chain tights

Fic: Happy Birthday, Naruto

Word Count: Ion’t know | Genre: Real ass shit | Relationship: M/M | Warning: Unsafe for the eyes of those sensitive to real ass shit

A/N: A gift for Naruto, the birthday boy. SNS. 


Overhead, fluttering under the bright rays of a radiant sun, a carrier pigeon delivered a scroll.

‘Hinata baked a birthday cake for me, but I just wanna get my 10 inch candle deep up in your cakes and fill you with my custard cannon baby. Use Water Release: Fleet no Jutsu before I arrive so I can eat a lil dessert with my present too. 😩💦💦💦👅🍅’

Sasuke rolled his eyes, scoffing at the lowly vulgarity. It wouldn’t be long before Naruto descended on him now. Subtlety didn’t exist in his dictionary.

A rendezvous in the Hokage’s mansion; that plan Naruto concocted when he swept Sasuke off his feet, ignorant of any passive protest, would end in his well-deserved favor. The fourteen missed calls from Hinata, the read receipt attached to the text prying into his whereabouts (Read: 3 hours ago), and the unsigned marriage annulment documents crumpled within Sasuke’s pocket fazed not a nerve-ending in his body. Naruto left all those obstructions to the birds as he hastily stabbed at the touchscreen of his phone, ‘I’m at Sasuke house playing the game like fr my dick gone get skid marks the way you riding it so hard 💀💀💀😂🔥🔥😂🔍🔍🔥😤😴,’ in an evasive maneuver that freed him from the all-too-tight chains of banal concepts such as personal responsibility.

Inhaling that fresh air of freedom, Naruto’s atoms dispersed in a vibrant beacon of light before flashing back together at his destination with his lover in his arms. Agreeable, subdued to no one’s path but one where they could be together, just like Naruto, and the Uchiha’s wife, expected him to be. In Naruto’s case, it was more akin to a demand than a expectation. A demand not expressed with teary eyes, passive threats one was too weak to act upon, and appeals to a romance one felt entitled to, but expressed with the promise of being saved by the threat of fists. The specter of breaking the other’s bones to drag him back home to complete his triad of emotional receptacles: the village, his aspiring monarchy, and a certain Uchiha’s acknowledgement. With a smile on his face and only the purest intentions lacing his heartstrings, Naruto refused to tolerate anything less from his most prized bond.

It elated Naruto to know Sasuke made not just the right choice, but the only choice.

Encased beneath a hurricane crashing in the violent waves of passion, Naruto found solace in nothing short of devouring the decadence of the Uchiha’s body like the sweetest confection. Eliciting sounds from Sasuke that not even his wife was privy to, committing the rich palate of his flesh to his tongue’s memory, and claiming every corner and curve his hands traversed as rightfully his own.

Said hand, an eager one, slid beneath the now disheveled hem of Sasuke’s shirt to trace the attractive grooves that shaped his lower abdomen and advertised a sharp pathway toward what begged for Naruto’s attention.

“M'gonna get in them guts and bust down your walls like the Kyuubi at the Konoha gates,” was the rasp that accompanied Naruto’s hand tugging down those pants, slipping his palm inside Sasuke’s underwear without shame, to reveal…

A glock.

The heater, the burner, he was strapped with that draco.

Naruto froze.

“Happy Birthday, Naruto.”

Sasuke Uchiha, his lover, pistol whipped him in the heat of passion.

“The only walls you’re busting down are the ones to my reparations fund. You don’t want this work.”

Naruto, for once in all of his days…

Couldn’t believe it.


“You beat me down, begged me to return to this putrid country, and fraternize with the very elders who subjugated my family and ripped them away from me. The vermin who caused my defection in the first place drink tea with you, unsweetened at that. This ‘peace’ you professed to me was nothing but a farce to lure me here, and I won’t hesitate to bust a cap in your dome, your scalp, your cranium.”

Naruto’s eyes widened. Shock washed over his features like a tidal wave.

“B-B-But ya gotta understand the Leaf’s mistakes were-”

“Genocide and tyranny are not mistakes, braindead idiot,” he presses the barrel to Naruto’s forehead.

“Can we talk about this?”

“No. Deliver my reparations in monthly direct deposits or I will never let you snort lines of coke off my ass again.”

Now it was Naruto’s turn to fall silent. He never imagined Sasuke…didn’t need his saving.

“I’m sick of being the neighborhood’s emotional vessel, doling out validation by the demands of my so-called friends. Your parasitic acknowledgement, Sakura’s narcissistic love, Kakashi’s bruised sense of being a failed sensei who, in a brazen show of hypocrisy, disregarded my rightful goal when I was vulnerable and trusted him.”


“Shut up, usuratonkachi. It would behoove you to know: your dick game’s wack and your stroke is trash.”

Sasuke may or may not have been lying, but today is the day he rescinds that oh so coveted acknowledgement at all costs. Despite that, the color sapped from Naruto’s face at the blow to his strengths. There was no way his dick game was wack…

“You’re going to catch this bullet precisely where you catch my nut every night. In the eye.”

He cocks, the glock, the burner, the draco…

Naruto pauses, takes Sasuke by the wrist, gently.

“Wells Fargo or Bank of Konoha?”

“Neither. I’m with a credit union in the Sound Village. Write the reparations check for it there or I’ll make you spew the flames of Amaterasu straight from your asshole.”

Sasuke didn’t bother with his blabbering, his excuses. He had to pay the elders a visit now. Turning on his heel, he breezes past Naruto and begins to take his grand exit from the country yet again.

“Then…if you planned to leave me. Who were you getting thick for all this time?”

A low chuckle leaves Sasuke and he flashes his smirk over his shoulder.

“The Revolution.”


anonymous asked:

I LOVE the cover Art!!!!

me too. ok can we discuss

- the super tight LITERAL CHAIN around her neck

- the sweatshirt that has like a rip and then a sewn up rip - are those to be symbolic of wounds, has she been tossed around and literally ripped apart 

you know those are symbolic!!!!!!!!!!!

Guardian (XVIII)

Author: kpopfanfictrash

Pairing: You / Jongdae / Baekhyun

Rating: PG-13

Warning: Violent imagery

Word Count: 4,157

Summary:  You keep seeing the same guy everywhere you go. In the coffee shop, on the streets, in your philosophy class. It’s getting to the point where you think he’s stalking you - only to realize that maybe there’s something much more mysterious at play here. (AU: Jongdae is your guardian angel)

Originally posted by drawien

Keep reading

Tainted Darkness

Prev Next


It was silent, not a single noise at all. Anrez’s crew sat exactly where they were kneeling, still in disbelief at what had just happened.

One of their crew members were gone, and everything they had, was gone. Dark was right, they had nothing, nothing at all.

Anrez looked up with a look of anger and hatred on his face as he stood up. The rest of the crew, but Cherry, who was staring into an abyss of nothing, looked at him. Nothing could top the amount of anger he showed on his face as they saw it, and they couldn’t help but be terrified.

Then Anrez snapped his head towards V, who cowarded a bit as he turned to her.

“You.” He muttered. “You!” He stomped over to V and towered over her.

“How the hell did she know you?! Were you with her on this?!” He shouted.

“Cap, I don’t think-” CTK started but was cut off.

“Hush Lad.” Anrez quieted CTK before continuing, “You better start talking Right now V!”

“I didn’t know she’d be out! I didn’t know!” V tried to explain to Anrez.

“What does that mean?! How do you know her?!” Anrez repeated, but V didn’t answer him, only looked at the the deck, “answer me!”

“She’s my friend!” V finally said, “she’s my friend…” she repeated my softly.

The Anrez and the rest of the crew looked at V in surprise, and suspicion.

“You, are friends with that scoundrel demon, who just stole our things and took, Angel?” Cherry sneered as she narrowed her eye.

“I’m not friends, with Dark. I’m friends with Blu.” V corrected Cherry.

“Who the hell is Blu?” Mel asked.

“…the girl Dark possesses. Dark’s “vessel”, “ V explained.

‘I knew it…’ Curse spoke in CTK’s head.

V stood up and dusted her pants off a bit, "look, it’s, very hard to explain-

"Does it look like, I care V? Anrez asked rhetorically, then looked at the crew, "We need to find Angel and make that demon get a taste of her own medicine.”

The Mel and Senkiller nodded while CTK and Cherry stayed silent.

“No!” V protested, “we can’t, hurt her.”

Anrez turned around quickly and glared at V, “and why not? She just took Angel and everything we had!”

“Dark, took Angel and our stuff. Blu, is innocent in all of this, her body was taken control of and she’s now lost all control to stop Dark. It’s still Blu in there and if we hurt Dark, we hurt Blu too,” V argued.

"She’s right,” CTK added, “we’d still be hurting an innocent life if we attack her.”

Anrez grumbled in frustration as he looked at the ground, turning away from the crew, “no wonder, she’s taunting us Knowing we can’t touch her for that reason.”

“Now what the hell are we gonna do?” Senkiller asked.

“That’s simple,” Cherry started, making the rest of the crew turn to look at her, “we need to scavenge what we can find and track Dark and her crew down. That way we can find them, save Angel and get our stuff back.”

“We need to save Blu too,” V added, the res of the crew looking at her now, “Blu’s my friend, and I want to help her, she’s one of the real ones’ suffering in this.”

“You know a way we can help her?” Mel asked V.

V nodded, “Blu has this charm she got a long time ago, it helps her put and keep Dark in dormant. Somehow, Dark managed to get it off of her, and get free. So we need to find that charm again.”

“But we don’t even have an idea of where she put it, and even if we put Dark in dormant we still have her crew to deal with,” Anrez argued.

“V and I will look for it while we scavenge” Cherry volunteered, “I used to be on an island, I’m a good tracker.”

“Yeah, we’ll do what we can,” V agreed.

Curse spoke in CTK’s head, ‘we won’t have to worry about the crew.’

'Huh?’ CTK spoke in his mind, 'why?’

'If the captain goes in dormant, the rest will vanish and return to where they came from.’

CTK nodded, and looked at the crew, repeating what Curse told him, “and the crew, if the captain goes dormant the rest of the crew vanishes and goes back to where they came from.”

