gone away completely, but he can't deny he felt more like himself now that he's had the chance to talk about it for a bit.

"Yeah, I guess… I just…" Edd mumbled, and then shot one last glare at Eduardo. "Can we pretend today never happened?"

Eduardo steadily stared back at him before shrugging. "I can deal with that."

(Meanwhile…)

"Hold still – this will only take a few seconds."

Obeying Patrick's instructions Tom remained frozen as the Polish soldier circled him, measuring his height and width with a tape. At the end of every month Tom is always brought to the lab for a basic check-up, to make sure his condition was up-to-date and his treatment was working. This time however, Pat was also taking his measurements for Tom's new soldier uniform that Tord had requested for him. Tom frowned in distaste at the idea but went along with it without complaint.

Tom jerked out of his thoughts by his rumbling stomach. He hates how dependent he has become over the course of time living in this dreadful place, and how he doesn't have the same endurance as he once did. Tom used to go days on end without food, with only Smirnoff to satisfy him. But nowadays, if his meals are even a few minutes later than scheduled his stomach starts cramping with pain.

But he will take hunger over today's alternative any day.

"Do I really have to go?" Tom whined. "Why does he feel the need to have dinner with me? I practically see him all the time; he can easily stop by my quarters and discuss matters with me without a hassle. Why start on the formalities now?"

"Red Leader was adamant on his request." Paul answered, sitting on the edge of a desk. "He merely wishes to discuss your future in the Red Army, just in a more formal setting. Boss does take his title very seriously, as you can tell by now. And last I heard he seems to be really proud of how your training is shaping up."

Paul and Patrick looked at Tom with admiring stares—it was considered both an honour and a privilege to dine with the Red Leader. Tom didn't share their excitement. The last person he wanted to share a meal with was Tord.

"Don't worry though! Just think of it as a chat with a meal on the side." Paul tried to reassure, but Tom could detect the amusement in his voice even as he attempted to curb it into a more neutral tone.

Tom raised one eyebrow quizzically. He didn't understand what entertained the Commander so greatly about this. It was even stranger when he caught a glimpse of Patrick shooting a warning glance at Paul. What just flashed between the two soldiers?

"Well, after you're done talking to him do you want to join us in our quarters later?" Patrick offered, looking up from his work. "Things are running smoothly today and we think it's going to be one of those "freebie" days."

"We're thinking of watching a scary movie about ghosts! Or maybe this documentary that I found about creepy haunted locations! Or anything to do with ghosts really!" Paul added, his eyes gleaming with excitement at the idea. Tom stared at him in surprise.

"Funny, I never took you for a believer of the supernatural."

"Not just a believer! I am a paranormal enthusiast! Ghosts, aliens, cryptids, and conspiracy theories – you name it!" Paul jumped off the desk in his enthusiastic raving and started pacing around the Brit. "My biggest dream is to go to a haunted location and see a supernatural occurrence with my own eyes! Boy let me tell you; when Red Leader first found this base I was so ecstatic! I mean, it's an abandoned military base that had been used for world war one and two – there had to be something spooky lurking around! And I checked this whole place, top to bottom, and stayed awake for many nights trying to find ghosts… but no. Unfortunately this is just an old, admittedly impressive, historical military base."

Tom listened to Paul's non-stop babble, not entirely interested on the subject matter, but he couldn't help but admire the Commander's passion for the supernatural. Patrick on the other hand merely rolled his eyes unimpressed, but with a clear hint of affection in his honeyed-green gaze.

Paul laughed. "I'm even planning on renting an abandoned house or book a haunted room in a hotel for Pat and I's honeymoon!"

"Absolutely not!" Pat interjected, his face flushed pink at the mention of a honeymoon. "I refuse to spend a night in a haunted location – sceptical or not!"

Taken back by Patrick's reaction, Paul chuckled sheepishly and lifted his hands, palms out.

Tom stifled down the laugh the bubbled in his throat as he continued to watch the pair argue. These two are definitely meant for each other. Despite his many concerns, it was strange how attached he grew to the two soldiers.

There's Paul, whose sense of humour closely resembles his own and serves as a good way to brighten what's left of his bleak life. The Red Army Commander would sometimes sneak a muffin from the canteen for him, and since Tom is not allowed any contact with the outside world, Paul also shows him some funny posts and videos on his phone.

Then there's Patrick, whose level-headedness and patience often soothes Tom's nerves, and has helped him a thousand times more than any real therapist in the past. A shame it will have all been for nothing, but it was admittedly kinda nice while it lasted.

Tom watched the pair with a wistful fondness. Even if this whole thing is all just an act to get him to cooperate with their schemes, they undoubtedly made an impact on Tom.

He will miss them when the time comes.

"These two are really good actors, I will commend them on that. ~" The voice murmured with a low growl, casting Tom's surroundings in shadow as it leaned over his shoulders; as if to observe the scene. "But we both know what they really are. Don't try to pity them for what you plan to do – your miserable existence doesn't need help being sadder than it already is. ~"

I know. Tom conceded. His time was running out; maybe just one more week, and then everything will be over. The thought made his heart clench up tight in his chest and a sob nearly hitch his throat. The fact that he was not alone in his room right now was the only thing that forced Tom to keep it down.

"Oh come now, don't start with the waterworks you big miserable f#ck. ~" The voice soothed, dragging a long sharp digit along Tom's cheeks to wipe the few deceptive tears that managed to escape his control. "The biggest reaction they'll get from your demise will be disappointment for their schemes not going according to plan. They don't care about you. They never have. If anything, everyone will be relieved not having to deal with you anymore. ~"

The two soldiers were too busy discussing about possible wedding plans and ghosts to take notice of Tom subtly wiping away his tears with the sleeve of his hoodie.

One more week. The foreboding date echoed in his mind.One week left to live.

The voice barked out a mocking laugh. "Hardly. It's not like you can perform your last few wishes here till then. ~" More spectre limbs surrounded Tom, wrapping him up in a morbid hug of sorts; subduing him in his proper place. "But don't think too much about that. What you intend to do is for a worthy cause – perhaps the only good you've ever done! Imagine how thankful everyone will be that the burden is finally gone. ~"

With his physical health fully recovered and the training sessions getting intense with each passing day, Tom figured the experiments wouldn't be far off now. So in a week or so… that will be it. Tom tried not to think about the specifics of his death, as the thought only filled him with even more dread.

Bleeding out on a surgical table by a Commie bastard...

"Sounds like the punch line to a very funny joke. ~"

Is it considered suicide if you give someone the right circumstances they'll need to unintentionally kill you?

"If that's the intention you're going for, then yes! ~"

He focused his attention back to the present. "Yeah, I would love to hang out with you guys." He broke through the pair's conversation. "Especially since I'll need something to make up for the dinner with the Commie."

"Splendid!" Patrick nodded, clasping his hands together and then looked down at his watch. "Well, I think we are done here. Seems like everything is in order with you, and you need to get going now. We don't want to keep Red Leader waiting."

Tom rolled his non-existent eyes and sighed in exasperation. "Whatever."

He followed Paul and Pat as they led the way out of the lab into the long hallways, chatting about mundane stuff that happens at the base. Amidst the conversation, they eventually came upon the topic of Red Leader when Tom decided to ask a question that's been plaguing his mind for a while.

"Have you guys notice anything… strange about Tord lately?"

Paul and Patrick exchanged glances with each other. Paul's eyes were gleaming with mirth, but other than that he was maintaining his expression nulled. Patrick, with a professional poker face, was the one who replied. "Not that we can tell. Why do you ask?"

Tom fumbled with his hands. "He's been acting really weird recently."

Hand covering half his face, Paul quietly snickered in amusement. "Oh? How come?" He slyly asks. He could sense Patrick's stern gaze on him, silently sending him the message to not give away their leader's feelings. As if he would do a thing like that! Paul can just imagine the great Red Leader, blushing every time he stands too close to Tom, or floundering in embarrassment whenever he was caught staring at the test subject for too long. He wouldn't be surprised if his leader's attraction for the eyeless man had grown stronger roots and the Norsk outright flirted with Tom at this point.

But Tom's answer wasn't at all what they were expecting.

"Well, he's been getting more aggressive in training sessions than usual. Hell, he dropped a f#cking car on top of me the other day during an obstacle course to test out my reflexes or some sh#t!"

Paul and Patrick blinked at each other, wide-eyed. "That's… certainly quite odd of him." Paul confessed, still glancing unsurely back at Pat.

They arrived in the duo's quarters through Patrick's study as Tom elaborated on the strange ways Tord's been behaving as of late, including the glimpses of disappointment he would often catch on the Norsk's face. The two soldiers shared a steady glance at one another.

"As worrisome as this sounds, I don't think you should take it so personally, Thomas." Pat coolly advised, his eyes narrowed. "Red Leader is a busy man with lots on his mind and plenty of work to concern himself with. It's likely he just got a bit stressed and was taking it out on you as a result."

"Stress…" Tom echoed the word just loud enough to be heard; clearly he didn't believe it, but he wasn't prepared to press the soldiers for more answers or even outright accuse them of lying.

"With that said; his behaviour is still inexcusable." Patrick continued. "We will discuss this matter with him at a later date, I promise."

The two soldiers led Tom to the living room in their quarters. Paul neared the wall on the opposite side, pressing his hand against a panel that's come to life and scanned his palm as the small lift revealed itself. Tom watched anxiously. As much as he was dreading his meeting with Tord, he was also excited to finally leave the confines of the lab level. It's not the surface, but it's at least something different!

The elevator's doors slide open with a resonating hiss, prompting Tom's heart to race faster in his chest.

"This is it, then." Paul shifted beside him. "This lift will take you straight to Red Leader's office, where he's waiting for you."

Pat stepped forward and started fixing Tom's hair and clothes. "Please be in your best behaviour, alright? Don't provoke him, and eat all your food, okay?" He fussed over the test subject, trying to make him look presentable for their leader when Paul gently pulled him away.

"I think he got this." The Commander smiled reassuringly.

Tom rolled his non-existent eyes. "Yeah I'll try, but it will depend on how annoying the Commie is going to be." He crossed his arms and scoffed. "Besides, what's the worst he can do to me now?"

Patrick looked at him for a long moment and sighed. "After you've been dismissed, you may wait for us here." He told him. "We shouldn't take long to complete all the tasks."

Tom nodded curtly. Paul neared the wall again and pressed his hand on the panel before giving the Brit a quick thumbs up. "Good luck!"

