#he’s a dog without a leash ready to bite

[lyraofthestarsss]

Ohhhh watching Martyn’s pov during the wither/warden attack made me so sad. He already lost Lizzie earlier in the session, and then he lost Jimmy and Mumbo back to back too. All of his red allies were gone so quickly. He was the last big dog alive. He ran underground and hid, spoke only in whispers, terrified and fully convinced that the wither/warden attack targeted him and his friends specifically. He didn’t want to die, none of them did. The monsters up on the surface was the greens and yellows’ problem, not his. He had nothing to do with this. I think this is the first time Martyn faced his own mortality this season. He’s been reckless, bloodthirsty, focused only on his big dog allies and his dangerous tasks. But now, hiding alone underground, hearing the warden above him but no other players running from it, he was afraid.

[pricesprincess]

price with a puppy! girl who he can train to greet him at the door naked with a pretty pink collar and a matching leash that is ready for him to take. he loves how you pant and moan when he's fucking you doggy style. is a sucker for those puppy-dog eyes. makes sure to has a special engraved tag with his name on it.

ghost with a fawn! girl who he can chase down in the woods without a second thought and will let him pin you to the dirt and fuck you senseless because he's had a rough day. he loves to stroke your ears and tail when you cuddle up to him and will hand-feed you treats.

kyle with a bunny! girl who is so soft and adorable dressed up in those frilly outfits that make you hide your face as he dresses you before letting you hump his cock after he played with your nipples through the sheer fabric. kyle loves it when you twitch his nose which makes him chuckle and hold you closer to him.

soap with a kitty! girl who bites and scratches when you get a bit overstimulated and he loves it, will sometimes bat at you with a cat toy to make you draw your claws. will fuck you extra harder to feel your nails drag up his back leaving a mess of red lines.

comments and relogs with tags are really appreciated <3

[gladiatorcunt]

Feral feral Anakin fucking you every second of the day because he can’t get enough of you and is overly obsessed

send me coryo, luke castellan, or anakin asks (this is a threat)

implied canon compliant prequels and childhood friend afab royalty reader (basically in padme's place) based on an upcoming fic

This is canon Anakin behavior actually, he's like a big dog with his favorite chew toy. The dog obviously loves the toy a lot but it's because of his love that the toy becomes well used. No matter how tattered it becomes, the dog will still curl around it and spend its days licking the hell out of it until it withers away.

I think that because of how he grew up, just a little boy on some ball of sand whose life really didn't belong to him, as soon as he's free from that he just unravels. I love Anakin being written as more unhinged or even slightly like an eldritch horror, because suddenly he has this big destiny laid out in front of him and the tethers holding his soul together inevitably come unhooked. I think that he's wired like that from the beginning, very passionate but without a means to express it.

So, when he meets you, little royal heir with all the stars of the galaxy in your eyes, he tells a familiar story about an angel and from then on, it's over for him. Every moment of his life orbits around the sun in his solar system, you.

The first think he thinks when he sees you again, is how your moans would echo off the windows when he eats you out on one of the couches. Then he imagines your perfectly manicured hands clawing delicious ribbons down his back while he rabidly pounds your sopping wet pussy against the wall of your huge walk-in closet in your apartment. He'd have to hold a hand over your mouth, but he wouldn't do a thing to clean up the slicks that drips out of your pussy onto the floor. You'd pout as you'd rush to get ready before Obi-Wan came back, and all he'd be able to do in response is hook his chin over your shoulder and smile.

"No, it's because I'm so in love with you."

You're leaning against a balcony overlooking a lake in Naboo and all he can think about as he strokes a shy finger down your back is hiking your dress up and bending you over it. You're chained to a pillar in between him and Obi-Wan, and when all is said and done, he wishes he killed everybody that was relishing in your suffering in that arena and fucked you with their blood coating his body. He could go on forever until the last grain of sand on Tatooine flies away. He'd have gotten you barefoot and pregnant immediately if the leash around his neck was any looser.

No matter the fantasy or the moment, you always have at least one mark on you. He's not patient enough for hickies and his fingers move too quickly for any serious bruises to form on your body. He favors bite marks, near perfect impressions of his teeth etched in your soft skin. He doesn't bite to tear, just does his repeated 'chomp!'s without a single thought in his head; your thighs bear the brunt of it. Anakin likes when drops of blood bead at the surface of the bites, because then he can lick the bites soothingly. You usually have to run your fingers through his hair to get him to come back to himself when he starts doing it on autopilot with his eyes rolled back.

"Yes, yes, yessssss.... love fucking my cunt, missed making love to my sloppy pussy. Taking my dick so well, keep breathing with me, my love. That's it, just like that."

His way of saying good morning is languid strokes deep in your guts. His way of saying good night is crazed thrusts that have him putting it back it when his frenzied pace causes his length to slip out. He has is so hard sometimes, determined to carry the entire galaxy on his shoulders with you on top of it. You can the rising anger that builds within him when everything he does to prove himself goes unrecognized. The best way he has to ignore all of that outside responsibility is knocking your sweaty body up the bed while you're clutching the headboard for dear life.

Anakin's emotions bleed from him so openly, and all you have to do is drink them in. Because even though he wasn't free when he met you, you owned him them with his gift around your neck. You own him now, your cervix kissing his mushroom tip in its own display of affection. He is supposed to live his life with the intention to be the force's son, but he is burning to ash faster than he is fulfilling his destiny; at least he can keep you and your future children warm.

[carolperkinsexgirlfriend]

can you see the stars in your dreams (and do they have a lot to say about me) - Part 9

Or: a secret Admirer AU

PART 1 || PART 2 || PART 3 || PART 4 || PART 5 || PART 6 || PART 7 || PART 8

Jeff calls her. It’s the first time they’ve spoken on the phone, and something flutters in her chest.

“How did you get this number?” she asks, finger twirling the coiled wire of the phone as she smiles down at her socked feet.

“There’s only one Cunningham in the phone book, Chrissy,” he replies, all dry wit—she can almost see the smirk on his face. “It’s not exactly rocket science.”

She laughs, shuffling around her kitchen, suddenly desperate to move, but she’s leashed to the wall by her phone’s cord, so it’s only about four steps each way until she’s bungee-corded back to the starting point.

“Smartass.”

Jeff laughs this time, quiet the way he always is, but her chest feels like a supernova’s exploding in it. “But that’s not why I called.”

Chrissy’s smile fixes to her face before drooping down into her shoes with her gut. “What’s wrong?” she asks, now standing statuesque in her kitchen, cold tiles leaching all the warmth from her feet even through her thick socks.

“Nothing,” Jeff sighs, and there’s a crackling sound, like he’s rubbing his face in exhaustion. “Just—Steve drove me home.”

“Is he okay?” she asks, clenching the phone hard enough in her hand that the cheap plastic creaks.

“I think so?” Jeff replies, sounding unsure. “He just seems sad, man.”

Steve and Jeff don’t spend a lot of time together, but he’s been around enough that she trusts his judgment.

Steve is sad.

Chrissy wants to sink down to the cold tile beneath her and never get up. Instead, she shuffles back over to the phone and swings herself up onto the countertop—what her mother doesn’t know won’t hurt her. Her heels clack against the cupboards noisily, broadcasting her restlessness even as the worry sinks straight through her.

“What about?” she asks, already knowing the answer.

“He thinks Eddie hates him.”

Chrissy sucks in a breath and lets it shudder out before biting her lip against the next logical question. “Does he?”

“He thinks he does,” Jeff replies promptly. “But he definitely doesn’t.”

Chrissy hums, too lost in her own head to think of a reply. It doesn’t matter what Eddie feels if the effect is the same: a sad Steve Harrington.

“I don’t think you guys should do this anymore,” Jeff says, snapping her out of her spiral.

“I know,” she groans, shoulders slumping. “But Steve’s hellbent on keeping it up.”

He sighs again, muttering, “boys,” with such a defeated air that she can’t help but laugh again.

“You just keep an eye on yours, and I’ll do the same for mine,” she says, smile audible in her voice. “Deal?”

“I feel like yours is a bit easier to wrangle than mine,” Jeff scoffs, a twinge of bitterness leaking into his tone.

And he’s right; Eddie still hasn’t even told Jeff about the letters he’s been getting, much less asked his opinion on them. Steve, at least, keeps her appraised of his next moves, shares his feelings, and asks for her help even if he won’t always take her advice.

So, when Steve’s acting weird when she sees him the next morning—all shifty-eyed and nervous—she doesn’t ask. He’ll tell her when he’s ready. Besides, the hallway’s too crowded, and she’s got a sneaking suspicion that it has something to do with her and Jeff’s conversation last night.

She’s proved right when they hit the library at lunch instead of the cafeteria, and Steve barely waits until they’re settled in their usual table, feet interlaced.

“He hates me,” Steve whispers.

“He doesn’t hate you.”

Steve pouts across at her, bottom lip stuck out like a puppy dog as he accuses, “you’ve been talking to Jeff.”

Chrissy bites her lip. “I always talk to Jeff.”

He rolls his eyes, but it seems to lift his spirits. “Did you ask him out yet?”

“Shut up.” She kicks him beneath the table until he laughs.

Without further preamble, he pulls a piece of paper from his bag and pushes it across to her. She expects the latest note from Eddie, having yet to read the last one, but it’s not—it’s a letter from Steve, clearly responding to something she’s yet to see.

“Did you pick up the letter yourself?” she asks, panic sinking through her. He could get caught, and then all their subterfuge will be for nothing. She might lose her best friend. 

“Yeah,” Steve mutters, so shyly that she can’t bear to chastise him further. “What do you think?”

She reads it again, trying to look past the panic to the words in front of her. “It’s good,” she says, and it is. “Do you want to send it like this?”

His handwriting is barely legible, even to her with her weeks of practice, and there’s a few misspellings, but she’ll do whatever he wants, forever and always. But he shakes his head, and asks, “Will you edit it?”

“Can I see the one you’re responding to?” she asks.

He pulls it out of his bag and pushes it across the table without a complaint. She picks it up and begins to read.

         Secret Admirer,

         There was a little hiccup with my guitar and plugging her in, but otherwise it went great! All four of the drunks at the Hideout clapped politely when we were done, and not even one of them booed us off stage!

         The riff is still getting on my last nerve, darling, you have no idea. I wish I could hear you play, I bet you’d inspire me so much, a stroke of genius would strike me and I’d know exactly what I’m missing.

         (I don’t know how to ride a bike. My dad was never around to teach me, and by the time I moved in with Uncle Wayne, I was too old to learn.)

         Darling, did you dream of me? Was it a naughty dream?

         Yours,

         Eddie

P.S. The Lord of the Rings is the name of the whole trilogy, so I hope you find it in The Fellowship. Can’t believe you don’t even know Tolkein. It’s okay, baby, I like you anyway. 

She smiles when she’s done, kicking him beneath the table as she asks, “Does this sound like someone who hates you?”

If anything, Steve just gets droopier. “It’s for you,” he mumbles, and she doesn’t have anything to say.

Chrissy squeezes his foot tighter between her own in a pantomime of a hug.

Even with his newfound pessimism, he carefully rereads her edited words once she’s done. He smiles down at it, clearly cheered by the act of writing to Eddie.

“It looks great, Chris,” he says genuinely, as if she’d done more than correct his spelling and rewrite his letter word for word.

“Thanks,” she replies, smiling across at him, relieved his spirits have risen. “Now, let’s drop this in his locker so he doesn’t have to wait too long to read your lovely letter.”

Steve’s ears turn red with embarrassment, but he dutifully wraps his arm around her waist and leads her out of the library.

Jason’s loitering outside of it, leaning against the wall like it’s a coincidence he’s here at all, but the way his eyes glare at the point where they’re in contact makes a liar out of him.

Steve seems to agree because he pulls her closer and asks, “problem, Carver?” in his snootiest King Steve voice.

Jason holds his hands up, smiling like this is all a coincidence, but he seems to have forgotten that Chrissy knows him, maybe better than anyone. She sees the way his arms are flexing, the way he’s baring his canines more than smiling, and it makes her feel on edge.

“No problem, man,” he replies, untold violence behind every word.

“Let’s just go,” she whispers to Steve.

She’s relieved when he nods, not sparing Jason another look as they take the most direct route to Eddie’s locker. He doesn’t respond until they’re well out of Jason’s hearing range. “That guy’s starting to really freak me out,” he says, talking quietly still, even after putting all this distance between them.

Chrissy sighs. The thing is, she still misses Jason, but the Jason she misses is at least a year dead and gone. Now, all that’s left of him is someone who wants to own her.

“Me, too.”

*** 

There’s something different about the letter he finds in his locker this time.

  Eddie —

  You were the best damn thing those drunks have ever seen, hands down. No, before you ask, I wasn’t there. But when I had that letter under my pillow, I dreamed a little dream (not naughty, I know you’re disappointed, sorry). I don’t remember the songs, but I remember the way you looked for me in the crowd and smiled. All the dream people gave you a standing ovation, me loudest of all.

  You’re never too old to learn to ride a bike. My dad didn’t teach me either, but a friend did. Maybe someday, I could be that friend for you, and when I tell you I won’t let go, you can rest easy knowing I’m not lying.

  Sincerely,

  Your Secret Admirer

  P.S. I know it’s still winter, but I’ll meet you in A Midsummer Night’s Dream.

The handwriting is just the same, and it’s as sweet as always, but still. There’s—something Eddie can’t quite put his finger on no matter how many times he rereads the letter. Maybe he should have paid more attention in English class instead of always working on his next campaign.

He watches Chrissy when she’s not paying attention, trying to figure out what’s changed, but Harrington always catches him and stares him down like a dog marking his territory.

It leaves him flushed, desperately trying to focus on whatever he’s supposed to be doing. By the time he looks up, Harrington’s always moved onto something else.

Maybe it’s just because they know each other now, spend time with each other, are even becoming friends? Eddie doesn’t mind, as long as the letters keep coming. He might even like this letter best of all. It feels more honest, real somehow, like he’s peeling back the layers of bullshit obfuscation to get to the truth of who she is.

He hopes it lasts.

It’s hard to write his own letter back, to meet that same level of transparency to someone who, despite now having a name and face, still feels like a nebulous being. A nebulous being whose favorite color he knows, who’s insecurities feel like they’re his own, whose words he’s stroked on the page late at night while unable to sleep.

He tries to pour that same energy back into his letter.

  Secret Admirer,

  I wish I could dream about you, too. I want to know your face well enough to hold it in my mind, even unconscious. I want to lay my head on my pillow tonight and know that you’ll be waiting for me in dreamland, ready to be the best groupie a guy could ask for.