Anrez nodded and looked off into the direction Dark’s ship went in with the crew behind him, “let’s get to work then, we’ve got work to do.”


Dark smiled as she approached Angel, who was in chains, and put her hands on her hips as she watched Angel struggle to get free,

“the chains too tight lil Angel? Sorry, but we can’t have you running off back to cappy now, can we?

“Grr…Anrez and the others will come for me, and you’ll be sorry once they do,” Angel sneered at Blu.

Dark chuckled and circled Angel slowly as she talked, “no, they won’t. You know why? Because I’ve left them with nothing, nothing at all, and there’s nothing they can do to stop me from getting my way with things~” Dark smirked as she got close to Angel and whispered to her while caressing her hair in a slow manner, “and you, my sweet, Angel~”

Angel shivered and tried to shake the uncomfortable feeling off of her as Dark walked back in front of her, facing her, “what exactly do you want Me for?”

“Sorry, the captain doesn’t reveal her plans to just anyone~ but know this..” she knelt in front of Angel and took her face in her hands as she smiled, “this, is only just the beginning of it, my little panda~”

Angel glared, and tugged on the chains slightly before Dark let go and stood up to leave her alone in the cell, then Dark turned to glance it her,

“Don’t think anyone will come for you. We’re now headed somewhere, secluded, and off map. Trust me, No one, is going to find you.”

With that, Dark left the room, and Angel sat there in silence. The she smiled to herself and laughed a little,

“You don’t know my crew.”


Anrez and Senkiller: @anrez-op-skele

V: @vzearia

Angel: @armyaangel

Mel: @golzy

CTK: @perfectshadow06

Cherry: @domino-doodles

PT! Dark: me

Loving the layers and the sparkly tights. I myself wore a pair this weekend and loved them.

This lovely lady was awesome b/c she told me about how she put her outfit together with finding a lot of deals, and a sometime making pieces on her own. For example, her sunglasses, she added the chain herself! 

Lightning in a Bottle, 2017

There were feathers in the hallway.

Tony blinked down at them slowly, then began picking them up. They were purple, a deep, rich hue, and each feather was as long as his forearm. He took a moment to be very, very glad that his parents were on trips and that Jarvis and Ana were out shopping, because he’d never be able to explain these.

There was a trail of them. Tony followed them, stooping to pick up each feather, because it wouldn’t do to for someone to stumble over any of them. It was… an awful lot of feathers. Like an alarming amount of feathers. He could probably make a suit of them.

They led to one of the guest rooms.

Tony should probably call someone. He remembered when Natasha had come into the mansion, how dangerous it had been. Natasha had told him that the only reason it had worked out so well for him was because he’d surprised her. Still, he was eighteen now. He should be able to handle it.

The feathers led to the closet.

Tony was never going to understand why these guys liked closets so much. Bucky and Steve had tried to explain it but he didn’t get it. Natasha hadn’t even bothered trying, just shrugged and said “I like it there.” He’d understood that a lot better than anything Steve and Bucky had said.

Tony stopped halfway into the guestroom, calling out, “Hello?”

There was a shuffling sound behind the door, but then silence.

He took another step closer. “He–llo! I heard you moving in there!”

The shuffling sound came again, then a noise like claws on wood.

Tony swallowed thickly, clutching the bundle of feathers to his chest. “…I’m not leaving until you come out!”

The door burst open so fast that he only had time to scream before whatever had been in it was on top of him.

Bucky and Steve fell out of the closet, scrabbling at the floor and leaving gouges in the wood. When they skidded out into the hallway they saw a giant black spider crawling across the wall, the red hourglass on its belly shining ominously as it leapt over doorways.

Bucky and Steve caught up to her a few seconds later, skidding over the floors. It was worrying, that they’d only heard that one scream. What if Tony couldn’t scream again? What if he–what if Tony was–

They crashed through the doorway, tearing the door off its hinges.

“Help,” Tony sobbed, hands bleeding around the barbed chain he was clutching. “Help! It’s hurting him!”

They stopped in shock. The hulking feathered figure in front of the human was trembling, one wing forced straight up by the chain, the other pinned against its side. Half of the feathers on the extended wing were just… shaved off. Some feathers were even cut in half, and the barbed chain was digging into the flesh hard enough that blood was starting to rise beneath it. It took a lot to pierce a monster’s skin.

Natasha swept over to him, form shifting so she had hands, one pair grabbing at the chain while the other carefully but firmly peeled Tony’s free. “Let go,  Котенок. It’s hurting you, too.”

“Natasha help!” Tony exclaimed, sobbing again.

“I’m helping, Котенок. You need to move.”

Steve slithered over to wrap his arms around the brunet as Bucky leapt forward to help Natasha, tail wrapping around his legs so he couldn’t lunge forward again. “Shhh. Tony, let them work.”

Tony turned so he could cry into his chest. “He couldn’t even ask me for help! He made–he made this terrible sound, Steve, it was awful–”

“It’s not–we’re going to tear his fucking wing off,” Bucky muttered, hands shifting, tugging lightly along the chain.

Natasha hissed quietly in sympathy as the feathered mass let out a long whine, wing shuddering. “We might just have to let it happen. This is a Death Chain. Maybe sacrificing a wing would be better.”

“No!” Tony exclaimed, pulling back and wiping his eyes. “I can–I’ll go get bolt cutters! We can cut it off!”

The monsters looked at each other before Bucky asked, “Will that work?”

Natasha shrugged. “I’ve never seen it, but then I’ve never had a human care.”

“I’ll go get bolt cutters,” Tony repeated, determined, and ran from the room.

Steve slithered over and gently curled his fingers under the chain as well. “You said you’ve seen these before?”

“Not everyone thinks monsters in the closet are an adorable fairy tale to soothe their children about,” Natasha answered coldly. “This isn’t the worst I’ve seen.”

The monster let out another whine, other wing trying to shove out from under the chain and shaving off a few feathers.

“Whoa, buddy!” Bucky exclaimed, reaching out to shove his wing back down. “Calm down! We’re trying to help you!”

Tony came running back into the room. “I brought two!”

Steve grabbed one of them from his arms and flipped it around. “Just tell me where to cut.”

“Um–uh–” Tony circled the monster anxiously, fingers trailing over the chain. “Here? Here. Steve, here!”

Steve lifted the bolt cutters and Tony helped him slide them into place. It took more effort than the human had expected, and one of the handles broke off. Tony started to hand him the second bolt cutter, but Steve just grabbed the blades and squeezed them together with his hand.

Tony would have gaped, but he was too busy trying to pull the broken link of chain out. Once it was free he said, “Okay, okay, you can pull–”

Do not pull,” Natasha ordered immediately. “We need to pick the barbs out or we’ll do just as much damage.”

“Okay,” Tony answered, voice small, and obediently began picking the barbs out of the monster’s skin.

It took a while, but eventually Bucky picked out the last barb and the chain fell to the ground with a dull clank. Then Natasha carefully pulled the feathers on the monster’s head back, away from his face.

“…Thanks,” he managed to grit out, voice gravely.

“Are you okay?” Tony asked, reaching out to push more of his feathers back.

The monster’s wings shifted, and then a pair of talon-tipped hands appeared out of the feathers, catching his wrists. “Blood is very hard to get out without water,” he croaked, then reached out to cup the human’s cheeks. “I scared you. I’m sorry.”

Tony sniffled quietly. “It’s okay.”

His name was Clint. He’d escaped from a circus and he’d meant to keep running but the chains had gotten too tight, and the mansion was so close. He hadn’t meant to come bursting out of the door so fast, he’d just tripped and flapping his one good wing had been the only thing he could do to keep from falling and tightening the chains further.

“I was supposed to scare children,” Clint said, voice much less gravely now that he’d had time to breathe properly and they’d given him water and a can of sardines. “I don’t like to do that.”

Natasha didn’t look up from winding bandages around Tony’s bruised and lacerated hands. “How does that feel?”

“Hurts,” Tony admitted quietly.

“You’re lucky a barb didn’t go right through your hand,” Bucky muttered, peering through fridge. “Steak?”

“I haven’t had beef in… decades. So maybe not,” Clint answered. He gave Tony a long, appraising look. “Most humans wouldn’t start trying to pull a barbed chain off something after it basically attacked them.”

Steve snorted from where he was carefully pulling the other man’s feathers so they were facing the right way. “Most humans don’t walk up to a monster and offer them soup when she could easily eat him.” He paused at the man’s wing, where most of his feathers had been cut off, before quietly asking, “Will they grow back?”

“…Probably,” Clint said after a bit too long. He looked back at Tony. He looked like a person that hadn’t been scared as a child. “If I could just have a few days to rest, I can get out of your hair.”

“You don’t need to go,” Tony hurried to say. “The mansion’s big! You can pick any room!”

Bucky sighed loudly. “You won’t be happy until you’ve adopted every monster you can, will you?”

“He’s hurt,” Tony exclaimed indignantly. “And whoever might still be chasing him! They can’t get to him here!”

“Let it go, Buck,” Steve muttered, smoothing his hands down the feathers on Clint’s back. “You know Tony.”

Bucky sighed again, quieter, but he did know Tony. He was a fixer. “How about meatballs?”

“That sounds awful,” Clint admitted. “But I’m so hungry that I don’t actually care. It’s better than anything I’ve eaten anyway, probably.”

“I’ll cook them so it’s easier on your stomach.”

Clint nodded, humming quietly, and then extended his wings. He’d basically been clipped. He wouldn’t be able to fly anyway. So maybe he’d stay a little longer than a few days.

“Oh! The feathers!” Tony gasped, standing abruptly. “I need to pick them up before Jarvis and Ana get home!”

Clint watched him go. “Should probably go help him. The feathers that were cut will have really sharp edges.”

Steve made a startled noise and hurried after him. With his scales, he was extra impervious to injury. And it would be just their luck that Tony would slice his arm open.

“He’s going to keep you,” Natasha decided, leaning her elbow on the table and her chin on her fist. “He does that.”

Clint shrugged. Steve, Bucky, and Natasha seemed to be doing pretty well for themselves. It wasn’t like it could be any worse than the circus.


