#can you feel how close they are to [redacted]

[underdark-dreams]

[ch1] - [ch2]

A Strand to Climb - Ch.3

Rainstorms, hard conversations, and long-awaited kisses.

Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Pining | Word Count: 4,189 [Read on AO3]

In a lucky turn of events, Lorroakan was called away from the Tower earlier than usual. Perhaps more Nightsong business connected with Tav’s visit today. 

More likely a soiree in the Upper City with the newly ordained Archduke Gortash and the city’s elite, Rolan thought to himself. Those were the parts of archwizardry that seemed to agree with his master the best.

Whatever the reason, his evening’s lessons were abruptly canceled—as Lorroakan’s projection materialized for a few seconds to unceremoniously inform him. Rolan felt his aching head throb with relief. He’d just been given a night of escape. 

When the closing hour’s bells rang out from Stormshore Tabernacle, Rolan fastened up the shop in record speed.

Rather than head to his siblings’ rented flat, Rolan carved a path toward the Elfsong. It was still early yet—Cal and Lia wouldn't expect him for hours, if they expected him at all tonight. 

A bit early to be visiting the tavern, as well. But watching the gray and downcast weather through the doors of Sorcerous Sundries all day had left him thirsty. Rolan breathed in the cloud-thick and misty air as he walked.

Even for the early hour, the main taproom of the Elfsong was almost completely empty. All the better; fewer chances at unwelcome stares and comments.

Despite having his pick of the entire floor, he slumped into a small table in the farthest corner possible and spilled a few coppers on its surface in preparation. He’d been ready to drink this day away for hours.

"Chancing murder this fine afternoon?" 

As if summoned, a cup of Arabellan Dry appeared in front of him. Lakrissa plucked his coin from the table in the same motion.

Rolan’s work had left him little time to follow the city’s goings on. But he did recall something the Gazette's paper boys had been shouting in the courtyard this morning—the most recent in a string of grisly murders, apparently occurring just above his head. 

No wonder the place was deserted.

"Can hardly be worse than what's behind us," Rolan said glumly, raising the cup to his lips without missing a beat. 

Lakrissa plopped herself down at his table uninvited. "I expected to see your lover with you tonight." 

"My—" It was different hearing someone else say it aloud; he coughed slightly into his wine.

“Cal told me she made it to the city,” Lakrissa explained.

Apparently Cal had taken the liberty of telling her everything else while he was at it. 

"Of course he did." Rolan huffed a sigh. He supposed it was good that his siblings kept in contact with old friends from the road…but could they find nothing more interesting to talk about than his personal life?

"She's pretty," Lakrissa said, as if the compliment was somehow directed at him. "Brave, good fighter…good heart. How exactly you pull that off?"

Her candor would've insulted him, had he not asked himself the same question many times today alone. "No idea," Rolan said, unshouldering the heavy weight of his ego for just a moment. 

"Hm. But you're hiding alone in a tavern, instead of off with her."

"I am not hiding," Rolan glowered at her, though he really was—and for the second time today no less. "I just needed to think, that's all."

"Ah…I get it." Lakrissa swung her bar towel over one shoulder. "She’s seen you."

For all of the times Rolan had visited the Elfsong Tavern while Lakrissa was waiting tables, she'd never commented on the ever-shifting landscape of wounds on his face. She was the type to keep her nose out of other peoples’ business, whether from discretion or from genuine disinterest. 

Either way, Rolan appreciated it about her. He got enough prying and questions from his siblings anytime he went home; the last thing he needed was to be interrogated while he was trying to drown his sorrows.

Perhaps that was why Rolan felt he could ask her the next question. If nothing else, Lakrissa was a realist.

“Be honest. If you were her, seeing me like this—" he gestured a hand stiffly in the direction of his aching face. "What would you think?”

Lakrissa propped elbows on the wood table to support her chin, regarding him in her casually thoughtful way. "I'd think that your apprenticeship with that wizard isn't going too well. But that you must have a good reason for staying."

That seemed more optimistic than he could hope for. Would Tav respect his reasons the same way? Surely she must know by now that he'd take much worse for the opportunity he'd been handed, if that's what it took. He didn't put Cal and Lia through everything he had on the journey here just to give up now.

But for a moment, Rolan pictured what it might be like in reverse. Watching a mad narcissist like Lorroakan lay hands on her; watching her willingly return for more. His knuckles gripped pale around his cup.

Rolan surfaced quickly from that disturbing image. "Sure she wouldn't see a pompous idiot who’d bragged to anyone who would listen?"

Lakrissa tipped her head in a way that suggested she saw his point. "You've never struck me as an idiot, though. How about this, then—I’d see the man who stepped up to get his people through a nightmare and safely to Baldur’s Gate.”

Rolan swirled the wine in his cup, watching the waves gloomily. “She’s the one who made the way safe for us. You know that.”

“You’re so—” Lakrissa leaned back from the table with a laugh. “Gods. For a smart bloke, Rolan, you can be so stupid. I respected Zevlor,” she told him with sudden emphasis, as though Rolan might think she didn't. “All of us did. He’s the one who got us out of Elturel when half of them wanted to chuck us right back into Avernus. And I’ve no idea why he left us, or whether he’s even alive—” A rare wrinkle of emotion appeared between her brows. “But I do know that you were there. Alfie told me all about how you protected the kids and got everyone to Last Light after…everything.”

"Alfira's a bard," Rolan told her, as if she of all people needed reminding. Foolish dreamer was the actual term that came to mind, but he suspected Lakrissa was the type who would smack people for rudeness. "I've no doubt she exaggerated."

"Oh no, she said you were a complete ass about it," Lakrissa replied matter-of-fact. "And that you spent most of your time drinking the Harpers dry before Tav showed up."

Rolan's pride stung at the comment, but he couldn't exactly deny it. Lakrissa went on. "That doesn't change the fact that you kept them safe. You saved people’s lives, Rolan."

He let out a bitter laugh. "It was only me because all the good ones were already dead."

They stared at each other in silence for a beat.

"That's a pretty shit thing to say,” Lakrissa said quietly. “About them, and about yourself."

Rolan looked down at the dark liquid in his cup, but he couldn't think of anything nicer to say on the subject. He was finding it hard to be nice about anything these days. 

"You're a hero, Rolan," Lakrissa told him simply. "And so is she. I reckon the two of you can figure it out…you deserve to give her a chance, at least."

Rolan only let her advice wash over him in silence. When Lakrissa shifted, he saw her grimacing over his shoulder. 

“Damn. Alan’s giving me the eye—ugh, like there's anyone else to serve anyway—” 

But she rose, and Rolan was ready to return to his glass until he felt a hand rustle between his horns—the way he'd often seen Tiefling parents do to their children back home.

“When you do see her, send her by?” Lakrissa asked. “I still owe her a drink.”

—

Rolan left the Elfsong a few minutes later. He found the wine had done little to quiet his troubled head, and something in Lakrissa’s pointed speech had made him feel too guilty to stay any longer.

As he stepped out through the tavern’s wide oak doors, a chill rustled through his robes. The storm was rolling angrily up from the port now. 

Rolan kept his head down against the breeze that pushed much sharper and colder through the streets than before, sweeping river mist off the roiling Chionthar and plastering it against his face and hands. He thought wistfully of his good cloak—currently sitting useless in his room at the Tower. 

Even after weeks in Baldur's Gate, Rolan was still learning to anticipate the rapid changes in weather that could descend on them from proximity to the coastline. Elturel was set deeper inland; they never got sudden squalls like this. 

The few others he encountered in the streets were also rushing to their destinations with bowed heads, or else frantically boarding up their stalls against the oncoming storm. As he glanced up at the clouds again, a large, foreboding drop landed on his brow.

Rolan ducked down an alleyway south past the print shop. Not normally a shortcut he'd take at twilight, especially through Heapside. But any cutpurse stupid enough to be out in this weather would be easy to dispatch.

Within its walls, the narrow space muffled the sounds of the city. Rolan could practically smell the electricity crackling through the stormclouds above as he walked. All of a sudden there was a blinding flash, a clear peal of thunder, and rain erupted on top of him.

Sheets of it swept down like curtains with breathtaking ferocity, drumming loud against roofs and cobblestones and smothering the warm light from any street lamps he hurried past. His robes were soaked through almost instantly. Rolan swore and raised an arm to shield his vision against the rivulets already running from his hair.

Despite the shortcut, the path to Cal and Lia’s took longer than usual. Small rivers were forming through the streets from the rapid downpour, and the cobbles grew slick under his boots. Rolan had to catch his balance against stone walls and fences a few times. The clatter of rain and thunder was so deafening he could almost feel his brain rattling around inside his skull.

When Rolan stepped under the footbridge around the corner from home, the muffled reprieve made him let out a breath of relief. He paused for a moment to wipe the rain from his forehead and eyes, even wrung out the ends of his hair.

With his head tilted so, he caught sight of a cloaked figure standing on the doorstep to his siblings’ front door. 

Where he stood was cast in shadow—combined with the thick curtains of rain falling between them, Tav hadn't noticed him yet, though they were standing just a few meters apart. She was squinting up at the number above the doorpost. One hand reached from under her cloak to knock, but she paused halfway through the motion as if second-guessing herself.

Was she just looking for Cal and Lia? Or had she somehow known Rolan would be here? But that didn’t make sense—even he hadn’t expected to spend a night with his family until a few hours ago.

Rolan stared at Tav’s upturned face, watching her lashes flutter as she blinked away a few droplets of rain. His heart leapt against his ribs from a bewildering mixture of love and fear.

“Rolan?”

Despite the downpour around them, her voice reached Rolan’s ear with a clarity that made him start where he stood.

She was peering at his figure through the curtain of rain between them. Then she rushed forward without a word, and before Rolan could react, her body collided against his wet robes with a smack. 

He found himself immediately enfolded in her familiar scent as her cheek pressed against his. Rolan's arms circled to hold her of their own volition, every other tumultuous thought conveniently swept from his head.

Then she drew back, and she leaned up to kiss him. 

Her lips were warm and welcoming as hearthfire. Rolan shivered slightly as he realized just how much the wind and rain had chilled him. When her mouth grazed a spot of broken skin, he flinched back at the sting.

"Oh." She stepped away as though he’d burned her. "I—sorry."

"It's not that," he told her. Unbidden, his hand reached toward the edge of her cloak to find one of hers.

Their fingers hooked together finally, and she inhaled in surprise. "Rolan, you're freezing! How long were you out in this?"

Without waiting for his answer, she tugged him forward to the door on the corner. She neglected to knock and simply reached for the latch, and the two of them spilled across the threshold in tandem with another peal of thunder.

Lia leapt up from the table, her shortsword at the ready and polishing rag in hand. Cal’s face appeared in the kitchen doorway, looking equally alarmed. The four of them stared at each other as rain poured into the doorway.

“For hell’s sake—”

Lia darted forward, and for a wild moment Rolan half-expected to be caught up in a hug. But she only pushed past him and wrenched the door shut against a fresh gust of rain, drawing the bolt across. 

Muffled silence blanketed the room around them. After being out in the storm, it made Rolan’s ears ring. Beside him, Tav pushed her cloak’s hood back to her shoulders. 

“Sorry about that,” she told his siblings with a breathless smile.

It triggered a flurry of activity. Lia was drawing her into the room, whisking her cloak off to hang it near the hearth to dry. Cal plunked a large cast iron pot of something steaming onto the central table—a good bit of it spilled over the side—and began poking around in cabinets to find another bowl. They were both talking over each other to Tav the entire time.

Rolan found himself rather left out of it all, and a bit indignant at the fact. 

He spread his palms wide to either side, dripping a path across the floor in the process. “Hello?”

“Oh—” Cal blinked over at him as though just noticing he was there. “Hi, Rolan.”

Lia made no response, suddenly busying herself with putting away her whetstone and sheathing her sword. The cool reception wasn’t lost on him.

“Nice place,” Tav remarked, stretching her hands appreciatively toward the fireplace.

“It’s really not,” Cal said cheerfully. “But it’s better than we hoped, really. All paid for by that bast—”

“Hungry?” Lia interrupted, looking pointedly at Tav and not her older brother. Tav exchanged an uncertain glance with him.

“Not for me,” she answered. “But thanks, and thanks for the invitation. It’s good to see you both well.”

Rolan caught her eye. “Lia and I caught up the other day,” she explained.

“About what?” Rolan asked, unable to stop himself.

Finally, Lia leveled a stare at him. “Take a guess.”

She and Rolan looked at each other in silence for a tense moment. Internally, he was fitting together the pieces of Tav’s visit to the Sundries.

“Anyway,” Tav interrupted slowly, “Rolan and I were actually just hoping for a place to talk.”

“Ah—right. Should we step out?” 

Cal’s voice sounded a bit strained; maybe he assumed that ‘talking’ was some kind of euphemism. The thought made Rolan’s ears grow warm under his hair, but Tav responded before he could open his mouth.

“Don’t be ridiculous, you two can’t go out in all this.” Her face turned toward Rolan, questioning. “Do you have a room we could go to?”

He nodded wordlessly and started down the hall. The fact that Lia and Cal both refrained from comment was a surprise—one that he felt grateful for. Perhaps they’d finally picked up on the tension between the two of them.

Rolan held the door to his bedroom open for her and followed her inside. He felt around for the candle sconce near the doorway and lit it with a word. 

The space was small and plain, but quite clean; his duties didn’t allow him to spend many nights here. Even the narrow bed along the wall was still neatly made from last week.

As she reached to lock the door behind them, she turned to Rolan. “Do you keep clothes here?”

“What are you talking about?” He cringed at how bluntly his own words came out.

Without explaining, she slipped the small pack from her shoulders and tossed it to the floor. Then she swept past him toward the wardrobe and began rifling through its contents.

“Here—” She tossed a set of clean clothes onto the bed. “Change into these. Towel?” Not pausing for an answer, she dug for one at the back of the shelf and added it to the pile.

Rolan frowned at her back defensively. “I can take care of my—”

“Rolan, please just shut up,” she interrupted. She was still turned away, but there was a slight tremor in her voice. “We have a lot we need to talk about. And I can't concentrate with you looking like a wet cat.”

Rolan glanced down at his robes; droplets from the hem were steadily forming a small puddle between his boots. His combined appearance must be pitiful indeed at the moment. Too embarrassed to protest further, Rolan began working at the fastenings of his garments.

Though she'd seen him entirely naked before, something about this moment felt even more intimate somehow. He undressed silently as the muffled rainstorm continued against the shuttered window of his room.

As he removed each soaked layer, she kept her gaze averted to respect his privacy. Rolan did catch her glancing at him a few times when she thought he wouldn't notice, but there was more concern than desire in it. As if she was checking him over.

It did feel much more comfortable to slip a dry tunic and trousers over his chilled skin. Before he set his wet robes aside, Rolan turned away as if folding them in order to retrieve her handwritten note from the pocket. Rain had smudged the ink a bit, but the three most important words were still legible. He exchanged it for the dry pocket at his hip.

The leather tie from his hair—the same one she'd used that very first night—was slipped off and into his pocket as well.

Then he moved to sit on the edge of the bed and began roughly scrubbing at his wet hair with the towel, as if the force might inject some courage into his skull. His mind was currently swirling with uncertainty of what she would say next.

Rolan caught her eye from behind his loose strands of hair. To his very great relief, her expression softened.

“Let me—”

In a flash, she had curled up cross-legged behind him on the bed and was taking the cloth from his hand. She smoothed his hair back and squeezed rainwater from the ends.

Her touch was much gentler than his own—the gentlest thing he’d felt in weeks. Rolan closed his eyes at the feeling of her fingers combing against his scalp. He found himself very grateful she couldn't see his face. If this was the most she ever wanted to touch him again, he thought he could almost be satisfied. 

“I spoke with Lorroakan today.”

Rolan sat quiet for a moment. “I know.”

“You’ve got more magic in one hand than that charlatan has in his whole fucking body.”

Her bluntness caused his lips to twitch with an unwilling smile. “I know,” Rolan repeated, more confident this time.

The fingers in his hair paused; he could practically feel her eyes boring into the back of his head. “Rolan, is that why he's doing this to you? Hurting you?

“Your guess is as good as mine,” Rolan told her. Making sense of Lorroakan was futile. He had stopped trying long ago, to save his own sanity. Even now, her questions stirred up an anxious frustration in his chest. “Does it matter?”

There was a soft rustle as she scooted sideways into his sight line—Rolan glanced over to see her brow wrinkled in a sad expression. 

“How can you say that?” She replied. “Of course it matters what happens to you, Rolan.”

There was not a trace of insincerity in her face. Rolan found he badly wanted to kiss her again. Instead, he bowed his head toward the floor.

“This is just how it is,” he told the floorboards. “It won't be forever. I'm strong enough to bear much worse than this, you know.” 

“I know you are—” Her fingers resumed their work in his hair, gently tugging and working at a small knot. “The point is you shouldn't have to.” 

She was right, of course. He had no logical defense against her words. The room lapsed into silence instead. Beyond the walls, blustering sheets of rain continued to buffet against the roof tiles and window panes.

Tav spoke up behind him again. “Some of those bruises are old. You aren't healing yourself at least?”

