#injury denial prompts

[corkinavoid]

DPxDC When a Bird Hits Your Window

Written for: Whumptober, prompt 6. NOT REALISING THEY'RE INJURED Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms | Healed Wrong |  "It's not my blood."

He wakes up to a loud sound of breaking glass.

Yet, his first instinct - turn intangible and sink down through both the bed and the floor - is cut off shortly by a quiet, painful groan that follows it.

Danny blinks a few times, adjusting to the darkness in the room, and slowly sits up on the bed, listening in carefully. Someone broke into his kitchen through the window, that much he figured, but who, and, more importantly, why?

The groan turns into a moan, then something softer - a sob? a whimper? - and then there's some kind of shuffling. Danny hears the broken glass screeching over the tile floors.

Like someone is crawling over it.

Okay, definitely not a robber, then. Or, maybe it is, but a really unlucky one.

Danny stands up from his bed, phasing through the blanket in order to make as little noise as possible, and quietly makes his way through the hallway and to the kitchen door. Thankfully, he left it open in the evening, so peeking in is fairly easy-

He barely holds himself from gasping.

The thought of calling someone - police, 911, ambulance - is still only forming in his head, when his body is already moving forward. Danny kneels in front of the body on the floor, not sure what to do or where to start.

That is... a vigilante. An injured vigilante on his kitchen floor, lying face down, a hundred glass shards scattered around him. It looks almost pretty - the shards reflect the moonlight from the window, making the shadows look even darker than they are.

Danny pays no attention to the twisted beauty of it, instead biting his cheek from the inside and carefully touching the vigilante's shoulder. The guy flinches from the touch, shifts in his place, and raises his head up to look at Danny.

"Who-" he starts, his breaths quick and shallow, but the question is cut off by a pained wince. Now that Danny can see his face - sans the eyes because of the mask, yes - he notices that the guy is barely older than him.

And, now that he thinks about it, he's rather pretty.

Wrong thought, very wrong, entirely not fitting the situation. He needs to get his shit together.

"Come on, up you go," Danny mutters and leans forward, grabbing the vigilante by his armpits and raising him up. A dark, almost black puddle is left on the tiles where the guy landed.

"I'm not-" he starts protesting, and Danny suddenly remembers his name as he throws the guy's arm over his shoulder and all but drags him from the kitchen to the couch in the living room. Red Robin.

"Yes, you are," Danny cuts him off, not bothering with waiting for the end of that sentence. Red Robin whimpers. It's a sad, hurt sound, and Danny, unfortunately, knows it intimately - he's made it himself a lot of times before he metaphorically hung up his cape.

"I need to go," the vigilante insists as Danny unloads him on the couch and steps to the side to turn on the lamp on the table. And, when he looks back to Red Robin's chest, he barely holds back a curse.

"Unless you plan on going to a hospital, you don't," he argues, and, in two wide steps, reaches the shelf where he keeps the first aid. The zipper doesn't budge, and Danny bites his lower lip, throwing a quick glance to Red Robin. To hell with it, the guy is clearly too out of it to notice. Besides, it's not like being a meta - even if technically he is not - is a crime.

It's just a little intangibility to get the gauze.

"I don't need a hospital," Red argues back very confidently and tries to stand from the couch. Only he sways on his feet and almost falls, and Danny rushes back to him, catching his shoulder and sitting the vigilante back down.

"Really?" He asks, trying not to sound too sarcastic. That's how he deals with panic, sue him. "What about the blood?"

Red Robin blinks, staring at him owlishly. Is he concussed? He probably is, shit, he crashed through Danny's window at full speed. But before he can ask or say anything else, the vigilante looks down to his own chest.

Right to where it is currently covered in blood, with glass chards sticking out of his hero uniform, and a bloody fucking stab wound on his stomach. Danny distantly thinks about his ruined couch.

"It's not my blood," the guy tells him, not batting an eye. Danny holds back the urge to slap him, instead just taking a deep breath and leaning down to look Red Robin straight in the eyes. Lenses of his mask. Whatever.

"Okay, listen here. I didn't plan on saving anyone today, I actually didn't plan on saving anyone in any foreseeable future. So if you want me to throw you back out the window, I can arrange that in, like, less than ten seconds. Do you want to go back out the window?"

...and, maybe, he should have thought about the consequences better before he started his attempt at intimidation. Because, instead of saying anything, Red Robin leans in forward and boops him on the nose. With his own nose.

"Boop," he tells Danny quietly, with a lopsided, dorky grin on his lips.

And then, uncaring for the sheer bafflement he caused, he drops his head on the back of the couch, his whole body slumping down. Danny hastily checks his pulse and breathing, but, no, the guy is still alive. Just unconscious.

"I'll take that as a no, then," he sighs and finally gets to work on the vigilante's wounds.

He decidedly does not acknowledge how his cheeks feel like they are on fire.

[celestiamour]

May I request a flirty Edmund x flustered fem reader? Like the reader is trying to tend to his wounds after a battle or something but Edmund keeps distracting her by trying to show off and making teasing comments? And could it be a non-established relationship?

umm, I know you said requests were open (and you have the right to write what you want anyways) but if you don't want to do this then feel free to ignore this :))

anyways thank you! have a great day<3

ft. edmund pevensie x f! reader — the chronicles of narnia

╰₊✧ edmund flirting while you tend to his wounds┊0.7k words

setting: unspecified narnian age contains: descriptions blood/injury & mentions of battle, ed is a cheesy menace, medical inaccuracies probably

➤ author's note: i made it a bit shorter than planned, but i hope it’s still okay and that you’ll enjoy!!

“oh, god, edmund!” your concerned voice was a bit louder than it was supposed to be upon the sight of one of your beloved kings being brought into the medical tent, prompting you to quickly apologize to everyone in there before rushing to his side. the battle was already over and victory had been named for your kingdom of narnia, so several soldiers injured from the aftermath were being brought to you for recovery (thankfully, there weren’t so many that the youngest queen needed to go running around healing them with her elixir). “i was really hoping not to see any royalty today…”

he seemed a bit paler than usual from blood loss, but he weakly smiled at you rushing to his side, “edmund, huh? whatever happened to you insisting on calling me by my title?”

“is that really what you’re focusing on?” you immediately started removing his armor and cutting away at the fabric of his sleeve that obscured the damage for examination. it looked like an arrowhead got lodged in his arm and the wooden shaft got broken off at some point, needing to be removed in order for you to progress. “stay still and count to ten.”

“i don’t need to count to ten when the ten is right in front of— fuck!!” he almost bit his tongue in the middle of his compliment when you took the opportunity to take out the piece of metal with a pair of tongs, swiftly tossing it on a tray then applying pressure and working your magic as you were trained to.

“stop being so cheeky and let me get you cleaned up!” you huffed, trying to focus on your work instead of his flirtatious advances. it was no secret to anyone with eyes and ears that edmund fancied you and has been trying to woo you for quite some time now, but it seems that the only thing preventing you from being officially courted by him was your own denial of your feelings. even if the royal family made it clear that they would marry for love rather than status, you would still deny with everything in you that he always manages to make you falter without fail.

“a-at least if i die, the last sight i see will be the most beautiful girl in existence by my side,” he joked before hissing at the stinging sensation of you cleaning his wound. it was nowhere near the worst pain he felt or the closest he’s ever been to death, but he thought it would be funny to exaggerate the agony to get you to pay more attention to him as if it wasn’t already all on him.

“don’t say that! it’s not even bad enough to be that much of a bother, just remember to wash the wound with alcohol and change the bandages every day.”

“so i guess that means i’ll be seeing you every day since none of my servants are professionals like you are? i’m a king, you know, so it would only be expected to have the best of the best look after me!”

“… fine, i guess i’ll see you around this time for the next week for so until you’re fully healed…” his stupid smile made you get all hot and you turned around so that he couldn’t see your face for your reaction, but the very action told him everything that he needed to know.

“so do you think you could also help me up then walk be back to the palace to announce our victory and our relationship?”

“you hurt your arm, not your legs, so you don’t need my help to go back! also, we aren’t even a couple yet, there’s nothing to announce!”

“not a couple yet? so you admit that we will be someday?”

“oh, you’re insufferable!”

his cheeks ached a bit from all the smiles and laughter, able to ignore the pain like it was a mere paper cut thanks to the amusement teasing you has brought him. the day you’ll be his and he’ll be yours (although he always was yours) is close, he could feel it— and he’ll gladly milk this minor injury as much as he can if it means bringing that moment closer to him by spending more time with you.

[mypoisonedvine]

you know your last zemo piece RUINED me I think about it at least once a day 😭 what about zemo/reader + 41? 👀 if you feel like it of course! I would read even your grocery list probably

okay well then eggs, milk, greek yogurt--

just kidding c: (not kidding that i need to buy greek yogurt tho. i ran out the other day)

41: "don't do that. don't act like you don't feel this too."

warnings: smut (18+ only, ever so slightly dubcon because of all of the denial?), fingering and overstimulation, glove kink, angst, enemies to lovers, descriptions of injuries and violence, reader is very generally implied to be an avenger?

100 random prompts - send me a number and a character!

"What are you doing here?" you asked sharply, pretending to be focused on your book even though your heart had been beating too fast to let you read another word as soon as he stepped into your room.

"I just wanted to speak with you," he said. You knit your brows together, because obviously you just want to talk, what the hell else would we be doing in here alone? but you didn't say anything. "About what happened today--"

"It doesn't mean anything," you insisted, rather dramatically flipping the page of your book. "You're an asset to the mission, my job is to keep the mission on track. That's it."

He didn't react, really. "I... never said it meant anything," he explained, "I simply wanted to thank you."

You cursed yourself internally, staring blankly forward at your book, trying so hard to ignore his dark form in your peripheral. Did he have to keep staring at you like that?

"So, thank you," he said.

"That's not necessary," you insisted, "I would've done it for anyone."

"You'd take a bullet for anyone?" he pressed.

You closed your book in frustration, finally looking back at him; you wished you hadn't. You couldn't even begin to react to everything you saw on his face, the way he was looking back at you... you stopped yourself before you even thought about trying to describe what emotion that could be. It took you a moment to even remember what you were going to say: "I didn't take a bullet," you corrected him, standing up off the bed, "I had Kevlar on. I just blocked it."

"Yes, Kevlar-- not magic," he clarified. "It must have still injured you."

You shrugged. "I'll live."

"May I see?" he asked softly, stepping forward until he was uncomfortably close to you, and you nodded slightly. You couldn't look at him as his gloved hand slowly pulled up the bottom of your tank top, until the massive bruise on your stomach was revealed. "Christ..." he whispered under his breath.

You shoved the fabric back down and wiped under your nose, trying to act normal and stern again.

"I didn't know you were wearing a vest," he explained. "The feeling that went through me when I thought you were really hit-- that you might..."

He trailed off, but you nodded, knowing what he meant.

"I haven't felt that feeling in a long time," he continued soberly, his gaze a little darker. "I never wanted to feel that again."

"Well, I guess I'm sorry if I... distressed you," you mumbled.

"Surely you know I'm not here asking for an apology," he scoffed.

"Then what do you want from me?!" you snapped.

"Don't ask me a question you don't want me to answer," he warned, and your heart jumped.

"What's that supposed to mean?" you mumbled, crossing your arms tightly and looking away.

He didn't answer, just stepped closer to you-- you wanted to step back, but the bed was in your way. Damn these insanely tiny rooms...

You looked back at him, trying to keep a straight face, hoping he couldn't hear your racing pulse somehow.

"Ask me again what I want from you," he ordered darkly, "if you really want to know."

You stammered a bit but eventually choked it out, almost a whisper: "What do you want from me?"

"I want you to promise you'll never do that again."

You weren't sure what you were expecting, but it wasn't that. "What?"

"Never put yourself in harm's way like that again," he demanded, "I can't take it-- if you were really hurt, or even killed--"

"It's my job," you reminded him. "If my orders put me in harm's way, that's where I go. And my orders come from Bucky, not you."

"James doesn't care about you," he interjected sharply, and your eyes went wide. "And you don't care about James-- not in that way, at least."

"I-I don't know what you're talking about," you blurted out, not sure what else you were supposed to say to that.

"Don't do that," he pleaded lowly, shaking his head. "Don't pretend that you don't feel this, too."

You tried to step away but he grabbed you by the wrist, pulling you back into him-- closer than ever; his other hand came up to hold your face, a gloved thumb tracing over your cheek as you looked back at him.

"I can't watch you get hurt again," he breathed, "least of all for me. Just let me protect you."

"I don't need your protection," you assured, "I can fend for myself."

"But do you want to?"

When your mouth opened with a little gasp of denial, he took the opportunity to kiss you-- hard and passionate, pulling your body close to his.

You put your hands on his chest like you were going to push him away, but you found yourself melting into it instead, and your fingers weakly clutched at the fur lapel of his coat.

"Fuck," you mumbled against his lips, kissing him back with more intensity than either of you expected. Weeks of tension finally broke as you clawed at each other, falling onto the bed and struggling with a mess of bulky clothes.

His kiss moved to your neck, his teeth digging into your skin until you whined. "Would it be wrong of me," he wondered, "to be responsible for another mark on you?"

"Shut up," you hissed, 'cause how the fuck could he be all poetic and shit right now? You could barely even think straight-- clearly you weren't thinking straight, because you were in bed under Zemo of all people. "I can't fucking stand you sometimes."

"I know," he mumbled against your skin, his hands moving down your waist until he could start opening your belt.

"But I wanted you so fucking bad..."

"I know."

He slipped his hand into your pants, cupping your sex for just a moment, before roughly shoving two fingers inside you-- with his fucking leather glove still on. You moaned low and loud, tossing your head back as he stretched you on those fingers, the intrusion thick and sudden and making you insanely desperate.

Your back arched as he thrusted those fingers inside you, your legs spreading naturally as your body craved more. He pulled away from your neck to stare down at your face, mesmerized by the way you responded to him.

"O-oh my god," you gasped, "fuck--"

"Right there?" he assumed as he curled his fingers against your spot, making you shudder and hold tight onto his arm.

"Yes, yes!" you whimpered.

"Quiet, draga," he cooed, "James is only one room away--"

"Fuck, j-just fuck me," you begged, "I need you-- just fuck me, please."

"No," he denied flatly, though it clearly pained him to say it. "One of us has to stay in control."

You whined in frustration, amazed at how much he could say in so few words. I'm in control right now. I wouldn't be able to control myself if I was inside you. I wouldn't hold back, and everyone would hear us. You couldn't pick which underlying meaning was the one that made you that much more wet all of a sudden.

He purred through a smile as he rubbed harder against the spot inside you, moving his covered thumb to press to your clit as well. "I can feel how badly you need this-- it must have been so long since anyone pleasured you, hm? And you must have known I could take care of you."

Your legs were shaking already, your hand reaching up to hold onto his shoulder, then weaving into his hair. You tried to pull him down for a kiss, but when his face came close to yours, he stopped and stared right into your eyes-- and his other hand grabbed yours and pinned it down roughly beside your head. You bit your lip, hating how much you loved the helplessness you felt right then.

"I just need you to come for me now," he explained with a growl. "I need to watch you give into it."

"I-I'm close," you nodded, and he smiled again.

"I know," he said, making you feel a little stupid for even saying it. "Show me. I want to see what it looks like when you let go."

With your one free hand holding tightly onto the sheets, your hips started to rock up into his touch-- or maybe trying to get away from it, the feeling was so intense. Either way he had no trouble keeping you where he wanted you, shoving his fingers deep until your eyes rolled back. You knew you were saying his name, you heard it echoing around the walls, but you refused to believe that it was really you begging for him like that. You would've given him anything he wanted right then, just to get through that feeling and let ecstasy wash over you: thankfully, all he wanted was exactly that.

It was actually quiet at first, you were holding your breath without really meaning to; only when you just barely started to come down from the high did you make a sound again, a moan going out along with a big exhale of everything you'd been holding in.

Except the feeling didn't stop, because he didn't. Actually, he started going even harder.

Your eyes shot open and your body rocked. "F-fuck, fuck!" you yelped, both your hands tightening into fists before the unrestrained one grabbed at his wrist to try to slow him down-- which obviously didn't work.

He was biting his lip and flaring his nostrils from the force of it, staring down at you with fire in his eyes as he kept going.

"Oh my god," you sobbed, "I-I can't-- fuck, I-- oh!"

You wouldn't really call it a scream... he would, but you wouldn't. You might have said it was more like a high-pitched moan or maybe just a loud whine, but really, to anyone else who heard it (which may not have just been Zemo) it was definitely a scream. A scream of overwhelming, painfully-perfect pleasure. And only when your whole body was a shaking, useless mess did he stop moving his fingers inside you and gently pull them out.

You were so exhausted, going limp against the mattress and fighting to blink your eyes open, that you didn't even really notice him bringing his soaked glove to his mouth and getting a taste of you, humming contentedly.

It was only when he let go of your wrist and stopped hovering over you, sitting on the bed with a sigh, that you really noticed him again and (mostly) came back to reality.

His hair was messed up, and his face was flushed-- and you'd tugged his shirt to the side and exposed more of his chest. Only now did he look even a quarter as affected by this as you were. "There will be a time and place for more, draga," he promised you with a sigh, "soon."

"When?" you asked, and he smiled a bit deviously at you before wrapping his hand around the back of your neck and kissing you again-- sweeter, slower, but with a hint of dominance as he gently bit on your bottom lip.

"Whenever my patience runs out," he answered with a grin.

[eldrith]

ғʀᴏᴍ ᴇᴅᴇɴ ; ᴘᴀʀᴛ ᴛʜʀᴇᴇ.

ᴄʜɪᴠᴀʟʀʏ ғᴇʟʟ ᴏɴ ʜɪs sᴡᴏʀᴅ ;

words: 8.4k synopsis: jacaerys falls for a woman in aegon's garden. notes: happy halfway! we're only a few weeks from halloween & im getting excited that this story is at its midway point. i hope those who read this enjoy it. it's as always for my muses @useralba and @dipperscavern ... my co authors frong!! chapter warnings: active and willing denial on jace's part tbh. themes of corruption, spooky visions, smut; masturbation, dry humping, heavy petting, finger sucking, hint (?) of choking [v brief], sort-of under the influence activities so - dubious morals in this one [youll see]. eating as sexual imagery, sin/shameful thoughts, religious themes & symbolism, temperature play-ish?, blood & injury depictions, brief mentions of…consuming blood…lightttt manipulation[:D], angst, grief, discussion of death. & some fluff. this is so unedited series masterlist. main masterlist.

THE CHAMBERS OF MAESTER GERARDYS ARE TINGED WITH DRIED HERBS AND DAMP PARCHMENT.

It is a smell which rather permeates the air through the corridors of the castle on the more inclementing days – even when he was younger, Jacaerys found himself passing by the smell of feverfew and steamed stinging nettle on his way to lessons in the bowels of the stone drum. 

Thick tears of rain slide down a weathered pane. Jacaerys reclines in a small chair; In front of him, a poultice is mixed by steady hands.

His head pulses with a familiar ache; the one which has plagued him for days, rendered him rather restless and jumpy on the best of days, irascible and brusque on the others. There is a slow roll of thunder outside; it rattles the weakened pane beside him – faintly, he can nearly hear the call of some childish laughter warbled in the storm outside. 

There are no children left on the island now that his brothers are gone with Rhaena; with them, it seems, has gone the sun. The days have been plunged into dreary rolls of high clouds and low sheets barreling down with coughs of spitting sleet; The nights remain the only time the air is relatively clear of that wetting dark, and yet still clouds slink under silvery slivers of waxing moon. 

Agitated, Jace watches Maester Gerardys pour some oiled ointment, warming it between his palms; straightening his spine to a more respectable position, Jacaerys tilts his jaw for the man to begin to massage the ointment into his temples. 

A sigh of relief. “It’s only getting worse,” He murmurs, eyes fluttering shut at the sharp scent of peppermint. “-The head aches, the knots in my stomach.” 

Maester gerardys hums as he pulls away, returning to the poultice as he glances attentively at the prince – though he says nothing, and Jacaerys is prompted to fill the silence once more. 

“I suppose getting air has helped… Aegon’s Garden is not nearly as taxing to the senses as flying on dragonback these days.” He observes absently, watching another onslaught of rain slam against the window, “… and your oils, of course - though, they’re quite strong in the bath. I find the blooms to be rather pleasant now. I don’t know if you recall, Maester, but I was quite sensitive to plants when I was a babe.” 

Below on the grounds, a flicker of blue through hedges of green; Jacaerys jumps only slightly, blinking – and the figure is gone. He must be going mad. 

Though in a moment of odd silence, the grind of the mortar has stopped. 

Gerardys’ eyes flick up to his own, leaking with a flicker of wariness. “Yes, the…garden.” He repeats slowly, straightening his back. “My Prince, I’ve… noticed you’ve been spending quite some time there recently.” 

Jacaerys, not used to such suspicion from the man, bristles immediately. Some desire, perhaps, to protect the sanctity of the garden - to protect you. 

“And?” He wonders stiffly. 

Maester Gerardys sets the mortar to the table, voice cautious. “It is not my place to pry, but… we must be wary not to��� become distracted in such times. The dragonseeds arrive late on the morrow, and the efforts of war demand the entire island’s attention.” 

Offense bristles through Jacaerys’ chest as he levels a sharp gaze at the man before him. Without hesitation, he rises from his previous seat, patience more than frayed. “Do you think me not focused?” 

At the following silence, his voice tightens. “I am not a boy, Gerardys. I know what is at stake - better even than you. And it will do you well to remember who it will be to lead the charge when the time comes.” 

Gerardys does not flinch at the sharpness of Jacaerys’ tone, but nods briefly. “Of course, my Prince. My apologies.” Jacaerys moves to make his exit, though Maester Gerardys’ voice stops him once more., “Though… It is my duty to keep you in good health. You’ve mentioned before a girl, in the garden - pardon me, but there has not-” 

“Enough!” Jacaers snaps, pushing off the table. His temper has flared - though tipped over the cliff by his words, it is not Maester Gerardys who aggravates him so; rather, a heavy impending doom has settled upon his stomach at the damning reminder of the dragonseeds which crawl their way from whatever villages or flea’s bottom they come from now to chance a life of riding a dragon. Of some inkling that, in some way, Gerardys’ words are right; and Jacaerys lashes, a cornered hound. 

“You forget yourself, Maester.” He exhales sharply through his nose, “You are here to help aid my ailments. That is all you need to do."

Gerardys bows his head, “Of course.” 

He is nearly to the threshold when Maester Gerardys’ voice carries - soft and unsettling as an owl’s stare in the pitch of night. “Just remember, my Prince. Sometimes, the things which ease the mind… might mislead the heart.” 

Jacaerys stops before the chamber door, hand clenching into a fist at his side; a nerve has been plucked, struck, ripped - some small growing doubt in the back of his own mind, one that festers and yearns to bloom with kindling of another’s words. Worry eases through him, though there is no time for that; more pressing matters loom. 

The dragonseeds arrive on the eve, it seems. 

He is gone from the chambers without another word, ignoring the fading needle sting of Maester Gerardys’ odd words as they dissolve into the large bow of day. 

IT IS OF LITTLE IMPORTANCE WHEN JACAERYS HAS HIS BATH DRUM MOVED.

Though it is a simple request, an innocent one - brought up while breaking fast one morning, watching with concealed fluster as three servants drag his bath drum towards the windowsill. Though it is indeed blameless and simple, he feels rather horrid for it. 

It is a twist of disgust that blossoms into some equally thrilling bloom in his chest. A transfixion, to keep gaze upon the expanse of a sea beyond his scope, of all that will one day be all his own to rule. To prove, perhaps in some twisted way, that it is he who will sit on the throne when his mother has finished her long reign; that those mules with silver hair and names of sand or snow do not come to delude themselves into making a claim of their own. 

