#and suffocating. maybe this will help. i don't know.

[sweetheartsturn]

gryffindor!matt asking slytherin!reader to go to the yule ball with him

pairing: gryffindor!matt and slytherin!reader

warnings: none! english is not my first language!

matthew bernard sturniolo wasn't afraid of much.

he wasn't afraid of late-night detentions in the forbidden forest, or of professor mcgonagall's death glare when he turned in the homework late. he wasn't afraid of dragons - he liked dragons - or even slytherins in general.

but he was afraid of her. the embodiment of his nightmares.

not in the traditional sense, of course. she wasn't physically intimidating, no matter how hard she tried to be. she was just... disarming. sharp and composed and beautiful in that effortlessly infuriating way that made matt's brain short-circuit every time she raised an eyebrow at him.

worse still, she knew it.

their rivalry was legendary by now. a gryffindor and a slytherin, always neck and neck, always hexing each other's books shut or correcting each other's answers in front of the entire class. it started as something simple - competition, boredom, pride. but somewhere along the way, it turned into something else entirely.

something warmer. deeper. dangerous.

matt had been trying not to fall for her. really tried. it wasn't working.

now, the yule ball loomed like a stormcloud above his head, and everyone was pairing off with the people they liked, or tolerated, or thought were good looking. and matt... he was too proud to ask the only person he actually wanted to go with.

too proud... and terrified that she would say no.

or worse... that she'd say yes and he'd fall even harder.

he tried to distract himself. flew laps around the quidditch pitch until his muscles ached. burned through three charms essays. even tried asking lavander, but he couldn't go through with it. his stomach turned at the thought of standing in that ballroom, watching his girl walk in with some fool. well... more of a fool than he was.

so he did what any self respecting, emotionally constipated gryffindor would do.

he wrote a letter.

crumpled it.

then he wrote another one.

charmed a rose.

then overthought everything.

eventually, he sent the rose - scarlet with a green tipped bloom. the pulse held the tucked note beneath it.

i know we're supposed to be rivals. but sometimes when you smile at me like i haven't just insulted your entire house, i think maybe we're not. there's a ball coming up, and i was going to ask someone else. really was. but it didn't feel right. so - if you're not already going with someone else, and if you're not planning to poison me at the punch table... would you come with me? - matthew.

he sent it with no return name, because he was still, despite everything - a coward.

the next morning, at breakfast, she walked past his table like nothing had happened. he swore her lips twitched. no note. no reply. just the suffocating possibility that she had found it, read it, laughed, and moved on.

the silence stretched over the next two days like a curse.

then, the night before the ball, matt returned to the boy's bedroom to find a tiny note left under his pillow.

it wasn't folded delicately or tied with a ribbon. just a scrap of parchment. the handwriting was instantly familiar, sharp and elegant, with hearts over the i's.

only if you promise to wear something that doesn't clash with my dress. it's dark green. and don't trip while walking down the stairs. you're dramatic enough already.

she didn't have to sign the note for him to know who it was from.

he read it three times before letting himself breathe.

the next night, waiting at the base of the staircase, nervous and anxious, matt couldn't help but shift from foot to foot, suddenly aware of his own heartbeat.

and then she appeared.

forest green dress, silver earrings, eyes lined with just enough kohl to make him forget the english language. her hair was let down, flowing down her back beautifully.

she stopped on the final step and tilted her head. "you're staring."

"i was trying to figure out how you managed to look even more slytherin than usual," he said, recovering with a grin. "you nearly shimmered into a snake."

she stepped closer, heels clicking on the tile floor. "and yet you still asked me."

"i must have a death wish."

her smile softened. "you have something. it's not brains, but..." she looked him up and down, eyes taking in his attire almost hungrily. her gaze landed on the green tie he wore with a black suit, different from his usual maroon outfits. "you tried."

eyes were on them as they walked in the ballroom. some amazed. some disgusted. some jealous. but they didn't give a damn.

they danced when the music turned slow. matt's hands were shaky and unsure, holding her waist carefully, like she was a porcelain doll. her hands were the polar opposite, confident and alluring as they roamed over his neck.

they argued about whose footwork was worse. she stepped on his toes. he called her a menace. she told him to shut up and let her enjoy the moment.

the last notes of the music drifted through the air like snowflakes. candlelight shimmered on the floor. students began peeling off the dance floor in pairs, laughter softening into whispers as the night neared its end.

matt was still holding her hand.

he hadn't noticed until now, how naturally his fingers had curled around hers. like they'd done it a thousand times. like it wasn't the first time his heart decided to jump off a cliff with her and land somewhere terrifying and warm.

she hadn't let go either.

she looked up at him, chin tilted, that unreadable expression on her face - half amusement, half something quieter.

"well," she said, voice low and teasing, "you survived."

"barely," he murmured, searching her eyes. "that slow dance nearly killed me."

"i'm referring to spending the entire evening with a slytherin."

"that too."

she smiled, but something about it was different now. less smirk, more softness. like the fight was gone for tonight. like she wasn't hiding behind her usual sharp edges.

he didn't want the night to end.

not when she looked like this - candlelight on her cheekbones, glitter dusting her collarbone, her green dress catching the light every time she moved like it was made of stars and secrets.

and not when his chest felt like it might open if he didn't do something now.

"i—" he started, but the words tangled.

what was he even supposed to say? i'm in love with you so much it hurts?

she didn't move. didn't say a word. like she already knew what he was trying to say.

so instead of speaking, he stepped closer.

she didn't pull away.

when he connected their lips, shyly, almost hesitantly, it wasn't fireworks, or a crowd or some cinematic moment.

it was slow. steady. honest.

it was every sarcastic comment that had secretly meant i like you, every argument that had meant i see you, every brush of hands in the passing that made him want more.

and god - she kissed him back.

confidently. like she had waited for him to make the first move but knew he would. her fingers caught his tie and pulled him closer until his world narrowed down to the scent of her, the warmth of her lips, the impossible weight of what they'd just done.

when they finally broke apart, him breathless and her all flushed, she didn't let go.

her gaze met his, steady.

"about time," she whispered softly.

"i wanted to say something," he breathed, "before."

"you just did," she said, and for once her voice was quiet, no edge, no bite. just the truth.

matt looked at her and realized, with almost dizzy certainty, that his entire world had shifted. one kiss, and now nothing would be the same.

and maybe... that was okay.

because, as they slipped from the dance floor together, her hand still in his, he didn't feel like a gryffindor in enemy territory anymore.

he just felt like a boy in love with the girl who had once hexed his eyebrows off during charms.

and maybe always had been.

. . . ! @sweetheartsturn speaks!

soly hhit this is finally done phew FIRST KISS YAYAYAY

taglist: @delilahsturniolo @backwardshatnick @courta13 @a103-chris-mm @lyingonchris love u angels 💕💕💓💓

[lost-in-fandoms]

Max and Daniel, hurt no comfort, about 1.2k. There's zero happy feelings in this.

Max's phone rings at 1:48am, and for a moment he considers not even answering, burying his face back into the pillow and maybe suffocate to sleep.

Then he remembers that there are only a few people who make it past his do not disturb, and suddenly he's wide awake, fingers fumbling for his phone and answering without even reading the name of the caller.

His "hello?" gets drowned by the explosion of noise on the other side, making him curse and moving the phone away from his ear, music and screaming splitting the silence of the night. He thinks about hanging up, can already feel a headache forming, but then a voice cuts through the noise, much closer to the microphone.

"Max? Max?"

"Daniel?"

Max pulls the phone away from his ear to check the caller, finding Daniel's name there, his heart thundering in his chest.

There's sniffling on the other side of the call, a sound that's almost a gasp, and then Daniel is calling his name again, lost and confused and definitely high.

"Daniel, are you okay? What is going on?"

He fully sits up in bed, rubbing an eye with his hand and trying to figure out why Daniel would be calling him in the middle of the night. Calling him in the middle of the night.

"Max, can you come get me?" Daniel's voice cuts through his thoughts, almost giving him vertigo by how fast it snaps him back into another time, when this question wasn't the most unusual one.

There had been a time when Daniel had partied a little too hard after disastrous races, even harder after decent ones. And then he would call Max in the middle of the night, weepy and lost, suddenly overwhelmed by the noise, the people, the feelings, to be brought back.

"I don't..." Max swallows, dragging a hand down his face and taking a deep breath, forcing his voice to be calmer than he feels. "Where are you?"

There's another sniffle, then a dip in the noise, as if Daniel had stepped outside, and Max's heartbeat spikes again.

"Daniel, where are you going? Stay where you are, please."

The image of Daniel, drunk and probably high, lost who knows where, too overwhelmed to find his way to somewhere safe, had been a recurring one in his nightmares for a few years. He wasn't expecting for it to ever come back.

"Max, can you come get me?" Daniel repeats, not answering any of Max's questions. Max is not even sure he's hearing him, and feels bile in the back of his throat.

"Yes, Daniel, but you need to tell me where you are. Can you do that?"

What will he do if Daniel is anywhere in the world that isn't Monaco? What will he do if he's in LA or Australia or wherever the fuck Daniel likes to party these days? He doesn't even know who he's with, if he knows any of his friends enough to have their numbers, to be able to call someone else for help.

His phone vibrates in his hand, and he forces himself to take a deep breath while moving it away from his ear, putting it on speaker just to be safe, even if Daniel isn't saying anything. His heartbeat doesn't slow down as he realises it's a message from Daniel, with his location, not before he knows if he will be able to get to him or not.

Maldives.

Daniel is in the fucking Maldives and Max is going to throw up.

"Daniel," he starts, as softly as he can, feeling his eyes burn. "Can you listen to me?"

On the other side there's a shaky sound, but Max decides to take it as a yes. Can't take it as anything else right now.

"Can you tell me if you're going anywhere or if you're standing still?"

"I'm sitting," Daniel answers, sounding young and sad, but a little more coherent. Max hopes at least the fresh air is helping.

"And is it safe, to be sitting where you are?"

Who would be with Daniel? He knows he was with Scotty a week ago, but he's not sure he's still with him. Hasn't seen Daniel with Blake in forever.

"Garden."

He pulls up Scotty's contact anyway, trying to think.

"Can you come get me?"

Max is going to throw up.

He closes his eyes again, trying and failing not to let the tears fall, trying and failing to keep his breathing under control.

"I can't, Daniel," he chokes out, "I am in Monaco."

"But you always come get me."

It's true. Max had always gone to get him. But that was when they were always in the same places, the racing circus keeping them close even when they were barely talking.

Not now though, not anymore.

"I know, I'm sorry," he says, not even know why he's apologising. He's not the one who's drunk calling from the other side of the world, but he still feels like he's failing Daniel.

"But..."

"Is Scotty there?" Max interrupts, not strong enough to hear Daniel ask again.

"I don't want Scotty, I want you," Daniel whines, sounding a little like a temper tantrum throwing toddler, a lot like someone who just wants to break Max's heart again.

"I'm sorry," is all Max can say, and again when Daniel keeps whining.

He fumbles through a text for Scotty, letters blurring and fingers trembling, then another then another then another, until the ticks turn blue. Daniel is rambling about his birthday party being shit, about everything being shit, about Max being shit for not coming to get him, and Max just lets him talk, sitting on the kitchen floor, head resting against a cabinet.

"Scotty is coming to get you," he grits out when Scotty finally answers. His voice sounds strange in his own ears, clumsy and choked, but it's enough to stop Daniel's drunken rant.

"You come get me?" he asks, lost again, as if he hadn't just been saying he hated Max one moment before.

"Scotty comes get you," Max corrects, as gently as he can. He hears Daniel's name being called twice, voice coming closer, and something in his chest loosens with the knowledge of Daniel at least being safe.

"Thanks, mate," Scotty's voice says through the speaker, "I'll send him to bed."

"No problem," Max replies, unsure if either of them is even listening anymore, the sound of Daniel complaining that he doesn't want to go back in now further away, as if the phone had been pocketed.

He stays on the line as the party grows louder again, then quiet. As he distantly listens to Scotty putting Daniel to bed with a lot of arguments, Australian accents deeper with alcohol. As the discussion becomes soft conversation, and then finally silence.

When he finally hangs up, he feels numb. He doesn't even know if Daniel will call again in the morning, or if they'll pretend this never happened.

Sitting on the kitchen floor, tears wetting his cheeks, he books a plane ticket anyway. Just in case.

[thenextbestidol]

Ruby wasn't dumb enough to believe that the fame she had was all because of her tallent. It wasn't. For instance, calling her group B-Komachi had draw a lot of attention than an ameteur idol group simple did not get. Then there was MEM, who had a lot of followers and contacts, making B-Komachi have a solid base for starting that few groups had. And of course, there was Miyako, who was her agent, but between them there were never disputes of interest, because her mother always had in mind what was best of her.

Last but most important, she was Ai's daughter, and even thou very few people knew it, that gave her and advantage of her own. Her beauty, her dances, her whole spirit, it came from her. And of course, the natural talent to lie and decevie everyone, it also came from her.

Thou that wasn't a Hoshino trait only. KAngel did a pretty job either, that was the only thing she could thought when she said that she was excited for the convention, thou there was something in her words that made her feel it wasn't entirely true. She didn't thought anyone else would notice, for everyone else her words surely sounded like truth.

But you would always notice when someone else lies, don't you? How could you not, when your life has been built in lies?

Ruby shook her head, deciding to focus in KAngel words. Saying she loved all of them, those words were probably a lie too, they were the same words she said when she performed, even thou she for sure hated more than one of her fans. Well, what's was the problem in believing a lie once in a while? Specially an I love you one? They were sweet and addictive, made you feel that, even for a brief time, someone cared about you.

"I love you too, KAngel" she typed on the chat.

See? She could lie too. For there was no way she could love someone she didn't know. But KAngel lied and Ruby lied and no one cared because it created a balance where they could feel they were part of something better.

When KAngel weaved goodbye, she waved too. Even thou the streamer could not see her. But for a moment, she pretented that they were two friends that finished talking online. Lies like that were sometimes needed to not despair.

"Sleep well, KAngel" it was the last thing she wrote in the chat.

Then everything became silent.

Again.

That was more fun she thought of. MEM had been right, hearing a streamer had lifted her mood. Just a little. At least, it had helped her to pretend she was not alone and had somewhat a friend for a moment.

Now that everything finished, the department felt... empty. No friends, no brother, no mother. Only her and the feeling of loneliness surrounding her, almost suffocating.

Ruby inhaled. It was okay. Everything was okay.

She took her phone and opened Twitter, searching for KAngel's account. Before she could think of it, she followed KAngel. Miyako was probably going to chastise her, because an idol couldn't follow anyone she wanted. But for once she didn't care, if her mother got mad... she would just say that she thought they could make a good collab with the girl. At least that wasn't a lie.

She read KAngel last post, and decided to reply:

"I think I would like not to reeincarnate, one life is more than enough" two actually, but she couldn't go around saying it "As for what I am most excited of... I am really looking forward to the music surprise! Thank you for today's stream!"

Then she looked to the button to send a message. Maybe she could text KAngel, say how much she enjoyed the streamer. Maybe get to know the girl better and consider making a collab together.

But no.

That would not do. She had to focus in killing the murderer of Sensei and mama, nothing else mattered. She had no time to make friends.

Thou no one would blame you. After all, everyone left you. You are here, alone, and your friends, your family, is out there having fun. Don't you deserve t have something that's only yours? She could be it..

No.

She had choose this life. This dream. This revenge. These were the consequences. Ruby the idol had a lonely life because the only thing she cared about was becoming famous.

She blocked her phone and tossed it aside, before she could change her mind. Then she lay down on her bed and covered himself with the sheets, she should go to sleep if tomorrow she had to meet that emerging artist.

She hoped she was as half interesting as KAngel was.

As bad as it could sound, KAngel took advantage of the lonely ones that didn't even leave the house. But, under that layer of need for approval, survival and her own need to beat her loneliness, Ame actually wanted to bring something good to the world…or well, KAngel would. Specially to kids, or young girls that needed her support.

KAngel was everything she couldn't be- all she's always wanted to be. But Ame was a rotten being. A sack of flesh and bone that hardly deserved to live in this world…or so she thought.

KAngel was a savior for the people on the internet, but at the same time, Ame was waiting for a savior of that level to come take her hand instead.

She always flip-flopped between wanting to be on top of the world as KAngel, or wanting to die as Ame, but she had to keep walking, or else…

"I will give details about the convention once I have them, so stay tuned around Twitter for once I post the info!" She would point in direction to her viewers before winking once; smile wide from ear to ear.

Yet, she couldn't help but feel some dread inside of her. Last time she went to a convention, she met a fan of hers that she tried to befriend…someone she tried to trust- someone she tried to support after KAngel inspired her to become a streamer too.

But it still cut deep inside of her that, the girl in question reached the million of followers in no time, helped by a bigger company thanks to the contacts she had, while…she had to work harder to be seen and recognized.

Unfair. The world was always unfair. It didn't matter if she was working harder- at the end, having more money or being with a more recognized brand was all someone needed to reach the peak without effort.

Her hands weren't seen in camera, now dropped to the sides, but she let them curl into fists while she continued to smile and read the chat.

Once the topic went back to the small secret, however, she let her shoulders relax and let a single finger rest against her lips.

"Shoosh!~ Patience! You won't have to wait much longer! I will also make the big announcement through Twitter. So keep an eye out for that as well, hmh?" After making a pause, she clasped her hands together, again making as if she was praying.

"Your Internet Angel is always working hard to make all of you happy, but just know that I intend to keep growing in order to reach all of you. I DO love all of you, after all. My little nerds. 🩵"

Lies.

╔══════════════════════════╗

■ ill wait for u!

■ calling it now, it's gonna be merch

■ I'm going to love whatever it is

╚══════════════════════════╝

Looking at the time, it was the perfect moment to close the stream- but that person that has been talking more in her chat…they caught KAngel's attention.

"But! This will be all for today's stream. I hope everyone could have fun today, or that you are still thinking about reincarnation." After letting out a soft laugh, she waved to the camera with both hands, before she tilted her head.

"Goodnight, cuties!"

╔══════════════════════════╗

■ rest well queen

■ 🙏 BLESS 🙏

■ 🙏 BLESS 🙏

■ goodnight kangel!

■ 🙏 BLESS 🙏

■ 🙏 BLESS 🙏

╚══════════════════════════╝

Now that the stream was off, Ame sat in front of her computer for a second, to post something on Twitter.

---

Thank you to all the people that came to see the stream tonight!

After all of that, what are you most excited for? And what would you want to be if you got the chance to reincarnate?

↻ 40 ☆ 350

---

Once that was done, KAngel turned around to stand up, removing the wig from her head and removing the net so she could ruffle her hair, let it loose.

Color-lenses back to their case before she started to undress to get into a t-shirt or whatever she had at reach.

"Could've been worse..."

[monster-noises]

Fffffrustrated with myseeeeeelf AGH I'm just really tired of disappointing myself constantly and never being able to get (enough) work done even when I have all the time in the world

and it makes me legitimately so worried that I'll never be able to accomplish anything because I'm running on an engine that can only go for a few seconds before stalling out and refusing to restart. just a broken down shell of a human man stuck in amateur limbo forever and ever

[rottingpink]

cod men with fussy wives

cw. fluff, innuendo, cunnilingus, lovemaking, reader is a bit insufferable but she means well. SMUT

synopsis. price, simon and johnny with very naggy wives who show them love and care they've never experienced before

john price

john is the typical gruff, stern guy who knows when to be serious, calm, or regulated, but around his wife, all he is is soft. he spends all day gritting his teeth during combat, pushing through with wounds the size of golf balls and scolding recruits when they fuck up, and so when he's on leave for a few days to see you, all he wants to do is relax, make love to you, eat your cooking, and maybe go fishing or do some home renovations. you, however, have a different plan. you're on his ass the second he gets home. not that he minds too much. you're too beautiful to be annoyed at.

he's sitting on the couch trying to eat a biscuit, and you gently pry it out of his hands mid bite. "john, did you take your omega-3s today?"

he signs, hand grazing your hip as you stand in front of him. "no, love. not today. but i used that nicotine patch you told me to use to help with the smokin'."

your eyes light up. "you're using them, darling?"

his heart thuds pridefully at your reaction, like it usually does when you call him darling in that dreamy little tone of voice.