  The truth is, no one’s loved me before. No one’s liked me, or kissed me, or held my hand during a scary movie. And, that’s scarier than any movie could ever be. Because, you’re it, baby. The one and only, and all that shit.

  I’ve got friends, and that’s enough for me! It really is! But a part of me just wants to hold someone’s hand—your hand. Maybe we can someday. Maybe we can do all the things we’ve talked about: go to a drive-in, play music together, learn to ride a bike. But even if we never do, I’m grateful for every one of these letters. Being wanted is new to me, and I’m not ready to give it up.

  Yours, always,

  Eddie

He steps into the Shakespeare section once more and slips the note into A Midsummer Night’s Dream and promptly tries his best to forget about it. It doesn’t work.

He wants a response immediately, dreads waiting the typical days it takes for a letter to appear in his locker, so no one can blame him for panicking.

“Do you want to come to a Corroded Coffin practice?” Eddie blurts after the latest Hellfire session.

Chrissy’s brow’s all furrowed up as she asks, “Corroded Coffin?”

Eddie’s surprised she doesn’t already know. He’s mentioned it at least once in one of his letters; does she not spend her nights pouring over the words like he does? Does she not have every dotted i and crossed t seared into her retinas?

His intestines wriggle around in his body, fingers itching to tear his letter into tiny little pieces before she reads his desperate, yearning words.

“My band,” Eddie replies, his response overlapping eerily with Harrington’s, “his band.”

Chrissy smirks between them but Eddie barely notices, too caught up in staring at Harrington. “How do you know that?” he demands.

Harrington’s shoulders curl, like Eddie’s the threat here as he mutters his response barely loud enough to hear over the sounds of the other Hellfire members packing up, “uh, the middle school talent show?”

Eddie’s lip quirks up as Harrington looks up from his own shoes and meets Eddie’s eyes. “You remember that?”

Harrington snorts. “Hard to forget, dude.”

Harrington’s smiling—he’s never noticed before but it’s a little off center, just enough to be endearing. Eddie smiles back helplessly, taking a step forward as he asks, “the king remembers little old me?”

He gets a laugh this time, Harrington’s eyes almost crinkling shut with his amusement. He’s got a nice laugh. Eddie’s never noticed before, hasn’t heard anything from him that wasn’t at least a little snide.

Eddie opens his mouth, desperate to elicit that noise again, when Chrissy pointedly clears her throat and reality comes rushing back in—what was that? He snaps his gaze back to her, shuffling his feet, feeling absurdly guilty. For what? Being nice to her boyfriend?

“When is it?” she asks.

It takes him a minute to remember what they were talking about. “Oh!” he exclaims, taking a step back when he realizes how close he’s gotten. “Uh, tomorrow night in Gareth’s garage.”

Chrissy’s smiling, but there’s something sly about it, Eddie knows, watching the flashing of her eyes, that Chrissy Cunningham knows what evil is and has the capacity to perform it. So much for his pet theory that she’s actually a golden retriever stuffed into a human girl’s body.

“Can Steve come?” When Eddie frowns, shifting his eyes to a red-eared Harrington standing stock-still beside her, she continues, “it’s just, Jason’s been a little intense lately?”

Carver’s name seems to bring Harrington back to life. He damn-near growls as he wraps his arm around Chrissy’s waist. “The word you’re looking for is stalkery.”

She snorts, “not a word, but yeah.”

Now that they mention it, Carver has seemed to be within arm’s reach of Chrissy for a while now, loitering on her fringes with his arms crossed like he’s staking his claim, even all these months after they broke up.

“Sure,” Eddie replies, and he means it. Harrington can come if it keeps Eddie from ending up on the wrong side of Carver’s fists. “Harrington can come.”

Harrington’s ears flush again, and he mutters an awkward, “thank you,” before leading Chrissy out of the drama room.

Once they’ve cleared out, Gareth sighs, long and loud as he says, “band practice is going to be so awkward.”

Eddie glares at him, having forgotten entirely about his audience while talking to Harrington and Chrissy. “Oh, it won’t be so bad.”

“Yeah, right,” Doug snorts, shouldering his bag and heading toward the door.

“Oh, ye of little faith!” he replies as all three of them head out the door, Jeff having inexplicably already left despite Eddie being his usual ride home on Hellfire days. “It’ll be fine!”

Before he drives the guys home, he doubles back to the library to try and steal back his note, but it’s too late: the doors are locked and by the morning, the note’s sure to be gone.

They’re right; band practice is awkward, and it’s not even Eddie’s fault. It’s not even Harrington’s fault. It’s Jeff’s.

“You look nice today,” Jeff says, looking directly at Chrissy, who blushes.

He’s right, she does look nice in a cute pink cardigan and some light-wash jeans that fit her well. It’s not Eddie’s style, but it suits her. But Jeff doesn’t have to say it while her boyfriend is standing right there.

“Thanks,” she says, smiling at Jeff.

Harrington just keeps standing there while Jeff does what can only be described as flirting, with his girlfriend. Everyone else carries on like this is normal, but Gareth’s sending him crazy-eyed looks proving that Eddie’s not the only sane one.

Doug’s too busy practicing his riffs, sure, and Jeff’s clearly gone off the deep end, but Harrington? What’s his excuse?

When he’d been dating Wheeler, he’d been all over her at all times, monopolizing her time whenever possible. And sure, Chrissy and Harrington are always together, but there’s never more than an arm around her waist or sitting close together. He’s never even seen them kiss.

And now here he is, letting Jeff flirt with his girlfriend right in front of him.

Eddie just doesn’t get it.

Corroded Coffin’s a fucking mess, Gareth keeping a beat only he can hear, Eddie missing every other note, and Jeff too busy looking at Chrissy to keep tempo. Only Doug is on his game, clearly getting more and more fed up with each new fuck-up.

Chrissy stays by Jeff’s side, whispering with him between songs while Harrington flops down on the couch and watches them play like it’s his own, personal concert.

Eddie can’t take his eyes off Steve. He wants to peel the guy like an onion, figure out what makes him tick, what makes him smile, why the hell he’s here in Gareth’s smelly garage watching his girlfriend make eyes at Jeff while she writes love letters to Eddie in her free time.

He wants to know.

He just—

Wants.

*** 

Steve’s words have been echoing around her brain for days—have you asked him out yet? It’s ridiculous, but before he’d said those words, she’d never even considered it as an option. Boys ask girls out, that’s how it works. But if Steve can like a boy, she can ask out Jeff.

That doesn’t make it any less scary though. She sits on the revelation for a few days more, watching Jeff out of the corner of her eye, flirting back after he instigates. But that’s the problem, isn’t it? It’s still him instigating.

“I’m going to ask him out,” she tells Steve, not looking at him as they walk into the school together, too afraid of what she’ll see.

“Yeah?” he asks, bumping their shoulders together. “When?”

When she glances his way, he’s grinning ear to ear. She huffs, “I don’t know, soon?” Looking away so she doesn’t have to see that sly look on his face. “It’s just so scary.”

“I know, Chris,” he says, bumping into her again and again just to annoy her. “But you’re the strongest person I know.”

She doesn’t feel strong—she feels like a breeze might swipe her feet out from under her, but Steve believes in her. Steve thinks she’s strong, and she told him she’d ask Jeff out, so she will.

So, when Jeff next slides into her passenger seat, she starts the car and drives away without saying a word.

This has become something of a habit lately—if there’s no Hellfire, she drives Jeff home. Usually they talk, or turn on music they both like and sing along. The quiet has his feet tapping and fingers picking at the seam of his jeans. He grows more restless with each minute that passes.

“Chrissy?” he asks finally, a shyness to his voice that she’s not used to hearing. From the first time they’d spoken, he’s been confident—quiet, yeah, but assured. “Are you okay?”

Unable to take the waver of his voice sitting down, Chrissy veers off the side of the road, holding her arm out to keep Jeff from smacking into the dash at the abrupt change in momentum. She puts the thing in park, takes off her seatbelt, and turns in her seat to face Jeff head-on.

His eyes are wide, clearly freaked out by her erratic behavior, but he still unlatches his own seatbelt and mimics her position, awkwardly pulling his feet beneath him when it becomes clear his legs are too long to fit.

She’s helplessly charmed; it may just be Steve and Eddie’s letters rubbing off on her, but she wants to reach out and take his hand. So she does.

His fingers jerk in hers, pulling back a little like it’s instinct before he drops his hand on the console separating them and lets her link their fingers together. Even with the heater on, the interior of her car’s cold enough that his skin scalds against hers, sending a shudder through her.

“Is this the part where you murder me?” he asks, squeezing her hand. “Because if so, let me know.”

“So you can run away?” she asks, grateful for the moment of levity.

“No, because I’m a gentleman,” he replies, winking at her, “and I can help dig the grave, save you some work.”

Chrissy laughs, once again captivated by him. He’s a nerd, how is he so gosh darn charming? Her cheeks hurt, her heart hurts, her whole body is tingling with the anticipation of what she’s about to do.

“Chrissy—“

“Will you go out with me?” she asks, slapping her hand over her mouth when she realizes she interrupted him. She closes her eyes, entirely mortified. “Shoot, sorry!”

His hand spasms in hers before he tightens his hold. “You’re…” he starts, hand shaking in hers. She opens her eyes, horrible visions of him crying dancing behind her lids, but he’s laughing, whole body moving with the effort of suppressing it. “You’re apologizing for the best moment of my life?”

She laughs, too, helpless not to. “Is that a yes, or are you just laughing at me?”

He hums, tilting his head closer to hers, chuckles finally fading away as he replies, “can it be both?”

“Always.”

Chrissy bounces a little in her seat, vibrating with pent-up excitement. Maybe sometimes the girl can get the guy instead of the other way around.

He hums again, low down in his throat, and their gazes lock. The energy in her car is so electric her skin is buzzing with it. She wants to reach across the distance between them and steal a kiss. But girls don’t do that sort of thing. Girls aren’t supposed to—

She leans across the console separating them and kisses him, and kisses him, and kisses him. Jeff gasps into it, like he’s the one being electrocuted now, and suddenly his hand is out of hers, but that’s okay because it’s on her face now, drawing her closer, closer, closer, as he sucks on her bottom lip until she gasps.

She might have stayed in that position forever, craning her body uncomfortably forward like a sunflower toward the light, if she hadn’t shifted a little too far to the left into her car’s horn with a bony hip.

As it blares, they both jump apart, eyes wide, cheeks flushed, looking around for a threat that will never come.

“Oops,” she whispers, settling back into her seat, back protesting at the change of angle.

Jeff laughs, head thrown back, long throat on full display. She wants to bite it, but the moment’s long since broken, so she puts her seatbelt on and shifts back onto the road, cheeks flaming, heart warm.

“Does this mean you’re going to give me your letterman jacket?” he asks once he’s finally stopped laughing. “I’m not familiar with jocks courting rituals.”

Chrissy’s responding laugh isn’t her usual cultivated giggle—it’s a bark that makes Jeff grin at her. “Oh my goodness, can you even imagine the looks we’d get?”

“Or that Steve would.” Jeff replies. “But you’ve gotta admit, I’d look good in his jacket.”

She almost wants to do it for the drama, Eddie’s presence rubbing off on her surely, but it’s not quite worth doubling the lynch mobs that will already be after all of them.

“You realize this is only making this whole situation even messier, don’t you?” she asks, eyes on the road.

“Yeah,” Jeff sighs, but his fingers reach across the car and settle atop her hand where it’s clasping the stick shift. “But worth it, right?”

She’s been smiling so much that her cheeks hurt, but at that, she damn-near beams ear to ear. “Yeah, baby,” she says, heat pooling low in her stomach when Jeff lets out a soft little gasp. “You’re worth it.”

PART 10

[solbaby7]

someone requested [ Manhattan + salt rim + neat ] and I accidentally deleted it but i remembered!!

warnings: leashes (yup like for dogs 🤭) minors dni, thank you thank you thank you thank you for this request 🥵

—

Azriel knew it was going to be an issue—you spending so much time with Nesta Archeron.

He’d found it cute at first. His sweet girl making friends with someone as prickly as death incarnate, until he’d started noticing the changes. How kind words shift into a biting wit; adopting a darker kind of humor that leaves his brows raised and tongue clicking against the roof of his mouth. “Come bunny, it’s time to get out of bed.”

Perhaps it’s in that learned behavior where you find the gall to part your lips and mutter, “No, I’m not going.”

It’s surprising—your defiance. Enough for him to pause in the middle of his morning routine, thigh holsters half buckled with an array of sharpened daggers and switchblades laid out before him. “Say that again?”

“To training,” You elaborate, mindlessly toying with the fraying edges of your nail varnish. Soft sheets swallow you whole, thick pillows and duvets emitting Azriel’s comforting scent all around you. “I’m not going today.”

For only a second he falters before his movements start up again, deft fingers easily buckling strips of leather and filling the slots with weapons. “Are you not feeling well?”

“I’m feeling like I don’t want to sweat under the burning sun all fucking day.” Your eyes are too busy rolling at the thought to notice the tick of Azriel’s jaw, the strained way he tightens his belt. “Nes and I are going shopping after brunch instead.”

“Oh?” There’s a pause, a tense silence that forces you to lean up on your elbows, neck craning to peer over at the Illyrian. Though, Azriel’s not getting ready anymore and he’s lounging too comfortably for someone who’d been adamant on following the guidelines of his rigorous schedule. The clock tick, tick, ticks away and for some reason he’s not reaching for his top or the crossbody holsters he slides on after. His hair is still dripping wet from his shower, not even bothering to work his styling pomade through. “Says who?”

He just sits there—watching, waiting. Staring at you like one of the prisoners he chains up in his dungeons; prodding at the barriers of their restraint until the spymaster tore it to shreds. You hate how well it works, chipping away at the fortified walls you’d built in your new friendships. How easily Azriel’s able to walk up to those borders and send them crumbling down with nothing more than a look.

It should be embarrassing, the affect he has on you. The way one arched brow has your spine instinctively straightening, throat rolling with a swallow as you struggle to muster up the same confidence that burned through you just moments ago. “I wasn’t aware I needed permission.”

Azriel hums low in his chest, shoulders relaxing and head nodding once, twice, three times before that stoic expression melts into understanding. “I see, that’s probably my fault. Got a touch lenient—allowed room for a little too much…hope.”

“Hope?”

Alarm bells begin ringing the further he settles in the chair, thick thighs spreading wide and veiny forearms eat up the space along the armrest. “Hope,” he agrees. “Give a good pet a little too much freedom—too much hope and all the necessary structure begins to waver.” You’re caught like a fly in a trap, limbs sticking to the carefully spun webs Az’s woven until your struggle only leaves the metaphorical ropes twisting and knotting tighter. “Don’t worry, I’m a good trainer. Won’t let you slack for a second—even if you do bat those pretty lashes up at me.”