She gave his skill more credit than he deserved. “I’m still learning how,” Rolan admitted glumly, glad again to be facing away from her. 

In truth, healing scrolls were what he'd been searching for that night Lorroakan had accused him. If only he could see the techniques for himself—he was certain he could master them. The archmage had conspicuously neglected to allow any lessons on abjuration magic thus far.

The mattress behind him shifted as Tav rose. Rolan watched her move to snatch up her pack from the corner, then barely managed to catch it as the object sailed toward his lap.

“Take those,” she said as she clambered back up behind him to continue gently toweling his hair. “Keep them here, study from them whenever you want. They're yours.”

Rolan felt a thrill of pure excitement as he peered down into the leather bag—and found it filled with a score of tightly bound spell scrolls. This small cache was worth more gold than he’d ever seen together in one place.

He pulled one out to examine its formidable wax seal. “Where did you get all of these?”

“Um…don't worry about it.”

“Stolen,” he finished dryly.

Her tone grew playfully defensive behind him. “From a very bad man who is now dead. There, does that satisfy you?” 

Rolan had turned to kiss her before the last word left her lips. The pack slipped to the floor between his feet as his hands notched behind Tav’s jaw to pull her forward. He felt a damp weight land in his lap as her now-empty fingers slid around his torso.

Rolan broke away just enough to speak. “Stay here tonight,” he told her. It wasn't a question.

Tav nodded, leaning back in for his mouth.

Her fingers splayed in the dip between his jaw and his ear, tilting his face into hers. He kept his palm firmly pressed on the curve of her waist. Each time her lips slid softly over his, Rolan found his heart filled with another shimmering pearl of hope. They stayed there connected in a kiss until his back began to ache from the contorted position. 

To his immense disappointment, Tav pulled away first. But she only made a hesitant request to borrow some clothes for herself. Rolan finally realized with a jolt of guilt that her own were wet down the front, no doubt from that moment she'd held him outside in the rain.

Rolan trained his eyes away to give her the same privacy. But though Tav didn't meet his eye, she made no attempt to hide her body—in fact seemed to move with deliberate slowness as she stripped down and pulled the threadbare tunic over her head. It barely skimmed the tops of her thighs.

Then she moved to the candle near the door and extinguished it with a puff.

Through the near-darkness, Rolan worked the bedcovers down to slip beneath them. As his damp hair landed on the pillow, he felt the mattress dip beside him as Tav promptly curled herself in along his front under the blankets. Underneath, his tail moved with a mind of its own to wind around one of her legs. She let out a small, happy sigh that tickled across his chin.

Rolan briefly wondered if they were intentionally trying to distract each other. Tav had clearly come here to find him and talk, after all. And there was much more to say—he could feel all the words unspoken hanging between them like a tangible thing. From the way Tav’s fingers worried the laces of his shirt, he wondered if she was thinking the same. 

But neither of them spoke for the moment, just lying together as they listened to the storm continue outside on the streets of Baldur’s Gate. 

Eventually, Rolan laid his arm still across her and closed his eyes. She was so warm, her quiet presence so comforting—and he found now that he was very, very tired. 

Perhaps the rest of it could keep until the morning.

[ohnebulae]

yesterday was so terrible

[whitespringbunker]

weird shit cw

ohhhhh okayyyy just found out half my mutual circle off s*lfsh*p community are weird now. more reason to just kinda let myself be jettisoned back into normie(ish) fandom methinks

[soluversworld]

Steam, off - REDACTED X G.N Reader (SMUT)

Genre: smut

Summary: — After a small argument where Redacted refuses to get mad at you, frustration builds between you both. Despite your attempts to stay distant, their gentle persistence and need for closeness slowly wear you down.

THEN YOU SMASH!!

( Reader is a g.n!)

EXTRA: This was a request, from discord, They're a good friend!!

Content/Trigger warnings

Explicit Sexual Content (NSFW)

Dom/Sub Dynamics (Teasing, control, and edging)

Praise Kink

Strong Emotional Intimacy

Light Roughness (Biting, marking, possessive touch)

Overstimulation

Did not proof read/Rushed.

Your lips press into a thin line. Again.

Again, [REDACTED] just takes it. Doesn’t argue, doesn’t fight back—just ducks their head, lets their shoulders sag, and mutters, "M’ sorry."

And fuck, that makes your teeth grind.

“Stop that,” you snap before you can stop yourself.

They blink, startled. “Stop… what?”

You gesture—at them, at their whole goddamn everything. “This. The—The whole apologizing thing. I’m mad at you, [YOU]. You can be mad back. You can fight me instead of just taking it like—like—”

“Like I deserve it?”

Your breath snags.

Soft. Quiet. Like they already know what you’re gonna say. Like they agree.

And that—that makes you want to throw something.

“No! No!” You grab their wrist—not to hurt, just to hold. To make them listen. “You don’t deserve it, and that’s the fucking problem! I can’t even be mad at you properly because you never—You never fight back! You never defend yourself! You just let me be angry, let me lash out, let me blame you, and then you say ‘m’ sorry’ like—like it’s all your fault!"

Their brows furrow, lips parting—like they want to argue. But they don’t.

And that’s when it really hits you.

They’re not ignoring you.

They just… don’t think they should fight back.

Your grip on their wrist loosens, fingers sliding down until they hook around theirs. “You can get mad at me,” you murmur. “You can tell me I’m wrong, tell me I’m being unfair. I want to fight with you if it means we fix things. But I can’t—” You swallow hard. "I can't keep being the only one who raises my voice while you just—just take it and blame yourself."

A pause.

[REDACTED] stares at you—eyes wide, raw, something fragile flickering beneath the surface. Their mouth opens—then closes—then, finally, they speak.

“…I don’t wanna fight you,” they murmur. “I just—” They exhale sharply, shaking their head. “I don’t want to fight with you.."

And fuck—fuck—that’s what breaks you.

"You're already hurting me, dumbass," you whisper, voice cracking, fingers curling tighter around theirs. "Not because of a fight—because I feel like I’m hitting a fucking ghost whenever I argue with you." You take a shaky breath, trying to steady yourself. "I want the real you. All of you. Even the parts that get mad at me. Even the parts that fight back."

Something shifts in their expression. Something wounded.

"…The real me, huh?" Their voice is rough, like they’re chewing on the words. "And what if the real me ain't… what y’want?"

You don’t hesitate.

"I want you," you say, pressing their hand to your chest, right over your racing heart. "Only you. The real you." Your voice drops to a whisper, raw and desperate. "I love you, [REDACTED]."

Their breath hitches. Their fingers tremble against yours. And for the first time, you see it—the crack in their armor, the fear behind their eyes.

Well, You're still mad/j

You huff, sinking deeper into the couch, arms crossed tight as Attack on Giant blares from the screen. You’re not even watching—just pretending to, staring blankly at the fights while your thoughts rage louder than the explosions.

You hate this. You hate how you’re still mad, how he just lets you be, how he looks so fucking sad sitting across from you like a kicked puppy.

[REDACTED] isn’t saying anything. Just… sitting there. Shoulders slightly hunched, hands clasped together like he’s holding himself still. Not pushing, not begging—just waiting.

Like he always fucking does.

Like he always has.

It’s suffocating.

Minutes pass. Maybe an hour. You don’t even know anymore. The silence isn’t cold, not really—but it stretches long enough to wrap around your ribs, squeeze tight, ache.

And yet, he doesn’t complain.

Doesn’t demand.

Doesn’t even shift closer.

He just watches you, quiet and patient, like he’d wait forever if that’s what it took for you to stop being mad.

Like he’d wait another decade if it meant you’d finally reach for him again.

And fuck, that realization makes your throat burn.

Because it’s sad. It’s fucking sad at this point.

You grip the blanket tighter around yourself, teeth clenched. You don’t want to be mad anymore. You don’t want to give him the silent treatment. You don’t want him to just sit there, drowning in his own regret, waiting for a love he already fucking has.

You don’t want him to think you’re really pushing him away.

So you shift. Just barely. Uncurl your legs.

It’s subtle, but he notices instantly.

His shoulders tense—not in fear, but in hope.

Still, he doesn’t push.

He just waits.

You take a breath, exhaling slow, forcing yourself to relax.

And then—without looking at him—you grab his hand.

He freezes.

And when you finally glance at him—just a quick, fleeting look—you swear he’s shaking.

You’re stacking the dishes when two strong arms wrap around your waist, pulling you back against a firm, familiar chest. His warmth seeps into your skin, his chin resting lightly on your shoulder as he sighs—a low, content sound that makes your stomach flip.

"You really…" he murmurs, voice a lazy drawl, "...are a softie."

Your hands still. The dish towel crinkles in your grip.

You huff. "Hmph."

You act annoyed. You act like you hate it. Like this whole affection thing is just too much, too clingy, too Redacted.

But your hands betray you.

Because instead of pushing him off, you reach up—fingers threading through his hair, scratching lightly at his scalp.

And god, he melts.

His breath hitches, grip tightening as he buries his face into the crook of your neck. You feel him smile against your skin, feel the way he relaxes, like this—you—is all he’s ever needed.

"...'S not fair," he mutters, muffled against you.

You arch a brow. "What’s not fair?"

"You act all mean," he murmurs, voice slow and sleepy, "'n' then you do this..."

You roll your eyes, still scratching lightly at his scalp. "I dunno what you’re talking about."

You cross your arms, leaning against the counter, glaring at him. "You’re not getting near me."

He stops mid-step, blinking at you like a confused puppy.

A pause. Then, hesitantly—softly—"…Still mad at me, huh?"

You huff, looking away. It’s stupid, honestly. The argument wasn’t even that big, just one of those things that built up over time—him never defending himself, never even trying to fight back, just letting you steamroll him with nothing in return but sad eyes and quiet apologies. It makes you feel awful. Like you’re the bad guy every single time.

"At least ask for something," you mutter, not looking at him. "I made you sad. You always just take it. If you can’t get mad at me, at least say that it hurts instead of going silent."

You feel him move before you see him.

Warmth presses against the side of your neck—a slow, lingering kiss right below your jaw. His breath is warm, his lips impossibly soft, and your heart does a fucking backflip.

Your fingers twitch at your sides. Your whole body stiffens.

"You always do this," you grumble, cheeks heating up.

A small chuckle against your skin. "What?"

He laughs, low and fond, arms winding around your waist again. "S’ not cheatin’, Y/n. Just know what works on ya."

You scoff, feeling your resolve start to crumble. Your body still buzzes from the way his lips lingered against your skin, from the warmth pressing up against your back.

Then, in that same casual, lazy drawl, he asks—

"Wanna make up?"

…Oh.

Your heart stops.

You blink, heat creeping up your neck. "…Eh?"

He leans down, lips barely brushing the shell of your ear. "Y’heard me."

And fuck, your whole body burns. The way he says it—so blunt, so confident, so fucking casual—has your brain short-circuiting. Your fingers curl into fists, gripping at nothing, trying so hard to play it cool despite the way your pulse is pounding.

You swallow thickly. Cross your arms tighter. Try to keep your face neutral.

"…Sure," you say.

Expression blank.

Voice flat.

Trying desperately to ignore the way your ears are on fire.

He grins. He knows. He sees through you.

And before you can blink, you’re on the bed.

Pinned.

His lips crush against yours, his hands sliding up your sides, warm, slow, possessive. You gasp into his mouth, and he takes the opportunity to deepen the kiss, tongue teasing at yours, dragging you into something slow and dizzying and hot.

The kiss is rough, almost desperate—like he’s trying to prove something, trying to make you feel what they won’t say out loud. Their hands grip your waist as they push you back, guiding you until your legs hit the bed.

Then they shove you down.

Not forcefully, not like they’re trying to overpower you—just firm, controlled, the way they always are. Like they’re claiming you, like they’re saying you’re mine without needing to use the words.

Their weight follows, pressing you into the mattress, their breath warm against your lips as they hover just above you. They’re looking at you—God, they’re watching you—like they’re searching for something in your eyes, something they’re too much of a coward to ask for outright.

“You still mad at me, You?” they murmur, voice low, teasing—but there’s a flicker of something real underneath it.

You scoff, tilting your head away, acting like you don’t feel the way your body reacts to them. Damn them. “Maybe.”

They chuckle—soft, breathy—then press their lips to the curve of your jaw, trailing lower, nipping at the sensitive skin of your throat until you gasp.

“Y’sure?” Their voice is thick with amusement, but their hands say otherwise. They’re firm where they grip your hips, grounding you, holding you close—like they’re afraid you’ll slip through their fingers.

You’re still trying to be stubborn, still fighting the way your heart pounds when their lips graze your collarbone. “If you think I’m just gonna forgive you—”

“I know.”

The words are quiet, barely more than a whisper. And when they finally look at you, their eyes are dark—heated—but there’s something else there too. Something softer, something unspoken.

Then they kiss you.

And it’s deep this time—slow, lingering, the kind of kiss that steals the breath from your lungs, that melts into you like a promise. Their hand cups your cheek, thumb brushing against your skin, holding you like you’re precious.

And that’s what finally breaks you.

You grab at them—pulling them closer, wrapping your arms around their neck, threading your fingers through their hair. You’re kissing them back just as desperately, pouring every ounce of your frustration, your longing, your love into it.

You don’t even know when they settle fully between your legs, don’t even register the way their hips press against yours until they groan against your lips, grinding into you.

“Fuck,” they rasp, burying their face against your neck. “Y’don’t—You have no idea what y’do to me, You…”

Your breath stutters, and for a moment, neither of you speak. The argument still lingers in the air between you, unspoken and unresolved, but this—this—is how you make up. Not with words.

Their breath is warm, teasing against your skin before they dip lower—trailing kisses down your neck, your collarbone, lower still until their lips hover just above your chest.

Then—fuck.

They bite.

A sharp little nip against your nipple before their tongue soothes over the sting, slow and deliberate, sending a jolt straight down your spine. You gasp, arching into them, but they don’t stop—not yet. They flick their tongue over the sensitive bud, watching your reactions, listening to every little sound you make, before latching on properly, sucking just hard enough to make your head spin.

“Sensitive, huh?” Their voice is thick with amusement, teasing but hungry. One of their hands drags down your stomach, fingers ghosting over the waistband of your clothes, slipping just beneath—so close, so fucking close, but not enough. Not nearly enough.

You squirm beneath them, frustration bubbling up, but they only smirk against your skin. Their other hand comes up to your neglected nipple, rolling it between their fingers, pinching just enough to make you whimper.

“Mm. Y’really gonna stay mad at me?” Their voice is low, husky, vibrating through you as they switch sides, lavishing the same attention to your other nipple, sucking and teasing, leaving you breathless.

Your hands fly to their hair, gripping tight—like you can force them to stop teasing. “Shut up,” you manage, but it’s weak, a little desperate, and they love it.

They chuckle, the sound rumbling against your skin.

“Guess I’ll have t’fuck the anger outta you, then.”

And with that, their hand finally slips lower.

Their fingers trace slow, feather-light circles over your clothed heat, barely pressing down, just teasing. It’s infuriating—your body is aching, burning, needing more, but they won’t give it to you. Not yet.

“Still mad at me, huh?” Their voice is mocking, low and amused, but there’s something else beneath it—something dark, something possessive. Their fingers dip lower, almost slipping under the fabric, but then they pull back, just enough to leave you frustrated.

You whine—actually whine—and the sound makes them smirk.

“Aw, poor thing.” Their lips graze your ear, warm and teasing. “Want somethin’?”

You try to grind against their hand, desperate for anything, but they pin you down, using their weight to keep you still. Their fingers barely press against you, just enough to make you twitch, make you gasp, make you ache for more.

“Y’gotta tell me, baby.” Their voice is thick with amusement, but their breath is ragged against your skin. They’re enjoying this just as much as you are—dragging it out, making you want it, making you need it.

You grit your teeth, refusing to beg. Refusing.

But when they pull away entirely, hands leaving you completely, you snap.

“Fuck—just touch me already!”

Their smirk widens, and fuck, they love hearing you like this—frustrated, desperate, barely holding on.

“That’s more like it.”

And then—finally, finally—their fingers slip beneath the fabric, sliding against your heat, pressing deep, stretching you open, giving you exactly what you need.

Their fingers curl just right, pressing deep, slow, deliberate—just enough to make you feel it, but never enough to satisfy. It’s torture, this agonizing pace, this teasing, feather-light touch that only fuels the fire burning inside you. Your breath is ragged, your body trembling, every muscle tensed as you claw at the sheets beneath you.

"Redacted—!" Your voice is caught between a moan and a plea, frustration boiling over as they refuse to give you what you really want.

They chuckle—low, deep, full of amusement as they press an open-mouthed kiss to your throat, their lips trailing slow, lazy heat down your skin. "Mmm... somethin' wrong, Angel?" Their fingers withdraw almost completely before sliding back in, shallow and teasing. "Y'sound a lil' worked up."

You whimper—a sound you wouldn’t have let anyone else hear, but with them? They pull it from you so easily. Your hands fly to their wrist, gripping tight, trying to force them to move faster, deeper, more, but they don’t budge.

"Please," you breathe, half-growling, half-desperate. "Stop—teasing."