To watch over the baileys below, to see the fishing villages, mere specks in the distant shoreline; to see ships smaller than fleas sail to and from, to see the rustle of wildgrass upon the pathway to the garden below. 

To watch Aegon’s Garden. 

It is not, he tells himself, in any off-chance that he might catch sight of those silky tresses, of that smooth and wintry skin, of your curling smile. Jacaerys simply enjoys the views of sky, sea, mountain - and if he were to catch a glimpse of your beautiful visage, whispering to the flowers and laughing as if the blooms could whisper back? Perhaps that would simply be a welcomed favor. 

The water in his bath steams; oils of rosemary and peppermint mix in a rather sharp smell upon his skin, though the tendrils of steam curl into his head and ease the sharpness of his mind’s ache. 

Reclining back, eyes half-lidded, Jacaerys sighs into the heat of the water. 

Lithe, tense muscles ache with the tension of the day - though it is morning, he knows he must rouse soon; but in the hour ahead that he has to bathe and break fast, he will allow himself to slip away from life, into the recesses of his mind - to where only you exist. 

You. 

Jacaerys allows for his fingertips to brush absently along the water’s surface - so similarly to how they’d traced the curve of your neck, tangled into your hair. It’s been far too long since he visited you last - two nights past since he was tugged through the hedges once more, hiding a grin, ducking under low-hanging vines, gasping into kisses stolen by your wanting lips.

There is no such flame that perhaps has ever burned hotter than the memory of your touch; an icy one, a chilling touch that sends the cold aches of the North to shame; though it burns so hot in his mind’s eye. 

You, a world apart from the suffocating smoke of war - an endearing, true girl; the way your smile tugs at the corner of your lips, some glint in your gaze that beckons him closer - deeper. 

Eyelashes kiss his cheeks when he shuts his lids, and mercifully he sees it - you, head tilted in the sunlight, shadows of the garden dancing along the stretch of your soft skin, the icy breath of shade a cool respite from the despotic sun.

And that heady, rich scent that clings to your skin - the figs, the juicy skin, the pinking bud of flesh inside, your lips so divine, wrapped around them, tasting, licking, biting- 

His breath hitches; without thinking - or perhaps, telling himself instead not to think - his palm slips beneath the water. 

Jacaerys’ groan is quiet into the empty chamber; but his calloused palm is softened by the warmth of the water, and his mind is hazy in the visions of you, staring at him, lips wrapped around that fruit. 

Its scent, the lingering taste of it upon your lips, so sweet - you, so sweet. 

And he did not try a taste then, but gods how he had wanted to; how he still wants to. A taste - of that flesh, dripping with sweet juice and marbled skin of ripe fruit - and of every inch of you, each breathless hitch of a moan, every whisper of his name from your lips. Pleasure curls down the base of his spine as he allows his fist to move; broad strokes, as languid as the slithering shift of your skirts around corners, as sharp as your gasped giggle when he makes you laugh. 

And it’s you; he nearly believes it is you, wrapped around his cock so snug - pleasure lapping at core, water kissing his chest as he stirs in the bath, stuttering breaths that leak a few spare whimpers into the quiet morning air. 

There is a breeze through the open window that sends Jacaerys’ bare chest to shiver against the steam of hot bath; A familiar chill, wrapping and curling around him like the winds of winter - settling at the nape of his neck, but dripping lower to pool at the very base of him, where his fist moves, desperate and seeking. 

And though he pretends it does not happen, he knows his fist curls and moves to the rhythm of your sighs in his memory, how you’re always so eager to press into him, to kiss him, to taste him; desperate and hungry.

Hunger – that glint, dangerous and unknown in your eyes; a flicker of a grin too wide-pulled, the sliding of a gaze that feels ancient. It’s not proper, he knows; but the pleasure mounts anyways – because of it, perhaps – and that sickly smile sends himself further to the edge, grip shaking as his hips buck against nothing. 

Water splashes from the basin. A bite on the plush of his lip as he suppresses a shuddering moan; his abdomen has tensed in such curling pleasure - an ice against the fire in his veins, intoxicating, arresting. 

The pressure always builds - not just this pleasurable kind, though his body insists to his mind he should be focusing on such things - and in the last few desperate days that he’s spent far from you, you who truly understands him - it is in these times when he seeks such salacious relief. 

It is your name whispered from his lips, breathless - too many times to admit in the past weeks of knowing your company. It is some distraction from the clawing talons of fate; when his palms are warm against his cock though he finds himself wishing to feel your own - that chilling touch which lures him so. 

His desperate, soiled lips - groaning your name, falling from his tongue as the whisper of a phantom, some half-formed prayer to gods long-forgotten, squeezed with the very last of air which lived in his lungs. Licking at his skin, curling into his blood like the shade under which you’d kissed him.

The phantom feeling grasps at him, pressing against the thrash of his heartbeat in his chest, bringing the sting of overwhelm to his lashline, coaxing gasps through his lips and tickling a flush to his cheeks. 

He can almost feel you when that same shivering peak leaves him panting, gasping as his ecstasy rolls through his entire body, his head lolling back against the tub basin as he whines your name into the empty chamber. 

And in those moments, just like now - as his chest heaves and knuckles turn white, as he spends himself - he can think of nothing else. 

It is only you.

Though when he steps from the bath and stretches his bare muscles into the bright of day, eyeing the line of constellated freckles which sprinkle over his pectorals and gather in pools upon his shoulders and bridge of nose, he feels the slow recovery of what had slipped so easily from his conscious - pain. 

And just as it disappeared, so it appears once more; with a sharp wince, Jacaerys jolts from his haze, gasping at the heavy ache which throbs in the back of his head. 

With flushed cheeks, he watches the garden below for any sign of life; It swirls with tantalizing greens, the scent of dahlias and gardenias blowing in even this high into the tower through the open casement. A sigh falls secret and unbidden from his lips as curls are raked back upon his head with a shaky palm. 

As always, the pull is there. 

The lull, some sweet melody that spins the strings of his heart, warming the blood pulsing in his chest and gathering below his abdomen; which soothes the ache of his mind and whispers his name in the soft breeze. 

It is melancholy, in the way life has been without Lucerys. Shadows swirl darker under the attention of morning sun – petals curl beneath the breath of frost, melting back into themselves in the first whispers of day. The blooms smile up at him, and he longs for the embrace of something he can never have. 

The garden breathes below. 

Across the bailey, the dragonseeds take up arms - measly children playing at a game they know nothing about; Jacaerys’ jaw clicks when he glimpses the regal posture of his own mother across the way, speaking with Maester Gerardys and Addam of Hull. The pierce of his mind’s ache is sharper - the garden’s breeze sends a breath of loneliness through him. 

He shuts the window without a second thought. 

IT IS ONLY SO MANY HOURS UNTIL HE FINDS HIMSELF IN THE GARDEN ONCE MORE. 

Misery flutters in Jacaerys’ mind with every ragged gasp he takes; a creeping nightmare, rousing him from sweaty sheets - clammy and with half a scream lodged in his throat, he’d stirred. 

Visions of white, some restless churning that’d grown from dirt of dreams and sprouted a blossoming nightmare - at the top of that ancient, towering wall of ice, the words falling from Cregan Stark’s lips. A fate worse than death. 

The loss of his brother; the face which echoed in so many ways his own. The end of a life - of a lifetime - and he still wakes up from restless slumber every night, gasping dry air, yearning for the days of sparring, of fixing wrinkled folds of rich doublets, of teaching lessons, of laughs concealed painfully at supper. 

Though tonight, after being roused from sleep by a scream that did not sound like his own, Jacaerys had stood from his mattress, slamming the empty chalice of water upon his table as he calmed his breaths, watching the hedges swirl and blow in the night’s breeze. He’s grown used to the figments of his sleep-hungry mind – young men running past statues, laughter bubbling far away. But tonight, he saw you in a flash of white dress and a rumble of ancient hunger, some need to be in arms which trust and do not quite question. 

And so, he ran. 

Still clad in his tunic and sleep-trousers, he stumbled past the iron gates, gripped in a chilling bout of tedious familiarity; how many times must he find himself here, searching for comfort - to be haunted by life, by loss? 

Why had he not, instead, sought out his mother? Baela? Lord Corlys is often awake at such ghastly hours these days, staring at the sea from upon his balcony… 

It is admittedly not the first time he has sought you out in such turmoil; indeed, in the weeks of knowing you, scarcely has past two days where he has not ventured into the gardens; where he has not sought your eerie quiet, your soft words, your gentle palms upon his glistening cheeks. 

There is in you perhaps that innocence so lost in people like him - people tainted by the burden of duty; and in your smiles, your whispers, your laughs, your tears - he has come to know you and to love you separately, to be transfixed by you and to crave you. 

He supposes it is indeed some rebellion of his own - any breath of you is swept behind by those he has known his whole life; his mother, with no bat of her eye over your name in passing, though if she had scarcely an idea of what he did with you when there was nothing but the swirling trees and falling petals… lips on soft lips, hands on plush curves... 

And Jacaerys knows, quite deep in his mind, why he could not speak with them. So often he finds words falling on deafened ears; those who do not understand, or who simply do not wish to. Unlike you – wise beyond your years. 

In the pitch dark of night, the statues grow warped - blackened by the hatred of weather and neglect of island; it is darker than he’s ever seen the Garden, with a nearly full moon concealed by thick clouds of dread. 

Blindly he stumbles into a statue - grasping once more unto the familiar young maiden’s thigh for balance; though the serpent which encircles her is coiled higher over her hips than he recalls. 

Fingertips trace over the scales of the snake, and with a distinct desire in his throat, he presses his forehead to the cool stone of the stone woman’s dress skirts; a momentary comfort upon the stone lap. 

It is only moments before his breathing calms; lips, pressing to the stone he rests upon - and that visage that watches down at him - stone and lifeless in the dark, eternally you. 

IT TAKES HIM NO TIME TO FIND YOU DEEPER IN THE GARDEN. 

It is odd, perhaps, that his feet find their way to you each time he seeks you out, as though they have a memory of their own - though he still feels lost in the ever distending garden itself.

Under the olive tree, as you lurk in the shadows, some ancient beastly predator awaits the hare; but you are no foe. 

He stands numbly, the loneliness that grips his chest and fosters growing insecurities and fears within his mind dissolving under your beaming smile. 

You’re against him in only a moment, pulling him by the wrists into your embrace; he feels odd, as though he floats when you tug him nearer.

 “Jacaerys,” You whisper, eyes wide - startled, perhaps, at his visit in such an unseemly hour; though you, too, are here in the garden. It is beyond him to wonder why you so choose to spend your nights here, when he lies so sleeplessly in his own chambers each night wishing for the embrace of the garden. 

The knot in his chest unfurls just under your touch - and you seize him in a shy kiss, leaning on tip-toes to seek his warmth. 

He gasps into it, overwhelmed by the cold of your lips against his own; but he melts into the intoxicating simplicity of being wanted - and wanted by you, gods - and kisses you back deeply. Soft tresses tickle his forearm as he slides his arms around your back, tugging you into him - as if he could perhaps drown himself in you; as if he could forget the weight of the night, of the troubles that always come when morning breaks. 

His hands find your waist as you pull away, though not too far - he keeps you close, to see the breath that falls from your lips and raises the goosepimples upon his neck, each flutter of every single eyelash. 

“You’ve returned,” And you speak the words breathlessly each time he visits, without fail; as if you truly fear that each time he leaves, it will be the last time. 

But your smile falls at the state of him, leaning closer to tuck your palm under his jaw. 

“What troubles you, my love?” You wonder softly, a cold breeze of your palm brushing away his curled tresses - and he tries not to keen into the touch, swallowing thickly at the concern, at the empathy that drips from your words. He does not recall when you began to levy him with such sweet words – gone is my prince, taken up with far more intimate, kind titles; And, in return, when he whispers such devoted titles into your ear, into the breath of the garden – you bloom, a small smile growing evergreen upon your visage.  

Your name is whispered from his lips with a shake of his head, the emotions crawling back to the forefront of his mind, dragging his weary bones down towards the earth. 

And, devoted as always, you go with him; sinking into the thick soil, running your fingers through his hair as he breathes heavily, using his best effort to resist the tears which brim in his vision. He feels a fool; though you would not ever hold him in such contempt. 

His voice is tight. “I wished to see you,” He admits, “I… saw you, from my chambers.” 

Your lips curl into a soft grin; your eyes are dark - knowing - in the concealed moonlight, and it stirs that same odd crazed feeling within his bones. And no matter how tight his grasp on your arm becomes, you do not wince; you instead pull him with a soft caress and practiced words, curled under the statue of the dying lovers. 

It is there he lies, head cushioned on the soft chill of your lap, blinking back syrupy eyelids as he spills his mind to you. 

His mother, the dragonseeds; heirs, bastards, the colour of the very locks your fingers card through so gently. 

His words whisper, curling up through your own hair and floating into the limbs of the tree behind you; your eyes are large as he confesses to you each and every thing that has infected him, has let fester within his mind for so long that now it rots and oozes from his lips with a bitter hatred. 

Your words whisper in return, dripping from honeyed lips and soothing the sore and bruised bones that lie so weary beneath skin so thick. 

It is in no effort to convince him of one thing nor another; Your words are for him, and that is it - your words are simple, kind, understanding. A balm over festering wounds of family, of fate.

“Jace?” You ask into the quiet of the night - and the tug on his heartstring of your delicate use of his sobriquet fosters a gentle, dreamy smile to his lips. He hums into the quiet garden, his fingers slipping through the tresses of your free hair, billowing around his head like a thick curtain; he leans up and steals a soft kiss from your parted lips, laughing gently at the blush that creeps over your countenance. 

Not a breath later, a pressure slides soft against Jacaerys’ face and he jumps slightly. Though you laugh at his misfortune, you straighten; the curtain is pulled, and Jace blinks in the moonlight to find the creature that’d slinked its way into your privacy. 

Jacaerys’ gut twists – the cat. 

A gasp of excitement from you. “Shadow, darling.” You purr affectionately - Jacaerys, wary and uneased, sits himself upright from his pillow in your lap, spine uncurling into regal posture once more. 

It bunts its small head against your palm and Jacaerys is claimed by a faint memory – Baela feeding Sȳndor a foraged fish; You sigh in disappointment, shaking your head down at the cat. “I have none with me this evening, I’m afraid.” 

The cat hisses; he feels his spine straighten even more, hair on end. 

“Jacaerys,” You hum; your hand is outstretched, and with a disoriented blink, he wonders when you’d risen to stand. He rises, hand in yours as you smile against the pitch-black of night. “I’ve something I would like to show you.” 

The deeper into the garden you lead Jacaerys, the longer the silvery shadows of statues cast; wrath, visages weathered and greened by spoiled coils of vines - they leap at him when he passes. Earth and dying leaves hang in the air; but in the rotting turns and bends in the far end of the garden, where he’s never been, they give way to something sweeter, richer. 

It’s a slow crawl - in a breeze, in a short laugh from you, in the sway of your loose tresses when you turn a corner too quickly for the prince to keep up. A cat-and-mouse game.  

Though it grows - a smell so intoxicating that when you finally arrive, Jacaerys is stopped dead in his tracks.

Bewilderment, some serious dip in his gut in alarm at the monstrous silhouette that just barely looms in the shadows of night. His neck has to crane to see them: Figs – plump, ripe, hanging heavy and dripping from gnarled branches easily the size of himself. 

It is a tree twice the size of the olive tree - a feat of its own - and possibly more; the fruits drip with nectar that shimmers as if caught in the light that does not find the rest of the Garden. 

Massive. 

The tree backs up and towers over the stone wall at the end of the garden, fog swirling in a small blanket that conceals the thick, rising roots emerging from the earth. 

And at first, Jacaerys believes the heat rising within him to be hunger; his stomach growls quietly, churning at the alluring scent of fruit - but with a glance at you, hand still in his - a different hunger claws at him. 

The heat spreads through his veins. 

It tightens his chest, mouth watering at the thought of a bite of that sweet fruit, its gentle juices as they slide over trembling, pure skin; his hunger grows, some famished beast clawing at his chest. And a taste of you - that intoxicating you, ever-present and sweet in his mind. 

Gods, this is ill done. He does not ask before tugging you gently with him towards the tree, the overwhelming scent pulling him deeper under its yawning canopy. 

His hand only slips from yours when he reaches the base of the tree; staring up at the sprawling web of branches above, he lets out an incredulous laugh that is deafened immediately in the sedated air around you. 

“It’s enormous,” Fingers brush against bark, ancient and rough, “Why haven't I seen it before? It feels…” He trails off, searching for the words; but he’s gone rather hot in sudden desire. You’re behind him - he feels your freezing breath trickle down his nape, your hand ghosting over his spine; though the shiver that follows is not just from your lips. “...Hidden.” He finishes absently. 

Jacaerys turns into your touch, but you are not behind him - you remain a few paces away, bending to feed the cat a fig you’ve plucked from a lower branch. 

The presence he’d felt behind him is gone; With a blink, unease churns in his gut. 

His question lingers - but too does the heat. That overwhelming scent, as the cat leaps to rip voraciously into the flesh of the fruit. He watches, torn between horror and captivation as the little beast tears at it, releasing some faint growl that sounds nearly like a purr. 

His own fingers reach up shakily to pluck a fruit laced in shadows – and in the moonlight, the flesh is nearly purple. 

“Perhaps the garden hides what it wishes to keep.” 

He startles only slightly – you’re in his ear now, voice laced in that way that stirs heat within him. His fingers clutch the fruit desperately, breathing heavy to regain whatever strength he has lost in the battle against desire. Your whisper sends curling arousal over the ridges of his spine, “The soil is rich here, you know. Fertile, in ways men think it shouldn’t be. The Dragonmont’s deposits do little to stop such delicious fruit from blossoming – it is foolish to think this land cursed.” 

Cursed, his mind whispers – and his brows furrow, your words stirring unease in the back of his mind; It is so difficult to think clearly at such a late hour, with the hunger stirring so deep, with the fruit and your hand so soft in his own.

Cursed – but you eat them; and as he gazes into your glinting eyes in the dark, your bare toes dug into the very soil upon which you stand – hunger gnaws at him, blinding his sight from whatever shadows curl in the dark. He doesn’t mind, he decides. 

Cursed, or blessed – it is often quite hard to tell the difference. 

And his hunger crescendos; with a small press of your lips to the sensitive patch of his neck, the grazing of teeth sharper than the blade forgotten in his chambers, his hand twitches; his thumb splits the seam of the fruit open. 

At the movement,  the pad of his finger slides into the flesh, its juices dripping into his palm; you let out a small whimper at this, your hands curling in a grasp around his arms – the noise sends heat through him, coiling at the base of him. 

Your eyes are alight with hunger – eyes wide, some shrouded smile growing upon hungry lips as he stares down between you and the fruit. 

He yearns for something; all his life, for something. To feel alive, a voice whispers - the Garden is alive, you are alive. You are. 

His hand drops the fruit. 

For just a moment, your face flickers – but he brings his thumb to hover over your cheek, the air thick with the smell of its juices. He is hungry; insatiable. Your breath stutters as you stare up at him, and he down at you, breaths puffing between parted lips, shaking with unspoked craving. 

“Gods,” he murmurs; and then, your tongue darts out – his throat tightens, goosepimples roving through him as you gently lick the pulp of the fig from his thumb, leaning further towards him. 

He leans; Gods, he can’t help himself – and then his lips are on yours, rapacious, greedy. 

You press with cold hands into him, and he stumbles back into the bark of the tree, thicker than himself three times round the trunk; your tongue prods his own, and he can’t help the groan that tears from the back of his throat – the taste, ambrosial. 

Some remnants of the fruit linger upon your lips, and he’s unable to quench himself of the desire that spins his head; that sinks him low once more into the soil, that tugs you daringly atop him. 

Jacaerys blinks back a bout of dizziness when his eyes adjust – reposed below the fig tree, temptations swirling around his mind as you slide into his lap coyly. 

How he got here, he cannot recall; but you’re real and touching him – an icy palm upon the juncture of his neck, your slender thumb slipping to curl over the base of his throat as he keens towards you, plush lips seeking the thrill of your skin against his mouth. 

Dress shifts; his tunic rustles, the leaves fall and the fruit lies in the earth, split open. Perhaps it is the hour - or it is the stare you give him; he is overwhelmed with the sense that you know every part of him; every fear, every weakness – and still you lie in his lap, eager and blushing as the day you first met. His mind flashes – in that numb way, as if he is on the precipice of some crucial understanding.

Your own lips sink into his, pressing away any melancholia, replacing it with a boiling hunger - an icy groan from him as you shift in his lap, his stirring arousal quick and heated with your sweet proximity. 

Your hips stir upon his own – it lights arousal through him, tensing each muscle in his body as he coaxes you to do it again, again, again; until he is numb but for the sensation of you, willing and hungry and his. 

His fingers clench; one palm, grounding himself with a grasp on the junction of your hip - the other, tracing the outline of a nearby root, feeling the thrumming heartbeat which seems to come tandem from both your flesh and its own. 

The kiss he pulls you into is careful, hungry, exploring – overwhelming, as your fingers slide into his curls and tug gently; a hiss of desire from him that arches his spine into your cool skin. 

He takes your sighs, your curves, the tremble of your hands as you palm at his own pliant body as if it’s a proof to himself – he is a man, he is alive – he, more than a playpiece in his mother’s endless efforts, more than a name which will be written leatherbound parchments of history to come. 

He is more than it all; because he is yours. 

“Jace–” Your voice is breathless, and it nearly kills him. 

In a short whimper, you shift your hips upon his own, driving yourself over the line of his hardened cock – and he hisses, biting hard into the plush of his lower lip. 

Near immediately, your tongue soothes over him; and a small noise of pleasure – nearly missed, though your eyes flash as you lean away from his mouth, a smattering of his own metallic blood upon your lip. 

Your eyes are blown wide; a chilling sight, reveling in the taste of his ichor – and your hand, cupping his jaw with that frosty command as you hum, eyes taking him apart, putting him back together. Staring through his soul. Gods, you’re divine. 

“Is this okay?” You whisper - your lips brush against his in a chilling shiver of pleasure; in which he nods enthusiastically, eyes wide and begging and willing. “Yes, please–” 

And he cannot finish, because he is soon letting a soft whimper fall desperately against your own lips; you stir with wandering fingers, undulating against him with a sweet pressure that nearly sends a choked moan past his lips. 

Fingers tangle in the strings of your loose hair, tugging you closer; your chest presses to his – a muddled awe when he feels your heartbeat switch and begin beating to the very same gallop as his own. 

His breath falls ragged as your lips press a blizzard of sultry kisses across his jaw; your gown’s hem curls and ruffles below him as trembling fingers trace it shyly, staving his insatiable hunger. 

Haziness leaks into his mind like the winds creep upon winter; perhaps from the cool, delicate skin so inviting underneath his palm, or perhaps the thick, heady scent of figs in the air. Completely at your mercy, craving everything you’re willing to give him – and as though you know it, there is an odd feeling, some shift under the thick limbs of tree above; it is a jarring realization that you’re smiling against his neck, teeth small needles upon his skin. 

His brow furrows - a groan slips from his lips as his fingers gently tug at your hair, coaxing your head up from his wanting skin. 

Your eyes, blown wide and hungry as his own; and in a hazy swallow, his voice thick with desire and disbelief breaks the quiet of the garden. “You’re divine,” He admits, shaking his head. You laugh at this; that very sharp thing that always seems too loud for your lungs – his mind blares for a moment, but it disappears with a kiss to his jaw. 

“You are, my Prince.” You insist. And in your words strikes him a jolt; Gods, this is ill done. He should have stopped when you led him to the tree – he should have turned back when your eyes lingered too long on his lips, when his hunger grew insatiable and unable to contain – when you slithered into his lap, when he tugged you closer and whispered such flowery words into your sweet ear; when he kissed your lips with blistering fervor and locked his arms so you could not slither away, even if you wished to. 