Your mouth goes dry when his wrist flicks, two fingers beckoning you closer in silent command. A part of you hesitates; resists the rigorous discipline and rules put in place to keep you safe. Protected. But Nesta said that you were perfectly capable of protecting yourself without some overgrown bat looming over your shoulder. Right?

You obey anyway, praying that Azriel doesn’t hold the contemplation against you.

The Mother doesn’t seem to hear your plea, too occupied with more deserving persons to spare a second glance at the predicament you’d weaseled your way into. Each step closer feels like knowing wrong and choosing the sin anyway, solidifying your fate and dealing your destiny with the devil for all time. “Sit.”

A huffy breath of irritation before you ease down to your knees, leaning your weight back against your calves. “I’m not some fucking dog.”

“No, you aren’t,” His hand smells of body wash when a thumb runs over the curve of your cheek, blunt nail tracing against the shape of your mouth. It’s almost sweet, toeing the line of possibly romantic when you hear it—the squeaky strain of fresh leather. The cool bite of the latch registers too late, a metallic click locking it in place. “But lately you’ve been acting like one. My rabid mutt.”

Manicured nails grip at the newest accessory but it doesn’t budge no matter how much you tug at it. Your cheeks flame, a mix of fury and pure embarrassment from the rush of arousal that soils your panties when each breath grows just a bit labored. “You fucking collared me?”

“Watch your mouth or I’ll buy a muzzle to match.” He catches on to the way your thighs clench together, lips snapping shut as your brain fights to decide whether you want to scream back a “fuck you” or “fuck me”.

You land somewhere in the middle, words stern but tone leaking with curiosity. “You wouldn’t dare.”

A hellish grin splits across the handsome lines of his face, like a wolf straining in the seams of sheep’s clothing. “Try me.” He’s lost the concept to time when such fun prey has found itself stuck in his crosshairs. Such a sweet lamb should know better than to wander away from its shepherd—heaven forbid something should happen to you. “Test me, I dare you. I’ll walk you through town like some purebred if you keep acting like you weren’t taught to act with decorum.”

He means it too. You know he does. Even after all these years, you still had yet to hear words Azriel’s didn’t back up with action. Instantly, your eyes lower, head bowing in order to conceal the pinpricked pupils that dialate with desire. It burns in your belly, a cacophony of fantasies lashing against your eyelids at warp speed.

You in your shiny collar, name engraved on the customized nameplate with Azriel’s information on the back right under “If Found, Return To”

It’s purely involuntary, the desperate whimper that cuts through the bedchambers and Azriel pats at your head like some pampered pup in need of comfort. Offering love and fond coos when you easily correct the behaviors he doesn’t enjoy.

Obedient. Disciplined. Loyal. His.

“There’s a good girl. Keep that up and I’ll give you a treat.”

[wandamaximoffsbadgirl]

Who’s Afraid of Little Old Me?

Is it a Wonder I broke? (1)

Wandanat x human pet!fem!reader

Summary: Wanda and Natasha have been looking for a pet for some time, but they've had no luck until they meet you, will you be a good fit for their lives?

Word Count: 2.2K

Warnings: 18+ due to themes, MDNI, heavy pet play, human pets, abuse, violence, hurt/comfort

Authors notes: Hello I was listening to TTPD while I was writing the drabbles and when 'Who's Afraid of Little Old Me?' came on I was like fuck this would make a good fic. So this can be stand alone for now, but if you want more lmk! I've never written human pets like this before! They're basically hybrids in a way.

Wanda and Natasha stepped into the black market pet shop, their presence commanding attention even in the dimly lit, grungy space. The smell of decay and neglect was overpowering, a stark contrast to the pristine pet stores they had previously visited. Wanda’s heart ached with each step, while Natasha’s expression remained stoic but vigilant.

A grumpy, terrible old man greeted them with a disdainful look. "What do you want?" he grumbled, clearly not impressed by their arrival.

"We're looking for a pet," Natasha replied curtly, her eyes scanning the room.

The man led them through the front section, showcasing various human pets—dogs, cats, bunnies, foxes—all of them displaying various levels of distress. Wanda's heart sank further with each cage they passed. None of these poor creatures seemed right. She shook her head at each option, her expression growing more resolute.

"These won't do," Natasha said firmly. "Show us the others."

The man hesitated, his eyes narrowing, but he ultimately complied, leading them to the back of the shop. This area was even more dismal, filled with the so-called rejects. The noise was nearly unbearable—constant barking, meowing, and occasional screams echoed off the grimy walls. The man banged on the cages, shouting for silence, but the noise continued unabated.

Wanda's eyes softened with empathy as they walked down the rows. These were the broken ones, the ones no one wanted. She had a special place in her heart for such creatures. Natasha stayed close, her posture protective, her eyes scanning every inch of the space.

Then they saw you. Curled up at the back of your cage, you were a small, fragile-looking thing, trying to stay warm under a feeble heat lamp. You didn’t make a sound, just lay there, as if trying to make yourself invisible.

“I want to see her,” Wanda said softly, her gaze fixed on your small form.

At the sound of her voice, your eyes snapped open. Fear and confusion filled your eyes as you looked at the two women and the man who had caused you so much pain. You cowered as they approached, your body trembling.

Wanda knelt down, her movements slow and deliberate, and held her hand out for you to sniff. You snapped at her, biting her hand out of fear. But she didn’t flinch, didn’t try to hit you. Instead, her eyes were filled with understanding and sadness. Your hard eyes softened slightly, confusion mixing with your fear.

The man reeled back, ready to strike you. Natasha's hand shot out, gripping his wrist tightly before he could lay a hand on you. Her voice was ice-cold and firm. "You want this one, Wands?"

“Yes,” Wanda replied without hesitation, her voice gentle yet determined.

"You do love broken things, dorogoya," Natasha said with a small, affectionate smile.

"We'll take this one," Wanda stated firmly, turning her gaze to the man. "And we'd appreciate you not hurting our property."

The man sneered, his face contorting with disdain. "You'll be bringing her back in a week. She bites. She's loud. She's a runner."

Natasha ignored his words, writing out a check with a flourish. "This should cover her," she said, shoving the check into his chest with a look of contempt.

Wanda carefully attached a leash to your collar, giving you a moment to adjust. You stretched out tentatively, muscles sore from confinement. The three of you headed to their car, a sleek vehicle that contrasted sharply with the grimy surroundings.

In the car, Wanda sat in the back seat with you, her presence a calming force. She let your head rest in her lap, her fingers gently stroking your hair. Her touch was soft, reassuring, and you felt a strange sense of safety begin to wash over you.

“You’re safe now,” she murmured, her voice a soothing melody. “We’re going to take good care of you. We’ll get you all the things you need.”

As you listened to her, a glimmer of hope sparked within you. Maybe, just maybe, these two women would be different. Maybe, this time, you had found a place where you could heal, where you could finally be safe and loved.

You weren't sure how long the drive to their house had been, but you noticed the air smelled fresher and cleaner than the pet shop you came from. Slowly, you sat up, surprising Wanda as you looked curiously out the window. Nothing looked familiar anymore. The scents, the sounds—all new and strange.

As the car approached a large house, you felt a twinge of familiarity. Most of your previous owners had been wealthy, with big houses and nice cars. This was no different. But something felt distinctly unique about this place, a sense of calm that you couldn't quite place.

Wanda gently held your leash as you stepped out of the car, your nose twitching as you sniffed around. The lawn smelled fresh, a welcome change from the dingy pet shop. Natasha had already gone inside, leaving you and Wanda outside. You found a spot to mark your territory, your instincts kicking in.

Once inside, you couldn't see Natasha. Her strong scent of flowers lingered, and Wanda’s scent of vanilla and strawberries comforted you. Wanda let you off the leash, allowing you to explore. She stayed close behind, her voice soft and soothing as she pointed out different rooms.

“This is the living room,” she said, gesturing to a cozy space with plush furniture. “And over here is the kitchen. You’ll like it there; it’s where we keep all the yummy treats.”

Your nose led you from room to room, each one filled with new and intriguing scents. Wanda’s gentle narration helped ease your nerves. You paused at a door that was closed, pawing at it and letting out a small whimper.

“Daddy’s in there working,” Wanda said, her tone understanding. “We need to leave her alone for now.”

You tilted your head, ears flopping slightly, and Wanda giggled at the sight. “Daddy’s working, but Mommy will keep playing with you, okay?”

Her words perked you up a bit. You continued your exploration, feeling more at ease with each step. The house was filled with warmth and comfort, a stark contrast to the cold, impersonal places you had been before.

You eventually found yourself back in the living room, where Wanda sat on the floor with you, offering you a soft, fluffy toy. “Here, sweetie, this is for you,” she said, her smile genuine and kind.

Tentatively, you took the toy, feeling a sense of security starting to build within you. Wanda’s presence was soothing, her gentle touches and kind words wrapping around you like a warm blanket. For the first time in a long while, you felt a flicker of hope. Maybe this place, with these two caring women, could truly become your home.

As you settled into the living room, Wanda continued to speak in soothing tones, guiding you through this new and strange environment. You felt a growing sense of curiosity and a cautious optimism as you explored each nook and cranny. The scent of fresh flowers from Natasha still lingered faintly, but it was Wanda’s comforting presence that kept you grounded.

Wanda reached behind the couch and pulled out a large, plush dog bed. It was soft, with a warm, inviting fabric that looked incredibly comfortable. She placed it in a cozy corner of the living room, patting it gently to get your attention.

“Look, sweetheart,” Wanda said, her voice filled with excitement. “This is your bed. We wanted you to have a nice, big space just for you.”

You approached the bed cautiously, sniffing it thoroughly. The fabric felt soft under your paws, and the scent of fresh linen was a stark contrast to the filthy cages you had known. You circled the bed a couple of times, your instincts guiding you, before finally settling down on it. The plush surface cradled your tired body, and for the first time in what felt like ages, you felt a sense of comfort and safety.

Wanda sat beside you, her hand gently stroking your back. “Do you like it?” she asked, her voice a gentle murmur. “We wanted to make sure you have a cozy spot where you can rest and feel safe.”

Your eyes met hers, and you gave a small, tentative wag of your tail. Her kindness was unlike anything you had experienced before, and though you were still wary, there was a growing trust between you.

Just then, Natasha entered the living room, a small smile playing on her lips as she observed the scene. “Looks like she’s settling in well,” she remarked, her tone softening.

Wanda looked up at her with a warm smile. “Yes, she’s doing wonderfully. I think she likes her new bed.”

Natasha walked over and knelt down beside you, her hand joining Wanda’s in gently petting you. “You’re safe now,” she said softly. “We’re going to take good care of you.”

The combined presence of both women, their gentle touches and soothing voices, wrapped around you like a protective cocoon. The warmth of the dog bed, the softness of their hands, and the sincerity in their voices began to melt away the layers of fear and mistrust that had built up over time.

You laid your head down on the bed, your eyes growing heavy as a wave of exhaustion washed over you. The journey had been long and filled with uncertainty, but now, in this warm, safe home, surrounded by care and kindness, you felt the first true sense of peace you had ever known.

Natasha sat on the couch, leaning back and observing with a soft smile as Wanda continued to sit on the floor beside you, rubbing your back. "So, dorogoya, have you decided on a name for her?" Natasha asked her wife.

Your ears twitched slightly at the sound of her voice. You opened your eyes and lifted your head from the toy you were using as a pillow, curious about what they were discussing.

"I was thinking Bumble," Wanda said, her eyes twinkling with affection.

You perked up at the name, your ears standing at attention and your tail giving an enthusiastic wag. This made Wanda giggle, her laughter light and musical. "You like that? Bumble?" she asked, her voice pitched up slightly with excitement. Your tail wagged even more vigorously, and a small, happy noise escaped you.

"Okay, Bumble it is!" she announced with a smile.

Natasha chuckled, a deep, warm sound. "Well, Wands, Bumble needs a bath. Which you really should have done before letting her on her bed, but there's nothing to be done about that now."

Wanda looked at you fondly, her hand still gently stroking your back. "I'll give her one in a few minutes, okay? I just wanted her to be relaxed first," she spoke softly, her voice filled with understanding and care.

You felt a rush of warmth at their gentle banter and concern for you. As you lay there, you began to understand that this place was different. These people were different. They cared, not just for what you could be or how you could behave, but for you as you were.

After a few moments, Wanda stood up and stretched. "Alright, Bumble," she said, looking down at you with a smile. "Let's get you all cleaned up."

Natasha rose from the couch, offering her hand to Wanda. "I'll help you. It’ll be quicker and easier for both of us."

You followed them to the bathroom, your tail wagging at the prospect of their continued attention. The bathroom was spacious and well-lit, with a large tub that looked far more inviting than any you had seen before.

Natasha started filling the tub with warm water, adding a splash of something that smelled sweet and soothing. Wanda knelt beside you, gently removing your collar. "You're going to feel so much better after this, Bumble," she said softly, her hands still gentle and reassuring.

Together, they lifted you into the tub. The warm water enveloped you, washing away the grime and fear of your past. Wanda and Natasha worked in tandem, their movements careful and synchronized. Wanda lathered you up with a sweet-smelling soap, her touch gentle and comforting. Natasha rinsed you off, her strong hands steady and soothing.

Throughout the bath, they spoke to you in calming tones, their voices a steady murmur of reassurance. "You’re doing great, Bumble," Wanda said, her smile bright and encouraging. "Almost done," Natasha added, her voice low and soothing.

Finally, you were lifted out of the tub and wrapped in a large, fluffy towel. Wanda and Natasha dried you off, their hands moving briskly but gently, ensuring you were warm and dry.

As they finished, Wanda gave you a gentle kiss on the top of your head. "There you go, Bumble. All clean and fresh."

Natasha nodded in approval. "Now you really do look like a part of the family."

With a final ruffle of your hair, they led you back to the living room. You settled once more into your new bed, feeling cleaner and more relaxed than you had in a long time. Wanda and Natasha sat close by, their presence a comforting reminder that you were safe, loved, and finally home.

[moongreenlight]

Need more secret wife please 😭😭🙏🙏🙏

WIP Wednesday? WIP Wednesday.

Secret Wife p3 SMALL UPDATE that I have been hoarding like a dragon with treasure lol (I am riddled with guilt)

It takes Johnny upwards of two hours sat alone in his car in silence to fully process what just happened. He’d tried to ask a thousand follow up questions in some rapid-fire babble, but he was met with a wall of stony silence. Goes on stupidly for well over two minutes until Ghost knocks him with a cupped palm on his temple. Little rougher than could be considered friendly, but nowhere near harmful. Served to bring him back to earth.