The doors slide shut, and Tom was left by himself as the elevator started to make it's ascend. Lights waving past his form with every passing level, Tom slumped against the wall of the lift and took deep breaths to calm himself. He dealt with far worse than a mere dinner with the Commie; this should be a walk in the park. But why was he so nervous then?

Perhaps because this is the first time in several months Tom will find himself out of his familiar element and in close quarters with none other than Tord. And why the formal setting? Not once has Tord ever bothered with that sort of thing with him before. Tom has a gut feeling this will be more than just a causal chat with meal on the side.

The elevator stopped. Gulping, Tom braced himself for what was about to happen next. The lift doors slide open, and Tom was met with the sight of a mahogany red room.

He blinked, expecting to hear the familiar teasing comments greeting him into the foreign room at any moment, but nothing happened. Cautiously, Tom leaned his head forward to take a peek. "Commie?" He called out quietly. When he received no answer, the eyeless man stepped fully into the room. The elevator slid shut behind him and a bookcase appeared where it once stood; effectively sealing him into the office.

"Tord?" Tom called out again, surveying the room.

There were bookcases on both sides; two sets of double-doors behind him and to his right, and another door to his left. A dark wooden desk positioned at the far front with a huge red chair behind it, and a blue and red tapestry with the army's insignia plastered at the far end wall.

But no sign of Tord.

"It seems the Commie forgot about our meeting." Tom observed out loud before shrugging. "Oh well, guess this means I won't need to have dinner with him after all!"

Whistling a happy little tune, Tom turned away to go back to the lift; but there was only one problem. The bookcases look all the same, and Tom can't remember which one he just appeared out of! Or how to summon the elevator for that matter.

Tom felt around the bookshelves for some kind of button or lever – he even pulled on some books, thinking one of them was the trigger to the lift, but nothing happened.

"Great." Tom groaned sarcastically and backed away in defeat. It's so like Tord to make an overly complicated secret contraption!

Accepting his fate, Tom decided to wait around for his captor to show up by taking a detailed look around the office. Give thanks to Tord's brilliant idea of leaving him waiting in his office unsupervised!

Scanning the rows of books, Tom let his gaze wander over the vast collection of titles briefly. Tom could identify English, and of course, Norwegian works; but he was surprised to find some German and Russian tomes among the collection as well. I didn't know Commie could speak more than two languages!

Nothing in particular caught his interest aside from that, and Tom decided to investigate the doors.

He first went to the main doors behind him, which no doubt leads to the rest of the base. Tom tried the door but it wouldn't budge. He steps away in disappointment, turning his attention to the double doors to his right. Before trying the knob, Tom pressed his ear against the door to listen for any sounds. When he couldn't hear anything coming from within, Tom twisted the doorknob and swung it open.

Inside the room was a large oval table with a detailed map laid out on the surface, several chairs, and more tapestries on the walls. Tom deduced this was a meeting room of some kind and promptly left.

His gaze rested on the last door, opposite of him. Tom crossed the room and pressed his ear against the wooden surface for noises. When there was nothing, Tom tried to open the door but it wouldn't budge.

Locked. Tom seethed. He then bends on his knees and peers into the keyhole, but all he could see on the other side was red. Tom figured this most likely is Tord's room.

That just leaves Tord's desk.

Tom walked around the desk and settled himself down on the great chair. He breathed a little pleased sigh when he leaned back on it and let his weight sink in. "Great chair." Tom gave a few experimental spins and kicked back his legs over the desk in a relaxed posture. "Man, if sitting on this chair and boss people around all day is what Tord does then no wonder he is obsessed with his goals!"

As he spun around, Tom caught sight of a row of glass casings and shelves just behind him; hidden from view by the desk. He instantly jumped to his feet to investigate. As it was expected of Tord, there was a collection of various types of weapons on display; most commonly guns, but there were also blades as well. Tom's gaze scanned the small space of trophies when he caught sight of a frame hanging on the wall. He leaned closer to inspect it and his eyes widened upon realizing it was a doctor's degree. Damn, Commie really did get busy while he was away!

On one of the shelves, Tom recognised at once the infamous hat Tord treasured so much to the point of prioritizing it first above his giant robot. He grabbed the pickelhaube off the shelf and put it on for sh#ts and giggles. However, his spiky hair impeded the headgear from fitting on his head.

As he moved to place the spiked hat back in its proper place, Tom's gaze flickered upward for a tiny fraction and he froze in apprehension. Above him, mounted on the wall as some sort of morbid reminder, was a lacerated arm encased in glass with the date "March 16, 2016" engraved at the bottom.

Holy stampede on a cruise ship – who in the everlasting f#ck keeps their amputated limb around?!

Goosebumps suddenly rose along his spine, and Tom felt warm breath tickling the back of his neck.

"Hallo, gamle venn. ~"

Tom jumped in alarm and immediately whipped around, coming face to face with Tord; towering over him in all his glory with a smug grin on his face. F#ck! Tom silently cursed himself for being so careless and getting caught off-guard in such an embarrassing manner. How did he get in here without making a sound?

"How-?" Tom swallowed, his throat so dry his words were getting stuck in his throat. "How long have you been standing there?"

Tord shrugged. "A while, actually. Glad to know you like my chair as much as I do." He slyly replies. Hiding his mortification behind a scowl, Tom glared at the Norsk. However, his reaction only prompted further amusement from Tord, and the Norwegian man chuckled. "You're so cute when you're mad." He patted the Brit's face condescendingly.

"Yeah? Well I'm about to get really f#cking adorable!" Tom fumed, balling his hands into fists and knocked the offending hand away.

"In any case, I owe you an apology for keeping you waiting." In the blink of an eye, Tord's posture and mood shifted, fitting a more professional demeanour as he dipped his head politely and taking Tom by surprise. "I got caught up in a meeting with some of my Generals and lost track of time."

Tom blinked, his anger and embarrassment fading away. Only then did he take notice of the dark circles underneath the Norsk's visible eye, as though he hadn't rested for quite some time. Tom knew the effects of sleep deprivation all too well to recognise them.

"Are you… okay?" He ventured, the hesitance clear in his tone. It was a silly question, really – nothing about Tord is okay, and Tom has no reason to care either – but Tom couldn't help but ask anyway.

Tord's brow furrowed. "Whatever do you mean?" He tilted his head.

"You, uh, got dark circles under your eye." Tom gestured vaguely at his own left eye, mumbling under his breath. "You look like you haven't slept in days." He wasn't even sure why he was so concerned about this to begin with. If Tord wants to work himself to the point of passing out, that was ultimately on him! Patrick's words from earlier resonated within him. Maybe he really is just stressed. But something about this whole ordeal was ringing off alarm bells in Tom's head, and he can't put a finger on it.

"Oh, that. I've just been working hard on a couple of projects." Tord waved his hand dismissively. "I've had a great many things on my mind. More so than usual these days. In fact, the reason why you're here in the first place is so that we may discuss some of these." He stepped aside, smiling as he gently guided Tom to his seat on the opposite side of the desk.

Tom eyed him wearily. "But why over dinner, though?"

"I thought you would appreciate a change of scenery." Tord grinned, settling down on his own seat across the eyeless man. "Being confined to the lab levels for several months must be driving you mad! Plus a meal to go along with our talk will diffuse some of the tension quite nicely."

"What tension?" Tom snorted.

Tord shrugged. "You tell me." He smirked slyly. "You're the one with tense shoulders here."

Frowning, Tom forced himself to sit back and adapt a more lazy posture. "Coming from personal experience, nothing good ever comes when you're trying to get chummy with me." He glared at the Norwegian man sitting across from him. Eerily enough, the Red Leader was leaning forward in his seat with his arms propped on the table and fingers interlaced with each other under his chin; his one-eyed gaze staring intensely back at Tom and a large grin on his face. Off-putting, to say the least.

"Do try to relax." Tord murmured. "Our food should arrive any minute now."

Easier said than done. Tom huffed silently and crossed his arms.

Tord cleared his throat. "While we wait, let's get to business; shall we?" He said, prompting Tom to look at him questioningly. "Your training has been coming along great so far, but you still have a long way to go before you are deemed a proper soldier. I shall speed up your training by dropping your physical evaluations with Paul and replacing them with more training hours. They are more than enough exercises for you."

"Does this mean Paul will take over my training then?" Tom dared himself to hope.

"No." Tord instantly replied, shooting a quick glare at the eyeless man for even suggesting such a thing. "As his duties to the Red Army come first, I will need him to supervise the rest of the base while I'm busy overseeing your training."

Tom stared at him indignantly. "What? That's bullsh#t! You're obviously more important and busy than Paul is. Why can't he train me instead?"

Tord stiffened. "I decide the future of my soldiers, Thomas. Not you." He cast him a warning glance. "My decision is final."

Swallowing his frustration, Tom begrudgingly backed down. Giggling drowned his thoughts as his vision darkened, and Tom found himself frowning in confusion. What are you laughing at?

"Why are you so concerned over a mundane thing like training? ~" The voice howled with laughter, seeming to grip on to Tom's shoulders for support. "You will be dead in a week, remember? You won't have to worry about who is going to train you, because you will be dead long before it can matter. ~"

Tom inwardly grimaced. I suppose…

"Anyways." Tord stirred their conversation back on track. "You should probably know that there will be an assessment by the end of your training to grade you on all your skills."

"What happens if I were to fail the assessment?" Tom prompted. When Tord fixed him with an unamused glare, he corrected himself by trying to appear modest and cleared his throat. "Hypothetically speaking?"

The Norwegian man smirked. "Then you will merely return to training as usual, and your welcoming ceremony will be delayed for another few months."

Tom blinked. "Welcoming ceremony?" No one said anything about there being a ceremony!

"Ah yes! I suppose I have neglected to inform you what happens after your training is completed. Guess this is a good time as any to elaborate then." Tord continued more decisively. "The welcoming ceremony – or rank up ceremony – is when recruits have successfully completed their training and are ready to be made into soldiers; earning their place among our ranks. They are to stand in presence of the other army members and swear an oath of loyalty to yours truly." He finished with a sly grin directed at Tom.

The Brit bristled. "F#ck that! You're never gonna get me to willingly swear some stupid oath to you! Or wear those ridiculous uniforms for that matter." He turned away deliberately. "Red is not my colour. There's nothing your dumb army has to offer me."

Tord raised one eyebrow at the challenge. "Did I ever mention the Red Army doesn't celebrate Christmas? As big a fan I am for the holiday, I recognise that due to the vast diverse nature of my soldiers it wouldn't be very appropriate. So I allow my soldiers to celebrate whatever they want on their own time." He grinned immensely when he caught the flicker of interest in Tom's gaze hiding behind a sulking expression. "Nonetheless; those who failed to pass their assessment have their memory promptly erased and are put back where they were found. Because you are a special case, your place in the Red Army is already guaranteed. It's just a matter of being prepared for it."