They click their tongue, shaking their head as if you’re being so unreasonable. "Steam’s gotta be let off first, Angel," they murmur, their voice a smooth, teasing drawl. "Ain't that right?"

You let out a frustrated whine, hips jerking as you try to meet their touch, but they tut softly, keeping you pinned, keeping control.

"Y'know I’ll never deny you, Angel…" Their lips brush against your ear, voice dark and sweet, and then—finally, finally—they snap.

Their fingers plunge deep, their pace turning from lazy and teasing to devastating, working you open without a shred of mercy. The pleasure slams into you, white-hot and overwhelming, and you cry out, head falling back as the heat coils tight in your core.

Their free hand grips your chin, tilting your face toward them, forcing you to meet their gaze—eyes dark, intense, locked onto yours like they own you.

"That’s it," they murmur, voice thick with hunger. "Let me hear you, Angel."

Their grip tightens—steady, unrelenting—keeping you right on the edge without letting you fall. Your body trembles beneath them, muscles twitching, every nerve alight with unbearable heat. It’s too much—too good—but they won’t let you go.

You choke out their name between ragged breaths, your hands clutching at their arms, their shoulders, anything to ground yourself, to plead for mercy. But all they do is smirk, dragging their fingers slowly out, only to press them back in at an achingly controlled pace.

"Aww, listen to you," they murmur, voice dripping with dark amusement. "So needy, Angel…" They lean in, lips brushing your ear as their free hand smooths over your stomach, your chest—trailing slow, teasing circles over your heated skin. "You sound so pretty when you beg, y’know that?"

A frustrated whimper escapes you, a shiver wracking your body as you fight against their hold, desperate to move, to chase what they keep just out of reach.

"P-please," you gasp, back arching, toes curling. "Please, I—I need—"

They hush you, their fingers plunging deeper, curling just right, sending an electric shock of pleasure straight to your core.

"Shhh, Angel… I know." Their voice is soft, almost mocking in its sweetness. "But y’gotta hold on for me, yeah? Y’can do that, right?"

You shake your head, gasping, voice breaking. "No! I—I can’t—"

They chuckle, their grip tightening, keeping you still as your body shudders beneath them.

"Sure y’can," they murmur, pressing a kiss to the corner of your lips, voice thick with affection. "Y’just don’t know it yet."

Before you could get another word out, they pushed in.

A sharp gasp tore from your throat, your fingers clawing at their back, nails digging into heated skin as your body arched against them. Your head tipped back, a broken, helpless sound spilling from your lips, pleasure crashing through you in waves.

"Fuck—"

They groaned against your neck, their breath hot and ragged, their own body trembling as they sank into you, inch by inch. Your arms wrapped around them on instinct, pulling them impossibly closer, your chest pressed flush against theirs, your pulse pounding in your ears.

"Shit… Angel—" Their voice was low, strained, barely holding on, but the way they said your name—like they were praying—sent a shiver down your spine. They needed this just as much as you did.

You barely had time to breathe before they bit down—hard—right against the curve of your neck.

A high-pitched cry escaped you, your body jerking in response, heat coiling in your gut, winding tighter—too much, too fast. The sting of their teeth melted into a dull, throbbing pleasure, and when their tongue soothed over the mark, you whimpered, shivering as they left behind a deep, dark hickey.

Their hands slid down your sides, slow, possessive, fingers pressing into your skin as they pulled back just enough to meet your eyes—half-lidded, desperate, barely restrained.

"Gonna keep you right here," they murmured, voice thick with need. Their hips rolled forward, their hold tightening. "Gonna make sure you feel me—"

Another thrust. Deeper. More intense.

Your vision blurred, your breath catching, body twitching as pleasure surged through you like fire.

"Fuck— please—" You couldn’t even finish the sentence, couldn’t even think—just clutching at them, holding on as they fucked you through the dizzying, overwhelming sensation, keeping you right on the brink of explosion.

And then—

They kissed you.

Slow. Deep. Possessive.

And you fucking broke.

Your whole body shattered beneath them.

A choked, shuddering gasp tore from your throat as the pleasure hit—blinding, overwhelming, knocking every last thought from your head. Your legs clenched around their waist, hands grasping at their shoulders, their hair—anything you could hold onto as wave after wave of white-hot bliss crashed through you.

They swallowed your cries, their lips moving against yours in a messy, desperate kiss, like they were trying to devour every sound you made, feel every tremor in your body as you unraveled beneath them. Their name spilled from your lips like a prayer, half-whimpered, half-moan, and fuck—

They loved it.

"That's it," they groaned, voice rough, breath hitching against your mouth. Their grip on your hips tightened, strong fingers digging into your skin as they thrust into you, chasing their own release, dragging you through the aftershocks. "God, Angel—feel so fucking good—"

Your mind was spinning, body still trembling in their arms, overstimulated and aching in the best way. But you still wanted more.

"More," you gasped, voice barely above a breath, hands tightening in their hair, pulling them closer. "Please—"

They swore under their breath, something low and guttural, before burying their face in the crook of your neck, hips snapping forward with a deep, needy groan.

"Fuck—fuck—"

And then—

They came, shuddering against you, their whole body tensing as they spilled inside, breath hitching, hips stuttering in the aftermath. A low, wrecked sound left their lips, barely held back, and you swore it was the sexiest thing you'd ever heard.

For a moment, neither of you moved.

Just breathing. Holding each other. Feeling the warmth between you, the way their body pressed against yours, how they fit against you so perfectly.

Then—

A slow, satisfied exhale, their lips ghosting over your temple before they nuzzled into your hair.

"S’good," they murmured, voice thick, lazy. "Too good, Angel… y’ damn near killed me."

You huffed out a breathless laugh, still reeling, but you felt the way their arms tightened around you—how they refused to let you go, even as exhaustion started to set in.

Their hips didn’t still for long.

Even as you were still trying to catch your breath, still reeling from the way they had just ruined you, they were already moving again—slow, teasing rolls of their hips against yours, letting you feel just how much they still wanted you.

"Tsk, look at you, Angel," they murmured against your ear, voice thick with amusement and something darker beneath it. Their lips brushed your jaw, your cheek, your neck—each kiss deliberate, possessive—before they nipped at the sensitive skin, making you gasp. "Still twitchin’ for me. So sensitive…"

Your breath hitched as they ground against you again—slow and lazy but purposeful, their length dragging through the mess between your thighs, rubbing against every oversensitive spot that had you whimpering into their shoulder.

"R-Redacted…" you gasped, fingers clutching at their back, nails digging in, desperate to ground yourself against the pleasure. "Too much… I—I just—"

They shushed you, pressing a lingering kiss to your temple, their voice a low, affectionate drawl. "I know, Angel. S’alright… I got you."

But they didn’t stop.

Their hands slid down your sides, gripping your hips, holding you firm as they rocked into you, slow and deep—not enough to overwhelm, not yet, but enough to make you feel them, to keep you on edge.

"Gotta make up for makin’ you mad, don’t I?" they murmured, teeth grazing your ear, sending a full-body shudder down your spine. "Gotta show my Angel how much I love ‘em…"

Their fingers found your jaw, tilting your face toward them, their lips hovering just over yours—so close, so teasing.

"You still mad at me, Angel?"

You wanted to glare at them. Really, you did. But the way they were touching you, the way they were looking at you, their breath warm against your lips—fuck, you couldn’t think straight.

You swallowed hard, trying to muster even the smallest amount of defiance. "M-Maybe…"

A slow, knowing smirk curled at their lips.

"Maybe?" they echoed, tilting their head. "Guess I’ll have to keep goin’ ‘til you forgive me, then…"

And then—

They thrust.

Deep. Slow. Purposeful.

And you—

You cried out.

They shushed you through the cry, murmuring low and soothing against your lips, but their movements didn’t falter. If anything, their grip on your hips tightened, keeping you right where they wanted you as they rolled into you again—deep, slow, letting you feel every inch of them as they stretched you open all over again.

"There we go," they murmured, dragging their lips down your throat, feeling the way your pulse raced beneath their mouth. "Takin’ me so good, Angel. Y’always do…"

Your breath hitched, legs twitching where they were wrapped around their waist, toes curling with every slow, devastating movement. "R-Redacted—"

"Shh, I know…" Their voice was all honey and heat, melting into you. "I know, Angel. I got you…"

But they didn’t stop teasing.

Their hips moved at a pace that was infuriatingly slow, drawing out every sensation, forcing you to feel it—like they wanted to savor you, like they wanted to pull every last sound from your lips before they finally let you have what you wanted.

And you were—

You were so frustrated. So worked up and sensitive that it was too much and not enough all at once. You needed more, you needed faster, you needed—

"Damn it, Redacted, please—!"

They chuckled, low and warm against your skin, their lips curling against your shoulder. "Please what, Angel? Gotta be specific…"

Your face burned. They knew exactly what you wanted, they just wanted to hear you say it—to make you beg for it.

"P-Please, just—" You clenched around them, nails digging into their back, eyes squeezing shut as another slow thrust sent fire up your spine. "Just stop teasing and—"

"And what, Angel?" Their voice was syrupy sweet, mocking in the softest, most affectionate way. "Say it for me…"

Your pride was screaming at you to fight back, to bite back something smart, to refuse to give them the satisfaction—

But then they rolled their hips, slow and deep, and any resistance you had left shattered.

"J-Just fuck me already—!"

They groaned, deep and pleased, like that was exactly what they were waiting for.

"That’s my Angel…"

And then—

Then they snapped their hips forward.

Hard. Fast. Deep.

Their breath hitched, and then they growled—low, deep, vibrating through their chest and into you.

"More, huh?" Their fingers tightened on your hips, their weight pressing you into the mattress as they pinned you down completely. "Y'got no idea what you're askin' for, Angel…"

But they gave it to you.

They slammed into you, hard enough to send shockwaves through your body, hard enough to knock every breath from your lungs. The rhythm was relentless now—fast, deep, dragging you to the edge so quickly your head spun. Your body jolted with every thrust, fingers curling into the sheets, clawing at their back, at their shoulders, at anything you could hold onto—

"F-Fuck—!" You barely had breath to speak, barely had thoughts left beyond the heat, the overwhelming pleasure, the way they were stretching you, filling you, ruining you—

They buried their face against your neck, breath hot and ragged, groaning with every desperate snap of their hips. "S'good, Angel. So perfect—"

Their lips ghosted against your pulse, hot and open-mouthed, before sinking their teeth into your skin—hard.

You shattered.

Pleasure ripped through you, blinding, consuming, your body arching into them as you came with a cry, trembling beneath them as your vision whited out.

And they didn’t stop.

"C’mon, Angel—give me another," they rasped, voice thick with praise, with possession, with love. "Bet you can, can't you? Bet you can take one more for me—"

You shuddered, body trembling beneath them as waves of pleasure crashed through you, but they weren’t done—not yet.

"Again, Angel," they murmured against your skin, voice thick, almost pleading now. "Let me feel you—let me hear you."

You bit your lip, trying to hold it in, trying to keep your sounds from spilling out—

But then they thrust one last time, deep, grinding against you as they spilled inside, hot and thick, sending you spiraling into another sharp, helpless climax.

And that was it. That was the moment you broke.

A choked sob escaped your lips, your whole body tightening around them as pleasure wrecked you, as their name tore from your throat in a breathless, trembling moan—

"Fuck— that’s it, that’s it," they groaned, arms locking around you, holding you close as they rode out the last pulses of pleasure, as they filled you to the brim.

It was overwhelming—too much, too deep, too intimate.

And still, they didn’t pull away.

Instead, they held you, breath hot against your neck, pressing slow, open-mouthed kisses to your damp skin. Their hands traced soothing circles over your hips, grounding you, keeping you close, like they couldn’t let go.

"You okay, Angel?" their voice was softer now, gentle, laced with something raw, something vulnerable.

You barely had the strength to nod, still shaking in their arms, still feeling them inside you, still coming down from that high.

They pressed a lingering kiss to your temple, their fingers tightening around yours as they whispered, "S’good. So good. Mine."

And fuck.

Your heart ached.

They let out a soft chuckle, still breathless, still soaked in heat and the remnants of pleasure. Their arms curled around you, pulling you against their chest, their heartbeat pounding against your ear.

"Man," they murmured, voice thick with exhaustion and something softer, sweeter. "That’s one way to let off steam."

You scoffed weakly, burying your face against their skin, trying to fight the warmth spreading through your chest.

"Shut up," you mumbled.

They just smirked, pressing a lazy, lingering kiss to your forehead. "Never."

The room was quiet except for the sound of your breathing, the gentle hum of their fingers tracing up and down your back, soothing, steady—like they never wanted to let you go.

"Y’know," they muttered after a moment, "if I pissed you off on purpose, d’you think—"

You pinched their side before they could finish.

They yelped—then laughed, burying their face in your hair, still cradling you like you were something precious. Like they couldn’t believe they got to have you like this.

"Love you," they whispered against your temple, breath warm, tender.

And even though you were still pretending to be mad, still trying to act like you weren’t melting at their touch—

You whispered it back.

[blythesarchives]

I finally made a masterlist post for all my fics, sorry everyone who kept messaging me asking for one. I am so bad at making these and putting them together lol.

In Progress - To be updated later with better layout soon

Key:

🔥- Smut 🌶 - Suggestive 🧸- Comfort 🌷- Fluff 💔- Angst 🖊 - Drabble

Winter Soldier

Sugar Plums - The soldier has an attachment to you. 🌶🌷

Подарок - You give the soldier a present for Christmas. 🌷💔

Limbo - Not quite Bucky, not quite Soldat, but all yours. 🔥

Below are fics of WS from my side blog. Content warning provided for each fic.

Cold Metal - Soldat's arm gets cold. You are the solution. 💔🧸

Shower Suds - You give Soldat his first bath out of captivity. 💔🧸

Silver and Garnet - Soldat hurts himself a lot. 💔🧸

Condition - Soldat refuses to sit down, you notice he's in pain. 💔🧸

Gentle Hand - Soldat has a panic attack. 💔🧸

Stained - Soldat continues to have nightmares. 💔🧸

Apricot Toast - Soldat doesn't understand care can be without price. 💔🧸

Knots - You help the soldier with some self care. 💔🧸

Civil War - Bucky

Beefy Bucky Has a Pretty [Redacted] 🖊🔥

Fugitives - While you and Bucky flee from captivity in Berlin, Bucky shows his thanks to you for always being by his side. 🔥

Just As You Are - He tries his best for Valentine's Day. 🔥🌷

To Where and Back Again - Bucky gets triggered to Winter Soldier mode, and his focus is on you. 🔥

The Falcon and the Winter Soldier - Bucky

Alpine Snuggles 🖊

Cut Your Hair - You help Bucky cut his hair. 🧸

Filthy Fingers - You check on Bucky after the mission in Madripoor. 💔

Roasted Chestnuts - Bucky takes to sleeping in the living room, you comfort him with hot cocoa. 💔🧸

Wakanda - Bucky

Masterpiece - You show Bucky some love in Wakanda. 🔥🌷

Thunderbolts* - Bucky

Rinse Cycle - Bucky pulls his arm from the dishwasher and you love how warm it is. 🔥

40's - Bucky

Coming soon

Logan Howlett

Filthy Logan Thoughts Pt 1 🖊🔥

Filthy Logan Thoughts Pt 2 🖊🔥

Logan & Breeding 🖊🔥

Brat Tamer Logan 🖊🔥

Be Gentle - You feel down so Logan picks you back up. 🔥

Manhandle - Feral-ish Logan is obsessed with you. 🔥

Honey Badger - You use Logan’s mask to keep him close. 🔥

Star dividers by @/saradika-graphics | Headers made by me

[boyardee-znuts]

❤︎‬ [REDACTED] notices that you like to peek at his fishnets quite a bit... could you have a thing for them?  ‪‪❤︎‬ [REDACTED] x gn reader ‪ ❤︎ ‬wc: 2.3k‪‪  ❤︎‬ content warning(s): nsfw, yandere  ❤︎‬ [REDACTED] is from 14 days with you being developed by cutiesigh  ❤︎‬ mdni banner by cafekitsune

14 days with you is an 18+ game and is not suitable for minors. minors do not interact with the game and/or any fanfiction material posted here.

“you’re so fucking tight, angel…”

you have half a mind to cuss out [REDACTED], and if they weren’t buried eight inches inside of you, you might have. you can make out the dainty material of his fishnets stockings against your own legs as he practically folds you into a brutal mating press. heat grips at your core as he fucks into you, and to his delight, he’s rewarded with a loud squelching noise from your hole as he stuffs you full.

you should know by now that [REDACTED]’s voracious appetite for anything related to you far exceeds what you might expect. still, it’s hard to not be a bit curious about him, and it’s even harder for him to not feed into your curiosity. he cradles you close to his chest, making sure you can feel his bare skin on your naked body, heartbeats syncopating with each other.

“you’re adorable, did you know that?” the only thing on his body right now is a pair of tight, black fishnet stockings, the same ones he’s been wearing under his ripped jeans before he threw them off to fuck you. “did you really think i wouldn’t notice?”

“i-i don’t know what you’re talking about-,” you try to buy some time. your mind already feels so scrambled from having his cock inside of you. having your hips raised into a mating press isn’t helping you. it feels like every little movement of his cock has you seeing stars. god, you don’t think you’d be able to look at [REDACTED] in the eye if you ever came just from being penetrated by his stupidly hung dick.