Words: 6,985
Sam x Reader
Warnings: language (Umm, ya, I wrote it so obviously there’s swearing… you should just take this warning as a given always for my fics), mentions of blood and injury, anxiety and fear
Summary: Sam tries to get to Y/N and wake her while Dean, Cas, and Crowley wait for their showdown with Rowena.
A/N: Alas, all good things must come to an end, and so it is with this story. I hope you enjoy reading this conclusion as much as I enjoyed writing it. This is the final part of our Mess Is Mine series.
This is part of a series! Read the other parts here! 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16

Your name: submit What is this?

Dean was watching the flames and smoke rise higher and higher beyond the point where Sam had disappeared into the tangled mass of thorns. He paced in his fiftieth frantic circle and stopped in front of Cas.

”I don’t like this,” he said. His green eyes were wide and frantic, and his stomach was twisting.

The angel nodded. “I know. But give him time.”

”How much time?” Dean asked. “There’s no way for us to know if something goes wrong. We can’t see shit in there!” Dean turned again to face the crumbling, smoking ruins feeling helpless and sick.

Suddenly, Crowley’s voice behind them snapped their attention elsewhere.

”We’re about to be otherwise engaged,” he said. “Hello, Mother.”

The angel and Dean whipped around to see Rowena standing just beyond Crowley, a fierce and wild light in her eyes, her red lips pressed together in a thin line. “Fergus,” she said through her teeth. “Have you not yet learned your lesson about meddling in things that don’t concern you?”

“It’s not that I don’t learn,” Crowley said. “It’s just that the thought of torturing you forever and having you at my complete and utter mercy after your betrayal is much too appealing.” He raised a hand and pressed his middle finger and thumb together.

Keep reading


If he had to give a specific time, Stanford would have guessed it started the day after the apocalypse ended. It started off as a small voice at the back of his head, something that was easily ignored and brushed off. Over time, however, it developed. What had started as a stray thought caused by a nightmare slowly grew into something worse. Ford could still vividly remember what the nightmare had been about. It had been the first of many variations of the same dream: he had been standing out in the woods, watching as the sky above him was torn open and all sorts of unholy monstrosities came flooding out, their ringleader being none other than Bill himself. Once the demon had gained a physical form, Ford knew the world was doomed.

The demon had the horrifying ability to manipulate time, matter, the universe itself, something he had taken great pleasure in. Heck, he had disassembled each individual molecule in Ford’s body, shot them across the room and reassembled them in perfect order on the opposite side of the penthouse suite. The demon had repaired Ford to almost perfect health on several occasions, only to slowly beat him down again.

In the dream, it hadn’t been Ford being beaten to a pulp. No, it had been the kids. Bill had the twins chained up as he slashed them, hit them, burned them, drowned them, beat them, crushed them and suffocated them. Ford had been locked into place by tight chains, his head forcibly turned towards the kids at all times. Bill had made him watch as he tortured the children. Ford had screamed and screamed, constantly trying to sacrifice himself to save the children. He knew exactly what the dream meant: the kids were almost tortured and it was all Ford’s fault.

Ford still remembered the utter dread that shot through him when Bill suggested torturing the kids to get the information he wanted. Ford had been terrified, his cry of horror being cut short as Bill turned his body into solid gold. Dear God had Ford been relieved, when he’d been unfrozen, to see the children alive and almost unharmed. He remembered hugging them, and then hugging his old college partner Fiddleford. Ford felt a twinge of guilt as he realised he’d never hugged his brother Stanley. He had barely paid any attention to his brother during the apocalypse. He’d refused to thank Stanley for saving his life until the world depended on it. Even then, he’d had to point out the grammatical mistake in what his brother had said, which resulted in he and Stan having a fight. The whole plan to defeat Bill was ruined. Ford had made a mistake and the plan was thrown out the window.

Ford seemed to have made a lot of mistakes.

As time went on, Ford seemed to dwell more and more on all of the mistakes he’d made in the past. The most catastrophic one seemed to be building the portal. He’d endangered the universe with that thing, and yet he had still refused to listen to reason. Fiddleford had warned him time and time again about the dangers of such a machine, but Ford, blinded by his own selfish desires of fame and fortune, had ignored him. The guilt in the pit of his stomach swelled the more he thought about all of his transgressions.

Eventually, Ford stopped turning up in the kitchen whenever the rest of the Pines family were eating. For a while he’d forced himself to eat, even though he was only eating small portions. As he thought more and more about his past, he recounted all the times Stanley had paid for his mistakes, in a monetary sense or otherwise. He couldn’t bring himself to eat the food Stan was providing, knowing it was just costing his brother more money. He was a grown adult - he had no excuse to live off his brother’s earnings. The children had an excuse - they’d been staying at the Shack for months and were too young to be employed. They’d helped out at Stanley’s gift shop, anyway, which had more than earned their keep. What had Ford done to earn his? Nothing. Absolutely nothing. He’d spent the majority of the time before Weirdmageddon in the basement, working and dismantling the portal. He’d done nothing but make his brother’s life more difficult. And then, to top it all off, Ford had the sheer audacity to tell Stanley to hit the road as soon as summer was over. He’d never apologised for that, and the guilt continued to eat him away.

As the guilt continued to press down on him, he’d been having nightmares more frequently. He’d barely slept in weeks - not since the kids had gone home. He’d barely seen his brother since then. For the first few days, he’d worked up the courage to get something to eat and sit down in the kitchen with Stan. Then he’d been reduced to getting food and, if he was alone, sitting down to eat or, if Stan was there, taking his food back to his room to eat by himself. He’d only been able to keep that up for two days, after which he’d only get food in the middle of the night, when he knew his brother was asleep. One night, Ford had accidentally tripped and dropped a plate, causing a loud crash. Stanley had been woken up and burst into the kitchen with a shotgun, pointing it at the man he thought was an intruder. The look of sheer irritation on Stan’s face after having been woken up was enough to stop Ford getting food even when Stanley was asleep. He couldn’t risk causing his brother to lose any more sleep.

By now, it had been a week since Ford had last eaten anything and the hunger was starting to become unbearable. It gnawed away at him constantly, making him feel nauseous and lightheaded. It prevented him from getting any sleep. Ford rolled over on the couch and checked his watch. 2:11 A.M. Surely Stanley couldn’t be awake at this hour of the night? It couldn’t hurt just to get a little something to eat, could it? Part of Ford’s mind told him to stay in bed, where he couldn’t make any noise to wake his brother up. His stomach growled furiously, demanding that Ford get out of bed and get something to eat. Despite the guilt still pressing down heavily on his shoulders, Ford swung his legs over the edge of the bed, put his glasses on and forced himself to his feet. The floorboards creaked underneath his weight and the man froze. He waited. Waited for any sign of movement upstairs, indicating his brother was awake. After a solid three minutes, Ford determined that the sound had gone unnoticed and he took a slow, gentle step towards his bedroom door. He was dressed in a red turtleneck and dark brown trousers - he didn’t have any sensible night clothes. As he got to the door, he slipped his boots back on.

Reaching out a hand for the doorknob, Ford paused, his hand outstretched in front of him. In the moonlight streaming in through the window, his six fingers were almost underneath a spotlight. He held his hand closer to his face and spread his fingers out. He counted them over and over again. He’d done this so many times throughout his childhood and adolescent years, always with the slightest hope that he had normal hands. Every time he counted, there were always six. There had always been six and there would always be six. Ford remembered that, as a young child, he had sometimes had dreams where his hands only had five fingers. In these dreams, he was not bullied at school. He was not pitied by the teachers. He was not given any sort of the special treatment that one might give to a child with a learning difficulty or a mental disability. He was treated just as a normal child. Those dreams had been wonderful. He finally fit in at school. He was popular, even. All of the kids who used to pick on him were suddenly his friends and he was happy. Those dreams always ended, however, and Ford was forced back to face the cold reality of his birth defect. He’d eventually come to realise and accept the fact that he was never going to be normal, no matter how hard he prayed.

Ford bit his lip and shook the thoughts from his head, reaching out and turning the doorknob. The door swung open with a creak, one Ford was sure his brother had heard. Again, he paused and waited for any indication that his brother had heard him. Nothing. The house was utterly silent. Releasing a breath he didn’t realise he had been holding, he stepped forward into the hallway. Occasionally, a floorboard groaned quietly beneath his feet, but it wasn’t anything loud enough to warrant any concern. Soon, he turned a corner and entered the kitchen, nearly tripping up on a stray empty can of Pitt cola. Ford rolled his eyes. Even now, aged sixty-something, Stan still couldn’t be bothered to throw his rubbish in the bin. The man knelt down and picked the can up, gently placing it into the recycling bin by the door.

Ford tiptoed over to the fridge and pulled the door open. The bottles of milk, ketchup and soda rattled in the door loudly. He cringed and bit his lip. After a minute, when he’d heard nothing from upstairs, he quickly grabbed a slice of bread and the butter and closed the fridge. Getting a blunt knife out of the drawer and a plate from the cupboard, Ford set the bread down on the plate and started spreading it with butter. He cut the slice in half and pressed the two buttered halves together. He didn’t want to put anything between the halves of the slice - he didn’t want to use up too much of whatever food Stanley had left. Taking a bite of the bread, Ford only just then realised the extent of his hunger. Within a minute, the slice was gone and Ford was debating taking another. He shook his head and scolded himself.

You can’t waste any more, the voice in the back of his mind told him. He’s already given up so much for you. Don’t make him hate you even more.

With a quiet sigh, Ford put the butter back in the fridge and turned to put his plate in the dishwasher. His hand knocked against it and it was knocked from the counter. A loud crash echoed through the otherwise silent house and Ford swore. Damnit. He’d done it again. As he was bending down to pick up the pieces of broken plate, he heard someone else enter the kitchen. He froze in place, feeling the barrel of a gun being placed against his temple.

“Get up.” His brother barked.

Ford did as he was told, horror flooding his mind. His brother was having another memory lapse and seemed to have forgotten that he had a twin brother. This meant that there was a strong possibility Stan would shoot him if he made any wrong moves. Slowly getting to his feet and putting his hands up where Stanley could easily see them, he chewed his lip.

His brother cocked the gun. “Who are you and what are you doing in my house?”