He is a prince, after all—honor bound, held to standards that now seem so absurdly distant; and indeed, as you move atop him, as your hands snake beneath his tunic and brush icicles over his burning bare skin, something snaps inside him. 

Your hips, and your sensual smile – torturous things, as you draw a slow rhythm that sends his mind spiraling deeper into the fog of lust; frantically, his hips cant upwards in chase of your own. 

Embarrassment is merely a wash of afterthought – because you whimper just as he does, shivering in his grasp at the ecstasy that builds between your frigid skin and his own, furnaced by the ancient blood coursing through his body. 

Ice and fire, his mind whispers – and he is struck with some deep-seeded pride, a knowledge that, more than carnally, he was meant to find you, to be with you; And that, perhaps, yours is the heart he will forever keep, as you keep his in your own eternally frigid grasp. 

He whimpers your name softly and you drink it up with devotion; a septa to a pointed-star; and with a scrambled grasp in your pleasure, your hand finds the fig, split and discarded in the earth-heavy soil beside him. 

It is with lidded eyes and puffing, parted lips that Jacaerys watches you, ravenous and ethereal. 

Your hair cascades, a curtain once more – keeping out any prying eyes from the middle of night, keeping in huffs of innocent desire as his fingers tighten their grasp upon you, dragging you once more over the straining length of him. 

Your fingers press into the wound of the fig and he is doused in a blaring hot ecstasy. 

He bucks at the angelic vision of you, pressing into his heated arousal – as if he might sheathe himself in you now and bring his warmth into your very soul - and you, swirling in a misty breeze of desire, pressing so hungrily against him, bucking your hips with a stuttering pleasure that shoots rapturous satisfaction up his spine. 

And then your fingers rise to those very lips he chases. 

Your eyes roll back in the moonlight – of which he scarcely notes there is enough to douse the tree and you in a silvery breath – and you moan his name when you taste the juice of the fruit. It is a groan, a low drawl that stirs a beast low in his gut. 

The scent is too enticing; abdomen clenching in restraint, his hips buck into yours and you hiss in pleasure, eyes returning to his own, pupils blown wide enough to swallow him. He wishes you would. 

And it is nearly too much for Jacaerys to bear; the sight of you, wrapped around him and breath puffing in shallow gasps, the fig’s juice staining your lips and glistening over your fingers as they swirl in the broken flesh once more. 

He lets out a shaky whimper, the pleasure mounting – his hands roam over your curves, frantic and trembling with the tension of wanting to hold you so close and wishing to ruin you completely. 

In a hazy gasp, he wonders what in the realms he is doing now, out in the open so salaciously; but the thought blanks when he feels your hand, freezing as it curls over his clenched jaw. 

His lips part for you easily, and your smile is hauntingly beautiful in silvered moonlight. 

Your fingers brush over his lips; in a shivered groan, Jacaerys’ eyes flutter shut and his tongue darts out, unable to resist. 

The thick, heady flavor sends heat through him, and he’s nearing that edge, that something - he groans, body arching underneath your epicurean touch as he lets your fingers slide past his lips, closing around them with hunger. 

The sensation hits him; heat, coursing through his veins so hot it turns icy, burns under his skin. And he bucks desperately, tugging you closer, a shudder running through him as he sucks the juice from your skin, overwhelmed with need. 

His body trembles underneath you; your touch, divine – otherworldly – and you hum, letting out a moan as your body stutters above him. Faintly, he is aware of your own peak rolling through you, of your moans, of the sickening smile that flashes above him – though the taste, the smell, the feeling of you slithering atop him – it’s too much. 

Jacaerys groans and your fingers slide from his lips, instead cupping his jaw, coaxing his mouth open for your own lips to find him. 

His groan becomes a gasp as he comes undone beneath you. 

His head falls back against the bark of the tree, feeling its breaths stutter with your own as you follow him, curled into his chest, stuttering your movements as he grasps you in pleasure. His trousers, spent – yet he notices not, whispering your name weakly as his body pulses in an unknown pleasure. Your lips trail ridges of ice over the sliver of exposed collarbone under his tunic. 

The juice of the fruit lingers in his mouth, pulsing oddly through his veins. And in a moment, the world shifts; his vision blurs, and as he blinks, the garden is different – bathed in golden sunlight, blooms wild and in full blood; and laughter, a girl and a boy’s, warbled and happy. His heart strikes; a calming unease, some familiar edge. Another boy’s laughter joins in, and his stomach douses in ice. 

He blinks, and the garden is dark again, the ancient branches of the fig tree curling overhead like gnarled, sinister fingers. 

He looks up at you, still dazed, his body spent but his mind whirling with the remnants of the pleasure and the strangeness that had gripped him so – and registers your stare, suddenly rigid and intent upon him. 

He watches as you lean forward, body pressing against his. A lazy kiss, one that spurs him to chase as you lean back, tasting of those sweet figs; slick with saliva and desire as you suddenly lift a palm between you, brushing his heaving chest. 

The sweetness hovers over his lips; he can nearly taste it, taste you – the scent is overwhelming, the presence of your body so close, so inviting; that hunger remains, even as his spend sticks to his trousers beneath you. 

His eyes trace the macerated fig in your palm, its flesh bleeding and willing, sweet and hungering. The fig. 

“Eat.” 

Your voice, a soft command – and your eyes, dark, intense as they bore into his own. The fig presses lightly against his mouth, and his tongue darts to lap at the juice which gathers upon his bottom lip hungrily. 

Pleasure blossoms at the taste, and in his heart swirls a yearning. 

Though something stops him; a sudden wave of dizziness, a strange sensation pulling him from some darkened haze. He hesitates, blinking at the fruit in your hand. 

“No.” He murmurs. 

He sees it in a flash of moonlight – your smile, faltering. 

It’s not disappointment, but something dark and fleeting – a deepened stare, a flash of malicious hunger; the sweetness of the garden suddenly gathers too thick, too heavy. 

You’ve stilled in his lap and he vaguely registers the rigidity of your expression, some familiarly shadowed stare. 

He’s not sure what he’s done wrong, but your lip trembles, and with a racing heart, he reaches for you. The look upon your visage stops him; a calculating flash in your gaze, the thin press of your lips. 

And for the first time the whole night, fear creeps into his chest. 

Something isn’t right. 

His hand slips away from your cold touch, trembling now for a new reason; and that fig which hovers in your palm suddenly smells sickening, filled with dread and longing all at once. The soil is rotten, he thinks hazily, it’s rotten…You’re–

“Come, why won't you try? Just a bite?” Your words curl in a taunt – and he nearly responds, but you’re leaning forward, lips brushing over his ear and sending shivers down his spine. His fist curls savagely against the bark of the tree as his heart begins to pound. 

“It’s only a fig, Jace.” You whisper, pressing your lips to the soft spot under his ear. 

You move to lean back, the curl of your smirk against his neck melting as you shift, only a sweet smile remaining when you turn to look at him. But the fear and the desire have mixed into some beastly conviction within him. 

And, in a moment of sharp courage, he catches your wrist in a firm, iron grip. 

You freeze under his grasp, your eyes glinting almost ominously in the silver moonlight. 

“Is it?” He snaps back, heart pounding in his chest as his jaw clicks. Somewhere in his heart, there is an unsettling air that chokes, stilling around you when you blink slowly at his question. 

Your stare is sharp, but there is a flash of something there he’s not yet seen before; something, he thinks, must be mirrored in his own gaze. 

Fear.  

A part of him expects for your jaw to unhinge – for a beast to emerge, to swallow him whole, to rip him open and feast upon his innards; but instead your gaze shifts, and your face is small, youthfully beautiful and dripping in purity – a girl no more than his age. 

And then, bone-chillingly, as though a petulant child would when denying a crime, you shake your head just lightly. 

No. 

A confirmation, one which sends a chill rather sharply down his spine. 

And from his lips a stuttered breath – he should run, should scream; but what does such a thing do in dreams? 

Yet as quickly as it came, the shadow over you vanishes. 

As if he blinks and wakes from the hazy dream – your face, returned to that familiar sweetness he so adores, the chilling smile you save only for him. You cup his cheek gently, and it is enough to pull him back from the edge of terror. 

Lilting and light once more, a touch of concern crossing your features as you tilt your head – “You look so troubled, my love. Where did you go?” 

He blinks, confused, alarmed. 

You press a kiss upon his lips, and he chases your touch. “Come back to me,” you whisper. 

He blinks once more, heart still hammering - but the fear dissolves with each ancient breath of the soil beneath him; and he gazes into your eyes through the dark of night – those same eyes that have always seen him. 

You understand him; and whatever that moment of dread had been— wherever he’d gone just now, into some visions conjured up by an exhausted mind – it is gone now, lost in the softness of the fig tree’s leaves, in the tenderness of your touch. 

“I’m sorry, I...” You shift as you murmur and it presses against his spent arousal, his breath hitching as his eyes fall upon your sweet lips, mind fogging. “I sometimes forget myself. You’re just…” 

His eyes hook upon your own, waiting; with bated breath, he waits for you. 

Your lips press together bashfully, fingers toying with curls of his hair, “Special. I’m quite fond of you.” You admit, nearly shy – and an affection blossoms within Jacaerys, a grin trickling upon his lips. “I’m quite fond of you too,” He breathes, pressing a chaste kiss to your cheek. 

Your eyes lose their sharp glint as the moon falls in the sky and his shoulders lose such tension that’d built in the moments past, replaced by the soothing touch of your palm; quiet whispers and gentle laughs that lull his mind into ease.  

And it is there, in the very edge of Aegon’s Garden, that you and he repose for the better hours of the ghost and wolf, whispering of lifetimes and fears and sneaking kisses between mumbled sentences. He forgets the fear he’d felt, that he’d seen in your eyes; soon, fog of morning creeps into the garden and tickles tendrils round his boots.

He is lulled into your lap again - his head rested upon the plush of a cool thigh, your dress gentle against his heated cheeks. 

And though he is unsure if the words that are murmured when his eyes become heavy are real or a part of his tricking mind, they fill him with that warm affection, that love that festers in his heart. 

“I wish I could stay here,” He whispers when he is half asleep from exhaustion. “With you.” 

There is a pause in your fingers for a moment. 

“And you can,” Your voice is laced with something he cannot see - for a moment, his mind conjures a flash of something rather wicked, the memory of your face when he’d denied the fig; though he throws away such absurdity. 

You’re so very soothing, trailing your nails along his temple. 

He drifts away. 

HE WAKES SOME TIME LATER. 

He no longer lies upon your lap; instead he is pressed against your very body, his chest shivering in the cold line of you, in the breath of icy air that threatens from the sky above. 

You stir beside him; the garden is impossibly darker now - and as you sit up, he unwinds the hand he’d placed upon your waist. Uncomely, he reminds himself - though, what does it matter? What does any of it matter? 

“You dreamt,” You murmur. 

Disoriented, Jacaerys blinks, trying to find your face in the dark; he’s merely met with the glinting of your wide eyes against the moonlight blinking owllishly. 

“I…” He frowns, uneased by your observation. “I did. It was…” He shakes his head as he tries to recall, watching your frame materialize under the dark blanket of night. “Odd. A battle - over the sea, I think. Statues – dying, crumbling into the water.” He shakes away the creeping frustration of slipping memories, however distant or unreal. “It didn’t make sense.” 

You hum, and there is some specific glint in your darkened face he nearly misses; the shining of pearls outstretched against plush lips - the flash of a dark grin, sinister in the moonlight, snuffed quick by the effort of a gentle nod. 

He grows even more uncomfortable in the quiet - it must be nearing the early wake of sun; his muscles yield surprisingly little soreness for sleeping upon the earth. 

“Did you dream?” He wonders, relaxing as his eyes adjust to find your visage calm and sweet, watching him with a soft interest. What odd tricks his mind plays in the dark. 

Your voice, ever distant: “I don’t dream.” 

He’s imbued with the slow tendrils of sleep, though he frowns. “Everyone dreams,” He murmurs. 

You huff smally, tilting your head in that doelike way, “I suppose I can never recall them.” 

He laughs, then – a hollow thing, though recovering some of the warmth gone after the loneliness settled in those moons ago. A strained sound, though it makes you mimic his laughter in that odd way you sometimes do – and with a smile, you watch him intently. 

“I enjoy hearing your laugh, Jacaerys. It’s comfortable… familiar.” 

And for some odd reason, perhaps in seek of his own comforting memory, Jacaerys pictures Luke – laughter bubbling over at the drawing table of his mother’s quarters, breaking fast as a family; and a deep melancholy settles over him, pulling him deep into the pit of grief that finds him in the night. 

His smile falls. “My brother used to laugh until he turned red.” He recalls, settled into that haze that begins to reclaim him, as if he’s drifting to sleep once more. “He’d lose breath sometimes – like he had to suck air out of every lung in the keep, just to keep himself from passing out. It would make him laugh harder.” 

You smile in his peripheral. 

His brows furrow. “He was just always so full of…light.” 

He’s not sure why he offers such information – it is near impossible these days for Jacaerys to utter Luke’s name aloud, let alone think such fond memories. 

Though something about the blanket of night and the gentle brush of your thigh against his own, brings a lull to his mind; as though he’s sipped too many cups of wine, or still rests in some odd state of slumber. The remainder of the fig’s juices slip past his tongue when he wettens his lip, and he’s coaxed into that state of hungry bliss – not fully satisfied, yet pleasant to repose. 

Your fingers pull at the many frays of your odd dressskirts; in the faint moonlight, the fabric looks as though it has stains. Deep, dark streaks that blossom just near your breast and stomach; they seem to spread with the breaths you take, your hands beginning to shake. He blinks rapidly to rid himself of such an uneasy sight.

A statue of a man and woman across the way has caught a streak of moonlight; He’d not noticed any statue in the fig tree’s courtyard hours ago, but now it sits, gruesomely pale in the scarce silver - and their faces are rather distraught.

A familiar statue, one so alike the marbled lovers near the olive tree. A man, wind-and-water-torn, with that same arrow protruding through his flesh; and the woman in his arms watching with a transfixed expression, grasping at his arms with lonely eyes. 

He tears his eyes away uneasily. 

“I know a boy like that, too.” You whisper quietly, though Jacaerys is hooked upon the odd bend of the arrow which sticks through the statue’s shoulder across the way. He’s not quite sure what you mean, and his brows furrow. 

“-Though,” You shrug with only one shoulder, as though mimicking the woman from the statue, “His laugh is more full of water.” 

Jacaerys freezes. 

His heart stops at your words, breath catching in his throat - the mention of such a thing sends a chill through him. “What—” He whispers, mind flashing back to the glimpse of curls, of that bouncing gait, of the blue that had flickered through these very hedges days ago. 

“What do you mean?” He chokes. 

You smile that soft smile – the one that haunts his mind, that leaves him uneasy in the flickering of moonlight. “I see him in the garden sometimes,” Your eyes flicker, gleam, “He comes here – to the fig tree – during rainstorms. He told me he used to enjoy the sound, but now he detests them.” 

Jacaerys is rooted to the ground, staring wide-eyed into the yawning chasm of night; its jaw spread wide, your face the shining beacon of fire at the base of its throat. 

The pain of a lost limb; of a lost soul entwined with his own, cut from the same womb, carved from the same stone. But your voice echoes drearily through the quiet silence. 

“And the boy…His laugh,” Your brows knit faintly, “It’s like yours, but…drowned.” 

Every hair on the nape of his neck is on end as he lets out a shaky breath. No. Lucerys is dead, he reminds himself. 

Your fingers brush his hand against the soil; cold as ice. 

The sensation jolts him, and he leaps to his feet, sleepclothes uncomfortable, his skin sticky from the sins of earlier. His cheeks flood with heat. 

It is wrong. Dread fills him, the leak of a moat into a basin of fear; there’s something wrong about this - because Lucerys is dead, his father is dead, Rhaenys is dead - all of them, dead. 

Life moves on, but the dead do not; and it is a burden he carries, and he carries alone - because the crown is too heavy to be marred by the blood of the ones you’ve loved, so Jacaerys must bear the weight for him and his mother. 

How could you have seen him? 

“-You know how.” 

Your voice comes sharp from the tree below, and it strikes him through the stomach - and before he can consider the unnerving murmur from your lips, how you’re always seeing into the words in his mind, the thread has snapped. 

It’s only a fig, Jace.

He staggers back a few steps, feet caught on the twisting gnarl of treeroot. “I’ve… I apologize, I must go.” He murmurs, swallowing thickly; and with a shaky breath, he resists the urge for his mind to spiral into that dark place, where grief and madness lie in wait. 

He turns away from the lulling ease of the tree above, nearly as large a shadow as the castle itself – and takes one, two, many steps towards the hedges, chest thundering. 

Perhaps you call after him. 

He thinks he hears your dress snagging on thorns and branches behind him as he tears through the bowels of the rotting garden; rounding a corner, he hears a feline’s hiss, a dark rumble of thunder. The garden is wrong – a putrid thing, in the dead light of nightingale’s earliest breaths. 

It is rotten soil, a voice mimics – though his heart still pounds your name into his ribs; he still misses the chilling press of your lips to his own, the sweet saccharin taste of the fruit upon your tongue. 

The soil is sick, it is too rich in his nostrils; and when he staggers past the maiden statue, he is terrified to see there is no snake upon her thigh – instead her visage stares down at him with a wicked, serpentlike grin. 

A shiver of fear as he blinks back terror. 

Morning glories are trampled underfoot, poppies beaten until their bloody leaves smash into the soles of his boots. 

Jacaerys’ eyes clench shut and he pretends not to hear the faint mix of joint laughter – warbled in the distance, a girl’s and a boy’s, bubbling over before dissolving, echoing into the crash of the icy ocean below. 

An agonizing gasp of unease from him as he finally bursts to the entryyard, the wilting flowers decaying in a sickly sweet scent. He nearly retches. 

When Jacaerys pushes past the gate and into the bailey’s courtyard, the breaking dawn is cloudless.

Early morningbirds chirp in the sky; waves crash down upon the shore, lit bloody with the waking sun. He is very alone.

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[juneofdoom]

June of Doom 2025 Text List

1. “Where am I?”                                  | Slurred Speech | Duct Tape | Darkness

2. “I’m worried about you.”                     | Infection | Protective | Confession

3. “No one will find you.”                       | Kidnapping | Murder | Prisoner

4. “It’s really not that big of a deal.”         | Crutches | Denial | Whimper

5. “You’re not looking so hot.”                 | Rash | Hypothermia | Bully

6. “I won’t tell anyone, I swear.”              | Hopelessness | Pliers | Bargaining

7. “Watch out!”                                     | Explosion | Crush Injury | Trap

8. “How many fingers am I holding up?”    | Concussion | Mugged | Drugged

9. “You’re not going to like this.”              | Injection | Hammer | Hunted

10. “Somebody had to do it.”                   | Buried Alive | CPR | Flashback

11. “What happens if I…?                         | Cold Sweat | Branding | Experiment

12. “It’s no use.”                                     | Locked Door | Carry | Lost

13. “On three.”                                       | Sprain | Amputation | Electrocution

14. “I’m trying!”                                      | Memory Loss | Adrenaline Crash | Knots

15. “Please.”                                          | Blindfold | Fall | Touch Starved

16. “Are you scared yet?”                         | Handcuffs | Humiliation | Interrogation

17. “Give me another chance.”                  | Bruises | Begging | Mercy

18. “How long have you been like this?”     | Stabilization | Left for Dead | Flare

19. “I’m not going anywhere.”                   | Natural Disaster | Illness | Brainwashed

20. “That’s going to be one hell of a scar.” | Wound Cleaning | Salve | Examination

21. “Anything but that!”                            | Knife | Nails | Breaking Point

22. “Stay with me.”                                  | Survivor’s Guilt | Succumb | Sedative

23. “Don’t move!”                                   | Firearm | Precipice | Internal Injury

24. “I don’t feel so good.”                        | Disoriented | Fainting | Blurred Vision

25. “Get in.”                                           | Cage | Ransom | Basement

26. “When will you learn?”                       | Sleep Deprivation | Shackle | Injury Reveal

27. “I’m so sorry.”                                   | Weak | Embrace | Miscalculation

28. “You’ll get used to it.”                         | Starvation | Hostage | Catatonic

29. “I’ll never stop.”                                 | Obsession | Fight | Revenge

30. “This is it, isn’t it?”                              | Doubt | Ambulance | Crying  

ALTERNATE PROMPTS

“You’re asking for it.”

“I tried.”

“Maybe it’s better this way.”

“Let me have a look.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

Gamble

Noose

Bees

Immortal

Wire

[007reid]

u have absolutely no idea what 'coffee caramels' did to me omg 😭 u write spencer and his mannerisms so WELL hsbsghdbdh so i come to u with a lil request if that's okay with u !!

spencer insists on playing pretend-doctor for reader who's sick (but denying it) so he invokes his technically-a-doctor card and gives his second opinion just to take care of reader n smother them w looooove

essentially just him teasing y/n and being the stupid Cute attentive nerd he is <3

(inspired by S5E3 where he gets stuck at the bau w garcia bc he was being stubborn abt his injury)

i am never ever Normal abt this guy 😞 i look forward to reading more of ur work and losing my mind over reid with u, aine !! mwa

hiii tysm for requesting, youre so fucking sweet!! <33 drop an emoji to let me know who you are and let’s loose our mind over our fav boy together anon!!!! also sorry this took so long, i wrote like 3k but then hated it so i started over, i love this prompt sm so i feel like i had to do it justice.

pspspsp i love s5 spence so fucking much... his hair went from beautiful to ethereal to mad sexy...s5 treated us well. requests are ALWAYS appreciated !!!!!!

soup. spencer reid

spencer reid x fem!reader, 3k

you've been off it for so long, dodging virus after virus and disease after disease and just right when you thought that you are immune to sickness, you caught it. the inevitable fever.

there was no denying it, you've tried. after getting a headache, you popped a tylenol before you went to sleep, nonchalant. the next morning was when reality really came crashing down. a sore throat.

it progressively got worse throughout the day, and when you came crashing into bed after a long day at work, your nose was feeling stuffy and your were coughing, spewing sickness everywhere you went. you woke up in the middle of night sweating like you had just ran a fucking marathon and only able to breathe through one nostril unless you shift your body entirely.

you did not take to these news well. firmly in denial, you still planned to show up to work the next day.

except you didn't show up to work. sickly and delirious, the part when you press snooze then snooze again slip your mind and at one point you must've turn off your alarm entirely. drifting in and out of consciousness and slipping into dream after dream, it gets harder to tell what is real and what is not.

"y/n? y/n!"

now, it is very probable that the voice isn’t actually real, because why the hell would you be hearing spencer reid’s voice outside of work? the chances are slim to none, and despite the heat pounding at your skull you manage to smile. there is something unexplainably comforting about spencer’s voice, soft and deliberate. it would be foolish to say that under the mad spell he’d cast on you (him simply saying two words) he’s managed to melt away your headache, because he didn’t. you still feel like shit.

“y/n?”

you frown, the voice sounding too insistent and real and not matching up with the visuals of your dream. you feel a tapping on your shoulder and when you blink your eyes open you could’ve screamed.

you jump up and then backwards, huddling your blanket with you, scared for your life. because right in front of you is perhaps the most intimidating creature on the earth; spencer reid in a purple sweater vest with his face so close to yours he could breathe in your sickness, hair tucked carefully behind his ear.

“spencer?” you ask incredulously, but instead your voice comes out a rasp. you clear your throat, feeling something warm creep up your cheek. it might be a blush, but you blame it on the chills. you keep blinking, trying to regain your vision and feel instantaneous embarrassment. you look a mess, sick and dehydrated with dry lips and bad hair and you probably reek of morning breath. and spencer’s there, looking like heaven’s finest angel, smiling at you like he’s smiling at a person and not a monster. spencer has the tendency to treat and look at everyone like they’re the love of his life. you sort of hate it.