"Whoa, hold on! You mean you kick out people that fail?" Tom exclaimed, his empty eyes wide in shock. "Just like that? No retakes? Didn't it occur to you that you're sending away valuable numbers to add to your stupid army? For someone who wants to take over the world, shouldn't you need as many people on your side as possible?" He stopped himself, clamping his mouth shut once he realized he was ranting at a mad man, who took his ambitions very seriously and doesn't like to be challenged.

Tord was silent for a couple seconds before a sly grin re-appeared on his face. "Well... I didn't realize you took my hobbie this seriously, Thomas. I'm glad you've finally taken an interest on it though." He purred, and there was a note of fresh interest in his voice. "As for your questions… I believe I told you the origin for most of my soldiers, have I not?" Tom nodded cautiously, recalling their conversation many months ago. "The Red Army is their second chance. They were unsatisfied with their ordinary lives, one way or another, and we offered them the choice of a new life. One with far richer pickings and greater possibilities than they could've ever achieved under normal circumstances. All I ask in return is their loyalty and nothing short than their absolute best. I don't need slackers in my army taking advantage of my generous offer; so if they fail their assessment – good riddance!"

Tom opened his mouth to ask more questions when a sudden knock on the door brought their conversation to a halt.

"That's our food." Tord rose from his seat. "Wait here. I'll be right back." He went around the desk and past Tom in long, graceful strides toward the door. He briefly ruffled his test subject's hair as he passed, soliciting the Brit to angrily bat his hand away in return.

From his seat, Tom watched Tord answer the door; barely open as he conversed quietly to the mysterious person – most likely a soldier – on the other side. He saw Tord dip his head politely and take the tray of food from the unknown sender before closing the door and making his way back to the desk.

Even from across the room Tom could somehow detect the smell of hot food, and he found himself sniffing the air for more. The delectable scent made his stomach growl, reminding him of his hunger. Tom could almost tolerate Tord's presence and annoying attitude for the sake of finally filling his empty stomach.

His mind started to wander as Tord returned with the tray in hand, the scent of food growing stronger in his nostrils. I hope it's fish. Tom thought, resisting the urge to lick his lips as he envisioned food inside his head. Oh, fish would be great about now! With white rice, some steamed beans, and maybe with potatoes coated in butter, too.

"Don't you have better things to think about? ~" The voice deadpanned, tapping one finger repeatedly on his arm in an irritated gesture. "It's not like you deserve to be fed anyway. He's only feeding you to keep you from dying on him – like that's gonna do any good. ~" It appear to grin at the end.

I already agreed to die, what more do you want from me at this point? Tom retorted, pushing aside his usual fear of the entity living inside his head. Can't I enjoy the thought of food until then?

Tord returned to his seat, setting the trays of food down on the desk; one for each. Humorously enough, while Tord received a glass of wine to accompany his meal, Tom only got a carton of grape juice. He didn't even bother commenting on the silly choice of drink, as it was a par for the course with Tord at this point. Tom merely sets his sights on the tray, rubbing his hands together in anticipation before lifting the lid off of his meal, ready to chow down-

The indistinguishable tangy smell of meat hit his senses like a truck, making Tom freeze in place as he stared at his dinner in horror.

It's meat.

Bloody, juicy, rare done meat.

Suddenly all the hunger Tom previously felt before doesn't seem as prominent anymore.

"Something wrong, Thomas?" Tord's silky question brought Tom to his senses. He looked up to meet with the Red Leader's intrigued, but evidently smug gaze. "Why, just a second ago you looked absolutely famished; now you're staring at your food as if it had grown a head and started talking to you."

"Yes… I thought you wanted to enjoy your food before the time comes? ~" The voice joined in on the teasing, throwing Tom's own words back at his face.

The Brit gulped. "I, uh, I'm… you probably didn't know about this, but I'm a semi-vegetarian now." He scratched the back of his head, diverting his gaze anywhere but his plate.

Tord barked out a laugh and stared at him disbelievingly. "Do you take me for a fool? We grew up together, Tom. I know you better than anyone else here, and I know for a fact that you despise vegetables. And everyone knows you have a bit of a problem when it comes to certain fruits, too." He pointed out, stabbing his fork into a particularly bloody piece of meat in his plate and started waving it in front of Tom's face teasingly. "So how is it that you have become a vegetarian, hm?"

"He's onto you. ~" The voice's warning had more layers than meets the eye. Tom's shoulders sagged and he released a deep sigh of defeat.

"Okay, you got me. I will confess…" He closed his eyes briefly, as if bracing himself for what he was about to say. "When you left us, all those years ago, you would have been right to doubt me. But then…" He inhaled deeply. "There was this one day Matt was insisting that I watch a movie with him, and he wouldn't stop pestering me until I sat down and complied. So I did! And he found this movie with a cute cow or something on the cover and automatically thought: "Ah what a cute little cow! I bet this movie is going to be adorable!" but the idiot didn't realize it was actually a documentary about the food industry and all the horrible sh#t that animals go through on a daily basis to get to our plates! Long story short, neither of us had a good time watching that and I can't stand the thought of eating meat anymore. Just looking at it makes me-" Tom gagged mid-rant and turned his head away. "Nauseous."

He wasn't even pretending to retch – that was just Tom's natural reaction to meat nowadays. And he had rehearsed this story with the voice so many times it might as well be the truth. Obviously he can't admit the real reason as to why he doesn't eat meat anymore, so Tom had to get a believable excuse ready if the occasion ever arises.

And good thing too; because Edd had taken notice of his peculiar dislike for red meat way back when and questioned him about it. Tom told him the exact same story as he did now, and Matt was so dense he naively agreed with him despite the fact that this never actually happened!

Apparently his lame story worked on Tord to some extent as well, because the Norsk slowly lowered his fork away from Tom's face. "I see." He nodded in understanding. Though the steely glint in his gaze says something else entirely. "Now, where were we?"

Tom bit his lips anxiously. "Uh, kicking failed soldiers out?"

"Ah, yes!" Tord gracefully took a bite out of the same piece he had previously offered Tom. "As I was saying, privates who fail to meet our expectations have no place in this army. We make this abundantly clear in their first weeks of training; and fortunately, the great majority has good sense to not throw away their second chance like that. Everyone takes their training very seriously, so failures are incredibly rare to come by nowadays."

Absently, Tom hummed and nodded along with whatever the Norsk was saying. Poking at his meal with a mixture of weariness and disinterest as he tried to set apart the few vegetables there were from the steak on his plate.

"That reminds me – now that you're back to proper health, we should begin the serum experiments as soon as possible." Tord went on as usual. Tom perked up at that and raised one eyebrow questioningly. "As it is our main priority right now, this means both your training and mental evaluations will be put on hold for an undetermined amount of time. Once we finally get some results out of you, then we may proceed with the planned schedule as usual. "

One more week. The date echoed ominously in Tom's head and he gulped.

"You mentioned that most of your soldiers join you because they want a second chance in life…" Tom spoke softly, changing the subject away from the experiments and his inevitable approaching doom. "But that doesn't really explain why they would be crazy enough to join you and your evil schemes."

"Evil?" Tord echoed in genuine surprise.

"Yeah." Tom went on more firmly. "You claim you have good intentions – that you want to make the world a "better place" – but here you are; building weapons, creating an army, and… making monsters to get what you want. You are ready to put thousands of lives on the line for the sake of your selfish goals. And I'm not just talking about your soldiers either, I mean all the innocent people out there who will have to endure the war you want to put them through."

Rolling his eye, Tord tsked in distaste and glared at Tom. "You always had a strong tendency to villainize me." He muttered, straightening his back so he was leaning comfortably in his chair. "Tell me, Thomas; does that make you feel better about yourself? Making me the bad guy of your story who must be stopped at all costs? I couldn't help but notice you staring at the little memento I keep back there." He inclined his head briefly to the side, swirling the wine in his glass fluidly. "Did you get satisfaction out of that? Knowing you were the one who foiled my plans that one time and did this to me? You must be pretty damn proud of yourself for accomplishing such a feat – taking down the big bad Red Leader! Not everyone can say they did it, I'll give you that much."

Tom stared blankly back at him, a bit dumbfounded by the aggressive mini-rant he had been subjected to. I must've struck a nerve there. The idea he somehow managed to offend Tord using only facts was mind-blowing by itself, but that he had the gall to make himself out to be more innocent than he actually is just takes the cake.

"Well, what the f#ck else am I supposed to think?" Tom exclaimed exasperatedly. "If you really mean to make the world a better place, then you would find a peaceful way to go about this other than war! But I know you; and you are a bloodthirsty and egotistical genius who only wants the thrill of leading your own soldiers into battle."

Taking a long sip of his wine, Tord cast him another smouldering glare. After another few heartbeats of uncomfortable silence, he lowered his glass and turned to Tom with fresh interest.

"Oh Tom, I never took you for being so naive." He murmured almost condescendingly, as if he were about to lay some important life wisdom on a helpless child. This ignited a spark of fury within Tom, but he refrained from retorting and merely nibbled on a piece of broccoli instead. "As nice as the notion of taking over the world through peaceful means sounds, it just isn't realistic. The world leaders will never surrender their power over to me just because I ask nicely – heck, most won't do it even at the cost of putting the safety of their citizens at risk!"

"If you are smart enough to build a giant robot, then you can definitely find a peaceful solution." Tom argued dryly.

"It's not that simple." Tord sighed. "Thomas, for once do try to see things from my perspective."

"I would, but I don't think my head can go that far up my ass."

"Peaceful means never last." Tord was trying really hard to maintain his patience in explaining his logic to the Brit. "Look throughout history for example; you will find many examples of great wars, but can you name one instance where a peaceful solution was applied successfully and consequences lasted until today? Probably not from the top of your head, and I'll tell you why. It's because, as horrible as wars are, they leave a greater impact on the world. It's a grim fact, but that's just how it is. People have better chances of conforming to new changes when put in devastating situations rather than just… politely asking them to."

Tom jerked his chin up defiantly. "You know, as a better alternative you should consider just subject people to some of your horrible hentai anime weebo sh#t." More quietly, he added: "It's devastating enough to traumatize anyone, and doesn't kill people!"

He expected an annoyed reply in return for his snarky suggestion; however, Tord simply regarded him with a curious look and a large knowing grin on his face. Tom was unsettled to say the least. Some instinct told him there was a secret here.