“Take a breath, sergeant.”

The low rumble of Simon’s voice barely rises over the dull roar of the cars around them.

“Fuck off.”

Johnny looks less gobsmacked than he feels.

“Mind your manners.”

A bite. He must’ve quit smoking around you for the time being. Made him more waspish than usual.

“Cannae believe you, bastard. Kept a secret tha’ big from us all this time?”

Simon took a labored breath in. A sigh like the stiffness of his muscles was creating a vice around his lungs. He threw a sideways glance back toward your car a few aisles over. Like he was making sure you were still there and situated. Pursed his lips and rubbed the bridge of his nose while saying something about how Soap was to under no circumstance take you up on the dinner offer. Turned on his heel and made his way back over to you without a goodbye.

Johnny had half a mind to disobey out of sheer bull-headedness but decided against it just before he sent you a message on his last day of leave. Deleted the text he’d drafted and resigned to trying to press Simon more about things when they got back on base.

He tried, persistent bugger that he is, to pester his L.T. to give up more information. When the two of you’d gotten married. Why he hadn’t said anything. Why wasn’t he invited to the wedding? Was there a wedding? Does anyone else know? All fruitless. Snubbed each time.

He would have been offended if he hadn’t come to know Ghost so well over the years. He’s cagey at his warmest, so it’s no real surprise that he’s kept this under lock and key. The real shock came from the understanding that it happened at all in the first place. Johnny had a hard time wrapping his mind around someone as kind and welcoming as you somehow getting tangled with someone as stoic and brutish as Ghost. He tried to conjure up infinitely many situations where the two of you met and the coupling made sense, but he never stumbled on one that felt right.

Your went into labor over a month early. Just a few weeks after the boys had returned to base. Four hours before the boys were due to board a flight that would deploy them for three weeks. It was the only time Simon had ever been late to call. Johnny was sent to go track him down by an extraordinarily eggy Price.

He found him ready to leave, rifle slung over his back like a soldier. Pacing the hall outside your room in the bay. Down a short corridor in the back that usually hosted surgeries. He was whale-eyed and hostile toward the sound of Johnny’s boots echoing across the brick. It was jarring to see him so agitated. His hulking frame tangibly vibrating through the pounds of gear he was sporting. He truly considered just walking away. Spinning some tale about desertion because that seemed entirely less daunting than trying to corner an animal like Ghost.

Johnny eventually got him to leave. It was a non-option at this point, just a matter of getting the big bastard into the chopper. Tugging him away was like leashing a feral dog. He was fanatical, tugging at the lead and choking himself the entire way across the landing pad. Didn’t stop snarling until he was pushed down into his seat by Price and made to shut up.

[reveluving]

a/n: while I received so many amazing thots (I'm not even joking. I'm still cooking &lt;3), there wasn't any for Ale at all, and it didn't feel right ☝🏼🤨 so consider this a ‘reve's asks’ for our shy!wife collection! don't forget to leave some sugar!

Includes: pre-marriage (moved in together!), future mrs vargas is a little oblivious but that's okay, he loves her for it & tooth-rotting fluff!

COD x shy!wife thots closed! Thank you, everyone, for your time & amazing minds! I sincerely hope I can do this again with y'all soon! 💌

Come & check out my COD m.list!

“You're so cute!” 

You were at it again.

“You're a good boy,” Smooch smooch, “Yes, you are,” Smooch, “Our best boy,” Smooch, “The most distinguished gentleman in the world.” 

On most days, he would find it adorable. Seeing you bond with his fluffy pal despite the less-than-pleasant assumptions many have of the breed. But with the recent deployment lasting longer than usual, resulting in his return just yesterday, he was practically dying to have your attention.

But it seemed like Great Dane had the same plan, even though he got to spend time with you all the time. 

You had a knack of nuzzling Hernando’s fur, especially his stomach area, on days where you found him extremely irresistible (which was always, to be honest). The pooch barely minded the lipstick stains you would sometimes leave on his silky fur, only caring about your attention more than anything.

But sometimes, Alejandro thinks he was also acting cute for you just to spite him.

He revealed himself from behind the wall, smoothing out the front of his shirt as if he had just come down from upstairs. Hernando laid on his back, enjoying your unlimited belly rubs and head smooches.

Though he and Hernando pretty much were fighting for even an ounce of you, he'd be lying if he said seeing you, sweet little you, taming a giant beast with little to no problem.

Be it a Great Dane, who turns into a baby when you're around or a muscular colonel, who worships his beloved like his life depends on it.

“Oh, Ale,” You smiled, small and shy, slightly embarrassed at the thought of him overhearing you baby-talking yet again, “Ready to head out?” 

“Si,” He grinned, reaching for your hand for a sweet kiss before whispering against your temple, “You look beautiful as always, mi amor.” 

It should've been too early to feel the burn in your face. Hell, you should've expected it, especially when he has never missed a day to compliment you.

“Thank you,” You looked down for a moment, biting down the giddy smile before meeting his eyes, “You look very handsome.” 

“For you, amor, it would be a crime not to look my best.” He replied with zero hesitation, even puffing up his chest at your praise. He tried not to let his gaze linger, but oh, how impossible it was not to appreciate how your curves looked in your dress.

“Come,” He offered to hold the leash, partially to monopolize your attention as you walked, but just as you tried passing it to him, Hernando huffed. He sat on the floor as soon as it was in Alejandro's hand, seemingly persistent about not wanting to move when he was barking at the door just moments ago. He grumbled under his breath, knowing what the canine was trying to do, “Ay, dios mio.” 

He should've seen it coming.

The deadpan on his face softened as he heard you giggle, hiding your amusement behind your hand.

“It's okay, he's probably just grumpy that we're late.” You were supposed to take him to the park nearly half an hour ago if it weren't for Alejandro's sudden need to trap you against the wall for kisses when he saw you exited the bathroom in just a towel.

And just as he suspected, Hernando jumped to his paws the moment Alejandro returned the leash in your hands.

Typical.

Still, Alejandro was able to wrap his arm around you without his pal protesting, and he took advantage of it like no other.

If one thought getting mauled by a giant dog for making a lady uncomfortable was already scary, they'd have to think again.

Now, they'd have to worry about the same dog and his tall, dark and handsome… and intimidating owner.

But each time Alejandro managed to steal your attention for a few seconds longer, Hernando tugged at the leash. Not to the point of hurting you from the suddenness or worse, causing you to fall, but enough for the man to realize the little game he was playing at.

But for just a moment, Hernando seemed distracted by the birds near the pond.

You noticed, and Alejandro most certainly did, and to his gratefulness, you unhooked the leash from his collar. Patting his head, you said, “Go on, buddy.” 

Given the green light, he immediately zoomed towards the flock, his enormous size would scare the living shit out of a grown man, let alone some pigeons. 

You were about to ask Alejandro what the two of you should do while Hernando was going crazy on his own, he took you by surprise when he wrapped his arms around you before dipping you just a little. A stark resemblance to a cheesy scene in a romantic drama. 

The first thing you thought of doing as he embraced you was to cover your face with your hands. You were growing hot at the thought of the people, who were just trying to enjoy nature, seeing the passion your boyfriend was exhibiting in public. 

The softness in the way he spoke your name, despite his deep, gruff voice prompted you to pull your hands, away, albeit slowly. His eyes held adoration, and just a hint of jealousy, you realized. Whether or not he was concealing the rest of his enviousness was unknown, but his stare was… intense, to say the least.

With one arm around you and the other holding your hand, he leaned in and almost immediately, you closed your eyes, anticipating his lips on yours despite the possibility of being watched.

But the kiss never came. Not fully. You could feel his lips but it was nothing more than a feathery touch.

“Kiss me,” He whispered, “Kiss me, and I shall show you how much I yearn for you always.” 

Letting out a shaky sigh, you shyly closed the distance, only to gasp when he returned the kiss feverishly. Like a man starved, he held you against him like a lifeline as he shamelessly groaned in the kiss. 

But just as the passion clouded your mind, just as Alejandro was hoping to feel his lips against yours, you heard a bark.

And to your horror, Hernando was running towards the two of you at maximum speed.

Alejandro didn't waste any time, holding you to his chest while his back faced the Great Dane. Hernando body side-slammed into him, eliciting a grunt from Alejandro, followed by your squeal as your bodies tipped. 

Alejandro was quick to turn amid the fall, being the first to hit the grass while he became your cushion. 

You face planted into his chest, but it beats facing the same fate on the ground instead.

“Amor? Amor, are you okay?” He may have bore the brunt of it, but that didn't mean his worries were dispelled just yet. 

You could've gotten seriously hurt! 

Hernando had left the crime scene at this point, opting to play with the other dogs in the area, but Alejandro liked to think his buddy knew he was in trouble.

“I'm okay…” You raised your head with a tiny ‘ow’, only to begin fretting about falling on him. Thankfully, he laughed, a hearty one, the kind that you couldn't resist smiling at.

“I'm fine, don't worry,” Alejandro turned his head to the right, prompting you to follow his line of gaze. Hernando was having fun with a Pug and even an orange cat. One wouldn't have guessed he was the culprit of you and Alejandro's current state, “I guess he really is mad about us being late.” 

You traced your fingers along his chest, “That's your fault.” 

“Oh? I don't think you were very innocent either.” He teased back, not bothering to move his hands that were resting on your back, “But can you blame me? I can't let ‘Nando take up all of your attention, now that I'm back.”

“He's just feeling playful, now that you're back.” 

“More like a pain in the ass,” He mumbled, only to let out a painless ‘oof’ when you smacked his chest with an ‘Ale!’. He grinned, showing off his pearly whites as a way to say he was not sorry before gripping you tighter for a bear hug, “Come here!” 

He paid your squeaks and whines no mind, just content to be the one kissing you and making you laugh at that moment.

And though he'd have a little word with Hernando about nearly getting you hurt, he'd also like to say one thing.

“Thanks, hermano.”

˚ · . f i n . · ˚

[ineylesian]

CHANGE.

— JASON TODD X FEM! READER

— AO3 | MASTERLIST

— WORD COUNT | 3.1k

— WARNINGS | mentions of weapons, smut, unprotected p in v, oral asphyxiation, biting, scratching, handjobs, fingering, fingerfucking, mentions of blood, cumming inside, use of aphrodisiacs (sex pollen), dubious content, overstimulation.

— SUMMARY | disobedience is strictly off the field in the militia, and just one slip up could spell your end.

— AUTHOR’S NOTE | had to wait all day to post this bc i got hit by a massive snowstorm. this is based off of arkham knight’s version of jason btw!

Steel. Smoothing coolness over your fingers and onto the metallic flow of your veins. Your eyes sweep frigid layers over the expanse below, narrowing down on one stranded wire amongst the mass.

Click.

“The main door’s open, Scarecrow. Ready to proceed on your word.”

Silence passes over the sea of crackles in the fuse box, dripping down to slither against the ground. Your eyes close at the breach of static in your ear, coiling three fingers against the box’s interior.

“Use the backup elevator on your way down. If it isn’t in working order, fix it.”

The call is lost to you. The world is dark and your senses are dulled by the residing pound in your head. Thick waves of raptured nerves pound against your skull, tightening against the surface and latching to the bone as a parasite would. There’s a muffled chorus scraping the barrier, forcing your eyes to shut tighter than you could ever imagine, fisting the other hand into your hair to—

“Stay focused.”

The illusion shatters, painting a revisited world of gloom and steady rain to your vision. Blood trickles from the inside of your cheek, running down to settle in your molars and paint your tongue with iron.

You brush his hand off of your shoulder without bothering to give a response, gums clasping together at the soft grunt that follows. The heavy clink of boots echo your descent into the abandoned mall, soft, yet lingering on your trail.

Just an hour had brushed past since Batman had destroyed the Cloudburst for good. Annihilated Scarecrow’s greatest creation and sent the Militia into complete turmoil in one hit.

You bite the corner of your lip, running a hand up your temple to soak up the light streak of sweat that had gathered there. The weight of such a rapid change of plans sits uncomfortable in your spine, weighing you down from the inside out. The Knight, on the other hand, seems completely unaffected by his own grave mistake. His stance is pin straight, pace overtaking yours within a matter of seconds.

And then he stops, reaching out to press the service button on the elevator in front of you.

You step into the elevator, gaze raking against dust and cobwebs as your hands grasp the railing supporting your back. The Knight almost mirrors your stance, only letting himself lean fully against the wall whilst his hands cross against his front.

“I know what you’re thinking.”

His voice is stagnant, devoid of the bark it usually carries. The very depth of it makes your skin crawl, and you’re hit with the feeling that it might sink into the bone. Slowly, your eyes trail upward, falling to rest on the LEDs that blaze back at you.

“You’re-“

“I’m not out of control.” He reads your mind to a tee, gloved fingers tapping rapidly against the arm they hold. “And I haven’t lost sight of the mission.”

Flashing, receptive, and unyielding. The scald of his mechanical gaze shoots daggers into your face, drilling a hole into the deepest parts that lurk within. You nearly flinch at the severity; his shoulders reel back in satisfaction.

There’s a tick in the back of your throat, latching onto your breath and spreading like wildfire throughout the rest of your body. The sight of him— acting so relaxed, so unbothered by the fact that he had compromised you all so effortlessly. Trapped you just as bad while he did it, and ended up in the same corner himself.

He was like a dog, thrashing against the leash bound to his neck. Always testing the limits at the expense of others. And when that post finally broke..

“You just wanted it so bad, didn’t you?” Anger. Your response comes through cold, throwing his guard off and allowing you a step forward. “You’ve lost sight of yourself ever since we got here.”

You’re standing right in front of him now, eyebrows furrowed together in a rivalry with the absentminded tilt of his head downward. Your chest swells with bile, held back by the sudden lurch of indignation that pushed you forward.

“Do you ever..” You pause, drawing a thick strand of breath from the bottom of your lungs. “..fucking think before you lash out? Do you even know why we’re going down here?”

Ding.

The pressure of your knife against his chest plate is swatted away in one swift motion. Tears threatening to keel over your eyelashes are held back with a rough tilt of your head, brushing away stray hairs and pulling your mouth into a tight line. The Knight’s arm is still extended towards the blade punctured through the wall, but he’s looking at you, and what was the threat to snap seconds ago is now confusion.

In the very last stretch of your peripheral vision sits Crane, behind him enough militia soldiers to kill you within seconds.

“The Hell..” He mutters, stealing a glance toward the mass of his men ahead. “You didn’t tell me about this.”

“We were afraid you’d run.”

Silently, you can’t help but feel the same. A sudden hesitation rising at the sound of Crane’s voice. There’s an edge to it that makes your skin prickle, and you glance back at the Knight. He’s looking straight forward, fists lightly clenched at the sides.