“hi y/n,” he breathes, crouching down on the floor before you on the bed. “i—“

“what are you doing here?” you’re too impatient to wait, still in shock.

now. you try not to make it obvious that you have a mad crush on spencer, because if the fact were to spill, you’re not eager cleaning up the consequences. it’s an unestablished, unspoken rule that should be common sense that no workplace dating will be allowed and usually it’s a ridiculous rule, because who the hell would want to date their coworker, like actually? work crushes are normal but they exist only in a part of your day, an eye-candy for you to stare at to get through the day, then you go home or go out and forget about them. who actually has serious work crushes, actually? actually? it’s ridiculous.

your defense is completely solid, you’d say. your number one defense is you can’t help the fact that you and spencer were meant to be friends. the moment you joined the team, you and spencer clicked together like two lego pieces, despite your clashing personalities. you find it refreshing to have someone like spencer, someone who’s soft and sweet but cunning and resourceful but thoughtful and kind, and it was equally refreshing for spencer to have someone blunt and straightforward but still patient enough to put up with him.

spencer doesn’t like physical touch but ever since your first week he made you the exception and if you could, you would parade the privilege around like a badge. what can you say, you’re proud to be spencer’s little exception, anyone would be. he makes you feel special, differently than the others do and what’s a girl to do? to have that great of a relationship with a coworker and not be work spouses and not be actually head over heels with the guy? how laughable.

it’s not something you’re proud of, however. you know it’s a lost cause, chasing after spencer. it hurts, sometimes, but you always patted yourself on the back with an ‘it is what it is.’ spencer, as sweet and vulnerable as he is, has layers behind his thinly veiled heart. he talks a lot but he never talks about himself and he never talks about the past so he doesn’t have to revive it, so all the memories are just wounds left out and neglected to burn. spencer’s trouble, definitely trouble, but it’s hard to be aware of the workload that spencer reid is when he’s rambling to you about something as innocent as halloween or knocking his knuckles on your knee during a flight trying to get your attention.

spencer blinks sheepishly, settling criss cross apple sauce on the ground, lanky legs twisting uncomfortably. “you didn’t come into work and you didn’t answer your phone,” he explains. “emily told me to go check on you.”

you nod. he’s here because emily told him to. it makes a lot more sense now. “i’ll head in the office now,” you say, making your way out of bed, wiping at your eyes. “sorry—“

“no you’re not,” spencer says immediately, not even hesitating. he places a hand on your upper chest, pressing you back down on the bed. the butterflies at the pit of your stomach throws a fit. you know he means nothing by the action—has spencer reid ever been the one knowledgeable about romance?—but knowing that doesn’t help the heat that spread up your cheeks that’s definitely not from the sickness. “you’re burning up,” he says. “i’ll get you some water. you should clean up,” he says, uncrossing his legs difficultly and then stumbling out the room, mismatched socks slipping on the hardwood floor.

you take advantage of the time that spencer’s not there and race to the bathroom, ignoring the blackout and the dizziness that threatens to make you faint from getting up too abruptly. you squirt some toothpaste onto your toothbrush and by the time you exit the bathroom, spencer is already there, waiting, except he’s by your desk, hands on a book.

typical.

he perks up when he hears your footsteps pad into the room, turning around, looking like a child who’s been caught with your book in his hands. you smile at him, albeit it’s a pathetic smile. you feel dizzy.

“you like toni morrison?”

“i love toni morrison,” spencer chirps, excitement bouncing all over his face. “especially her masterwork, beloved,” he looks back down at your red copy admiringly then sets it down. "get back in bed," he says, and you can't wrap your hand around how ridiculous the situation is. your coworker, or work crush, is at your house, checking your temperature and shooing you to bed to rest. "i bought you soup so you can eat up, i--"

“you bought me soup?” you ask, incredulous. spencer nods seriously.

“it's proven that eating soup makes people feel better, not just some stereotype. the right amount of sodium can help help relieve sore throat pains and the vitamins and minerals found in soup can play a very large part in recovery...i had a feeling you were going to be sick, it’s the weather, you know? everyone is catching the cold. you need to eat it before it gets cold, the heat helps with nasal digestion and also sinus pressure and it'll be useless if you ate it lukewarm...i’ll be right back…” and with the babbling his voice fades out as he walks back out to the living room, leaving you alone standing on the side of your bed. you look at the forgotten copy of beloved set carefully back onto your desk, smiling to yourself slightly before climbing back into bed, because spencer says so and spencer’s always right but mostly because your legs feel like they’re going to give out.

spencer is speedy, striding several steps at once with his ridiculously long legs that looks unnaturally lanky but once he reaches your room again, soup and spoon in hand you were already nodding off, head lolling and eyes slipping shut. spencer stops at your bed stand, thinking to himself for a second before balancing the plastic bowl of soup on one hand and using the other to gently nudge at your face, waking you up. he grimaces when he feels that your skin burns to the touch, a bright tint to your cheeks that he hates himself for liking because you're sick, he shouldn't be thinking that you're pretty or stuff like that.

spencer waves the thought away, determined to focus on his mission. deliver soup, make sure you're okay, and send his farewells. that's what emily told him to do, and even though derek added a "kiss her goodnight too, loverboy!" he's only going to listen to emily, because emily knows best.

yes. perfect. that's exactly what he's going to do.

"hey," he whispers, caressing his thumb across the lightly purple patch under your eye, frowning to himself. you haven't been getting good enough sleep, and he feels guiltier for waking you up, but then straightens himself up resolutely--no. emily said the soup must be delivered and consumed--just to melt again when your eyes flutter open, confused and traces of sleep still floating around your facial expression. "sorry," he mumbles, feeling oddly embarrassed. "it's just--i mean, you don't have to, jus' want you to eat something before you sleep again."

you sit up slowly, and once you're fully awake again, the smell of the soup hits you like a bucket of ice and you suddenly feel your mouth watering. you feel like a princess, sitting there with your hands crossed in your lap while you wait for spencer to unwrap the plastic utensils and tissues from its clear packaging, carefully opening up the lid of the soup on the night stand and hot steam floats around the room, engulfing both you and spencer in a bubble of tomato soup.

spencer, a planner that he is, didn't let you eat directly from the plastic take-out bowl from the restaurant and had rummaged through your kitchen for a bowl and pours half the soup into the ceramic, no spillage and perfectly clean. then he hands the soup to you, and you eat.

to say that spencer is concerned is to say the least. you're a profiler, and you're trained to pick up on this sort of thing but you only need to be a child with an undeveloped brain to work out that spencer's worried, watching your every move and monitoring that you eat enough, the crease in his brows deepen whenever you set the bowl down so you pick it up again and stuff two more spoonfuls in your mouth, to hopefully make him worry less.

the silence is awkward, the only sounds in the room is you biting down on the spoon occasionally as you drink your soup and spencer watching intently, hands on his chin and unaware of his staring problem. you and spencer rarely has these kind of silences, the silences where you scramble for things to say because the atmosphere would always be too comfortable. you sneak glances at him as you eat. since spencer's completely oblivious to the heaviness of the silence, you feel it's up to you to break it.

"i'll clock in once i'm finish eating this, don't worry," you say, trying your best to sound reassuring as you try to choke back a spoonful of soup too big. you lick your lips, and spencer is biting his, a bad habit.

"no you're not, y/n," he says, exasperated. normally, when spencer uses his 'i'm right so you should listen to me' tone like this, it means he's geared for an argument and you would be happy to challenge him, but now you can't find the energy for it. yet you muster enough up anyway.

"i'm only a bit shaken up 'cause of the weather," you say, trying to sound as convincing as possible, still in the calm before the storm of the bicker. "'m not immobile. and i already used up all my off days visiting my family--"

spencer, however, didn't bother for the peaceful offering. "you're not coming in today, y/n," he says, and he sounds a bit anxious but you know his true intent. his eyes are mirthful with confidence, and he knows he's already won the argument. despite the buzzing in your ears and the fuzziness in your brain, you can't let the bastard win. you can't.

“i can’t miss anymore days spencer, and i won’t,” you say coldly, but you slurping on the soup hungrily like it’s your last day on earth sort of ruined your cool facade. “i’m not too sick, either, it’ll be useless for me to stay home—“

spencer reaches to press his palm against your forehead, his skin cold to the touch. you close your eyes instinctively.

“you’re burning up,” he announces. “means your sick. you’re not coming in today, y/n.”

“says who?” you say defensively, feeling a bit like you’re loosing.

“says me,” spencer says cooly, cheeky smile at his lips. you should hate it more than you do. “who’s a doctor.”

you scoff. “so now you’re an actual doctor? you got a medical phd on you?”

“i have a bachelor in medicine and enough doctorates to make me slightly knowledgeable in every field,” spencer quips and you didn’t even know that he had a bachelor in medicine. how many fucking degrees does this guy even have on his resume?

“whatever,” you grumble, sounding a lot like someone who’s just got defeated. you set the bowl of soup down on the nightstand and spencer hands you a bottled water before you could think about needing water. you pluck it from his offering hands, muttering a “thanks” under your breath.

spencer laughs quietly, watching you drink patiently and putting the cap back on when you hand him back the bottle, setting it next to your soup. you feel ridiculously babied and your cheeks burn with the guilt you feel. you’re talking him off his office hours just to be here and feed you stuff and make sure you’re taking care of yourself.

spencer, the 24/7 profiler, notices. "is something wrong?" he asks innocently, round eyes blinking and oblivious. bless him. "you got redder. is it too hot? i can adjust the a/c."

“fine,” you mumble, still a little embarrassed with your realization. “little cold, actually.”

“it's the chills from your fever,” spencer informs you. “i…” he pauses, frowning again, frustrated from not being able to finish his thought. he abandons it. “do you need anything else?”

“no spence,” you laugh sort of pathetically, throat strained. “you’ve been an angel already. you can go back to the office, if you want.”

spencer thinks back to what emily had told him. soup. make sure she’s ok. leave. he’s done the past two steps. it’s time he completes his mission.

but…

“are you sure?” he prods, a little bit of him hoping that you'd say no. he doesn't know what it is; something bothering him, making him dread leaving.

you didn't get the cue. "mhmm," you shoot him a reassuring smile. as reassuring as you can manage, anyway, grimacing at the insistent throb in your head. spencer gnaws on his bottom lip, indecisive. you don't know what he was deciding between.

whatever battle it was, he wraps it up quick. "okay," he repeats. "i'll get back."

"you do that."

"remember to drink water."

"i will."

"do you need me to bring you more?"

"i'm okay."

"okay."

"okay."

the conversation feels incomplete and spencer isn't interested to complete it, booting out the door, except he lingers for a bit and awkwardly turns around, hand on the frame. you are already looking at him when he looks at you.

you and spencer are never this awkward, never this hesitant and strange. the tension that suffocates your room feels like signature first-date-tension, the kind of nervous excitement and tip-toeing blind lovers and uncertainty.

"are you sure?"

i'd rather you stay. you push the response away. "i am."

"you have medicine right?"

you do have medicine. for a brief moment, you want to lie about it; want to say that you ran out this morning and then he would run to the store for you and return and then spend more time in your insufferable, sickly presence. you brush the thought away within a second. never in a million years do you want to bother spencer, especially not with a thing as selfish as that. maybe it's because of your biased vision but spencer is looking like he's desperate to leave, practically screaming for outlet at the door. it's time you let him go and indulge in the worst sleep you'll ever have.

"yeah," you say, clearing your throat. "i do."

"okay," spencer says. "i'll go."

"thanks," you add awkwardly. "for the soup. and for coming."

"'course" spencer says absentmindedly, lingering at the door frame but not looking at you in particular, not looking at anything. he snaps back and sends you a wave. spencer has a power to him where everything he does looks unplanned, like he's doing it against his own will.

he leaves. if you had change your mind and ask for him to come back, for him to stay, he would've. no hesitation. but you didn't, and he wiggles back in his broken in converses and return back to the bau with no elevator partner.

maybe another day.

a/n: sorry for the ending, this was getting too long so i had to cut it short 😓😓but i think it's kinda fitting! lmk if you guys want a part 2 <3

[letsgetrowdy43]

A long time coming—

Request: Luke has been in love with jacks best friend since childhood, but the reader never lets anything happen out of respect for Jack but eventually the two have a moment and she can’t hide her feelings for Luke anymore, and I think Jack would be supportive of his two favourite people

I changed the prompt a bit cause I read it wrong, so sorry abt that!!

“Luke we can’t,” she said in between kisses, her hands that had once been tangled in his curls now lightly pushed him away from her, “we can’t do this to him,” she mumbled as Luke shook his head in denial. “He doesn’t care, he’s understanding, and he’ll get over it,” his lips travelled down her neck as she groaned into his shoulder, his fingers digging into the soft skin of her torso as she let out shallow breaths.

The little voice in the back of her head kept repeating the same words to her, whispers about Jack being disappointed in her decisions made her tense and finally take a step away from the Hughes boy whose hands sat comfortably on her hips.

“I can’t,” she whispered. "Wait Y/n/n," he said as her hand went for the doorknob, "let's just talk about it," she shook her head and looked at him once more as the tears started and she left the quiet of the locked bathroom and ventured back into the party to find her friends to take her home.

That had been four months ago at a St Patrick’s Day party, it was now the end of June and Y/n and Luke had yet to talk about what happened.

Luke left for Jersey, and Y/n stayed in Ann Arbor to finish out her third year at Umich, so life got busy. They made it through playoff runs, final exams, injuries, and so many other bumps in the road, and finally, it was the Hughes brothers and company’s favourite time of the year.

Summer at the lake house.

Summers with the Hughes’ were always like an escape from reality, days on the lake, sun tans, sand, and beer, it was always so chalked full of life. Four months of being with the best people, at the greatest time of the year.

But she was dreading this particular summer.

“You seem down Missy,” Ellen hugged the girl as Y/n placed the last bag of groceries on the kitchen counter. The girl shrugged, “just tired, that’s all” the girl said as Ellen rubbed her back and nodded. “Well I’m sure the boys wouldn’t mind if you napped for a bit,” she ushered out to Jack, Luke, Trevor, and Alex who were playing ping pong in the backyard.

Y/n nodded with a sad smile and headed up to her room, flopping down on the soft mattress as she let the weight lift off of her shoulders for a second.

A light knock on the door woke her up from her nap, she groggily sat up and looked at Luke who was smiling at her, leaning up against her door frame, “Did you know you snore?” She stared at him with not a trace of amusement, “No I don’t.” “No you don’t,” he confessed as the girl stretched her tired limbs, “Mom told me to tell you that dinner is ready whenever you are,” he said with a nod and then headed back downstairs to get a plate without another word.

She got down to the bottom of the stairs to be whisked off into a conversation with Z, loud laughter erupting from Jim as Trevor poked fun at Luke for something. The girl sat in between Quinn and Josh who both picked at her for her bedhead, too which gained each of them a smack followed by no more pestering as she ate her burger and salad in peace.

Her eyes travelled over to Luke who was already staring at her, then to Jack who was watching the tension unfold. His brow quirked at her gaze immediately stared down at her plate.

To Y/n the idea of loving Luke, romantically, was something she never seemed to be able to shake. Nothing had ever erupted between the two of them except for that one kiss months ago in a random bathroom that smelled like beer and sex. Thinking back now, everything about that moment felt perfect to her. She would give up pretty much anything to go back to that night and live out her fantasy of finally giving in to the overwhelming urge, maybe even the need, to love Luke.

She’d give up anything, anything but Jack.

She stood in the kitchen, hands buried in the warm soapy water, as she scrubbed the dinner plates that the boys had so graciously dropped off at the sink for her to clean.

Jack walked in with a grin on his face, "You need to stop moping, you're making me depressed Missy," he grinned as she looked at him unamused by the nickname, even more, displeased by the poking he did to her side as he taunted her mood.

"Y'know a little birdy told me something about a kiss, and I think that's why you might be a little tense," she looked at Jack wide-eyed, her lips parted. "I'm so sorry Jack, it was once, and it was a mistake that never should've happened," she began to ramble as the boy smugly grinned at her. He placed his hand over her mouth to shut her up, "a mistake that you wanna do again?" he grinned as her cheeks heated up.

"I never wanted to upset you or break your trust, it was only once," she continued her rant as Jack laughed dryly at her panic. "I don't care Y/n/n, Lu's been crazy about me since we were kids, and I'd much rather you date him than the other douchebags you normally go after," he smiled as her face dropped. "I do not have bad taste in men," she gawked as he looked at her unconvinced.

Jack grinned one last time, "All I'm saying is that it's a win-win situation for me and you, you get the boy, and I'd get to see you more often in Jersey," he leaned against the counter as she stared at him, unable to tell if he was being serious or playing some sick joke on her. "I get the boy?" "You can have the boy," he nods, "but if he hurts you, you tell me and I'll set him straight," he said leaning forward to pull her into a hug and pressing a kiss to her temple as she smiled into his shirt.

"You're sure it's okay?" she said, her words muffled into his shirt as he nodded. He pulled away with a smile, "I approve," she grinned back as he headed back to the rec room where the rest of the boys were playing pool.

Luke walked in shortly after, quietly with a soft smile on his face as he picked up the dry cloth to help take a little bit of the workload off of her.

"You okay Y/n?" he asked as she looked at him with an unsure look, her hands still in the sink trying to finish the still never-ending pile of dishes. "You told your brother?" she whispered and looked at him her attention falling on a strand of hair that had fallen out from its place behind her ear and into her eye. Luke reached forward to brush the hair out of her face as he smiled sweetly, "I did," he said almost sweetly as he held her face in his hands.

"What did he say to you sweets?" he asked with a grin as she looked at him with something resembling love. She blushed at the nickname as chills ran up her spine due to the soothing feeling of his thumb running over her cheek, "well he said that he was okay with this," she motioned between the two of them as he grinned even wider. "I told you he would be understanding," he lowered himself down to capture her lips in a slow kiss, the hands that were previously in the soapy water were now gripping at the cotton material of his sweater as he pulled her closer.

She was the first to pull away, as a smile took over her face while recalling another thing that Jack had said during their conversation, "Jack said another thing that caught me off guard." A short hum left the boy's mouth as he chased her lips, pecking her once before noticing the pleased grin on her face, "what did he say?"

The boy's brows furrowed as she let out a short laugh, "he might've dropped that you've been 'crazy about me since we were little'" she quoted as Luke's face broke out into a bright shade of pink. "I might've been," he mused as she grinned and stood on her tiptoes while her arms looped around his neck. "Good, 'cause I might been a little crazy about you too," she whispered before smashing her lips back onto his, the dishes long forgotten as they stood in the lake house kitchen surrounded by love.

Both of them realizing that this romance had been a long time coming

-

-

-

It's not edited, so if it has bad grammar I'm sorry

[magneto-was-fucking-right]

The Ghost Next Door - Chapter 8

Prompt: After suffering an almost lethal injury in combat, Simon "Ghost" Riley expected a dull, and uneventful leave back at his shitty apartment. His new next-door neighbor ruins his plans. Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x Reader (named Riley Thomas for plot purposes)

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7

Disclaimer: slow burn; neighbor!Simon; explicit sexual content; unprotected sex;

Chapter Summary: In which Simon and his neighbour exchange confessions (and bodily fluids).

Word Count: 3.9K

Come Monday evening, Simon Riley found himself facing his hardwood floors, strong, firm biceps holding him steady in a strong plank. 

The heavy rain splattered loudly against his windows, the howling winter wind unrelenting against the building’s edges. He had turned the small heater on hours ago, but he knew if he wasn’t settling his daily score of push-ups he would be freezing regardless.

Johnny had left the previous evening, taking the overly excited pup out of his neighbor’s hands, and Simon had busied himself with deep cleaning the flat, finishing the day with some much needed exercise to take the edge off. He both loathed and yearned for the anxious nerves bubbling in his stomach everytime he thought about his last encounter with the young woman next door.

He had found no relief in the familiar touch of his own hand, nothing nearly satisfying enough to keep his mind from wandering back to her kitchen, and the wetness coating his fingers inside her warmth. 

He felt his cock twitch in his sweatpants once again, permanently hard with the worst case of blue balls he had ever experienced, since he first felt her eager grip around his base, and the languid strokes that had almost brought him over the edge. Johnny hadn’t shut up about having caught them in the middle of something, despite Simon’s unyielding denial and threats to dump his corpse over the canal, and he knew he would never let it go.

He pulled himself off the floor, joints popping semi-painfully as he checked his watch.Simon couldn’t deny the unsettling concern twisting in his stomach as he checked the time again: Riley should have been home at least an hour ago. He admonished himself for having studied her routine so well, knowing she would most likely find it creepy, but as soon as he pulled his hoodie over his head, he heard her keys jiggle in the hallway.

As per their usual routine, he waited for her to be ready to spend some time with him, putting on his face mask and walking over to the stove, beginning to heat up dinner as he heard her move about. 

Was that…sniffling? 

He knew something was off the moment she meekly knocked on the door, and he wasn’t surprised to find tears rolling down her freckled cheeks, hair messy from the wind, still in her oversized scrubs reeking of cat piss.

“Bloody hell…” He recoiled from the stench. “Wha’ happened to you?”

“I had the worst day ever!” She cried weakly, shoulders slouched in defeat as Simon softly pulled her inside.

“I can see that, love.” He cocked his head to the right “Wanna talk about it?”

“I had to put down a puppy.” She sobbed into her hands and his heart broke at the pain in her voice, the way she trembled. “Then we got two feral cats to spay and one of them pissed all over me, I stepped on dog shit on the way home, got soaked from the rain because I forgot my umbrella and my hot water isn't working.”

She sighed, exhausted, and Simon waited patiently for her breaths to slow down, stepping closer carefully.

Then he wrapped his arms around her smaller frame, engulfing her in a loving embrace that had her head buried in his chest. At first she had resisted, palms pressed against the muscled span of his broad shoulders.

“Simon…I stink.” 

“So do I, love.” He muttered into her hair, holding her tighter until eventually she relaxed, sighing deeply at the comforting touch, her hands holding onto his hoodie as if she was afraid he would let go too soon. He wouldn’t.

“I ain’t very good with words.” He admitted, arms still secured around her back as she inhaled his scent, his chin propped up on her head. “But how about you take a shower here while I fix yours, and then we eat some dinner, yeah?”

“You can’t always be the one cooking, you know.” She frowned, lifting her head up to look at him.

“Nonsense. M’ home all day anyway.” His thumb wiped away stray tears, a gesture he had so quickly become accustomed to. “Besides, we both know I do it much better.”

“Asshole.” Riley giggled, wiping her nose, and Simon smiled under his mask in genuine happiness.

***

Riley Thomas crossed her arm over her chest, fully naked in her neighbor’s bathroom as she reached for the fluffy towel he had arranged for her. Her scrubs and underwear were discarded on a messy pile on the impressively clean tiles, and she grimaced at the view.

She shivered, freezing, despite the heater Simon had bothered to move to warm up the small space while she washed, quickly realizing she had forgotten to ask him to retrieve some of her own clothes.

“Simon?” She called out nervously from behind the door, but got no response. She sighed deeply before walking out into the hallway, towel wrapped tight around her body as she walked around the flat, trying to find him.

The decorations were overall scarce, most of the rooms in desperate need of a woman’s touch, but she couldn’t help being surprised at how immaculate he had left his home, so in contrast with the constant layer of dust and pet fur in her apartment.

She slowly walked into the last room at the end of the corridor, feeling vulnerable as she found his bedroom, just as tidy as the rest of the house. Simon was nowhere to be seen, but she felt oddly watched as she noticed a picture on top of a dresser, the dim light coming from the window barely enough to make out the silhouettes. She stepped closer, curiously.