"I see you have some strong opinions on the matter. Though I can't help but wonder if it's targeted more towards me than the actual topic itself." Tord acknowledged smoothly. "Since you've been cooped up in this base for several months without any connections to the outside world, I can't exactly blame you for being so ignorant."

Stabbing the carton of juice with a straw, Tom fumed. "Alright, humour me then; just what kind of "better world" you plan on making then?"

"Why are you trying so hard to reason with him? ~" The voice inquired, running its hands through Tom's locks as if he were a cherished pet. "It's beyond your control at this point and shouldn't be a priority. If you are so concerned about the world you're leaving behind, remember that you will destroy his most destructive weapon on your way out, and all the harm he will do is not of your concern anymore. ~"

I know, I know. I shouldn't care about that, but I still do. Tom soothed sadly. I just don't want to talk about the experiments. Anything but that. Just the mere thought of them was enough to twist his heart in ways he'd never thought possible, and a terrible pain sear in his chest. But Tord is hiding something… any idea what it could be?

A long, drawn out hum echoed in his head as the voice pondered. "I agree. He has the expression of a cat that swallowed a canary. ~" It ceased petting Tom, eliciting a small sigh of relief from the eyeless man. "Perhaps he knows more than he lets on? ~"

Tom wanted to ask what it meant by that, but Tord began speaking and jerked him out of his thoughts.

"I'm glad you asked! How about a world where everyone has equal chance to live and work and thrive, regardless of their financial standing?"

An awkward silence dragged between them for a couple heartbeats. Tom shifted in his seat with pursed lips. "That sounds… actually kinda nice." He admitted with a contemplative tone.

"Or how about a world where people who are sick don't have to worry about the cost of their treatment over their own lives? Or doctors who care more about the lives they're saving than finances for that matter? But most importantly, a world free of prejudice! And that's only just a few noteworthy mentions." Tord continued, getting progressively more intense. "Just look at the current state of the planet right now, Thomas. The economy is failing, people are dying left and right; driven out of their homes, and openly persecuted. A war now would be a good reset button."

"Well… maybe." Tom couldn't argue with the vision Tord set in front of him. Anyone in their right mind would love to have a world where suffering was lowered to bare minimum. But there was just one teeny tiny little problem with that idea, and he was staring straight at him.

"But now who's the naive one here?" Tom fixed the Norsk with a thoughtful gaze. "Is that what you tell people to get them to join your dumb army? I genuinely feel sorry for those poor bastards who are this desperate and don't know any better."

Tord's gray eye widened; for a heartbeat he looked almost genuinely hurt. Fury blazed up inside of Tom. How dare Tord claim that his plan to take over the whole world is for a greater good?

"You have no intentions of going through with any of that, and you know it!" Tom sneered. "This is all just so you can feel good about yourself for once and get power over everyone else."

Staring back at him with a look of blatant disinterest, Tord sighed. "So… even after all of that… you still insist on viewing me as the bad guy?" He murmured; so softly it could almost be mistaken for melancholy.

Tom thought he could see a gleam of menace in his eye, but he shrugged it off and continued. "That's right! If you think some fancy words are enough to convince me of anything, then you're dead wrong." He narrowed his eyes. "You lie to everyone without a single shred of remorse. Why should I take your word now, Commie?"

He thought he had the last word. That this would be the end of what he knew right from the start would be a terrible meeting. Tom hoped that Tord would merely dismiss him with clear disappointment or frustration, and he would be free to leave and meet up with Paul and Pat for an evening of spooky movies. But to his astonishment, Tord shook his head and chuckled.

"Liar?" Tord echoed bitterly. "I suppose I am not the most honest or trustworthy person out there, I'll give you that. But what does that make of you then, huh? Are you a saint now all of a sudden? Are you really any better than I?"

Tom watched him in confusion. "What? What are you talking about?" He demanded. "Of course I'm more truthful than you! By a long shot!"

"Hypocrisy doesn't suit you, Thomas." Tord countered unexpectedly – the insult ringing in Tom's mind like the alarm bells he had on earlier.

"Okay then; tell me one instance that I lied! Go on! I dare you!"

Tord met his eyes steadily. "How about the fact that the serum works this entire time, and you tried to keep it a secret from us?"

Tom's blood ran cold and he sat rigid in his chair. For a few frantic seconds, words utterly failed him. No... Absolute horror gripped Tom and the colour drained from his face. How could he have possibly found out?

Tord took his stunned silence as his cue to keep going. "Come now, did you really think I wouldn't figure it out sooner or later?" He paused, his tone softening with something akin to remorse. "I didn't want to have come to this. I gave you one chance after another to prove yourself; to confess in your own time and come clean without fuss. But you just had to be difficult, didn't you?"

Tom looked at him for a long moment. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest. "How long have you-?"

"Ever since I returned from my trip." Tord replied coolly. "Between visiting each of my bases I stopped by our old home to look for clues about your condition, and found more than sufficient evidence to support the fact that you could transform into a monster this entire time." His gaze darkened. "Haven't you wondered why I even bothered to get your Tomee bear in the first place? It's because I was in the neighbourhood at the time."

The eyeless man across from him didn't respond. His eyes were wide, staring blankly ahead, horror-struck as if he were witnessing the destruction of everything he had ever worked for.

"This was your last chance, and you failed to comply." Tord held Tom's panicked gaze evenly as he slowly rose from his seat. "For concealing pivotal information regarding the serum project from your superiors, and consequently caused us to waste valuable time that could've been used for more pressing matters; I hereby strip you of all your privileges, and the experiments will commence at once."

His words triggered a fight or flight instinct within Tom. However, he knows by now he stands no chance to take down Tord; and even if he did, then what? Paul and Patrick would side with their leader and turn on him too. That leaves flight as his last option. But where would he go? Where could he go? There's a slim probability that the main doors were unlocked now, but the hallways out there were bustling with Red Army soldiers who will tackle him down on sight if necessary.

"There are other ways to escape… ~"

Almost automatically, Tom's gaze flickered down to his plate where his knife lay untouched. His heartbeat picked up, his mouth dried up and his breathing quickened. The weight of what he's about to do hit him full force and Tom hesitated.

"Do it now, you fool! Do you want to be responsible for ruining even more lives? ~"

The incentive worked like a shove and Tom's hand reached out for the knife against his will. Then everything escalated from there.

Tord was on him in an instant, just as his fingers closed around the blade. Robotic digits latched onto Tom's locks and forced his head down on the desk hard; the knife was ripped away from his grasp and his hands were pinned against his back by one of Tord's knees pressing on to him.

"Trying to stab your leader, Thomas?" Tord hissed into his ear. "You've pulled off some amazingly stupid stunts in the past, but this one might just take the cake."

The pressure in Tom's skull increased tenfold as his head was squashed between the desk and Tord's weight on top of him. It wasn't at all his intention when his body lurched for the knife, but he wasn't about to correct Tord on that. It's best he believes he was trying to rebel than let him in on another secret.

A sudden pinch to the base of his skull, just behind his ears where the neck muscles connect to the jawline, alarmed Tom and he started thrashing around to escape the tight grip. Tord added more weight to immobilize him.

"No- no! Wait!" Tom cried out hysterically. "The deal! I said no drugs or the deal is off!"

"Even though you broke the rules and even went so far as to try and attack me, I will keep my word. I'm not drugging you." Tord told him with blatant coldness. "But I had enough of you for one day, and there are plenty of ways other than drugs to knock someone unconscious." He maximised the pressure to the back of Tom's head. "I'm merely triggering the pressure point situated on your head. You should be unconscious soon enough."

To Tom's absolute dismay, his body started to slacken and his eyelids grew heavy. He tried to renew his struggles but he knew it would be futile. He could never dislodge Tord off of him in this state. Didn't help that the Commie was caressing the top of his head in a soothing motion to lull him unconscious. Light washed over his eyes, fading to leave nothing but darkness.

Ah, there it is, the f#ckening. In hindsight, Tom should've known something was seriously wrong when his day had been going way too great up until his dinner with Tord.

"You should've died when you had the chance. ~" The voice spat with fury before fading away into a distant echo.

A soft, black tide was rising to engulf him; Tom made one final effort to get up, but his body would not support him, and he fell back into nothingness. As the last fragments of consciousness faded away from his mind, Tom was vaguely aware of his body being carried somewhere as a soft voice spoke to him.

"Come, my little test subject; we have work to do…"

Make sure to check out the official playlist right here: https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLoel78Oq6AUTzlVttmhbFtKLRvEBU9fIQ

#eddsworld #tomtord #ew tom #ew tord #MLTS #angst

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etjwrites · 5 years

Text

OC Backstory Week 3 - Rivals

Has there been a rival in their past? What was their conflict about?

Write about a scene in their past where the rivals face each other!

@yourocsbackstory

Did I have any rivals growing up? Hah! You're making me cry I'm laughing so hard. See, the funny thing is, my best friend used to be my worst enemy. Guess I kinda have a habit of doing that. Anyway, there's a particularly amusing incident I remember from back before the frix sprite story I just told you guys. . . .Ken's shaking his head at me, so maybe I shouldn't. Nah, let's do it. Anyone got a picture of the forest we can put up while I'm telling this next one?

“The school report says you bit him. You bit him?” Bo bared his fangs at Nyss, wishing he was already an adult with an impressive growl. “Yeah, and?”

Nyss pinched the brow of his nose, ears and tail drooping. “We've discussed this so many, many times. Kenton is barely a few months older than you. He is not, in any way, shape, or form, responsible for P'rraa's passing!”

“He's human!” Bo spat back, and Nyss crossed his arms. “I wouldn't care if he were a Vyss'n, Bo. You don't go around biting people who've done nothing to provoke it.” Oh, but he had. Nyss didn't understand. Kenton was a stupid human, and it was so unfair that he was better than Bo at almost everything. Everywhere he went, people congratulated him on speaking Klia'an so well, and how great he'd done at recitation night, and on and on. He didn't deserve it. Any of it. Bo's father for a weak, fragile human? It wasn't a fair trade at all. “As it stands,” Nyss waved the parchment in his hands, “you're getting too old for a switching, and honestly, it hasn't even remotely changed your attitude towards Kenton, so after consulting with the Innah, we've decided to try a different tack.” Nyss looked up at the ceiling of their loft muttering “Lanae, give me strength,” and Bo had the sudden sinking feeling he was going to hate whatever his big brother was about to say. “On your school's field excursion to the kitterstone mines tomorrow, you'll be pairing up with Kenton on any assignments Teacher Illyia has for you.” “No!” Bo had been looking forward to visiting the mines for so long. And now he had to work with Kenton? It wasn't going to happen, it simply wasn't.