"wore 'em everyday for ya, m'love," he murmurs, reaching for your hips so he can tug you gently to stand between his knees. "damn if i don't like a good smoke, but i like my woman's happiness a little more."

you giggle, nuzzling your nose into his hair, relishing in the pleasant, clean scent. "just a little?"

he laughs, bringing you into a sitting position on his knee. "a lot, love. y'said it's no good for m'lungs, and i wanna be around long enough to see our grandbabies. can't have that if 'm coughin' up ash everyday."

your lip wobbles. "oh john," you coo, lacing you arms around his neck tightly. you're so proud of him that you feel your eyes start to well up. you nuzzle your face into his neck to hide the way you're getting so emotional. you're so proud of him. "there there..." he bounces you in his lap a little to soothe you. "you're the sweetest lil' thing, aren't ya? takin' care of me so good. wouldn't know what to do without you."

you sniffle and snuggle into him so tight that you're nearly suffocating.

he tries to act like the fussing annoys him most times, but really, he relishes in it. he rarely smokes unless he's very stressed and isn't a heavy drinker. after all, you told him, "don't drink if you're looking for an escape from your problems, m'kay? 's what i'm here for."

his health's never been better.

what happens if he doesn't wanna be nagged one particular day?

he's been on edge all morning. one of the younger dogs knocked the sheep pen open early this morning and let half a dozen of them loose, and price has been running around like his head's on fire trying to corral them back inside and soothe the other distressed sheep. he just got back in all sweaty and stressed, drinking a large mug of coffee. then a second. third. on the fourth, you stepped in, suggesting that he might wanna slow down, and he snapped. "god's sake woman, d'you ever let up? i don't need a bloody nanny all the time. enough with the naggin' "

you shut up immediately, drawing your hand back with your brows scrunched.

slowly, you stop asking about his vitamins. stop shoveling extra greens on his plate. stop massaging rosemary oil into his hair at night. you stop. it's relieving for about fifteen minutes. then, he's disturbed. the silence brings him no peace whatsoever. he lasts until the evening of the same day, and he corners you while you're making dinner, hugging you from behind. "darlin'," he murmurs into your ear, mouthing at the lobe.

no answer. he huffs, dragging you against him and pressing soft, open mouthed kisses down your ear, along your jaw, to your throat, where he licks a broad stripe back up to your sweet spot. "c'mon darlin', 'm sorry. you know i get heated fast, hm?" his big hands travel along your body, his left now splaying on your breast, and the right squeezing your hip. "just had a terrible morning, nearly lost our sheep, had to run around like an idiot for an hour... 'n i lost my cool with you. 's not okay, i know."

"hate it when you raise your voice at me, john." you say softly, and his heart just about breaks. he didn't mean to, really. he loves when you're bossy with him. it shows you care and it's incredibly sexy. he'd just been very irate this particular morning. he's been with you years and hasn't complained seriously about the nagging ever, and he's not about to start now.

he squeezes your tit in his palm and kisses your cheek. "i know beautiful, i know. i love you s'much, hm? gonna make it up to you..."

he's on his knees behind you soon after, eating your pussy under your dress while you try to cook. his tongue laps at your soaked hole, causing his beard to get soaked with your juices. the thick hair scratches pleasantly against your folds while the spoon you're holding clatters onto the counter, your eyes fluttering shut and hands scrabbling forwards for something to hold - you settle on the heavy stand mixer ahead of you.

he's apologizing with a mouthful of your pussy, hands squeezing your ass and giving your thighs a little pinch any time you try to close 'em.

" 'm sorry. need you fussin', darling, alright? don't ever stop." your breath hilts each time his tongue drags upwards and flattens over your clit. his nose keeps nudging your ass because his big hands keep you spread wide for him.

you sway a little, thighs trembling with the overwhelming amount of pleasure he's inflicting on you, but all he does is grunt and pull you back against his face harder. "this what it takes t'get you talkin' to me again?" he rasps against your cunt. "fine, i'll eat this sweet fuckin’ pussy 'til you forgive me."

you gasp when he sucks on your clit and tips you forward so you're fully presented for him, tongue fucking in and out of your sloppy hole. the food you were tying to make is long forgotten at this point, but he doesn't care at all. all he wants to stuff his face with anyway is your sloppy cunt.

"john, mmh!" you cry out, thighs clamping around his head, but he smacks your ass hard and shoves your thighs wide once more.

"no, no, you'll take it," he grunts. "this is my apology, yeah? let me make it right an' show you how much i love your fussin'. "

you cream onto his face with a loud whine. grinding against his chin and into his mouth, and even then, he continues for a second round, mouthing at your folds and mumbling, "couple more, wife. apology's not done."

johnny "soap" mactavish

johnny's a firecracker and a wildcard. he lives on the edge and likes the unknown that comes with being reckless and unprepared. but when he met, dated, and then married you, he did have to learn to exert some degree of control over himself and his life, because damn you're a very meticulous, bossy little thing. not that he minds. having his woman fuss over him and baby him and give him extra special treatment all day, every day doesn't really feel punishing. your fussing is basically foreplay for him.

you'll tell him, "johnny, you're not going on a run with a level 6 UV outside with no sunscreen on. cmere so i can put it all on you."

"...whatever tha' means."

you frown. "johnny, you're not funny. a level 6 is dangerous. cancerous without protection."

he chuckles. "you just want an excuse to rub y'lil hands all over me, ain' that right?"

"johnny!"

you literally have to tackle him onto the living room floor sometimes to rub sunscreen on his face, because he keeps dodging you and laughing. squirming like a kid while you try to get his ears and nose. "you won't wanna shag me if i've got white goo all over m'cheeks, lass, 'm not havin' it."

"you'll thank me when you don't have skin cancer in twenty years," you huff, massaging the liquid into his cheeks while you straddle him. it's the only way he'll ever sit still anyway. his hands reach up to paw at your hips, and he tilts his head, smiling up at you.

"y'look s'cute on top o' me, don't ya?" he coos, giving your ass a playful slap. you roll you eyes and squeeze his cheek in retaliation, and he laughs and continues. "do y'love me more now that i've been properly slathered?" he teases, raising his brows as you finish rubbing in the last bit of cream.

you kiss his forehead. "only a little."

he smiles. "hm. maybe i should scald myself in the sun so you can love me up more."

"johnny."

"…right, right. responsible. m'havin' a growth arc for m'wife,"

"are you?"

"…no. but m'health has improved dramatically since y'started bullyin' me into slatherin' my skin twice a day."

you lean in so your lips brush his "that's cause i want you around forever, dummy."

johnny smiles softer at your words, tugging you down so your forehead rests on his and his beefy arms wrap around you. "i know," he hums, kissing your lips softly. " 'm not goin' anywhere, bonnie. not if i can help it."

what happens if he doesn't wanna be nagged one particular day?

he'd got home only yesterday from being deployed for several weeks. he hadn't seen his loving wife in ages, and the distance didn't do to well on him mentally. he's really not in the mood for fussing. he just needs to eat, fill you up with his cum a few times tonight, and go to bed.

you, however, had been nagging him the minute he came home. needing a breather, he offered to go grab groceries and run errands, hoping that the little break would help him cool off so he didn't snap at you. he's never raised his voice at you, and he doesn't plan on it today.

but when he got back with a dark bottle of bourbon...

"baby? did you only offer to go so you could buy that nonsense? i told you i hate when you drink-"

he interrupts you. "for fuck's sake, can I breathe without you hoverin'? you're not my mum."

you glare at him. not the sweet glare when you're admiring him, or the shy one, or the deadpan one when he does something dumb and you pretend to be mad at him, the angry wife one. oh, he is not a big fan of this look.

weirdly, though, instead of telling him how rude that was and that he knows you're just trying to look out for him, you turn and walk away in an eerie, icy silence. fuck, this isn't good. "bonnie, c'mon. i didnae mean that. c'mere,"

you swat his hand away lightly, deciding you won't be "mothering" him anymore. and so in the following days, you don't tell him to put on sunscreen. you don't pout when he only sleeps four hours. you barely touch him or look at him.

he tries to charm you at first, knowing how much of a sucker you are for his flirting and pretty words, but it doesn't work this time. you don't bite or get on his case or boss him in the way that makes him hard as hell. no shoving his chest when he gets too close or mewling "johnny please," when he teases you. none of it.

you've been eerily polite, and it's driving him mental. on the second day of this, he tries to nuzzle into your neck while you're folding laundry, whispering, "miss you s'much baby, 'm gonna make it up to you properly tonight."

you pull away and hand him rolled up socks. "drawer." he watches you for a moment, hands slack by his sides, socks limp in his grip.

you're distant. johnny's not good with distance from you. the next day, he's extremely restless, wandering around you like a lost puppy in only a pair of sweats sitting low on his hips, hoping you'll come put that greasy spf you always fuss about all over him. he even lies out on the balcony chair for a full twenty minutes in the sun just to bait you, but you give him nothing. you do spare him a glance periodically through the glass door, but you say nothing. he ends up with a sunburn on his chest and the bridge of his nose.

that night, when you dont wiggle into his chest like normal or ask if he had a vitamin after he ate dinner, he turns to his side to face you, needing to put an end to your stonewalling. "bon."

you hum. he can't tell if it's acknowledgement or just the sound you make when you're falling asleep.

"c'mon," he murmurs, wrapping his arms around you and tugging you into his chest. "i wasn't nice to you, i know that. didn' mean to be a dick. just been so stressed 'n on edge 'n i spoke outta turn."

while you're deciding whether or not to believe him, he gets closer, forehead nudging yours. "i'll pour the bourbon down the sink tomorrow," he says quietly. "swear it."

your fingers toy with the hem of his sleep shirt. it's the first time in days you've touched him without pushing him away. "you can drink if you want to." you murmur, twisting the fabric in your hands. " 'm sorry if i'm being overbearing."

"y'not, baby." he kisses your cheek. "just wanna do whatever makes you happy. you're the boss, aren't you?"

you wake up the next morning with his head between your legs, slow and steady, taking his time kissing down your body, from your tummy, to your hip, down to your inner thigh, and then your tender core.

his big palms wrap around the backs of your thighs and pull them over his shoulders, locking you in place while his mouth sucks and works at your pussy. he's so focused that he's making pleased little groans, crotch rutting absentmindedly against the mattress. he's grateful to have you back in his arms and your pussy, dripping and sweet as nectar, accessible to him once more, but he needs to make you cum to really feel forgiven.

he's slow and paced, kissing on you like he's starved. the slow drag of his tongue through your folds and the way his lips close over your clit and suck just softly enough to make your thighs tremble is euphoric, and you find yourself blanking on why you were mad at him to begin with.

his arms are wrapped around your thighs so firm you can barely move. and every time you try to squirm, he groans low and pulls you right back down, nose buried, face flushed and mouth messy. you can feel his beard brushing you, scratchy and warm, and your fingers automatically slide into his hair. "that's it, baby," he mumbles between pussy kisses. "lemme say sorry proper."

you whimper, back arching when he flattens his tongue against your clit and gives it a slow, firm swirl. he just groans again with enjoyment when you close your thighs around his head. he loves being smothered. he doesn't even care if he breathes, as long as you're happy and in love with him. when your pleasure crests and you cum on his face, he licks at your folds firmer, dragging that orgasm out of you. he keeps his mouth on you, gentler now. just soft licks and little kisses, tongue soothing over your puffy folds while his big hands rub slow circles into your thighs.

he doesn't stop until your hand in his hair goes limp. you sigh, letting him kiss back up your body to give you a little break before he goes back for more. he rests on your chest, nuzzling into your flesh gently. "you're forgiven, johnny." you huff, a little tired.

he grins, mouth still wet, eyes gleaming with relief. "thank fuck. boss me all you want, love. swear it gets me hard, anyway."

simon "ghost" riley

simon riley is commanding. he’s the most domineering presence in any room he walks in. makes the greatest of men lower their gaze when he approaches. he's taken down large enemy groups all on his own, has killed men with his bare hands, and… he comes home to you telling him "you can't eat that, baby. it's got monosodium glutamate in it. that makes you sick, remember?" and listens every time.

"…right," he'll say after a pause. "forgot abou' that. what d’you want me to eat then?"

he'd drop the bag of crisps he picked up on his way home with the god forsaken MSG in it the second you mentioned it and would nod. "mm. wouldn' wan' to spoil my dinner anyway, right love?" while gently taking you into his arms and pressing his lips to yours.

you're not controlling, either. the fussing is very particular. typically just a soft, offhand reminder from the only person in the world who really knows and prioritizes him before anything else. you love him so much and this is part of the way you show it. how could he complain?

you know everything about him, which is huge, considering he is a man of few words and is dreadful at being vulnerable. you know what wrecks his stomach, what gives him headaches, how he gets irritable and loopy when he doesn't sleep at least six hours in the night. you know his favorite clothing fabric and how he just wants to hold you when he's upset.

your voice is so warm and quietly certain that he has to listen every time. once you advise him not to do something, everything in him short circuits. his brute force logic disappears. because you say no, or "you shouldn't si, take this instead," and it's a done deal.

you don't even realize what it does to him, how something as simple as your concern twists itself into a soft knot in his stomach, how it makes him ache, not because you're bossing him, but because you're taking car and watching over him in a way no one else does.

he often glares at you and raises a brow ever so slightly at the way you, a tiny thing with big, expressive eyes and pouty lips just told a tank of a man what to do and expected him to listen.

he does though. listens to your bossy ass every time. and for all his stoicism, the man melts under your fussing.

he's in the shower with you brought that annoying cleanser you insist he needs to use every night and wash it off after thirty seconds because he's got sensitive skin.

"love. this shit's greasy."

"it's hydrating, si. good for your skin. protects the barrier."

"don't wan' hydrating."

you rub into his cheekbones anyway while his eyes are locked on you and his breath comes out slow and heavy. you're standing between his legs in the steam, having him lower his head slightly so you can reach your hands into his short hair once you've finished with the cleanser. you're squinting up at him, so serious as you massage something into his scalp like you're not both bare, soaked, and pressed up against each other.

simon has both massive hands holding your waist while he backs you into a corner of the shower, letting you fuss about exfoliants and scalp health with your tits smushed against his body and your eyes fixed on his face and not his cock nudging against your body, aching and swollen from the sight of you. he's trying to focus but he's so distracted by your body, the way you smell, and how soft you are in his hands.

you tilt your head up, rub a little cream into his hair, mumbling, "gotta keep your scalp health up to par, si", and he loses it.

simon grabs your face in both hands and pushes his mouth against yours, catching you off guard. you squeak into his mouth, and he groans and takes the opportunity to slide his tongue into your mouth, water pouring down both of you, beard scratchy on your chin.

"god," he mutters hoarsely between kisses, "you fuss over me like I’m your bloody housepet."

you let out another noise in his mouth, not knowing if that means he hates it or not, but he nips your lower lip, trails his lips along your jaw and up to your ear. " 's a good thing, love. don't pout."

you moan softly, tilting your head to give him more access to your neck and jaw. the reassurance felt great, and you find yourself melting into his touch.

" 'm gonna fuck you," he mutters, voice cracked with need, hand already sliding down your back to grip your ass. "righ' now. can't take it anymore." you look up through your lashes, lashes wet, lip caught in your teeth.

"but you still have conditioner in," you stare up at him coyly.

"finish after. s'not like 'm goin' anywhere."

what happens if he doesn't wanna be nagged one particular day?

simon didn't mean to snap at you. the harsh tone came out by itself. it's just that he's so tired and sore, joints in his body stiff with exhaustion. all he needs is a breather for five minutes, but you're there by the kitchen counter when he gets home. "hi baby! why don't you start with some of the stir fry i made! dunno if drinking black tea on an empty stomach is the best idea."

normally, he'd melt for your nagging and let you tug the tea bag and mug out of his hands and shove a plate of the lunch you made and a cup of water in his hands instead, and then kiss you stupid for giving a shit, but today, he bristles.

"jesus christ, can i just eat what i want for once?" his voice comes out sharp and cold in a tone he's never used on you before.

you blink, lips parting as you stand frozen in place with the wooden spoon you were using to cook laying limply in your hand. your mouth opens and then closes, and you give him a faint little nod and turn away.

he immediately notices your silence. you're never silent like this, so when you give him a faint little nod and walk off, he knows he screwed up bad. he stews on his stupidity for hours, up until you're laying in bed beside him and not once have you reminded him to put on that charcoal mask you always insist "draws out toxins."

you're just sitting beside him. not even sulking, just indifferent. you know what you're doing, of course. and it's working. he stares at the ceiling for a while, grinding his molars, heart pounding in his chest. he clears his throat in hopes of getting your attention and fails.

"not g'na remind me about the mask tonight?"

you flip a page. "no. thought you didn't want to be nagged."

he winces.

"didn’ mean it like that, sweetheart."

"right." you're still not looking at him or touching him.

he can't survive without your fussing much longer. he doesn't have your eyes on him or your little giggles or your hands all over him and sweet night routines and it's making him crazy.

he sits up and breathes in deeply, before reaching for you quietly. you glance over with confusion just as he peels your book out of your hands. "what are you..?"

he's already tugging you across the bed, laying you down on the bed before peeling off your clothes. "simon! wh-what are you doing?" you glare up at him with confusion, squirming under him as he shimmies your panties down your legs and tossing it to the floor.

"apologizin' to m'wife."

he scoops you up and places you on his face with no warning, your pussy lined up with his mouth. he holds you there, palms spread over your ass, fingers sinking into your soft flesh, before diving in.

he groans like a starved man the second he licks into you. his tongue is slow at first, sliding between your folds, and lapping at your soft, juicy pussy. you're still half mad but you can't stop the way your head tips back as he sucks your clit into his mouth and holds it there. you squeal, bucking your hips to try and get away from the overwhelming amount of pleasure, but he doesn't let up, tilting you hips up a little so he can slip his tongue into your soaked hole.

he tongues your entrance and licks you open messily, making you squirm into his mouth. you pull at his hair and try to lift yourself off, whining. "s-simon... s'too much..!"

he slaps your ass. "you don't get to leave me like that, love. won't let you be mad at me."

[dollgxtz]

Shattered Birdcage

Word Count: 9.5k

Summary: Sylus loses control due to the Frenzy Enhancer and you don't find the activater in time...causing him to become sexually aggressive and desperate to claim you for himself :3

Tags: praedator!Sylus x fem!reader, predator x prey, noncon, intense choking, rough sex, forced orgasm, degradation, biting, blood, injury, cunnilingus, creampie, threats, mentions of breeding, nicknames like little bird, near death experience (no one actually dies don't worry!!), fluffy ending to soften the blow :33

Taglist: @magpie-the-goblin-girl @sxremmie @lem-hhn @silverbrain @sizzlingtigerkitten @msslytherin00 @letharue @yu-irene @poptrim @monster-effer @ditsynddotsy @size0forhollywood @its-regretti @queenofstresss @reiheis @valentinared

AN: Hiii guys!! Are we enjoying the new banner? I AM! This is literally a dream come true for me. So I decided to write a fic based on it with a little twist hehe. Please heed the warnings guys, this is a very intense fic and I tagged it accordingly. This is legitmately straight up noncon, not cnc. If you asked for a tag and weren't tagged its cause I couldn't find your age on your profile anywhere, sorry! Enjoy!

You exhale slowly, fingers brushing over the edges of the movie tickets still tucked in your pocket before letting them go. The paper crinkles softly, a fragile reminder of something almost normal. But it doesn’t belong to you anymore. Maybe it never did.

Then, the world shatters.

The fire alarm shrills, a piercing, agonizing wail that erupts through the hospital like a banshee’s scream. Panic spreads instantly, as sudden and violent as a tidal wave crashing over an unprepared shore.

The chaos begins.

Screams.

Heavy, frantic footsteps thunder down the halls. The sterile walls of the hospital, once cold and quiet, now tremble with the desperate energy of fear. The mechanical beep of heart monitors, the faint hum of fluorescent lights—all of it drowns beneath the raw, unfiltered sound of survival.

Somewhere outside your room, a woman’s voice splinters the air.

"Fire! Help!"

Her cry is swallowed by the deafening roar of the alarm, by the clatter of overturned medical carts, by the stampede of bodies flooding the halls. A shadow streaks past the glass window of your door, her silhouette vanishing into the growing plumes of smoke curling along the ceiling.

Then—movement behind you. You turn, locking eyes with Sylus. He doesn’t flinch.

He leans casually against the wall, utterly unbothered by the pandemonium unraveling around you. Smoke licks at the edges of his leather top, but he remains still, red eyes gleaming with something sharp, knowing, entertained. The ghost of a smirk plays at his lips.

"They’re right on schedule," he murmurs, his voice smooth, unaffected, like this is nothing more than a carefully executed performance.

He extends his hand toward you, as if inviting you into a dance.

Your pulse kicks up, but you don’t hesitate. You take his hand.

His fingers curl around yours—strong, steady, warm despite the growing heat. With a single pull, you propel yourself forward, slipping past the threshold of the hospital room and into the chaos beyond.