Ford took a deep breath, his hands shaking. “Stanley, I’m your brother, Ford. Don’t… don’t you remember me?”

Stanley only narrowed his eyes. “I don’t have a brother. Stanley Pines died in a car crash thirty years ago. I’m Stanford.”

Ford flinched. Hearing his brother call himself by that name never got any easier. “No, y-you’re not. You’re Stanley. You took your brother’s name - my name - when I went missing. You’re Stanley. You faked your own death.”

Stanley scoffed and pressed the barrel of the gun against Ford’s chest. “Yeah, right. What sort of bullshit are you making up?”

“It’s not bullshit!” Ford exclaimed. He flinched and inhaled a sharp breath as Stanley pressed the gun harder against his chest.

“Yes it is.” Stan snapped. “Now, I want you to leave my property and never come back, otherwise I’m going to shoot you. Do I make myself clear?”

Ford swallowed hard. “B-but-”

In a flash, Stan fired a warning shot at Ford’s left shoulder. The bullet clipped the top of his shoulder, leaving a small wound in his flesh. Ford let out a sharp cry and clamped his right hand down on the wound, stumbling backwards. He looked up to see the barrel of the gun pointed directly at his face. “I said, do I make myself clear?” Stanley growled.

Ford nodded quickly. Stanley grabbed his arm and dragged him towards the back door to the house. He unlocked the door and shoved Ford outside. Ford stumbled and nearly fell over. He turned around just in time to see Stanley slam the door shut and lock it behind him. Ford felt a lump in his throat, making it difficult for him to breathe. He saw Stanley in the window and quickly rushed off into the woods before his brother had the idea to shoot him again.

Ford didn’t get very far, maybe half a mile, before it became too difficult for him to breathe. His shoulder throbbed in agony and the cold night air was making him shiver. He sat down beneath a particularly large pine tree and carefully pulled his hand away from his shoulder. His palm was red and slick with blood. Hands trembling violently, Ford slowly began to tear the bloodied sleeve from his turtleneck. He tied the sleeve around his shoulder as well as he could, letting out a sharp hiss of pain as the wound made contact with the fabric. Gritting his teeth, Ford pulled the fabric tight against the wound and tied a knot with the two loose ends. He leaned back against the tree, taking deep breaths. The effects of the blood loss were starting to get to him. He felt tired and lightheaded. Surely it wouldn’t hurt to just take a quick nap?

Ford dismissed the thought and forced himself to get back up, his head spinning wildly. He groaned, placing his right hand against the trunk of the tree to stop himself toppling over. Taking shuddering breaths, he continued towards the main road. Maybe he could walk up the road to find a phone to call a doctor, since he’d never quite got to grips with those ‘cell phone’ things. As he walked, however, his breath became more and more laboured, his vision beginning to swim. His feet began to trip and stumble over the rough earth.

His left foot got caught amongst some particularly large tree roots and he lost his balance. Ford toppled to the ground, his hands barely cushioning his fall. He tried in vain to get back up. His strength left him. Ford lay on the cold, damp earth, breathing ragged and the occasional cough making him shudder. He couldn’t find it within him to get up. He was far too tired. Stanley didn’t remember him, he couldn’t go into town - everyone there still resented him after what he’d done - and he could barely get off the ground.

The lump in his throat returned and Ford choked on a sob. He couldn’t help but feel as though he deserved this. All he’d ever done was make mistakes and hurt people. It was his own fault that Stanley didn’t remember him. He’d erased his brother’s mind to defeat that demon. He figured he deserved to be kicked out. He deserved this treatment. He screwed his eyes shut and gave in to the fatigue. Darkness clouded his mind and his whole body relaxed as sleep took over.


Stanley grunted, locking the gun back up in the cabinet in his room. He muttered under his breath. He eased himself down onto his bed, his back cracking and popping. He was about to lay down again when a photo in a wooden frame on his nightstand caught his attention. It was a photo of himself as a teenager, wearing boxing gloves and playfully punching someone else. The other person in the photo bore a strong resemblance to both himself and the man he’d kicked out of the house a moment ago. Picking up the photo, Stan looked over it. The photo was old and faded, but still clear. He was getting some serious déjà vu vibes just from looking at it.

The words the man had said earlier rang through his mind.

“Stanley, I’m your brother, Ford. Don’t… don’t you remember me?”

Something akin to a bolt of lightning shot through his mind and he gasped. His brother! That was his brother in the photo. His brother… the same brother who had been in the kitchen a moment ago. The same brother he’d …

Oh God.

“Ford!” Stanley leapt up from the bed and wrenched some shoes onto his feet. He tugged a jacket on and grabbed a torch before rushing downstairs and out of the back door. He turned the torch on and ran into the woods. He waved the light around, looking for any sign of his brother. The air outside was freezing, and if Ford had been shot … Stan had to hurry.

“FORD!” Stan called again, his eyes frantically scanning for any sign of Ford. “STANFORD!”

Something glistened against the bark of a tree and Stan shone the light at it. His stomach churned as he instantly recognised the slick, red substance. Blood. That was bad. Picking up the pace and wheezing, Stan kept running. “FORD!!”

A few hundred yards ahead, he came across something lying in the grass. Once the light was on it and he approached, Stan could have sworn he felt his heart skip a beat. His brother was lying face down in the dirt, practically motionless. Stan rushed over. “FORD!”

Stan fell to his knees by his brother’s side, rolling him onto his back. His eyes widened as he saw the blood soaking through the makeshift bandage on his brother’s shoulder. Ford was out cold. Stan’s hands were shaking. “F-Ford…?” He put two fingers to Ford’s neck, searching for a pulse. He breathed a small sigh of relief finding that his brother’s heart was still beating. It was slightly weaker and slower than normal, but it was there. Stan shook Ford’s shoulder, trying to rouse him. “Ford, c’mon, wake up!”

Ford only twitched slightly. Stan swallowed, noticing how horrifically pale his brother looked. Taking a deep breath, he lifted his brother up off the ground and carried him bridal-style back towards the house as fast as he could. He was surprised at how light Ford was - he’d expected his brother to weigh more than that. Part of him wondered if he was underweight, but right now that was a blessing in disguise. It made it easier for Stanley to carry him - meaning he could therefore get him to the hospital faster. Ford’s head lay against Stan’s shoulder, the older twin’s mouth open slightly and his glasses resting crooked on his face. His breathing was getting shallower by the minute.

After what seemed like an eternity, Stan arrived back at the house. He set Ford down on the ground beside his car and rushed inside to get his keys. Car keys in hand, he ran back outside and unlocked the car, before heaving Ford up into the passenger seat. Clipping the belt on around his brother, Stan jumped into the driver’s side and jammed the keys into the ignition. He pulled his own seatbelt on with one hand and steered the car with the other, driving out onto the main road and heading towards the hospital.


Ford was met with bright lights the next time he opened his eyes. At first, he thought he was dead. There could have been no other explanation for the sheer whiteness of everything around him. As his senses began to come back into focus, however, he became aware of a repetitive, steady beeping sound emanating from somewhere above his left shoulder. He also became aware of the fact that the area where he’d been shot was rather numb. His head was throbbing slightly and felt as though it was full of cotton wool. He wiggled his toes, managing to regain some of the sensation back into his legs. Something was pricking the inside of his right elbow. He felt as though he were laying down in a bed somewhere. He gripped the blankets, rubbing the soft fabric between his fingertips.


“Ngh…” Ford fought to keep his eyes open, his hands clenching the blankets. He realised that his glasses were no longer on his face - his surroundings were blurred out of focus. “W-who…?”

A grey and pink shape moved into his field of vision. “Ford? You with me bro?” It was his brother, Stanley.

Ford squinted, trying to get his eyes to focus. “S-Stan…?”

He felt his brother hold Ford’s hand between both of his own. “Yeah, I’m right here Poindexter. How do you feel?”

Ford avoided his brother’s gaze, turning his head away. “‘M fine… why are you here?”

Stanley frowned. “What do you mean, ‘why am I here’? You were injured, Stanford, where else would I be?”

Ford shrugged, wincing slightly as he shifted his injured shoulder. “Anywhere else. There’s a hundred places better to be than here, with … with me…”

Stan ran a hand through his hair. “Ford, what on Earth is bugging you so much? You’ve barely talked to me in weeks. You never said goodbye to the kids, you avoid Soos and Wendy like they’re the plague, heck, you won’t even look at me. What’s eatin’ ya?”

Ford tensed up, clenching his eyes shut. “It’s nothing important, Stanley. You have a shack to run, customers to sell merchandise to, don’t worry about me.”

“Soos is watching the Shack,” Stan waved a hand around. “I’m not going anywhere. Now, seriously, tell me what’s wrong?”

Ford was silent for a moment, before letting out a quiet, bitter laugh. “What isn’t wrong? Half the town’s still a wreck, a good few people were severely injured, you lost your memories and it’s all my fault. I ruined everything.”

Stan frowned. “What are you talking about?”

Ford laughed again, his voice full of self-loathing. “I ruined the whole summer. I ruined the kids’ lives. I ruined Fiddleford’s life. I ruined your life, Stanley.” Ford’s voice cracked, tears stinging his eyes. “I just wrecked everything. I always thought that you were the screw-up twin, when it was me all along.”

“Ford, you’re not a screw-up,”

“Stanley,” Ford heaved a sigh. “All I’ve ever done is hurt people and use others for my own benefit. I summoned a dangerous monster just so I could built a portal that would make me famous. I guess Dad was always wrong about who the worthless twin was. It was never you. It was me, they just never realised it.”

“Ford!” Stanley grabbed his brother’s hand. “Cut it out! I didn’t bring you back just for you to beat yourself up!”

“You shouldn’t have brought me back at all!” Ford snapped, tears slowly forcing their way from the corner of his eyes. “I’m nothing but a monster. I caused the apocalypse! I’ve hurt people! Bill should have just killed me while he had the chance. It would have been better for everyone.”

“Stanford Filbrick Pines you stop right there!” Stan shouted. “You are not worthless. You are not a monster. You are not better off dead!”

“Give me one reason why I’m not!” Ford spat. “Give me one good reason as to why I’m not a worthless piece of shit!”