“Stay out of my way,” Bo said to Kenton after Teacher Illyia had explained their activities for the day. “But we can't complete all our assignments without working together,” the human protested. “That's your problem,” Bo said and grinned at him. The first task was easy enough, using the small nets they'd been given to pan for lumps of kitterstone worn smooth by the water in the shallow pools all around them. His pile grew and grew, but didn't seem to get any bigger than Kenton's who kept pulling the bright red rocks out of the swirling water as fast as Bo. Faster even. The human suddenly gasped, and Bo looked over to see Kenton clutching a beautiful blue rock. “Oh, you found a sapisz stone! Very good, Kenton.” Bo snarled under his breath at Teacher Illyia's over-the-top praise and flung his net aside. “Don't be mad,” Kenton said, and offered the stone to Bo, “we're a team. This is your find too.” “Told you to stay away.” Bo shoved at Kenton's hand and crossed his arms in a sulk, refusing to look when Teacher Illyia added their score to the tally she was keeping. Next they had to collect liphiz flowers from the brush growing around the mines, and while Bo gathered more than Kenton, the irritating human upstaged him yet again. Bo went to present one of his flowers to Seri, only to find that Kenton had already given his adopted sister a crown of the bright orange and purple blossoms. Bo flung his own on the ground and trampled them, not caring that Teacher Illyia swished her tail sternly and marked his and Kenton's score near the very bottom of the list. “Please,” Kenton pleaded after they received their third and final assignment, “please work with me. We did so well on the first task; if we try really hard, we can make up the lost points.” “I can do it. On my own.” But catching the fast swimming craunah in the stream which fed some of the mine's pools was easier said than done. They were see-through, which made spotting one difficult in the first place, and when Bo plunged his hand into the water, they squirted ink jets that hid them from sight again. He tried and tried and tried, coming up with only silt and rocks, his claws piercing leaves and driftwood but not craunah. His only consolation was that Kenton seemed to be struggling just as much. The human was up to his knees in the stream, ink-dark water gushing around him, and he appeared to be holding back tears. Bo gave up on catching the slippery creatures and started to jeer at Kenton instead. The human deserved to know what it felt like to fail at something for once. “Just stop!” Kenton finally yelled at Bo and dragged an arm across his muddy face. “I get that you don't want to help, but you don't have to make it harder for me.” “You think crying will make me feel sorry for you?” Bo laughed, and approached Kenton. “I might be the only person in all of Tribe Osinan who sees you for what you really are. Murderer.” He whispered the last word, so Teacher Illyia wouldn't hear. Kenton's bottom lip trembled, and he clenched his fists. “I lost my pa that day too,” he said, voice shaky and thin. “You don't have to be mean about it. It's why Seri stopped talking to you.” That was why? Seri had stopped coming over to play at Bo's loft because he refused to let Kenton trick him – like he'd tricked everyone else – into forgetting all the people they'd lost trying to help the worthless humans in Ethaba? “You told Seri to stop talking to me?” he growled, furious at the yellow haired human standing in the stream. “No! It was your own actions which pushed her away.” “Liar. If you weren't here P'rraa wouldn't be dead, and Seri would still be my friend. It's all your fault!” Bo sprang at Kenton and tumbled him fully into the stream, pushing his head under the water and scratching at him with his claws. Kenton shrieked, bubbles escaping his mouth, the muffled sound lost under his flailing and thrashing. The commotion must have attracted Teacher Illyia's attention, as moments later Bo found himself being pulled away and his arms firmly restrained behind his back whilst Kenton was dragged out of the water by Seri, crying and vomiting and bleeding from a dozen places. Bo shifted to try and escape, but Teacher Illyia scruffed him without hesitation, and he went limp in her grasp.

“This is the last day you will ever be in one of my classes – in my school at that! Nyss wants you to learn, he'll have to teach you himself.”

“He tried to drown him!?”

Even though Nyss was in the other room, Bo could clearly hear his oldest brother. He sounded very mad and horrified all at the same time. Bo supposed he had good reason, given that Kenton's adopted mother was none other than the leader of Tribe Osinan herself. “Innah, please accept my repentance on Bo's behalf. I assure you, nothing like this will ever happen again.” The low growl accompanying those words gave Bo the sudden certain feeling that he was not yet too old for a switching. He wouldn't outright attack Kenton again though. Rather than open people's eyes to the truth, all it had done was make them feel more sorry for him. And now Seri wouldn't even look at him anymore. He didn't think even two flower crowns would change that. From beyond the spinner-floss curtains, the Innah laughed gently. “Well, Healer Laedr patched up the worst of Kenton's injuries, and he's mostly fine now. Mild maiming does seem to be the best outcome, given the circumstances. We'll keep trying with Bo. At least he didn't bite him this time.”

Was that a funny story, or what? (It wasn't? Most children don't attempt murder to avenge their dead fathers? I'm scaring people, and my sense of humour's is badly skewed? See, now you sound like Laine.) (Oh, it's time for break? I wanna try the cut!) You're watching an interview with the famous Bo of Tribe Osinan on the Thorunn Crystal Broadcast News Network – don't change frequencies, we'll be right back!

@igotablankpage @musicofglassandwords @whatsanwritepocalae @elaynab-writing @sheabutterskyes @alcego-writes @valdifarniente

00 - Intro || 01 - Family || 02 - Friends || 04 - Skills || 05 - Loss || 06 - Home || 07 - Free/Secrets

#thorunn #yourocsbackstory #writeblr #am writing #am revising #Bo #these seem to get longer and longer oops #I just really like writing #and Bo is so much fun to write for #etjwrites #writers on tumblr #sci fi #backstory

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selfignitingimagines · 5 years

Text

Theo- Forgiven

Request- I’m not sure if I already requested this but can I get a Theo x reader where (kind of like the scene with Derek and stiles escaping Kanima in pool) where reader is paralyzed from kanima and Theo is like holding her up and they have to jump in the pool to escape and Theo has to like get out of the water to grab something so reader sinks and then Theo pulls her back up. Theo and reader aren’t dating yet but they confess feeling during this situation. LOTS OF FLUFF. Sorry if this don’t make sense!

A/N: It makes sense to me! Hope you like it!

“This way!” Theo hissed, grabbing you by the arm and jerking you to the right.

He shoved through the wooden doors that led to the school pool, and you took the opportunity to yank your arm from his grasp.

“I thought you killed Tracy,” you said breathlessly.

“I thought that too,” he snapped. “But apparently not.”

You suppressed the urge to reach out and smack him. Theo coming back from the dead had been a surprise, but it was nothing like finding out Tracy was alive. Especially because that had only happened fifteen minutes ago when she popped out from behind a library shelf while you were studying.

“You know this is your fault right?” you demanded.

“You’re the one who wanted to stay late to study in this hellhole.”

“You’re the one who insisted on staying with me!”

“I wasn’t going to let you be here alone at night. I might be an asshole, but I’m not stupid.”

“Cute.”

You stopped short as Tracy appeared in front of you, materializing from behind the bleachers. She was in a half kanima state, with scales speckling her skin and her tail slithering behind her. She was sort of glowing in the lights of the pool, and you thought to yourself that if there was such a thing as an avenging angel, it would look like Tracy. If she wasn’t there to kill Theo, you might have even thought she was beautiful.

Theo darted into front of you and let out a growl.

“Dying once wasn’t enough for you?”

“If I remember correctly, you never killed me,” she hissed.

“No, but I will this time.”

Theo stalked forward and swiped at Tracy with a clawed hand. She ducked, her tail whipping around in the process as she smacked him in the back with it. He fell forward and clawed at her, causing her to shriek.

She lashed out at him, grabbing him by the throat and slamming him into the cold floor. He hit the tile with a thud, and you watched with horrific fascination as her eyes became slitted and yellow.

Theo let out a snarl, but his eyes flickered to you for a split second. He mouthed “Run.”.

You nodded and took off toward the doors, but Tracy whipped her head around. She growled, and by the sickening snap and Theo’s scream, you knew she had broken something.

You heard a crash, and you glanced behind you just in time to see Theo lying in a pile of kickboards and flippers, groaning. Tracy quickly caught up to you with supernatural speed, and she yanked you back by your shirt. It tore as she shoved you to the cold floor, and you hit the ground on your back.

She leaned over you and placed a hand on your chest, pinning you into the floor.

“No offense,” she began. “But you’ve got terrible taste in guys.”

“Can you just spare me the boy talk and kill me?” you snapped.

She rolled her eyes. “Fine.”

She grabbed you by your torn shirt and yanked you to your feet, pressing her claws against your throat.

“Oh, Theo!” she sing-songed.

He lifted his head up from the ground, looking slightly dazed. When his eyes landed on the two of you, he jerked forward, only to scream out in pain. That was when you noticed that his left leg was bent at an unnatural angle, and there was a bone sticking out of it.

You felt the urge to bend over and vomit, but Tracy was holding you too tightly.

“No,” he snarled, crawling forward. “Tracy this isn’t about her. This is about us.”

“I know that,” she spat. “But you were the one who told us, Theo, remember? You told us that if you want to hurt someone, you need to hurt someone they love.”

Before you could unpack all of what she was saying, she suddenly dug her claws into your throat. You braced for the sharp pain, for the gush of blood, but it never came. She was only poking you, but the venom from her claws was enough to paralyze every muscle in your body.

You fell to your knees as the rest of you slowly became numb. Tracy grinned down at you and dragged your limp body toward the pool. You could hear Theo grunting, maybe trying to pull himself up, or put his leg back into place. You never had time to figure it out, because Tracy shoved you into the water.

Panic flood your senses, but all you could do was try to hold your breath. You had been paralyzed by kanima venom before, that night you had gone to get Stiles’ jeep fixed your sophomore year. He had begged you to come along, and you remembered that the douchebag mechanic had been hitting on you half the time you were there.

It only go weirder from there, and you and Stiles had both been paralyzed by the sticky goo on the door handle. From the floor of the waiting area, you were able to hear the mechanic get crushed by his own lift. You would later learn that his name had been Tucker.

That wasn’t exactly an experience you wanted to replicate, but you would rather go through that again than drown in the school pool. Just as your vision started to go black, you felt a hand grasp your forearm, yanking you up and above the water.

You gasped for air, but as Theo pulled you back against his chest, you could see he was struggling too.

“What happened?” you gasped. “Where’s Tracy?”

“She left,” he croaked. “She figured I wouldn’t be able to get to you.”

“Well thank god she was wrong.”