Smoke greets you first, thick and curling, its acrid tendrils slithering into your lungs like a living thing. The air is already changing—heat warping it, bending it, making it heavier. The moment you inhale, your throat burns. You clamp your sleeve over your mouth, but the effort is futile. The stench of burning plastic and antiseptic chemicals invades your senses, clawing at your eyes, your nose, your lungs.

Outside, the scene is worse.

Patients in hospital gowns stumble through the smoke, their movements disjointed, frantic. Some clutch at IV stands like lifelines, others trip over their own feet, disoriented by the blaring alarms and the thick, suffocating haze.

Doctors and nurses shout over the chaos, their voices lost in the hurricane of fear. Someone grabs your arm—a patient, her face streaked with sweat and panic, begging for help—but you pull away. You don’t have time.

You aren’t here to run.

You and Sylus move against the current, pushing past the flood of bodies surging toward the exits. The sheer force of them is overwhelming, a sea of desperation crashing around you, dragging you under. A body collides with yours their fingers tangling in your sleeve—but you break free, heart hammering as you surge toward the stairwell.

"We’ll lead them to the rooftop!" you yell, the words raw in your throat.

Sylus doesn’t answer, but he’s right beside you, his presence like a gravitational pull you can’t escape.

The stairwell looms ahead, doors thrown open as black smoke pours inside, bleeding into the emergency lights like a living shadow. The second you reach it, you don’t hesitate.

You take the stairs two, three at a time, Sylus still close behind you.

The heat is worse here. It rises from below, clawing at your legs, your back, the nape of your neck. Your breath comes in ragged bursts, your lungs searing, aching, screaming for fresh air. Each step feels like an eternity, each turn of the stairwell winding tighter, suffocating.

But you don’t stop.

Then—light.

A final shove against the rooftop doors, and you break through.

The moment you stumble outside, the temperature drops violently.

The cold slaps you across the face, stealing the breath from your lungs, shocking your overheated body into momentary stillness. The wind howls, slicing through the thick sweat on your skin, tangling through your hair, but it does nothing to mute the screams below.

And these screams are different.

Not panicked. Not desperate.

Dying.

A sickening weight drops into your stomach. Sylus steps up beside you, his stance tense, rigid, watchful. He doesn’t need to say it. You already know.

Ever’s assassins are here.

Your skin prickles as you scan the rooftop, the smoke too thick, the night too quiet. You can feel it in your bones—something is waiting.

Then—a shadow moves.

Then another.

Then—

Gunfire.

The first shot splits the air like a knife through silk.

You react instinctively, twisting your body out of the way as the bullet slams into the concrete near your foot, sending a sharp spray of dust and shattered stone into the air.

Another shot.

Sylus shoves you sideways, his movements lightning-fast, the force of it throwing you just out of the bullet’s path. Another impact—a bullet embedding itself into the rooftop behind where you had been standing only seconds before.

A crack split the air, followed by another. Sparks erupted as bullets ricocheted off metal pipes and rooftop vents, spraying embers into the night. Instinct kicked in before thought—you dropped low, rolling to the side just as a round zipped past your ear, embedding itself in the wall behind you.

Sylus moved with effortless precision, dodging fire as if it were choreographed. His jacket billowed as he twisted, reaching for his blade. A flash of steel. A wet gurgle. One assassin crumpled before he even realized he was dead.

You pivoted on your heel, raising your own weapon. A pull of the trigger—a sharp crack through the air. The man before you barely had time to react before the bullet found its mark. His body jerked violently, blood misting into the wind before he collapsed.

Another shot. Another fall.

They kept coming.

More shadows emerged from the darkness, gunfire tearing through the night in an unrelenting onslaught. You both wove through them like ghosts, striking fast, striking first. Your heart pounded as you ducked beneath a swing, countering with a sharp jab to the ribs, twisting your opponent’s wrist until his own weapon turned against him. A single shot. A final breath.

Sylus barely broke a sweat, his movements fluid, brutal, decisive. He drove his blade into one assassin’s chest, twisting just enough to make it agonizing. The man gasped, a short, choked sound before Sylus wrenched the blade free and let him drop.

"Pathetic," he muttered, stepping over the body without a second glance.

More gunfire. More bodies dropping.

Silence.

The last assassin twitched once, then stilled, his fingers curling in the pool of blood spreading beneath him. The night was thick with the scent of gunpowder, metal, and death.

And then—sirens.

A chorus of wailing alarms grew louder in the distance, flashing red and blue bleeding into the night sky.

The battlefield of bodies lay still, the chaos settled into an eerie quiet. The stench of gunpowder and iron filled your lungs, coating your throat with the acrid tang of death. The last spent cartridges hit the concrete, rolling in slow, uneven circles before finally resting among the carnage. Smoke lingered in the cold night air, twisting in delicate tendrils around the lifeless figures strewn across the rooftop.

You pushed out a slow breath, feeling the adrenaline still burning in your veins. Your fingers flexed around the grip of your weapon before you finally holstered it. The police would be here soon, their sirens growing louder in the distance, but they weren’t your concern. These bodies—the nameless, faceless pawns of Ever—would be cleaned up. Their presence erased. Their deaths categorized as classified in some sealed document, buried beneath bureaucratic nonsense.

"Sylus, we're clear! Let's move!" your voice came out sharper than you intended, urgency overtaking you.

He didn’t respond right away.

He was standing unnervingly still, his usual cocky demeanor replaced with something unreadable. His expression was neutral, but there was an intensity in his eyes that hadn’t been there before, a glint of something dark that made the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end. His movements were slow as he wiped away the smear of blood on his cheek, his fingers leaving faint streaks of red against his skin. The way he stood—too relaxed, too quiet—set off alarm bells in your mind, though you couldn’t yet pinpoint why.

Something in his expression made your gut clench. His usual amused arrogance was absent, replaced with something darker. His pupils were slightly blown, the faintest edge of something feral lurking in his gaze. The air around him felt charged, electric. Wrong.

Then a sound.

A wet, strangled cough.

You both turned.

The last assassin—one you had assumed was already dead—was still moving. Barely. He lay twisted on the ground, one arm stretched toward you, his fingers twitching, curled like claws. His chest rose and fell unevenly, each breath rattling, wet, his lungs failing him.

But his lips—coated in blood—were curled into a grotesque smile.

"Even though..." he wheezed, a broken chuckle rattling out from somewhere deep in his ruined throat. "We can't kill you or him..." He spat a thick glob of blood onto the ground, his grin stretching wider, his yellowed teeth bared like a rabid dog. "Both of you...can rot in hell!"

His fingers twitched, curling weakly around something small, something you hadn’t noticed before. Then, in one sharp motion, his fist clenched, and a sudden crack rang out. Glass shattered, the sharp snap almost lost in the cool air, but the moment you heard it, your stomach dropped. A dark, viscous liquid seeped between his fingers, mingling with the blood pooling on the rooftop floor.

Then you caught the scent.

It was faint at first, nearly masked by the coppery stench of death, but the moment it hit the back of your throat, your entire body locked up in realization. The chemical tang was sharp, bitter, something that curled into your lungs like acid. It was distinct. Familiar.

Your body reacted before your brain fully processed the danger.

"No—!"

Your pulse thundered in your skull.

The Frenzy Enhancer.

A biochemical compound designed for one thing: triggering an uncontrollable transformation in Praedators. The LCBI had confiscated hundreds of these vials from underground labs, tearing them away from illegal deals before they could be sold to the highest bidder. But no matter how much of it was taken off the streets, more always surfaced. It was unpredictable. Uncontrollable.

It worked fast—too fast.

You turned, heart pounding in your chest. Sylus had gone rigid, his muscles locking as though every nerve in his body had seized up at once. His breathing was deep, too deep, pulling in the scent like his body was craving it against his will. His head tilted slightly, nostrils flaring, a shudder running through him from head to toe.

A low, guttural growl rumbled from his chest, barely human.

Your blood turned to ice.

His pupils dilated until the irises nearly vanished, red pools swallowing the color in his gaze. His lips parted slightly, sharp, elongated canines catching the dim rooftop lights. He was salivating. A slick sheen of moisture gathered along his lower lip, his body trembling with the effort to hold himself together.

But he was losing the battle.

The Frenzy Enhancer wasn’t just a stimulant—it was a detonator. It bypassed control, restraint, morality. It didn’t just enhance what he was—it unchained it.

And right now, it was unraveling him.

"Sylus," you said carefully, your voice firm but measured. He twitched at the sound of his name, his head snapping toward you with a sharp, unnatural movement. His muscles trembled as if barely keeping himself together, but his gaze was locked onto you now—not as a comrade.

As prey.

You had seen this before as an Enforcer, watched it unfold in others who had been exposed to the drug. The Frenzy Enhancer didn’t just bring out what they were—it unchained them. It severed the link between logic and instinct, driving them into a state of raw, uncontrolled bloodlust. But this wasn’t just any Praedator—it was Sylus. He was already dangerously close to the edge even on a normal day, always teetering between control and destruction. Now, with the drug coursing through his system, you weren't sure how much time you had before he lost himself completely.

You had to move.

Reaching forward, you grabbed his arm, fingers locking tight around his wrist. His skin was hot, too hot. His entire body was trembling with need, his breath shuddering against his clenched teeth. The growl rumbling in his chest vibrated beneath your palm, every muscle in his arm wound taut like a spring waiting to snap.

"Come on," you gritted out, pulling him forward with force. He resisted, his stance firm, as though something inside him was battling whether to follow or attack. Your pulse thrummed in your throat.

Then he staggered.

It was slight, barely a misstep, but you used it. Yanking him forward, you dragged him across the rooftop, forcing his unsteady body toward the stairwell. His breath hitched in a ragged snarl, his movements twitchy, erratic, but he followed.

For now.

Each step was a battle. He stumbled against you, his balance skewed, his instincts fighting him at every turn. By the time you both reached the underground corridors of NightStrix HQ, his breathing had become ragged, his body burning up from the inside out. His restraint was slipping fast.

You shoved open the heavy steel door, dragging him inside. Deep within the base, hidden away from the rest of the world, the reinforced cage ready to hold the beast that was about to be unleashed.

Sylus grunted against you, his breath coming in hot, ragged bursts as you dragged you both into the containment cage. His body was burning up, his muscles twitching violently under your grip, every fiber of him trembling with the overwhelming need to break free. Each second that passed was a countdown to catastrophe. The Frenzy was about to take full hold, and if you didn’t restrain him now, you might not get another chance.

You fumbled with the heavy iron chains, fingers slick with sweat as you worked to loop one around his thrashing limbs. The muzzle. You needed to get the muzzle on first. Your heart pounded as you grabbed it from the steel hooks on the wall, forcing it over his mouth while he snarled, his body lurching violently against you.

"Sylus, stop—!"

He thrashed hard, nearly knocking you to the floor. His strength was unnatural, monstrous, and it was only getting worse. With a final shove, you managed to secure the muzzle around his face, locking the metal straps tightly at the back of his head. But before you could reach for the second chain, he bucked with terrifying force, sending you stumbling backward. You barely had time to clasp the restraint around one of his legs before you were forced to scramble out of the cage.

The second you slammed the heavy door shut, he lunged.

The impact rattled through the metal bars as his shoulder slammed into them, the force sending vibrations into the floor beneath you. You jumped, heart hammering in your ribs, your breath coming too fast. He slid down slightly, panting, his chest rising and falling in heavy, uneven gasps.

Then, without warning, he laughed.

A dark, guttural chuckle, low and mocking, twisted through the air like poison. His pupils were blown slightly wide now, black swallowing the color of his irises as he tilted his head toward you. Even through the muzzle, his teeth gleamed, sharp and lethal.

"Won’t you help me?" he rasped, his voice thick with something twisted—half-growl, half-seduction.

You froze.

He was still partially unrestrained. That single remaining chain wasn’t enough—if the Frenzy fully took hold, he could snap it in seconds. If you waited too long, he would be too far gone.

You had to finish restraining him now.

Swallowing the tight lump in your throat, you slowly stepped forward into the cage. Your pulse roared in your ears, your body screaming at you to run, but you forced your limbs to obey. You kept your eyes on him, watching every twitch of his muscles, every flicker of movement. You knelt, reaching for the second chain, moving with deliberate slowness so you wouldn’t startle him.

"I’m not going to watch you turn into a monster, but I—"

You never got to finish.

Sylus lunged.

A blur of motion—heat, strength, raw power.

You barely had time to react before white-hot pain exploded in your neck.

A strangled scream tore from your throat as his teeth sank into your flesh, piercing deep, his jaws locking down like a predator making its first kill. Agony shot through your nerves, the sharp burn of torn skin flooding your senses. Your vision whited out for a second, pain so intense it nearly stole your breath.

Then instinct took over.

You snarled, swinging your fist up hard, your knuckles cracking against his cheekbone with enough force to send his head snapping sideways. The impact jarred his teeth free, a sharp burst of pain ripping through you as he tore away from your skin. Blood dripped from the wound, warm and wet, seeping between your fingers as you clutched your neck in blind panic.

For a moment, all you could do was breathe through the pain.

The air was thick with the scent of your own blood, sharp and metallic, mixing with the sweat and heat that clung to you both. Your hands trembled as you pulled them away from the wound, your fingers smeared crimson. The realization sent a sickening chill through you.

He had bitten you.

Not just attacked. Bitten.

Your gaze shot back up to him.

Sylus was licking his lips.

He ran his tongue slowly over the blood staining his mouth, eyes fluttering shut for a brief second as though savoring it. Then his pupils snapped back open, razor-sharp hunger gleaming in them.

"You taste delicious." His voice was thick, dripping with need, his words slurred with the edges of something inhuman. His breath came in heavy, fevered bursts, chest rising and falling as his restraint frayed further.

A shudder ran through his body, muscles twitching beneath his skin. His fingers flexed, nails digging into the concrete floor as his entire frame shook with the need to consume more.

"Come...just a little more..." he purred, voice dropping to something low and lethal.

Then he lunged again.

You dodge just in time, barely avoiding the brutal force of his lunge. The heat of his breath scorches the space between you as he snarls, his entire body moving like a coiled beast just barely restrained by human skin. The instant he gets too close, you strike—your fist colliding with his cheekbone in a sharp, jarring impact that sends a jolt of pain radiating up your arm. The force of the hit knocks his head to the side, his body twisting under the sudden blow, but even as he stumbles, something in your gut tells you it isn’t enough.

Your heart pounds wildly, your breath coming in uneven gasps as you prepare yourself for whatever comes next. But Sylus doesn’t fall. He doesn’t even cry out. Instead, he slowly turns back to face you, a sluggish, almost lazy motion, as if he’s savoring the sting of your hit. And then—he smiles.

“Oh…I like when my prey puts up a fight,” he purrs, his voice slithering through the air like something alive. His eyes gleam with raw, unhinged hunger, pupils swallowing what little color remains. The way he tilts his head, the way his lips curl over the metal of his muzzle—it sends a sickening chill down your spine.

The Frenzy has him now. Completely.

You swallow hard, trying to suppress the shudder threatening to wrack your frame. Every inch of your body is screaming at you to run, but you plant your feet firm against the cold concrete, refusing to let fear consume you. If you let him see weakness, if you let him smell it, you’ll lose control of the situation entirely.

"Sylus! Stop it!" you shout, willing your voice to be strong. "Please, I know you're in there somewhere! I just need to—"

He lunges again.

The movement is blindingly fast. One second he's still and the next, he’s twisting, lunging toward you with a violent, predatory force. You barely manage to throw yourself to the side, feeling the rush of displaced air as he snaps at the space where your throat had just been. You seize the opening, grabbing hold of the second restraint with trembling hands and slamming it onto his other wrist. The sharp clank of metal follows as his chains yank him back, keeping him from reaching you—but only barely.

Your pulse slams against your ribs. If you don’t finish this now, he will get free.

His body writhes violently in front of you, hot with fever, drenched in sweat, trembling with animalistic hunger. He’s caught. Fully restrained now, arms suspended in place, unable to do anything but snarl and thrash.

Your arms shake as you stumble backward, breath ragged. You barely register your own hands drifting to your neck, fingers pressing against the torn skin where his teeth had sunk in only moments ago. The wound is deep, hot, raw, but you won’t die from it. Your body is immune to a Praedator’s venom—it’s one of the only reasons you’re even still alive right now. But that doesn’t stop the sick wave of nausea that rolls through you as your fingertips come away stained with more blood.

Sylus laughs.

The sound is low, rough, and dangerously amused.

"You scared?" he murmurs, voice still ragged with the aftershocks of his transformation, his breath coming in heavy, uneven bursts. His eyes flicker over you, roaming your body from head to toe, slow and deliberate, as if memorizing every tiny tremor in your stance.

Your stomach tightens. You don’t answer.

His gaze lingers at your neck, at the place where his teeth had torn you open. His lips part slightly behind the muzzle, and his tongue flicks out, running along the bloodied edge of his mouth as if tasting the remnants of you still clinging to his skin. His chest rises and falls heavily, as if trying to restrain himself, but there’s something else lurking behind his eyes. You watch as his eyes roam up and down your body, seemingly lost in thought. He's thinking about something.

Something dark.

"Your idea of help is heartwarming," he muses as he staggers towards you a bit, his voice softer now, mocking, but no less dangerous.

You force yourself to hold his gaze, even as your breathing refuses to steady. Even as something deep in your gut tells you that Sylus isn’t as trapped as he looks.

Because despite the chains, despite the restraints keeping you apart, he’s still in control.

And he knows it.

"When you approach your prey, you must ensure your own safety first. You taught me this, Sylus."

Your voice is calm, controlled, but the pain radiating from your neck betrays the lie. Each breath you take feels like a blade dragging against raw flesh, a sharp pulse of heat throbbing beneath your skin. You try to ignore it, pushing past the discomfort, pushing past the rising tide of fear that threatens to anchor itself in your chest. There’s no time to waste. You need to find the activator—now. It’s buried somewhere in his body, a trigger designed to override the Frenzy and pull him back from the brink. If you don’t locate it soon, he’ll break free, and there will be no reining him in after that.

Sylus lets out a low scoff, but there’s no real amusement behind it. His breathing is heavy, uneven, his chest rising and falling in quick bursts as though he’s barely holding himself together. Sweat beads at his temple, strands of hair clinging to his skin, and for a fleeting moment, you wonder if there’s any part of him left fighting from within, if the Sylus you know is still buried somewhere beneath all that raw, seething hunger.

"Prey?" he murmurs, rolling the word slowly across his tongue like he’s savoring the taste of it. His voice is hoarse, thick with something not quite human, something that sends an instinctual shiver down your spine.

You don’t answer. You can’t. The way he said that definitely indicated that he is not the prey here.

Instead, you move carefully, methodically, circling behind him. His arms are still suspended above his head, iron restraints locking him in place, but you know better than to let yourself feel safe. Chains mean nothing to him. They’re a hindrance at best, a mere delay in what will happen if you fail. Even now, his muscles flex, the sharp ripple of movement beneath his skin a silent warning of what he’s capable of. The heat coming off him is unnatural, feverish, almost suffocating.

You steel yourself, steadying your breath as you press your fingers lightly against his back. Your touch is slow, deliberate, barely there as you search for the small, embedded activator. It should be beneath the skin, nestled somewhere between the shifting planes of muscle. But finding it means keeping your composure, means moving carefully enough that you don’t trigger a reaction.

Your fingers glide along the ridges of his spine, trailing lower, feeling for anything out of place. Every shift of your hand feels like balancing on a razor’s edge. Sylus flinches under your touch, his body tensing hard before he exhales, a low, guttural sound vibrating through his chest. You feel it under your fingertips, the tremor of restraint, of struggle.

A bead of sweat slips down your temple. Nothing. No scar tissue, no ridge of foreign anything beneath the surface that you can find.

“It’s not here…” you murmur under your breath, your stomach twisting as unease settles deep inside you.

Sylus lets out another breath, but this time, there’s something different about it. A chuckle—slow, deliberate, curling like smoke in the thick air between you.

"Do you think I’m putty in your hands?" he asks, his voice low, teasing, laced with something dangerous.

The sound sends a flicker of unease racing up your spine. He’s getting antsy. The patience he had been holding onto—if he had any at all—is unraveling quickly. His muscles are shifting beneath his skin again, his fingers twitching, testing the strength of his restraints. You don’t need to see his face to know he’s smiling.

Your heart stutters. You need to hurry.

Just as you reach toward his ribs, he jerks violently.

A metallic snap rips through the air.

One of the restraints—one of the goddamn chains—breaks free.

Your breath catches in your throat, eyes snapping up just as Sylus rolls his newly freed wrist, fingers flexing as if he’s testing how much control he has left. Slowly, his head tilts toward you, his eyes burning like fire in the dim lighting.