Two very young boys smiling brightly, sitting on a young woman’s lap. A scrawny, odd looking man behind the three of them. The father, she figured. 

Riley marveled at the chubby blonde boy’s face, frozen in permanent happiness, big brown eyes so innocent and endearing. She lifted a finger absentmindedly, eager to touch the family portrait.

As her skin neared the cool glass, cased between the frame, a deep, gravely voice spoke, like a ghost in the shadows:

“I was 8. Tommy was still a little lad.” 

She startled, eyes snapping back to him, gripping the towel closer to her frame.

“I was looking for you.” She muttered, as a form of apology, but he didn’t seem even remotely upset.

“Just fixed your shower.” He lifted her apartment keys, turning on a small lamp and stepping closer, setting them down on top of the dresser.

“Did you check on Milo?”

“‘Course. Big geezer. Sleeping on your pillow.” Simon kept a respectful distance, but frowned at her bare feet on the cold floors.

“I forgot to ask you for my clothes.”

“Thought about’it. Didn't wanna touch your stuff without your permission, though.” He shrugged apologetically before pointing at his dresser. “Make yourself at home, take whatever you need.”

Riley turned away from his gaze shyly, looking over her shoulder at his room.

“Your bed is huge.”

“I’m a big man.”

“That you are.” Her eyebrow rose in delight as she quickly looked him up and down, and Simon didn’t miss the mischievous glint in her eyes at the double meaning of her words.

He blushed, trying his best to keep his eyes on her face, taking the initiative to pick warm, comfortable clothes for her to wear.

“Your mother is beautiful.” She spoke softly, careful of what her words might trigger.

Simon froze, silent for a whole minute, before he replied:

“That she was.” His heart ached at the thought, but Riley’s presence seemed to somewhat soothe the deep, unforgiving pain of grief. 

She went quiet, afraid she had overstepped some unspoken boundary, but Simon was quick to dismiss it as he passed her a pair of thick woolen socks.

“Put those on, before you catch yourself a cold.” 

“You know…I didn’t expect you to own face wash.” She tried to change the subject as she sat on his bed, dismissing his command.

Simon turned, offended.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Oh, you know…big, broody, mysterious guy…just didn’t seem like the type to worry about skin care.” She shrugged, teasing him.

“I’ll let you know I have wonderful skin.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Who taught you about skin care?” Riley leaned back on her arms, less worried about holding the towel as she relaxed further into his bed.

“Why? You jealous?” 

She pressed her lips into a thin line.

“Maybe.”

“Hm.” Simon stepped closer, slowly kneeling in front of her bare legs. Her heart skipped a beat as his calloused fingers casually wrapped around her cold ankles, grabbing the socks and pulling them gently over each of her feet. 

“I’m not the one going on dates.” He fired back, and she felt her cheeks heat at the accusation, removing a foot from his grasp.

“Never thought it’d bother you.” 

“Never said it did.” He countered, heavy gaze challenging hers.

“Well, did it?”

“Did it what?”

“Bother you?”

He cocked his head to the right, considering his next words carefully. He was about to stand up, but she pressed her foot into his shoulder, holding him down. Simon’s breath quickened at the bold gesture, fingers digging deeper into her calf, teetering on the edge of self control.

“You’re a single woman.” He grumbled, noncommittally. “You’re free to do whatever you please.”

“That right?”

“Of course.”

“What if I want to do you?”

The tension between the two only deepened as she leaned forward, chest heaving under that damn towel he couldn’t wait to get rid of.

“Choices have consequences.” He muttered, gaze unfaltering as he gently grabbed her ankle and slowly lowered it from his shoulder. Instead, he yanked it forward, pulling the young woman closer to the edge of his mattress. If he so much as looked down he would have the perfect view of her naked sex, kneeling there so menacingly between her parted knees. His eyes, however, wouldn’t leave hers as he awaited for her next move.

Riley’s breath caught in her throat as she quickly held the towel against her breasts, legs trembling slightly. Goosebumps littered her skin as she bit her lip, considering his words.

“I want you.” She whispered, as if afraid the words would force him to retreat and hide behind his cold and detached demeanor. “I don’t care about anything else.”

“You should.” He leaned closer, fingers trailing up her calves and the back of her knees. “There’s lots of things you don’t know about me.”

She cradled his face carefully, looking down into his eyes so adoringly Simon felt his heart skip a beat. And then her fingers were hooked on the sides of his mask, pulling it down ever so carefully. He saw her hold her breath in anticipation.

A strong nose, probably broken one too many times, Riley noticed as she traced the small bump with her pointer finger. A massive scar that went all the way from his left ear to the underside of his chin, splitting the side of his chapped lips in a pinkish and white trail of skin. She felt her hand tremble as she softly grazed it with her nail, feeling his fingers gripping her legs tighter. Her thumbs caressed the sides of his stubbled, strong jaw as she admired his features in a trance.

“Then tell me.” She begged, face so close to his they were sharing avid breaths.

“For starters” His dark brown eyes finally moved down to her lips, incapable of facing her potential judgment “I’m 35 and I ain’t never been in a serious relationship. Not that there haven’t been any deserving women. I just thought they deserved better than me.”

Riley opened her mouth to speak, but he shushed her with a gentle finger to the lips, silently willing her to listen.

“Don’t have much of an education either. After I was done with school I was a butcher’s apprentice, and then I joined the army. All I was ever good for was a night of quick fun. No strings attached.” Simon admitted, large hands now back on her legs, rubbing soothing circles on the cooling skin.

“I don’t care.” She whispered, joining her forehead to his, fingers delving into his blonde locks.

“You’re not listening.”

“I am! I just-”

“I’ve killed people, Riley.”

Simon could physically feel the change in demeanor. He expected it. He noticed how her shoulders slouched, how dozens of questions flashed through her mind and her fiery persistence was considerably doused when faced with reality. People always preferred to ignore what being a soldier actually meant.

“I’m damn good at what I do.” Her fingers tightened in his scalp. “And my performance solely relies on the premise that I have nothing to lose. If I allow myself to indulge in this, as much as I’d love to - and trust me, I fuckin’ want to - I won’t be able to keep doin’ my job. And the job is all I know, all I’ve ever had.”

A long minute of silence ensued, their foreheads still joined together.

Simon’s stomach twisted with anxiety, and he could feel cold sweat starting to bead on his back. He was trying to mentally prepare for her rejection, but he realized he couldn’t. He had never cared this much about anyone before.

What he wasn’t expecting was the feel of her soft, tentative lips pressed against his own, cold on warm skin as her fingers locked him into place in a determined kiss. Simon groaned into her mouth, blood immediately rushing down as her tongue slowly explored his parted lips, fingers pulling on his scalp.

He couldn’t think. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t fight it any longer as Riley pulled him impossibly close, hands descending into the hem of his hoodie and tentatively roaming under the fabric. She sighed contently into his lips, feeling the firm muscle and the soft trail of hair she was so eager to explore.

She gasped, tilting her head back as his warm lips moved to her neck, calloused hands secured around her thighs, kneading the flesh slowly. With eyes shut, thoughts lost in the bliss of finally feeling his tender touch, Riley pulled down the towel, baring her round breasts and letting it pool on her navel.

Simon’s lustful gaze darkened, descending his trail of wet kisses all the way down to her collarbone, lovebites marked upon her cooling skin as his hand reached up to knead her tit.

“You sure about this?” he murmured against her skin.

“Are you gonna make me beg?” She sighed deeply in pleasure as his thumb and pointer finger rolled her peaked nipple carefully. He licked a long stripe between the valley of her breasts, humming softly with eyes shut as if he was savoring her taste, before his lips left sloppy kisses along her other mound.

“Maybe.” He teased, tongue darting out to circle her left nipple, wetting it for a few seconds before retreating as soon as he felt her fisting the comforter, a strangled moan barely having left her pretty lips. “I think I’d enjoy the sound of that.”

“Simon, please…”She whispered as he licked the other one, this time for longer, before suckling on it, a deep groan rumbling in his chest.

“I was right, I do enjoy it.” He taunted before sucking her tits patiently, and agonizingly slow.

Riley trembled under his touch, trying not to seem too desperate as warm slick pooled between her naked thighs, fingers tangling in his scalp and pulling roughly as he reached a particularly sensitive spot that made her walls clench.

“Fuck” She moaned as his mouth parted from her chest, thumbs rubbing circles on her nipples, coated in his saliva. “Please…”

“Please what, love?” She sighed in desperate frustration, grinding her hips into the air when he pinched her sensitive skin.

“I need more.” She pawed at his hoodie, trying to pull it over his head.

“Greedy little thing.” Simon rumbled as he helped her strip his torso, a mass of muscle, scars and tattoos that left her breathless as her hands eagerly reached for his abdomen. But Simon wasn’t done yet, palm pressing against her chest, softly coaxing her to lay back down on the mattress.

“Simon…”

“Hm.” He grunted, lips already pressed into her inner thigh as he lifted her knees, placing her calves on each of his shoulders. He felt her legs tremble uncontrollably as he removed the towel from her lower body at once, exposing her glistening cunt, and making his half-hard cock twitch in his briefs.

“You don’t have to” She muttered as he sucked a hickey into her supple flesh, nearing the apex of her thighs, stubble tickling her sensitive skin. Riley’s fingers dug into the comforter, eyes shut in anticipation and nervousness as she felt his open mouthed kisses almost reach her folds.

“Don’ worry, love. This will be the best meal you’ll ever serve me.” She smiled shyly, cheeks heating at his gravely words.

Simon stuck out his tongue, but instead of placing it where she needed him most, he gave a series of slow, calculated licks to the delicate skin right next to her folds, as if he mimicked what he would do to her bundle of nerves in a few seconds. Riley whimpered at the tease, trying to wiggle her hips to reposition them under his mouth, but his hands held her down firmly.

“Where were we?”

“Huh?” She groaned in frustration, and he chuckled against her skin.

“With the begging.”

“Simon!” She whined as he licked around her folds once again, humming contently as he avoided the center of her sex. “Please!”

“Please what?”

“Please, eat me out!” She sighed deeply, cheeks bright red at the filthy words, but the embarrassment was quickly forgotten as he placed a delicate kiss on her clit, slowly building it up with languid movements of his tongue, side to side, as if he was making out with her cunt.

Riley let out a strangled moan, slack jawed and back arching from the bed as he carefully kissed, licked, and sucked on her soaked folds, tongue circling the small bud expertly, before moving down and teasing her entrance. Her hand reached down blindly, and he was quick to hold it with his own, fingers interlacing as he lapped at her sex hungrily.

The young woman was burning up under his touch, breath quickening too soon, too easily, and she felt embarrassed at how fast she’d crumble if he kept up his ministrations.

“Simon..”A warning.

“Hm.” He grunted into her, lost in her pleasure before he aimed his tongue lower and licked her from hole to hole, and then hole to hole to clit.

“Oh fuck.” She moaned loudly, and he hummed in approval, repeating the action again and again until he felt her tightening her grip on his hand, the other hand firmly gripping his locks.

“Please.” She begged, and he couldn’t refuse, using his thumb to collect the wetness at her entrance and sinking it into her tight hole slowly.

“I’m gonna cum.” Her voice broke, chest heaving.

“I know.” He latched his mouth onto her swollen clit, tongue gliding on it from side to side in quick movements as his calloused thumb slowly massaged her inside.

The pleasure blinded her as she reached her peak. The way her whole body trembled at once, toes curling and breath caught in her throat, back arched as she fisted his hair painfully tight. Simon didn’t care, he didn’t stop for one second, even when his tongue began cramping.

At last, Riley grabbed his shoulders, still panting as she reached for him, and he made an effort to get off his knees.

“Fuckin’ hell.” He groaned as his joints popped painfully.

She was already grinning and giggling as he held her gaze.

“Not a word, kid.” He warned and she laughed even harder, reaching her arms up for him to join her.

Simon pulled down his sweatpants and briefs, rock hard cock springing free before he carefully placed his body on top of hers, forearms bracing his weight.

“Hello, love.” He kissed her nose tenderly, before kissing her cheeks, her chin and her forehead, as she had once done to him on that drunken night. She smiled happily, before pulling him in for a passionate kiss that tasted like her pleasure, legs spread to accommodate him.

“Hello, Lieutenant.” She teased and he nibbled on the side of her neck playfully, making her giggle. “Getting a little too old to stay on your knees for so long?”

“I didn’ hear ya complainin’ two minutes ago.” He taunted, hands rubbing the sides of her thighs as her nails grazed his muscled back. 

“Fair enough.” She reached down between their bodies, pumping his thick cock with a lustful gaze.

“Still up for it, love?” Simon tried to not act as eager as he felt, so close to his peak that he’d be lucky if he gave her three good pumps.

“Get inside of me.” She commanded firmly, spreading further.

“Yes m’am.” 

Simon Riley obeyed, always good at following orders. 

He rubbed his leaking tip on her sensitive clit, eliciting a low moan from her pretty lips, before trying to sink it in slowly.

“Bloody hell…you’re so tight.” He groaned into her ear, stopping slightly as he heard her hiss in pain at the stretch of his thick shaft.

 “You okay, love?”

“It hurts…” She whispered, legs trembling at the intrusion once he penetrated a few inches deeper deeper. “It’s okay, I’ll get used to it.”

“If you need to stop, we stop, yeah? No questions asked.” He reassured, kissing her sweaty brow.

“Please don’t stop.” She begged, readjusting her hips for a smoother entrance.

Simon kissed her neck tenderly, letting his cock sink into her wet heat a little deeper, feeling her breath quicken with his own.

“Relax, love. It’ll make it easier.” He coaxed into her ear, feeling her nod against his skin as her body slowly loosened up under him.

He began a series of shallow thrusts, working his way inside her tight hole inch by inch, feeling his meaty length get progressively wetter, movements becoming sloppier as he finally bottomed out, the sound of skin slapping on skin almost drowning out their moans.

“Oh. My. God.” She whimpered in between thrusts, Simon’s pace quicking as he felt her moving past the pain and into that fucked out expression he had dreamt of seeing so many nights.

“If you keep moaning like that, this is gonna be over sooner than expected, sweetheart.” He panted, body now slamming forcefully into hers, her tits bouncing with each rut of his hips.

“I hope your pullout game is good” She blurted out, eyes rolling back as he hit a lovely spot inside her walls, wrapping her legs around his hips.

“Yeah, princess, me too.” 

Simon couldn’t take it anymore. Her breathy moans, the headboard slamming, his heavy sack sticking to her sweaty skin each time he moved, the tight grip of her walls around his fat cock and the vulgarity of her spread legs were sending him spiraling.

But it was the adoring way in which she looked at him, wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him intensely, before looking at him with hazy eyes and uttering the four most terrifying words he had ever heard, that made him shoot a load inside of her.

“I love you, Simon.”

Fuck. 

He came apart.

A/N: You guys already know the drill...so sorry for taking forever to post! As always I love your feedback, messages and asks, so please keep them coming <3

TAG LIST (I hope I haven't forgotten anyone)

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[certifiedlovergirlsstuff]

the prompt; “I love you. Now say it back.” “Please— stop talking, save it till we get you help—” “Say it back—“ “I love you. I love you, I love you, I love you so fucking much, please don’t leave me—”

with Steve harrington or Peter Parker? whatever feels right to u, ly!

FUCK!!! WHY MY TWO BEST BOYS AGAINST EACH OTHER!!!! i went with steve cause this just fits season4 vibes more. kinda au since im letting eddie live.

you almost made it out. everyone almost made it out alive and relatively unscathed. eddie was cut and bleeding horribly, lucas was screaming over the walkie about max and her bones, and steve was trying to hurry everyone through the gate in the trailers ceiling. robin and nancy got through fine, eddie with the help of dustin got free so it was just you and steve left.

steve’s wounds were starting to bleed again, black streaks crawling up his neck and along his hands. he started to stumble, his legs crumbling and bringing him to the vine infested floor. “steve!” rushing to his side and looking over his injuries, it wasn’t looking good. “we need a hospital,” whispered to yourself as you realized the extent of his wounds.

you threw one arm over your shoulders and tried to hoist him up but his dead weight pulled you down. “come on, baby. we gotta get you through.” tears starting to wet your eyes and voice starting to crack when encouraging steve forward.

“i- i don’t-“ “no, come on, steve. we can do it.” trying again to hold him upright and towards the hanging rope. with a groan he tried to take some of his weight when taking small steps closer and closer to freedom.

“i love you, just so you know. i love you so much.” he coughed at the end and black goo covered his chin. “steve you’ll be fine, don’t accept this.” choosing denial to get you through this.

“say it back, please. i- i want to remember your- your voice.” his breath getting wheezy. “please save your breath, we need help first-“ guiding his hands onto the bedding line.

his paling face turned to you, one hand moving to caress at your dirty cheek, his thumb a welcoming weight. “please, just in case. i don’t want you to- to torment yourself over this. please, sweetheart.”

the tears started to stream down your face, cleaning away bits of grime to show the terrified you underneath. “i love you,” your voice hiccuped, “i love you so- so fucking much, steve harrington. so please! please just hold on longer until we can get to the hospital! i- i need you.” lips wobbling from a swallowed sob.

steve smiled stiffly, holding back a wince at just the simple action. “i love you until my dying breath.” and then his eyes rolled to the back of his head and he fell down. “steve! steve, no, no!”

-

a/n: most of the request will be short since it’s just easier that way for me.

[httpsjeonglvr]

Chapter Summary: After weeks of denying it Ao’nung decided to finally confess after the near experience of losing you alongside your older brother.

CW: Nothing but two hopelessly in love Navis’ confessing to each other,kissing,fluff obviously

You fluttered your eyes open and saw the ceiling of your room. You didn't want to get out of bed, but you needed to check on your friends is they were okay. You turned your head to the side when you heard a knock and the door opened, revealing Ao’nung ung. "Hey." He greeted. "Did you sleep well?"

You sat up and sighed. "I guess so." You replied. "I actually woke up earlier, had a bath, and then went back to sleep." You stifled a laugh. "I didn't have a proper sleep in the past few nights and, surprisingly, I didn't have any dreams today."

"Well, that's good... I guess." Ao’nung approached you with a smile as he walked into your room. "How's your head?"

"Good." You raised your hand to pat the back of your head until you winced, prompting Ao’nung to spring forward to check on you. "Ow. Okay, maybe not." You chuckled sheepishly.

"Why would you even pat your head to check your injury?" Ao’nung scolded you a little as he climbed into your bed and examined the back of your head. His concern made you warm up a little. "You had me worried sick last night."

As Ao’nung pulled away and sat in front of you, you stared at him in surprise. "You... you were worried sick about me?"

Ao’nung nodded. "Well, yeah. You were using your strength to stop an evil sky demon. That's dangerous."

You shrugged as you smiled at him. "It's all worth it if it means I get to sacrifice myself to save all of you."

As he touched your hands, Ao’nung shook his head. "No, no, no. I don't want you to sacrifice yourself, okay? I don't want to lose you and I'm not going to lose you."

You stared at Ao’nung in shock as he glanced down, rethinking his life choices all of a sudden. He huffed. "Why am I so talkative?" He grumbled to himself. Ao’nung returned your stare while adjusting his posture. "Remember when I said... about surviving and telling you something?"

You nodded silently and Ao’nung nodded back. "Okay, so, um..." He stammered as he returned his attention to your hands, gently caressing your knuckles "The reason why... I sort of became protective of you and starting hanging out with you more recently is because..." He gulped. "I see you."

Ao’nung's confession rendered you speechless, and you thought you'd stopped breathing. Ao’nung continued with his confession. "And... I think Ive seen you for a while,but... I was in denial. It took me a while to realize it until I started messing with your siblings..."

'No, no. This can't be real.' You thought to yourself in panic. 'Is this real? This is too good to be real. If this is just a dream, just wake me up.'

"And this isn't a dream, in case you're wondering."

'Fuck.'

Ao’nung locked his gaze on you as you sought to digest his confession into your mind. The voice in your head was eerily quieter than usual, which made you feel relieved but also anxious. "(Y/n)?" Ao’nung asked, shaking your hand to bring you back to reality.

"Surely, I must be dreaming, right?" You nervously chuckled as tears welled up in your eyes. "No way can this be real. I've had these kinds of dreams before and I'm not falling for them again."

Ao’nung suddenly felt bad after hearing your words. He couldn't tell you what was going on in your dreams, so he shook his head and stroked your cheeks to reassure you. "No, no. This is real. I promise. I'm sorry if this feels like one of your dreams, I assure you this one isn't."

You took a deep breath and carefully held his hands in yours to check if they were real. In your dreams, every time you tried to clasp his hand, it would slip through your fingers and Ao’nung would vanish right before your eyes. You closed your eyes, sighing in relief as you nodded. "Yeah, I guess this is real..." You stared into his eyes when you opened your eyes. "I almost cried for nothing. Sorry for being dramatic."

You and Ao’nung shared a short laugh as he leaned his forehead against yours. You clutched onto his hands as you sighed. "Ao’nung , I..." You gulped. "I like you too, but..." You admitted.

"Are you not ready yet? Because I can wait as long as it takes—"

"No, I want to... but I got issues and I don't want you getting involved—"

"Then we'll face them together." He interrupted. "I'll face anything as long as I get to be with you."

You broke into a smile. "That's too romantic for a nerd like you, future Olo'eyktan."

Ao’nung shrugged as he smiled back. "You do things to me that I can never even imagine myself doing. And you bringing my romantic side is one of them."

"That's so cheesy." You snickered, causing Ao’nung's smile to grow bigger. "But you love it." Ao’nung teased.

The two of you stared into each other's eyes again as you felt him moving closer. "Can I... kiss you? Again?"

You had a flashback about your first kiss. The kiss that you felt that he did out of pity because you haven't had your first one before. You were terrified he'd do it again, but after hearing his confession and now hearing him plead for permission, you felt butterflies swarming within your stomach. You nodded as you smiled.

As soon as you gave your consent, Ao’nung closed the distance between your lips and his and took a firm grip on the back of your neck, holding you carefully. You kissed him back and felt your hands placing themselves on his chest. As his hand stroked softly on your head to avoid causing you any harm, you felt yourself leaning back on your pillow, not wanting to break the kiss. The two of you broke the kiss for a minute when you realized that Ao’nung was now on top of you. You looked up to him with big doe eyes as you breathed heavily.

Your lips connected with his once more, and you felt his hand move to your neck while yours moved to his hair. You had no idea where this was heading, but it didn't matter to you at the moment. You wanted to cherish this moment in case something unexpected happened after all of this is over. You pulled away causing Ao’nung to widen his eyes in complete concern. "What?" He asked worriedly. "Were we moving too fast? Did I scare you?"

You shook your head. "No, no." You replied. "I-I just wanted to say that this... we can't say this to everyone. At least not yet. After what happened last night, I don't think this is the best time to tell what we have right now."

"What do we have right now?" Ao’nung asked with a playful smirk.

"I don't know, are we together now?" You asked back with a smile.

"Sounds good to me," Ao’nung whispered huskily before planting his lips against yours once more, unable to hide the fact that he couldn't get enough of the sensation. You removed his hair from out its bun running your hands through it as you smiled in the kiss and set your hair-tie on the side if your bed.

Bonus Scene:

“What the hell is going on?!” You and Ao’nung quickly turned around meeting your dads hard stare as he observed the scene and growled glaring holes into Ao’nung’s head.

“Uh hey dad” You slowly slip off your bed and hug his arms looking at him trying to lessen his glare but he held still and walked towards your new mate.

“I want you out right now and properly dressed we have dinner later and I expect the best” He dragged a wincing and wheezing Neteyam out the doorway as he laughed at your embarrassed state while you flipped him off.

“So is the mood gone?” Ao’nung appeared behind you as you turned around and smacked him while pushing him out the door cursing him out in English.