“We have another problem,” Theo said grimly.

You could see that his face was bright red with the strain of holding you, and you could feel that his muscles were straining.

“Your leg,” you remembered suddenly. “You can’t swim either.”

“The bone is still sticking out. I can’t get you out while it’s like this.”

“Well you can’t let me go,” you snapped.

“I might have to.”

“Where’s your phone?”

“In my pocket, which is soaked through right now.”

“So you’re going to do what? Just let me drown?”

Theo rolled his eyes. “No. I’m going to let you go, hop out, put my leg back into place and come get you.”

“If I don’t drown at the bottom of the pool first!”

Your yell echoed through the huge space of the room, and you knew how scared you must have sounded, but you weren’t going to back down.

“You seriously can’t just trust me?” Theo asked.

“Trust you?” you demanded. “You lied to me and tried to kill my friends.”

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed,” Theo informed you. “But I’m the one keeping you alive right now.”

“That must be a weird feeling for you, huh?”

“Y/n, I swear to god! I’m trying to save your life.”

“Find another way!”

Theo thought for a minute, and then shook his head angrily. “Hold your breath.”

“What?!”

“Hold your breath!”

“No, are you-!”

Before you could protest anymore, he was letting you slide back into the water. You sucked in a deep breath at the last minute, closing your eyes as you slipped back under.

As you tried to fight the panic building in your mind, you thought back to what Tracy had said earlier. She mentioned hurting something Theo loved, but she couldn’t possibly think he cared about you.

What you and Theo had wasn’t exactly what you would call a relationship. Making out in the janitor’s closet and sneaking behind Stiles’ back was less than ideal, even though it had been fun. At least it had been fun until he tried to kill everyone else.

You had been guilty about that for months, and you were still working on letting go of that guilt when Liam and Hayden pulled Theo out of the ground. Once everything had blown over with the Ghost Riders, you were left wondering how you were supposed to avoid him.

You were under the impression that Theo never really cared, but judging by the way he had started following you around, you could have been wrong. It was a little hard to stay away from him when he started showing up wherever you were, but, god, you had tried. He wasn’t even supposed to be there in the school with you in the first place. He had only followed you in an effort to make sure you weren’t alone. As misguided as the whole situation was, maybe Tracy was on to something.

These were the thoughts flitting through your mind as you sank down into the water, your head pounding. Air bubbled up through your mouth against your will, and suddenly all you could think about was the explosive pain in your temples.

After the assassins made their way through Beacon Hills, you had stopped counting the amount of near-death experiences. You had imagined the way you would die over and over, yet the thought of drowning never cross your mind. You figured there would be pain, but this? This was agony.

Your body was starved for air. It was screaming for it. If you could have twisted and writhed, you would have, but Tracy’s venom had left you paralyzed and helpless. The only thing you could do as the water rushed in was pray that Scott wouldn’t blame Theo for your death.

If you could have scoffed at yourself, you would have. There you were, drowning in the school pool, and still worrying about Theo. But you didn’t have time to think of the irony, because the pain was suddenly gone, and you were fading away.

-----

All Theo could hear as he dragged himself out of the pool was the sound of his own ragged breathing. He pulled himself up onto the edge, straightened out his leg the best he could, and pushed on his misshapen bone.

His hands were slippery with blood and chlorinated water as he frantically tried to put the bone back into place. He didn’t get it on the first few tries, and he looked back toward the pool, but you had already disappeared under the surface.

He sucked in a deep breath, clenched his teeth, and shoved the bone back in. His agonizing scream echoed through the room, but he wasted no time on his own pain. He could feel his leg healing already, the fibers of bone and skin knitting themselves back together under the surface. If he had time, he would have waited and made sure. Now he couldn’t afford to.

He dove into the water and surged toward the bottom of the pool. You were floating there, eyes closed, and Theo could tell you weren’t breathing.

He wrapped an arm around your waist and pulled you against him, kicking desperately to boost the two of you up to the surface. After he broke through and made it to the edge, he hoisted you onto the side of the pool.

Theo dragged himself up onto the ledge, which was already soaked with water. He brushed sopping wet strands of hair from your face, and tilted your chin up in an attempt to open your airway.

“Come on,” he begged as he leaned over you, dripping water across your already soaked body. “Wake up, Y/n.”

He was surprised at how frantic his voice sounded, but he was terrified.

Before Liam brought him back to the surface, Theo had been living a nightmare. In what he could only guess was purgatory, he would wake up in the hospital morgue, only to come face to face with his dead sister. She would reach into his chest with an icy hand and rip out his heart, bloody and still, holding it up for him to see. Then he would wake up in that cold drawer, and she would find him all over again.

During those moments, Theo’s one escape was thinking of you. Maybe you hated him, but at one point you hadn’t, and that was what he chose to remember. Now that he was back, he had been determined to make up for his mistakes.

He had sworn to himself that he would protect you, but there you were, lying on the floor, cold, wet, and not breathing.

With shaking hands, he leaned in and pinched off your nose, blowing one breath into your mouth. Almost immediately, you jerked forward and coughed up water right into Theo’s face. He was so relieved he didn’t even care.

His hands were immediately on your back, guiding you onto your side so you could cough up the rest of the water in your lungs. You were gasping and shaking, but Theo kept his arms around you as you trembled.

“Oh god,” he kept murmuring. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

Once you stopped spitting up pool water, you leaned back against Theo. He was just as wet as you were, but at least he was warm.

“Okay,” you whispered weakly, glancing up at him through half-lidded eyes. “I trust you.”

His chest heaved with relief, and before he could stop himself, he pulled you tightly against him. Your head was tucked under his chin, and his arms rested tightly around your back as he held you.

“Does this mean you forgive me?” he whispered softly.

You pulled away slightly to glance up at him. His green eyes were watering and desperate, and it occurred to you that you had never seen Theo look so pitiful, not even as his sister had dragged him into that pit. This time, he actually looked sorry. Still, you couldn’t help but fire back.

“Does this mean you care?”

Theo looked down in shame.

You let out a tired sighed, and wrapped your arms around him, burying your face into his chest.

“You were already forgiven.”

“Y/n, I’m in love with you.”

You looked up in shock. Theo must have seen the skepticism on your face, because he looked down in shame.

“I know what I’ve done,” his whispered hoarsely. “I know I was a monster. But I never wanted to hurt you. And I know that doesn’t mean much. What I went through when I was down there...I deserved everything. I deserved all of it.”

He took a deep breath, then looked into your eyes. “Someone gave me a second chance. And the whole time I was down there, the one thing I kept thinking about was you. And how if I could make it up you, I would. I would have my sister rip my heart out a thousand times if I could just...If I could just fix things.”

Your breath caught in your throat, making it nearly impossible to get your words out. They were thick and stuck in your throat, but you needed to say them.

“I’ve tried so hard to not care about you,” you told him. “I grieved for you, even when I probably shouldn’t have. And I wondered, maybe, if you had the chance, if you would have changed.”

Theo closed his eyes briefly. “I wouldn’t have. Scott was right to let me fall. I didn’t realize before, what they had turned me into. Now I know I was a monster. Maybe I still am, I don’t know.”

You reached up, placing a wet hand on his cheek. “I don’t think so.”

He placed his hand over yours. “How do you know?”

“I don’t,” you admitted. “But I’m willing to stick around and find out.”

Theo brushed a wet strand of hair out of your face and pulled you closer. He kissed you fiercely, as if he was trying to make up for all the time he had lost. He still had a long way to go, but for you, he was willing to change.

#teen wolf #teen wolf imagines #selfignitingimagines #theo raeken imagines #theo raeken

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darkpoisonouslove · 4 years

Text

“Happy New Company” Chapter 1

Summary: Griffin and Valtor are celebrating New Year's Eve with their friends. The once nasty remarks are now only playful teases and the mean looks have turned into warm smiles and kind words but there were still things left unsaid that can change the course of events.

This is the sequel to "Insanity" and is set about a month and a half after that. I wanted to finish "Insanity" before posting this but it appears that that won't be possible and I decided to start posting this considering it revolves around this time of the year and the celebrations of the coming new year. If there are questions, feel free to ask since the previous part is not finished yet.

“Valtor, come on!” Griffin's voice came from the living room, and the clicking of her heels penetrated into the study even though he’d closed the door since he didn’t want her to see what he was looking for–that was if he could find it, of course–or at least, he didn’t want her to see it yet. He had a plan that would’ve been going so much better if he hadn’t misplaced the central piece of it. “We’re going to be late,” Griffin said as she swung the door open, causing him to drop the folders of documents he was rummaging through back in the cabinet and close it. “What are you doing in here?” Griffin asked, her gaze slowly shifting to the now closed cabinet before it found his face again. “Did you buy me a present?” she asked, her brows slightly knitted still but that was just her desire to know the truth and not her irritation that he was slowing them down.

“No,” he said, hoping it would sound convincing and it did but that wasn’t enough to deceive Griffin who just raised an eyebrow at him, waiting for the truth. “Maybe,” he budged. He couldn’t lie to her, even if he wanted to. And this time, he did, because he wanted to give it to her at the right moment. Timing was everything and he’d miscalculated the moment to get busted.

“Can’t you just give it to me when we get back? It won’t run away,” Griffin tried as she shifted her weight on her other foot, the moving of the hands of the clock unnerving her even when she couldn’t see or hear it. She so hated to be late and the fact that the two of them hadn’t made any progress towards the door of their own penthouse, not to mention Marion and Oritel’s place while the seconds were flying by was tugging at her nerves for sure. The passage of time that was no doubt registering loudly in her mind was like the build up to an explosion.

“No, that is out of the question,” he said as he tried to control himself and not snap at her when she was already on edge. It wasn’t her fault that he couldn't find the thing that was so important to him. “Why don’t you go get the car started and I’ll... take care of this?” he offered as he grabbed the car keys from where he’d left them on the desk–he hadn’t managed to get those lost under all the documentation he’d pulled out in the last five minutes at least–and handed them to her.

Griffin sighed and walked over to him. “Okay,” she said as she caught the keys but didn’t pull them out of his hand. “But you have to promise me you won’t take too long if you can’t find it,” she said, making his heart sink when he realized she’d figured out he’d lost her present. He hadn’t wanted to let her down. “You’re the only gift I need,” she said, her voice getting quieter as if there was something more she wanted to say but couldn't. She let her fingers brush against his as she pulled the keys out of his grasp and her eyes were like big ambers that kept all her love for him safe inside their cores before she turned away and walked out of the room, making it impossible for him to take his eyes off of her until she disappeared out of his sight.