The smile he gives you is chilling.

You don’t think. You react.

With a burst of adrenaline, you tackle him, shoving him hard enough that it sends you both tumbling to the ground. A low, reverberating growl rumbles through him, his chest vibrating beneath your hands as his body tenses against yours.

The struggle between you and Sylus is a mess of tangled limbs and desperation, your bodies locked in a frantic battle against the cold, unforgiving floor. Every shift of his body beneath yours is like wrestling with something barely restrained, a predator on the verge of breaking free from its chains. Heat radiates off his skin, far too intense, far too unnatural, as if his entire body is burning from the inside out. The feverish warmth seeps into your own skin, making it harder to focus, harder to breathe.

Your hands move over his chest, urgent, searching, pressing against the hard muscle beneath you in a frantic attempt to find the activator. It has to be here somewhere—it has to be. Your fingers skim the ridges of his abdomen, feeling for anything out of place, a small foreign lump beneath his skin, a sign that the override switch is still there. But the longer you search, the more panic digs its claws into your ribs.

Your wound throbs, a dull and persistent ache pulsing from your neck, sending sharp spikes of pain through your senses with every movement. The smell of blood—your blood—is thick in the air, mingling with the scent of sweat and something deeper, something primal that radiates from Sylus like a caged animal ready to tear through steel.

"Tell me—" You swallow hard, ignoring the dryness in your throat, trying to suppress the fear that’s creeping into your voice. "Is the activator here?"

Sylus doesn't answer immediately. His breath is coming heavy, uneven, his chest rising and falling in sharp, controlled bursts beneath you. Then, slowly, he grins.

The sight of it sends a ripple of unease down your spine.

"Don’t…" he growls, his voice low and guttural, slipping between clenched teeth. His body tenses beneath you, coiled muscle flexing, veins prominent beneath the sweat-slicked skin of his arms. His hands twitch rhythmically, fingers curling like claws ready to rip you to shreds.

"Don’t press it."

You ignore him.

You have to.

You shift, dragging your hands lower, pressing over his ribs, smoothing your fingers down the hard planes of his stomach, searching for any change in texture, any break in the muscle that could indicate the activator. Your fingertips glide over his skin, past the deep ridges of his abdomen, dipping lower—

A sharp, ragged exhale.

Sylus’s entire body jerks beneath you, his spine arching suddenly, pressing into you before falling back against the ground. His breath stutters, his hands clenching into fists as a sound rumbles deep in his chest—low, guttural, something between a moan and a growl.

Your movements falter for the briefest second.

Did you find it? Did you hurt him?

Your heart pounds violently against your ribs. Your hands remain pressed against him, frozen mid-motion, fingers still splayed across the hard muscle of his lower abdomen. You can feel the way his body shudders, tense and coiled, every fiber of him locked in place, the warmth of his skin searing against your palms.

You don’t know if the reaction is pain or something else, and the uncertainty sends unease coiling in your stomach.

Sylus exhales another uneven breath, his chest vibrating beneath you. His head tilts slightly, red eyes flickering open, dilated again and dark, and he looks straight at you. Not through you, not past you—at you.

The grin he gives you is slow, deliberate.

"That-," he murmurs, voice edged with something dark, something lustful. His lips curl at the corners, his teeth flashing between parted lips as his gaze flickers lower, trailing over the places where your hands are still pressed against him. "That feels...good".

Your breath caught in your throat as the realization hit you like a freight train barreling down the tracks. Your eyes widened as you lowered your head and took in the unmistakable bulge of his erection, straining against the confines of his pants, a tangible proof of the pleasure you were unwittingly providing.

This isn’t pain.

The second he senses your moment of shock, Sylus strikes.

With terrifying ease, he yanks you upward, your feet leaving the ground for a brief, weightless second before he drives you downward. The world tilts violently, your stomach dropping as you’re thrown forward, your body twisting midair before—

Impact.

The breath is knocked from your lungs as you hit the cold, unforgiving floor, your stomach smacking against the hard surface with enough force to send a sharp shockwave through your ribs. Your arms instinctively splay out, palms slamming against the ground to steady yourself, but the weight that follows keeps you from moving.

Sylus presses down against you, his entire body covering yours, his hands locking around your wrists before pinning them flat against the floor beside your head. His hips press firmly into yours, locking you in place, trapping you beneath him.

Panic seizes your chest.

You try to twist away, to jerk free, but his weight is unmovable, pressing down hard enough that every shift only grinds you further against the floor. The heat of his body seeps into your back, feverish and all-consuming, the ridges of his toned chest molding against your spine.

You thrash, breath coming hard and fast, struggling against his grip, but he doesn’t move. Doesn’t budge. Doesn’t even react—except for the slow, deep inhale that shudders through his chest.

Then, he breathes against your skin.

"You smell like fear," he murmurs, voice low and silken, curling around your ear like smoke.

Your entire body locks up.

His lips are too close.

The warmth of his breath ghosts along the side of your face, his nose grazing the edge of your jaw before dipping lower, hovering over the sensitive skin of your throat. Your pulse races, hammering so violently beneath your skin that you know he feels it.

His grip tightens.

"And something...sweet," he muses, dragging the words out slowly, tasting them like something decadent.

Your struggles escalate, knowing exactly where this is going.

"Sylus! Stop! No!"

Your fingers claw against the floor, legs kicking, desperate to throw him off, but Sylus doesn’t move an inch. If anything, his hold only grows firmer, heavier, more absolute. The pressure of his body against yours makes it impossible to move, to breathe properly, to think.

Then—he lowers his head.

The brush of his lips against your ear is featherlight, teasing. A sharp contrast to the overwhelming, inescapable strength of his grip.

And then—his teeth sink in.

A sharp, precise nip to the outer shell of your ear, quick and fleeting, followed immediately by the slow, deliberate glide of his tongue. He slides all the way down to your neck, lapping up the still dripping blood from your wound. He alternates between licking and nipping, as if feeding himself and claiming you all at once.

You flinch violently, a shudder ripping through your limbs as heat explodes beneath your skin. Your breath catches, fingers digging into the cold floor as a rush of pure, primal panic flares through your nerves.

Sylus hums. A deep, satisfied sound.

"Something very sweet," he repeats, his voice edged with amusement, hunger, something else entirely. His fingers flex against your wrists, nails pressing into your skin—not enough to break, but enough to remind you of the power imbalance.

"Makes me want to devour you whole."

A violent shiver wracks through you, your entire body locking up in terror.

Move. Move. MOVE.

Desperation surges through you like wildfire. You snap your leg back, aiming a blind, vicious kick toward his leg, his thigh—anything that will make him falter, make him let go—

But he’s faster.

Before you can even make contact, he moves. His weight shifts, his grip flexes, and suddenly—you’re being crushed, pressed even harder into the ground.

Your breath chokes in your throat as his body presses flush against yours, one of his hands releasing your wrist only to grip your hip, pinning you down even harder. His fingers dig in, securing his hold, ensuring you have nowhere to go.

"Nice try," he murmurs, voice dipping into something thick and sultry, rich with amusement. The warmth of his breath trails lower, sweeping along the side of your bloodied throat, down to the nape of your neck.

A slow, wicked grin spreads across his lips, and you feel it—feel his smirk against your skin, feel the way he’s drinking in every panicked breath, every tremor, every racing heartbeat.

"You should know better," he murmurs, his voice a low, teasing growl. "Prey that struggles only makes the hunt more exciting."

His fingers flex against your hip, nails pressing in just enough to send a sharp, prickling sting through your nerves.

"Why resist me now? You made your choice when you stepped inside," Sylus taunts, a dark chuckle rumbling from his chest. Tears prick at your eyes, threatening to spill over as the harsh sound of ripping fabric echoes ominously in the confined space. Your skirt! You cry out, trying to lunge forward, to escape, but his grip is relentless, fingers suddenly tightening around your throat with a firm command.

"Stop. Moving." His growl is a sharp command in your ear, his weight pressing down on you, pinning you to the ground with an unyielding force. The air is forced from your lungs in a rush as he yanks the remnants of your skirt away, tossing it aside carelessly. The room's cool air brushes against the exposed skin of your legs, and you shiver, fear and vulnerability intertwining as you plead with him.

"Sylus...this isn't you. Please—" Your words are abruptly silenced as he tears your underwear away, his actions speaking louder than any words could. The chill against your bare skin draws a sob from your lips, a desperate sound swallowed by the room's oppressive silence.

He's going to take you right here on the cage floor. Claim you. And there's nothing you can do. This isn't Sylus you know anymore.

"My my...this was what you were hiding underneath that skirt?" he growls, a feral edge to his voice. He leans forward, trailing his tongue along your back, the sensation a disconcerting mix of heat and cold that leaves you trembling beneath him.

"Please...snap out of it! Don't do this...!" you scream, your voice raw and desperate as you squirm helplessly beneath him. Your pleas are met with a soft, almost soothing "Shhh..." as if he's trying to calm you, but the sharp sound of his zipper coming undone is a jarring counterpoint, a grim reminder that he's too far gone.

This is it, you think, swallowed by a tide of helplessness. It could be worse...right? A gasp escapes your lips as you feel something large, hot and throbbing press against the middle of your ass. Sylus moans, a deep, primal sound that reverberates through you, sending shockwaves of dread and involuntary ache coursing through your veins. He spits, the wet warmth landing on your skin, slicking the path as he rubs his cock between your cheeks, each movement deliberate and unhurried.

"You looked divine in that uniform when we met again," he murmurs, his voice a silken thread of temptation and threat. "Would it be awful of me to say that I've been wanting to tear you apart with my cock ever since I saw you again?" His words are accompanied by a deep chuckle, a sound that seems to vibrate through your bones.

You squeeze your eyes shut, fighting against the warm, wet sensation that overwhelms your senses. No...this isn't the real him, you remind yourself, clinging to the hope that somewhere beneath the Frenzy Enhancer's influence, the true Sylus still exists. He's still in there, right? The question echoes in your mind, a desperate mantra as you hold onto the sliver of hope that the man you know will resurface, that this nightmare will end.

The moment of hope you had was shattered in an instant as you felt a sharp, piercing pain between your folds as he grips the skin of your ass, a large intrusion attempting to force its way inside you. You screamed, your voice raw with agony, as you tried to pry his hands away, your nails digging into his skin. "It hurts! Stop, please!" you begged, your pleas desperate and frantic.

Sylus grunted and moaned, his body a contradiction of pleasure and annoyance as he struggled to push his cock deeper into your tight folds, his tip breaching your entrance only to retreat, the pain searing and hot. "Hmm..." he growled, his voice a mix of frustration and desire.

You shook, your body trembling from the pain, your lower half throbbing, the intrusion gone but the ache still spreading. Suddenly, your hips were gripped and your lower half was raised up, your ass raised in the air, your hands bracing against the floor, your body now positioned for his taking.

"You just need a little...preparation," Sylus whispered, his voice low and dark, belying the wicked intent behind his words. Before you could protest, his hot tongue was sliding down your cunt, his skilled mouth working to prepare you, his touch both electrifying and unwittingly arousing, a wicked precision that left you trembling, your body betraying your mind's resistance.

"Mghn! S-stop...please, Sylus!" you pleaded, your voice hoarse and desperate, your fingers clawing at the floor as you tried to escape the pleasure-pain he was inflicting. But his death grip on your hips was unyielding, holding you firmly in place, his tongue a relentless force, licking and slurping at your folds with primal hunger. Like a beast that hadn't eaten in weeks.

If he doesn't stop soon you'll definitely-

"Those cute noises you make drive me wild" Sylus growled, his voice a low, guttural sound. You can't see his face, but you can feel his eyes roaming up and down your now soaked cunt, no doubt wishing he was deep inside you right now. "Reminds me of the sound a rabbit makes just before its eaten."

You gasp and shiver at the depraved sentence that leaves his mouth before something wet and long enters your hole, making you cry out. Sylus's tongue, hot and insistent, buried itself deep within you, his mouth working in a rhythm that sent waves of pleasure through your core.

Sylus's grunts and moans escalated into a primal chorus as he delved deeper into your folds, his tongue a relentless force, his hands digging into your hips with increasing urgency. Your body was a tempest of sensations—pain, pleasure, and ecstasy—a melting pot of conflicting desires. You tried to hold on, to keep yourself from succumbing, but your body had a mind of its own, and you went limp, surrendering to the pleasure he was delivering.

"Mghn!" you cried out, your body shaking, your hands gripping the floor as you fought against the overwhelming pleasure. "Don't cum... don't cum..." you pleaded, your voice hoarse, your lips bitten to stifle the moans that threatened to escape.

But Sylus found that sweet spot, that spongy part inside you, and twisted his tongue, sending you over the edge. You bit down harder on your lip, trying to muffle the sounds of your climax, but it was no use. The pleasure was too much, and you came undone, your body shaking, your cries echoing in the cold cage as waves of pleasure washed over you.

Sylus lapped up your essence, his tongue working feverishly, his grunts and moans a testament to his own pleasure as he reveled in the taste of your orgasm, his primal satisfaction evident as he continued to lap up your juices like a thirsty dog.

"This taste..." Sylus groaned, his voice thick with greed, as he brushed his tongue against your inner thigh, catching the drippings of your pleasure, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction. You gasped for breath, your body still trembling from the orgasm, your mind racing for a way out of this predicament.

"Your scent has filled the room now...its driving me mad. I can't wait any longer".

Your thoughts turned to the activator, the key to your freedom. You needed to get turned around, to find it somehow. "Sylus, w-we should—" you started, but your words were cut off by the sudden, sharp intrusion of his cock slamming into your cunt with a force that sent shockwaves of pain and pleasure through your body.

"Agh!"

The initial penetration was rough, but easier than before, his cock sliding into your wet hole, stretching you, before he pulled back slightly and sheathed himself completely inside you, his grip on your waist tightening as he began to thrust, his hips pistoning in a relentless rhythm.

"Ahh...it hurts..." you whimpered, your body writhing in his grip, trying to escape the pain of his thrusts. But Sylus chuckled, his voice dark and amused. "Keep squirming, little bird. It only makes it feel better."

His words were a taunt as he continued to plunge into you, his cock pistoning in and out, his body a cage of pain, his grip on your waist unyielding, his thrusts relentless, driving you to the brink of ecstasy and agony, your cries and moans filling the cold cage with a symphony of raw, primal sex.

You begin to try and dissociate from everything by focusing on the concrete floor, but Sylus primal grunts and growls as he slams into you, using your body for his own pleasure, makes it hard to escape reality. Think! Just think! You've been in worse situations before, what can you do to get turned around?

A lightbulb goes off inside your head. Its risky, but at this rate...

"F-for a Praedator...I honestly expected this to be much better. A little disappointing after waiting all these years Sylus" you spat, trying to sound more confident than you truly felt. Sylus momentarily slows his thrusting, not completely stopping but definitely enough to ponder your words. You shiver as you hear a deep chuckle.

"Is that so?"

Your entire world flips around as he grabs you, spins you around and pushes you roughly against the concrete floor. Before you can continue speaking, his hand slams into your throat, squeezing slightly. Not enough for serious harm, but its a clear warning.

Sylus's gaze is dark, beastly and terrifying as he leans down to your face, as if trying to look deep into the depths of your soul. Your heart aches as you recall your last encounter with him earlier that day, when he gave you the movie tickets. He had looked so soft...unlike the beast that was in front of you now.

"I can give you rougher, if that's what you crave," Sylus purred, his voice laced with dark humor, his eyes gleaming with a dangerous light. "I quite like you in this position, that look of fear in your eyes turns me on" He began to laugh, a low, menacing sound, as he pushed his still-hard cock back into your aching hole, his hand never leaving your throat.

Sylus's other hand, strong and sure, reached out, tearing your top with effortless ease, the fabric ripping as he exposed your breasts to his hungry gaze. Your nipples hardened in response to the sudden exposure, the cool air on your sensitive skin a stark contrast to the heat of the moment.

Your breasts bounced with each powerful movement of his hips, the motion causing a mix of pain and fear, your body a canvas of sensations, your mind struggling to process the whirlwind of physical reactions.

You whimpered as pain, pleasure, and fear mingled within you. His hand squeezed harder with each thrust, cutting off your air supply, and you clawed at his fingers, desperate for breath, your nails digging into his skin.

"C-can't...breathe..." you gasped, your voice hoarse, your heart hammering in your chest, sensations blurring together. Despite your struggles, your body began to respond to his relentless thrusts, your muscles squeezing around his cock, a reaction you couldn't control.

"Oh, you like this, don't you?" he whispered, his breath hot against your ear. "Gonna cum while you can't breathe, little bird? I could've given you this pleasure sooner if I'd known. I'd have gladly delivered your demise, one way or another."

His words sent a shiver through you as your body betrayed your mind's resistance, succumbing to the pleasure he was inflicting, your climax building despite the pain and the fear, a testament to the twisted game he was playing with your body and mind.

Were you truly going to die this way? After everything, after fighting for so long to see him again? This is how things end between the two of you? You look into his eyes. His rabid, feral eyes and feel tears begin to prick them. You look past him, your eyes resting at the revolver still strapped to your leg.

You still have one more option.

"I-it won't be me succumbing to my d-demise" you choke out, staring into his eyes. He doesn't stop thrusting into your body, but his eyebrow does raise. "Even if you make it out of here, what do you think they'll do with you when they realize the only immune person is also pregnant with a Praedator's baby?"

Your eyes widen at his words, your brain barely processing their meaning as your vision begins to blur. No! No! You begin to thrash as the sounds of his evil laughter fills your ears, and his thrusts pick up relentless speed.

"D-don't cum in me! Please!" you choke out, your voice hoarse and gravely as your forced to continue take the relentless pounding of Sylus's cock. He's ignoring you, he doesn't care. He only has one goal now. You feel your lower half begin to ache and pulse, evident that you just orgasmed beneath him. But you barely register it, as your top half begins to hurt.

Your lungs burn as if set ablaze, the oxygen in your body dwindling, your chest seizing with every desperate attempt to inhale. A thick, suffocating haze fills your head, making your thoughts sluggish, disjointed, slipping between the cracks of fading consciousness. Your body betrays you, limbs losing strength, muscles growing weak as an unbearable heaviness creeps into every inch of your skin. Your fingers, once clawing at the iron grip around your throat, are failing you now, slipping away, no longer able to fight against the pressure stealing your air.

A dull ringing overtakes your ears, growing louder, drowning out the world around you. Your vision narrows, dark spots creeping into the edges, threatening to swallow everything whole. A strange lightheadedness overtakes you, a weightless, dizzying sensation that makes it hard to remember where you are, what you’re doing. Your body is shutting down, giving up, preparing to surrender to the void clawing at the edges of your mind.

No. No, no, no. It can’t end like this.

A spike of panic jolts through your fading awareness, but your body refuses to listen, sinking deeper into helplessness. You strain, forcing your head up just enough to look at him, to plead, to beg, but the words won’t come. Your throat is locked, crushed beneath his grip, and no matter how much you try, no sound escapes past your lips. Sylus barely seems aware of you now, his expression dazed, half-lidded, his breath uneven as he lingers on the edge of his own orgasm. His fingers twitch slightly, tightening then loosening, but he isn’t paying attention, isn’t thinking, isn't entirely here. He’s too close to the edge, too lost in wanting to finish inside you.

That’s when you see it.

A flicker of red, faint but undeniable, flashes in one of his eyes. It’s barely noticeable, a fleeting pulse of color in the red of his irises, but it’s there. Your slowing mind struggles to process it, to make sense of what it means, until the realization slams into you like a shock of ice water.

The activator?!

Adrenaline floods your veins, shoving back the creeping darkness threatening to pull you under. The sheer, primal will to live surges through you like a lightning strike, reigniting every dying nerve, forcing your limbs to respond even as they scream in protest. With the last of your strength, you move.

Your fingers twitch, barely managing to form a fist. Gritting your teeth, you summon every ounce of energy left in your failing body, pull your arm back, and slam your thumb directly into his eye.

A guttural, animalistic roar rips from Sylus’s throat as his grip on your neck vanishes, his entire body jerking back in raw, instinctive pain. The instant pressure is released, air floods your lungs, rushing in so fast that your entire chest seizes from the force of it. A sharp, shrill gasp tears from your throat as you suck in a desperate, wheezing breath, the burning relief almost as unbearable as the suffocation had been.

Your vision, once clouded and swimming, sharpens in an instant, the murky haze lifting as the world snaps back into terrifying clarity. Every nerve is raw, every muscle trembling, but you’re alive. You can breathe.