This part sucked but oh well🤷🏾‍♀️

[kybercrystals94]

Come Back (ch. 1)

Read here on Ao3!

Whumptober 2024 - Day 12 - Prompts: Underground Caverns // "Just a little more"

Rated: T | Words: 573 | CW: non-graphic mentions of blood and injury.

Next Chapter>>

A/N: This fic is for @fionas-frenzy, because she mentioned a Tech-Lives fic yesterday, and I just had to make it happen. Also, yes, another Tech-Lives fic, because denial isn't just a river in Egypt, ya know??

It won’t be the fall that kills him. 

Although, that certainly did not help matters. 

Tech holds the shattered remains of his comm, cupped in trembling hands. Entirely irreparable without proper replacement parts. His pack is gone too. If he rests long enough, perhaps he can garner enough strength to find it. Or what’s left of it. Find something. 

He is not optimistic.

Strangely, the first loss that seems to trigger an emotional response is his goggles. It is less their importance to him, and more that they are the final straw placed on an already precarious situation. He is frustrated to find himself brought to tears as he pulls them from his bloodied face. 

Because he is bloody. There is blood everywhere. Head wounds have the unfortunate tendency to appear far worse than is necessarily accurate. He tries to find comfort in that, but it is threadbare and flimsy. Hardly worth considering. 

The goggles slip from his hand, falling amongst the wreckage of the railcar. He is not sure how he survived. It all seems surreal. The pain, the circumstances, the depravity of the whole situation. They’d lost their chance to find Crosshair. He sacrificed himself to give the remainder of his siblings a chance, fragile as it might be. He hopes they do not squander it. He hopes they get away. 

He hopes they are not foolish, and try to come back for him. 

He hopes they do.  

Sucking in a shaky breath, Tech knows he has to move. He cannot remain here. The Empire will come to scour the wreckage, find salvageable parts. Maybe even try to find him, or what is left of him. 

He moves to get up, tries to push himself to his feet, but his strength has abandoned him, pain excruciating. He only manages to draw himself up enough to crawl. And so he does. He is his only chance of survival, he only needs to put himself out of reach. 

His brothers will not come back for him. 

His brothers will think he is dead. 

Afterall, no one could survive such a fall. 

It is only logical. 

Please, come back. 

He finds an opening in the ground. An underground cavern. Cavern might be a generous description. He debates the likelihood that it is a dwelling for some sort of ferocious creature. He cannot remember what sort of animals are native to this planet. He knows he looked it up. He and Omega had discussed the likelihood of running into such things. The odds were low. What was it? 

Another defeated sound escapes him. He arranges himself, every movement agonizing, to descend boots first. It is a slight descent, easily manageable, even in his broken state. It is dark, but he is not afraid of the dark. He is alone, but he is not afraid of being alone. That is not entirely true. He does not have a memory of ever being truly alone. Not like this. Never like this. 

I don’t want to die like this. 

He knows he is hidden now. He just needs to rest. Close his eyes. Sleep for a moment. Maybe his mind will be clearer when he wakes. Maybe he can find a way home. Home to his brothers and his sisters. He never thought of them as home before, but it makes sense now. 

He isn’t ready to leave them yet. He just needs a little more time, yet.

END

A/N:

I might do something more with this story. Maybe. Possibly.

But if I don't, here's a spoiler: Tech does survive and he does find his family again. I promise! This fic might end hopelessly, but the greater picture is hope 🥲

Let me know if you'd like to be added to my tag list!

Tag List: @followthepurrgil @amorfista @mooncommlink @arctrooper69 @proteatook @ezras-left-thumb @maeashryver @baddest-batchers @laughhardrunfastbekindsblog @omegafett99 @heidnspeak @fionas-frenzy @royallykt

[hiskillingjar]

sick little games

Relationship(s): Strade/Reader, Ren/Reader, Lawrence/Reader, Strade/Ren, Fox/Reader Rating: Explicit Contains: Canon-Typical Violence, Canon-Typical Behavior, Coercion, Extremely Dubious Consent, Leather, Sexual Roleplay, Sweat, Armpit Kink, Boot Worship, Blood and Injury, Chastity, Gore, Amputation, Praise, Humiliation, Daddy Kink, Teratophilia, Monster Fucking, Master/Slave, Latex, Costumes, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Threesome, Oral Sex, Shotgunning, Drug Use, Menophilia, Period Blood, Body Modification, Piercings, Exhibitionism, Watersports, Gags, Lingerie, Panties, Bondage, Emetophilia, Vomiting, Collars, Overstimulation, Vibrators, Breathplay, Asphyxiation Length: Multi-chaptered, 33,000+ words

Summary: [Last update: Breathplay] A collection of one-shots based around Kinktober prompts.

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/50629204

Leather and Latex (Strade/MC)

"Ah, look at you, little punk rocker."

You instantly stilled as Strade opened the door of your (his) room, your hands freezing at the zip of the leather skirt that was pulled tightly around your hips. In the months of being his captive, wearing and re-wearing your old clothes and borrowing some of his when you had to, you would have never been so bold as to ask Strade for clothes like this, but…you were pleasantly surprised when it had turned up with an order he'd done for you (no doubt with a bit of Ren's assistance, though).

That didn't stop you from being incredibly self-conscious when he walked in and saw you wearing something so daring though.

"Punk rocker?" You said, doing your best not to flinch at the sound of his voice, glancing towards him as he idled in the doorway of your (his) room, his arms crossed, your hands freezing at your sides and unwilling to move. "D-Do I look punk rock to you?" You then asked with an attempt at a smile, despite how nervous you now felt.

"Mm," Strade hummed as his smile grew, stepping forward and placing a hand on your hip, feeling the tight leather against his skin, the teeth of the silver zip. "Very punk rock. I like it." He dug his fingers a little harder against your soft hip, pulling you in a little closer. "What's the occasion? Trying to sneak into Berghain or something?"

You swallowed, a look of quiet confusion on your face (like he was telling a joke you didn't understand) as your hands stayed still.

"Do you always get this nervous around me?" Strade laughed and his golden eyes glittered with unique cruelty, sadistically amused, like a schoolboy pulling at a bug's wings, watching you with thinly veiled excitement as you grew more and more nervous at his presence. "Or are you just being modest, hm?"

"I'm not, mmf-!" You let out a little squeak as he gave the zip of the skirt a good yank, pulling it shut and pulling the leather even tighter around your arse. 

The skirt is maybe a size too small for you, squeezing in all of the right (or wrong, if you were being honest) places, and it's enough to make your legs tremble as he bracketed your hips with his hands, pressing you against the edge of the bed. 

"You know that your modesty is no good here, fraulein," He teased softly with a little chuckle, leaning forward to press his lips to your neck, his teeth smiling into your skin. "Especially when your body looks this good trussed up in leather. Not like I'm surprised, of course," He then pressed you down into the bed, the hem of the skirt shifting upwards and exposing your soft, scarred thighs. "You'd look good trussed up anything~"

You took in a sharp little gasp as he nipped your neck playfully, reaching up to press your hands to his chest, an attempt to push him away when all you wanted to do was pull him forward, let him take you as he wanted.

There was a predatory gleam in Strade's eyes, as there often was with you, with his prey, as he observed how the tight-fitting material hugged your soft curves, the skirt clinging and creaking as it rosee even higher up your hips and thighs.

A slow and salacious smile spread across his lips as he placed a hand on one of your scars and let it drift upwards to the exposed hem of your panties.

"So tight..." He purred softly, dragging the bridge of his nose against your jaw. "That makes one thing of yours tight, huh?"

Your face flushed bright red at how crudely he spoke to you, and your obvious embarrassment made him grin and laugh heartily as he pushed you down to the bed and leered above you, his golden eyes growing ever more excited.

"You really need to stop being so reactive, fraulein." He said, still laughing as he placed a knee on one side of your hips, the mattress dipping beneath the two of you. "It makes you too much fun to play with and tease.

Roleplay (Ren/MC)

"I think when couples talk about roleplaying in the bedroom, they have other ideas in mind."

Your voice was flat and monotone as you crossed your arms and gave Ren a somewhat irritated look, looking down at the ridiculous cosplay outfit he had somehow managed to get you dressed up in. 

It was the typical sort of thing he liked, a short skirt with ruffle after ruffle of tulle bunched up underneath and grazing your thighs, thigh-high socks with lacy bands that bit into your soft flesh, long gloves, and plenty of bows to make you feel that much more ridiculous. You didn't understand what anime he was trying to reference with the outfit, if he was referencing one at all, nor would you care to understand if he tried to explain.

"I don't even know what role I'm supposed to be playing." You continued, idly pulling at the bow at the center of your chest and eyeing him as he beamed across the room, looking pleased as punch. "Am I a schoolgirl or something?"

"I mean, not exactly," He said with a grin, standing forward and pacing to your side, his tail idly swishing behind him. "You're, like, a part-time schoolgirl and a part-time magical girl, defending the world from aliens and overlords, and that kind of thing."

"Right," You replied, looking over at him with a raised brow. You had thought he'd be more creative than just having a schoolgirl fantasy. "And that's sexy to you?"

"It's very sexy to me," He replied with a little chuckle, his cheeks flushing a healthy pink as he continued to pace around you, circling you, a sweet-faced predator assessing their stoic prey. He was deceptive in that way, masking his darker and more violent desires with dweebish sweetness. It was as scary as it was intriguing. "But, ah, this character is even better, because she has a love interest that she's obsessed with, like, scary obsessed. It makes her that much more cuter to me."

"Mm, I can guess why," You mumbled, your own cheeks flushing a little as he continued to pace around you. "You like when someone is scary obsessed?"

"Can you blame me?" He said with a slightly sardonic smile, before stopping in front of you and taking a step closer. He was a lot shorter than you, but that never stopped you from getting a little nervous around him. "The rest of the stuff doesn't matter that much, but...you know. I want you to play that role."

You let out a little huff through your nose and peered down at him through half-lidded eyes. It would be up to him how he interprets that gaze.

"You want me to be the obsessive one for a change, huh?" You asked softly, not minding completely when he reached out and rubbed the tulle of your skirt with his thumb and forefinger.

"Maybe just for tonight," He murmured back, his own eyes softening with poorly concealed lust, his tail idly wagging behind him. Always so obvious with what he wanted, you could only hope that you weren't that obvious yourself. “Maybe I’d like to understand how it feels too. For someone to be obsessed with you,” His words were soft as his touch reached up your skirt and over the bodice of the costume. "Is that a bad thing for me to want?"

"No," You mumbled back, gently taking his wrists in each hand and pushing them down to his front. "That's not a bad thing for you to want. I just need to figure out how to do it, I guess..."

"Don't think about it too hard," He replied softly, leaning in close and dragging his lips over yours, plush and full. "Just do what feels right. Do what feels natural."

You let out a shaky little sigh, still holding on tightly to his wrists, his delicate little wrists, his pale skin, his dark veins that stood out so harshly, as he pressed a quick kiss to the corner of your mouth, another to your chin, another to your jaw. 

Always so obvious about what he wanted.

"I...I saw you talking to other girls at school today," You stammered slightly, your voice uncharacteristically soft and sweet sounding, enough that it made Ren pause and look at you, his eyes wide and excited, evidently pleased to be getting what he wanted. "I wasn't following you or anything...I just saw-"

"It was-" He cut you off, trying to hide just how excited he still was at this idea, that you were playing along with his fantasy. "I  had a few questions about the homework we have, that's all, I swear."

"You could have asked me," You replied quickly, an exaggerated pout to your lips, trying to get into the headspace of this kind of character...well, kind of person that Ren wanted you to be. You couldn't help but imagine how he would have reacted in a situation like this, and channel it into what you were saying yourself. "You know I'm always looking out for you, more than anyone. You know that I would do anything for you, right?"

"I know," He mumbled, his cheeks flushing a little darker as you held his wrists even tighter, digging your nails into his skin. "I didn't mean to upset you...I really didn't, I swear."

"But you did," You replied then, your gaze growing a little darker as you leaned in close to him, so close that you could feel his quick little breaths against your skin, the heat from his cheeks against your own. "And if you upset me again, I won't have any choice but to...to hurt any girl you talk to. You'll have forced me into it." 

You spoke so softly that you wondered if he had trouble hearing you, but when his ears twitched forward and his tail started to wag more rapidly, you knew that he had heard you loud and clear.

"You...y-you don't have to do that," He stammered, doing his best to play his own role of a helpless boyfriend, though he couldn't hide his excitement or obvious arousal (since the front of his jeans were already straining), no matter how much he tried to. "I really don't have eyes for anyone but you, don't you believe me?"

"Not at all," You said with a sweet smile, keening in even closer and forcing him to step backward, his butt hitting his desk. "I don't believe you at all, but that's okay...I'll just have to make sure that no girls ever talk to you again...since you only have eyes for me."

"Oh god," He took in a shaky breath, tilting his chin upwards a touch as you dragged your lips down his neck, kissing, nipping, leaving behind little bites. He reached upwards to press his hands to your chest, your own hands still around his wrists, and gripped the bows stitched to the bodice of your outfit, pulling you in even closer, the bulge in his jeans rubbing against your thigh. "Mm...please don't hurt anyone, please..."

"I won't have to if you stay with me, love," You purred then, a hidden smile on your face as you kissed his collarbone, dragging your teeth over his skin and listening to him whine and flinch. "I love you more than anything, Ren...and I'll gladly kill to keep the one I love with me, always..."

Sweat (Lawrence/MC)

Lawrence let out a soft, little sigh as you pressed your chest against their back, your hands reaching around and pressing up the front of their jacket (the branded fleece from the warehouse which matched their sweatpants), under their shirt. 

When you pressed your face into their shoulder, their long hair tickling your cheek as you did, they smelled of musk and soaked in sweat, heady and masculine, with the underlying scent of plant matter and fresh soil clinging onto them, as it always did. It was addictive and you pressed harder against them, their hips pressing into their kitchen counter as their body went rigid and tight.

"Mm," They moaned very softly, very quietly, their head going forward and their hands (big hands, bigger than yours) reaching up to feel where you're pushing up their shirt. "I-I should go shower...I've just come back from work." They shivered a little, a slight hitch to their voice as you ran your fingers over one of their nipples. "I'm all sweaty..."

"That's okay. I like it like that." Your tone was playful, teasing almost, yet your words betrayed an underlying lust and want for Lawrence's body as you leaned in closer again, now breathing into Lawrence's ear. "I like it when you're all sweaty and gross for me. It turns me on."

Lawrence moaned again as your lips trailed down behind their ear, down their neck, your lust and hunger growing too great to even try and suppress. When you ran your tongue down the side of their neck, down to the wide collar of their shirt and their exposed collarbone, you could taste the traces of salt and sweat, and it was enough to make you moan and want even more. 

"Let me worship you," You mumbled, your voice thick with lusting and want as you squeezed the soft flesh of their chest and dragged your hips against their arse. "Be mine, baby..."

"Ahh..." Lawrence groaned softly, low at the back of their throat, as you urged them to face you, your hands on their hips and pressing them back against the kitchen counter. Their sweet face was flushed and their eyes were hazy and lustful, despite how much they were shaking and trembling. "Yeah. I'm yours."

You smiled softly and leaned in to meet Lawrence's lips with your own, your free hand reaching up to cup their stubbly cheek and pulling them down to deepen the kiss, your tongue running over their chapped lips and pressing into their whimpering mouth. 

Your other hand occupied itself with peeling off their jacket, pushing it down their shoulders and their arms, before pushing their shirt up their long, trembling torso, exposing their skinny, pale form, slightly damp with a sheen of sweat.

"Let me taste you," You whispered, pulling back from the kiss (just barely, your lips still dragging over theirs) before you started to kiss along their collar, down their sternum, down towards their chest. "Let me taste your body."

"Ahhn," Lawrence groaned again, their hazy eyes squeezing shut as you dragged your tongue over their chest, barely tracing over a pert nipple before you gently pushed their shirt up even further, exposing their armpits, dusted lightly with blonde hair, and forcing their arms above their head. "Mph..."

"Be good," You mumbled softly, before pressing an experimental kiss to Lawrence's pale clavicle, keeping both hands on their hips, keeping them still. "Stay still and let me enjoy you."

When you were this close, the smell of sweat was even stronger, tangy and a little sour, potent after a long day of hard work, and it made your head spin a little, in the very best way. 

"D-Don't," Lawrence mumbled softly, their soft lips trembling, their eyes squeezing shut as their face flushed even darker in embarrassment. "Please don't..." 

You didn't say anything as you leaned down a little more and pressed a kiss to the deepest groove of their armpit, your nose nestling against the slightly damp hairs, breathing in the thick smell of their sweat. You couldn't resist a deep moan as you buried yourself more against their skin and dragged your tongue over them, tasting them, tasting the thick scent, the sour, salty taste of their sweat. 

"Fuuuck..." Lawrence drawled out with a desperate whimper, their body trembling, and when you peered towards their face, you could see that their face was that much more flushed and they were biting their lip. When you took one hand off their shaking hips and let it run over the bulge in their sweatpants, you felt how hard they were, in spite of their embarrassment (or maybe because of it). 

"God, you make me crazy," You mumbled softly, your voice thick with lust as you delved your tongue back against their armpit, moaning in pleasure as it worked its way against the sweaty and warm flesh hidden from the world, squeezing their hard cock and relishing in the hitched gasps they let out at the pressure and grip of your fist. "You smell so fucking good."

Lawrence bit their lip again, their hips keening forward as you slid a hand into their sweatpants, feeling the aching length of their cock practically tenting the fabric of their boxers. The quiet sounds of pleasure they let out were enough to spur you on to indulge even further, the taste and the smell of their armpit almost intoxicating as you sucked on the skin, the wide span of your tongue taking in every morsel of their sweat-slicked skin.

"I can only dream of how your cock smells right now, baby," You mumbled hotly, breathing heavily against Lawrence's tight bicep, your nose still nestled against their pit. "Want me to find out?"

"Mmhmm," Lawrence mumbled with a shy nod of their head, still squeezing their eyes shut and keening their hips forward, pressing their cock into the tight grip of your fist, biting their lip hard. "Please..."

You smiled and pressed one last kiss against the grove of their armpit, indulgently drinking in the flavor and the smell of their body. You were totally lost in that moment, lost in Lawrence and lost in his own intense pleasure. 

All you could hear was Lawrence's desperate moans and your own ragged breath.

"Good girl.”

Boot Worship (Strade/MC)

"Come on now, you know what the camera wants to see."

Strade's voice was a low purr as he stepped in front of you, taking the recording camera off of its tripod and moving the blinking red light, the uncaring and cold gaze of the lens, in front of your bruised and bloody face.

You swallowed a mixture of blood and mucus, pulling at your bound wrists in a weak attempt to cradle your very recently broken nose and cower away from him and his camera, though to no avail. The tight bondage bit into your skin and burned your wrists the more you pulled, adding more and more to the throbbing pain that was permeating through your body.

"How cute," He chuckled unkindly, reaching forward to grab your jaw and pull it closer to the camera, giving the unseen audience a good look at your mangled face. "Ah, though maybe not so cute now, hm? Now that little nose is all broken and bloody." He idly tapped a gloved finger against the broken bone, making you immediately whine in pain and jerk your chin upwards to get away from his grip. "Aw, don't worry, liebling. The chat still thinks you're as cute as a button."

He set the camera back on its tripod and adjusted the lens of the camera down to the concrete floor, which was now dotted with the dripping blood from your nose. He then stood back in front of you, his golden eyes dangerously amused and his brows quirking slightly, the only visible indication of his pleased expression when the mask was in the way. 

"You've made a mess," He said with a tilt of his head, idly gesturing to where you were still bleeding. "You better clean it up."

"Huh?" You stammered softly, looking up to meet his eyes with your own frightened expression. "C-Clean it up?"

"You heard me," He replied, his tone a little more terse and stern than it was. "Don't pretend to be dumber than you are, fraulein, it doesn't suit you."

Despite how much pain you were in, despite the streaming blood from your nose, the ropes biting into your wrists, and the bruises, cuts, and grazes that made your half-naked body ache and shiver, you couldn't stop a light flush coming to your cheeks when he referred to you with such intimate pet names. 

It wasn't fair that he could get you trembling with fear and trembling with want with one word if he tried to.

None of this was fair.

"Clean. It. Up." He finally said again, his voice low and authoritative, with another gesture towards the spots of blood under his feet. "You know how."

You swallowed down the mixture of blood and mucus again before you nodded hesitantly and lowered your head down to the floor the best you could, your muscles tensing and tight to hold your upper body up while your arms were still bound. 

Slowly, and without another word from him, you began to drag your tongue over the floor, the coppery taste of your own blood and grime from the cement mingling on your taste buds. You could feel yourself trembling from not only the pain and discomfort but also the humiliation of having to clean up the mess that you had made. 

You could only guess how the chat was responding to such an embarrassing act of submission.

"Oh, would you look at that?" He said casually, before teasingly pressing the tip of his shoe against your cheek and jerking your attention back up and towards him and the camera. "You've got your mess all over my boot too. Guess you'll have to clean that as well, while you're down there."

You squeaked quietly when he nudged you again but quickly did as you were told, running your tongue along the dirty rubber sole of his boot as he held it in front of your face. You knew that you must have been tasting wherever he had been that day, dirt and gravel and god knows what else, but you didn't care.

All you cared about was cleaning up your mess and looking good for the camera while you did it. All you cared about was pleasing him.

"There we go," Strade drawled, his eyes softening above his mask as he watched you indulgently. "Such a good little dog under my feet. Make sure you clean the rest too, don't forget."

You didn't forget, and he didn't need to remind you as you obediently raised your chin a little to run your tongue over the tip of his boot, tasting the musky old leather and suppressing a moan as you licked up and down, cleaning and recleaning the dripping blood from your nose, all the while panting and whimpering against the boot as you did so. 

Your spit was thick with blood as it drooled across his boot, making the old leather shine like it was brand new and polished to a luxurious sheen.

"Getting excited, hm?" He then asked, his voice sounding a little ragged as he reached forward to pull at the back of your panties, forcing a little shriek from your lips, muffled by leather, as the gusset was pulled tight against your wet cunt. "It would be nice to have a camera behind you, so I could see that wet spot growing in your panties, fraulein. So I could see how much you wanted me, even while I do things like this to you."

You whimpered again against the leather, but made no movement to stop your worship at his feet as he kept pulling at your panties, listening to each one of your muffled shrieks and watching your bent body tremble and spasm with pleasure. 

"You'll have to make sure that you've cleaned all the blood off, or we'll just have to keep this going on and on," He continued, though, from the way he said it, he didn't see much of a problem in the idea. "So, let's be sure that they're spotless, ja?"

Chastity (Ren/MC)

You couldn't hold back a little squeak as Ren locked the heavy-duty chastity belt around your hips and between your legs, the soft click of the first padlock being threaded through the metal loop that rested atop your belly being enough to make you tremble even more than you already were.

You had behaved badly, or at least, he thought you had behaved badly enough to be kept like this for a while.

The length of time was up to him, naturally, and he hadn't made a decision about it yet. 

He was happy enough just locking up the padlocks and watching you tremble and shiver, it seemed, as he stayed on his knees in front of you, focusing intently on his task.

"How long are you going to keep this on?" You asked softly with a little pout, looking down at the young man, his tail wagging gleefully behind him, as he locked the second padlock between your legs (but not before pressing the cold metal toy attached to it up inside you first, keeping you full).

"Oh, you know. However long I feel like, really." Ren replied with an innocent smile, taking both of the keys to the locks and theading them on a ball chain he fished from his shirt pocket. "It could be days. Or weeks, or months. Who knows!" He let out a laugh then, raising his brows beneath his bangs and standing up to his feet as his ears tilted forward with excited anticipation. "Maybe I'll keep it on forever."