Stan felt his heart skip a beat. Did… did Ford really think all this about himself? “Ford, listen to me. You are not a worthless piece of shit, you understand? You know why? Because even though you messed up, you tried to fix it. You tried to correct the mistakes you made. You helped us defeat Bill. We would have all died if it hadn’t been for you.”

“I brought Bill to Gravity Falls in the first place,” Ford muttered, turning his head away. “I made the biggest mistake of my life and the whole world nearly paid the price.”

“Ford.” Stan’s voice was stern. He gripped his brother’s hand in both of his own. “You didn’t know what Bill was, or what he was capable of.”

“I should have seen him for what he was!” Ford cried “I was an idiot! Anyone with half a brain could have seen that he was lying! I was too blinded by my own selfishness to see that.”

Stan’s brow knitted together, his gaze softening. “Oh, Poindexter.”

Ford let out a quiet, choked sob. “I’m so sorry Stanley…I never wanted to hurt you. Please, just go. Go home, before I hurt you again,”

Stanley briefly considered getting up and leaving, but shook the thought away as soon as it appeared. “No, I’m not going anywhere. You wanna know what really hurts me? Seeing my brother, my twin, beat himself up and tear himself down like this. Yeah, you made mistakes, we all have, but that’s no reason to believe you’re worthless, Stanford.”

Ford bit his lip and cursed himself, feeling tears trickle down his face and drop onto the pillow beneath his head. “Then why did I make so many mistakes? Why did I turn my back on you when you got kicked out? Why did I ignore you for ten years? Why did I punch you after you wasted thirty damn years bringing me back?”

“Wasted? Ford, you’re my twin brother, there was no way in Hell I was gonna leave you in there,” Stanley ran his thumb back and forth across the back of Ford’s hand. “You didn’t deserve to suffer like that,”

Ford turned his head around to look at his brother, attempting to lift his free hand to wipe the tears away. Pain flared up in his shoulder and he let out a sharp hiss. Stanley pulled his own sleeve down and wiped the fabric across Ford’s eyes, drying the tears from them. Ford’s eyes flickered away, but he kept his head turned towards his brother. He felt Stanley run his fingers through his hair soothingly. Ford couldn’t help but shut his eyes. It was calming - it relieved some of the pressure from his throbbing head. He must have looked downright pathetic - a sixty-something year old man being coddled and comforted like a young child - but right now he couldn’t care less. He was tired and in pain.

Stanley couldn’t keep the soft smile off his face. “I love you, ya know that, right? I know you must think I hate you, but I don’t, honest.”

Ford swallowed and opened his eyes. ‘I love you’ was not something anyone had said to him in decades. Well, aside from the twins, of course. He looked at his brother, studying his expression. There was no hint of mockery behind his eyes. Stanley was being genuine. Ford let a soft smile of his own play onto his face. “I love you too, you knucklehead,”

Stan grinned and ruffled Ford’s hair lightly. “That’s better. Now, will you try and get some damn sleep? That bullet did a real number on you,”

Ford’s gaze shifted from his brother’s face to the wound on his shoulder, the smile dropping. “I guess it did, yeah,”

Stanley frowned. “Ford, I’m really sorry,”

Ford waved the concern off, turning back to look at him. “It’s okay. You didn’t mean it. You were having a memory lapse and had no idea who I was. I understand it must have been rather shocking for you,”

Stanley ran a hand through his hair. “Yeah, but still, I shot you, Ford.”

“It’s okay, I’ve endured far worse with no hospital treatment whatsoever.” Ford took hold of his brother’s hand again, giving it a gentle squeeze. “It’s alright, Lee,”

Stan grinned at the nickname. “Alright, if you say so. Seriously, though, would you please get some sleep? You look like crap.”

“Gee, thanks,” Ford deadpanned, a playful smirk on his face.

Stanley snorted. “Just saying it like it is, Poindexter. Get some sleep, it’ll do you good.”

“‘M not tired,” Ford said. He bit back a yawn, although he was sure Stan noticed.

Evidently he did, as the younger twin crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow. “Oh really? Well, then, why not just shut your eyes for a bit? These damn lights must be hurting them.”

Ford allowed his eyes to slide shut, trying to focus on the sounds and sensations around him to keep him awake. After a short while, everything began to blur together and he felt himself drifting off. He didn’t bother fighting it. His whole body relaxed as he succumbed to unconsciousness. His facial features relaxed, making him look much younger. The heart monitor continued to beep steadily above his head.

Stanley rolled his eyes. Ford had barely had his eyes shut a minute before falling asleep. He made a move to get up from the uncomfortable plastic chair he’d been sitting in, but stopped. He didn’t want to leave Ford alone, not yet. Not while his state of mind was still rather unstable. And, if he was honest with himself, Stan didn’t want to leave. Ford was hurt and his brotherly instincts were kicking in, making him want to stay by his brother’s side until he recovered. Stan settled back into the chair, already knowing he’d wake up with terrible back ache, before he too allowed himself to fall asleep. Not once did he release his gentle, yet firm grip on his brother’s hand.


Another fic for @skaleigha  ‘s Guilty Ford AU. I can’t get this idea out of my head! This one’s probably more angst-y than it should be, but I guess I got carried away  ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

My other Guilty Ford fic, Forgiveness, can be found here

Plot holes, typos, errors, blah blah blah. Let me know and I’ll fix ‘em.

The Perfect Girl

Beast Boy dipped a wing lower and began the lazy downwards spiral that would bring him to a landing on the roof of the Tower. The moon was barely a crescent, but his keen owl eyes sliced effortlessly through the darkness, noticing immediately Raven’s figure floating above the ledge in her signature lotus position.

Gone were the cloak and the leotard. She was wearing a short, strapless indigo-blue light summer dress that allowed the ivory paleness of her shoulders, arms and legs to glow in the darkness.

He figured she was probably already aware of him, even if she couldn’t see him. He flared his wings to kill the momentum and landed softly behind her, transforming into himself and walking over on soundless feet. He plopped down beside her, sitting on the ledge, his legs dangling over the void. He looked at her with keen interest in his eyes.

“Hey, Rae! I didn’t expect you’d be back so early. How was your date?”

“It was a disaster,” she replied dryly. Beast Boy winced at the bitterness in the otherwise flat tone.

[More below!]

Keep reading

School Days

It was never easy telling someone their ‘perfect little angel’ was a bit of a monster. Especially when said ‘angel’ was likely this way due to improper parenting.

I knew this would be the case the moment I brought up Rachel’s behavioral issues to her mother, Eliza Jane.

Eliza was the daughter of a wealthy recluse, their family had been involved in medical business for apparently the last century. They owned several hospitals and even helped design some of the newest state of the art equipment. Things that could create the absolute smallest incisions with no scarring.

But with wealth can come pride. Entitlement.

“This isn’t a laughing matter, ma’am. We need to talk about your daughter’s behavior towards others.”

Keep reading

Chloeslut: Training and Breaking Continues

Chloe, or chloeslut, as her abductor had a started calling her, whimpered silently as she heard the dungeon door open. She had already learned that lesson early. After her first whipping, he told her that she would remain in this pit until she had been fully trained, and the first lesson the slave needed to learn that she was not to make a sound and certainly not speak, unless her master gave her permission.

 The first night he returned she whimpered, knowing that she was probably going to face more agonizing pain, and tried to beg for her freedom. He rewarded that whimper, and request, by viciously beating both of her breasts. He told her, “if this cunt is too stupid to obey a simple order such as silence, then I shall give it something to whimper about.”

The next night she made sure that she didn’t make a single noise.

After that it was the same thing day, after day, after day.

He would come and whip her, or hurt her in some other way, he’d rape her in all three of her, “holes” as he called them. Put her to impossible tasks, designed, he told her, to break her will to resist. Then he’d feed her, a disgusting gruel that he said served the purpose of keeping her nourished, and then he’d leave.

Chloe had tried to keep track of the passage of time, but he had put a helmet on her face early into her captivity and hadn’t removed it since. It had an opening for her mouth, so she could be fed, watered, and mouth raped, but it left her in total darkness, and made it very difficult to hear anything.

He told her that a slave did not need to see or hear to obediently fuck and suffer with its holes and body.

He demonstrated that fact to Chloe repeatedly since telling her that.

As he entered the dungeon, she made sure to be in the exact position that he required.

Kneeling, with her ass on her heels, and her legs spread wide. Her arms were bound behind her, wrist to elbow, making sure that she arched her back. Her chain was pulled tight from her collar to the wall, as if she were straining to greet him, and her mouth was open wide.

It’d taken several nights of repeated beatings to teacher this position. Once he came in, the first thing he did was stuff his cock down her throat. The first evening blowjob. This performance would dictate whether she would suffer normal training discipline, or extra harsh.

She also learned through several failures that while normal discipline was agonizing, the discipline she suffered from a failed blowjob was a horrific hell that she never wanted to experience again.

The thought of the electricity on her opened vagina still gave her nightmares.

Once she finished, he undid the bindings that held her ankles to her thighs, and forced her to stand. She inhaled sharply at the stretching of the muscles, but didn’t actually make a true sound. He smiled at that, at the fact that she was learning.

He examined her quickly and efficiently, making sure that there was no evidence of any damage from the bondage. Once satisfied there wasn’t he examined her overall appearance, nothing that the hormones and injections he was forcing into her were already beginning to have positive results and her once, gorgeous, but relatively small 34B breasts, had begun to grow and were a very satisfactory C nearly D cup.

A few more weeks and he’d be able to begin milking her on a regular basis to get her producing milk and enlarge them even more.

He pushed those thoughts aside as he pulled her to her feet and said to her, “I have good news for you slave, it’s time to take care of your piercings.”

Chloe started to shake. When she’d gotten her ears pierced, it was so painful she couldn’t even imagine doing it anywhere else. When her friends were out getting their bellybutton’s pierced and even their noses, Chloe shied away from it and was always quick to make excuses.

Her master had informed her that she would be given a full set of piercings. A full said to him was nose, bellybutton, nipples, two piercings in both sides of her labia, and, most frighteningly, her clit.