Sylus's eyes widened for a moment, a brief flicker of surprise as all the Frenzy enhancer seemed to leave his body, and then, just as quickly, the feral intensity left his gaze, his face softening. But it was too late for his body to catch up, as his hips froze mid-thrust, his cock twitching inside you, releasing a hot flood of cum against your womb.

You gasped, your body trembling from the unexpected climax, the sensation of his release filling you, an intense mixture of warmth and fullness.

Sylus’s eyes met yours, the fire in them flickering unsteadily as the weight of what just happened crashed over him. The frenzied hunger that had gripped him moments ago had drained away, leaving behind something raw—horror, confusion, and something close to regret. His breath came fast and uneven, chest rising and falling as he struggled to process what he had just done to you.

His lips parted slightly, but no words came at first. His red eyes, now normal, darted across your face, lingering on the deep red imprints, blood, and bruises his fingers and teeth had left on your throat. His grip, once unrelenting, had been torn away, but you still felt it there—the phantom sensation of his hands crushing the air from your lungs.

“Are you…” He swallowed hard, voice hoarse, like it physically pained him to speak. “Are you okay?”

You coughed, your throat burning, the rush of oxygen still too sharp, too overwhelming. But you managed to nod, your limbs still weak, your entire body trembling from the shock. You could feel the marks he had left, the lingering ache that pulsed in time with your heartbeat, but you were alive.

Sylus was still staring at you, his expression unreadable, but there was something in his eyes now—guilt, realization, something heavy and unspoken pressing down on him. His hands twitched at his sides, fingers curling like he wanted to reach for you but didn’t know if he should.

“Why didn’t you press it sooner?” His voice was quieter now, filled with something vulnerable, almost desperate. “The activator… you could have stopped me before—” He exhaled sharply, shaking his head, frustration with himself evident in the tightness of his jaw. “Before I did this to you.”

The look on his face—haunted, shaken—was so unlike him, so different from the Sylus you knew, that something in your chest ached. He wasn’t just horrified by what had happened. He was horrified by himself.

You forced a small, reassuring smile, even though your throat still ached, even though your entire body was still reeling from the ordeal. “Because I couldn't find it. But I knew you were still in there,” you whispered, voice raspy but steady. “And I was right.”

Sylus let out a slow, uneven breath, his gaze locked on you like he was trying to convince himself you were telling the truth. Then, without another word, he moved.

Before you could react, his arms wrapped around you, pulling you close, the warmth of his body pressing against yours in a way that was nothing like before. This wasn’t dominance or power. This was desperation. He was still inside you, but neither of you cared to address it at this moment.

His grip was strong, but careful this time. His hands, which had moments ago been your greatest threat, now held you like you were something fragile, something breakable. His fingers curled against the back of your head, as if grounding himself, as if he needed to feel that you were real, that you were still here.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured against your hair, voice rough, low, and laced with something unspoken. “I wasn’t…I couldn’t—” He exhaled, tightening his hold. “I didn’t want our first time to be like this.”

You closed your eyes, allowing yourself to sink into the embrace. Tears of relief slipped from the corners of your eyes and dripped to the concrete floor. Your hands gripped the leather of his top, grounding yourself in him, in the fact that he was back now. His heartbeat, still fast, thrummed against your own, and for a moment, neither of you moved, neither of you spoke. The silence was thick, but not empty.

“It’s okay,” you whispered finally, resting your forehead against his shoulder. “You’re back now.”

And then you kissed him.

It was slow at first, hesitant, but the second your lips met his, Sylus shattered.

His grip on you tightened even more, arms pulling you flush against him as he kissed you back like he had been waiting for this, like it was the only thing tethering him to reality. There was nothing controlled about it—it was desperate, messy, full of every unspoken thing he couldn’t bring himself to say over the years. His fingers slid up your back, then tangled into your hair, tilting your head to deepen the kiss, to claim more of you, to drown in you.

You could feel his pulse beneath your fingertips, still racing, still alive. You weren’t sure who was shaking more—you or him—but neither of you pulled away. Neither of you wanted to.

When you finally parted, both of you were breathless, your foreheads still pressed together. His lips hovered just over yours, his hands still holding you like he couldn’t bring himself to let go yet.

It was all going to be okay.

For the first time since this nightmare had begun, Sylus let himself believe it.

[digitald0rk]

I WANT SOMEONE BADLY

pairing — mark grayson x gn! hero reader. [ implied childhood friends ]

synopsis — after a hard [ immature laughing ] night of fighting crime, you take mark back to yours to spend some extra time with him, one of your closest friends. he is a yearner, through and through. [ end his misery pls 🙏🏻 ]

warnings — mentions of healing from nail biting / picking, mark and you paint each other's nails, he helps with your skincare, crazy pining, like two suggestive paras nothing too freaky though!

w.c — 2.2 k.

a/n — YES IT'S A JEFF BUCKLEY REFERENCE THE TITLE I MEAN :D I WANNA WRITE SMMM BUT i have two exams back to back and then my boards after them in like two weeks 💔💔 im cooked. ALSO HAPPY EID MUBARAK TO ALL THOSE WHO CELEBRATE ^_^ we getting rich this year gang 🤑🤑🤑 ALSO TYSM FOR 400 FOLLOWERS! luv you all mwah <3

taglist — @vm4879bb-blog @hihowyoudoin00 @fairii-majii @hepdeerness [ lemme know if you wanna be added! ]

“m- invincible,” your little slip up makes him chuckle, “pretty sure no one's gonna hear you on top of the highest rooftop in the city, but okay.” he teases you so he doesn't end up staring at you like you're the only person in the world.

“you can never be too sure,” you huff, playfully shoving him a bit followed by a fond eye roll when he pretends like you've punched his guts out or something, dramatically groaning and all. 

“i was just wondering if you wanna come over? i barely have time to spend with you when i’m not being a superhero,” you start, slightly hesitant.

“ooh sleepover?”

“i mean if you want, sure.” you smile, happy to be spending time with him outside of beating people up.

stop smiling at him, please. he's already a lovesick fool, don't do this to him.

“yeah, i’m down!” he says, mentally scolding himself for sounding a little too excited, getting up he stretches a little, “let's go.”

you two fly together to your house, laughing at some stupid thing you saw, a meme or some other ridiculous thing — he wants to record your laugh and play it again and again, although his mind at night does just that so maybe there's no use of it.

he's laughing with you but his heart is beating like a drum, thank god your powers don't include super hearing or he's sure the super loud thump thump of his heart — which belongs to you and only you be concerning, 

he catches a whiff of your perfume, the one you always wear — wait your hair smells different, is that a new conditioner? or shampoo? it smells nice, awfully nice. he takes a deep breath. get it together mark.

he has to maintain a little distance before he ends up doing something stupid like burying his face in your hair and kissing your head.

soon enough he finds you two on the balcony of your house, you slide open the window to your room, leaving it open for him to follow you in.

his palms feel sweaty, he's been here countless times. you two have even slept on the same bed twice. yes, you both were like ten but still!

he takes another deep breath, he steps into your room, you're nowhere to be seen. he hesitantly sits on your bed and of course it smells like you. this isn't good, his heart is going to give out.

he's toying around with your little black cat plushie when he hears the bathroom door unlock, eyes darting to your figure coming out, you've changed into your favorite comfortable pajamas.

he's going to die.

the soft material stretches over the curves and dips of your body in a way that has him gripping the plushie a little too hard.

“you're gonna suffocate him,” you joke, your voice snaps him out of it and he relaxes his grip on the soft back plushie.

flopping down onto the bed with a tired groan you prop yourself up on your elbow to face him.

the atmosphere is unusually tense, or well at least to mark. the soft flutter of your eyelashes and the way your shirt sightly rides up, revealing a slither of your soft skin has him acting like a victorian man seeing an ankle for the first time.

“heard you actually got a good grade for once in chemistry.”

he huffs, nodding with a smile, “believe me, i’m just as surprised as you are.”

the tension breaks and you two fall into easy conversation, like always. he can't keep the smile off of his face when you pull out some seance dog issue to read together and it ends up in him explaining some villain’s origin story to you.

“yeah, so honestly it's not his fault-”

“i think his biggest crime is his new outfit” he laughs at your comment.

your body would occasionally brush against his. sometimes your knees bumping or elbow nudging him when you tease him about something, he wishes he could hold you and shower you with all the affection, give you everything he has.

“i’ve been trying to grow out my nails,” you put your palm flat against the sheets, showing him your progress so far, he knows you've been trying to break the habit of picking and biting your nails. he takes your hand in his without thinking, his thumb tracing over your long nails, “looks good,” a proud smile stretching across his lips.

“thanks, I've been meaning to paint them-”

“can i paint them?” mark blurts out, he honestly just wants to hold your hand for as long as you'll let him.

you jokingly make a show of pretending to think before nodding, “sure.”

you get out of bed, opening your closet to take out a small box of all the nail polishes and other supplies you own, he excitedly looks through the box, pulling out a pretty blue shade, giddy at the thought of his suit’s main color matching with your nails.

he helps you settle your hand on a small towel so your bed sheet doesn't get stained, he uncaps the small bottle, getting to work, he'd grumble a little when he messes up, his teeth slightly dig into his bottom lip as he focuses on painting your nails and every time his hand would make contact with yours — even the slightest bit of contact leaves him longing for more.

he listens to you speak about something that happened at school last wednesday, his heart rate would pick up everytime you'd say his name in that pretty voice of yours.

he looks so proud himself when he finishes painting all the nails on your right hand, gently blowing on them so they'd dry faster, you playfully join him, blowing on your now blue nails, your breaths mingle and oh boy he's holding himself back from kissing your knuckles and telling you how beautiful you are.

you examine his painting skills, watching him put nail polish on your left hand’s nails.

he works in comfortable silence, using the crumpled up ball of tissue to wipe off any excess blue liquid that is around your nails.

“you're actually good at this, makes me wonder if you've ever painted someone else's nails before,” you mutter, his eyes dart up to hold your gaze for a moment, he'd hold it for longer but he knows it'll unravel him, it'd just end up with him pouring out his feelings — baring his heart to you.

“nope, it's actually my first time,” he admits, putting the cap back on and once again blowing at your nails, he sneaks in a small brush of his thumb against your knuckles as he helps your hand up — which is just an excuse to touch you, he folds the small towel and puts it back in your small box of nail supplies.

“do you like them?” he asks.

“yeah, looks really pretty. thanks mark,” you flash him a happy smile and he's over the moon.

“yeah, real pretty,” he whispers, except he's not only talking about your nails, he's talking about you — all of you.

the moonlight along with the dim fairy lights of your room make you look like a literal angel, he swears he can see the wings and halo.

“let me return the favor?” you ask, if only you knew he'd give you the world if you let him, he doesn't even have to think before he's nodding, a dumb lovesick smile makes it's way onto his face as he lets you maneuver his hand around and paint his nails a pretty blue — the same shade he picked for your nails.

meaning you two are matching, he finds that adorable. he also finds you adorable and wants to just bite your cheek, just a little nibble. he shakes his head slightly as if he's shaking the thought away which works, not really.

“look we're matching!” you put your hand besides his, your long nails matching his in the same blue shade. “yeah we are,” he softly mutters, wanting to lace your fingers through his but ultimately holds himself back.

he feels sad when you pull your hands away once you're done painting his nails — he would hold your hand for eternity if you let him.

he feels the tension again, his eyes lingering a second too long on your figure as you put the supplies back in your closet, with your back turned to him he can only think about one thing, you — your waist and how he'd love to grab it while he presses needy kisses all over your neck, sucking and biting, leaving marks, he wonders how you'd whisper his name when his touch gets a little rough and demanding, squeezing and groping all he can reach-

woah there, can't afford a boner here mark, calm down.

he wants to kiss every inch of your body and worship you, he wants — no, he needs to.

he shifts a bit under the sheets when a familiar feeling starts to settle in his gut, waiting for you to come back to bed. although he's almost sure it'll only increase the intensity of the heat he's feeling.

you crawl back into bed, shifting around to find a comfortable position. thankfully, your stupid jokes ease his nerves a bit. he finds himself leaning closer to you, drawn to you like a moth to a flame, so here you two are almost pressed against each other, lying side by side as you two watch tiktoks on your phone, wrapped in your balnket.

“why is your whole fyp brainrot?” he'd complain and then end up laughing, although he insisted it wasn't funny.

a few more giggles and shared laughter later, he realizes just how close you two are to each other, he'd barely have to move to kiss those pretty lips of yours, would you taste like that slushie you two shared earlier? he wants to find out, he really wants to.

a small yawn escapes your lips and he swears he falls in love over again.

“tired?” he asks softly, as if speaking a little too loud would ruin the tranquility of it all. 

“mhm.”

“i'm not letting you watch tiktoks till 3am, come on, let's get you to sleep hm?”

he takes your phone away, his fingers brushing against yours, the contact making his heart skip a beat.

“i still have to do,” another yawn, “my skincare,” you mutter, desperately trying to keep your eyes open.

he sheepishly offers to do it for you, he quickly gets out of bed the second you tell him what you need and where your skincare products are because if he stays this close to your sleepy form a second longer he'll end up kissing your forehead and saying those eight letters he's been meaning to say for years.

he brushes your hair out of your face, helping you with your skincare. he rubs the sweet smelling moisturizer into your skin gently, first your hands, he smiles when he sees his nails matching yours, he's never going to shut up about this moment.

then he helps you apply it to your face, taking his sweet time savoring the feeling of your skin underneath his fingertips, his rough calloused hands working skillfully.

“mark?”

“hm?”

“thank you, seriously you're the best.” 

he's going to scream, he's glad your eyes are closed shut or otherwise he's sure you'd be able to spot the flush that adorns his cheeks.

then comes the serum, and finally the cherry flavored lip balm. you pucker your lips and glide the tube across your lips, coating them in a shiny slightly sticky layer.

great, you just made them more kissable. he's going to crash out.

you innocently offer him some, he can't say no to you, even you should know this by now.

his heart picks up again when you apply your lip balm to his slightly dry lips, going back and forth a couple times for good measure, his lips now shiny.

and then the realization hits him — he just indirectly kissed you. his heart might as well just beat out of his chest with the way it's pounding so hard against his ribs, like a drum.

his self control is hanging on by a thread, you tuck yourself and him in bed, sleepily mumbling, “goodnight mark,” you sound so sweet, his name on your tongue — sweeter than honey, it’s enough to drive him crazy.

and as your eyes close to get some much needed rest, he mumbles back, “goodnight.”

once he's sure you're fully asleep, he adds, “goodnight my angel,” stroking your head gently, reverently.

he presses a small kiss to your forehead, maybe, just maybe one day, he'll tell you how his heart aches for you, how it longs to hold you and be held in your loving arms — his love for you is consuming, his heart overflowing with it, he's sure if you cut open his chest, your name would be seen engraved on his heart and he wouldn't have it any other way, he will always love you.

even if you don't.

but he prays everyday that you do.

© digitald0rk 2025. do not repost / steal any of my work or you'll get explosive diarrhea and rexsplode! want more? click here ★

[mylonelylife135]

My Pathetic Family

The first.

.

.

.

You didn't remember much of your father as a baby.

You didn't hear so much of his voice. See his smile. Feel his hands guiding you towards him as you had taken your first steps.

No.

It was Alfred.

It was Alfred's voice you first heard, Alfred's kind face you saw when you first opened your eyes, Alfred's hands that were held out towards you as you stumbled towards him and falling into his warm embrace.

Your first words were addressing Alfred as 'Da!'

The only good one in this god forsaken family that you didn't want to hurt, his love was unconditional.

Bruce? his love was... You didn't know. You've seen his figure around in his room when he sometimes left it open. You sometimes heard his voice when he was he and Alfred would talk very loudly the room would feel suffocating, even for someone as young as yourself at the time.

After those conversations, you would see Bruce even less.

You didn't remember his face. You don't think you've ever seen it.

All you knew was that he probably looked somewhat like you. You didn't look much like Alfred, no matter how much you tried to find similarities in both your appearances.

You didn't understand the why Bruce was gone so often. it didn't matter if you were playing with toys in your bedroom, learning the letters of the alphabet with Alfred, reading beginners books about ants with Alfred and he would praise you on how you're such a quick learner, or walks to the park to play on the swings- Bruce was never there.

Only Alfred.

You were starting to wonder why Bruce was even here, he didn't even do anything.

That was until one day when Alfred woke you up, made you a bath despite your complaints, put you in a cute purple dress and brushed your hair to look nice. He didn't usually do this unless it was a special occasion. It wasn't your birthday, though.

"Al, why am I dwe-dress all pw-pretty?" You asked, your eyes staring up at the butler as he knelt down to your height to put a small bow hairclip in your hair.

"You are going to be meeting someone special today, (____). I have a feeling that you both will both have lots of fun together as you get older."

You weren't sure what Alfred was talking about until you were led to the living room. A spacious room with two large red couches, a fluffy carpet, a nice wooden table and TV... You didn't really come in this room often, other than when Alfred cleaned it and you sprayed surface cleaner on everything you could see to help.

This time, however, it was not so empty.

It was Bruce, his hand in a kid's that was maybe seven or eight years older than you. "(____), this is Richard. He will be living with us from now on. Think of him as your new older brother." Brother?

Three year old you was dumbfounded, your eyes looking up and seeing Bruce's deep blue ones. His chiseled features and raven hair-

Why did you have to look the same?

Your silent staring might have made Bruce uncomfortable, as he coughed and continued, "I know this is sudden but I hope that you both will adjust well to eachother."

Your grip on Alfred's pants tightened, glancing upwards to meet your new older brother's gaze.

The same eyes as Bruce, same hair almost the exact same features.

He looked like him, too.

"Hi."

"H-Hey..."

It seemed like your new brother was nervous, shy, withdrawn. Sad.

It reminded you of a kid who was getting pushed around at the park by older kids.

It stuck with you how no one helped the kid.

Did he need helping, too?

"I will have a bedroom set up for you, Master Dick. In the meantime, you and (____) can get to know eachother." Alfred said, your grip slipping away as Alfred would walk off, Bruce going with him as the door shut and you and Dick were standing there in the living room.

Your eyes looked towards the door, wanting to call out to Alfred and say both didn't have snacks-

There was tea and cookies on the table.

"Do you want to pw-play?"

"Uh, no, not really."

"Ok."

"..."

You were used to being told no. Alfred couldn't be around all the time and did have duties, like to Bruce.

It wasn't that bad playing by yourself alone, sometimes it was fun.

"...Are you my sibling? a real one?"

"No, I'm not." Richard crossed his arms over his chest, his eyes staring down at you with a flicker of annoyance.

You remember seeing an adult do that when scolding a dog.

Was he angry?

"You aren't?" You tilted your head, your voice full of confusion. You could see his face get all wrinkly.

"Then why did Daddy bw-bring you home?" You were taught by Alfred that it was good to be curious, to learn more about your surroundings and people to make friends since you were struggling or something.

"You don't need to know that." His posture was rigid.

"Why?" What was so wrong with asking? you wanted to know more about your new sibling.

"Because I don't want to talk about it." His hands clenched.

"Why?" No means no, but Alfred did say to get to know eachother-

"BECAUSE I SAID SO! Maybe you should learn to mind your own business." Richard yelled, his voice full of agitation and anger before storming off and out of the living room and slamming the door loudly.

Your hands were clenched to your shirt as you watched him leave, eyes wide.

You didn't understand why he got so mad. You wanted to get along with him.

You didn't know what was more pathetic, the fact that Richard got pissed off by a three year old or that you once wanted to have a close relationship.

You watched the door with slightly shaky breaths and teary eyes before going to sit down on the couch, reaching your small arms over and grabbing a cookie to munch on it.

You didn't really like your new sibling. He seemed angry and mean.

You didn't think that Alfred was right.

This wasn't going to be fun.

.

.

.

Relationship Status!

Bruce Wayne (Your father): 5/100 -You don't know your daddy well, it's weird calling him daddy.

-You only do so because Alfred said that you weren't his dad, it was Bruce.

-It feels weird staring at your daddy. You didn't really like that you looked similar.

Alfred Pennyworth: 80/100 -You wish he was your dad instead.

-You like clinging to him all the time since you're homeschooled.

(NEW character!) Richard Grayson: -5/100

-He's kind of mean.

-Why did he yell at you?

-What was so special about him?