“don’t play dumb now. i can feel you tightening up around me, clenching my cock like you don’t want to let go… don’t act like this isn’t turning you on. i know you too well for you to play this game with me,” his voice drops a pitch, the possessive tone seeping through. “i saw you sneaking glances at me all day. eating me up with your eyes. made me wonder what it did that got you so interested in me today… y’really know how to play with someone’s heart.”

he thrusts into you, and you throw your head back to let out a guttural moan. you don’t want to succumb to the pleasure just yet, don’t want to admit to him so quickly that he’s been able to read you like an open book. you know you’re fighting a losing battle, but you can’t give [REDACTED] the satisfaction of an easy kill, not when you still have some fight left in you.

he grins happily though. [REDACTED]’s already got what they’ve wanted. your attention all over him and now being folded in half and getting stretched out on his cock is the perfect conclusion to his day. 

“it’s the fishnets, isn’t it, angel? don’t be shy now… unless you want to be. if that’s the case, then i’ll have to fuck the answer out of you. bet you won’t be so cocky after i’ve made you cum so hard that you can only think about how good my cock feels.” he grabs at your hips and wiggles himself against your core, making sure you really feel his cock pressing up against your velvety walls. you whimper when you feel his fishnets also drag across the curve of your ass, and heat flashes through your entire body almost like a secondary pulse. 

he leans in close to your face, trapping you in between his lanky body. “it fucking turned me on too. all day, angel. think about how i would have felt. feeling your cute eyes sizing me up, staring at my legs all day… almost made me want to pull you aside and rail you in public. wrap these legs around you, the legs that you love s’fucking much.”

you feel a whine bubbling up in the back of your throat. fuck, he’s way too good at this. your hole keeps pulsing around him like a vice, and he’s making a mess out of your body by hitting all the spots you like best. every time his tip brushes deep inside of you, you can feel your self-control slipping from your mind. all you can feel is his body around yours, his voice ringing in your ears, his face flickering right in front of your hazy vision. 

but above all, you hate that he’s right. those stupid fishnets. him and his stupid alt e-boy fashion! it’s so stupidly attractive to see him draped all over with his black clothes, and it’s even more stupidly attractive to see bits of his fishnet tights peeking through the rips in his tight jeans. you did test your luck by letting your eyes wander one too many times. just the memory has saliva pooling in your mouth, and when you sneak a shaky peek at his legs now, your walls seize up around [REDACTED] like never before. 

it doesn’t go unnoticed by him.

“haah- c’mon, angel, i see you ogling me even now-,” he laughs breathlessly on top of you. there’s something about the way the thick waistline sits on his hips, and the tiny criss-cross patterns of the strings covering every inch of his legs, his pale skin, does something to your brain. they make the sinews of his muscles that much more visible, the sensual silhouette of his legs accentuated by the tiny holes. they would rip so easily if you tugged at it, which was what he had done at his crotch area so he could fuck you in the first place. 

you’re so pent up that you’re going to cum if you stare at them any further. you reluctantly tear your eyes away, only for [REDACTED] to demand your attention again by brutally slamming his hips into you. moans shamelessly fall from your lips as he bullies his cock into you over and over again, your walls drinking up the addictive friction of having every inch of his length rubbing up against your insides. 

“you make it so easy for me to tease you, d’you know that? maybe i can work with this too. y’know i’d do anything to make you feel good,” [REDACTED] laughs. “what do you think? maybe i’ll fuck you nice and hard every time i wear these fishnets. that way whenever i wear them, you’ll get all cute and desperate and horny all f’me…”

your core throbs with arousal. it’s almost painful, how much he’s turning you on. something about [REDACTED] turning something so small and trivial into this whole mess and teasing you about it has your brain feeling like mush. his cock feels so good, and just the thought of him essentially pavloving into getting aroused by a pair of fishnets really has you losing your mind. your hole keeps sucking him in, unable to get enough of the high that having sex with him gives you.

“we can start right now. i’ll make you cum your brains out on my cock over and over. beg f’me a bit, won’t you?” he’s fucking you with a renewed vigor. “‘make me cum, [REDACTED]! getting fucked by you in your fishnets is the best! it makes your cock feel good!’ that’s not too hard to say now, is it?” 

you can feel your stomach flip at his words. you’re gasping and panting for air. you might cum if he makes you say something like that. you’re going to cum either way; your body can’t keep up with how hard and fast he’s plowing into you. for someone babbling about how much they love seeing you get flustered, you know he’s the type of boyfriend who’d cum in his pants, fishnets and all, if you kissed him long enough. 

once you have a better grip on yourself, you can recover your pride. once you have a better grip on yourself, you can do something about the stockings that started this whole thing. once you have a better grip on yourself, you can clear your head and be a better person. but now, as you are, you’re just a cockslut who’s about to orgasm over your boyfriend’s cock. all because he wore some fishnets. all because you might be developing a fetish for them. 

you swallow thickly. “m-make me cum, [REDACTED]...!”

“hm? what was that? couldn’t quite hear you.” he feigns ignorance. “i don’t think that was everything either. you’re so smart, angel… you know what you need to do to get me where you want.”

he’s lucky you like him so much. you find the strength to make proper eye contact with him, your face half-fucked out and eyelids drooping into hazy bedroom eyes. you take a good look at his whole body. his pretty face, all the tattoos decorating his body, the very fishnets that got you into trouble in the first place… all of it makes you so horny, so desperate for them, so insatiable to the point that their cock is the only thing that could make you feel better.

ignoring the building ache in your thighs, you spread your legs a bit further. you invite him in deeper, to mold your insides into the shape of his huge dick. “make me cum! g-getting fucked by you in your fishnets is the best…! it makes your cock feel good!”

the lovestruck grin that spreads across his face is indescribable. you’ve never seen a look of pure ecstasy before, but you think this might be the only apt descriptor. he leans his head down to press a gentle kiss to your mouth, a complete contrast to the pure filth he’s stirring up in between your legs. “anything else you want to add?”

there’s really only one thing you can think of. “i love you!”

maybe you should have thought that one a bit more through. 

the next thing you can realize is that you’re about to cum and that [REDACTED] has gone from fucking you with the intent of teasing you to straight up plowing into your insides until your mind breaks. it feels so good. you swear you feel him everywhere, in your guts, in your stomach, in your chest, in your throat. you can’t even moan properly as he presses himself fully against you, grunting as he fucks you out again and again. you’re going to cum. you can feel it. you can feel the heat in your tummy, your hole fluttering around him, the pressure, the pleasure, the tension threatening to break and leave you recoiling and undone all underneath him. 

“i love you too- haha- fuck-,” you can make out his faint voice above all the buzzing in your ears. “i love you. i love you, angel. i love you- i love you so, so much-”

something inside of you snaps. you can feel straight bliss rush through your body like a drug, and you cling to [REDACTED] as he fucks you through your orgasm. your body feels so hot, overheating, and yet the rush makes your vision spin until the vague black-pink blur of his hair is all you can make out. you can hear him give you a broken moan as your insides clamp down on him, and your juices coat his cock all over, desperate to break him down just as much he has done to you. 

it feels good. it feels good. his cock feels good. cumming feels so good! it’s all you can make out, all you can think. 

“oh- fuck- take it, angel- take me… hah- i love you!” a couple of hard thrusts from him, and then you feel him cum straight inside of you with a desperate whine of your name. a sudden sensation of fullness hits you like a brick wall as you wallow through the depths of your orgasm, the pleasure crashing and washing over you like the ebb and flow of a relentless ocean wave. you can feel his warmth seeping into you and spreading out to the corners of your body from the inside out, and it’s as if something akin to happiness is also dyeing the depths of your mind.

you let him fall on top of you and lay there, soaking up the skin-to-skin contact, as both of you try to make heads or tails of the pure physicality of it all. a wave of uncharacteristic shyness bites at your face when you can feel his fishnets rub against your own legs as he cradles you, softening cock still lodged in you so he can savor the combined warmth of his sticky cum and your loving insides. 

“i think you got a little too cocky there,” you chuckle weakly, breaking the ambient silence to reach for him and hold him in your arms. “don’t forget that i have that ace up my sleeve.”

“hm.” he sounds unimpressed when he moves his face so he can peer into your eyes. you both still have a distant dazed look in your eyes, still feeling the final afterwaves of your shared orgasms, still blissed out on the simple intimacy behind something that started over something so mundane. “but you’re the one who ended up with a new kink, so i wouldn’t talk too big…”

you laugh again, your hand wandering down the side of his body to grasp blindly at the waistline of his fishnets. you grab at it and curl your fingers around the elastic waistband, and you tug at it so it snaps just the slightest bit against his hip. [REDACTED] lets out a small yelp at your retaliation, but his momentary disdain is quickly replaced by the usual adoration in his eyes.

you can process everything later. new fetish or not, these fishnets did net you something fun today. 

takashi murakami: !n-cha!

[rassicas]

today on splatoon mythbusters: is Agent 4 a country bumpkin?

no lol this is probably the funniest widespread misconception to come out in recent years A big part of it is because people misunderstood this map.

I came across this trivia point on the wiki page for agent 4 while making this post LOL agent 4 has better access to public transportation than 95% of you With all that green on the map and nothing marked in between, It seems that people have been assuming the population density of inkopolis looks something like the image on the left. While it's unclear exactly how big the population is of inkadia and the surrounding area is, going roughly off of how irl east Tokyo and neighboring Chiba prefecture look, i think its safe to guess were dealing with an urban area that looks more like whats on the right.

(side note about population count: i take the account of the Low Water Party with a grain of salt since that isnt even a real number they used. something that is more reliable is that graffiti artist Sally has over 240k followers on social media. while followers can be from anywhere in the world ofc, it sounds like her fanbase is largely in inkopolis. i think its safe to say inkopolis is a very big city!)

If we're to look more at the irl equivalent of the area, it seems the Inkopolis Coastal Connector is based on the Keiyo Line. Following that line roughly to where 4's house is lands us in a ward in Chiba city. It doesn't look like much, but about 100k people live in that area. Not a super crazy urban area like tokyo, but still urban.

(incidentally, a major landmark on the Keiyo line is Makuhari Messe, where 3 of the irl splatoon idol concerts have been held. maybe a coincidence but maybe gives more credence to the idea that that's what the coastal connector is based on?) Apparently on the Japanese side, there's a theory that 4 is from Yotsukaido, which is a little further north of the area i circled. why there? Yotsukaido means "4 town street"...4...haha

Ok enough guessing based on "vibes" and real maps that may or may not be accurate to how things are in the splatoon world. The Actual lore: On Splatoon base it's confirmed they grew up about 40 minutes away from Inkopolis by train, close to the city. That's like a nothing amount of distance.

Another developer interview from 2017 goes into more detail.

Inoue: Agent 3 had a very "I've finally made it to the city" feeling, with a strong desire to become fresh. 4 on the other hand, not so much. Rather than being someone from the countryside, they're more like someone who came from a commuter town within the greater metropolitan area. It's like a place where the limited express trains wouldn't stop at, but the semi-express trains would (laughs).

so agent 4 is very clearly, a city kid. agent 3 is the country bumpkin, from an area so far away its not even on the map. According to splatoon base...

Far enough away that they moved to inkopolis alone. meanwhile 4 lives close enough that they could just go home to their parents after battling.

Also this is something that I never see brought up. Amidst the dubiously canon early concept comics in the back of the artbook, there's a comic about agent 3 leaving their hometown, mentioning they live in a seaside town called [REDACTED] with a population of 5000.

Again, these comics are dubious since theyre so old. but there are ideas in these comics that have carried over to the final games in some form, and this is consistent with agent 3's final characterization that they come from a far away small town and had a longing for the city.

anyway tldr i think its funny how agent 4's fandom characterization/backstory got swapped with 3's all because of a misread map

[despairots]

DILUTE ME!

this is meant for older audiences, but if you are under the age of 18, i can not stop you from reading this.

story contains: light suggestive themes, yandere themes, ren/[REDACTED] should be a warning itself, mentions of murdering, etc. reader is a bit timid and shy when with [REDACTED] in this but they’re usually sultry and sweet.

context: yandere! reader gets over their sick and twisted ways of showing their love but finds it hard to keep it in once getting with their partner. gn! reader

you didn’t know what lend to this. you swore you got over the tendencies, the habit, the absolute anger you’d feel once you see another person that’s not you making a move on what’s supposed to be yours. why did he let this happen? why was this girl flirting with him infront of you?

your lips pulled itself into a tight line, your face pulling a look of absolute disgust, keeping the thought of bashing her head into the brick wall at bay, but how long could you keep it in until you just gave in and did every horrible thing possible to her?

god, how much longer will she try? actually, why hasn’t ren said anything yet? your eyes shifted from her figure to his, catching every detail of their face snd engraving it into memory. it didn’t matter how many times you do it, they look better every time you do.

your mouth went to open before it shut when she let out an obnoxious laugh. your eyebrow twitched, clutching onto your boyfriends hand even tighter, biting your tongue back. please, please, please, you thought you were better than this. unfortunately, you’ve went back to your default settings.

“leave them alone, you tramp.” you muttered under your breath, letting her only hear it (not knowing he picked it up aswell) before you scoffed at her and pulled ren away. mind was racing with different ways to dispose of her, as ren could only stare at you with puppy eyes.

back to your shared room, you stripped yourself out of your clothes, digging through his clothes and putting them on. any sort of reminder of them as you kept going back to the girl who kept flirting with them. who the hell did she think she was?

ren saw the way you glared at her, saw the way you bit your tongue back to snap at her when she got a little close, they loved it. now, watching you mentally mutter insults to yourself about that unknown whilst in their clothing, all he could think about was you.

how your scent would linger in their clothing, how you were so willingly to strip in front of him and wear their clothing. you looked so small in it, compared to him. ren watched you turn your back away from them, a slight twinge pulled at his chest. were you mind at him?

“are you mad at me, angel?” one of their hands lifted his oversized shirt on, trailing their fingers up and down your back, feeling your smooth skins and the way you shivered from his touch. “i—i’m not mad at you.” the way you ended your sentence with venom made him smile a bit.

ren trailed their fingers over to your stomach until wrapping his arm around it and pulling you back to his chest, hearing you yelp at the sudden pull. from this position, ren could see the growing blush from your cheeks as you tried hiding it in your arm and pillow.

“did… did you think she was cute?” their real name slipped from your tongue, and he couldn’t help but pull a face of disgust when you asked. she couldn’t compete to you in any other way. ren kept a note in disposing her later once you fell asleep, they didn’t want you to think he was attracted to her.

ren placed small kisses onto the back of your neck, hearing you breathe softly each time he made in contact with your skin, “you’re all i want.” their voice was muffled against the crook of your neck, as you flipped around and placed a gentle hand on his cheeks, a soft smile on your face.

“go to sleep, okay? i promise to give you treat later. remember? poorly behaved dogs get not treat.” fuck, that was hot. once you say that, there was no turning back, the both of you would last hours. ren’s eyes widened until their lips pulled into a light smirk, his hand going to the back of your head and pulling you into a deep kiss.

your hand slid down to his chest, finding itself slipping underneath their clothing and resting it there. a light moan escaped your mouth when ren took control, his tongue slipped into your mouth, marking every inch of it until they pulled away, a string of saliva a reminder.

ren went back to placing kisses on your neck, sometimes nipping at it if he felt a like a tease, grinning whenever you would release a small whine. your hands played with his hair, waiting until he fell asleep to execute your plan. a devious smile pulled onto your lips, hearing the breathes of the one you love.

you pulled away lightly, making sure you didn’t wake them up as you placed a pillow to be a substitute for you until you came back. this will be the only time you’ll resort back to your old ways, dressing in all back, grabbing a pair of latex gloves and a box cutter. as much as you wanted to do worse, this will have to do.

finding her wasn’t hard to do, she was walking around clearly under the influence, and you couldn’t help but snort at how stupid of a bimbo she was. you dragged her back to a secluded spot, keeping a hand over her mouth as you tossed her to the ground and went to stab the box cutter deep into the side of her neck.

you stayed in that position, maybe pushing it into her neck deeper for safety measures (when really you just wanted to get in more stabs). you pushed her to the side, putting the box cutter into your pocket and pulling the black mouth mask down, a judging look on your face.

disposing her body was easy, killing her was easy too— everything was easy actually. you didn’t need to do anything extreme to get rid of her. you quietly sneak back inside your home, stretching your limbs and taking the gloves off. you opted to throw the box cutter away but decided to keep it as a reminder that you had killed somebody again.

a pair of arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you back to something as a half scream half yelp was muffled when a hand came to your mouth. you thrusted around… until a familiar voice whispered into your ear, “now where were you, angel? did’ya really leave me to solve my own problem?” you knew what he meant by problem but that didn’t bother you when you remembered you were covered in blood.

“ren— let me go—“ their hold against you tightened, they took a piece of your ear into his mouth and nibbled on it, “so, how’d you kill her? stab her? strangled her? come on— you could’ve left her to me!” the way he said it sent a chilling shiver down your spine; what the hell did they mean?

he turned you around, wiping off some excess blood on your cheek with a lovesick smile. god, you looked so good like this. “what are you talking about?” you whispered, ren’s lips inches away from yours as their eyes flickered from your lips to your eyes.