Your eyes went wide and scared at his playful threat, which only encouraged him to step closer towards you, his innocent smile fading into a sharp grin on his face and his tail wagging even more rapidly.

"Wouldn't that be something?" He continued, bracketing his hands on the metal bands at your hips as his tail wound around your bare legs, soft and teasing. “Keeping you full and desperate for release, forever and ever, without any hope of rescue?” He let out a giddy little breath. “Just saying it is getting me hot.” 

"W-Well, why would you do something like that?" You stammered softly, biting your lip as he continued to idly fiddle with the padlock of the belt, his eyes drifting down to the thick metal waistband digging into your soft flesh, marking your skin. You could already feel that it was going to leave a stark imprint behind. "If I'm all...belted up, forever, you wouldn't get to-"

"I wouldn't get to fuck you?" He finished for you with another little chuckle, keening up (on his tiptoes) to press a kiss, a teasing bite to your jaw, digging his fingers around the metal band and pulling your hips close to his. You could already feel how hard he was getting through his jeans. He wasn’t kidding around then. "No, that's true. I wouldn't get to do that...but honestly, I think it'll be worth it to keep you so wound up and desperate all the time." He chuckled again, and ran his nose against your neck, scenting you. " I think it'll be worth it, anyway. And that’s kind of all that matters, hm?"

"But...mph," You let out a soft groan from the back of your throat as he continued to rut his hips against yours, looking for whatever stimulation he could against the hard metal despite how much he was insisting otherwise. "Why?"

"Because I want to," He said, his voice a touch softer, watching with half-lidded eyes as your own flitted to the side, trying to avoid his hungry gaze as he continued to toy with the padlock. "Because I can. Even knowing that you're unable to play with yourself right now and feeling your frustration is enough for me."

Your cheeks flushed a little (a lot) darker as he brought his face close to yours with a salacious smile, licking his fangs indulgently like a fox would as he took in your embarrassed expression.

"And...what if I beg for you to take it off?" You asked, peering back towards him, your face growing more flush as you noticed him string the ball chain around his neck, the keys to your padlocks shining against his chest. 

"Well, it'll be up to me to decide if you deserve it," He replied, the sharpness in his grin settling into a cruel smirk as he keened up again to kiss your neck one last time. "And I'm pretty tough to convince...especially when I want something as badly as this."

Gore (Strade/MC)

When your eyes finally opened, the first thing that hit you was the smell.

The air in the basement was thick with the putrid smell of blood and gore, grime and rust. Enough to make you retch, though all you managed to puke up was a foul splatter of burning stomach bile as your body hunched over the best it could. 

That, of course, only added to the disgusting smells that surrounded you already.

It added to the twisting pain in your body, added to the burning at the back of your throat.

It felt like hell.

Like you had traveled so deep into the inferno, delved into the darkest corners of your own psyche, that you were past the point of any kind of return, too far gone to even try and save.

Your head lolled back against the support beam you were tied to, vomit streaked down your chin and your eyes were hazy and dazed.

"Hmph. You're not gonna last like that," Strade said as he turned off the recording camera, tugging down the scarf that concealed his face when he was streaming before standing above you, his hands on his hips. "You might even need to see a doctor. That looks pretty gruesome, buddy!"

The pain was the second thing that hit you.

Immeasurable pain, pain that you couldn't even hope to fathom before all of this happened, before that first night in this fucking basement and the countless nights that came after it. 

It was like a deep ache, harsh and burning, that shook you to your very core, making you yank at your bondage in an attempt to cover your bile-stained lips, just so you wouldn't hear the wreaked sob you let out when you could finally feel it.

But you couldn't, so you were left to sob openly, hiccuping little breaths and desperate gasps that didn't convey even a fraction of how badly you were hurting, how badly every nerve and synapse in your body was burning and screaming.

Tears streaked down your cheeks, snot and drool were dripping onto your shaking chest, half-naked and bloody in its own right, and you squeezed your eyes shut, shaking your head as your body spasmed and twitched, desperately trying to will the pain to go away, even just a little.

The jug of hydrofluoric acid loomed dangerously in your vision, placed on the wooden bench like it was there to taunt and tease you.

You spasmed again with a miserable whimper when you felt another drip of the liquid pool down your knee and eat into your already melting skin.

"The camera might have liked it, but I really can't have you staying like this," He continued with a light click of his tongue, wiping his hands off on his trousers and taking another step closer to you, crouching down to one knee to inspect the damage and running the tip of his finger along one of the worst acid burns, watching you flinch and squirm. "You'll go into shock, and, well," He let out a little chuckle. "We can't have that, can we?"

He tilted his head with a mock sympathetic look, though he looked completely unbothered by your pain. 

"Hurt, doesn't it?" He asked, his voice low and lilting as he tilted his head towards you, one of his dark brows raised in an idle question. "I know, I know." He laughed and waved one of his hands, showing off a few acid burns on his fingers, indicating a messy past, maybe a few mistakes he'd made with victims like you. "Trust me, I know."

Though, there weren't victims like you. Not really. Not that he had kept for such a long time.

"Mind if I take a look?" He then asked with a little shrug of his shoulders, though he didn't wait for a reply before he wrapped a hand around your ankle and wrenched your mangled leg out straight, hard and fast. 

You let out a pained shriek as he did so, pressing your other knee up to your vomit-slicked chest as he inspected it critically, his golden eyes scanning over each bloody, burned patch of flesh and melted skin. 

"W-What are you going t-to do?" You stammered, your voice meek and pathetic, each word wavering and your body spasming.

"Relax, fraulein," He replied, his voice surprisingly calm and authoritative, so relaxed himself that it was a tad bit disconcerting. "I'm just gonna have a look, that's all."

Your jaw trembled at the still thrumming pain as he continued to stare down, your eyes flitting shut as you let out a soft moan of subdued agony. You could feel your head getting heavy and fuzzed, and you wondered if you might lose consciousness soon from the pain of the acid burn.

Without even looking at him, you know the sight of your pain is amusing Strade. 

"You're in quite a bit of pain, eh?" He asked, a dark smile evident in his voice while he took a longer moment to observe the extent of your leg's injuries. 

Despite your attempts to fight it, your body is unable to suppress the pain and you moan loudly again.

"I know what to do...don't you fret."

Before you could even notice his hand moving from your ankle, or hear the sound of him crossing the basement floor, you felt the ragged teeth of a bone saw almost immediately cut through the burned skin and into the meat of your lower thigh.

Your eyes shot wide and bloodshot with terror and you screamed, oh, how you screamed, louder than you ever had before, like a dying animal, and tried desperately hard to lurch back, away from him. But your binds around the basement's support beam, and the grip he had on your ankle, pulled out straight once again, was stronger than a vice. 

He barely seemed bothered at all as you thrashed and bucked beneath him. 

He was just humming to himself, like this was an everyday activity for him (and maybe it was). That sadistic smirk on his face remained, despite everything.

Rivulets of blood ran from the jagged gash and down your melted skin and coagulated flesh, leaving a steadily growing puddle on the cement floor.

So much blood.

So much fucking blood.

You couldn't stop screaming, and yet he barely reacted, sparing only a glance towards your face, seemingly reveling in your torture. The sound of your screams and the sight of your visible injuries excited him more than anything, after all, a fact you had come to learn in the time you'd come to know him.

His total disinterest in your pain, your agony, made you sob even harder, tears stinging the various cuts and scrapes on your cheeks, smearing blood, snot, and bile further down your face, your chin, your spasming chest. You could hear yourself begging, pleading, stop, stop, please, I'll do whatever you want, just PLEASE-! but the voice barely sounded human, let alone sounded like your own.

It felt like dying.

In a way, you would have preferred if you had died.

You wouldn't have to live like this, live through whatever was in store for you, live with the knowledge that you had practically handed yourself to him on a silver platter.

You didn't even want to imagine.

Through your sobs, you managed to vomit down your front again from the sheer pain and disgust that was rushing through you, and it hurt even more than last time. It made you cry just a little bit harder as you jerked your head up to the basement ceiling, wide, frightened eyes fixing on the swinging lightbulb above your head, desperate not to look.

Praying to a God who had long abandoned you.

The saw ripped through your bone with a sickening crunch which sent an electric shock of white-hot agony through your spine and up to the base of your skull.

Screaming would surely do nothing to deter him, but you can't help but keep trying.

You couldn't pull away though. 

He was too strong and your body already felt like it was going to give out just from moving for even a second. Any hope that you might have had drained out of you almost as quickly as your blood drained, and you felt your head get heavier and heavier, on the precipice of consciousnesses as he persisted with his gruesome task.

Maybe fainting would have been better. You wouldn't have to see any of this, listen to his idle humming, listen to the sound of the blade through your leg.

But you'd have to wake up. And what to?

You wanted so desperately to die.

He only had to give the dangling limb a good pull before the last shred of skin snapped and your leg fell to the scum-spotted cement floor with a deafening thud.

You couldn't scream, though you desperately wanted to.

You could only lay your head back against the support beam and silently weep, your mind practically dead behind your eyes and your lips parted with spasming little whimpers, as he sat the bone saw down and yanked the belt from the waistband of his trousers to wrap around your now bleeding stump of a leg, a poor man's tourniquet to stop the bleeding for a little while. 

His nostrils flared a little and he scrunched his nose at the smell. You had pissed yourself in the midst of this, which only added to the foray of foul smells in the basement. 

“Scheiße,” He muttered softly to himself as he pulled the belt a notch or two tighter, before murmuring something else in German that you didn’t understand.

Your stomach twisted tight again. 

"Ren!" He shouted over his shoulder as he stood to his feet, his hands on his hips again. "I'm gonna need your help down here, bud, come quick."

Praise (Lawrence/MC)

"Would you...is it okay if I touch you?" Lawrence asked tentatively, looking up to meet your eyes with their own, pale grey and doe-like in their pseudo-innocence. They were very careful to not move toward you at all when they asked the question, giving you the space that you needed to reciprocate.

Granted, you were tied to a chair and they were standing tall over you, but at least they had the decency to look uncomfortable about the situation.

"T-Touch me?" You repeated with a little stammer, your pallid, sweaty face giving away your hesitance.

You swallowed hard as the two of you stared at each other for a moment, but you didn't pull back as they took a cautious step closer to you, entered your space, and idly stroked through the long, sweaty hair trailing down your shoulders, their body close to yours, their smell sickly sweet and musky, like plant matter, like rot.

Watching intently, noticing that you weren't moving back or trying to pull away, Lawrence continued to gently brush the hair back from your face, a small smile coming across their pretty features as they admired you, their head tilting to the side, just a touch. You noticed that they were still being very careful not to move too near to you, though now that you thought about it...

You couldn't help but notice just how close together you were sitting together, their knee gently rubbing against yours as their touch drifted upwards, their bony knuckle grazing your flushed cheek.

"Is this okay?" Lawrence asked, still keeping their voice as steady and gentle as they could, despite how much they were shaking, like they were scared of scaring you, scared of breaking you.

"Yeah," You murmured softly as their fingers grazed your neck and pressed into your hair, cupping against your scalp, making you gulp and your wrists flex and tremble where they were bound to the chair. "It's okay."

They let out a soft hum of pleasure as you raised your chin, just a little, letting them continue the gentle petting through your hair. 

"Your hair is so soft," Lawrence mumbled softly, their doe eyes softening just a touch as they watched the way you keened into their touch, your fingers relaxing at the arms of the chair, despite how tight the tape was still binding you. "And...so pretty. Just like you are."

You blinked curiously up at them as they placed their other hand on your knee, leaning into your space even more, their cold, stubble-dotted cheek inches from yours. Yet, they were leaning into you in such a way that suggested that they were rubbing against you, scenting you like an animal.

"You're beautiful," They murmured even quieter, their fingers drifting higher up your knee, running over the ladders in your tights and to the warmth of your inner thigh. "And...so good for me. So good, letting me touch you, not being scared of me, not making any noise..."

You couldn't hold back a tiny whimper as their knuckle grazed the hem of your skirt, still stroking your hair. 

You weren't sure what Lawrence's intentions were just yet, but even though you had a sense that they weren't dangerous intentions, you still had a feeling that they might have been a little...unstable.

You thought it best to play along, while you still had the option to.

"Thank you for being so good," They continued, their voice still hushed as they pressed a little closer, running the bridge of their nose over your jaw, chapped lips running along your neck. "You've made this so, so much easier for me..."

You nodded a little hesitantly, biting your lip and keeping quiet while your eyes flitted down to their hand drifting further and further up your thigh, the duct tape wrapped tightly around your wrists.

You were still their prisoner, however well you were behaving.

Humiliation (Strade/MC)

“Come on now, moan for me. Moan for Daddy~”

With just one word, you were yanked forcefully out of your haze of masochistic submission, your eyes wide and your expression as close to disgust as you could manage.

"Did you just-" You muttered, your brows furrowing as you stared up at him. "Oh my god, you cannot be serious," You said with a grimace, cringing more from his words than what he was actually doing to your body. 

"Ahh, I can't resist," He said with a bright laugh, a shrug of his shoulders as he raised the knife from your thigh for just a moment, a faint cut left behind on your skin, barely even bleeding yet. Almost nothing compared to what you were usually used to. "You just look so uncomfortable when I say it. It's adorable, really!" He grinned again. "You really shouldn't be so reactive, fräulein , it makes you soooo easy to tease and wind up."

You said nothing, but continued to frown as he teased you.

“Hey, here’s an idea,” He then said, pulling the knife entirely from your leg and idly tapping it against his stubbly chin. “How about…you call me ‘daddy’, like I asked you to…and I’ll let you out of the basement for the night? How does that sound to you?”

"That's...that's not fair," You mumbled softly, pulling tightly at your ropes and ducking your head down in mortified embarrassment, your face blazing bright red at the prospect of even saying the word, let alone- “You know I don’t like saying…saying that.”

"Come ooon, you have to play along!" He purred with a lecherous grin, running his tongue over his teeth as he leaned in close again, his crouching knee between your legs, dragging the blade of the knife over your scarred thigh, threatening, not cutting, not yet. "You know you want to. And I know I want to hear it."

"I'm not doing that!" You then said, loud enough that it made him flinch backward with surprise, your face bright red and angry despite how hazy your head was feeling from the humiliation at...such a demeaning demand from him. "That...has to be the worst thing you've asked me to do!"

"Oh, is it the worst? Are you sure?" He asked with a huffed-out little chuckle, still dragging the blade of the knife along your thigh, still threatening to cut. "I had no idea you were such a, ah," He paused for a moment, his eyes flitting upwards before a grin came to his face. "A prude! You certainly don't act one."

He let out another light chuckle from his nose as he angled the blade downwards and cut a shallow slice into your thigh, enough to bleed, enough to sting and scar. His golden eyes watched intently as you took in a hiss through your gritted teeth, your bare toes curling against the cold cement floor and trying to pull back to your chest.

"No, I know that you're no prude," He continued, pressing closer, his forehead against yours as he dragged another cut into your skin, relishing in the way your body spasmed at the slight pain. "I know from the way you squeal, the way you bite your lip when I hurt you, like you're not gagging for it." 

He laughed again, as his free hand reached up to cup your cheek, force your eyes together. You blushed even more, your lip trembling with a quiet whimper of shame as he leaned in closer to you, the knife at your thigh digging in even more, edging dangerously close to the hem of your panties.

"The way you want to scream and cry for more, but can't quite manage because of a ball gag or my cock in your mouth. It's all so adorable, liebling ." His voice dipped just a touch, deeper, authoritative, and tinged with lust. "But I think it's time we stop playing pretend, ja ?"

He slid the blade under the lace panel side of your panties, cutting through it easily (making you squeak even more when the blade nicked your skin) and revealing your cunt to the cool air of the basement.

"I know this is turning you on, as much as you hate to admit it." He leaned in even closer, until his warm breath was almost kissing your skin as he whispered in your ear, the tip of the blade folding aside the scraps of fabric and getting closer and closer to your core. "It's pretty cute to see you get so worked up about a word, liebling , but you know what I want to hear. So, spit it out."

The touch of the blade shifted again, its presence ever-threatening as you trembled helplessly beneath it, watching as it pressed against the ripening bud of your clit, sharp and dangerous.

"Don't make me ask you twice," He then said, after a long moment of heavy silence from you, pressing the tip of the blade down with a little more weight. "You know I'll do it."

Squeezing your eyes shut, you let out a drawn-out and exaggerated moan, almost pornographic, tipping your head back and pressing your thighs together (though you weren't stupid enough to buck up against the knife, like you tended to).

"Ahhhnn..." You continued to moan, biting your lip for just a moment before you peered back up at him. "D-Daddy..."

"Hm?~" Strade hummed with a playful smirk, placing his blood-stained fingers under your chin to tilt your head towards him and force your eyes together again. "What was that?"

"Daddy..." You said again.

A satisfied smile came to his face as he pressed in even more against you, his nose against your temple, as your legs parted again and he moved the blade down from your clit and over the dripping parting of your cunt. 

"Good girl," He murmured against your cheek, his smile splitting into a sharp grin. "Suuuch a good girl, liebling . There now, was that so hard?"

You felt your entire body tremble and your insides plunge at the sensation of shame, though you could tell that Strade didn't mind that so much as he reached back and cut through your bondage.

"I could get used to hearing that, I think. How about we head upstairs?"

Teratophilia (Strade/Ren)

The machete slid through the amputated limb with ease, flesh, muscle, and bone unable to withstand the sharpened blade. Dark, aged blood spilled out on either side of the greying flesh of the arm, covering the bench on which he worked with a viscous spray. 

Ren instantly jumped back from the bench, looking down at his (now blood-covered) sweatpants with a wounded look. 

"Jeez, that better not stain," He grumbled softly with a frown, reaching down to rub at the new splash of blood adorning the fabric, knowing that he shouldn't. "I just got these..."

He continued to pout about his stained sweatpants, letting out a deep huff from his nose as he hacked the limb into several neat pieces, tossing each one into a metal bucket at his side with a bloody splat, like it was second nature to him. 

Ren's ears twitched at the sound of a growl behind him, the shift of chains against the cement floor, responding to each bloody splat of flesh.

"I know, I know, it's not the best we can get," Ren said softly, the pout fading just a touch as he smiled to himself, hacking through the wrist of the limb with a heavy *thwack* of the machete. "I'll get something fresher for you soon, but we need to make do with what we have for now."

He glanced over his shoulder with another bright smile, his tail wagging.

"Come on, don't be grumpy with me," He said with another playful pout, leaning down to take the bucket in hand and pacing across the basement, his bare feet cool and claws clicking against the floor. "You always love feeding time! It might not be gourmet or anything, but it's still food, right?"

He reached in to take a slice of the cut meat and squatted down, holding it out like a peace offering.

"You know you want it. Come on~" He cooed softly, with a little tilt of his head, a teasing smile, his fangs pressed into his bottom lip. "Take it."

His ears twitched again at the sound of another low growl as the chain dragged across the floor a little louder, his smile growing wider and wider as a hulking monster inched itself out of the darkness and towards Ren.

Strade sniffed cautiously as he brought his grey body closer, as sluggish and as slow as an animal. When he caught a good whiff of the meat, he licked his yellow teeth with a pleased-sounding grunt and brought his drooling mouth, his spit thick and viscous due in part to his still rotting skull, down to eat from Ren's hand.

"There we go," Ren praised with a smile, reaching up with his other hand to pet through Strade's matted hair, barely even grimacing when he caught a snag between his claws and had to pull at it. "I knew you couldn't be grumpy for long. It tastes good, huh?"

Strade let out a soft murr as he took another hungry bite of the meat, either not noticing Ren's petting or not caring about it as he shifted closer, the heavy chain hanging from his shock collar and bolted to the wall of the basement, still dragging against the cement. 

"You know, I dreamed about this before. Me doing this to you." Ren mused softly to himself. "I started to pray for it." He smiled serenely as Strade finished the last bite of meat and tongued Ren's palm messily, lapping up blood and viscera from his fingers. He was instantly reminded of feeding time at a petting zoo when he was a kid. "I fantasised about it for years, having you like this. It's kind of silly that I managed it so easily." He let out a little yip of a laugh, his tail wagging behind him as he reached for another chunk of meat to feed the lumbering beast. 

"Now you're all mine, forever and ever. My own pet monster~"

Strade raised his head from Ren's palm with another cautious sniff, temporarily distracted as the younger man reached for another chunk of the bloody flesh, before his dead eyes darted down again to the blood covering Ren's sweatpants, recognizing it as the thing he had tasted before with just a whiff.

Ren couldn't even try to stop him before he was thrown to the floor of the basement, Strade's hulking body straining against the taut chain still bolted to the wall as he caged Ren down with his heavier body, his eyes suddenly alive and stomach-churningly familiar.

Ren let out a shrill scream as Strade brought his head down to tongue at the soaking blood on his sweatpants, his hands gripping the young man's calves with a crushing amount of pressure, pinning him down to the ground (as he had so many other time before) and stopping him from struggling. Although he had no voice to gloat about how easy Ren was to overpower, Ren still felt the same surge of shame and humiliation twist in his gut and make him sick.

He frantically reached for his jacket pocket where he kept the remote to Strade's collar and pressed his thumb down on the button, emitting a sharp electric shock that burned into his skin, though that did very little to stop the lumbering monster as he forcefully yanked the sweatpants down to expose Ren's living flesh.

"No, no, no, no, nononononono," Ren shrieked, his eyes wide and frightened as he kept pressing the button of the collar, taking in desperate breathes through his teeth as his sweatpants were thrown aside and Strade started to tongue and nip his scarred thighs, hoping to pierce the skin with his flat teeth and taste the gush of fresh, hot blood. "Stop it, stop it now!"

If Strade couldn't be reasoned with when he was alive, trying to reason with him when he was dead would have been impossible.

Though he made a face of discomfort at the consistently shocking collar, that didn't stop Strade as he sat up on his knees with another rough grunt, taking one of Ren's kicking legs in hand, and forcing his body to bend in two, exposing his ass and pressing his soft cock up against his belly. 

Ren whimpered again, biting his lip hard and trying not to cry out as the monster stared down at him, tilting his head as his free hand reached down and palmed the plush flesh of his ass roughly, trying to feel the difference between living and dead flesh, and see which he preferred. 

Which one he liked the taste of more.

The shock collar was doing absolutely nothing to stop Strade, but he kept pressing the button, just to do something, to make sure that he wasn't taking this helplessly and passively as he used to, when Strade was still alive.

"Nghhh..." Ren gritted his teeth as he then felt the monster's thumb linger over the blooming, pink bud of his asshole, seemingly gauging his flustered reaction with a curious look. 

Even in death, Strade's curious nature persisted, it seemed.

To his surprise, though, Strade didn't sink his teeth into his flesh, nor did he tear him open, from groin to sternum, in a knash of bone and a rip of torn flesh. 

Instead, he felt the slimy wetness of the monster's tongue streak over his pale perineum, luxuriously and indulgently slow, before it focused intently on the hot, tight ring of muscle that twitched and convulsed so deliciously before his dead eyes, underneath his drooling, slack tongue, practically begging to be penetrated and devoured. 

Ren had never felt this sensation before, in all of his years of being with Strade, and it made his entire body go tight and his kicking legs relent as he focused in on the wet drag of Strade's tongue over his asshole. 

"AH!" Ren moaned loudly, tipping his head back, his little body arching underneath Strade's as his legs trembled and tightened around the bigger body, a surge of pleasure shooting through him, making his very core throb and burn with desperate wanting. "Hah...nghhh..."

Strade growled lowly with pleasure against Ren's hole, before his rasping tongue pressed deeper and deeper into his core and he started to thoroughly devour the younger man with fast and furious pleasure, relishing in his taste, relishing in the thrashing, living body underneath him.

It was so much better than dead meat. At least, that was what Ren assumed.