[murderofravens]

VIOLATE

pairing: salesman x fem reader.

warnings: DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT | RAPE/NONCON. daddy issues. age gap. reader had an abusive dad. physical abuse. degradation. forced blowjob. hitting, slapping, you know the drill. sub!reader. dom!salesman. blood. plot with porn. dont like? dont read. its that easy.

summary: you steal from the wrong man and face the consequences.

continuation to THIEF

MASTERLIST

most girls have some sort of fantasy in their head when it comes to their virginity. a blueprint of sorts— about what kind of man they'd like to lose it to, of how gentle he'd be with them. whether it would be planned and patient or spontaneous after a magical date.

you were one of those girls. so far, you'd managed to stay away from men, not just because none of them fit the standard you created in your head— but also because the idea of being with a man repulsed you. the first man in your life— your father, had broken your heart. so you protected yourself, put a lock on engaging in sexual desires for that special someone you could wholeheartedly give yourself to. you were scared that most men you encounter would be like your father— cold. violent. now, you understand that you were wrong.

the man in front of you was so much worse.

you dont get to wallow in your self pity for long. he hovers over you like a god— his presence alone was suffocating. the fact that his massive hand is currently tugging your head back doesn't help; your scalp stings and fresh tears well in the corner of your eyes. the sight makes him groan. his free hand holds onto his cock— gently stroking back and forth. it's a little darker than the rest of him— tip flushed and some precum gleaming on the top. it's clear all this fighting has been foreplay for him. he's getting off to your misery. his dark eyes flicker over your face, and as you try to pull your head back again, he forces the tip against your mouth; letting the stickiness spread over your lips.

"open up." his voice is breathy, hand tugging your hair back again. you wince. "don't make me ask again."

you shake your head, fresh tears rolling down your cheeks as you glare at him with all the resentment your eyes can muster. your teeth grit together as you clamp your mouth shut. he pauses and settles you with a bored gaze, and before you can realize what's happening, his hand is pulling back and slapping you across the face again.

you fall sideways onto the couch with another sob. you can taste the blood in your mouth, and you cough. he's quick to yank you back up, chuckling slightly when the blood sputters out of your mouth and down your chin. he smears his cock against the dark fluid, before settling you with another warning glare.

"did you act this stubborn with your father too?" he pouts, voice taunting, "no wonder he hit you. you never seem to listen on the first try."

you feel livid, shaking with rage as he mocks you. you open your mouth to answer him, and he takes that opportunity to pry your jaw open with his thumb. he groans as he forces his cock past your mouth, slowly at first before pushing to the hilt, till your nose presses against the light patch of hair at the base. you barely get the time to protest before he's rolling his hips slightly, getting used to the wet cavern of your mouth. the thickness and the intrusion in your throat makes you choke and sputter incoherently around his cock, eyes watering again. your hands hold onto his thighs for support. maybe you can bite his dick right off, maybe—

"and if you bite me," he warns with a little chuckle, as if he read your mind, "i will slit your throat open and fuck it."

you shudder. you know he means it too— you can see the crazed look in his eyes as he cups your head with both hands. you don't want to take any chances. you can barely think when he pulls his hips back and thrusts again, eliciting a choked gargle out of you.

"fuck—" he grunts lowly, using your head as leverage as his thrusts slowly grow faster. your body trembles violently, the lack of oxygen making your head feel faint. "that's it— stay like that."

it's as if he's releasing all his pent up frustration on your little throat— his head thrown back, adams apple bobbing up and down as his thrusts get harder, faster. your choking seems to only spur him on, his hold on you getting tighter as you squirm on the couch, trying to pull back. he's not having it.

he pulls out momentarily and you get only a few seconds to breathe before he's grabbing you by the ear and dragging you off the couch. you shriek throatily and claw at his hand as he pulls you towards the wall and cages you in. your head presses against the concrete as he enters your mouth again, "stop that—" he grunts at your wiggling, pulling your head back and slamming it against the wall. you choke on a sob, feeling lightheaded. "the faster— ah— you make me cum the easier i'll make this for you."

his thrusts are like him— to the point, aggressive and inconsiderate. his hips snap forward almost violently as you claw at his thighs, leaving a few scratches. it makes him moan. your bloodshot eyes glare up at him as you choke around his length, his balls sloppily slapping against your chin. he doesn't make a lot of noise, but when he does it comes from the back of his throat. your head repeatedly slams against the wall as he fucks your face, and between his grunts he lets out another breathless chuckle.

laughing at your suffering.

"i'm getting close," his hand comes up and he pinches your nose between two fingers. you begin to writhe at the sudden cutoff of oxygen, eyes widening, "ah ah- take it like a good slut."

your vision gets blurry, head pounding and throat gurgling as he throws his head back and cums with a loud moan. you're sure you can feel it fill your stomach. it's bitter and you can feel the stickiness of it on the roof of your mouth, on the back of your tongue. his thrusts falter, hips stuttering as his chest heaves, few strands of his well kept hair falling across his forehead. you choke and cough as he pulls out, and stuffs his softening cock back inside his pants like he didn't just violate you.

you gag slightly as you taste the saltiness of his cum mixed with the metallic taste of your blood, and you cough some of it out. you greedily take in as much air as you can, eyes wide and face heated. he tosses you around like a ragdoll. your body is limp as you slump against the wall, shuddering. his foot raises, the tip of his shiny dress shoes pressing against your clothed crotch. his voice is thoughtful, contemplative. like he's talking about the weather. "should i pop your cherry?"

you look up at him, shocked. you can barely see him through your tears. "what?"

with a smirk, he grabs your arm and yanks you forward till your face crashes into his thigh. in your panic stricken haze, you grab onto his leg, clinging to him, desperate for any ounce of sympathy or comfort he can provide.

he has nothing to offer.

his hand comes down to run through your hair, like you're a dog. you lean into the touch, hope that you being responsive would sway any thoughts of him violating you further. he grabs your jaw, making your cheeks squish in his hold. he thinks you look utterly adorable this way. you whimper.

"please don't."

you break down into sobs again. you hate crying. you hate it more so because it makes you appear weak in front of the other person. they never seem to understand that you're crying out of rage, not sadness.

he sighs before shoving you off him. you slouch on the floor and he kneels before you, face indifferent. he gently brushes your hair away from your face, and you slap his hand away.

he's toying with you. playing with your fear. manipulating your emotions as he deems fit and he's revelling in it.

"you—" you pant, choking on another sob, before a crazed chuckle leaves you. full of disbelief, anger, hurt. "you sick fuck—"

"let's not use crude language." he remarks dryly, eyes crinkling as he puts on a smile. the same smile you thought to be charming at first glance. now it just looks empty and manipulative. he pulls out a handkerchief, wipes the sweat glistening on your forehead. "someone really ought to teach you how to talk to your elders."

"you raped me," you snap back, voice cracking as you shoot daggers at him through your glare. you want to lunge at him, to pull out his eyeballs and rip him apart. he grabs your chin, stares into your eyes with an intensity that makes you cower into yourself.

"i taught you a lesson," he shoots back calmly, expression serious. as if he truly believed what he said. "i gave you a glimpse of what could happen if you kept up with your reckless behaviour. surely you don't think you can always get away with stealing from men or talking back to them?"

you snatch your face away and look at the floor again, eyes stony and vacant. you were a fool to think you were made for this life. that you could've lived without a proper roof over your head, the financial security that your abusive father could provide you. but you weren't willing to go back.

not after everything you endured to leave.

your lips wobble. you try to compose yourself, force your face to look cold as you glare at him again.

"i'll go to the police." you take another sharp breath. you try to sound brave, you really do, but the slight waiver of your voice gives you away. "i'll tell them everything. i'll post it on social media. they'll find you and you'll be in jail by—"

you stop talking, merely staring at him as he smiles at you. it's a smile you recognise— one of those smiles that adults like to give to children, as if to say 'aw, you're so silly.' as if you're a naive child who is mindlessly babbling about something you don't know. as if he's the smartest person in the world. you know this smile because your father has aimed it at you multiple times.

"what are you smiling at?!" you snap, voice hoarse. he shakes his head almost fondly, his thumb caressing your bottom lip— spreading the drying blood around your chin.

"it amuses me," he starts, snorting again, "how you still believe in humanity after what i just did to you."

you're frozen as you stare at him, breathing ragged. he stares at your lips, plays with the blood there before pulling his hand back and licking the crimson fluid off his thumb. he tilts his head to the side, eyes coldly boring into yours.

"you want to know how men really are?" he quirks an eyebrow, unimpressed, "they will find out where you live and they'll come have their own fun with you."

"some time will pass and you'll eventually start selling your body to perverted old men on the street." his voice takes that business-like tone again. he stands up, adjusts his suit jacket as he looks around the apartment. "weak little girls like you can't handle that kind of lifestyle."

he bends down and picks up his stolen wallet off the floor. he opens it, pulls out that card you saw before. the one with the weird shapes on it. he holds it out towards you, "here's an opportunity. you can call the number on this and participate in some games that will get you money—" he gestures towards the cash on the floor- your prize from playing ddakji. "— or you can keep living like this and encounter more horrible men like me who won't be as gentle with you as i was."

the last line makes you snort bitterly. right. gentle. his bruises would last for days, the trauma a lifetime. if this is his idea of gentle, you would never want to know what his 'rough' entails. his eye twitches and he smiles back, before dropping the card on your lap.

you stay on the floor, frozen, the reality of what just happened to you settling in. you can keep living like this— pickpocketing men, making ends meet with stolen change, getting raped, and living in this clusterfuck of an apartment just to avoid your father; or you can go wherever all that money came from. his voice sounds faraway when he speaks again.

"i'm trusting you to make the right choice."

he gathers his briefcase, sends one more glance your way before exiting the apartment like he was never there in the first place.

A/N: im not very good with smut, but i tried. i really wanted to write just porn but i physically cant bring myself to do that without adding lots of plot and psychological elements and a backstory. otherwise it feels soulless to me. i hope i didnt bore you. for anyone who read this, thank you. feedback and reblogs are always appreciated. maybe i'll write about inho soon too.

tags for people who commented for a part 2: @rafesbunniebby @screaming-potato @nerdybarbariancupcake @deadddoll

[nanaslutt]

gojo & geto fucking their pretty bestfriend (you guessed it, you<3) in the eiffel tower position <333

contains: fem reader, threesome, the boys are gay for each other, choking, hair pulling, dirty talk ofc, kinda rough, gojo is a brat, satosugu are switches, sub reader tho

MDNI

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔

"fucking christ this pussy is killing me," geto has a strong hold on your hips as he pulls you back on his dick, similtaniously knocking gojos cock deeper into your throat, making your eyes water as you gag around him

"hahaha don't tell me ur about to cum already Suguru, we jus started," gojos hand is resting on the underside of your throat, so he can feel his dick every time geto fucks you into him

"shut the fuck up satoru," geto hisses and gojo infuriatingly laughs in response, "how are you doin princess?" gojo directs his attention to you

there is no way you were responding while in the state you were currently in, coughing and sputtering spit around gojos cock while geto expertly fucked straight into your g-spot

"whats that? gotta speak up baby, cant understand you" he coos, whiping the tears and spit off your cheek with his slender fingers

if you had half a mind, you would've slapped gojo for being such a bully, but luckily for him, you didn't have half a mind, geto stuck up for you though; ever the sweetheart he is; "such a fuckin bully satoru, maybe I should fuck you next while they sit on your face, see how you fucking feel then huh?"

you couldnt lie that the thought of suffocating gojo between your thighs and having him suck on your clit while geto fucked high pitched whines out of him didnt sound like the worst idea in the world, but that was for another day

reaching down between your legs you rubbed quick circles on your clit while digging your nails into gojos thigh to stabilize yourself,

"oh, i think someone likes that idea" geto smiled, feeling you squeeze and pulse around him, "you wanna help me fuck the brat outta gojo princess? bet we'd make such a g-good team" he punctuated with a particularly deep thrust, almost making you lose yoru balance, resulting in you digging your nails impossibly deeper into gojos thigh

and gojo fucking moaned like a bitch, tipping his head back, both his hands instinctly gripping your hair as he hunched over you biting his lip, taking a deep breath and slowing his hips down, it took every once of his strength not to fill your mouth with his cum at that second

you choked at the rough treatment but were grateful when gojos hips slowed, the opportunity arose to swallow air into your lungs again and you greedily took it

geto's rough treatment of your poor abused pussy bouncing you a little on gojo's cock still, but the loss of gojo also assisting was a nice change of pace

gojo looked up through his lashes at the raven haired man, he was fucking smirking

this had now become a competition, as most things did between them

abandoning one of the hands he had gripped on your hair and reaching out in front of him instead, his target? geto's hair

gripping suguru's signature bun and pulling his face close to his, lips grazing each other as he smiled against the ravens lips, geto's smile now wiped completely off his face, his jaw now slack as he stared into gojos eyes, knowing exactly what gojo was getting at

"i know kissin gets you all hot huh, you wanna kiss me suguru?" his jaw opening slightly, tipping his head back and forth as he looks between sugurus eyes and his lips

you felt geto's cock twich inside you, his pace stuttering a bit at gojo's words, gripping your hip a little harder, for his own sanity, he would apologize for the bruises later

"what do you think baby, should I let him kiss me, huh? he'll probably fill you up the second I get my tongue in his mouth."

the speed at which the roles between them keep reversing is giving you whiplash, bringing you closer and closer to your own release

you try to speak around him, wanting to tell him 𝒚𝒆𝒔𝒚𝒆𝒔 𝒑𝒍𝒆𝒂𝒔𝒆 𝒘𝒂𝒏𝒏𝒂 𝒇𝒆𝒆𝒍 𝒊𝒕, opting to just nod as your mouth was filled to the brim with gojo's thick cock

"yeah, think i will, good call baby," he rubs his thumb on the top of your head soothingly as his attention is now back on geto

"what do you say suguru?" the mans mouth is so close to suguru's own, his eyes now staring at the place theyre about to be connected at

"thank you, thank you princess." he says as gojo finally lets their lips crash together

and its soooo messy, the kiss; if you can even call it that; is all teeth and tongue, both the men moaning into the others mouth, their moans rising in pitch

geto feels like he could cum at any second, but what kind of man would he be if the one who allowed him to cum in the first place didn't get to squirt all over his pretty cock first?

he blindly reaches down between your legs, pushing your own hand out of the way as he quickly finds your clit and rubs is back and forth at a speed that has the coil in your tummy to wind faster than it ever has

"squirt on me baby," he whines into the blondes mouth obscenely "need to feel you cum all over- m-my dick, please baby" he’s whining

suguru's kisses becoming less and less reciprocating as his jaw goes slack and gojo's keeps tongue slides into his mouth

your legs snap together as your cum squirts out all over geto's toned thighs, moans muffles, choking on gojo's cock bordering on blacking out from air deprivation and sheer pleasure as you have the longest and hardest orgasm of your fucking life "m gonna cum, o-oh my god oh my god, fuck gojo fuck, 'm gunna cum, m gonna fill her up" gojo moves his hand to geto's throat, squeezing his throat, hard, tipping his head into sugurus

"m right there with you baby, gunna cum inside her pretty pussy, yeah? gonna cum inside her while I mess up her tight little throat?" hes talking geto through it

and youre trying to keep yourself awake as they fuck you from both ends into overstimulation, squeezing your pussy and swallowing around them both as you try to milk them for all theyre worth

ome of suguru's hands leaving its place on your hip to grab gojos wrist as the white-haired man tightens his grip, knowing just how to bring him to his climax

geto stills before he hunches forward over you and into gojo as he fucks rope after rope of his hot cum into your abused pussy, moans broken up by gasps as gojo tightens and loosens his grip on suguru's throat

quickly pulling out his cock from your mouth gojo pumps his cock at an inhumane pace, your heaving but you still instinctively stick your tonge out, like the good girl you are as his thick cum covers your face, he would feel bad about covering your hair and long pretty eyelashes with his cum but.. who is he kidding, he doesnt feel bad at all, his favorite girl with his seed all over your face, its the prettiest sight hes ever seen

letting your head fall against gojos thigh as your chest rises and falls rapidly, wincing as geto pulls out his softening cock from behind you, biting his lip stairing down at your ruined hole

"heh, i-," "shut the fuck up and come look at at this" suguru cuts off his best friend, gojo pouts but gently slides your head off his thigh to crawl to the other end of the bed and check out the veiw the raven-haired man is so adamant on showing him

your so red and your pussy is so puffy and angry, geto's cum has been steadily dripping out of you and down your thigh

gojo whistles as he pulls your lips apart to get a better look, he swipes his thumb on you, collecting some of your combined cum together, you whine at how sensitive and sore you already are

gojo pushes your shoulder back twords the bed so your chest is facing the ceiling as he leans over you and slips his thumb in your mouth, making you taste you and suguru's combined mess, "what do you say, pretty?" he watches your lips wrap around his finger befoer he pops it out of your mouth

"t-thank you" you say, voice hoarse

gojo giggles, starting to get up from the bed to get some towels to clean the three of you up

"so," you start "when were you guys gonna tell me you’ve fucked before?"

part 2 :p

[almadelsur]

💋 The Turmoil One Suffers

summary: In the second installment of The Secrets One Keeps, a relaxing day on the pogue proves to be anything but, with your inner struggles getting the better of you and JJ hot on your tail.

jj maybank x reader, rafe cameron x reader

warnings: some good old angsty pining, very very slight smut if you squint, fem!reader, talks of suffocation ig? plz let me know if I've missed anything.

a/n: SHE'S BACKKKK, so I've decided to completely reformat and re-post this fic with a few tweaks and editing considering I first wrote this like 3 years ago. Also, for those asking, I won't be doing a taglist for this fic bc I'm lazy and technologically deficient.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・

You shouldn’t have been smoking, it made you feel uneasy, paranoid even.

You had found yourself on the pogue in the wake of Pope’s incessant bitching about how you had to make up for ditching them last night. The guilt had made you cave in. As he spoke, all that had flashed through your head was images of Rafe. You on top of Rafe, Rafe with his hands around your neck, the way Rafe’s hair felt between your fingers as you gripped on it when he got messy between your-

“Dude” Sarah’s voice snapped you out of your recurring thoughts.

You turned your head to her as you took a drag of the blunt JJ had rolled, "hmm?"

“I asked if you wanted a beer?”

You checked the time on your phone, 12pm. After enduring 3 hours on this floating nightmare, you decide you're probably deserving of one.

“uh yeah sure.” You took another hit, extending your arm to grab the cold bottle.

You bought the edge of the glass bottle up to your lips and took a swig, letting the liquid wash over your cotton mouth. A swig swiftly turning into a gulp as thirst suddenly became itself known to you. One gulp then turned to two and before you knew it the bottle dried out.

JJ eyed your every move, the feeling that had been bugging him since you got into the Twinkie that morning had now grown into full-blown concern. Your unusual behaviour was deafening with the sounds of alarm bells.

“Thirsty?” He spoke with furrowed brows, prompting Pope to chuckle though no joke had been intended.

Your eyes flickered towards JJ momentarily and instantly you knew what he was  thinking. Anger disguised as adrenaline coursed through you.

“Sarah will you pass me another? Mines empty.” Defiance clear in your tone, causing a thick tension to settle over the boat.

“'s a bit it early to start chugging drinks isn’t it?” JJ speaks up again before Sarah has time to respond.

You scoffed as you turned to him once more, maintaining eye contact as you took a long drag from blunt. As you exhaled the smoke, the thick white cloud blurred his features.

“Sarah” you tried again.

You hear a small sigh as she hands you another bottle.

“Thank you” You took another swig at the bottle, hoping the liquid would force down the concoction of guilt and anger that swirled in your mouth.

“So like am I saying words out loud or is it just in my head?” JJ tried, at this point he just wanted a reaction out of you.

“You asked me to come here.” Your tone was snippy, as another burst of smoke entered your system.

“well my mistake clearly.” He was getting pissed off now, and you couldn’t deny the sick satisfaction it gave you. You knew it was unfair, he hadn’t done anything wrong, you just couldn’t help it.

Pope cleared his throat. “This is a whole lotta tension for such a little boat.” He tried to lighten the mood but his joke fell flat.

As you downed your second beer, you took another drag. “It is isn’t it?” You turned to him.

“Maybe you should have some of this JJ, it’ll help you relax.” You threw the blunt in his direction, letting it fall at his feet.

“What the hell crawled up your ass today?” JJ spat at you, picking up the blunt.

The mixture of alcohol and weed infected your system, your breathing became staggered as you suddenly became hyper aware of the layers clinging onto your body.

You don't answer. Instead choosing to stand up and remove your T-shirt. Rafe returned to your mind as you focused on the image of him mimicking your same actions. Your trousers were next to go. You pushed them down whilst picturing Rafe’s hands running down your legs.

Pope eyed Sarah and JJ who’s gaze were trained on you and your movements.

“Whatcha doing there bud?” Sarah asked watching you strip down to your underwear.

“I’m too hot” was all you said, stepping off the edge of the boat and letting yourself plunge into the cool water below you.