“y’know what i’m talking about.”

your eyebrows were pulled into a frown, why isn’t he finding this weird? “you’re not disgusted by me?” ren let out a sigh, his next words being muffled by your lips, “i can never be disgusted by you.” you pulled away slightly, lips parted and pupils blown out, eyes flickering from their lips to their eyes nervously.

“but i killed someone…”

“and i enjoyed every minute of it.” the way ren said it made butterflies flutter in your chest, but yet you still felt disgusted by yourself. you promised you wouldn’t resort back to your old ways, yet you couldn’t help yourself. the way she decided to flirt with him in front of you, made you want to feel the same feeling you’d get whenever someone decided to get too cozy with something that was yours.

ren noticed the lack of words, bringing you into a comforting kiss, feeling you relax in their hold as you slowly kissed back. knowing the extremes you’d take for him, he couldn’t help but feel flattered that you’ll do that for him.

“come on, how ‘bout that treat i’m supposed to be getting?” ren shoved the black sweater off you, lips still interlocked as they placed their phone on the kitchen counter,

… as photos of you stalking and killing the women appeared on his phone.

[harmonyrae]

Ṗ̸̛̳̻̝͓̪͒̑͘r̵̥̳̯̠̟͎̈́͛͐̇͊a̶͍̩̰̩͔̪̩̅͂̀̿̓͠e̷̺̦̫͍͖̭̣͕̞̊̎̑̍d̵̡͓͓͖̹̒̆͗̈́͜͜á̸̢̡̻̳̫̦͔̉̾̄̄̌̋͝t̴͙͎͂̍̍̉͐̀̓͘ô̷̧̭r̵̖̱̞͇̺͓̠̝̱̒ͅ [REDACTED]

Synopsis: Your constant escape attempts have become more than a nuisance. Turning to another praedator wasn't standard procedure, but they're out of options.

AN: This was written before playing the memory. This fic is just based on the alternate universe concept where Sylus is feral & unhinged. So, this is just raunchy, dirty fun. Happy Valentine's Day!

Content Warnings: violence, gore, blood, psychotic/psychosis, explicit language & sexual content, breath play, biting, implied unprotected sex, creampie, rough ROUGH sex, dom!Sylus, mentions of Sylus myth, 18+ MDNI

Word Count: 5.9k

Now Playing:

Choke - Mobiius

Limits - Bad Omens

Circus Psycho - Diggy Graves

“I’ve got her! Level 23, she’s heading for the south stairwell! Go go go!”

The angry voice on the intercom screamed orders, it was too late to change direction. You dive through the heavy metal door. Your sweat slick hands barely hold onto the railing as you hurl yourself down the stairs. If you made it to level 14 you’d be farther than you’ve ever been before. 

“Level four level four level four window break window jump window…”

Your incoherent rambling echoed through the stairwell. You could hear their boots on the stairs above you. You dared to look up the narrow opening between the stairs and felt a bullet graze your cheek. You fall backwards and tumble down the next flight of stairs. The dull ache was comforting, you’d learned to use pain to your advantage. Your bruises served as motivation, a roadmap for your failures, lessons learned.

A quick glance over your shoulder, a small blood trail trickled across the floor behind you. As you descend the stairs, you wipe your nose, blood pools in your hand. You had hit your head during the fall. Shit. You knew what would happen if they caught up to you. 

As you approached Level 13, your lungs were burning, but your heart was hammering with excitement. So… damn… close…

“Gotcha!”

You slam into something solid. Before you can come to your senses and redirect, thick arms are wrapped around you. You thrash against them. Your jaw aches from how wide you stretch your mouth open, your screams nearly deafen the men surrounding you. Some cover their ears, some shrink back - fuckin newbies.

You latch onto the flesh in front of you, your teeth sinking in deep. The arms holding you let you go and you stumble, trying to grab onto the railing and pull yourself down the stairs. You could taste their blood, soured by radiation. Level 11 is right… there…

BANG

You felt a sharp jolt of electricity vibrate through your legs and then… nothing. Your face slams into the floor, your wrists ache and you can’t feel your legs. You try to turn over, but you can’t move. You try to move your legs, but they're just… not there… Fuck, they shot your spine out again. You groan as you slam your hands onto the floor, your voice hoarse from screaming came out as a pitiful broken whine.

A single set of boots circles you and comes to a stop in front of your face. You strain your eyes to look up at the figure looming over your bloodied and broken body, but all you see is the barrel of a gun. Blood leaks out of the corners of your mouth as it curves into a smile. A laugh erupts from your throat as the man pulls the trigger.

BANG

A group of four men dressed in tactical armor stand around a table, your body laid out and chained to a bed beside them. One of the men turns to face you, he leans back against the table and crosses his arms.

“235. She doesn’t know when to quit does she?”

“70 attempts in the last 2 weeks alone, how the fuck are we supposed to do anything else? We’re just chasing her around all damn day.”

A door opens and a man in a suit walks in, he’s more distinguished than the other men and it’s not just because of the suit. He walks past the men at the table and approaches the bed. He pulls back the sheet to look down at your still lifeless body. His finger traces the bullet hole on your forehead, a smile spreading across his lips as he watches it slowly close. 

“I thought I told you not to shoot her unless it was absolutely necessary.”

The men at the table straighten and the one leaning takes a cautious step forward.

“She fell and hit her head, we don’t have the medical capabilities to treat a brain injury. It was easier to initiate a jump start.”

“What did you just say?”

All the men bristle and look down at the floor, letting their comrade struggle.

“We’ve just… we refer to it as a ‘jump start’ - I know it’s not official, we just don’t know what else to call it.”

The well-dressed man turns and stands toe to toe with the cowering soldier. 

“She is more valuable than you will ever be. I expect her to be treated as such.”

“Yes sir. I’m sorry sir.”

The man nods, accepting the apology for the moment. He turns and puts on a clean pair of gloves. He picks up the tattoo gun and dips the needle into the already prepared ink cap. He returns to the bed and pulls the sheet completely away. Your body is still bruised and bloody, except for one of your legs. The distinct scent of alcohol fills the room as the man turns your leg to reveal a large patch of skin already covered in small tattoos.

The man leans over and presses the needle down onto your skin, next to the other markings. He draws a single dark line, as he dabs at your skin with a paper towel, his fingers graze over the other marks. Tally marks.

“I thought I made myself clear yesterday. Find a solution or I’ll replace your entire unit.”

The soldiers shrink back watching their leader stare at the floor. The man tosses the tattoo gun across the room and stalks over to take the man by the throat. 

“Your plan, now, or your replacement starts today. After your body is finished burning.”

The man grabs at the burley hands around his throat. He gasps and stretches his feet, trying to reach the floor. He whimpers and squeezes his eyes shut. 

“Tartarus! Tartarus, she’ll go to Tartarus!”

The grip around his throat loosens and he is released. He falls to his knees and coughs, his hand rubbing his neck. He looks up and sees his boss tapping your knee with a small utensil, he watches your foot twitch. He tests the other knee and when he sees the same result he smiles. 

“Why Tartarus?”

The soldier finally stands, he holds onto the table and keeps his eyes locked on your unconscious form. Your chest has started to rise and fall, your skin less pale than before.

“She’s not afraid of anything. She could be thrown out of a window and laugh when she hits the dirt. She expects immediate action, but Tartarus doesn’t act unless he knows he’ll get something out of it. If anything, he’ll distract her long enough for us to improve her holding cell.”

A suit jacket is draped over the back of a chair at the table and the man sits. He picks up the deck of cards from the center of the table, carefully shuffling them before sifting through them.

“And what do you think… Tartarus…”

He holds up a King of Hearts card.

“Will do when she…”

He holds up a Queen of Hearts card.

“...is tossed in his cage?”

A shaky hand grips the back of the chair across from him. The soldier sits, his elbows lean dig into the table as his hands rake through his damp hair.

“The others are an equal match for her, she’d have a chance at putting them down. Even Perses… she’d talk her way into his head.”

“What about Tamino? Hermit?”

“Tamino plays with his food. But I think she’d kick him once and he’d roll over. Hermit is touch starved. She could breathe on him and he’d wrap himself around her.”

“And Galen?”

“We’ve been giving him the medicine you gave us. He’d be the first to figure out her… gift. He’d probably peel her skin off to watch it grow back.”

“So Tartarus…”

“He’s patient, methodical… he’d love it if she tried to get in his head. And he wouldn’t hesitate to pin her down if it got physical.”

“What if he discovers her… what did you call it… her gift?”

“Didn’t you say you wanted to test her limits?”

As soon as the words left his mouth he regretted it. He held his breath as the color drained from his skin. A cold hand reached across the table and tapped the King card. 

“Then go on… give the king his queen.”

With that, the man stood, picked up his suit jacket and left the room. The men huddled in the corner approached the table, surrounding their superior who finally stood. He looked at you. He stalked over and slammed his hands down on the bed beside you. He growled, his anger boiling over as he collected himself and planned his next steps.

“Send her to Zia for a cleaning and new clothes. Then drop her in the cage. Notify me when it’s done. I’ll handle the… introduction.”

You see flashes of light, so bright your eyes burn. You hear the crashing of waves, loud and violent like a storm approaching. You smell bitter cold air, as if snow is just about to fall. You feel a jolt of electricity, your body damn near weightless, floating. And then a sharp pain to your heart, wind chilling your cheeks as you are pulled forward by an unseen force. 

CLANK

Your eyes flutter open. The sound of chains against metal was too familiar. Too aggravating. You groan as you slowly lift your arms. You expected to feel their weight around your wrists, but you felt nothing. The dark ceiling above you was not the one you’d grown accustomed to. The scent, musk and spice, is not your own. 

The crashing waves deafening you finally fade away and you hear the chains again, this time much closer than before. Your body moves on instinct, rolling over and squatting low. Your arms stretch out to the side and you feel the sting of cold metal bars behind you. These are not the bars you’re used to. They’re not smooth, jagged edges catch the leather of your gloves. You’re suddenly aware your clothes have been changed. You haven’t gotten a change of clothes in months. The cuts and bullet holes must have been too much of an eye sore for someone. 

You blink rapidly, adjusting to the low lighting. Your muscles flex, testing your new clothes. The smooth fabric of the bodice was stretchy, enough for you to roll and jump without a problem. The leather harnesses would prove to either be an asset or a major pain in the ass, you’d figure it out later. The cut outs along your hips are wide, you slowly run a hand down and sure enough, Zia didn’t give you underwear again. You’d yell at her the next time you saw her, just because she liked to go commando doesn’t mean you did. Leather gloves covered your arms up to your bicep, a thick buckle connected them to the harness across your breasts. The same style buckles connect the thigh high stockings to the harness hooked around your waist. Knee high boots were tightly laced and the thick soles squeaked against the floor, fuck… they took your sneakin’ boots.

Lifting your hand to your face you feel the familiar metallic mask, the low hum of the invisible filter covering your mouth was somewhat comforting. Everytime they removed it, your head would ache and memories you couldn’t place would flood your mind. Jasmine flowers, blue fish, stars, apples… feathers… 

“No no no no no not now…”

You whisper to yourself, shaking your head. Your loosely braided hair falls over your shoulder and brushes against something that makes you gasp. Your hand quickly circles your neck, a thick leather band is sewn into place. A metal hook sits at the back, you tug at the chain connected to it and growl. 

“No… no no no…”

A loud screech sends you back down to your knees, your hands fly up to your ears.

“Don’t pull on it too hard, he won’t like that.”

Your eyes widen and you look up, scanning the edges of the room beyond the cage you’re in. A flash of light draws your attention and you spot the observation room. The windows of the room are thick, only one set of metal shutters are lifted and you see him - Everett. He’s been your tormentor, your assigned guard since you arrived at this godforsaken facility. He didn’t have his usual smirk… something’s off… 

“Trust me, you don’t want to make him angry. Just look at the guy behind you.”

You glance over your shoulder through the bars. A faint outline of a man is hidden by shadows. A loud click rings out as a spot light illuminates where the figure lies. The sight before you sends you crawling away from the bars towards the center of the cage. It looks like the man… exploded… blood stains the floor and walls, bones lay scattered across the floor. Your chest tightens and your nails dig into the floor of the cage. You hear chains drag along the floor behind you and you freeze.

“Don’t worry, we finally figured out an Evol suppressor for him. He shouldn’t be able to do that again. Hopefully.”

You carefully turn over to sit on your knees. You steady yourself and stand slowly. The room is still too dark, the cage is much larger than you realized. You still can’t see who is responsible for the carnage. 

“Now that he has a new toy, I think you’ll be a little too busy to try for attempt 236.”

You look up at Everett and bare your teeth, you dig your nails into your palm and feel the sting through your gloves. You’re tempted to lunge forward, but the chain connected to your collar sways behind you. You’re not sure how long your new leash is and what it’s connected to exactly. You glare at Everett, his eyes meet yours and his smirk finally returns.

“Don’t worry, I’ll check in. Every few days or so. Have fun.”

You scream as the metal shutter closes and Everett disappears. The spotlight shuts off and panels of lights along the baseboards flicker on. The white slowly darkens to a warm red tone, making the air feel heavy. You dive to the side of the cage, brace your back against the bars and pull your knees up to your chest. Wrapping the chain around your wrist twice and holding it in your hand, you were used to a fight, but who were you up against this time?

A deep rumbling laugh echoes through the room sending shivers down your spine. It was familiar and terrifying. You hold onto the bars as you crawl around the outside edge of the cage, dragging your chain leash behind you.

“You look like a kitten crawling around like that…”

A raspy voice from deep within the shadows rings out. You wince, that voice… It's like a knife cutting through your flesh. But why? 

“And what are you? The fucking boogie man? Hiding in the shadows like a pussy?”

That laugh… He’s laughing at you. You grit your teeth and carefully stand up, staying close to the edge of the cage. The floor vibrates as chains drag, your grip tightens around the bar, ripping through the fabric of your glove.

“Oh I like you…”

A subtle tug on the chain in your hand makes your knees shake. You have nothing to be afraid of, you’re fucking immortal, this prick can get fucked. So why was your heart racing? Your cheeks burning? A fresh surge of rage washes over you, you fling the chain around your wrist a third time before giving it a harsh tug. A grunt and clatter from deep within the shadows confirms your suspicions… you’re chained to each other. 

“Kitten wants to play hmm…”

You widen your stance, bringing your fists up.

“Bring it on bitch!”

But instead of being forced forward or a beast lunging at you from the shadows, you hear steady footsteps approaching you. A figure appears between the line of shadow and light, he’s tall, much taller than you. And he’s wide, his well built shoulders taper down to a slim waist and hips. A boot crosses into the light, your eyes trail up the set of long legs and your breath catches in your throat as you take in his toned torso. 

“Fuck…”

“Like what you see, kitten?”

You thought you were whispering, but apparently not. You grimace, irritated by your body's reaction. That waist looked even more delicious with the hips of his pants digging into him. Chains drape along his hips and up the center of his torso. A thick strap crosses the center of his chest, holding the sleeve of his barely there jacket in place. The other sleeve was just straps of leather wound around his massive bicep and forearm. He had the same apparatus secured to his face, but on him, it looked more like a muzzle than a filtered mask. His shaggy silver hair hung down to his shoulders, short strands swept across his forehead. Then you saw them… his eyes. The chain didn’t need to pull you, just his gaze had you taking a step forward. 

“Oh you do…”

His condescending tone brought you back to reality, your jaw ached from your teeth grinding. 

“Fuck you.”

His eyes widen, and there’s that all too familiar glare - the one you’ve seen in the mirror. His arm flies backwards and the chain around your wrist is yanked forward. You stumble and hold onto the bar behind you, your shoulder pops loudly and you scream. Unable to hold on, you let go of the bar and shift to hold onto the chain, pulling back with all your strength. You see his arms jolt upwards and he grunts. You glance up at the ceiling of the cage and spot a hook with multiple chains secured to it. 

He takes another step toward you and you know you have seconds to act before he pounces. Leverage. You need leverage. You whip the chain against the floor and it glides through the air like a wave, hitting the man in the face. He stumbles backwards and you seize the opportunity. 

You sprint to the edge of the cage and wrap the chain around two bars. You take two steps back and drag the loop you’ve created through the bars. You loop the chain around your left wrist as many times as you can before turning and running directly towards the man. His gaze finds yours and his wicked smile falters. You hear the chain clanging against the hook and then the man is thrown forward. He loses his balance and falls, his knees hit the ground as his arms fly into the air above his head. You turn and lean back, when you glance over your shoulder, he is standing, his arms still held above his head.

“Oh I’m going to enjoy this, sweetie. Show me what you’ve got.”

You expect him to fight back, to tug at the chain and send you flying into the air, but he doesn’t. He occasionally struggles against them, but never enough to move you. He stares at you, he tilts his head and you see his nostrils flair. You watch his pupils dilate and he bites his lip.