You turn away from him, stepping out of the elevator, and into the repurposed expanse that had become the Arkham Knight’s HQ.

He’s waiting for you with his fingers clasped, vials of fear toxin dragging at the cloth on his wrists. With a small nod, your militia soldiers disperse, heading for the other exit and leaving the two of you with him.

“Make it quick, Crane.” The Knight spits, crossing his arms to impose a threatening stance. “We have places to be.”

The modulator hides it. But you can see the way he’s placed most of his weight on the front end of his boots. Ready for something to let him off of his leash.

That was exactly why you were here. Crane knows it, you know it. The Arkham Knight had turned into something beyond the leader of the militia, and it was slowly costing you your chance at winning the war you waged. Snapping and snarling at everyone and everything for a chance to kill the Batman, with no clear sense of control. It was almost as if your commander had been replaced with a rabid dog.

He’d changed, and not for the better.

“You destroyed my greatest creation, Knight.” Crane’s tone blankets over you, condescending and twisting over your throat like a lethal serpent. “And you didn’t stop him.”

Your heart drops at his sudden change of direction, watching as Crane takes a step away from you. The Knight immediately reaches for his gun holster, and you’re quick to follow. Your attempt is simply laughed at, followed by the sudden intrusion of pitch darkness everywhere you look.

A sharp hiss simultaneously breaks out at your side, dousing your arms in a lukewarm breeze. You slap a hand over your mouth, but the substance is already sinking into your skin, leaving a trail of warmth as it spreads. The Knight swears from beside you, and it’s apparent that it’s reached him too.

The low flash of his modulator disappears with a zip, and you follow the noise with your own grapnel. Stumbling over a few railings and a staircase, you hear him stop, and light returns to your vision soon after.

The Knight breaks out into a coughing fit, and your eyes screw shut in reaction. What was once warmth is now an uncomfortable settling of balm throughout it the topside of your body, rendering your limbs pulsing and stiff.

“Fuckin- gas.” The Knight’s modulator rings out, muffled, bubbling with the crisp tone of his real voice underneath. “I feel like I’m on fire.”

Fire was an understatement. The sensation is unbearable, scalding waves of naught branching through your system to layer over, filling you with utmost dread at what Crane could’ve possibly dosed you with.

It’s worsening by the second. Another string of coughs from the Knight and it increases by what feels like tenfold, traveling down to settle in the pits of your stomach. You almost cry out when you hear him groan, burying your head into your arms and crossing your legs to lessen the heat.

And then you understand.

Crane knew he wouldn’t be vulnerable to any regular fear toxin. He knew the Arkham Knight was gullible when it came to seeing his mission through, and learned to reap the benefits in his own way.

That being, the violent shaking of his hands, back slouched and slid up against the wall to keep him up.

And you? What better way to test out one of his newest toxins with his partner right beside him? He could’ve used a sample that would’ve had you tearing each other’s faces off, but no, that was too simple.

This was worse. So much worse.

Your right knee hits the wall with a light thump, overturning one of the vials Crane had left behind into your hand. If there was any doubt in your mind before you raised the label eye level, it was gone within moments.

“Aphrodisiacs.” You scoff, tossing the empty glass into the distance. “I’m sure you know what that is.”

This was the worst way he could’ve punished you. Introducing fear in the loss of self control, sadistic rather than violent.

The Knight lets out a noise similar to the one that you had, pushing himself up against the wall before turning away from you.

“Great.”

There’s a strain to his voice that slithers into your ears, invasive and loud. It pushes its way past your esophagus, flowing down through your ribcage to pool at the center of your uterus. The sudden burn causes you to stumble forward, and by the time you’ve reached him, you’re nearly panting.

“Jason..” The call comes out dry, barren with a need to be washed away. “I can’t.”

You stop mid sentence, mustering a light groan as his hands latch onto the base of your armor, holding you firmly in place.

“I know, I know I know I kn…” His breathing is uneven, slurred words weaving around you in a delightful vibrato. “Take the helmet off.”

In that moment, your self control is ripped away completely. Your mind feels like it isn’t yours anymore, and you can only think about him, the Arkham Knight, Jason Todd. An animalistic desire erupts within you, begging for contact, for all of him at once.

Your fingers curl around his neck, index stiffly pressing down on the release button. As soon as the glass layer of his visor opens, you tug it off, clumsily setting it down on the table behind him.

The sight of him almost makes you lose it right then and there, twisting a knot of friction between your legs. Jet black hair coats his forehead in unruly strands, slightly damp along with the thin layer of sweat coating his face. And his eyes, iced over almost entirely with lust and mimicking a fatigued droop.

You’re interrupted by the sharp prick of his teeth, scraping skin off of your lips as they sink in. The breath you let out is cut off by the sudden intrusion of his tongue, shoved flat against yours and edging deeper still. It’s the aphrodisiac, wanting nothing but to consume you whole.

You can’t say you’re any different, as the loss of breath makes your hands work even faster on his suit. Pieces of armor are rudely dragged off and left to fall on the ground as you strip him of his outer layer, heading straight for the zipper once you’re done. Once you begin to pull, the Knight releases his hold over your mouth, gasping lightly at the wave of cool air washing over his exposed skin. You take his initiative of tugging your own zipper down to grasp his chin between your fingers, lifting up to dip your teeth into the center of his neck.

“Fuck, that’s it.” He breathes, running a hand under the lower portion of your bodysuit. “Don’t stop.”

The intrusion of metal against your pussy makes you gasp, front teeth dragging a rigid line down the Knight’s jugular. Spit paints sores of red and pressured white, covering his neck almost entirely before you move. Feeling his index finger run over your folds, you clamp down on the ridge of his collarbone. Tanged iron floods your taste buds, eliciting a muffled moan from the depths of your throat as you swallow greedily.

Blood streaks down the unshadowed part of the Knight’s chest as you retract, bringing a hand down to tug his glove off. Your spare reaches the end of his zipper, hastily clicking his belt off before dipping a hand under his waist. The inside of his thigh is searing hot, prickling under your touch. You can feel the pulse on the underside of his dick, unwavering and spilling beads of precum onto your fingers.

The stroke of your hand conjoins with the jerk of his fingers, causing the both of you to cry out in synchrony. You couldn’t feel any more full in the moment, yet, you need endlessly more. Your spare hand clutches a fist full of his hair, forcefully jerking his chin up to for another kiss. The scrape of your teeth against his makes you feel pyretic, the ignition of need on your body almost oppressive.

Your senses are almost lost to you as the Knight pulls away from your lips, leaving a deafening drum in your ears and your vision blurry. The only clear feeling is the shove of his fingers deep in your walls, twisting in a pattern that makes your head hang back. You can feel his cock throb violently in your fist, and the stretch of his fingers brings you right there. Your hand smoothes over the tip as he coats your stomach, feeling yourself gush over his fingers moments later.

Your panting is cut short by the abrupt shove of the Knight’s fingers in your mouth, lathering you in your own seed. The brush of his cock over your clit makes you whimper, biting down on his fingers to ease the scorch. Yet, you crave it all the same, tugging his fingers out of your mouth to stuff his own.

“Come on.” You cough, fingers curling against his tongue. “Fill me up, Jason.”

A brash moan cuts through the release of your fingers as he sinks down into you.

“Shit.” His breathing is nothing short of labored gasps, sliding you closer to his chest. “Need to feel all of you, sweetheart.”

You’d expect no less sweet talk from him even under such a nefarious high, words smoothing over you like a fresh douse of water. The pair of soft murmurs of how good you feel and the stretch of his cock fills you with a warm haze, evaporating in layers with each drag of him against your walls. Desire swiftly replaces the serenity, and you suddenly feel like the pace is too much. Your fingers run under his suit’s collar, nails digging into the plain of his back.

“More.” You mewl, dragging a course line through his shoulder blades. “Ah- give me- more.”

The Knight quickly obeys, picking you up by the plush of your ass and setting you against the edge of a table. Sultry invades every part of you as he burrows even further, and you feel like he might reach your intestines at this rate. He has you curled up against his waist, relentlessly pistoning into your cervix.

It’s all too fast— too much and too little all at the same time. The slap of skin against skin grows sloppier as your juices spill over his cock, winding the coil in your abdomen further than you thought it could go. You cry out as he practically manhandles you, curling your back further so you can take more of him. You can feel his skin cake under your fingernails at the pressure, and you’re forced to lick the salty trail of fresh tears as they trail helplessly down your face.

He paints your insides with ecstasy for the third time, and all you can feel is how full you are. Remnants of his seed drip out of your pussy and down your leg, something you’d certainly never felt before now. Even you knew the Arkham Knight wasn’t capable of holding you over the edge for this long— at least, not when his mind was his.

Over an hour had passed by now. You could feel desire being sucked from your body with each coming orgasm, eyes shut tight to prevent the tears from blurring your vision. The Knight had slowed down tremendously, having set you further against the table as he stretched you slowest he had all night.

“One more.” His voice is reduced to a complete rasp, eyes bloodshot and lashes dripping with tears. “It’s.. almost out.”

You nod, teeth grinding together as the adrenaline wears off and reality sets back in. The Knight’s fingers no longer burn your skin on contact, and he holds you still as he rides out his last orgasm.

The pounding in your head resides, and you’re left with nothing but the light chorus of your mixed pants and the soft squelch of his dick slipping out of you. Every inch of your skin is dewed with sweat, and a sore sits deep within the pits of your stomach, throbbing painfully in between your legs.

“Shit.”

You slowly zip your suit up, only managing to slide yourself off of the table before you’re sent tumbling over. The Knight feebly pulls you into his side, allowing the both of you to slide against the wall and onto the ground.

A glance is shared between you, and a sudden heat breaches your cheeks.

“Shit.” He mirrors, running a hand through dampened locks of hair shadowing his eyes. “Crane knew what he was doing.”

You saw it, too. The exhausted crease of his eyelids, the absolute agony running through your entire system. He’d planned this perfectly.

This hadn’t fixed anything, but you were too tired to shatter the peace you felt now, even if it was momentary.

“Hope you learned your lesson.”

He attempts to harden, scrutinize you with every ounce of energy he has left. The exertion leaves his head flush against your shoulder, and you run a hand over the scar on his cheek before you’re spent as well. His breath stalls at your touch, and only for a moment, you can feel the skin on his face tug upward.

“Maybe.”

[marigold-hills]

Dunes & Waters, part 43

PART 1 • PREVIOUS PART • NEXT PART

NOTE: NSFW, explicit, minors DNI. This is just 1300 words of smut.

It’s so very fitting, Remus thinks, that flooding of the Nile coincides with the heliacal rising of Sirius. How right that the Ancient Egyptians should mark the start of their calendar by it, five thousand years beginning and ending to the brightest star appearing in the sky, heralding another season of life-sustaining deluge. 

Its earthly counterpart comes out of the bedroom that’s long become nothing but a walk-in closet. Remus thinks that yes, he is the Dog Star, but he fits even better in the name’s old meaning: scorching, glowing.

Sirius is always the brightest, but now…

“Alright there?” He asks because Remus is stuck, frozen solid, stood up from where before he was sitting at the kitchen table, tea and crossword forgotten.

“What’s… what’s that around your neck?”

“Oh, this?” Sirius laughs like it’s nothing, runs lovely fingers across the black leather adorning his throat.

Remus is the first to admit he’s not great at transfiguration. It’s finicky and more an art than a science, and he doesn’t have the patience for it. He uses it sporadically, only when absolutely needed.

His belt, which he changed into a still belt-like dog collar, sits comfortably snug across the delicate column of Sirius’ neck. The buckle is on the front, glinting golden-bronze in the sunlight. There’s a little hoop of metal where Remus attached the lead. It’s probably the best thing he’s ever created. His knees are about to give out.

“Figured if we’re going out of town I might go for a run. A proper one. And you never know if we’ll need to distract some Muggles again, so… this way I’m ready. I’ve got the leash too,” he shakes it in his hand to demonstrate, the leather snapping against itself and the skin of his wrist.

Sirius is way too calm for the situation. Comes over to the table and drinks from Remus’ cup. He’s wearing a cropped Nirvana t-shirt and the jutting edges of his hipbones are on display. He puts the leash down. Remus is still standing.

“What’s wrong with you?” There’s nothing in Sirius’s face that suggests he knows what this is doing. He’s just there, with a collar Remus made for him around the soft parts of his throat, and Remus discovers things about himself he never expected.

“You’re just… too beautiful for your own good.”

(And Sirius blushes, like he didn’t expect that.)

Remus can’t help himself - doesn’t want to help himself. He reaches out and runs his hand against the leather, against the same place Sirius touched. It’s hard and sturdy and covers the bit Remus likes to suck bites into, soft and supple underneath.

And, just like that, Sirius gets it - he grins like the cat that got the cream, or rather like a dog that got the cat, wide and mischievous and so pleased with himself. With his discovery. “That does it for you, is it?”

“Apparently so.”

The smile gets even bigger and Remus thinks he should maybe be afraid.

“I’m so hot you’re discovering new kinks?”

“Fucking hell, Sirius.” He’s downright flustered. The whole thing is unsettling. They should be leaving in a moment, but… 

Well, there’s a little metal hoop that just begs to be pulled. 

Remus does, finger crooking around the coldness of it and Sirius goes, the smile wiped clean into blankness. Big eyes staring upwards, through lashes, with nothing in them. For a moment Remus worries that he miscalculated, hastens to apologise, but before he can, Sirius whines. It’s low and needy and usually it takes Remus quite a bit longer to get him to sound like that. It’s a sound he’s become intimately familiar with, made it into a mission and a job to wring out of those lovely, lovely lips. He has bitten it out of Sirius’ mouth and had caused it in a myriad of ways, and he knows, without a shadow of a doubt, what it means.

Don’t stop. Keep going.

So he does. Pushes fingers underneath, between the leather and the skin and it’s such a snug fit, he feels Sirius’ pulse as if it was in the palm of his hand. 

He brings his mouth to Sirius’ and nips, the smallest bite, into the plushness of his bottom lip. “Keep going then, love. You were being so cheeky a moment ago, what happened?”

Sirius whines again when he doesn’t get a kiss, when Remus moves away instead and tugs at the collar, minuscule little pulls that seem to shake him completely. 

“Or is this what it takes to get you to behave? Had I known, I would have put a collar on you weeks ago.”

The way Sirius looks at him, almost like he’s been betrayed. By Remus’ words, or by his own body.

“What, don’t you want to be good for me?”

If Remus thought Sirius was gone before, it was nothing on this. Sirius’ eyes roll backwards, up to the sky, and his whole face becomes lose.