As you became completely submerged, you breathed out all of the air in your irritated lungs. Leaving you empty and heavy as you continued to sink. The muffled noises of the water hit against your head yet all you could hear was your thoughts racing. 

As the need for air increased, the rush of thought slowed. You liked it. The weightlessness of your body, mixed with the numbing of all of your senses was peacefull. A welcome change from the overdrive your body had been running on for the past year. 

You forced yourself to stay down there, pushing your physical boundaries. A split second before completely losing consiousness you emerged again, letting the air penetrate through your system and invade your insides as it worked to reboot your muscles before giving life again to the internal mayhem in your mind again. 

You floated with your head above the surface and your back facing the pogues. You couldn’t find yourself to act remotely interested in what they thought about your little show. 

JJ in turn felt as though he was slowly loosing his head. He felt dumbfounded because it wasn’t just your behaviour that was different, your entire demeanour and vibe was off and he failed to comprehend what could have happened in the span of 12 hours for you to return to him a complete different person. 

Sarah could see the way he looked at you, he was hot on your tail and she panicked trying to divert his calculating eyes from you. “So” she spoke up loud enough so that you could hear and be part of the conversation should you wish to. “Theres a party at my house tonight.”

“Oh really?” JJ answered, evidently uninterested as he continued his stare down with the back of your head. 

“Yeah Ward’s out of town with Rose and y'know Rafe, any opportunity he has to get shitfaced he’ll take it.” Relief washed over her as JJ’s eyes finally unglued from you. 

At the mention of Rafe your ears perked up. 

“Do you guys wanna come?” A devilish grin on her face evident as she spoke. 

“A kook party? We wouldn't be welcome.” Pope answered for the three of you, prompting a scoff from Sarah. 

“It’s my house too, plus I already threatened Rafe to let me invite you guys. I told him I’d snitch on him otherwise.” She shrugged.

“I’m sure he loved that” JJ added, amused at the thought of antagonising the Cameron boy. 

“Well what did he say?” Three pairs of eyes turned to you as you finally spoke up from the water, now facing the boat again. 

JJ couldnt help the face that your question caused him to pull. Why did you suddenly care about what Rafe Cameron had to say? Sarah already said they could go so why did it even matter? 

“He said whatever as long we stay away from him.” Her answer caused Pope and JJ to roll their eyes. It had been somewhat of a lie though. 

Because what Rafe had really said when Sarah had threatened him was, “whatever just stay away from us, and why don't you go ahead and bring that sexy little friend of yours.” 

To which Sarah had replied with, “We wouldn’t want to hang out with you and your classist friends anyway. Also, Kiara’s with JJ, and Y/N wouldn’t even touch you with a 10 foot pole so.” Unkowing of the situation between you and Rafe.

Looking back at it now, Rafe’s coy response of “we’ll see” suddenly made much more sense to her as she shuddered slightly in disgust. 

“Can’t we take a night off? I mean don’t you guys think we’ve been going a little extra hard recently?” Pope tried to reason as you swam back up towards the boat, forcing yourself on board again. 

“I’ll be there.” You interjected as the water ran down your body, soaking the deck of the hms. 

“we all will be.” JJ fired back, a confusing swirl of concern and anger towards your attitude fought for dominance within his head. 

You ignored him once more and lay back on the sodden deck, letting your persistant introspection rest as the blanket that was intoxication comforted you. You looked up at the clouds and the weighlessness returned. Before you knew it, he sounds of Pope and Sarah chatting drifted away with the soft waves that carried the boat. You lost grip on consciousness as the sun lulled you to sleep.

Around half an hour went by before JJ spoke up. “hey" he double checked you were definitely asleep.

He took your silence as confirmation before turning to the other two. “Y'all saw that right?”

“Saw what?” Sarah played dumb even though he she knew exactly what he was referring to.

“the way she was acting” He whisper shouted, confused as to why no one else seemed remotely worried. “It was like she hated us.” He spoke with the tone of a wounded man.

“Yeah… us.” Pope muttered under his breath.

“I think she’s just tired J, she uh- she had a long night.” Sarah stiffled what had been something between a laugh and a groan.

“Nah guys look- I know her, that wasn’t normal.” JJ didn’t ease up.

“We all know her.” Pope jumped on the defensive.

“c’mon dude it’s not just me, somethings obviously wrong”

At this point Sarah wished for anything to distract him, because as much as JJ wasn’t the sharpest tool in the shed when it came to academic performance, he most certainly wasn’t dumb. And he definitely knew what he was talking about when it came to you.

“Maybe It’s.. you know..” Pope waggled his eyebrows. “Her time…” he awkwardly scratched the back of his neck “of- of the month?”

“Nice Pope.” Sarah rolled her eyes.

“’s not that. Guys look listen to me somethings definitely wr-“ the ringing of his phone interrupted JJ mid sentence. Saved by the bell. Literally.

JJ grabbed his phone and his frown eased up slightly as he looked at the caller ID.

“Hey baby” his tone made it seem like whatever he had been worrying about softened it’s grip on him at the sound of her voice. “Uh huh, okay give us ten and we’ll be there.” He hung up the phone and slipped it back into his pocket.

“Kie?” Sarah asked, praying he wouldn’t resume his ramble.

“Yeah she’s finished up at the wreck, wants us to go get her.” And with that the subject was dropped.

—————————————————————————

The late afternoon breeze stroked you awake as you suddenly became aware of the voices around you.

Your eyes fluttered open and you stirred where you lay, your body stiff from the 4 hour positioning against the hard wood of the hms. You slowly sat yourself up and threw your T-shirt back on your body before turning back to glance at the now complete group of pogues. Fuck how long had you been out for.

You let your eyes linger on Kiara and JJ a couple of seconds longer than everybody else. He laughed carelessly pulling her tighter against his side. You groaned out quietly and reached for your phone, typing out that damned name.

To Rafe: Having a party and you didn’t invite me? I’m almost offended.

Almost instantly a reply came through.

Miss me already?

You rolled your eyes as he sent you another.

Figured Sarah would open her big mouth, better see you tonight ;)

“Morning Camper.” John B spoke up. You turned around to face him, every single one of them with their attention on you.

“Hey can you take me home?” You directed at no one in particular.

“You don’t wanna stay and hang out?” Kie asked, she wanted to reach you, connect with you.

“I just want to go home” You were irritated and your head hurt, you were certainly in no mood for any of this.

John B was next to try “C’mon man we haven’t all hung out like this in ag-“

“Fuck just take me home” You lashed out. “please” You added in an attempt to soften the blow.

Silence fell over the pogues as John B lifted himself up and steered the boat towards the direction of your house.

As you hopped down you muttered a joyless goodbye to everyone.

“Wait! I’ll walk you in.” JJ peeled himself away from Kiara and followed behind you, slightly speeding as you hadn’t bothered to stop and wait.

He walked beside you, waiting until you were both out of hearing distance from the others.

“why are you angry?” He spoke up.

“I’m not angry.” You tried to walk faster but a calloused hand stopped you.

“Stop. Just stop.” You heard the desperation in his voice as he turned you around to face him. “can you just talk to me? Look whatever I did to piss you off I’m sorry. You just- you were fine yesterday and now all of a sudden you hate us-“

“Stop JJ” You just wanted it to stop. The consequence of your actions pounding down on you with every word that left his mouth.

“Stop what?!” He couldn’t help but shake you.

“Talking! Stop talking!” You shoved him forcefully off of you.

“The hell's wrong with you?! dude I’m worried about you. Today’s just been so weird.” His fingers shoved themselves through his hair, a nervous habit of his.

The familiar lump in your throat began to form at the sight of your best friend.

“I’m tired J.” It wasn’t a lie, you really were fucking exhausted. You were tired of lying, tired of watching the boy you loved love someone else, tired of trudging through your life heartbroken.

“You’re lying.” He shook his head like a disappointed parent. “Why you lyin' to me?”

“JJ. I’m. Tired.” You screwed your eyes shut as your breathing began to quicken “I’m not lying I’m just-“

“Okay alright.”  His embrace cut you off. “I believe you.” He hated seeing you upset. Having known you practically his whole life, he also knew that nothing ever got resolved when you got like this, so he dropped the subject.

You almost broke down then and there, using everything you had in you to move your arms around him, hugging him back.

“I’m sorry.” You whispered, the meaning behind your words far greater than he could realise.

“Hey it’s okay, we all have off days right?” He let go of you and gave you a small smile.

“Right.” Your remained court and quiet. 

“I’ll see you tonight. Go rest for a bit okay?”

You nodded and began to walk away before his voice stopped you once more.

“Yo” You turned to see that he had shoved his hands in pockets. “You’d tell me if something was wrong right?” He hated that he even had to ask.

“Mhm, course” You lied straight through your teeth before turning and walking away from him uninterrupted. You knew that as soon and as your bedroom door closed behind you, you’d sink down into a pit of despair and loathing.

Whilst the resolution had given him a little comfort, something deep inside told him that this wasn’t the end of it.

Perhaps he should have left things alone, maybe then things wouldn’t have escalated to extent that they were about to.

So as he watched you walk away, JJ stood there unknowing of what was to come. Unknowing of the way things were about to change between you forever.

[lysarion]

━━━━━━ hockey pucks and journal edits ⟢

♱    |    phainon, the constant mvp of hockey games since sophomore years of college, finds himself fumbling after you don't interview him for your next article.

𖤝 including  ⠀! ⠀phainon         ◟          𖤝 warnings ⠀! ⠀modern/school setting, phainon is a bit dumbt /aff, ne beta we die like chrysos heirs

❝      tags     ⚜     .  if you'd like to be tagged please send me an ask off-anon!!!

thinking about hockey player phainon who first meets you when aglaea announces that a few students from the journalism committee will be conducting an interview on the upcoming tournament this season.

he’s seen you around, phainon surmises as you greet each member of his team with a friendly smile. he finds it exceptionally charming at how attentive you seem when listening to each of their answers—nodding your head along, waiting for them to finish answering before asking your follow up question, and the way you jot down notes here and there with a deep contemplative expression ( he ignores he finds it cute when you subconsciously pout your lips when trying to make sense of some of his teammate’s answers ). 

maybe it was boredom from having to wait his turn to finally talk to you, but phainon can’t help but let his eyes wander, respectfully of course. he’s not quite sure himself but finally seeing the person behind those immersive sports essays pinned on the campus bulletin boards fill him with uncontainable excitement. he’s read some of your works and he finds himself in awe at the way you retell a story—just the thought of you printing out his experiences on the sport with your signature hook has him impatiently bouncing his leg. 

but he waits, because disrupting your focus would be disrespectful and phainon knows how important first impressions are. as he’s waiting though, he finds himself smiling at how your club members call you “chief”—a nod to your position as the editor in chief. he finds it cute and endearing at how you handle your younger members as if you were a parent—doting and affectionate, but not overbearing nor suffocating.

someone nudges him out of his staring, a teammate with a knowing and a careless arm strewn over his shoulder. phainon tries to escape their clutches and teasing smirks but he only fumbles when he notices you leaving the practice rink.

“huh? but i thought everyone on the team gets to be interviewed?” he asks, voice slightly downcast with disappointment. 

his teammate pats him on the back when phainon pouts. “nice try captain. better luck next time!”

next time indeed but it wasn’t you trying to interview phainon, no, it was the other way around. the following day, phainon wakes up earlier than his alarm (albeit only 10 minutes earlier) to try and catch you pinning new written articles made by your club at the bulletin board. to no avail, phainon does not catch sight of you. but he doesn’t leave empty handed. he noticed when browsing your club’s previous works that certain contact information would be edited in into the final products. so with a trained eye, phainon scouts for your written masterpiece in hopes of acquiring your contact information.

and he does! though he spends the rest of the day staring blankly at your saved contact—your number saved as “chief” on his phone—typing and deleting messages until the sun eventually sets.

“captain, do you have a minute?”

phainon freezes and shakily turns around. there he sees you, a clipboard in hand as your signature camera hangs by your neck. you offer him the same friendly smile from the other day and phainon curses himself for not going through with his initial plans to shower.

when you tilt your head in question at his lack of answer, phainon stutters out a quick reply. “y-yeah… yeah, of course! is there anything i can help you with chief editor?”

your smile quirks up in amusement when phainon addresses you with your club title. phainon, on the other hand, was nervously clenching and unclenching his fist at his side. his other hand rubs at the pack of his neck as you clear your throat.

“as you know, you’re next tournament is approaching and we, as the journalists, have been tasked with reporting on it.” 

phainon nods his head to show that he’s paying attention. you continue.

“yesterday we started our one on one interviews with the hockey team, but as editor in chief, i have decided to leave you out—“

“wait why!?”

.

.

.

you let out an amused snort as phainon flushes in embarrassment. your fist do a poor job of hiding your growing smile—but so does phainon's with his reddening cheek and ears.

“as i was saying,” you choke out in between quiet laughs. phainon sighs, completely accepting his fate as you flash him another smile—slightly easier and more lax than the last. “for the sole reason that i get to interview the game’s mvp myself.”

phainon points at himself with a bewildered expression, “me? the game’s mvp? isn’t that jumping the gun, chief. i mean the games haven’t even been played yet.”

you tilt your head, a sure expression falling kn your face. “yes, that is true. but you’ve consistently been the mvp since our sophomore years. how will this be any different?”

phainon swears you’re not good for his heart. 

“so,” he starts hesitantly. “i just need to get mvp again… and you get to interview me?”

“that’s correct.”

“okay, okay, cool…” phainon taps his foot on the ground. the arm by his side now clings to the strap of his bag as you smile.

“then it’s decided! i wish you the best of luck. farewell for now.”

“wait a moment!”

a firm hand catches your wrist in a gentle hold when you turn to walk away. when you gaze back at phainon, he’s avoiding your eyes—cheeks a little more red as he awkwardly scratches his cheek.

“if i get mvp, will you be… maybe, kinda, okay with going out for lunch. with me….”

you stand there, stunned and incredibly enamoured. with a quiet huff you reply, “sure. its a date then.”

phainon’s head swerves to look at you with bright eyes. his lips twitch up into a grin. “really?! awesome, i’ll see you then! and feel free to drop by the rink m’kay?”

© 𝓵ysarion 2025 — do not plagiarize, repost, or translate works without the knowledge or consent of the creator in other platforms or websites.

[unholyfudgebiscuits]

Being Human

Derek knows humans are fragile in comparison to wolves. He did have human siblings after all and his mother drilled their vulnerability into him since he was old enough to understand. He knows he has to be gentle around them, knows they are weaker and prone to sickness. Consciously he knows this, but he isn't at all prepared for when Stiles—the only human in the pack—is hurt.

Actually hurt.

Gasping, crying, arms shaking in pain hurt.

He doesn't know what the fuck to do. Because they're alone, trapped, and he can smell the wrongness coming off the human. He can hear his heartbeat fluctuating from weak to sporadic and the sweat and blood and scent of fear blankets the enclosed space so profoundly he thinks he's going to suffocate off the smell.

He siphons away whatever he can but there's still too much. It's barely a bandage over an open artery, like trying to put out a fire with an eyedropper. Even with him pulling away most of the pain the infection has already spread. Every gasping breath and rattling cough has Derek's body twitching in panic.

Human.

The word is a curse, a defect in his world. If Stiles were a wolf he could re-brake and heal the broken rib digging into his lung. The gash on his side would have slowed in it's bleeding if not stopped all together. If he were a wolf there would be no infection or sickness or bloody nose. The bite is a gift.

Derek doesn't know what to do with the frail, weakened human laying with his head on his thigh. He can't even think through the dread and worry and helplessness. Stiles curls in on himself, leans into the hand that is trying to staunch the blood and pull away the pain.

"Not quite how I imagined things would go when I daydreamed about my face down in your lap Sourwolf..." He jokes. Derek almost wants to shake him for it. Stiles is dying and he's joking.

"Don't talk. The pack should be here soon."

"N-Not talk? Have you met me? I'm alone in the dark with Beacon Hill's most eligible grump and you expect me not to make a sex joke?"

"Stiles!" Derek growls and then stops when he hears the awful whistling sound coming from his chest.

"I'm fine. Just a little fever..." Derek wishes it were just a little fever. Wishes he knew the difference between a little fever and this. He doesn't remember his baby sister feeling this warm when his mother said she was sick. He doesn't really remember much of the younger ones... the human ones. Maybe he'd be more helpful if he did...

"Stop it." Stiles chastise. "You keep frowning like that and you're eyebrows will grow together." Derek hates that he does this... Hates that he's the one in pain and he's still trying to lighten Derek's mood. Hates that he's smiling at him through a grimace, that he's looking at him like he's worth something when he knows he isn't.

"I'm okay Der." Stiles says gently. "You k-know you can't actually get rid of me right? I've sorta got a pool going with the pack. How long it'll take till I can get you to say you love me. It's gotta be unironically of course. Lydia's rules." Derek feels his heartbeat tick up at that and Stiles smiles. "I say this year, Scott gave you three. But I know I'm your favorite so it shouldn't be hard."

"Stop moving." He begs when Stiles turns onto his back to look up at him.

"Better view."

"Stiles!" Stubborn! Humans were stubborn. Weak and frail and as stubborn as they came.

"You're beautiful." Stiles murmurs and Derek feels his breath catch in his throat. "Maybe that's wrong to say to a guy huh? But like, I always thought it. Y-Your eyes. I like looking at them. Even when you go all grumpy and broody and flash red at me, they're still beautiful."

Derek feels Stiles' body shake with another jolt of pain and maybe, he's the one crying now. "You gotta promise me something Der, okay? P-Please. You gotta take care of my dad."

"Don't-"

"Would you just listen? I love Scott, I trust him with my life. He's my brother when it comes down to it but he's pretty freaking useless when he's got a new girlfriend with him and dad's going to be bad for a while. He'll drink. A lot... or worse he'll just jump head first into any job they throw at him. P-Please just watch over him for me?." Derek feels himself nodding and Stiles' pained smile widens.

"You know you've always been my alpha right?" Derek startles at that. "Like I said, I love Scott and I love the pack. I'd do anything for any one of you but... since the beginning. Since the start, you've always been my alpha."

"Stiles-"

"Just take care of dad. Scott will be okay, Lydia might need you more than she lets on. And Isaac says he doesn't want anything to do with you but it's not true. I-It's not. If anything he wants you to be proud of him. So call him okay? He'd be on the next flight home, he'd be back here at your side the second he sees your name light up. He kept the same number. Explain it to him. Tell him why you sent him away. N-Not for you, for him. He thinks you hate him, don't let him think it anymore."

Derek can't understand. Can't begin to make sense of this human. This small, 145 pound, eighteen year old looking up at him with all the tranquility and calmness of a condemned man. He's no longer scared. Fear has been replaced with a sense of serenity and its worse! Far worse than the terror. Derek presses harder onto the bleeding wound, chokes on the sob that wants to wrench it's way out of his throat when he hears it... The low howl a mile off.

He covers Stiles' ears and howls back, feeling relief and hope and looking at those confused brown eyes that haven't stopped watching him since they ended up in this hell hole.

"D-Der?"

"I love you." He says, because he does. Because he's never not cared for this ridiculous human being. He had been his headache, his friend, his anchor... The one who has protected him, saved him, given him a family when he never thought he deserved it. The resilient, caring little human that looked at him like he meant something. Like he was worthy of meaning something.

Resilient and stubborn and caring and selfless and fragile... And Derek wishes he were half the human Stiles is.

[urno1luv]

ningselle x reader having ig live them being touchy ang being flirty with each other !!

i love this idea omo🫣

as always men and minors dni tank yeww

tags: cunnilingus (r receiving, ning giving), one mild hair pull (giselle), tit sucking (r receiving, gigi giving), fingering (ning giving), soft dom ningselle, fluffy kinda

reader speech: italic + bold

ningselle: just bold

the live starts normal. cute, sweet. you’re sandwiched between ningning and giselle on the dorm couch, hair a little messy, oversized hoodie slipping off one shoulder, scrolling through comments like you’re not about to be publicly devoured by your own members.

"say hi!" you chirp at the camera, smile wide and warm, totally unaware of the danger you’re in.

but then giselle shifts closer. like closer closer. her thigh pressing into yours, arm thrown around your shoulders all casual-like, except her fingers are brushing up and down your arm very much not casually, and her perfume is fogging up your brain.

"she’s been ignoring me all day," giselle says, voice syrupy sweet, eyes on the chat.

"i think y/n needs to be reminded of who she belongs to."

you choke. literally choke.

the comments explode. CAPS LOCK. screaming emojis. people begging for subtitles, and asking if this is fanservice or a cry for help.

you try to laugh it off, batting at her arm. "giselle, you’re being weird-"

"am i?" her voice is low. dangerous. smug.

and then she leans in closer, her lips barely brushing your ear. "baby, if i wanted to be weird, i’d do it off camera."

ningning silently watches the two of you, making a disgusted face, but decides to join the fun!! her arm snakes around your waist from the other side like it’s nothing, like she owns you too, resting her chin on your shoulder while her hand starts absently playing with the hem of your hoodie.