“Your smell… hmm… If you don’t hurry sweetie…”

You squeeze your thighs together, not to strengthen your stance, but rather to try to stop your arousal from leaking down your legs. He can smell how turned on you are? Fuck Zia for not giving your underwear… fuck… You can’t wrap your head around why your body was reacting this way. But with every glance over your shoulder, you could tell this beast of a man was experiencing something similar. You take the risk and stand up straight, still holding the chain tightly to keep his hands raised. Approaching him slowly, you side step and let your eyes fall down his body.

You knew you had tattoos, used to keep track of not only your escape attempts - your entire back covered with tally marks, with no room left they had to move to your legs - but also to keep track of the tests they ran. Similar tattoos adorned his body, you could make a few guesses to their meaning. The roman numerals were most likely his admission date, just like the barcode was for guards to pull up his profile. You wondered what his code name was, did he get something stupid under the guise that it was “symbolic” or did his name suffice. What is his name? Should you ask?

As you circle behind him, he glances over his shoulder at you. His eyes shine and you’re tempted to take a step closer. 

“My name’s Sylus, by the way.”

“I didn’t ask.”

He chuckles and turns, his side profile bathed in a warm red glow. You meet his glare and pull on the chain. He lurches forward but maintains eye contact. His name… you know him… don’t you? But how? No no no… It’s the radiation again… has to be has to be has to be…

“Tick tock…”

His voice disrupts your thoughts. You wince and dare to step closer. 

“What…?”

“Tick… tock…”

His tone is teasing, but his eyes are hungry. His eyes… his eyes… red… red… red… As if reading your mind, he turns to face you fully. His eyes shine and he leans down to your level. His right eye twitches and he blinks. It doesn’t stop the twitching, his face twists as if he’s in pain. He yanks the chain down and you fall backward. You hit the floor and lose your grip on the chain. As you scramble to wrap the slack around your wrist, you look back and see Sylus holding his head in his hands. 

“Sorceress…”

You drop the chain. Sorceress... His voice is quiet… far away… strained… You sit back, your hands behind you on the floor. You try to inch your way backwards, but the pain behind your eyes becomes too strong. You can’t look away from Sylus, his muscles straining against the chains, sweat dripping down his chest, his hands taking fistfulls of hair. And then… he looks up at you. 

And all you see is red red red red red red red red…

Sylus’s eye was glowing, streams of red and black mist flowing out of corners and down his face, around his neck, down his arms, around the chain and towards the ceiling. Your chest rises and falls faster and faster. His presence becomes all-encompassing, he’s in your head, feeling his way around, digging through your memories. Before you realize what you’re doing, you’ve ripped the mask off your face. Your chest burns as the air around you thickens, it’s as if the radiation washes over you for the first time. 

“Sylus…”

It’s like your voice is not your own. Something ancient awakens. Your desire burns hotter. 

SNAP

The chain shatters, disappearing into the red and black mist. Sylus’s eye stops glowing and he lunges at you. Your mind is muddy, but your instincts are still sharp. You roll to the side just as Sylus reaches you. You dig your toes into the floor and push off, rushing forward - to where, you have no fucking clue… 

CRACK

The chain around your wrists force you back. You turn and grab the chain, but your hands are shaking. Another yank and you are falling again. You tuck and roll and try to regain your footing. You look up and Sylus stretches the chain between his hands. A smile tugs at the corners of his mouth, he slowly stalks toward you, like he’s hunting. 

“Sylus?”

Again, your voice surprises you. Images flood your mind, your head so full you’re convinced you’ll burst. A gold lamp with a tiny dragon… A glowing sword… Horns… 

A loud growl breaks the silence and you look up to see Sylus right in front of you. You turn around, but realize you’re backed into a corner, you’re trapped. Sylus’s arm wraps around your neck, his chest pressed against your back. And of course now you realize your bodice is backless, his hard abdomen against your bare back sends a new jolt to your clit and you moan.

You feel Sylus’ smile as he presses his mouth into the crook of your neck. His other hand traces your side and reaches around to hold your hip, he grips your firmly and holds you against him. You feel how hard he is and let out another breathy whimper. Ever since arriving at this facility you’ve been emotionless, yet being with him for less than 10 minutes has you falling apart? 

“You’re not allowed to fly away…”

He flexes his bicep against your neck and you lean your head back to get more air. He presses his lips to your temple, his voice gentle compared to his damn near suffocating grip.

“My little bird…”

He takes a deep breath and his chest vibrates against you as he groans. He dips his head down and licks the side of your face. Blame it on the increased radiation from not wearing your mask, you’re done playing it safe. You want nothing more than to be reckless and fucking messy. You roll your hips and reach a hand back to grip onto Sylus’s hair. His moan in your ear sends you into a frenzy. You sink your teeth into his forearm - his blood isn’t bitter… it’s sweet… it’s rich…

The sound he makes is anything but human and when you lick over the wound you created he growls again. He spins you around and grabs your wrists, pinning them above your head as he backs you against the bars of his cage. He leans in and uses his other hand to grip your face, his fingers dig into your cheeks and you smile. This kind of pain was making you delirious. 

“Last chance sweetie… fight back or surrender.” 

He loosens his grip on your face and wraps his hand around your neck, letting his thumb graze your pulse point. Your heart flutters when you see his quick glance down to your lips. 

“My dragon…”

You’re not sure why you said it, but you don’t stop yourself from repeating it over and over. His eyes hold an emotion you can’t quite place. It’s quickly replaced with a fire you’re familiar with. The desire to conquer, to devour.

“I surrender…”

Sylus covers your mouth with his, nipping at your bottom lip almost immediately demanding to be let in. You open your mouth and he sinks his tongue inside, your tongues fight against each other as his hand travels down to your body. You may have surrendered, but you wouldn’t back down from this particular battle. You wanted to hear him moan, to feel him writhe, to make him just as much yours as you’d be his. 

You feel the chains around your wrist snap and hear them clatter to the floor. Sylus’s hands grab onto your harness and he tears his lips away to lift you. He throws you up into the air and lets go of your harness to grab your waist. You yelp as he backs you against the bars again, your legs forced to wrap around his waist. Before he can even recapture your lips, you roll your hips and rub yourself against his abs. He glares at you and you grab his hair tugging his head back roughly. Your lips meet his neck and he groans. You suck the skin over his Adam's apple before biting gently. 

He steps back and drops you to your feet suddenly. He takes hold of your harness again and the straps dissolve into a red and black mist, just like the chains. He pulls your gloves off in one smooth motion, tossing them behind him. He sinks his fingers into the front of your bodice and…

RIP

He tears the bodice completely. You shiver as the cold air hits your tits and soaked cunt. The chill doesn’t last long, Sylus spins you around again and presses his warm body against yours. His hands wrap around you and he cups your breast, rolling your peaked nipple before pinching it. His other hand dips down and digs his fingers in to find your clit. He spreads you open and rolls his finger over the sensitive bud of nerves directly. Your body seizes and he releases your breast to wrap around your waist. You reach back to try and rub his cock through his pants and he nips at your ear. 

“Do you really think you’ve earned that?”

He lunges forward and your bare torso is pushed against the bars of his cage. He doesn’t hesitate to sink his fingers into your weeping cunt. Your pussy sucks in his digits greedily, your walls pulse around them in an instant. You whine and try to pull your hips back, but he shoves his hips forward to keep yours in place. His fingers work their way in and out, the lewd sounds of your cunt drive you closer to the edge. He tilts your head to the side so he can place sloppy kisses to your neck.

“Your cunt is so… greedy…”

His whispers, his fingers, his chest against your back, his scent, his everything… You gasp for air, the angle of your neck and the relentless scissoring of Sylus’s fingers has you coming embarrassingly fast. As your release drips over Sylus’s hand and down your thighs you hear him groan.

“Did I say you could do that? Bad girl…”

He gives your pussy a slap and your legs tremble. You lean your head back against his shoulder and his arm is around your neck once more. He drags you backward and pushes you down onto your knees. He kneels behind you and lifts his hand to your mouth, tapping your lips, a silent command to open. You obey and he sticks his fingers in for you to clean, he moans as he feels your tongue lap up every ounce of your own release. 

“Down.”

His command is accompanied with his hand splayed on your upper back, he pushes you down and you rest your chest on the floor. He grabs onto your hips and tugs them upwards. Your chest against the cold floor, your slick cunt spread for him, your mind is finally clear - no more flashes of memories or pain. The only thing that exists right now is Sylus. You hear the clicks of buckles and then Sylus’s jacket is tossed to the floor in front of you. You try to push yourself up to look over your shoulder, desperate to see his body. His hand returns to your upper back and pushes you back down.

“Hands.”

You put your hands behind your back and he holds your wrists to your lower back with one hand. You feel his cock rub against your dripping cunt and can’t hold back.

“Sylus please please please… fuck…”

Another slap to your pussy makes you growl, the frustration becoming almost more than you could handle. Just as you’re about to start pushing your hips back you feel his tip circle your tight cunt. He pushes himself into you slowly, savoring every pulse and clench. When he bottoms out, he pauses for a moment, letting you adjust and breathe. But as soon as you breathe in, the air is pushed back out. His hips retreat and snap forward, Sylus roars as he slams into you over and over. One hand holding your wrists, the other latched onto your hip to keep you in place. He hits your g-spot with every thrust and your second orgasm is close… so damn close. But you know you have to wait for Sylus to give you permission this time, or he might stop altogether. 

“I need to… I need ohhh…”

“Not yet. Don’t…”

His rushed words prove he is just as undone as you are. He releases your wrists and leans down to wrap his arm around your neck again. Your body hums as he takes control and holds you closer. His other hand slams down onto the ground beside yours. You feel his chest heave and his hips slow as he adjusts you both to the new position. He rolls his hips, grinding against you, hitting that perfectly little spot that makes you see stars. He begins thrusting harder, his movements more panicked than before. His voice trembles as he mumbles in your ear. 

“Not…”

Thrust

“...allowed…”

Thrust

“... to fly…”

Thrust

“...away…”

His hips stall as his climax washes over him. A deep rumble shakes his chest - somewhere between a growl and a moan. You’re so fucking full… full of his cock, his cum… He overwhelms your senses, your tender pussy flutters as it milks his cock of every last drop. You grab onto his forearm and dig your fingernails into his skin. 

“Sylus… I can’t hold on please please…”

He sits back on his heels, bringing you with him. He barely has to move, you’re so overstimulated just the pressure alone is enough to send you over. You start rolling your hips, lifting yourself to feel the drag of his swollen tip. You close your eyes and lean your head back, finding your rhythm. His hand travels up to your breasts and he squeezes and pinches until you’re a whimpering mess. His bicep flexes and your limited air supply is cut off for a moment. 

“My little bird is so sensitive… So… needy…”

Your remaining willpower crumbles and you moan as loud as you can, squeezing your thighs together to trap him inside you. He lets out a feral groan and loosens his grip around your neck, he grabs your face and twists your neck so he can lock his lips with yours. He doesn’t pull back, both of you writhe against each other fighting for space to breathe. He finally concedes and pauses to mumble into your mouth.

“Come for me come for me now…”

You moan his name over and over as you squirt all over his cock, his thighs, his abdomen… He rolls your clit between his fingers and smiles against your lips as he feels the warm rush. As you start to calm down, he wraps both arms around your stomach, keeping you perched on your knees, his cock buried inside you. You rest your head on his shoulder and he kisses the crown of your head.

“Sweetie…?”

His voice is soft, so different from how he spoke just moments ago. You turn your head and look at him, his pupils have returned to normal and his brow is furrowed. His hands gently lower to your hips and he presses his forehead against your shoulder.

“You… remember…?”

He sounds broken… afraid. You lift yourself off of him and turn to face him. Your hands cup his cheeks and you force him to look at you. The fear in his eyes fades as he looks at you. All the images, the field of flowers, the dark church, the piles of gold… They’re not images, they’re memories.

“I remember. I remember all of it.”

You kiss his forehead and he lets out a deep sigh. You wrap your arms around his neck.

“I can’t stand seeing you in this cage Sy…”

He pulls you closer and kisses your cheek.

“Then let’s get out of here, shall we? This’ll be number 236, right?”

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[ilium-ilia]

you're an angel // i'm a dog

kyle "gaz" garrick x fem!reader | omegaverse | alpha!gaz, omega!reader | masterlist

Chapter Two: heat

“Seriously, sir?” 

John Price stares up at his sergeant with a cocked eyebrow. His freshly printed—and redacted—report sits in his hand on an extended arm. It’s still warm. Kyle stares at it like it’s carrion. Meat rotted and decayed too much to feast on. 

“Scared of a papercut, Garrick?” John asks, half serious. 

Scoffing, Kyle grabs the report from him. It’s thick: a good fifty pages, if not more. He can see the look on your face already. Your pursed lips and heavy huff—the way your chest dances beneath those silk blouses you always wear as you groan. Sighing, he hits the stack of paper against the palm of his hand, coolly looking back at his captain with as bored of an expression as he can muster. 

“Don’t want you getting used to me being your errand boy is all,” he replies with heavy sarcasm. 

John hums as he leans back in his chair. The old leather stretches and cries beneath his weight before it settles against the curve of him. “Strange. The others are all too eager to visit the new pet they have in the office.” Pausing, a cheeky smirk curls along his lips. “Though, suppose that doesn’t mean much to you. Not if you’re still takin’ those suppressants.” 

“Course,” he confirms. 

“Well, then”—John waves him off—“unless you need me to hold your hand.”

Truth is, Kyle hates visiting you. Hates how much he enjoys it—how his body enjoys it. Craves it like a treat. The last time he saw you, you were so close to your heat he could feel the change in his bones. This insatiable desire to hold you, to wrap you in his embrace. You looked wounded—sounded wounded as you said his name in a strained greeting. Pitchy and soft. He’s never felt that desire before, never coveted something as much as he does you. It’s… unfortunate. Frustratingly confusing. 

You’re on the tail end of your heat. Kyle can smell it before he even turns the corner into your office. That needy aroma wafts like incense heavy and thick in the air. It’s so strong it nearly stops him in his tracks—as if it’s manifested into a tangible wall warning him he’d do well to stay away. Cotton fills the sudden vacancy in his skull, and his throat constricts around the pulse throbbing next to his Adam’s apple as he pushes past the barrier and into your office.

Just drop the papers off and run. 

Kyle hasn’t known you for long, but you’re the most exhausted he’s ever seen you before. Drooping eyes, a heavy slouch in your posture; he doubts you’re fully comprehending the spreadsheet pulled up on your monitor. As he approaches your desk, he tells himself he’ll do you—and himself—a favor by getting out of your hair as quick as possible, but he stumbles when you greet him with a smile. Soft; almost pitiful. His fingers instinctively flex to the point he nearly crumples John’s report. Holding his breath, his tongue darts out to wet his lips. He’d lick your wounds if you let him. Lick you clean until your unbearable wave of hormones settled—

—for your own sake, of course. 

“Hey Kyle,” you greet. 

“Hey pet.” He sets the report flat on your desk. There’s no way he can stomach even indirect contact with you. “Everything alright?” 

“Oh, yeah just… just tired.” Your words are slow. Deep; as if holding back a yawn. 

Kyle gathered as much just based on your appearance alone, and he’s swarmed with… warmth. Something uncomfortable. Scathing. He’s… angry—unrightfully so—yet he looks at you in this state and can’t help but think to himself that you belong in bed. Swaddled up in a fluffy nest where you can rest and recover. He’d give you the shirt off of his back and tuck you in himself, if you’d let him. What a strange thought, he realizes. He’s never felt such an urge before, and he doesn’t think he likes it. 

“And, of course, here you are. Right on time to give me… what is this, fifty pages of work? Twenty minutes ‘till five?” you tease. 

“Sorry doll, captain’s orders,” Kyle attempts to humor. He hopes you don’t hear the tightness in his throat. 

Despite your fatigue, your giggle is canorous as you retrieve the report off your desk. “Well, wouldn’t wanna upset the captain, would-” 

Clever words die on your tongue as your free hand clasps over your mouth and nose. A wave of musk washes over your body and you feel something squirm inside of you with ferocious want. It worms its way into you, burrowing deep as it leaves nothing but empty holes in its wake. Without a second thought, you toss the report to the edge of your desk. Items scatter, and the papers nearly flutter to the ground. It’s strong—John’s scent. The unbearable weight of an alpha lurks so strong that it haunts the pages. 

“I… I’m sorry, I-I can’t, uhm. This- This is gonna have to wait until tomorrow,” you stutter. 

Trembling hands absentmindedly paw at the side of your neck, and Kyle’s eyes drink in the view of your skin. Something lurches and buzzes in the back of his brain when he notices how pristine it is. Unmarked. Untainted by an alpha. Glands deliciously intact. 

Poor thing. Just gone through a heat without anyone to take care of her. 

What the hell are you thinking? 

“Don’t sweat it. I’ll let him know. I’ll make sure he gives you proper time to process it.” Kyle’s already backing away from your desk as he speaks. The tepidness of his voice would have you believe he’s level headed, but there’s a tempest swirling in his mind; one so strong he knows he needs to leave fast before you catch wind of it. “Should go home and rest, pet. Don’t think anyone’ll mind if you leave early.” 

You’re hardly able to express your thanks before he’s out the door. Kyle has never run from a single thing in his entire life, and yet here he is now, running from this sweet—unclaimed—omega sitting pretty in the main office. 