“Oh, you do,” it’s Remus’ turn to tease and to smile something almost feral, “now why didn’t you just say that before?”

Remus manoeuvres them to the couch. Lands on top of Sirius, hands on the skin exposed by the short top. Thinks to make a game of this, see how much and how fast can he make Sirius unravel. All the little likes he’d memorised are ammunition.

“nfrwy-pHwy.ky,” he says low, straight into the bone of Sirius’ jaw.

“What does that mean?” a whined out question.

“Your arse is exquisite,” Remus grabs at Sirius’ hip, fingers digging into the muscle he’s just complimented to illustrate his point. The way it gives makes him want to bite.

Sirius is hard underneath him. Normally so tactile and responsive, now he lays there stunned and pliant and… definitely not patient. “Please. Remus. More. I need…”

“Be good for me, love. ᵉntok noufr.  You can be, no?”

“Fuck. Yes. Yes I can. But please…”

Remus grinds his hand into Sirius’ cock and gets rewarded with a loud, desperate keen. Sirius bends into the touch, back arched like the walkways of the Abusir Necropolis, fingers scrambling for purchase on the smooth material of the sofa.

The other hand, Remus crooks underneath the collar, at the side of Sirius’ neck, and pulls. It’s not hard, but the way the leather bites into his skin means it must be restricting his breathing just a bit. Remus releases. Is about to check in.

“Why did you stop? Fucking hell Remus don’t stop.”

Better than a check in. Enthusiastic consent. Remus pulls again, a bit harder, pushes his hand into the confines of Sirius’ trousers. There is a wet spot on the material of his underwear already and he’s so hard it’s like holding metal.

Remus is beyond turned on, but doesn’t let himself indulge. Keeps himself focused on each of the sounds Sirius makes, growing louder and more desperate with each tug on the collar and pull on his cock. Remus pushes the horrible T-shirt up Sirius’ torso with his teeth and bites the exposed nipple, growls out “ii wy ink,” come for me, and that’s all it takes. 

Sirius takes a long time to come back to himself. Blinks slowly, dazedly. Remus casts a cleaning charm on him and means to get him water, maybe a blanket, but instead gets pulled down again. They lay wrapped around one another, heavy breaths mingling and Sirius clinging the way he never had before, for all that he is usually touchy after they have sex.

“Are you alright?” Remus asks when he seems to come back to himself a little, when his eyes aren’t quite so shocked and large.

“Do that to me always.”

“Anything you want, love,” Remus laughs into his hair. 

NEXT PART

NOTES:

I did say he walks well on a leash :):)

Who knew ancient Egyptians were so horny? That line about the arse is literally verbatim from an old song although originally it says “you have beautiful buttocks”. I just didn’t like the word buttocks in the context of what they are doing here and well I mean it’s the same word really. Allowing myself creative freedom

had NO IDEA that Sirius rose in the sky as Nile flooded Aswan when I wrote any of this. Love it when things just come together so neatly.

“you’re so close to the ending,” I say, “focus on the story.” Immediately writes over 1k of smut.

Crazy thought but if I were to write a fanfic of this fanfic I’d switch their roles around. Sirius would be a researcher and he’d know that he needs a werewolves voice/hair etc in order to open the Box so the Ministry provides him with one that’s in Azkaban. Remus doesn’t get a say. It’s not a condition of release, it’s just a condition of his imprisonment, to have experiments done on him. And Sirius hates it because this man is there completely against his Will, but also he needs him to get his work done and maybe make life better for werewolves? Remus thinks he just hates him because he is one.

@tealeavesandtrash

@moon-girl88

@hoje--aqui

@cocoabutterandbooks

@onion-sliced-apples

@prancingpony42

@digital-kam

@remoonysiriusly

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@procrastinatingstuff

@annaliza999

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(let me know if you do/don’t want to be tagged!)

[captain-mj]

Good morning afternoon evening and midnight Captain. Just wondering have you ever thought about some bad guys like Roba or Makarov or something hosting illegal dog fights but then there’s actually no dogs but instead just wolf shifters and Ghost being a victim who was forced to fight and kill to survive?

I’m just trying to help with your muzzle kink and that’s all, totally not because I wanted to see Soap being a badass dog rescuer that takes down the bad guys and comforting a shaking Ghost and gaining his trust and wrapping him in blankets and feeding him soup, nor am I desperate to see how Ghost turned from teeth baring to tail wagging when he sees Soap and give those guilt puppy eyes when seeing the scares he made back when he didn’t trust Soap and chomped on the hand that tried to feed him.

Yeah I totally don’t need to see those, just trying to help with your muzzle kink. And I definitely won’t bite you if you don’t give it to me :3

This reminded me a little of Days of Hana (don’t recommend it emotionally destroyed me) but I’ll do it for ya

Btw, I use military lingo throughout but they are just a group of rescuers. Also, Ghost is shifted like 80% of this so fair warning if you wanted him to shift back and forth.

Despite the muzzle, they did not end up fucking?? Y'all want a part 2 that is just porn ask I guess??

Soap was part of the initial bust. There were four people undercover that he was aware of, Just enough to take the guards and everyone there down without having to have too many people infiltrate the place.

He watched Gaz and Alejandro talking, pretending to be making bets. Price was closer to the arena.

Arena May be a stretch. It was a dirt floor with silver influenced chains around it to keep the wolves in.

The one in the arena was small and limping. He growled at the gate on the other end, clearly anticipating what came next.

“Bringing in…” The announcer made a drum roll and everyone quickly brought their attention back to the arena instead of the bets they were making.

“The Ghost!”

Soap frowned, not understanding the excitement. Everyone seemed to recognize the names except him and his crew. He didn’t have to wait long in suspense.

“Ex military. Brought here from Mexico after being a guard dog for a cartel leader! Undefeated champion.”

He was huge. Easily Soap’s height and built. Soft dark fur that looked like it had start getting matted. The weird thing wasn’t his size actually.

It was the design on his face. It was a skull, clearly painted on to him.

His teeth were huge and he bared them immediately. It was vicious way to go.

The other wolf started to Yelp, trying to escape the ring. And Ghost. The nerve and resolve that had been there before disappearing as soon as he appeared.

Soap couldn’t let this happen. He looked at Price who thankfully gave him the signal.

They started firing immediately and both wolves went on the defensive, hiding from the fray. Ghost met Soap’s eyes and they were so… human. While yes, Soap knew logically they were human so of course their eyes would be, it was still startling. He looked so intelligent.

Soap shot one of the guards and they quickly started arresting the voyeurs. Instead of helping them with that, Soap found how to get under the stage to where they were holding the other wolves. Most immediately shifted back, thanking him profusely.

He made his way to the arena and saw that Gaz had a gun on Ghost who was snarling. The other wolf had been hurt, but it didn’t look fatal.

Just barely though. They’d have to get him to medical fast.

“Careful, Soap.” Alejandro called out, steadying the gun. “And you don’t make a move, Ghost.”

Ghost snarled at him but stayed still, thrashing his tail. He looked so angry. So vicious. Soap worried he might lash out and kill him if he got too close. But he pushed on, getting the other wolf safe and away from Ghost before readying a leash. It was one of the one's with the control pole so as soon as he got it around Ghost's throat, they'd be home free.

Now, how the fuck would he get it around his throat. Soap stalked around Ghost but Ghost circled him back, refusing to leave himself exposed for very long.

"Listen, I want to help you, okay?" Soap tried, hoping he wasn't completely feral. If he was too far gone, they might have to put him down. He really hoped that wasn't the case. Judging by the many scars all over him, Ghost had a rough go of it.

Price shot Ghost and there was a loud bark before he collapsed, the dart hanging from his shoulder. "Took a few tranqs just in case."

Soap nodded and looked at him, giving him a thumbs up.

Ghost was put in a cage. He tried not to look at him, hoping he slept a while. Looked like he needed it.

They managed to get the names of everyone else and start working to get them home. The meticulous records the fighting ring kept made it easier.

Soap was surprised to see that what the announcer said was true. Ghost had been bought from a cartel for quite a bit of money. There was a note that he didn't really shift back, but Soap was sure once Ghost realized he had been rescued, he'd shift back and they could return him to any family he had.

Ghost woke up and Soap smiled. “There you are! Sorry for the cage, i promise it’s a formality. As soon as you shift back, we can help you.”

Ghost growled at him, clearly afraid. His eyes were huge and he was shaking.

“Come on, i don’t want to have to call you Ghost.”

He lowered his head, the paint starting to wear off.

Everyone on Soap’s team knew they weren’t real wolves, but it was easy for them to treat them as such. That was not to say it was with any cruelty. It was more wary and clinical. But Soap never had that problem. Maybe it was cognitive dissonance he had. Or didn’t have. Soap wasn’t a shrink.

Soap only saw a person there. A very scared, very hurt person.

He grabbed one of the blankets nearby and opened the cage. “I understand if it’s modesty. You can cover up if you want.”

Ghost stared, almost impassively. Like Soap spoke a language he didn’t understand.

It hit Soap then that maybe he was. Mexican cartel. He may just speak Spanish.

“Hey, Alejandro! Can you help me with something?”

Alejandro nodded and came over but Ghost immediately started to bark at him, shaking. He took a few steps back and Soap watched his hand twitch as he tried not to grab his gun.

“Nevermind. I’m going to need some Spanish lessons from you soon though.” Soap waved him away and closed Ghost’s cage, a little worried he’d run off. He looked at Ghost. "I'll be back soon, okay?"

Ghost continued to shake until Soap left. There was a ton of paperwork and he had to talk to Price, so Soap didn't get to see Ghost again until the next day.

He still hadn't shifted back, just sitting there. Soap felt so bad. He talked with the cooks and managed to get a beef soup for him. He also grabbed another blanket for him.

Ghost didn't react when he put the soup in front of him, just laid there. Soap had to lean partially into the cage to throw the blanket over him but as soon as he did, Ghost bit him. Luckily not too hard, just enough to break skin. He yanked away from him, surprised and a little confused.

Ghost noticed the food and quickly started eating. He ate slowly, trying not to spill or get it into his fur. Soap went to move away but Ghost snarled like he was threatened and Soap quickly stopped moving.

Once he was done, Ghost let him leave, laying back down on the floor. Soap stood next to the door and kept it open. "Do you want to get out?"

Ghost looked at him and slowly backed further into the cage.

"Alright... just... tell me when you want to get out okay? You can shift as soon as you're ready."

Ghost nodded and Soap smiled, glad to get an actual reaction. He left Ghost, sure he'd shift soon.

Two weeks. Everyone else had been either returned to family or was recovering in the nearby hospital with family. And Ghost was still just slumped in the bottom of the cage.

Soap kept him fed and Ghost didn't immediately snarl when he came by. He didn't seem to like Alejandro, remembering how he went to shoot at him. Price and Gaz didn't get a better reaction though as Ghost would just blankly stare for the most part. Sometimes, he'd catch Ghost and Price in a staring match which was weird.

"Captain..." Soap started and he could already see Price's face scrunch up.

"No. You are not taking that thing home."

"He's a person."

"Yes. He is. When he's shifted. Right now, he's dangerous."

"Look, I think if he's away from all the stress, safe in a residential home instead of on our base, he would feel more comfortable."

Price sighed. "Fine. On one condition."

"What is it?"

"He stays muzzled."

Soap slammed his hand down. "It's inhumane!"

"He's dangerous. You know I wouldn't do this if I didn't have to, but you're suggesting taking a dangerous person, one we don't, into your home. What if he's a criminal? What if he's waiting to get you alone? We don't know. So he stays muzzled. You're lucky I'm not insisting he has a shock collar."

"I wouldn't put a shock collar on a dog." Soap snapped.

"Neither would I. But a person can learn faster than a dog. So keep him muzzled unless he's eating." Price clicked his pen. "I'll fill out the paperwork for you. Tell me as soon as anything happens."

Soap wanted to argue, but he was worried Price would tell him that he couldn't take him. So Soap shut up and went to get him.

Ghost didn't really react to being muzzled or collared. He just started somewhere else. Soap decided to give him a small head pat, just to test it, but Ghost's tail stayed still. He didn't growl though, so that was a plus.

Soap started to walk and Ghost trailed behind him, not seeking him for comfort despite how clearly distraught he was. He treated Ghost with as much dignity and respect he could in the situation, even if the car ride home was the most awkward experience of Soap's life.

"Do you like music?"

Ghost stared silently.

Soap turned on the radio and pop music filled the car. After a second, the music changed to a rock station. He looked over to see Ghost looking out the window.

Weird. Soap changed it back. A minute later, back to the rock station.

"Are you doing that?"

Ghost looked at him. His eyes were human. Gorgeous too. Soap tried to piece together what he'd actually look like, but... it was hard to guess from the way he looked now. He noticed most of the paint had worn off him, just leaving the soft black fur behind.

Soap frowned. "If you did, just nod and I'll leave it okay?"

Slowly, Ghost nodded.

"Thank you." Soap turned it up a little and Ghost went back to looking out of his window. His tail gave a simple thump, not quite a wag but it was a sign of life that hadn't been there before.

He took Ghost into his apartment, surprised when he beelined to the couch and curled up on it. Soap pulled one of the blankets on top of him and Ghost slowly relaxed, eyes closing. A few minutes later, Soap heard some soft snoring.

Soap thought of what Ghost might look like again. Ex military. Maybe he had tattoos? Tall. Dark hair. If he and Alejandro were right, he might be Hispanic and ex Mexican military to be specific.

Dark brown eyes of course.

Soap gently tapped Ghost who swung around and went to bite him, only stopped by the muzzle. Maybe it was a good idea.

"I'm going to be gone a while, okay?"

Ghost stared at him for a minute before settling back down. He watched Soap leave and stretched. After a moment, he paced around the apartment, mapping it out. Simple two bedroom two bath. Well decorated, but clean. Fewer knickknacks than he expected, but it made sense if Soap was always out trying to help poor unfortunate souls like himself.

Ghost laid in the bathtub for a while, just relaxing. He closed his eyes and enjoyed himself. Maybe later, he'd turn the water on. All of the leather against his skin was something he was used to. It didn't feel nice, but comfortable.

Soap walked around the apartment, trying hard to find him. He started to panic, wondering if he left. He hadn't exactly done anything that would prevent him from leaving.

Ghost was snoozing happily in the tub, giant head on the edge.

Soap stood there, really taking in his size. He filled the tub to the brim and while most of it was probably fur, he must be massive when human.

It started slow. Ghost always seemed to be watching him right from the edge of rooms, always close to the exit. He also sat very politely during meal times. Soap made them eat together and Ghost always let him take off the mask.

Ghost noticed that Soap would disappear every few days. Every four days to be exact. And when he came back, he smelled of cologne that definitely was not his own.