"don’t be mean, unnie," she pouts, and it’s fake. she’s so fake. she knows exactly what she’s doing. "she’s just shy. aren’t you, baby?"

your mouth opens. no words come out.

because now you’ve got giselle trailing her fingers along your collarbone, and ningning playing with the inside of your sleeve, and the comments are absolutely UNHINGED.

“IS THIS A THROUPLE???”

“DOES SM KNOW?????”

“WHY IS GISELLE LOOKING AT HER LIKE THAT”

“NINGNING’S HAND. HER HAND. HER-”

you try to salvage the live. key word try. "guys," you stammer, and your voice is not steady, "let’s answer some questions-"

"i have a question," giselle interrupts, smile all teeth and sin.

"how long are you gonna pretend you don’t love this?"

your brain bluescreens. "w-what-"

"oh c’mon," ningning giggles against your neck, lips brushing your skin.

"you always melt when we touch you like this. don't make that face now, it’s cute."

her hand is sliding up under your hoodie now, off-camera, fingertips just barely grazing your waist, and your breath catches, just for a second, but it’s enough. they both notice.

"there she is," giselle purrs, and you want the floor to swallow you.

your cheeks are burning, your voice is gone, and you can feel their hands on you, warm and teasing and too much but not enough at the same time, and it’s all happening in front of thousands of people watching through a screen that’s showing everything and nothing at once.

the live ends with you barely keeping it together, eyes wide, hair a mess, hoodie halfway off your shoulder, and giselle whispering,

"you’re in so much trouble when this ends."

ningning winks at the camera. "thanks for watching MYs!! we love you as always," she says sweetly.

"and don't worry, we’ll take good care of her."

and then the screen goes black. and the room goes silent. you look at both of them, and they’re looking back at you, which is when you realize that the live was the warm-up.

the suffocating tension that’s been building since the second giselle slid her hand down your arm and ningning started tracing lazy little circles on your thigh.

you try to stand up, play it off, maybe make a joke, but giselle grabs your wrist, gentle but firm, like she’s barely trying and still completely in control.

"don’t run now," she says, voice soft but sharp. "you didn’t run when they were watching."

"unnie, look at y/n," ningning hums, and there’s that tone again-that mocking sweetness that makes your knees weak. "she was squirming the whole time. acting like she didn’t love every second." she leans in, lips brushing your cheek.

"but your eyes? you were begging."

"i wasn’t-" you try, but it’s pathetic. you can hear your own submission in your voice, and that’s it. that’s all giselle needs.

she pulls you back down, right between them again, her hand sliding into your hair, tugging just enough to make you gasp in pain.

"don’t lie to us," she whispers. her lips are right at your ear now, breath hot, making your heart stutter. "you like when we touch you. when we tease you. when we make you ours in front of everyone."

you should say something. you should.

but then ningning sliding her hand under your hoodie again, cool fingers against your warm skin, nails dragging lightly over your stomach and up your ribs felt too good.

"that’s what i thought," giselle murmurs, thumb stroking your cheek. "you’re such a good girl when you’re flustered."

"she doesn’t deserve to be let off easy," ningning says, all fake innocence, curling up beside you with a grin that’s dangerous.

"i think we should remind her how it feels to really be the center of attention."

"mm," giselle nods, fingers slipping under your chin, tilting your head back until you’re forced to look into her eyes. "make her beg a little. for real this time."

you don’t know where to look-everywhere burns. their hands, their voices, their eyes watching your every twitch and breath and tiny whimper like you’re something fragile they can twist up and remake into something theirs.

"please," you whisper, you don’t even know what you’re asking for, you just need, and the way their expressions darken? yeah. they’ve got you exactly where they want you.

"good girl," giselle breathes. "now sit still. we’re not done showing you off yet." just not for the fans this time. just for them.

"keep up this behaviour and we'll be nice. take off your clothes., y/n."

"please."

that’s the only word you’ve managed in the past two minutes, and it’s already been too much. giselle's lips wrapped around you swollen nipples, with ningyi kissing and biting at your thighs, and you can feel yourself getting wetter and wetter by the second.

giselle stopped her assualt on you, satisfied with her lipstick smeared all over your chest, her hickies prominent. she moved behind you now, legs bracketing yours, arms looped tight around your waist like a vice. you’re basically in her lap, hoodie pushed up, skin burning where her fingers keep brushing, so slow. so careful. like she’s savoring you. like she owns you.

and ningning? she’s still in front of you, all sweetness and cruelty, laying on her stomach as she leaned in close, close enough that you can feel her breath on your burning core, but not enough that her lips touched.

"you’re being so quiet now, baby," she says, voice all silk and sugar and something darker.

"she’s shy again," giselle hums into your neck, nosing at your jawline like she’s tasting how far she can push.

"so cute. so helpless. she likes being in the middle. doesn’t know where to look, who to listen to, what to do with her hands-"

your breath stutters, your lashes flutter, and that’s when giselle grips your waist. tight. "focus," she hisses, but not angry. hungry. "eyes on ning. she’s waiting."

you try. god, you try. you lock eyes with ningning, and she just smiles. that dangerous, pretty smile she only wears when she’s got you wrapped around her finger.

"good girl," she murmurs. "that’s it."

her hand rises, slow, measured, fingers massaging your slit, and her tongue caressing your folds, moving her tongue in motions that left you shivering in giselle's arms.

"do you like this?" you nod, giselle's mouth close to your ear as she spoke. "say it." you open your mouth. nothing but a whimper comes out.

"she can’t even talk," giselle laughs into your ear, one hand sliding down your stomach, slow enough to make your spine arch.

"and y/nnie was trying to act normal on live. normal. can you believe that?"

"just wanted to look cute for the fans, huh?" ningning pulls back, a string of saliva connecting her mouth to your pussy, her fingers thrusting in and out, the lewd sounds of your pussy squelching around her making you burn red with embarrassment.

"should we give them a private performance next time? let them see what a whore for your unnies you are?"

"she’d cry," giselle purrs. "she’s already so close."

you can’t answer, an orgasm ripping through your body, a high pitched moan leaving your mouth. you’re not even sure you remember how to answer. your head’s tipped back, body trembling, held between them like something holy and ruined at the same time.

and then they switch into a softer, gentler version of themselves, satisfied with what they've received from you.

ningning leans forward and kisses your cheek, her plump lips resting there for a few seconds, slowly easing her fingers out.

giselle loosens her grip just a little, arms still locked around you, but her lips at your ear now, whispering: "breathe. we’ve got you."

"you did so well," ningning whispers, brushing your hair back from your face. "so perfect. we’re proud of you."

and just like that, you melt, but not from their touches, not from the teasing, but from the softness underneath all that dominance. the way they’re still holding you like you’re the most precious thing in the world, like you’re theirs.

and maybe you are. maybe you always were🙂‍↕️

[thestarsaboveme]

Reader thinks the Lads men are cheating with MC

masterlist

this was a request from a kind anon.

summary: angst with comfort, reader and lads men having a misunderstanding because reader is overthinking that they’re cheating on her with the mc since they always spend time with the mc and spending less time with the reader.

xavier ver. | zayne ver. | sylus ver. | caleb ver.

rafayel x reader | angst/comfort

You weren't proud of the thoughts you were having.

Not when Rafayel was as breathtaking as ever, standing in the distant glow of the garden lanterns, talking to her again. MC. His voice was low, that velvet-like voice that used to make your chest flutter. Now, it curled in your stomach with unease.

He was smiling. Not the lazy, teasing one he gave everyone. But something softer. Something rare. Something that, lately, he'd stopped giving you.

You watched from a distance, the bitter ache of overthinking clawing up your spine like ivy. They stood close, too close. Her hand brushed his sleeve. He didn't pull away.

You turned away before you could see more.

-

The silence in your room was suffocating when you returned. Rafayel hadn't noticed you watching. He rarely noticed, these days.

The messages had slowed. The way he'd linger after kissing your cheek had vanished. His excuses, though charming and gilded with half-truths, always ended with the same conclusion: ''I have things to handle with MC.''

You used to trust him implicitly. But love could be fragile. Especially when the person you loved was a master of masks.

You sat on the edge of the bed and opened your message thread with him. It felt empty despite all the hearts and winks that littered it.

Your fingers hovered over the keyboard.

Can we talk tonight? Please. I need to clear my head.

You sent it. Watched the little ''read'' notification blink.

And waited.

Five minutes.

Ten.

Then finally.

Of course, cutie. I'll come after I finish with MC. It won't take long.

You stared at his message, bile rising in your throat.

Of course it was MC again.

-

It was nearly midnight when Rafayel arrived.

''Hey,'' he said softly, stepping inside like the room wasn't filled with every unspoken word you'd been swallowing for days. ''You look like a storm's been living in you.''

You folded your arms, trying not to meet his eyes. ''Maybe because there has.'

He tilted his head, the teasing edge in his voice momentarily gone. ''Tell me:''

You looked at him then. Really looked. He was still beautiful in that untouchable, almost celestial way. Still the man who had stolen your heart with laughter and warmth and frustrating riddles.

And yet, right now, he felt like a stranger standing in the doorway of your grief.

''You've been spending all your time with her,'' you said. ''MC.''

Rafayel blinked. The silence dragged.

''I have responsibilities_''

''I know that,'' you snapped. ''What I don't know is wether those responsibilities come with…feelings.''

He stared, and for a terrifying second, he didn't say anything at all.

So you pushed, voice cracking. ''Are you cheating on me with her?''

The air in h´the room changed. It was like the very space between you shattered.

Rafayel didn't move. Didn't blink.

Then he laughed. Softly, bitterly.

''Oh, that's what you think of me?''

You flinched. ''I didn't want to. But you're always with her. You talk about her like she's this bright star you can't help but orbit. You disappear on me, lie about where you're going sometimes. And when you are here, it's like your heart isn't.''

His expression was unreadable. ''So you've decided the only explanation is betrayal?''

''I don't know what to think anymore!'' you cried. ''Because you won't let me in. You always hide behind jokes or silence or some metaphor I can't unravel…''

Something flickered behind his eyes. Hurt. Guilt. Anger.

''Do you have any idea how many times I've wanted to tell you the truth?'' he asked, stepping closer. ''But I don't, because every time I look at you, I see softness. Warmth. A place untouched by all the filth I deal with. And I tell myself, if I keep my shadows from you, maybe I can keep you clean.''

''That's not your choice,'' you whispered. ''I didn't fall in love with a perfect man. I fell in love with you. The complicated, broken, reckless version.''

Rafayel looked down at the floor, jaw clenched.

''You think I'm in love with her?'' he asked quietly. ''Is that really what your heart is telling you?''

You hesitated.

''I think…you might be starting to wonder if you chose wrong. That maybe she's more compatible. That she's stronger, easier to share the weight with. You don't have to protect her like you protect me.''

His voice dropped. ''Don't do that. Don't turn your fears into my truth.''

''Then tell me the truth!'' you yelled, fists clenched. ''Because if you keep shutting me out, you'll lose me anyway.''

He looked at you then. Really looked. And what you saw there stole the breath from your lungs.

''Do you think you're easy to love, cutie?'' he asked, voice low.

You froze. ''What?''

He stepped closer, his voice like thunder muffled behind silk.

''Because I do. And that terrifies me.''

Your heart skipped. ''You're…scared of loving me?''

''I've never had anything I was afraid to lose until you,'' he said. ''and I don't know how to be with someone who sees the real me and stays. So I pull away before you can leave me like everyone else.''

Your breath caught in your throat.

''All that time with MC?'' he continued. ''Yes, I've been with her. Missions. Strategy. Nightmares that won't let her sleep. I help her the way I can. But it's not love, not the way you think. She's a mirror to a life I survived.''

''And me?'' you asked.

''You're a window,'' he said. ''To a life I want. And that scares me more than anything.''

Tears blurred your vision.

''You idiot,'' you whispered. ''You beautiful, infuriating idiot.''

And then you were moving- Closing the space between you, fists against his chest as the tears finally came.

''You don't get to decide you're unlovable,'' you cried. ''You don't get to shut me out just because you're scared. I'm scared too.''

His arms came around you like gravity. ''I know. I'm sorry.''

''I thought I was losing you.''

''You never were,'' he whispered. ''But I'll admit I've been making it feel that way.''

You buried your face in his shoulder, inhaling the scent of rain and regret.

''Please don't do that again,'' you said.

He held you tighter. ''I won't. No more masks. No more half-truths.''

You both stood there for a long time, wrapped in silence, until he finally pulled back enough to cup your face.

''You are not second place,'' he said. ''You never have been.''

You nodded, and something in you, something tight and aching, finally began to ease.

''Then let's try again,'' you said. ''But this time…together.''

Rafayel smiled, tired but genuine.

''Together,'' he echoed.

And for the first time in weeks, you believed him.

[lycanlure]

No Love to Give

Karina x M! Reader (sub)

Tags : dom!Karina, non-con, dub-con, violence, verbal a!use, ab*se, angst, rough seggs, painful seggs (yeah he is getting railed hard here...), tox!c love

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"K-Karina!, n-" her hands wrapped my neck, her grip almost suffocating... "One last time, tell me... Where. Are. The. Fucking. Beer!" Her grip never loosened as you only gripped her wrist lightly, trying to push her away. But you've always promised to never harm her, in any form or way. "Fucking whore" She stopped choking you as it was replaced with a burning slap on your cheek. "I-I don't know..."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Your sobs filled the room, every part of you shook in fear as she left. 'Is she leaving me?! Please... Dont...' You went to look outside, she's not there anymore. 'M-Maybe she just... W-Went to b-buy something, or go out to smoke a-and..." Your mind is filled with every thought of Jimin doing as she left you to yourself.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You cleaned up and went to clean the living room, 'I made a mess...' you spoke under your breath as you stared at the broken vases and broken chairs she smashed onto you. Cleaning everything up, you heard the door and opening and some paper bags rattle. You opened the door, Jimin appeared as she was carrying some paper bags filled with groceries.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"L-Let me help you, my love" You smiled as she handed you the groceries, you cant help but saw her eyes, eyes filled with anger and something else...

"Hey, about last night." She puts her car keys at the kitchen counter, "Hm? What about last night?" you spoke but your voice hinted at a very sad tone, "I kinda forgot about it." you added as you went and filled the pantry with the groceries, she went closer to you and reached out for your cheek, but her reaching out only made you flinched...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Both of you were surprised and looked at each other, you looked away and she held her eyes on you. "I-I'm so-" She wanted to say something but I slowly walked towards the living room, Karina, slightly frustrated and worried. Her mind frantically looks for some way to talk to you, 'This... Ugh, why did I even marry you. Luckily you have a lot of money, and a handsome one too." She fixed her top and then followed you. While you diligently looked at the living room, you spotted the vacuum and turned it on immediately and got into cleaning.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Karina though, she watched you clean, how her sweet, loving, cute and disgustingly weak husband does some house chores. You felt her stare, still doing your job and avoiding eye contact. "My love... Karina, um, I was thinking, I wanted to get a job..." Your voice sounded sheepish.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Why? So that I'd do the cleaning? Fuck no." Her voice sounded cold and monotone. "I-Its just t-that..." Your sentence was later cut off by her. "That what? I'm not doing enough? You're getting smart now, huh? Or you don't want me to do something good? Oh, maybe I'm incompetent?!" She replied, but her response was somewhat scary and filled with anger. She approached you, her foot stomping as she walked towards you.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"N-No i-its not t-that" You unknowingly covered your mouth as if you said something terribly offensive. As soon as you covered your mouth, she punched your stomach, specifically at the solar plexus. Her punch was strong, it made you knelt at her heel. As you kneeled, your head is on the floor. Looking down as the pain multiplied when her foot was on your head.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"You should remember, my dad gave me to you, for a fucking business deal. Don't act like you can do better than me. For fuck sake Y/N, stop acting like a spoiled brat." her words felt like million swords pierced into you. "S-Sorr- Guhh!" She kicked your head, making you tumble to the side. "Go make some dinner, bitch." You stood immediately and went to the kitchen, walking slowly.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Your head spinning whilst walking towards the kitchen, you made dinner and served it to her at the dining table. You made some wine and steak, you cooked it to her liking. But it wasn't... "What. The. Fuck. Is this shit?! Do I look like a pig to you, huh?!" She threw her plate at you hitting your chest.

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You looked down as the pain hissed at you, touching it only left you with more pain. As soon as she left your sobs filled the room, the excruciating pain that enveloped your body only made your crying worse...You stood up and cleaned after her and yourself. As the dishes were done she came back... "Go upstairs..." She ordered, I hesitated... "Don't make me ask twice, now!" She shouted, I slowly moved as her eyes were locked onto me.

She grabbed my shoulders and pulled me towards her, "Get undressed, if you still have your clothes after you arrive at my room, I'll fucking sell you." her hands tighten on your shoulder as she goes to the cellar.

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You went up to your bedroom, and undressed. She arrived not long after you got undressed, "Good~" her voice was deep and sultry. Her hums filled the room, her voice sent you to a weak state, your body didn't even hesitate, it remained relaxed. Her touch was gentle, yet within those touches it was uncomfortable to feel. She then slowly lunged herself towards you, kissing and biting your neck softly it sent shivers down your spine.

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Without warning, she touched your part. You whimpered, as her hand struck it. Sensing each stroke was enough to wring you out of breath. "M-My love..." You whispered, "Shhh, be quite slut" she bit your neck, marking you as hers. This is the only time you can feel genuine feelings from her, without a doubt she loves doing this with you. But you always feel empty after it, it makes you long for it, wanting to extend it, a never ending moment where she's genuine with you.

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"I-I love you, M-My lo-" You got cut off as she pushed you down, your part still rose, "A good slut gets a good fuck, ok? You've been tolerating my past actions, well done." Her voice sounded sweet, yet her eyes tell a different story. She looked at you with desire,strings of hunger, mixed with annoyance. She attacked your lips, viciously making you weak, your knees begged yet she kept going, your whimpering fueled her.

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"Keep making that noise, you'll end up in a wheel chair" She smirks, how you smiled when she smirked. You felt like there was a spark between you too, but then. You remembered, it's the same spark that gleams every time you both do this...

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"M-My love... It feels so good... Mmhh" Finally she knelt in front of you, removing her stop, and then unlocking her bra. Which unburdened her beautiful chest, which then only contrasted how small her waist is. With her top out of the way, she stood up. Removing her pants and underwear, where you soon again see her voluptuous curves that drove your knees into a weak mess. "M-My..." She puts her fingers in front of your lips, signalling you to he quite. "Shhh, I'm just getting started."

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You shiver in anticipation, as she aligns her wetness onto your throbbing member. "Be a good slut, ok?" She said and immediately pressed onto your cock smoothly, "nggghh, m-my love..." You moaned as her wetness met you, she began working. Her hips vigorously moved up and down, "S-Shit... S-So fucking good!" she grabbed your neck and proceeded to push you deeper in the bed. Your back was ingrained in the foam, as your eyes met hers. Both of you began to look at each other, her eyes filled with content and lust, at that point you just submitted to her dominance...

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Her constant degradation, torture was ingrained inside your head. As each of her touches went to the place where bruises were. Your chest, bruised by the plate earlier, your stomach where she punches, your waist where she grips it to the point her hands dented it.

Each slam was filled with raw, and pure desire. Desire to make you squirm, weak, submissive, destroyed. That's the only genuine feeling she'll be showing towards you, no love, only lust.

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"L-Love, nngghh" Your voice was getting weak, as she rode you like a whore. "More!" She said at each slam, hard and precise, deep and sensual. "P-Plea- m-my... O-Oh g-go-" Your stomach was sticky, cum and sweat mixing each other. It smelled, but you liked it, her cum mixing with yours, it gushes out from her. For hours and hours, she used you over and over again. She never took a break not once.

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You never spoke after the 3rd round, you were too tired. When you go limp, she'll finger your prostate to turn it hard again. "P-Please... I-I c-can't..." Your breath was shaky, you were too tired. While Karina wasn't to her this was only the 1st round, she pulled herself out. Her gates still dripping, "I'll be back" she spoke and then left you.

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Ragged and tired, you tried moving. But you can't, your legs gave up. 'If she loves this, I will give it to her... I don't care, after this she may not love me, but love doing this with me... It's fine, I can live with this...' Your thoughts jumbled and you sobbed. You knew she'll never truly love you, but as long as she's doing this with you and only you. It'll be enough...

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The END