His skin crawls with sensations and urges he’s never felt before; ones he desperately tries to shake off as he marches through base like a madman. Have you brought out this beast in him? His suppressants have always worked this far, and yet now it’s as if he’s been forcefully weaned off of them. The scent of you grows faint the more space he puts between himself and you, and he’s under the impression that it’ll help, but he couldn’t be more wrong. That indescribable ache only festers further. He’s gotten the vaguest taste of you and he’s already addicted. Suffering through withdrawals. 

Taste, feel, feel, claim, bite, bite, touch, feel, hold, claim, bite, bite, bite—

“You broken, Kyle?” 

He blinks and he’s back in John’s office. He’s standing face to face with his captain, who he’s been rudely blocking the exit for the last few seconds. Pawing at the sweat lining the nape of his neck, Kyle clears his throat and nods. 

“I’m good,” he assures. “Pet down in the office still coming out of her heat. Probably won’t get your report processed until your scent is off the page. Poor thing should probably just go home.” 

Ignoring him, John tilts his head and not so covertly leans forward. It’s a sign of strength, of power; of his status over Kyle. John sniffs, nostrils flaring, and then quietly mulls over the concoction of scents that fills his nose. Kyle’s skin begins to crawl—he’s being tested; judged—and he wants to bark. 

Instead, he bites his tongue. 

“Sure it wasn’t your scent that got the poor thing all worked up?” John challenges. 

“What do you mean?” Kyle grabs the collar of his BDU and pulls it up to his nose. He doesn’t realize it’s a terrible mistake until he gets a whiff of you. 

“Thought you said you were still taking those suppressants.” 

“I am,” he assures. 

Things grow stilly as Kyle steps back—both to let John leave his office and to get away from the looming alpha—and for a moment he is convinced he’s mistaken. Has he missed a dose and forgotten? Corrupted memory; has he been recklessly endangering others this whole time? 

Eventually, John frees Kyle from his unrelenting gaze as he huffs and stares down the hallway. “Check in with your doctor, alright? Get yourself a stronger dose. You’re sweating harder than you did in Urzikstan, and I don’t need any of my men brazenly claiming some poor pet in her office. You reek of desire, Kyle.” 

John’s tone is even, but Kyle can clearly read between the lines. He needs to be careful. More than careful. Getting too intoxicated off of your scent to the point it makes his suppressants ineffective would throw him in a world of hurt. It’s been so long since he’s let his biology take course, he doubts he would survive such an intense hormone dump if he doesn’t take the change with caution.

And if his teammates can’t count on him, well… then he’s worse than useless. 

“Yes sir,” Kyle confirms. 

Nodding, John gives him two quick pats on the chest before sauntering down the hallway. “Good man.”

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[callofdoobie420]

In honor of the end of tax season…please enjoy my thoughts on the 141 and how they would deal with taxes…

JOHN

Being the most senior officer, he was used to this — but that didn’t mean he liked going in to the local tax office to get his done.

That was until he met you.

Sat at the front desk, all chipper and bright as you greet him. You smile and direct him back to one of the accountants offices, asking if he’d like anything to drink. He politely declines, but his mind is now solely focused on you.

When he leaves, you bid him a good day and let him know you can’t wait to see him next year. A small, shy smile on your lips. He pauses, stopping at the desk and leaning against it.

“I’m actually hopin’ to see you sooner than that darlin’,” he says his voice, smooth and low. “Dinner?”

“I actually have to work late,” you say, a disappointed sigh escaping your pillowy lips. “We pull late nights during season…”

“Well it’s a good thing I’m more of a night owl sweetheart,” he grins at you, all cool confidence. “So eight?”

You blush but nod, and quickly scribble something on the notepad in front of you. Drawing a small heart with your cute, pink pen.

“Here,” you say holding the sticky note out to him, “I’ll see you at eight.”

With one last smile, he turns to leave and looks down at the note. Your phone number on it, along with a short message.

For my favorite client 🩷

SIMON

You groan as you look down at the documents you were just handed.

“Mr. Riley, we’ve discussed this…” you sigh, and look up at the hulking man. Dressed in his usual dark attire and black mask, he probably tries to come off intimidating. It doesn’t phase you though.

You flip through the papers, shaking your head, before passing them back to him, “You can’t redact all of this information. It’s a tax return!” You huff, “we kind of need to know your income, if you’ve moved, what your stock accounts made…you’ve blacked it all out!”

Simon scowls down at you, but takes his documents back. He won’t admit it, but he kind of enjoys when you get frustrated with him. It’s why he always makes two copies of his documents. It’s why he always redacts the first copy, just so you reprimand him.

No one talks to him like that except his team. And now you. And it thrills him.

It’s also why he will bring back an unredacted copy in two days — just so he can see you again before next year.

“Sorry princess,” he grumbles, “I’ll remember next year,” he says, so casually. Turning and leaving before you can respond.

Though he can feel you fuming, because you know. He won’t remember next year.

JOHNNY

“I’m sorry lass!” Johnny whines, as he buries his face into your shoulder. “I’m trying to pay attention I promise.”

You rolled your eyes, and shook your head because he absolutely had not been paying attention.

“Johnny, you promised you’d behave if I helped you out with your taxes, but if you aren’t going to then I can go,” you say, and start to stand.

Johnny reacts quickly pulling you back down on the couch next to him. His hand going back to the track pad on the laptop.

“No no, I’m paying attention see,” he says, furiously scrolling on the page, “where were we? Charitable contributions?”

You chuckle softly, and lean your head against his shoulder, “Yes love, charitable contributions. We are so close to being done!”

At that revelation, Johnny smiles and starts to type quickly. He moves through the rest of his tax return much quicker. A new goal in his mind. He clicks the submit button, and shuts the laptop.

He turns to you with a shit-eating grin, batting his eyelashes, “So now I get a reward right? For being so good!”

KYLE

Kyle looks at his phone curiously as it buzzes on the table in the rec room.

“Hello?” He answers, his voice laced with caution and confusion.

“Hello! Is this Mr. Garrick?” A voice answers, so saccharine sweet he almost chokes in surprise.

“Oh um- yes,” he says, clearing his throat, “this is him. Who is this? And how did you get my number?” He asks, his voice taking on a more authoritative tone.

He hears a soft giggle, “Mr. Garrick, it’s the tax office, I’m just calling because we finished your return. We just need you to come in to sign, so we can send it for filing.”

He feels a slight blush heat his cheeks. Oh, duh. Of course it was you, he had dropped his documents off two weeks ago. You had said it would be two weeks, and here you were. Calling him. Right on time.

He liked that. Punctuality. It was important.

“Oh, yes of course, I’m sorry,” he scrambles a bit, trying to recover from his embarrassment. “Could I come in an hour?”

“Yes, of course, Mr. Garrick,” you respond, almost a chirp with how chipper you should. “I will see you then!”

An hour later, on the dot, Kyle shows up to the office. Looking as handsome as you remembered from two weeks ago. Immediately, you are all smiles for him.

“Hello Mr. Garrick!” You say, holding a pen out for him. Already prepared. So on top of things. Kyle was smitten.

“Please, call me Kyle darlin’” he smiles back at you, going to look over the tax return and sign. When he hands it back to you, he also hands you piece of paper torn from a small note pad.

His number.

“I’d prefer not to wait until next year to hear your sweet voice, love,” he smiles, something more sultry about it this time. “I’d like to take you out…”

[msriri030]

Mafia!Ren/ [Redacted] x Reader

TW: mention and brief scene Abuse, slight mention of murder.

Masterlist

The night air was cold and heavy, each step you took down the dimly lit street weighed down by the lingering dread of what awaited you at home. You kept your head down, hands buried in your pockets, hoping, praying that tonight might be different—that your dad would be passed out, or maybe out drinking somewhere, anything to keep him away from you for just a few hours. But deep down, you knew he was there. He was always there, waiting for the next excuse to unleash his anger, fueled by the alcohol that twisted his thoughts into rage.

He would shout, throwing out slurs and curses, blaming your mother for leaving him, accusing her of destroying the family. You understood why she left—he was a monster to her. But what you couldn’t understand, what tore at your heart every time you thought about it, was why she left you behind. Why had she left you to fend for yourself with him?

These questions haunted you, but tonight, you pushed them away. Survival was all that mattered. You just needed to keep going, one more shift, one more day, until you had enough money to get out. You were so close. Just a little longer.

You quickened your pace as you neared home, bracing yourself for whatever was behind that door. The sounds of traffic and the city faded into the background as you got lost in your thoughts, barely noticing that you were walking straight into oncoming traffic until strong hands grabbed your arm, pulling you back with surprising force.

"Watch out, miss," a deep voice said with a small smile. "I don’t like seeing a pretty angel walking into traffic."

You blinked, stunned, and glanced up to find a large man standing beside you, concern etched on his face. “Giant… I—I’m sorry, how rude of me. Thank you for saving me, Mr...?”

"Mr. Ren," he replied with a grin, his voice calm and assured. "Just Ren is fine. And you are?"

You hesitated for a moment, unsure whether to trust him, but there was something in his steady gaze that put you at ease. “(First name)… (Last name).”

Ren raised an eyebrow, his eyes narrowing slightly. "Wait, (Last name)? Is... is (your father’s name) your husband?"

Your face flushed with a mix of surprise and frustration. “NO! He’s my father.” You quickly added, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to yell at you.” You paused for a second before offering hesitantly, “Why don’t I treat you to something? As a thank you, you know, for saving me?”

He chuckled softly, nodding. "A coffee sounds perfect. Just to keep you safe a little longer."

You nodded, a small, grateful smile tugging at your lips. There was something in his presence—calming, strong—that made the coldness of the night feel less oppressive. Together, you walked to a nearby diner, its neon lights casting a soft, inviting glow in the darkness.

Once inside, you settled across from Ren. The warm atmosphere of the diner contrasted sharply with the cold night outside, and for the first time in a while, you felt like you could breathe. Ren ordered two coffees, and as the two of you sat there, you couldn’t help but take in more of his appearance: the black hair tipped with pink, the piercings that glinted under the soft light, the tattoos that peeked out from under his sleeves and shirt collar. But it was his hands that caught your attention—scarred and calloused, like someone who had fought their own battles. The kind of hands that felt familiar in a way you couldn’t quite place.

"Something on your mind, angel?" Ren’s voice broke the silence. His eyes were kind, but there was an edge to them, as if he knew there was something more behind your guarded expression. “What made you so lost in thought that you didn’t see the cars?”

You hesitated, tracing the rim of your coffee cup with your finger, unsure of how much to say. "Just… life, I guess," you replied softly. "It’s been a little heavy."

Ren nodded, his gaze softening, understanding without needing more words. "Life can be a lot sometimes," he said quietly. "But it doesn’t stay dark forever. Even the longest nights end."

Your heart tightened at his words, an unexpected wave of warmth washing over you. “Thank you,” you whispered, feeling a flicker of hope in your chest.

You spent the next hour in easy conversation, the kind that allowed you to forget about the weight of the world for a while. When you finally checked the time, you realized it was late, and the reality of your situation rushed back.

Ren seemed to notice the shift in your demeanor. “Do you need someone to walk you home?” he asked, his voice gentle but insistent.

You hesitated, looking down the street toward the house that still felt like a prison. The thought of facing your father alone, of being caught in that cycle again, made your stomach twist with dread. “If you don’t mind…”

He smiled and stood, offering his hand. “Not at all, angel.”

You blushed, taking his hand.

The walk to your house was quiet, but for the first time in a long time, it didn’t feel suffocating. Ren’s presence beside you, strong and steady, made the night feel less dark, less frightening. When you reached the door, your heart sank as you heard your father’s drunken voice spilling out from inside. The slurred words, the anger, the madness—it was all too familiar.

You turned to Ren, forcing a weak smile onto your face. “Thank you, Ren. I—I hope—”

Before you could finish, the door slammed open with a violent crash. Your father stood in the doorway, his wild eyes landing on you before narrowing in fury. He shoved you hard, sending you falling backward. Your back hit the floor with a painful thud, the wind knocked out of you. 

“YOU USELESS BRAT!” he shouted, his voice full of venom and alcohol.

You gasped, struggling to breathe as his boot slammed down on your chest, pressing all the air out of your lungs. Desperately, You clawed at his leg. You tried to push his foot off, but his weight was crushing.

“You think you can just come and go as you please?” he sneered, each word a dagger. “You’re just like your mother—always running off. Always a disappointment!”

You bit back the tears threatening to spill, your hands trembling as you still were trying to pry his foot off. The words cut deeper than his blows ever could, but you refused to cry in front of him. You wouldn’t give this man that satisfaction of breaking you.

Then, like a storm crashing through the door, Ren’s voice rang out, cold and deadly. “(Last name). Get. OFF. Her.”

You barely had time to process the change in the air before Ren was there, his massive frame a shadow over your father. He stood like a wall, his presence intimidating, overwhelming, as if the very air around him shifted with authority.

Your father, drunk and staggering, turned to face Ren, but the fear in his eyes was unmistakable. “Who the hell are you?” he slurred, his bravado fading quickly. “This isn’t your business…”

Ren didn’t let him finish. Without a word, he grabbed your father by the shirt and effortlessly lifted him off the ground, holding him with one hand. Your father’s eyes widened in terror, the drunken fog clearing just enough to see who was standing in front of him. “Mr. [Redacted]!” Your father whimpered, his voice shaking. “Please! I didn’t mean any disrespect! I’ll pay back the money, I swear!”

Ren tossed him aside like he was nothing more than a nuisance, his cold eyes never leaving your father. “You disrespected me when you laid a hand on my angel,” Ren hissed, his voice low and dangerous. “If I ever see you even breathing the same air as my angel, I am afraid you won’t live long enough to regret it.”

Your father crumbled, falling to the ground as Ren released him with a final shove. He fell back against the wall, eyes wide, too terrified to move.

Ren turned to you then, his expression softening as he crouched down to meet your gaze. “Are you okay?”

You nodded, your chest aching from both the pain and the overwhelming sense of relief. “I… I think so.”

He reached out, offering his hand to help you up. “You’re not staying here,” Ren said firmly, glancing back at your father, who was still crumpled in a heap against the wall. “Let’s go.”

You hesitated for only a moment before nodding, your heart racing as you grabbed your bag and followed Ren out the door. As you stepped into the cool night air with him by your side, you realized that for the first time in a long while, you weren’t just surviving. You were escaping. And maybe, just maybe, you were finally free….Or entering a new cage. 

[moonydanny]

Okay, this is NOT really a spec fic, 'cause we know Buck is at the stadium where the helicopters land and I have no idea how that could fit here, but after watching the episode and Buck screaming in the promo, this just came out. It's rough but whatever, I'm still reeling from the episode, and I'm gonna post it before I lose my nerve and the self-consciousness kicks back in hehe. Obvs SPOILERS and [redacted] MCD ahead.

It's on AO3 now, too.

"Army is on my tail, I don't know if I can—"

"Tommy, you listen to me," Evan's voice sounds hard and determined, even through the radio. "You can do this. I know you can."

Tommy takes a deep breath. He knew the moment he told Evan and Athena he'd help that he was risking more than his job again. But he hadn't hesitated. The 118—Evan needed his help, and he was going to do his best, even if it killed him.

"All right," he says, eying the ice bag on the seat next to him. "I'm heading your way now. But it has to be fast, we won't have a lot of time."

"We'll be ready," comes Athena's voice. "We're almost at the helipad."

Suddenly, there's another voice coming out of the radio.

"Pilot Kinard, this is Colonel Hartman. I hope you know this is not going to end well for you."

"I understand, sir," his voice is steady as he flies the chopper as fast as he can. He doesn't wait to for a response, there's no point. He changes the frequency to the one Evan and Athena are using.

"We see you, Tommy," Evan says.

"I think you're about to have company, too. And I don't mean me," he jokes, not sure the line is going to land as he hopes. They're all too tense to be glib, but Tommy can't help it. Joking to diffuse the tension has always been a go-to of his.

"We know," Athena chimes. "It was too good to hope they didn't follow us."

Tommy sees their figures grow bigger as he approaches the helipad. He gets in position and starts the landing. The two black choppers he had behind him get in position too, hovering in the air bracketing the roof. So I can't take off again, figures, he thinks. As the chopper touches down, before he can fully turn off the engine, he sees Buck running towards him.

He grabs the ice bag with the antiviral and gets out of the chopper with just enough time to brace himself before Evan is crashing into him. Tommy closes his eyes in relief and automatically wraps his arms around him as he feels Evan do the same around his shoulders, squeezing him tight. As the rotor blades keep slowing down, he hears Evan's voice softly next to his ear.

"Oh, my god. Oh, my God. You did it. Tommy, you did it."

"I did it," Tommy sighs. He loosens his arms to take a step back, even though it's the last thing he wants to do right now, but they still have to take the antiviral to the lab and there's no time to lose. "Evan, you have to go now."

Evan eyes are wide, and Tommy can see a dozen emotions fliting in them. He nods, unblinking, holding Tommy's gaze.

"I got it," Athena says from just a couple of steps behind Evan. Tommy didn't notice her reaching them, but he takes his eyes away from Evan's for a second and hands the bag to her.