The breasts were bad enough. She wasn’t sure, how he was doing it, but she knew her breasts were growing and they were incredibly painful, and sensitive.

Telling her he was planning to pierce her clit as well, was enough to make her nearly passout and now telling her it was time , she almost broke her discipline and started to beg for mercy. But she held on, barely. Only the memory of what she would suffer if she did try to speak allowed her to maintain her silent.

She had well learned in the time she had been in his dark dungeon, whipped in raped repeatedly, that mercy was never a possibility.

Soon, Chloe was strapped, tightly, into something that felt all the world like a gynecology chair. She tested her bonds, and strained against them until her master brought his hand down sharply across her pussy, “stay still slave. If you’re squirming makes me fuck one of these up you’re going to be very sorry. After all, technically I don’t see reason for you to have a clit. So, I could just as easily remove it if your inability to stay still becomes too annoying.”

Those words froze her into complete immobility. Like a statue made of granite, she promised herself not to move. The master, started with her nose. She felt the forceps grip her septum and held her breath as she next felt the sharp pain.

She couldn’t help but whimper, but he said nothing, simply slipped the ring into it, and clamped to close. She heard the snap and he said, “these rings are solid. Once closed they cannot be removed except by being cut. That’s unlikely since they’re made of a high-grade titanium. For all intents and purposes, they are permanent, and I suggest you get used to them.”

The next 30 minutes was an agonizing hell. He pierced both of her nipples, and ringed them next, telling her that she would sometimes wear silver bells, once he moved her on to pony training.

She couldn’t fathom all he was telling her, and her mind was overloading and shutting down again. This was something she’d experienced repeatedly in the past weeks of her pain and suffering.

Through it all she tried to maintain some since of herself, but with each passing day. With each violation, each humiliation, each painful whipping, and agonizing rape, she felt herself slipping further and further away.

She felt herself becoming exactly what she said he would. She wanted to fight but it seemed to hopeless.

She hated herself more and more each day because of that weakness.

Unaware of her inner dialogue, and with little chance he’d care even if her knew, her owner quickly and efficiently pierced both of her labia, and smiled when she wasn’t able to stay silent for those.

In fact, she was now crying almost constantly under her helmet.

He continued to ignore it in lieu of finishing what he was doing and simply continuing his work.

Finally, it came time for the final piercing. Deciding to have some fun, he did this one a little differently.

Chloe was getting more and more terrified as he progressed and finally, she knew it was time. He was going to put a horrible, painful piercing in her most sensitive area and there was nothing she could do about it.

She was pulling against the straps almost constantly now, her fear of the needle she knew was coming overriding her fear of a threat of losing her clit completely.

Then suddenly, incredibly, she felt a vibrator, against her clit.

Her body responded instinctively, growing aroused. Her whimpering, at that point had a different tone, as did her crying.

This was another thing he did, forcing her to orgasm, even when she didn’t want to. He’d explained, as he did about everything he did to her because he wanted her to know what was happening to her, that he liked making her cum because it was another way to demonstrate he controlled her body, now, not her.

No matter how often she tried to resist them he always turned out to be right, wringing orgasm after orgasm out of her body, whenever he wanted to, with frightening ease.

This time was no different, and she couldn’t help the growing arousal.

He began to pull on the new piercings and her nipples, and, amazingly, it just drove her arousal higher.

Her thoughts, while incoherent, occasionally drifted to lucidity enough to ask herself, "how could she be getting aroused by this? What kind of a slut was she?”

If he could have read her mind he would have smiled, his training was doing exactly what it was intended to do, make a question her own self-worth, make her consider herself a slut. From there she would eventually see herself as nothing but a whore, and then a hole, and then eventually nothing.

Once he had achieved that he would be able to rebuild her and do exactly what he wanted.

But that was for later, for now, he was using her own body’s arousal against her. He had learned to read her body well at this point, and knew what she was approaching orgasm.

Then, when she was just at the edge he pulled the vibrator away, quickly grabbed the engorged button with the forceps, and drove the piercing needle through it.

The scream of agony was something she could have never held in and she twisted and bucked against her bonds as she did so.

Fortunately, the piercing was already finished, so he didn’t need to worry about it being ruined.

Once her struggles had started to diminish, as exhaustion was quick to set in, he ringed her clit as he’d done with the other piercings, sealing it into place permenantly, just as he had done with the others.

With that done, he grabbed the new clit ring and twisted it viciously.

This renewed her screams and he said, “now you’re done slave. With these piercings in place I can control you even more efficiently than I have already. Do you really think you would be able to resist if I pulled on this,” and he yanked on her clit piercing once again.

Chloe realize, frighteningly, that was true. While he had shown brutal efficiency in controlling her in the past, now, with these piercings in place, he would be able to control her like an animal.

She would never be willing to resist anything, a simple twist of one of her nipple rings, or even more frighteningly, her labia or clit piercing and she would do anything that he instructed her to do. She realized that he had just pushed her further into exactly what he said he was going to turn her into.

She realized that he was turning her into a slave, and there is nothing that she could do about it. It was the first time she’d truly understood and accepted that reality and she felt her will collapse under the weight of it.

For the first time she called him, in her mind, her master, and she, she wasn’t Chloe, anymore, she, was chloeslut.

Her head dropped in defeat.

Her master released her from the piercing chair and quickly strapped her into another. He stuffed her cunt with a dildo and then began to whip her newly pierced cunt lips and clit.

The pain was incredible and she couldn’t help but scream. All while her master was saying, “this slave was told to be quiet and it failed. This slave was told what the price of failure was and is still decided to be disobedient. Is still deciding to be insolent. This slave obviously needs more training.”

Through it all she shook her head, desperate to tell him that she would obey, that she was trying her best but he had gagged her, before starting, with a ring gag, that made any intelligible words impossible.

Finally, after an eternity, he released her and dragged her back to the wall where she usually slept. He said, “the slave doesn’t deserve its mattress tonight. And instead it will be punished extra.”

She almost whimpered again at this point but the whipping, still fresh, kept her silent.

20 minutes later, she almost would believe the whimpering wouldn’t do much harm considering her situation. She was strapped on her knees, to something that she had come to learn was called a Sybian.

It was a vibrator that the master often liked to use to force her to orgasm.

Of course, she was never given permission to orgasm, so any orgasms she had were later punished. She knew that if she was being put on this thing, her master intended extreme extra punishment for her for her failure to obey.

She was proven right when he said, "this slave is going to spend the next two hours like this. I’ve made sure it is well lubricated, but it needs to learn its lessons. When I come back, it will be punished for the orgasms that I know this disobedient hole is going to have. Maybe after that, it will be ready to finally demonstrate that it is able to obey such a simple order as to fucking be quiet.”

With that, chloeslut’s bondage was finished, and the Sybian turned on.

She didn’t see her master turn and walk away as, while he’d removed her helmet to wash it, he’d still wrapped her head to keep her blind. As such, she didn’t see him stop at the door and turn back to watch her body as it was slowly vibrated to the point that her resistance was overwhelmed and she came in the whimpering cry of surrendered anguish.

He smiled, she’d only been here a few weeks, and she was already adapting beautifully.

Typically, he needed to train something for at least two months before one of his acquisitions was even rudimentarily prepared for the block.

If she kept going at this pace, he might be able to cut two weeks off the regular training schedule he used.

He probably wouldn’t, she was entirely too much fun to punish and torture, but who knows, with the right offer he might do so.

With that thought, he opened and shut the door, and went up the stairs, plans running through his head.

In another couple of weeks, he would begin her pony and puppy training.

He could not wait to see her dressed as a full pony, pulling a cart, or blind on her elbows and knees in a full latex puppy suit. After that, he was sure that her breasts would be ready for the milking machine. If they weren’t, that would just be one more thing he would be able to punish her for.

One way, or another, she would be a fully trained puppy, a fully trained pony, and a fully serviced hucow when she was sold.

She was going to earn him a substantial amount of money, so he would make sure that she performed flawlessly.

Art by me
Writing by @bloomingednae

Artist note: The inspiration and reference for future Pendrago was Lindblum from FFIX! But uh I was racing against time to draw it so :’D

Day 4: Pendrago (Loss/Protection)

If I cross that bridge, will this world smile at us?
There is no clear answer for us yet, but we can surely believe in it.
           ~ Calling - fhana

“Up here again?”

Sorey opened his eyes to see Mikleo taking a seat right next to him, carrying a small bag of fruit and placing it in between the both of them. Sorey was lying on his back, arms folded behind his head with his eyes towards the sky. He glanced at Mikleo for a second and laid back once more, nodding while doing so.

“Yeah. It’s quiet from the crowds.”

Mikleo hummed in agreement and took an apple out of the bag, biting it down as he stared out into the city below.

“Pendrago is certainly different from the city you once knew.”

Sorey gave a small laugh in agreement. “Completely different. Only the architecture felt familiar; and the location of the plaza fountain and church.”

Mikleo nodded in agreement. Without looking back at Sorey, his eyes scanned the city below, its inhabitants filling the streets and shops like another normal day. They both arrived in the city three days ago and had been exploring the city’s common areas and most recent news, all the while Mikleo providing Sorey information from long ago. During the first day, it was evident to Mikleo that Sorey was quite overwhelmed; his expression was distant and his smile felt even further. Though seraphs did not need sleep, Mikleo noticed that Sorey went to sleep that night fully. He thought he should be concerned, but the past two days, Sorey was back in his bright mood, absorbing information left and right.

Today was their last day, and they were to head out again first thing tomorrow morning. It was early afternoon and with the two of them finished observing everything they needed, they decided to take the rest of the day off because it would be too late to depart to the next area. Sorey had been particularly taken to a high balcony spot that overlooked the city; however, it was in the shade of the buildings, away from the eyes of the crowd. He had glanced at it for a moment on their first day, Mikleo noticed, but continued to walk on. Everyday since then, Mikleo found him in the same spot, silent and unmoving.

Looking up, Mikleo noticed one of the aircrafts flying low in the sky near them and turned to look at Sorey; and it was in that moment that he saw an expression of Sorey’s that he thought he would never see again since the first time he witnessed it.