Ghost didn't fucking like that. It hurt his head. He sat grumpily near Soap, not quite close enough to touch. The smell had finally worn off of him so he could stand to be in the same room.

"Ghost?"

Ghost grunted, letting Soap know he was listening.

"If you shift back, I won't say anything to anyone. Just... so we could talk. I want to help you."

Ghost got up and left the room, curling up in Soap's bed instead. He didn't want to. He'd have to talk about what happened and Soap would see his scars and he didn't want to.

Soap didn't bring it back up for a while. He kept feeding him and started to scratch him behind his ears when Ghost let him put the muzzle back on. It was a weird stalemate.

Until Mr. Awful Cologne came by. Soap flushed when he opened the door and cringed. "Ah, Marcus, loo-"

"I wanted to drop by! We're always at my place lately." He had flowers.

Ghost thought he looked like a chump, but maybe that was what Soap was into. He settled his head on his paws but he was huge and took up the entire couch, so Marcus didn't miss him.

"Soap."

"Yes."

"Who is that?"

"Look, it's not like that. He's... a special case."

"You have a werewo-"

"Wolf shifter. Important distinction."

"Whatever, in your house."

Ghost rolled his eyes and Marcus paused.

"Look, it's complicated. He hasn't shifted back and it's a whole thing. I promise, he's just here until he recovered."

Marcus glared at Ghost. He must've noticed something because he dropped it and helped Soap find a place for the flowers.

Ghost saw the cigarettes in Marcus's back pocket and he knew what must be done. He waited. And waited. Marcus turned his back and so did Soap. Quick hands grabbed the cigarettes and the lighter before disappearing.

It was a few hours later that Marcus noticed. Soap and him had went to his room, shutting the door but clearly not having sex if the TV and complete lack of any thing else was to go by.

"Did you take my smokes?" Marcus sounded irritated, like he had been since he saw Ghost.

"No. You know I don't like that kind."

"Well, unless your do-"

"His name is Ghost."

"Stole my smokes." Marcus stepped out and froze.

Soap looked around the corner to see... Ghost. He could tell by the muzzle.

The giant man. Huge fucking man. Why was he so big?? He had to be 6'4!! And he was jacked.

Soap had guessed right about the tattoos though. His chest and an arms were covered in them. The blanket around his waist prevented him from seeing much more but Soap could see the shape of his hips. Smoke poured out of the holes in the muzzle and Ghost eyed them.

Ghost was gorgeous. Drop dead gorgeous. His hair was a warm ginger color and his eyelashes were a soft blond. Even with the muzzle covering the bottom half of his face, it was clear he was good looking. Not to mention the clear definition of every muscle in his body. Yeah there were scars too, but Soap liked them.

"You have shit taste in smokes."

Manchester... was not what he predicted. Also, Soap had kinda figured out he spoke English a while ago, but he hadn't been expecting him to be English!

"I..." Marcus trailed off, staring at him. He looked scared, but Soap didn't get why. It was just Ghost.

Well... Marcus didn't really know Ghost how Soap did. He didn't know his favorite shows like Soap did. Or that he preferred rock music. Or that he preferred his steak medium instead of rare like Soap assumed.

"Are you going to leave already?" Ghost growled and he tilted his head, shadows falling over his eyes and they shined unnaturally. More smoke billowed from the mask and Marcus made the smart decision to just let him keep them. He flicked the lighter on and off, liking the clicking noise it made.

Soap stared at him. "All I had to do was get you cigarettes?"

Ghost grunted and looked away. He pulled the blanket up a little more, but it uncovered his legs and he grumbled about it.

Soap tried not to stare, but Jesus Christ how could you blame him?

"Simon."

"Huh?"

"You said when we first talked, you wanted something besides Ghost. My name is Simon." Ghost blew more smoke, leaning against the wall.

Soap nodded. "Simon. I like it. Now that you're talking, we can try to fi-"

"My family is dead Johnny. Saw their bodies myself. Any friends I had are long gone too." He took a drag.

"That why you didn't want to shift back?"

"Exactly why. What was I going to do? I knew once I talked, you guys would throw me on the streets. That's the next step right?"

"No. Absolutely not." Soap was almost offended that Ghost thought so low of him.

Ghost frowned, Soap couldn't see it, but he could see the way his eyes shifted. "I bit you. I caused you a lot of trouble."

"But I won't throw you out. I'd like to think we're a bit closer than that."

Ghost stared at him. His long hair got in his eyes. "Johnny."

"Yeah, Simon?"

"I'm going to take a bath. I need one. Do you have any clothes I can borrow?" He batted his eyelashes and Soap felt like he was under a spell.

"I'll see what I can find."

"Thank you." He sighed softly and the black leather tugged tighter against his skin. "And I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"Scaring you."

"You were frightened too. Don't worry. I didn't take it personal." Soap grinned, even though he felt much more nervous now than he did twenty minutes ago.

Ghost left and Soap sent Marcus a text. "I don't think this is working out."

He then went rooting through his drawers to find anything that might fit him. He ended up with a tight t-shirt and sweatpants that would be too short.

They'd go shopping later.

[starryybugs]

out of the two of them it feels like people assume cellbit's the attack dog held back on a leash instead of roier because his history is known and bloody and violent compared to the very little we know about roier's.

they assume cellbit's the one who will attack unprompted if it weren't for roier, but cellbit's the one with more connection to the people around. he's the one who's less likely to bite just because he can. and it's not like he won't attack for roier, he has and he will, it's just that every attack cellbit's ever made has had a reason behind it, you can expect him not to do so without a reason.

roier doesn't have that same predictability, roier's the one who trusts cellbit enough not to go off and attack without reason. if cellbit said they were destroying the island, roier would be 100% ready to do it. but he hasn't given the word, so roier will wait. all cellbit has to do is say so, and roier's teeth will be in the nearest target.

[sugar-omi]

my thoughts have been nothing but Cove with a collar and leash. Just you pulling the leash while he fucks you or you fucking him from behind while pulling it. Pulling him down on his knees and having him crawl towards you.

i instantly knew i needed a whole fic on this, anon you could not have sent this at a better time pls... i've actually been thinking abt this all day!! also i'm glad someone else had this thought bc ive thought abt it before n its so.... hnggg... eta now that ive finished writing: THIS IS THE NASTIEST FIC I THINK IVE EVER WRITTEN N ITS LONGER THAN I THOUGHT IT'D BE.... i think you can tell i Actually lost my mind while writing, pls i was SO INTO IT AHHH THIS IS MY FAVORITE RN HOLY SHIT

DAY TWO — COLLARING

*kinktober masterlist | *ao3

tags : NSFW, gn reader, multiple choice dialogue, dom!reader + sub!cove, switch cove/reader, begging, a bit of dacryphilia (crying), orgasm denial, master + puppy titles, puppy play (implied/mentioned), dirty talk/degradation

synopsis : you put a collar and leash on cove, he likes the control you have over him.

cove is so handsome already, waking up to your pretty husband always leaves you on cloud nine.

but having cove in front of you, squirming as he tries to be patient while you clasp the collar around his neck and straighten it...

"master..?" cove mutters, speaking carefully as if any louder, and it'll break the moment building between you.

"yes, puppy? what is it?" you pet cove's bangs away from his forehead, settling your fingers in the messy strands.

he's so pretty like this. looking up at you with those big eyes... you could keep him like this forever.

"will you uh..." cove swallows, his fingers finding the ridged edge of his scar. "make it tighter?"

you lift your brows, curious at the request. "i'll tighten it by one loop, no more."

cove smiles, if he had a tail it would wag. "that's fine."

you undo the buckle and tighten it, fidgeting with it until you're satisfied. "there. what do you think?"

cove turns around, not moving from his knees, and faces the mirror where he leans forward and trails the edge of his new collar with his finger tips.

"its nice..." he trails off, feel speechless at his new jewelry, and a natural habit as he gets into the scene.

you pull his head back by his hair, standing over him. "now what do you say to master?" you urge, ready to turn the tables but you're trusting cove to be obedient, especially with his gift.

he licks his lips, squirming. "t-thank you, master.."

you smile, leaning down to kiss your boys forehead. "good boy."

cove gazes into your eyes, so full of love and trust.

and while he's admiring you, probably thinking something cheesy even when he's like this, you clasp the leash on his neck.

"oh-" cove's throat strains against the collar as he tries to look at his new addition.

"you can't walk a dog without a leash, puppy." you remark, not bothering to fight the smirk on your lips.

cove nods, biting his lip as he follows the length of the leash to your hand.

you pet his hair, fixing the strands. "it's weird seeing you with this new collar, isn't it?" you don't expect a reply but cove agrees. "we'll just make new memories with this one..."

"ma-master!" cove whines loudly, pushing his hips back on your strap / dick.

you tut, gripping cove's hips and tugging on his leash hard enough to make his shoulders roll back, you can't fight the grin that spreads across your lips when he yells, and tightens around your length, whining at the drag.

"stay still, puppy. use your words if you want something." you reprimand, leaning over cove's back to kiss his neck.

he pants, tugging at the sheets. "master..."

you work your way up to his jaw, planting kisses all along the way. "yes, puppy?"

cove looks back at you, his eyes big and glassy, "harder.. please?"

you coo, kissing cove's cheek. "see how easy it is to use your words?" you tug on cove's leash to bring his upper body up so you can kiss him, the kiss is messy, and cove is drooling but it's so cute to see how mindless he gets when you put the collar on him.

you adjust your position to fulfill cove's wish, wrapping the leash around your hand and pulling it taut while you fuck into his willing body with abandon.

cove moans loudly, cursing as your tip slams against his prostate.

you grin at the moans easily falling from his lips, singing so beautifully for you. "what do you say?"

cove is silent, save for his loud and lewd moans before he speaks in a shaky voice. "thank you! thank you master!"

you tug on the leash again, relishing in the shaky groan that comes from cove.

"i'm.. i'm gonna cum!" cove pants, clawing at the sheets as he pushes back on your cock.

"don't you dare cum, i didn't give you permission." you wrap your hand between his legs to squeeze the tip.

"ah- y/n, please!" cove begs, wide eyes pleading with you to let him finish.

"bad pups don't get to finish," you growl, tugging on the leash so he's flushed against your chest. "you didn't even address me properly. why would i let you cum?"

cove whimpers, "please.. i'm sorry, master! i'll do anything.."

you kiss his cheeks before you find his lips, softly slipping your tongue in your fretting pups mouth, trying to kiss his distress away.

"poor baby... how about this, if you can fuck me i'll let you cum."

cove looks at you with wide eyes, used to being on the bottom even if you're taking his cock.

he swallows, clearly wishing you'd just fuck him until he can't think but also wanting to obey. he nods, "yes, yes master..."

he's even prettier like this. so pathetic and darling, leaning over you on shaky arms as he weakly ruts into your hole.

"awe, you can do better than that, puppy." you coo, tugging on the leash to get his attention, cove's eyes stuck on your hole swallowing up his sensitive dick.

"but-but... i'm so sensitive!" he cries, referring to the cock ring you slipped on him beforehand.

"but you've endured so much more than a bit of edging, surely my sweet boy can get through this?" you sooth, squeezing cove's hand thats clinging onto yours for comfort.

cove whimpers, resting his head on your shoulder.

you smack your lips irritably. your puppy is so pathetic today, usually he's so enthusiastic even when you deny him orgasm. maybe you need to be more strict...

deciding cove needs to remember who's in charge, you wrap the leash around your hand and stretch your arm out to tug cove out of your shoulder.

"ah-!" cove's eyes widen, and you can feel his cock twitch from the way the sudden tug chokes him, the collar straining on his throat but not uncomfortably painful.

"i'm being lenient here, puppy. don't make me punish you." you fix your eyes sternly, trying to break through cove's fucked out daze. you're still in charge. "do you want your first time in this collar to be a punishment?"

cove shakes his head, his hair flopping around. "no, master.." he mutters weakly.

"come here, sweet boy..." you reach for him, pulling him into a kiss.

cove whines into the kiss, hardly letting you breathe in between kisses. you tug on his bottom lip with your teeth when you break the kiss, pushing against cove's chest.

"keep going puppy, you can finish this time." you promise, making cove light up.

he rambles his thank you's, situating your legs on his shoulders and he starts to move even though his thrusts are shaky and you both moan in tandem when his tip bumps against your cervix / prostate.

this time cove is more enthusiastic, his hips bucking wildly into you and making your bounce against the pillows with every thrust.

cove pants, his lips parted and his tongue poking out. "you're so.. so beautiful, master..."

you coo, accepting the compliment but you can't help but tease him. "so sweet. but are you sure- ah- you're.. not talking about my ass / pussy?"

cove huffs, looking up at you with those same glassy eyes and shaking his head.

you laugh and mock in a shaky voice, "but isn't that why you're such a dumb puppy today? because master fucked you dumb on their dick and even now all you can think about is cumming inside your master."

cove moans lowly at the accusation, and even if he tried to fight it, he can't deny that his thrusts picked up pace, further abusing your insides, and he just pants wildly.

you tug on the leash, propping yourself on your elbows so you can tug his head back. "that's it! let go and just be my dumb cock / pussy drunk puppy!"

cove nods, looking at you with tears slipping from his beautiful eyes, "yes master, wanna.. wanna be yours.." he babbles, holding your hips down so he can thrust up into you, practically humping you like a dog.

"i know baby, tell me how much of a slut you are. admit it, you like when i collar you and make you act like a dog?" you groan, throwing your head back when cove hits a sweet spot inside you

"ye-yes! i love it!" cove pants, his eyes welling up again.

you stutter out a coo in between cove's rough thrusts, "and following me around on all fours, with anal beads shoved up your slutty hole?"

cove whimpers loudly, crumbling at the dirty talk.

"you look so pretty with that tail swinging behind you, i should've put it inside you today." you wistfully ramble.

"gonna-gonna come... master can i please, please cum?" cove whines out through gritted teeth, leaning over you so he's actually humping you this time.

"cum for me puppy, you're so good for me." you praise, reaching between your bodies to stroke your sex, huffing when your fingers brush against the sensitive nerves.

cove finishes quickly, his hips stuttering into your fluttering entrance as he weakly finishes inside you, his cock twitching against your sensitive insides.

you finish with him, shaking and accidently tugging on the leash that's still tight in your grip.

cove whines and curls himself into your neck, his breathing slowly evening out.

you push back his hair, encouraging him to look at you and you're met with his pretty eyes, lashes spiked from tears and his cheeks flushed and sweaty.

you coo, "my beautiful boy, you did so good.." you lean forward to kiss his nose, enjoying how he scrunched up his face. "so you definitely like the collar, baby?"

cove flushes, tilting his head but looking at you through his lashes. eventually he nods, "yeah..."