The thoughts of her present came flooding back the moment his attention was released from her grip and he pulled open the cabinet once more to go through it more thoroughly this time. The day he’d gotten the present he’d hidden it in one of the folders so that she wouldn’t see it as he brought it home since he knew she would have no reason to look at them. She’d walked into the study while he’d been looking at them, though, and he’d thrown everything in the cabinet so that she wouldn’t accidentally see her present. However, he had no idea in which folder the present was hidden now and he had to go through all of them.

He should’ve done it earlier but that night he’d let her pull him to bed and the following days he hadn’t found enough time to look for it since the end of the year was always a busy time that left him with so much work that he could barely look at her before going to bed absolutely exhausted, remaining conscious for only long enough to feel the warmth of her body against him before sleep snatched him away from her. And he’d hoped that he’d have the time to look for it when he came home and she was still out with Faragonda–they’d had a little celebration with Ediltrude, Zarathustra and Griselda since they couldn’t spend the actual last hours of the year together–but he’d been late and she’d already been home, urging him to change so that they could be on their way to Marion and Oritel’s house.

Luckily for him, the present wasn’t in the very last folder buried at the bottom. There were still three or four folders left to go through when he was met with the golden wrapper he’d chosen as he flipped one open.

He grabbed it and put it in the inner pocket of his suit jacket, careful not to damage it in any way. He hoped it’d be safe in there. It had already caused enough inconveniences and he didn’t want to have it destroyed next. After all the trouble he’d gone through to get it and keep it a surprise–and he’d even managed to screw up with that one–he just wanted to see the look on Griffin's face when he gave it to her, just wanted to see the smile she’d given him when he’d told her he loved her, when he’d proposed to her, when they’d been pronounced husband and wife. It was her brightest one and as much as he enjoyed seeing it, he enjoyed the thought that she was happy enough to gift him with it even more. It was his job as her husband to make her happy, after all, and that was more important to him than everything else in the world. Being good at that mattered more than the company and the power, and the status, and everything else.

He practically flied out of his study, leaving the documentation all over his desk. He’d put all of it back in its place when they came back. He knew how important it was to her to be on time and, frankly, he was quite excited himself about spending New Year’s Eve with friends. He’d never done that before and the knowledge that he was wanted at that celebration burned pleasantly, keeping him warm even against the cold memories of being denied friendship and close human contact for years. And he was glad to change that, even if it meant that he wouldn't get to be alone with Griffin that much which was the only thing he could protest against. But he knew that she was there to stay and she would always be at his side and they could allow themselves to spend some of their time with their friends.

Friends. The word rang through his head like the elevator did when it arrived at the penthouse. He’d never expected that that was what their weekend at the cabin would lead to–and in such short time, no less–when he’d agreed to it. Or rather, when he’d very reluctantly let Griffin drag him into it. She was good at convincing and he couldn't deny her anything so he hadn’t had much of a chance there.

He walked into the elevator and pressed the button that would take him down to the garage where Griffin was waiting for him as he hoped he hadn’t taken long. The view of the living room before the elevator doors closed triggered the memory that was already lurking in his mind and that he’d come to appreciate for a whole new reason as well.

“What?” he asked as he caught Griffin's fist, blocking her attack. Though, he was probably holding on to her more than anything else now that the words had left her mouth. He didn’t have the strength or concentration to fight her physically when he’d have to fight her verbally. And he’d have to because there was no way in hell he was spending his entire weekend into some godforsaken cabin in the middle of the woods that were in the middle of nowhere with people who didn’t like him. And he didn’t like them right back, no matter how much Griffin wished he could get along with them. He couldn't because they wouldn't let him. Otherwise, he would do even that feat for her. It just didn’t depend on him, though.

“It will be good for us,” Griffin said as she stood still, letting him process before resuming their sparring. Or it was just that she hoped he would agree easier if she wasn’t hitting him literally when she was doing it figuratively already. And he wasn’t sure if that was better or worse. He couldn't quite tell how close or how far that was from manipulation and he was already falling down the rabbit hole of his insecurities where it was dark and cold, and slippery, and so hard for him to pull himself out of it. And she shouldn’t have pushed. Not that hard.

“Which part exactly will be good for me?” he asked, pushing her arm away from himself so that he wouldn't drag her down along with him. He didn’t want to hurt her, and he would have been willing to try if she’d gone for something smaller. But she was asking the impossible of him. And he could feel the apprehension of what would happen if he couldn't deliver clawing at him as he kept falling, tumbling down and farther away from her. And all he ever wanted was to be with her. Close enough to touch and ever closer. And he hated that he had to pull away when she was pushing against him. But the only other option was to hurt her, and he hated just the thought of that more than anything else in the world.

“Just... give them a chance?” Griffin asked, her eyes begging him to fall into her again but he had to bend to her will for that to be possible and he couldn't do it. Not this time. He would break. He would break after she’d helped him put himself back together and it would hurt them both when the pieces cut her with their jagged edges and forced her to stay away if she wanted to survive.

“You want me to give them a chance?” he asked and he couldn't help the anger and bitterness that made his voice the equivalent of a rising, roaring wave in the sea during storm. There was too much resistance in him for her to get through and she would only hurt herself if she tried. And he knew she would. “They’re the ones who refuse to give me a chance,” he said as he attacked, too much restless energy for him to just stand around and he was afraid that it would pour out through his voice if he didn’t move to put it in his actions.“They’ve made it perfectly clear they don’t like me,” he said, as he tried to concentrate on the sparring and the fact that it was Griffin that was standing in front of him and not any of her friends that had acted like he couldn’t be trusted to have her around him every time they’d been forced to spend time together by their connections to her.

“That’s because they haven’t seen you the way I have,” Griffin said, probably not realizing the irony of the situation since he was sure that could they see them at the moment, with him making a new move right after she’d just blocked the previous and her panting like it was extremely taxing on her–though, that was probably an effect of the conversation because they’d been sparring for years now and she’d had her fair share of victories even if she looked smaller and weaker–they would brand him a monster. And just the thought was tainting a favorite shared activity of theirs. He couldn’t stand to imagine what a weekend with those people would do to him and his inner world. “They haven’t seen the soft side of you,” Griffin said just as he caught both her arms, rendering her immobile. Or so he thought.

She pushed and he found himself falling to the mat they laid out when they were training just like he’d fallen for her trap. She hadn’t been the one who’d been too affected by their verbal conflict. He had been. And he would be complaining more if she weren’t currently lying on top of him with nowhere to go because he was still holding her arms. It was worth the impact from the fall to have her pinned on top of him. Or to be pinned beneath her. It didn’t matter. Either way, he won.

“I know I’m asking a lot,” Griffin said, redirecting his attention back to the dreadful topic when her face was so close to his and he wanted to focus on kissing her lips instead of listening. “But I’m doing it because I think we can all use a fresh start,” she said and her eyes were full of all those good intentions that he couldn’t let himself believe the others shared. He was safe in her arms but he couldn't take the chance of letting anyone else in only to have himself reduced back to the lost, self-loathing mess that he’d been before. He didn’t want to be that anymore and opening up to people was just giving them the opportunity to hurt him, whether they wanted to do it or not. Because no one could understand him fully, not even her, but she loved him and that was enough for him to know she had his best interest in mind. He couldn’t say the same about anyone else, though. “Can you trust me?” Griffin pulled him out of his thoughts and plucked his heart out with the questioning look in her eyes.

“Of course I trust you,” he said as he let go of her arms to wrap his around her waist and pull her closer than gravity would have her. She was the only one he trusted, sometimes even more than he trusted himself. And perhaps there was something else he couldn’t see with his gaze full of doubts that she’d noticed since her mind had always been clearer, and he had no problem letting her be his eyes since she’d guided him out of so many self-destructive patterns by now. And of course he could trust her, to protect him from himself and everyone else. He knew she’d never let anyone hurt him again. “I don’t see things the way you do but I trust you,” he said, watching the smile break out on her face like the sunlight pierced through the darkness at daybreak. It was the one light that could never blind him. “I may need some more convincing, though,” he said as he let his hands slide down her curves slowly, letting them both savor the contact.

“Well,” Griffin said, her lips getting pulled into a smile, “I’m always happy to debate.” She leaned in and kissed him, wrapping her arms around his neck as he sat up and not breaking the kiss even as he pushed himself to his feet, still holding her close to him and heading for the bedroom.

The doors of the elevator opened to leave him with the sight of the cars that were parked in the garage. Rather fitting considering the journey they’d headed on back then and that he was happy he’d let her convince him to start. It had left them with a place they were expected and friends who’d meet them with a warm smile and open hearts and he still had a hard time believing it was all real. But they’d already spent Christmas together and it had been magical, as corny as that sounded.

He got in the car to find the keys in the ignition and Griffin meeting him with a questioning look.

“All good,” he said and went to start the car since she hadn’t wanted the emissions of the engine to fill the entire garage and had left it to him. And he ignited it immediately not only because they should have been on the road more than ten minutes ago, but also because she’d been waiting for him in the cold car. She was warmly dressed with her green turtleneck and beige coat but he didn’t want to take any chances.

She was quiet, except for scolding him that he was trying to cook her with the warmth that was coming from the air conditioner, and was staring out of the window as they moved through the busy streets as fast as the traffic would allow. She looked like her mind wasn’t quite there and he couldn’t help the question of whether she was trying to avoid him.

“Are you still mad at me for the delay?” he asked, not wanting to remind her that he’d also misplaced her gift. He didn’t want to remember that himself. It made him feel like he didn’t appreciate her enough to tear away from his work for a few minutes and make sure he had everything under control when it came to her present. He’d understand if she was angry–he was a bit annoyed with himself–but he still couldn't help the heaviness that laid on his chest at the thought.

“I’m not mad,” Griffin said quietly, her gaze still trained on the rapidly shifting view from the window and her voice quiet like she didn’t even want to put the energy in answering.

“Are you disappointed?” he asked, risking to make her mood worse, but he had to know. He had to know what was wrong in order to start fixing it. And he wanted to fix it. He didn’t want to leave her with negative feelings for him. Especially, on the cusp of the new year. Perhaps it was his own insecurities that made the superstitions seem more rational to him now, but he didn’t want to take any chances of making her miserable the entirety of their next year if she went into it upset with him.

“I’m not,” she said, her voice not any louder but she moved, still not looking at him but at least she’d gotten out of her stupor. Even if her head was bowed–he was torn between keeping his eyes on the road so that they wouldn’t crash and glancing at her to make sure she was okay–and her hands were clasped in her lap. “I’m just... nervous,” she admitted, surprising him. He’d never expected that answer, but now that he’d gotten it, it wasn’t time to question it. She felt the way she did and what he had to do was make her feel better, not judge her for something she had no control over.