"Thank you, Tommy." Her voice is tight with emotion. "We'll get you out of any trouble you get into, I promise," she says with a nod of her head. Tommy nods back and turns his gaze back to Evan, who hasn't let him go and has his hands on Tommy's shoulders still.

"Let's go, Buck."

"Right behind you," he says, but doesn't move. "Tommy—"

For the first time since he took off on the stolen chopper, he hears Evan's voice crack. He sees the fear in his eyes, and Tommy's heart clenches painfully.

"I know, Evan," he says, squeezing his hand that is still holding on to Evan's side. "We'll talk when it's all over. But you gotta go."

Evan starts shaking his head even before Tommy is done talking. His eyes turn glassy and the setting sun behind him makes the tears forming in Evan eyes shine in a way that pierces right through Tommy's heart.

"No. I don't know what's gonna happen, and I can't go without telling you this."

"Evan—"

"I love you, Tommy."

Tommy's heart stops for a second, the air completely knocked out of him by Evan's words. But before he can react or say anything back, Evan keeps going, urgency lacing his voice.

"A-And I'm not saying it just because the world is falling apart around us right now. This is not me being impulsive. This is me, terrified but clear-headed, telling you that I love you, Tommy. I love you so much. I've been in love with you since before we broke up, I was in love with you when we hooked up, and I'm still so fucking in love with you now. I was just too dumb to say it back then. And we will talk after all this is over, but I don't want to go another second without you knowing that I love you."

Tommy blinks back the tears that are burning in his own eyes now. He knows there's no time right now for him to tell Evan all that he wants to say. They have no time for him to apologize, for him to tell Evan that he's so, so sorry for hurting him, for running at the slightest sign of trouble, for letting his insecurities win time and time again. There's no time to tell him that he's been miserable without him, that Evan is it for him and that terrifies him. There's no time. So he just says:

"I love you, too." He closes the distance between them to press his forehead against Evan's and closes his eyes, letting out a shuddering breath. "I love you so much, sweetheart."

Their exchange didn't last more than half a minute, but it feels monumental. He feels more than hears Evan's soft gasp, his hands tightening their grip on Tommy's shoulders for a second. Then, their bubble is burst by the sound of people coming out of the elevator at the far end of the roof. They both turn to look and see army soldiers striding towards Athena and them.

With a last squeeze of his hand, he shoves Evan a little towards where Athena is having a standoff with who he guesses is the Colonel.

"Go save your family, baby. We'll talk later," he says. Evan looks back at him and nods as he starts jogging away from him.

"I'll keep you posted," Evan shouts as he runs.

Tommy stays where he is next to the chopper, watching as Athena and Buck are led to the elevator by a couple of soldiers and the Colonel turns and strides towards him.

Please, God, let them get to everyone in time, he prays to a god he doesn't really believe in. The Colonel reaches him, a scowl so deep on his face that Tommy wonders if his eyebrows hurt from pulling together so tightly.

"Pilot Kinard, I'm not even going to bother explaining right now the amount of trouble you have gotten yourself into with this stunt," he begins, his voice hard and sharp. "You're going to follow our helicopters to where you can land, and you will await further instructions. Am I clear?"

"Yes, sir."

With that, the Colonel turns back towards the elevator. "Now, Kinard!"

Tommy gets back on his chopper, and as he takes her up into the air again, he sees the last rays of the sunset sinking in the horizon. As he follows the other chopper, with the second one on his tail, he turns into the radio frequency he knows they're using to communicate with dispatch. He keeps an ear on it the whole time, but nothing major happens beyond updates on the antiviral's ETA.

They soon get to the stadium they're apparently using to land, and ash he touches down, he hears Athena's voice on the radio saying they've arrived at the lab. He hurries out of the chopper and sprints to the tent they have set up at the edge of the field. A soldier from one of the choppers shouts at him to stay put, but he ignores him. He needs to hear what's going on. When he reaches the tent, the soldier who ran after him grabs him by the arm and turn him around.

"Please, I just need to listen. I'm not going anywhere," he pleads. Tommy was no idea what his face must be doing, but the soldier lets go of his arm. He turns around and listens.

"I'm going back in," he hears Evan say.

"Absolutely not," says another voice. But Evan must have made a run for it, because there's chaos on the radio for a few seconds.

"Dispatch, we need the antiviral now," he hears Ravi say, his voice filled with panic. "Bobby's been infected, too."

Tommy's stomach drops. There's only one vial; there's no way it will be enough for both Howie and Bobby.

Another voice comes on, telling them they need to prioritize Bobby, since he's only started to show symptoms and Chim is already a lost cause. The callousness of the voice makes a cold type of fury course through Tommy's veins. There's some more commotion that Tommy can't quite follow. He hears something about Athena gearing up and getting the antiviral to Bobby, more back and forth on who should get it administered. Eventually the chatter quiets down. But the more time that passes, the more scared Tommy gets. Where's Evan? Has he reached the 118? Is he wearing PPE? Where's Athena? Tommy is desperate for answers, but there's nothing he can do.

Until there's a voice coming from the radio again.

"Firefighter down, I repeat, Firefighter down!"

Hen's voice is unlike Tommy has ever heard it. Rough and filled with agony.

Oh, God. Howie...

"Hen! Is it Chim? What happened?" Evan sounds panicked now.

"No, it—It's Bobby," she rasps. He just collapsed, we can't get a pulse."

No.

Tommy's heart stops.

"No, no— HEN! YOU HAVE TO GET HIM BACK!" Evan screams.

"He's gone, Buck," Ravi says, with an emptiness in his voice Tommy has never heard in the young man's voice, usually so full of life.

Tommy thinks he hears Hen let out a sob, he hears Ravi say something about Howie, but every sound disappears from his consciousness as he hears Evan, his Evan, let out a scream so full of pain and despair that Tommy knows will hunt his nightmares for the rest of his life.

Tagging @qwordavoider, my love, because she inspires me and makes me brave 💗💗

[dipperscavern]

STARK SIZE KINK STARK SIZE KINK STARK SIZE KINK!

No one in the world could convince me that the stark bloodline is not half giant or something. Idk how they thought giants didn’t exist for years when the stark men were RIGHT THERE! On how tall cregan is… Do not tell me he isn’t 6’5-6’7 because george r.r. martin whispered it into my ear last night. He loooooooooves how tall he is compared to you, he relishes in just towering over you and watching your eyes get all big as you look up. He doesn’t even mean to be freaky wit it… he just thinks you are the sweetest little thing he has ever seen. Whenever he is with you out in public he likes to keep you nice and flush to his side so that if anything may happen, or if you are to fall victim to the northern cold, he may hold you close to protect you from whatever may befall you. He scares off everyone around you like a big scary bodyguard. He likes being close to you in general, loves the feeling of having your relatively small figure in contrast to his much larger one. When he beds you it is much worse really. Expect that he will crowd your personal space and leave you no air to breathe. Face all up in the crook of your neck, his big arms all-encompassing as he makes you feel aaaallllllllllllllll of him.

There are two walls in the north, The Wall™️ and cregans big backed body okay You Have To Just Think About It… He has been hardened by the trials of war and the duties that come along with being warden of the north. Nothing comes easy to anyone living that far up the hemisphere. That being said, he is muscular. Incredibly ripped and skilled with his sword (🤫). Just a big brute of a man, who is freakishly tall, and is casually dressed in pelts that are inches thick to shield him from the northern wind. If you squint he’s built like a roblox character… And do not think i forgot that time you mentioned how he would assert his dominance by backing you into a wall and just reminding you of who he is by just standing there and letting you soak it all in (🤫). You might think of him of your kind and lovely doting husband, but at the end of the day he is Lord Cregan Stark and you will know it before the end. The end being when he realizes you like the size difference a little too much and has you on your back against your soft blankets in no time with his [REDACTED] at the cusp of pushing into you (he likes to press down on your stomach once its fully inside btw) (how else do you think he got all those fuckass kids).

p.s. his dick is the ‘Ice’ of dicks :///

lots to think about… lots to ponder… (same anon as the possessive starks ask <3)

U CALLING CREGAN BIG BACKED LMFAOO. and him pressing down on your stomach…. oh my god. his dick being the ive of dicks is so… gods. he has to prep you good to be able to take him. i literally… don’t even have anything else to add this is all perfect. i can only push the message further.

[i gesture to this ask] FEAST YOUR EYEs

(cregan size kink drabbles coming to your screen soon)

[aweina]

HI CAN I REQUEST MIKE SCHMIDT X FEM READER?? MAYBE SOME FLUFF I JUST- UGH I NEED HIM. anyways. PLEASE? THANKS! REMEMBER TO HYDRATE!

ᥫ᭡. winter heart , mike schmidt ( fluff )

you and me, hugging ? if you want …

tags fem + gn reader. pining. friends to ( redacted ). mike tries to be a meanie but he can’t. special abby cameo.

“cold?”

mike quirks a brow at your shivering form, the lack of warm layers and no sign of any other winter accessory made him visibly cringe.

“o-obviously.” your teeth clattered with heavy pronunciation, clinging to yourself for some ounce of warmth. “t-the forecast are liars, i’ll never trust them a-again.”

he huffs a laugh at your retort, his breath condensing into the winter air — swirling aimlessly into the filtered blue atmosphere. mike was extremely amused, he could tell you that. during the coldest seasons, you decided to only wear a sleeved shirt constructed with the thinnest fabric he’s ever seen.

you play dumb games, you win stupid prizes. he believes wholeheartedly.

at the same time, he grew concerned. your reddened nose sniffled in the cold air, shakily clinging onto your shirt like it could get any warmer. your brows were furrowed in discomfort, the moisture of your lips stolen by the crisp breeze. even in this condition, you stayed with him to watch abby — who was bustling in the frozen playground with her new friends.

instinctively, mike tugs down the zipper of his oversized fleece hoodie — the bulky layers he wore combating the bitter cold. he turns to your shivering form, suddenly feeling shy about his decision, but seeing you in such a vulnerable state for his own sake made him feel guilty. mike bites back a self-encouraging sigh, shaking his head in an attempt to get rid of the fluttering feeling inside his core. with his gloved hands snug in his pockets, he widens his arms to open his furry jacket — coughing dumbly to catch your attention.

you turned to him and tilted your head in confusion, darting your eyes towards his flushed face to the baggy graphic t-shirt and the oversized jacket that cling to his body, somehow it felt like a mockery to your cold state.

“haha … nice jacket, i know you’re much more warmer and smarter than me. you don’t have to rub it in.” you jested through a freezing hiss, rolling your eyes at his attempt to push your buttons.

“w-what? wait no! just come here, please.” his voice sounded a bit more desperate than he intended it to be, but he usually doesn’t offer this treatment to anybody.

still confused, you shuffled towards him with caution. you silently gasped when you got closer, feeling the comforting warmth radiating off his body.

mike gulps nervously, feeling your panting chest grazing his. it was a strange feeling, how in sync your heartbeats were — they danced in the rhyme together, the tempo seemed to quicken as you approached him closer and closer. finally, he finds the courage to wrap his fleece jacket around your quivering body, hesitantly hugging you through the thick fabric.

your eyes widen in realization, he’s hugging you. mike schmidt is hugging you. he felt so warm and cuddly, all the lousy layers of old t-shirts he forced himself to wear felt like laying on soft pillows. the fur threaded in his jacket brushed its warmth against your frozen skin. but the thing making you burn up was the fact you’re so close to mike, shyly wrapping your arms around his frame while your head is nearly tucked into the nape of his neck — but you hesitated to go any further.

“are you warm?” mike’s voice was gentle in your ear, the flush of his body melted your bitter coldness in an instant.

you slightly nodded, still a little disoriented from this predicament.

feeling more comfortable, mike takes his gloved hand out of his pocket, assuring your stiffness as he petted your head, guiding you to rest in the nape of his neck. his warm pulse tapped softly against your forehead. you could hear his life line — every breath he takes. this felt like heaven, being held in mike’s arms. then he’s not protesting, his melting grip was tighter — protective like someone could snatch you away from his arms. he loved the way you smelled, delicate perfume and fresh laundry. if he could keep this close and take in your scent, he would if it wasn’t so creepy for him to do.

there was a comfortable silence between the two of you. the childlike chants and laughter faded into the background, the bitter cold didn’t feel so bad anymore. it felt like your hearts were clinging onto each other, feeding the aching starvation of touch and warmth. he needed this, you needed it too.

“are you guys finally dating now?”

a youthful voice forced you both out of a love trance, eyes widened and heads snapped towards the smaller figure. it was abby, a huge grin on her flushed face — half covered with a comically large knitted scarf.

“abby … don’t.” mike winced at her bluntness, but he still held you in a warm embrace.

you allowed him to cling onto you, equally flustered at her words but much more comfortable, even playful at the weird circumstances.

“i’m still patiently waiting for your brother to ask me out.” you teased the younger schmidt, earning an excited giggle and an exasperated sigh from the older schmidt.

maybe he should’ve just offered you his jacket if you were going to embarrass him in front of his younger sister.

add. note : hope you enjoyed some fluff anon !! and thank you, stay hydrated too because we’re all thirsty for grumpy security guard mikey ㅜ ㅜ

[lorarri]

★ . . . 𝐈 𝐎𝐍𝐋𝐘 𝐃𝐀𝐓𝐄 𝐂𝐎𝐖𝐁𝐎𝐘𝐒 , 𝐃𝐑𝟑

summary , taking the reason off has done daniel some good as he now shows it and his cowgirl girlfriend off at his home grand prix, and laughing at mclarens downfall

pairing , daniel ricciardo x fem! gf! texas cowgirl! reader

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danielricciardo dass my baby

danielricciardo never looked better ❤️ ⤷ user danny ric Y/N stan first f1 driver second ⤷ danielricciardo always

danielricciardo god you look so hot ⤷ maxverstappen1 mate you've hyped her up enough save some for the rest of us ⤷ yourinstagram shut up max go get kelly to complement you since you want praise so bad ⤷ user girlie went in 😭 ⤷ user nah that's a violation

danielricciardo look people my gf's wearing my hat 🤠 ⤷ user the people that get the joke rn: 💀 ⤷ user what's the joke? ⤷ user you don't want to know

user icon

user daniel won fr

landonorris can I wear danny ric's hat? ⤷ yourinstagram no. ⤷ user hahahhaha ⤷ user lando is such a drama starter ⤷ user he def knows the rule ⤷ user not lando and Y/N fighting for danny in the comments ⤷ user I mean I don't blame them tbh

user our favourite cowgirl

user how do you feel about mclarens downfall ⤷ yourinstagram they had it coming ⤷ yourinstagram still love Lando and Oscar though

user best wag tbh

user everyone’s serotonin levels after seeing this 📈

user omg the caption ⤷ user what's wrong with the caption? ⤷ user do yall know nothing about the cowboy hat rule

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danielricciardo . 15hr ago

seen by landonorris maxverstappen1 and 39,990,994 others

INTERVIEW CLIP :: "I'M A COWBOY NOW" THE LATE SHOW - DANIEL RICCARDO

danielricciardo

liked by yourinstagram brotherone and 67,783,782 others ➻ tagged yourinstagram

danielricciardo shoot your ex day dump before home gp next week

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yourinstagram I know this is meant to be on a Sunday but I'll make an exception for you

yourinstagram god you are so hot ⤷ brotherone shut up please we get it your man is hot ⤷ yourinstagram ain't my fault you 28 and single

yourinstagram are you taken?

yourinstagram god aussie and a cowboy god I lucked out

yourinstagram no one talk to me for the next 24 hours as I recover from danny riding a horse shirtless ⤷ user so real for this

yourinstagram when he looks good in your cowboy hats >>>

user Y/N being the ultimate simp for her man

user nahh danny and Y/N hyping each other up will never not be cute

user god when will it be me

user cowboy danny does things to me that should not be stated in the comments section ⤷ yourinstagram yeah [redacted] [redacted] [redacted] [redacted] ⤷ user this is why I'm obsessed with you

user idk who I want more

landonorris I feel left out

landonorris I thought our friendship meant more to you danny ⤷ danielricciardo sorry mate mrs come first ⤷ landonorris I see... ⤷ user not lando being salty on the main 🤣

user plz one chance that is all I ask for

maxverstappen1 where was my invite? ⤷ schecoperez and mine ⤷ redbullracing and ours ⤷ yourinstagram how about this week? ⤷ redbullracing sounds good ⤷ landonorris wheres my invite? ⤷ yourinstagram not this time champ redbull fam only ⤷ christianhorner can I bring the kids they want to see the horses ⤷ yourinstagram ofc! bring my angel geri as well

user my parents 🥰

user okay we need to know was zak brown's face shot at for shoot you ex day? ⤷ yourinstagram yes ⤷ user your so real for this 😭 ⤷ user zak brown gonna have extra security after this ⤷ user does zak brown even count as an ex? ⤷ yourinstagram ex-boss so he's close enough

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yourinstagram

liked by danielricciardo christianhorner and 67,783,782 others ➻ tagged danielricciardo

yourinstagram always knew I would marry a cowboy

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danielricciardo

liked by yourinstagram maxverstappen1 and 67,783,782 others ➻ tagged yourinstagram

danielricciardo always knew I would marry a cowgirl

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