[beetlebug-bii]

Hello! Can we get the next part in feral child MC please? It's very cute and now I'm excited it's okay if you can't I don't want to make you uncomfortable. I hope you have a wonderful day or night or whatever wherever you are! 😁

Feral Child Mc (unfortunately) Goes To School

A/N: of course! I hope you enjoy, I haven't slept in like two days and its two in the morning so xdtfyg I hope you enjoy starling! also I love your username so much hehehe

Content Warnings: Swearing, mentions of weed, biting, feral behavior written by a dumbass, silly goofy eepy times

REQUESTS ARE OPEN, FEEL FREE TO ASK TO YOUR HEARTS CONTENT -- p.s. previous Feral MC story at the end!

Do not ask me

How

You managed

In one week, one measly week

How the FUCK YOU MANAGED TO SET THE HOUSE ON FIRE SIX TIMES

FLOOD IT THRICE

AND SOMEHOW HOT BOX LUCIFER'S ROOM

no okay I know how that last one happened and it was Lucifers breaking point

Let's just say

You and Satan have a very...

Let's say complex relationship

Some days you're so ready to beat the shit out of one another it's a shocker that nobody has died yet

Other days the brothers live in fear

They can hear the two of you scrumbling in the walls desperately, gnawing at the wooden beams and gnashing your teeth at the thought of causing the entire building to crumble, leaving the two of you to sit upon your throne of rubble and bone...

Yeah the brothers DO N O T

Appreciate Big Brother Satan bonding time

Now you would never have thought to hotbox Lucifers room on your own, honestly Satan was pretty surprised you came to him with the idea and even knew what it was and like yeah he was absolutely gonna help you with that shit because it's so fucking funny but still-

Jokes on him

You didnt come up with it

No in fact it was the man in the walls

Which you have explained to the brothers and now all of them live in fear of some fucking guy just living in their walls

Well all except Lucifer for some reason but I digress

One night whilst scrumbling you came across the attic and low and behold there was just some fucking guy in there

And at first you were like

Hello? Whys there a twink in the attic?

Anyways he didnt take too kindly to you saying that bullshit outloud and the two of you argued over whether or not he was a twink for a solid two hours before he just kind of went

Damn are you fucking high on someth-

Wait a minute

Yo kid I just had the best idea

Anyways you didnt quite get it but you were guaranteed that it would be hilarious

And it was

For all of two hours

And then it wasnt

Because Lucifer came down from his high

And got filled with stress again

Like honestly the man probably needs it you did him a favor /j

Anyways

Then you were no longer allowed "free roam without a babysitter"

"No mammon doesnt count"

"No satan doesnt count either"

"You know what, none of you count"

And then you were put on A BABY LEASH

YEAH THATS RIGHT

HARNESS AND ALL

BABY LEASHED RIGHT ALONGSIDE CERBUS AND HIS NORMAL DOG LEASH

AND YOU WERE DRAGGED TO SCHOOL

On the bright side...

At least you're actually a kid

So it's nowhere as embarrassing as it is for Levi to be hooked to the baby leash and dragged to RAD

You arrived and you were so polite

Such an angel to be around

Is what I would say if I were a fucking liar

You got there and were on all cours growling at the other students

You ran into Luke and he TREMBLED

HE YELPED AND LEAPT INTO SIMEONS ARMS

DO YOU KNOW THE PSYCHOLIGICAL DAMAGE YOU JUST DID ON THAT POOR ANGEL

of course you do

you little monster

You spent the entire first hour of class absolutely gnawing on Lucifer's ankle and you could tell he was really holding back from kicking you

And then you had a brilliant idea!!

TEETH BITE

TEETH SHARP

BITE WITH SHARP TEETH

AQUIRE FREEDOM

and thus your chomp chomp mission began, you began tearing at that leash, and eventually your efforts paid off

You were free!!!

MC IS A FREE HUMAN!!!

And so you ran

You ran like your heart depended on it

Luke

Sobbing

Screaming

Crying

Get away from him you tiny psychopath

You came running at him down the hallway and what was he even supposed to do???

HE LITERALLY CRAWLED UP A RANDOM DEMON IN FEAR, THEN JUMPED ONTO THE LOCKERS AND COWERED

of course, you tried climbing up to befriend him

...yeah

he didn't like that

He called Simeon sobbing in a panic while smacking you away with a broom handle

then you stole the broom handle...

THEN YOU STARTED BEATING PEOPLE WITH IT SIMEON

P L E A S E

S E N D

H E L P

Simeon

Hahaha aw

what a sweet little thing you are

you're just a baby human!

awwwe come here sweet ange- AHHHH

WHY ARE YOU BITING

NO BAD HUMAN

NO BITING

He is flailing his hand trying to get you to release your pirannah jaws

This does fucking nothing you are LATCHED ON

YOU ARE GAINING FRIENDS

FRIENDSHIP

LIL BITE

Simeon

had to use his foot

He put his foot on your forehead and just had to kick you off before climbing up with Luke in fear

You were scampering around like a fucking shark

The angels were holding each other, reading off their wills

Barbatos and Diavolo

of course they had to walk down the hallway

right when you started climbing the lockers

causing the angels to scream at the top of their lungs

Diavolo

he

he couldn't keep it together

LISTEN OKAY DONT GET ME WRONG

HE FEELS BAD THAT THEY ARE AFRAID

BUT ALSO

YOU ARE SO SM A L L

WHY ARE YOU SCREAMING THEY ARE TINY

SOMETIMES THEY BITE THATS NORMAL PROBABLY

ITS CALLED TEETHING

DUMBASSES /affectionate

Barbatos doesn't quite know how to break it to him that...children your age are far past teething age

Nonetheless, Barbatos dealt with Diavolo as a child, how much worse could you be?

...

......

.........

No one

Not a single soul

Will ever bring up this day

if they want to live

He doesn't even know where you got shoelaces

YOUR SHOES ARE VELCRO

MORE THAN THAT HOW DID YOU GET ON HIS SHOULDERS

WHAT FUCKING MOVIES HAVE YOU BEEN WATCHING THAT TAUGHT YOU HOW TO PROPERLY CHOKE SOMEONE OUT???

SOMEONE NEEDS TO RESTRICT YOUR FUCKING INTERNET ACCESS

YOUR HIGHNESS, PLEASE STOP FUCKING LAUGHING I AM DYING FRFR

Solomon

dying frfr

wheezing

crying on the floor

he filmed it all

no more than that

he's live streaming

Lucifer is trying to call him

Lmao blocked

He snatched you up and fucking ran

You are his little buddy now

You are taking cover deep in a place where Solomon knows Lucifer would never look for him...

...

......

Kid don't you dare comment that we're in the gym right now

LISTEN

HE IS A NERD

A BOOK NERD

A MAGIC NERD

HE DOESNT REALLY NEED TO GO TO GYM CLASS NOW STFU BEFORE HE LEAVES YOU FOR DEAD

you know how like

in jail you make toilet wine?

well he made toilet teleportation potion

Just in time the two of you crawled in the bowl and flushed, disappearing as the brothers broke in

they'll never find you now

mwahahahaha

time to watch every season of breaking bad

watch and learn kid

watch

and

learn

Previous Feral MC Post:

[littleslithewhump]

Day 7 - pet play

By the time the hood is pulled off him, his ears and limbs freed from their constraints, V is unable to stand, despite lying with limbs untied. He feels like jelly. He’s barely solid, seconds away from collapsing into pure liquid.

“Are you ready to behave?”

V has to take a few seconds to understand the words, to understand how very restricted his ability was to breathe in the dark, and he’s gasping in air. He can’t find his tongue.

“Come on, tell me.”

That face is so demanding, those eyes so sharp and blue that V feels he’s being cut open. His eyes fill with tears.

“Oh, sweet thing.” Fingers run through V’s hair, dragging over his scalp. The sensation is too intense to be completely pleasant. “You’re broken down, aren’t you? Ready to be my pet for good?”

V just whimpers, unable to form coherent words from his scrambled, post-hallucinatory mind. The light is too blinding, this pulling back from a void to life too jarring to endure.

His captor pulls him to his feet by his bicep, pulling V’s arm over his shoulder. V feels his other arm wrap around him, a hand squeezing his ass before settling on his hip.

V’s sweaty and weak, and struggles thoughtlessly. It doesn’t even seem register to his captor—but makes sense. He’s basically carrying V at this point.

He’s led, again, to the white bathroom. V realizes abruptly he was in the bedroom before, on, he supposes, the bed.

“Go.” His captor says, pointing to the toilet, and forcing him to sit with a hand on his tender shoulder when V gets shy about it. My body isn’t mine.

After that humiliating dance, his captor takes his shoulder and guides him into the shower.

“Hands on the wall, pet.”

V obeys, his back to his captor and palms flat on the tile. My body is his.

V yelps and shivers as cold water spurts from the shower, soaking him. It’s painful, after the cocoon of before.  It does warm up marginally, and suddenly his captor is soaping him aggressively, all over his entire body. His hair is scrubbed, his face is scrubbed, his feet and hands and limbs and torso are all washed thoroughly. No gentleness is spared for his bruised parts.

Most humiliatingly, his captor washes his ass and hole thoroughly, coaxing a soaped finger up even as V shakes and groans in discomfort. It’s no more than V himself has done in the shower; it’s only a few seconds; but he’s never been yelled at to stop squirming while doing it before—never had a hand press his wrist to the shower wall while taking another man’s finger.

He’s dried similarly roughly, a scratchy towel rubbing him dry, until he’s naked and and covered in goosebumps before his fully clothed captor. V thinks bizarrely of a dog being groomed.

From his pocket, his captor pulls out the bit gag—familiar at this point.

“No—I don’t need that—”

“Shhhh.”

The harness is bundled over his head, strapped and fastened over his face and head, the bit snug between his teeth.

“I have something else for you, pet. A little reminder.”

He holds up  a collar to V’s sightline. It’s black leather, a golden buckle and tag. A leash is clipped to it.

V feels himself flush and tries to back away.

His captor pulls him back by a strap on his gag, and V lurches toward him. “Stay here, little one.”

He buckles the collar over V’s bruised throat. V swallows heavily as his captor forces a finger between the leather and his neck. “They say you’re supposed to be able to get two fingers beneath this. That’s good enough, isn’t it?”

V looks away from his razor sharp smile.

“Come on.” His captor pulls him by the collar back toward the bedroom, the leash slapping humiliatingly on his bare skin. V can barely follow, clinging desperately to his captor’s forearm.

On the bed is the empty cocoon of leather and latex, the tools of torture. V’s trembling reaches a fever pitch. He wants to vomit, the nausea mingling confusingly with his biting hunger. He can’t go back there. He can’t disobey again.

He’s forced to his knees on the floor without ceremony. His captor sits on the bed, pulling V’s hands to his lap. He starts wrapping rope around V’s wrists, looping and adjusting each knot as he goes along, laughing as V winces when he touches and tightens over tender, bruised skin. There’s enough rope excess for his captor to hold onto, and he pulls v to the ground, tying the end of the rope to the leg of the bed.

“Stay.”

V lays himself belly-down on the carpet.

He hears his captor walk down the hall…a moment, a space…maybe he could…

No. No, he doesn’t dare. And now his captor is coming back, with something long in his hand, with two loops at either end. V recognizes a spreader bar and whines quietly behind the gag.

His captor pays him no mind. He just straps one end of the bar around V’s calf, just below his knee, and the other calf in the same place, keeping his legs spread.

V feels hands trace the inside of his thighs. He jumps, grinding his teeth against the gag.

“So sensitive!”

V pulls fruitlessly against the rope tying his wrists.

“Come on, up you get.”

A forearm snakes under his hips and lifts, while another slides up his back to his shoulder blades, pushing him down. His knees catch his weight, his wrists are pulled tight against the rope—and his captor himself kneels on the spreader bar, keeping him in place.

V feels his back arch in a long stretch that is, he realizes, quite catlike. His face is in the carpet.  His ass is in the air, visible and spread for his captor.

Fingers crawl over him, over his thighs and hips—they encircle his tiny waist, thumbs touching at his spine—they trace the back of his ribs, jutting through the skin on his back like twigs.

He kneads V’s ass, bony and soft at the same time. V wrenches against the touch, the rope, the bar, but is stuck in the same humiliating position.

V hears the jingle of a belt buckle, and starts pleading through the gag despite himself. A cock slaps against his ass, slides between his cheeks over his hole.

“Mn! Mn!”

“Quiet,” his captor whispers, his hands secure on V’s hips, his thumbs toying with the flesh of his ass.

So V cries instead. Quietly.

“Don’t worry, pet. I won’t fuck you…not today, at least…”

V feels a trickle of relief, a relief that’s dashed almost immediately as something cold presses against his hole. He flinches violently.

His captor laughs, and pulls back to hold the implement in front of him. It’s a plug. A glass plug attached to a short, furry tail.

“It’s small. Just to keep you open and ready, pet.”

More tears stream into the carpet. 

With very little prep and what feels like minute amount of lube, the cold of the plug is touching his hole again. His captor fucks it into him slowly, pulling his cheek aside, huffing and groaning at the view. 

It feels…good. It feels horrible. His soft insides cling to the plug, the stretch of his back becoming painfully arousing. When it slides home, it presses against the bundle of nerves inside. V moans deep in his throat.

“Oh…good boy,” his captor murmurs. He’s pulling the tail to the side, pushing the base of the plug with his thumb, watching V’s hole twitch at the pressure. 

He hears his captor touching himself, pumping himself rapidly. V wants to be anywhere else. He wants him to touch him, release the aching pressure developing between his legs.

Instead, he feels his captor come all over him, slicking over his ass and spine.

[paintedvanilla]

mutual unhinged unhealthy possessiveness but where the narrator is a territorial dog tyler could be one too he just has that soft warm blanket of knowledge that his boy is too busy ready to rip out the neck of anyone who is interested in being in tyler's life he knows the man doesn't want anything else, that's his devoted worshipper that never glances at another idol. bro bites a hand that isn't his owner and runs back to said owner with his leash in his mouth and sitting at his feet waiting. still. he'd skin someone that isn't marla alive if they took like 0.00000000001% of the narrator's attention from him they are sooo horrible they were made to consume each other.

This ask is literally so sacred to me yes 100% that’s their exact dynamic. Tyler is JUST as territorial as the narrator is but the difference is he KNOWS the narrator would never ever be interested in anyone else. He can’t even pretend to be. It’s Tyler and only Tyler forever until he fucking dies. They WILL die if not at the exact same time then one right after the other because they can’t fucking live without each other. They’re both the parasite and the host.