“Well, we should be good if we count on continuity. After all, the Christmas celebration went well,” he said as he reached to catch her hand and give it a little squeeze before returning it to the steering wheel. He wanted to offer her more comfort, of course, but making sure they made it to their destination in one piece was a priority right now.

“Oh, yeah?” she said, her voice getting louder now that the spark of an argument was igniting inside her. “Is that why Faragonda is telling me that Hagen is still fuming about that one?” she asked as she turned to look at him and he didn’t need to look to know her eyes were full of the challenge that was in her tone as well.

“Well, you did kiss his girlfriend,” he said, allowing a smile to take over his features as he noticed the feigned expression of disbelief on her face out of the corner of his eye.

“It was an innocent little peck,” Griffin protested, her outraged defensiveness amusing and calming at the same time since it meant her mind was slowly letting go of her worries to allow her to joke around. “She’s my best friend. It’s not unheard of.”

“That’s the way you see it,” he said just to keep the playful fight going as it seemed to be doing its job of taking her mind off of what was bothering her.

“Are you jealous?” she asked, her voice trembling slightly, and he couldn't tell if it was from laughter she was trying to cover up or because she was genuinely worried about his answer. It wasn’t supposed to be the second since they’d been through the jealousy issue before–a lot of times, unfortunately–and he’d learned to trust that she was his and that she didn’t want anything else. And they’d been good ever since then. So he didn’t want to give her a reason to think he didn’t have complete faith in her and her love for him.

“Of Faragonda?” he asked. “No,” he said firmly. “I know what she means to you.” And because he did, there was no reason to be jealous. He knew how much Griffin cared for her best friend–and that all of that was returned unconditionally–and he knew that there was enough love in her heart to give both him and Faragonda. And he knew that even though they both loved Griffin, they perceived her differently and therefore, gave her affection in different ways. And he’d never think of taking Faragonda’s friendship away from her just like he didn’t feel threatened by it. Because Griffin needed them both. “I’m just saying that if you wanted to kiss her, you probably should have done that before she had a boyfriend. You know, when the option of a threesome was still on the table,” he said, hoping that he wouldn’t push them to another extreme. He was just joking to show her he was comfortable with their friendship.

The over the top shocked gasp that left her made it hard for him to hold his laughter in, only the thought that he had to stay concentrated on the road ahead saving him. “I see,” Griffin said, shaking her head. “This was all about what you want.”

He was about to say that he only really wanted her but the narrowing of her eyes gave him pause. Something was happening in her head and it was probably best to see what that was before speaking. He didn’t want to pour gas on the fire. He’d already risked enough with his joke.

“Perhaps Hagen will be more on board with this if we invited him in on the action,” Griffin said, pretending to consider the thought seriously.

Just the idea of Hagen anywhere near her–in that way–almost made him floor the brakes and turn back around to drive them home. Which was probably exactly what she’d been trying to make him understand. His joke had been misplaced, putting images in her head that she’d probably never wanted to see. Though, he, at least, was more jealous and possessive rather than feeling like he wasn’t enough for her so he hoped she hadn’t felt that either. And he shouldn’t have made her feel any of those, really.

“Okay, I had this coming,” he admitted, nodding. “I get the message, and I will now close this topic,” he said, glancing at Griffin to see her smiling in amusement, though there was also a deeper emotion in her eyes that let him know he’d done the right thing.

“That’s probably for the best,” she said as she relaxed back into her seat.

Valtor debated it for a moment, before speaking. “I’m sorry,” he said, deciding that it was better to make sure the situation was resolved rather than just take the chance of any hurt being left there. And it was surprising how easily apologies came to him these days. But his pride meant nothing compared to his love for Griffin and he wouldn’t risk losing her just because he couldn't own up to his mistakes.

“It’s okay,” Griffin said, her voice quiet again but it was reassuring this time because it meant she could find the peace of mind to speak calmly. It meant she wasn’t hurt or angry.

“Are you sure?” he asked because it was scary to face the truth that he might have caused her pain. But it was scarier not to. It reminded him too much of who he’d been before when his mothers had convinced him that admitting you’d made a mistake was weakness. And he’d been pushing everyone away with his inability and unwillingness to take care of their feelings after he’d hurt them. And he’d been too good at hurting.

“I’m sure,” Griffin said and her eyes were full of honesty but her smile still looked restrained, like something was holding it back. Though, it might have been what she’d been thinking about before.

“Is it really okay that we didn’t get anything for Bloom?” he asked, hoping to redirect her attention to something else. And she’d been so enthusiastic when the baby had arrived. It looked like the conversation they’d had had helped as she’d been holding Bloom and radiating so much genuine happiness that it had taken his breath away and had made his heart ache at the thought of seeing her holding their own baby. Even more so when he’d known that she wanted that, and that he wanted it, too.

“It’s more than okay, trust me,” Griffin said, her voice louder now as she was talking about something that, hopefully, didn’t poke her insecurities. Though, he knew the topic of children was still sensitive and only the feeling of the present he’d gotten her in his inner pocket helped his heart relax just like he hoped it would do for her. “Marion said we’d flooded them with baby toys and clothes and Bloom’s room can’t fit them all in,” she said, a small smile pulling at her lips that tugged much harder at his own heartstrings as it was good to see her fight the demons in her own head so that she could be happy. He was glad he’d been reminded she had those herself–even if he was mentally kicking himself for not noticing it before she’d laid it out in front of him–as he could now be there for her when she needed him even if she didn’t want to show she needed support.

“Well, it’s not a bad thing that we’re enthusiastic, is it?” he asked to show her he was there with her. In the excitement as well as in the fears too. He’d always been one to think about the worst that could happen in any situation so that he could find a way to deal with it before it had happened. But she’d been the one to teach him to think about the best scenario and hope that that was what would happen. And it baffled him that she wasn’t following her own advice but he was right there to be her mirror and show her how kind and smart and amazing she was so that she could see it herself.

“No, it’s not,” she said. She inhaled loudly and held her breath like she wanted to add something else but the words refused to come out. Or rather, it was her brain that was trapping them inside. And he knew she could take much but she had a limit, too, and he didn’t want to see her even nearing it, not to mention pushing herself past it.

“Do you want to tell me something?” he asked, glancing at her every few seconds to make sure he wouldn't miss any emotion that would cross her face. He wasn’t the only one that refused to put his emotions in words, but he feared that he was worse at reading her than she was at reading him, which meant he had to pay more attention to her. And that was currently not exactly possible as he was driving. He just wished they would get there already so that he could focus on her fully.

“I do but...” she looked down at the hands in her lap again and stopped herself when she noticed she was fidgeting with her wedding band. “I don’t feel ready,” she admitted quietly and he could see there were no tears on her face since it was left open as her hair was held in her braid but he could hear them falling from her soul. And it worried him a lot.

“Take your time,” he said even if everything inside him was screaming at him to push for the answer. But he couldn't let his own insecurities make him rush her when she’d always been so patient with him, letting him do things at his own pace. “Don’t push yourself because you’re worried about how I’m handling the wait. Take care of yourself first.” She’d been patient even when he’d taken ages to ask her to marry him even though it had been clear to him he would never love another woman because he’d been afraid she wouldn't love him back. Not because she’d ever given him any reason to doubt her feelings for him, but because he hadn’t believed he’d been worthy of her love. And instead of rushing him, she’d kept showing him that she loved him until she’d helped him feel secure enough in himself to accept it. And he needed to do the same for her.

“It’s not something bad, it’s just...” she tried but there was still resistance somewhere inside her and he didn’t want her to break herself apart just to get the words out when he could wait for her to tell him. Besides, she’d already taken the time to reassure him there was nothing wrong with the news she had for him. And of course, he was still worried about the conflict inside her but pushing her to tell him wouldn't solve that. He just wanted to take care of her and sometimes that meant trusting her that keeping it inside was healthier for her than forcing herself to share. She was the one who’d told him not to overshare if he wasn’t ready, after all.

“Whatever it is, I’ll be here to hear it when you’re ready to tell me,” Valtor said and reached to take her hand again to support his words. He had to let her know he meant it and if letting the warmth of his touch seep through her skin and inside her being was the way, then that was exactly what he would do.

“Thank you,” Griffin said and for the first time her voice was full of relief, like she could finally breathe now that she wasn’t torturing herself because she was keeping her own private thoughts private.

They drove in silence after that but it was comfortable now that both his and her worries were soothed. And even the knowledge that there was something left unsaid between them couldn't throw him off balance, for he’d learned to trust her and not the monsters in his head that were trying to make him destroy her and what they had. And perhaps he was a long way yet from being the perfect husband but he was willing and eager to improve. For both of them and for their love.

They arrived at Marion and Oritel’s house a little bit later than they were supposed to but that didn’t seem to register considering the emotional car ride. And he was glad to see that Griffin had forgotten to worry about it as she unbuckled her seatbelt slowly, not even bothering to check the clock on the dashboard. Though, it was obvious that they were last to arrive again as Hagen’s car was parked right in front of them.

“I want to make my New Year’s resolution now,” he said before she could open the door and let the cold evening air of the alley and the outside world in their bubble, before they could dive into the celebratory atmosphere. “I will do my best to be a good husband,” he said when she let her hand fall away from the door and looked at him. He made sure to hold her gaze to show her he was serious. He’d realized back at the cabin that while he was fascinated by her and couldn't take his eyes off of her, he was still missing important things like the fact that her own self-doubts were as loud as his or that she’d been trying to hide that from him, most likely to protect him from herself which was the last thing he needed. And he was now vowing to pay more attention to her and her needs so that he could truly be there for her in good and in bad.

Griffin studied him for a moment as if trying to make sense of his words. “That shouldn’t be such a challenge considering everything you’ve been doing for me,” she said, her eyes full of appreciation that he didn’t feel like he’d deserved but it still made its way into his heart anyway to keep him warm.

“Are you saying I’m a good husband?” he asked, not quite sure he’d read her words correctly, considering everything he’d done just in the last few hours.

“I’m saying exactly that,” Griffin confirmed before smirking at him. “And I’m willing to seal it with a kiss,” she whispered as she leaned closer before capturing his lips in a passionate kiss that could be considered tame compared to some they’d shared in the past but it had security sparkle up inside him.

#winx club #winx valtor #winx griffin #griffin x valtor #covenshipping #fanfiction #my fanfiction #my writing #happy new company #sparks of life #holiday themed

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