Sorey’s typically bright eyes were dulled and passive; they were clearly focused on the hovering air craft, but his eyes were unmoving, lips slightly parted, and face completely flat. It was an expression that once scared Mikleo and it was an expression that he saw only once, after that one particular event they had encountered long ago in the very same city-

Mikleo cleared his throat and spoke softly as to not frighten Sorey. “It’s a technology the humans created. It uses the wind currents in the sky as well as the propeller blades to guide the aircraft wherever needed. Came into production about 100 years ago by a merchant trader who thought trading would be much faster with such a device. Now they’re all popular all around the Rolance Empire, though Hyland has not quite developed it into their country yet, mostly because trade is going well in Hyland already by foot.”

The sound of Mikleo’s voice jolted Sorey out of the spell, and he glanced at Mikleo. “Doesn’t it seem to be a bit much?”

Mikleo shrugged. “Maybe. But the humans found it useful and it is quite resourceful. I haven’t heard any ill-practice when using the aircrafts, though Morgrim finds them a bit ridiculous from time to time. She sees the implications of its uses, though.”

Sorey merely hummed in understanding as he turned his eyes to the sky again. The aircraft had gone and left, and his eyes focused instead on the clouds that floated by. The sounds of the bustling city was slowly increasing as it was beginning to be the middle of the afternoon, a time when everyone was getting off work. The hums bounced off the building walls that surrounded them, an ambient noise that filled the silence between the two.

Mikleo said nothing as they sat. It did sometimes frighten him when Sorey wouldn’t open up, but he’s learned through the years to just be patient and understanding. Mikleo took the last bite of his apple and placed the core on the opposite side of the gap between he and Sorey when Sorey suddenly sighed.

“This is probably the best spot where I can feel the wind, too.”

Mikleo’s stomach churned, the feelings from long ago resurfacing slowly once more. While that night was nearly 900 years ago, it still felt fresh in his mind; he could only imagine how Sorey felt about remembering it in this city, only to see the city’s layout to be completely different.

Except the church and the fountain, he had stated. The two key locations which that night had major events occur.

Mikleo propped up one leg on the balcony, the other still hanging and he leaned forward. It was a topic neither of them had revisited with each other since that night and hearing it now gave him chills. He heard Sorey shifting around and suddenly he sat up next to Mikleo, staring at the crowds below.

“Sometimes I just can’t help but think, you know? How things would have been different. And how I could have done more to help.”

Sorey folded his hands in his lap, never making eye contact with Mikleo. Mikleo on the other hand, took a quick glance at Sorey and looked away, taking a deep breath and exhaling before speaking.

“Idiot. What kind of Shepherd are you if you can’t even be sure of your own Answer?”

Sorey looked at Mikleo in a quizzical way, who cleared his throat and looked away.

“…sorry. I just felt like Rose would have said something like that if she heard you moping like this right now.”

Sorey noticeably flinched at the sound of Rose’s name, and Mikleo shook his head in order to clarify.

“What I mean is…you did as much as you could at the time. We all didn’t see what happened coming at us; when Dezel broke the contract, Lailah was just as shocked as the rest of us.”

He began to notice Sorey’s expression form into a painful one, and his eyes lowered.

“But I’m the one that pulled the trigger-“

“Yes, you pulled the trigger on Siegfried,” Mikleo interjected. “Yes, Dezel severed the link between the hellion and Rose. And yes, it was you who sent Dezel in there in which we never saw him again after that.”

Mikleo breathed in and exhaled. Coming to terms of what happened that night was much harder than he anticipated and he felt himself almost shaking. Slowly, he placed his hand on top of Sorey’s, gently squeezing them as he did so.

“What I’m saying is that….in that moment, Dezel knew what he was doing. He was sure of his actions. He did all of that in order to protect Rose.

“Sorey,” Mikleo continued, “in that moment, Dezel trusted you with not just his own life, but Rose’s as well. While he knew you would be in pain, he also knew you were strong enough to take what would happen, and that you would be able to pick yourself up in the aftermath.”

“As Shepherd and as his friend…he saw you as the person who would protect not just your own ideals, but his own, and that included saving Rose in that moment, even if it meant losing his own life.”

Mikleo paused, noticing Sorey had gone quiet for some time. Sorey’s eyes were towards the city, but they showed no focus at all, merely listening to Mikleo’s words. He continued, giving one more reassuring squeeze to Sorey’s hand while doing so.

“And the reason why he trusted you with all this is because he knew you would be the one person to understand his point of view.”

Sorey locked eyes with Mikleo in that moment; slowly but surely, his eyes began to show signs of him connecting the pieces slowly and Mikleo continued.

“If that were both of us in that very position, he knew that we would have done the same thing in a heartbeat. Dezel had a will and determination to protect Rose in the same way I had then, and have now, the loyalty and love to protect you. The bond between human and seraph was a bond that he knew we understood very well; therefore, he entrusted everything, including his Answer, to you, knowing that you were both understanding and strong enough to hold yourself up.”

“Sometimes protecting the thing you treasure most results in the loss of something of equal or more value; however, there’s always a silver lining in everything that happens in the end, and that includes this very same situation.”

As Mikleo concluded, Sorey’s eyes had welled up, but he slowly began to show signs of understanding the situation and realizing the intentions of his late seraph and squire. Mikleo’s hand was still on top of his and Sorey turned his palm face up in order to intertwine his fingers with Mikleo. The silence between the two continued, until he heard Mikleo breathe in once again.

“Hey, I thought you had good to do in the world! Keep mopin’ and cryin’, and I’ll chain you up so tight you can’t even breathe!”

Sorey’s eyes shot up to look at Mikleo, who had his head held high, eyes towards the sky. When he noticed Sorey was staring at him, he smiled at him.

“In the most Rose-fashion I could ever imitate, make sure to engrave that specific message of Dezel’s in your heart and you better remember it or else you’ll get a good ass-kicking from the both of them,” Mikleo remarked.

The corners of Sorey’s lips began to form into a small smile before it turned into a full hearted laughter, causing Mikleo to flush red. He continued to laugh until Mikleo squeezed Sorey’s hand in a way that Sorey understood it to be slightly irritated, and he looked up at him while wiping away laughter tears.

“I’m no Rose or Dezel, but that doesn’t mean you have the right to make fun of me that much,” he said, rolling his eyes.

Sorey breathed in and exhaled, releasing the rest of the laughter in his system. “Sorry, sorry, it’s just…you must have hung out with Rose quite a lot, huh?”

Mikleo chuckled and nodded. “You wouldn’t even believe. Had us working to the bone until she passed; and even then, it was hard work to get up to the hill she ordered and demanded she be buried at the top of.”

Mikleo paused and he sighed, nostalgia filling his eyes. “She said she felt the wind the most in that very spot.”

Sorey nodded in understanding. It was so very much like Rose to always have a deeper meaning behind every single action.

He gave a small laugh, though, at the thought that Rose also found a spot where she felt the wind the most. Sorey took a quick look at the bag that Mikleo brought and noticed that there was a smaller bag within it. He gave a nod towards it, his eyes still locked on the bag, because he could’ve sworn it looked like…

“Hey Mikleo, what’s in the bag other than fruit?”

“Hm?” Mikleo reached into the bag and fished out small parchment paper. “Oh, this? I was planning on writing a couple of letters to some individuals later tonight before we leave this town.”

Sorey glanced at the paper, suddenly remembering Lailah’s words:

“…sometimes they send a paper boat down a river, imbued with a remembrance of their lost one so that it may reach them. Since Dezel was a wind seraph, I thought maybe a bird that soars through the air would be more fitting.”

He took one of the papers and unwinded his hand from Mikleo’s. “Do you think I could use one of these? …I’d like to make a paper crane and let it fly from this very spot.”

Mikleo smiled, taking one of the papers into his own lap. “In that case, I’ll make one for Rose, too. Let’s let them fly together, once we’ve finished.”

Sorey nodded. “Okay.”

There was another moment of silence as the both of them folded the papers into two paper cranes, each one complimenting the other. Unbeknownst to them, the wind around them began to pick up slowly, a warm breeze enveloping them both like a small embrace. It wasn’t until Mikleo looked up at Sorey where he felt his ponytail pick up in the wind and realized that Sorey was right; the wind was best felt in this very spot.

As soon as Sorey was finished with his crane, Mikleo picked his up and readied his crane to be let go into the wind. Glancing at Sorey, he nodded.

“Are you ready?”

Sorey nodded. Both of them let the cranes go at the same time and watched as the wind lifted both the cranes up into the sky, both intertwining and flying together side by side. Maybe it was the afternoon weather or Sorey and Mikleo’s imagination, but they watched as the cranes continued to float gracefully down to the ground, playfully moving about as if they were being guided, and eventually disappearing out of sight near a garden below. He smiled and gave a small laugh as the wind around he and Mikleo began to pick up again, this time much warmer with the faint scent of rose petals.

At the end of this journey,
We will understand the meaning of our calling.

Lust and Love

Logan Howlett (Wolverine) x Reader

Warnings: Smut

Words: 2,040

Request: A part of my wants to read ravenous and rough Logan x reader smut and another part of me wants fluffy. Could you maybe write a Logan smut where it’s super fluffy? Or you can do some rough sex. I’m such a hopeless romantic how embarrassing. Thank youuuuuu :-)

A/N: Ah, I got really sappy during the ending. Okay, well I didn’t add fluffy smut per say, and I’m sorry about that, but I did add loads of fluff at the end. I hope you enjoy!

Of all the bad days you’ve had in your life, mind you there have been a lot; this had to take the cake. Your wrists were aching from the constant chuff of the too-tight chains rubbing up against them. The constant clank of chain hitting concrete was the only sound breaking the silence that had fallen over the cell. If looks could kill, Logan would be playing poker with the devil right now. His eyes stayed steadfastly forward, ignoring your seething. You watched his stiff form in the moonlight, almost as if you were trying to mentally send him your anger. Finally, fed up with keeping your anger inside, exhausted with constantly getting the shit end of the stick, and hopelessly annoyed with the man who had landed you here in the first place, you spoke up.

“(Y/N), trust me, I know what I’m doing. (Y/N), what will they do, chain us up and leave us to die? (Y/N), I’m the one with fighting experience. (Y/N), I ca-,”

“Enough,” Logan growled, interrupting your ranting. You didn’t even flinch, your anger outweighing any other emotion.

“If you would’ve listened to me, we wouldn’t be in this mess.” You hissed, your hands shaking against the chains in show. You couldn’t even care that the loud banging hurt your ears or the metal scraping your skin was aching, too busy trying to prove a point to care.

“If I would’ve listened to you, we would be dead.” He snarled back at you.

“If your plan is as solid as you think, how do you suggest we get out of here, captain?” You mocked, attempting to salute as best you could from your position. Your legs were aching with the strain of keeping yourself up high enough so your arms weren’t pulled from their sockets, your muscles groaning in protest. You were frustrated and you needed somebody to blame it on. Considering there was only one other person in the room, you vented all your hate out on him.

“Are you trying to say you can’t get out of these chains?” He raised a brow. You scowled at him, your eyes burning with anger.

“Because I’m the one that got us into this mess so obviously I’m the one that has to get us out,” you muttered sarcastically, your entire body morphing into a cat, causing the chains to thud to the ground. Your hypersensitive ears were ringing, a hiss making its way past your bared teeth.

“Relax,” Logan shushed, removing his own chains from his wrist. You stretched your muscles, returning to human form in the process. “A cat? Out of everything?” You shrugged.

“Don’t act like you’re any better there kitty claws,” you gave his retracted claws a pointed look, prompting him to return them to their natural place.

“Let’s go.” He stated, cutting his way through the barred window. “Do you have anything big enough to fl-,” he was cut off, your oversized talons digging into his shoulders as you lifted him off the ground. “Just great,” he muffled, an annoyed glower marring his features. You flapped your wide wings, loving the feeling of the cool wind rustling your auburn feathers. Flying was one of your favorite things to do; it had a way of making you feel alive. Your beady eyes looked down at Logan, gauging his expression. He was annoyed. You could live with that. You’d been angry at him for hours. Your relationship with Logan had always been, to put it simply, complicated. The two of you were normally overly flirty with each other, stealing every chance you can to just put your hands on the other. However, when the two of you got angry, World War Three was about to start. The both of you had flaring tempers, causing everyone to leave the two of you alone when you were fighting. You couldn’t help it; sometimes he could just be so frustrating. Of course, whenever you went down that alley you’d always been torn between wanting to strangle the man to death and wanting to jump on top of him and fuck him. Your mind always betrayed your angry thoughts, providing you with little facts about how kissable his lips looked or how he might feel with his strong arms wrapped around you, his body thrusting into you. The heated feeling of arousal that you’d become used to pooled in the bottom of your belly, infuriating you to no end. You felt like your body and your mind were betraying you. With a howl, you dropped yourself and Logan by one of the many warehouses that Charles had kept around the world. Logan wasted no time, heading for the door as soon as he was back on his feet. You spread your wings one more time, letting the breeze cool down your heated body, before morphing back into your normal self.

“How bad is it?” You asked, walking into the small, one-bedroomed warehouse. After you and Logan had started your mission to take down the anti-mutant groups, he’d been adamant about buying places to keep the two of you safe once you’d finish a task.

“Not terrible.” Logan replied curtly. You nodded stiffly, hating this part of the fights. It would always either get super awkward or the two of you would just end up blowing up at each other again. “Your wrists are injured,” he stated, his eyes catching on to the red skin covering your wrists.

“Yeah,” you answered, “from the cuffs.”

“Obviously,” Logan muttered. You looked at him unimpressed, your (Y/E/C) eyes shining in something akin to annoyance. It wasn’t nearly as bad as you had been staring at him earlier but it seemed enough to push his exhausted mind over the edge. “Don’t even try blaming that on me. We escaped out of there no problem.”

“We shouldn’t have got caught in the first place,” you pointed out moodily, your sleep-deprived mind causing everything to be much more infuriating.

“No, we shouldn’t have been there in the first place.” Your eyes widened.

“Are you suggesting we left that little girl to die?”

“I’m saying we should have made a plan before diving in blind like that.” You took a step towards him, Logan taking his own step forward.

“Oh, the one time you actually want to use your head before jumping into a fight,” you argued.

“I know which fights actually require thought and which ones don’t,” Logan sneered, his body moving ever closer to your own.

“You are so frustrating.” You yelled, your hands pulling at your (Y/H/C) locks.

“And you’re so maddening.” He yelled back, his body practically pressed against your own.

“Dick.” You muttered, your eyes narrowing at him. There was a second of silence; no breathing, no speaking, no movement. And then, with the speed of a cheetah, Logan was pulling you into his muscular body, his tongue invading your mouth. You wrapped your legs tightly around him, your anger flaring into arousal. One hand gripped your ass while the other was tugging your hair mercilessly. He all but threw you on the edge of the bed, pulling you back towards his center with a bruising grip on your thighs. You knew this wasn’t going to be loving, wasn’t going to be sweet. No, this was going to be rough, animalistic, and feral. With a low snarl in your throat, you ripped Logan’s suit off his chest, not caring where it landed. He returned the favor, a single claw retracting just long enough to tear the fabric of your outfit, leaving your chest bare to him. He let out an animalistic growl, his teeth biting all over your exposed chest. A throaty yowl worked its way out of your throat, your hands dropping to Logan’s pants in a blinding surge of want. His bites faltered when your hands brushed over his confined erection, a pant coming from his open mouth. You were trying, and failing, to remove his pants. He seemed to notice your struggle, shredding them off his body with a smug ease. He did a similar action to your own pants, only feeling satisfied once the two of you were completely bare. The need came slamming back down, causing your vision to spin for a second. Nothing else in your life could ever be as important as having him right this instant. With a ferocious roar, you dug your teeth into his neck. He howled, his hands gripping your thighs roughly. Without so much as a second thought, he pushed his hardened length into your awaiting heat. You dug your teeth in his neck further, inflicting as much pain on his neck as his hands were on your thighs. He didn’t give you time to adjust to his size, slamming his body into your own over and over again. You met him thrust for thrust, your nails raking over his back and your mouth still attached to his neck, drawing blood. Inhuman noises were being torn from his throat, his entire body pushing into your own with a speed too fast to be human. You could feel the pleasure building deep within your stomach, your own lunges speeding up. Your insides clenched impossibly tight, the feeling so, so close. He lifted your leg just a little bit higher, sending his full length careening even further into your slick warmth. Stars exploded, the sun expanded, and the world came crashing down. Your orgasm wracked your entire body, a scream sounding so feral you almost couldn’t believe it was coming from you. Logan’s thrusts sped up for a few more seconds, his body pounding ruthlessly into yours. With a savage howl, he came, his seed warming your insides. His head dropped to your shoulder, his heavy pants heating your skin. You were both too exhausted to care, your bodies dropping back onto the bed effortlessly. Logan pulled you closer to him, your head resting on his chest as your eyes drifted shut. You closed off reality, calling it a day.

Your mind seemed to register the slight tickling sensation on your forehead before anything. You groaned, willing it to go away with your mind. Growling to yourself, you opened your eyes. The second thing your mind noticed was that you were sore in places you didn’t even know you had. Finally, your brain caught on to the fact that you were snuggled into a certain someone’s chest.

“Uh, Logan.” You greeted awkwardly, pulling out of his arms. Now that your head was free of lust and your mind was clear, you felt awkward.

“Good morning, (Y/N),” his lips lifted up in a half smile. You watched him uncertainly for a moment. “(Y/N)?” He asked softly.

“Logan,” you repeated, not entirely sure what to do with yourself. He leaned himself on his elbows, watching you curiously.

“Something the matter?” He inquired.

“We…” You breathed. “You and I… We… Last night… This morning…” You quirked an eyebrow, an amused little smile gracing his face.

“We did,” he confirmed what you already knew.

“So what do we do now?” You asked, fidgeting under the blankets. He lifted his hand, hesitating for a moment before placing it on your bare knee.

“We do what you want,” he replied, his eyes searching your own.

“What do you want?”

“You,” his answer was soft as he watched you. “I,” he paused, “I love you.” Your mouth fell open, gaping at him. “(Y/N)?” He asked tentatively after the silence stretched on for a moment. A blanket at warmth cocooned you at his words.

“I love you too.” You replied, moving closer to his side. He pulled you down on top of him, kissing your lips with a sweetness that had not been present last night. As you moved against his rapidly-hardening erection, you realized you needed this just as much. This time when he kissed you, there was a promise behind it. When he entered you with slow strokes, there was a meaning to it. And when he finally came, the whisper of your name on his lips, there was a devotion to it. The two of you were lustful creatures by nature, but sometimes lust wasn’t enough. Sometimes you needed love to feel whole again.

malec love for @prettylightwoodinspires i hope you’ll feel happier again soon <3

bit of angst and comfort, somehow turned into show canon or what i’d love to see

Dim light from the livingroom is greeting Magnus as he steps through the front door, the tingle in his nape letting him know he’s here. His heart pounds that much faster, but stops for a moment as he walks inside and takes in the view before him.

A man’s sitting on the couch, unmoving, bent slightly forward into himself, his shoulders slumped, a glass of wine, he most likely hasn’t taken one sip from, in his hand, his eyes dull, staring ahead. He looks broken in a way Magnus has seen, has experienced. A way that has him feel the flares of screaming pain which will not be silenced deep in his gut. He takes a moment to collect himself before he steps closer carefully, his body speaking of caution, like nearing a wounded wild animal.

He crouches down before the Shadowhunter, a hand hovering next to Alec’s holding the glass, the other just above his knee. “Alec?” He says as softly as possible, trying to get his attention, wanting those eyes to look at him to know he’s really here with him.

When Alec looks up, their eyes connecting, Magnus feels a wave of relief which is short-lived, however, by the torment reflected in the hazel depths. Magnus takes the glass from him, puts it on the table behind them and takes Alec’s hands gently into his as he moves to sit down next to him. He needn’t ask if something’s wrong. He just hopes Alec knows he can tell him, that he trusts him enough. All Magnus wants is to make it better, whatever it is, seeing this determined, strong, wonderful man who has so much to give, so much to find out about himself, so small and hurt is causing a storm of agony inside himself.

Keep reading