"Ahhhnn..." Ren let out a pornographic moan as he squeezed his eyes shut and wrapped his free leg around Strade's broad shoulders, pulling him into his body and feeling the contradictory warmth of his mouth and the cold of his body. His tone had become restlessly needy, and the volume behind each of his moans and whimpers had picked up steadily as he got more and more wound up, his cock twitching excitedly and leaking against his belly from the maddeningly slow stimulation. "S-Strade...nghh, please..."

He pressed his thumb down on the button of the remote again, feeling the rumbling from the collar against his ankle as Strade continued on through the shock, letting out another deep growl at the sensations that were gradually growing more pleasurable than not. 

As Strade kept going, his teeth grazed against the rim of Ren's sensitive ass in a way that should have been painful, might have been painful at some point, but it just made the younger man desperately excited for even more stimulation from his monstrous lover.

"So good~" Ren drawled with a giddy smile, biting his lip hard as his vision started to blur and haze, his head lost in his own delirious pleasure. "God, I should have been doing this from the start..."

Strade let out his own grunt of agreement as a viscous string of drool ran down Ren's perineum and sloped up his arched back, cold in the cool air of the basement and enough to make him shiver all the more. He took in another sharp gasp, his eyes shooting open again as the monster somehow pushed his tongue even deeper, tasting the young man like a meal about to be devoured, an autopsy specimen about to be examined. 

Each comparison, each erotic and gory depersonalization that rendered his body as nothing more than an object for the monster's desire and hunger, made Ren's cock throb painfully, exquisitely, thrumming with pleasure as his slit oozed streams of precum against his trembling belly

He was unable to stop himself from shaking, trembling, and spasming even more as electric jolts of tortuous bliss shot through his body and melted his brain into a mush of pleasure and desperate wanting.

"God, I'm gonna cuuuum," He whined desperately, his voice high-pitched and drawling, squeezing his eyes shut and letting himself fall. "Please, please, please, please, please-!"

Perhaps knowing that Ren was seconds from orgasm, Strade managed to shove his tongue inside what little space was available, gripping the young man's ankle tightly, almost painfully, and wrenching his little body upwards even more, forcing him practically vertical and pressed tightly against his devouring mouth.

Ren let out another shriek as he was pulled upwards, though that didn't stop him from spilling over, a splatter of cum coating his belly, his chest, and reaching as far as his chin. 

After a few short moments of hungry slurping from Strade, keeping the young body totally boneless and pliable in his grip, he eventually relented and let Ren's body drop back down to the ground, lowering his head as he did so to lap up the mess of cum from the young man's belly hungrily.

Ren let out an unsteady sigh, barely cognisant as he reached down to pet Strade's hair again, simply enjoying the soft warmth of his tongue on his body and relishing in the attention and aftercare that he would have never received from the man in life. 

A slight smile came to his trembling lips as he let his eyes flit shut.

Master and Slave (Fox/MC)

"NGH!"

You let out a shriek as you fell to the marble floor and dropped the tray you were holding with a loud clatter, spilling the contents of the water jug atop it and shattering the glasses that had been stacked alongside it. 

You couldn't hold back a small whimper as you climbed up onto your aching knees, looking down at the mess you had made with a whispered curse as you tried to get your bearings and clean yourself up before anyone had the chance to notice what you had done.

You were rarely given those kinds of chances though. 

"Oh dear," Your body went rigid when you heard Fox's voice behind you, an obvious degree of humour to his tone as you heard the soft *tap-tap* of his shoes against the marble floor. "Someone's a bit clumsy today, aren't they?" He teased with a cruel chuckle. "I do hope I haven't overworked you too much, darling, you did have an awful lot of tasks to do this morning, after all."

"N-No, Master," You stammered quietly, keeping your eyes locked down as you sat up on your knees and reached for the (now) empty jug, placing it back on the tray before picking up some of the bigger chunks of glass. "I'm sorry, I'll clean it all up right away."

"Mm, I should think so," He hummed, stepping closer to you and standing behind your bent body with a soft click of his tongue. "But that's no way to clean up glass, slave. You'll cut yourself if you're not careful."

"Right," You replied quickly with a little nod of your head (your cheeks totally flushed at the demeaning title), placing down the chunks of glass and moving to stand to your feet. "I'll go get...um, I'll go get a broom to sweep it up."

"No, no."

You suddenly felt the sole of his shoe press firmly against the small of your back, keeping your body pinned down and still against the ground. You immediately froze like a rabbit in the headlights as he did so, keeping still on your hands and knees, as he pressed a touch more weight into your body, enough to make your limbs shake.

"I didn't say stop." He continued, his amused tone turning authoritative and stern, albeit as light-hearted as he always was when he was in this kind of mood. "You've made your bed, so lie in it, slave. Clean up your mess."

You gulped nervously as you did your best to look back at him over your shoulder, gauging his seriousness. 

Seeing his narrowed, golden eyes was more than enough to tell you that he wasn't joking.

You quickly looked back at the mess you had made and took in an unsteady breath, before slowly sweeping the shards of broken glass up with your hands, angling them in such a way as to avoid being cut up.

Eventually, after a few passes with your palms and the pile on the tray growing bigger and bigger, Fox took his foot off your back and continued to watch as you worked. 

"There we go. Clean it up, like the good, little slave I know you are."

And though you didn't bother to look behind you and see those eyes again, you knew that he was certainly staring down at you like a lecher, especially when you were bent over like this, your (uniform) skirt hiked up around your ass and... revealing the demeaning underwear he made you wear around the apartment, pink and frilly and barely enough fabric to keep you covered up. 

You gnawed at your lip and pressed your thighs together as you cupped your palm again, sweeping it over a heap of the smaller glass shards. You barely even registered when a shard of glass predictably lodged itself in your finger, so lost in your own thoughts that you couldn't feel the pain, though when you felt it, you immediately dropped the handful you had with a squeak and a shiver.

"Ah, fuck..." You took a slow hiss through your teeth, bringing your hand up to your face to inspect the wound a little more closely. You reached up with your other hand to pluck the glass from your skin quickly, so you could get back to work. 

"Keep going," Fox then said firmly, standing forward again. "You're not stopping just because you got hurt."

"Fox-Master, I just-"

"Don't you dare argue back," He interrupted you, his voice a harsh snap, so uncharacteristic that it made you immediately shut up. "Keep going. Now."

You bit your lip even harder, enough that you wondered if you'd made yourself bleed, before you did as you were told, placing both hands back on the ground and sweeping up more of the smaller shards with your bare palms, without another word of argument. You did your best not to whimper as your skin was cut multiple times, shallow slices dragged along the lines of your palms, tiny glass crystals lodged in your fingers, minute flecks of dust settling in the wounds, dotting blood down your skin, your wrists, on the fine marble floor. 

Once he felt that you had done an adequate job at cleaning up (and saw that your hands were beginning to shake and twitch from the blood) Fox squatted down in front of you and grabbed your wrist hard. 

Before you could even whimper or register what he was doing, he brought his mouth down to where the glass was lodged into your skin and ran his tongue along the worst wound on your palm, coating it and tasting your blood with a hungry expression on his face. 

He did this a few times, listening to you whimper and watching you squirm at the sensation, before letting your hand drop as he licked his lips, running his tongue over his fangs indulgently.

"Don't ever forget your place, slave," He said finally, before standing to his feet and leaving you to it. 

"Finish cleaning."

Costume (Ren/MC)

The zip of the latex catsuit slid easily up the small of your back, the thin metal cool against your burning skin, sealing inch after inch of your skin as it climbed up the gentle slope of your spine and to the middle of your neck, where your head was tilted forward obediently.

Your breath was already short, but it grew more and more shallow as the plastic was pulled tighter and tighter around your trembling body. 

The suit was probably a size too small for you, so it hugged every one of your curves as tightly as it possibly could, your body straining beneath the tight, breathless fabric.

"There," Ren said triumphantly behind you with an unseen smile, as he did up the little clasp at the middle of your neck and slid a small padlock through it (making you flinch again), locking you up tight, before smoothing a reassuring hand down your back. You barely suppressed a shudder as he touched you. "I knew it would fit you if we tried hard enough."

"Hmph," You grunted softly in acknowledgment, resting your gloved hands in your lap, where you were obediently kneeling down for him. 

"Don't pout," He said with a chuckle, idly running his fingers through your hair and pushing it over your shoulders so he could press a kiss to the sliver of skin that the latex wasn't covering. "You look beautiful. Like you walked right out of one of my fantasies."

"The less said about your fantasies, the better." You murmured softly, but that didn't stop your cheeks from flushing even darker at the compliments, genuine and sweet, like Ren often was when he was trying to get something he wanted.

He didn't take offense to your vaguely insulting words, it seemed, by the way he laughed again and crawled around your body to face you, his tail wagging as he admired you even further, his golden eyes gleaming with excitement.

"God, just look at you," He said, his voice a low purr as he placed his hands on your thighs, taking yours gently in his and rubbing his fingers over your latex-clad palms, careful not to drag his claws over the delicate plastic material. "All wrapped up tight in plastic." His voice dipped down into an indulgent growl as he brought his face close to your neck and ran the bridge of his nose against your jaw. "Like a doll. So perfect for me."

You took in a sharp little gasp at that particular name, your face almost beet red as you jerked your chin upwards before he had the chance to see how flustered he was getting you. 

Your breath grew even more shallow and you squirmed uncomfortably in your costume, the latex shifting and creaking with every tremble.

"Your nipples are getting hard," He mused with a hot breath against your already heated skin, his tail still wagging as he took one hand from yours and brought it up to the soft heft of your compressed chest under the tight plastic. "It looks pretty slutty, actually." He laughed again, running the pad of his thumb over the little bump, smiling at the way you twitched. "Pressing right up against the latex. Like you really are a fetish doll or something. A pretty little object made just for me."

"Mm...Ren," You whined softly, pressing your hands against his chest, your jaw trembling as he scented you, his sharp little fangs nipping at your neck and claiming what little skin he could with bruises. You knew that he was saying this for the sole purpose of teasing you even more, getting you wound up and hot, and...well, desperate for him. 

"Aw, but you're all sealed away," He giggled softly, raising his head to nip at your earlobe, nestling into your hair as he groped you a little harder, still teasing your nipples. "I can't fuck you like this, can I? And I guess I never will if I lose the key to this." 

He poked at the padlock behind your neck, making you flinch again.

"Don't tease me," You said with another little pout, biting your lip as his touch returned to your thigh and drifted up a little higher, against the plastic 'sealing' your cunt, for lack of a better word. 

"Mm, I think I will tease you, actually." He replied, pulling back and giving you a mocking smile. "It's too fun, not to. You're just so reactive~" 

It was a little unfair that he could play with you this easily.

Though you guessed that he was doing that on purpose. Just so you would begin to believe that you really were his toy.

His doll.

Orgasm Denial (Strade/MC)

"AH-AH-AH!"

You shrieked in time with each of Strade's hard thrusts, as he dragged your limp body down onto his cock, his full hips slamming against your backside rhythmically like a machine. 

He had been teasing and taunting you for what felt like hours, keeping two thick fingers inside of you, while he had you pinned in his lap and watched through one of the streams that you had edited for him ('earning your keep', he had called it when he first set you to the task), until you were so wound up and desperate that you were grinding against his thigh with whimpering little pleas, your wet cunt leaving a streak of damp in its wake. 

Eventually, after he was satisfied with your work, he took his hard cock from his slacks and pressed deep inside of you, first forcing your body to bend over his desk, your loose shorts long pushed aside, before pulling your hips back against his lap, stretching you out and filling you even deeper.

You breathed hard, your teeth grit and your eyes squeezed shut as he did so, your knees and hips already aching from the difficult, strenuous positions he was forcing you into, but you were so desperate to feel something, so desperate to cum that you didn't even care about your discomfort, as long as you got something, anything.

"I can feel your pussy clinging to me," He murmured through a hungry growl, his half-lidded eyes boring a hole into the back of your skull as he pushed you back against the desk and raised his hips, running the weeping head of his cock against your hole, listening to your pants and whimpers. "Like a fucking vice. You're close, aren't you, fraulein ?"

"Mmhmm," You nodded with a little squeak, suppressing a whimper as he kept dragging the tip of his cock over your clit and along the slit of your dripping cunt.

You didn't even think to lie to him. You couldn't think of those things anymore, you were that loyal to him now. 

"Mmm?" He hummed softly, letting his cock rest at the opening of your gasping hole as he reached up and wound your long hair around his palm. "You're gonna cum on my cock like the little slut you are, huh? You're just that fucking easy, aren't you, baby?"

"Yessss, I'm easy," You whined loudly, letting your head droop down for just a moment before you let out a yelp as he yanked your head back, digging his grubby nails into your scalp as he held your body upright. "AH! Yes, yes, I'm gonna-!"

"No, you're not," He then said, his voice quiet as he pressed his lips to your burning cheek, sliding his cock back inside you (with a disgustingly wet schlick ) and slowing down his thrusts to an even pace of shallow hip juts that barely kept you satisfied but left you hungry, starving, for even more. "You're not going to cum at all, actually."

"H-Huh?" You squeaked as he reached down in front of you with his free hand and started to rub your clit a little erratically. 

And he *never* did that.

"You heard me, dummkopf ," He replied, his voice an eager growl as he pressed deeper and deeper inside of you, entirely penetrating you like you were nothing more than a sex toy, a fuck doll in his lap, making you shriek and gasp. He hooked his stubbly chin over your shoulder and growled his next words into your neck in between bites and teasing kisses. "You're not going to cum. And if you do cum, we might have to recreate one of those scenes you edited for me."

He idly nodded toward the video that was still playing on his computer screen, and you were smart enough to know exactly what he was threatening you with. 

"Is that clear?" He purred, giving you a moment before he slapped your cunt with another rough yank of your hair. "I said, is that clear?"

"AH-! Y-Yes, it's clear!" You yelped, gritting your teeth as a tear ran down your cheek.

All the while he kept fucking you, occasionally slipping his cock out from inside you and thrusting the tip against your engorged clit (that he was still fucking rubbing) to make you squeak and shudder, your body spasming from the sudden stimulation.

It was heavenly, in the very worst possible way. As he pushed deeper inside of you and rubbed your clit, stimulating every one of your vulnerable spots, what felt like little jolts of electricity shot through your body and kept you constantly on edge, making every single nerve spark up with radiating white heat, just from the attention he was paying to you.

It felt good, so fucking good, that it was painful. 

You couldn’t and didn't try to stop the spasms or the shakes wracking your body, nor did you stop your soft whimpering from the white-hot pain that you didn’t want to ever, ever stop. 

You sort of hoped that he was misinterpreting this whole situation, hoped that he thought you hated this particular brand of torture when really, you fucking adored it, just so that he would use it against you a little more often.

You didn't have much of an opportunity to keep that secret to yourself though, before he suddenly pulled you back, forced your body into his lap again, pressing deep, *deep* inside of you and making you spill over involuntarily, covering his lap with your cum and shrieking out loud as you did so.

"Hah," He let out a short sigh of exertion as your body went slack against his desk again before he let out a bark of a laugh, flicking his hair from his face. "Ha! You really are dumb, aren't you? I thought we were clear , fraulein ."

You trembled just a touch as you tried to squirm away from him but he kept two strong hands bracketed to your hips quickly, keeping you pinned still.

"Well, well...looks like we're due for another show of our own, aren't we?~"

Threesome (Strade/MC/Ren)

"You know...I don't normally like sharing."

"Hm?"

You looked up towards your companion as the two of you worked through a pile of his laundry together, unpacking the heaving basket (he really did go through all of his clothes so quickly) and sorting through and folding up t-shirts, shorts and underwear for him to put away.

In the months of knowing Ren, you had grown fond of him. 

Maybe it was because he was a total nerd like you were, who liked the same things you did and was always happy to talk about movies or music with you while you did your daily chores, or it might have been the necessary comradery you both needed to survive, well...a place like this. 

There was something about Ren that was different from other nerdy boys you once knew, something that set him apart from a stereotypical captive of a sociopathic sadist, and you knew that from the first moment you met him.

You knew he was fucked up, in the same ways you were. 

You knew there were parts of Ren that had struggled in the same ways that you had, had struggled with darkness and being too difficult to love. Maybe he'd even had his own slew of college girlfriends (or maybe boyfriends) that had been unable to fix him, despite how much he had tried to be fixed. 

And even though the first few months had been difficult, clouded with his obvious jealousy and fear of being replaced in the eyes of his master, and your own sheer desperation to just survive until the next day, you had grown closer.

You had a routine of sorts now. You did his laundry, he cooked meatless meals for you. You showed him a game you liked and he looked up good horror anime to watch together.

It felt good to have a friend in here, someone to share all of this with, and someone who didn't think you were a freak for the slowly developing feelings you were having for the man responsible for all of this loneliness. 

"Yeah. I'm kind of the jealous type." Ren admits with a shy smile, folding one of his shirts into a neat little square, his hands trembling just a touch as your own idled over the task at hand. "I mean, I'm sure you probably could have guessed that..."

"Right," You replied with a guilty smile, glancing down. “Yeah, I guess so.” 

"But um...I do think I could get used to it...w-with you, I mean." His smile broke into a little, if slightly unsure, grin, a soft chuckle falling from his lips as his golden eyes met yours, sparkling with something you hadn't felt in months; hope. "It might actually be kinda nice to share all of this with someone else. Someone who understands."

You gulped, almost a little nervous as you felt a bit of a flush come to your cheeks, your lip trembling as you looked him up and down, as he occupied himself again with folding his laundry.

Not wanting Ren to see your watering eyes or your trembling jaw, you quickly crossed to his side of the desk, wrapped your arms around his shoulders and pulled him into a tight hug, as tight as you could manage without hurting him. You buried your face against his shoulder with an unsteady breath and enveloped yourself in his soft, comforting warmth, his scent of fur and clean hair and vanilla, and allowed your silent tears of sympathy and understanding to fall down your cheeks and hopefully soak into his shit. 

And though he was shocked into stillness for a few moments (perhaps due to the sudden act of affection without any bad intentions or malice behind it, something he was not at all used to), he eventually wound his arms around your middle and squeezed you back tightly, his twitching tail curling around your bodies and tangling the two of you together even further. 

You thought, for just a moment, that he might have started crying with you, when you felt him bury his face against your shoulder and his body start to tremble and shake in your tight embrace, but neither of you wanted to pull away and let this perfect, peaceful moment be ruined.

But, when Ren eventually did pull away with a subtle sniff, his ears twitching forward, he surprised you by pressing a firm kiss against your mouth, quickly and sweetly, like he was a little kid giving his crush their very first kiss.

You too pulled back, your eyes wide open and your lips parted with surprise. 

"A-Ah," Ren let out a little breath, his own eyes wide and his ears perched up high. ""I'm sorry! I-I thought that I could..." He gulped nervously before he bashfully looked down at the carpeted floor, his ears flattening down on the top of his head (meaning he was embarrassed or ashamed). "I thought that maybe you'd want to as well, cus, we were hugging, but, ah-" His tail straightened out nervously and moved stiffly behind him. "I'm sorry..."

"No," You murmured softly, letting your arms drop down from around his shoulders as you took his hands in yours, holding them tight, squeezing them reassuringly. "No, it's okay, Ren. It's okay."

He shivered a little, looking back at you as his ears tilted back up.

"You mean it?" He asked, digging one of his fangs into his bottom lip, gnawing on it as his worried expression faded, little by little. "It's okay?"

"It's okay," You smiled encouragingly, rubbing your thumbs over his palms, letting out a little sigh as the flush on your cheeks burned a little darker. "It's really okay, I promise."

"So," He continued as he held your hands back, his golden eyes shining that much brighter as a slight smile came to his sweet face. "Can I...can I kiss you again?"

You swallowed nervously, your eyes flitting downwards and your hands shaking a little as he ran his claws over your knuckles, grazing them like needle points very gently before you nodded your head.

You didn't know if Strade would take issue with the two of you doing, well, any of this, but you couldn't care less about what he would take issue with at that moment.

"Yeah...yeah, you can kiss me again." You replied with another nod. "You can kiss me."

The second kiss came much more easily than the first, as did the third, as did the fourth, as did the fifth, the sixth, and the seventh. His mouth was warm and wet against yours, tasting as sweet and as familiar as his scent, as he tore his fingers away from your hands and reached up to press them in your hair, and when you parted your lips against his, pressing closer to him, he pressed his tongue into your mouth, as slow and as smooth as lava.

Between each kiss and as he pressed closer to you, his tail wagging frantically behind him, you managed to pull away for enough time to yank off your shirt and sports bra and fling them both to the other side of the room, exposing your bare chest for him to see. Even in the comforting warmth of Ren's bedroom, the safe haven from the rest of the house, your newly pierced nipples were perky and pink with arousal. 

Ren stared at you like a man starved, his eyes wide and his face flushed. 

It made you feel desired. You didn't realise how much you had missed that feeling, without it being associated with a particularly violent subtextual meaning. 

You felt oddly demure as you led him to the other side of his desk and fell back into the pile of clothes, cushions, and fabric scraps that made up his nest of a bed, an eager smile spreading on your lips as Ren quickly pulled off his own shirt too and threw it aside with yours, kneeling over you as he did so.

His chest was covered in scars, much like the rest of him, and though the majority of his body appeared slight, lean, and slender, there was a softness to his stomach that you couldn't help but find utterly adorable.

"You're so beautiful..." He said, his voice soft and his tone oozing with sincerity, as he loomed over you, his small body caging your own with ease as his hungry eyes continued to stare. "C-Can I...please, can I-"

"You can do whatever you want." 

With your permission granted, he immediately dipped his head to kiss your neck, paying close attention to the bruises and mocking love bites that peppered the more sensitive areas, the hollow of your throat, the skin beneath your jaw, your collarbones, mean little reminders of ownership left by his…your master. 

Your back arched with each kiss and wet streak of spit from his tongue, pressing your chest against his, and you couldn't help the long, keening moan of pleasure that spilled from your lips as he grazed his sharp, needle-point teeth against the sensitive juncture between your neck and your shoulder. 

If he wanted to bite you, really bite you and dig his teeth in and make you bleed, you'd let him, you think. 

Strade had made his mark on you a number of times already, so it was probably fair that Ren got his chance as well.

You tangled your fingers in his soft hair, curling them into a weak fist, and tugged his head downwards in a silent instruction for him to pay some attention to your chest. The whimper he let out, the keening mewl that lurched its way out of the very back of his throat, sparked a fire deep inside of your core, and you threw an arm over your face to hide just how much you were blushing, as he pressed an insistent kiss to each shuddering breast.

"You're...you're so good for me..." Ren whispered against your skin, his voice low and husky, and when he caught your barely masked gaze with his own, his eyes were half-lidded and filled with desperate, urgent need, a dreamy smile on his face. "So loud and receptive and...god, I want you so bad."

He dragged his tongue up your breast and latched his sharp teeth onto your nipple, his ears tilting back at the sound of your high moans as he sucked the swollen little nub gently and dragged the bulge of his erect cock against the growing wet patch of your shorts.

“Ahhn…” You groaned, your head swimming from the pleasure, as he dug one of his fangs into your nipple teasingly, reaching up to unbutton and unzip his jeans and shift them down his hips, taking away another barrier between the two of you and letting you feel the heat and warmth of his cock through the thin layer of his cotton boxers. “R-Ren…nghh, please…”

"Well, well, well, now isn't this a surprise?"

When the two of you heard Strade's voice, your instant reaction was to get away from each other, both of your bodies shooting backward like magnets repelling. Your face burned red with embarrassment at being so exposed as you wiped a thin stream of drool from your lips and covered your breasts with your arm, all while Ren attempted to readjust himself, pulling up his jeans to make his obvious erection a little less obvious.

Strade didn’t appear too bothered by the state of you though, as he loomed in the bedroom door casually, idly tossing and catching a ruby red apple up and down, up and down, rhythmically. 

If anything, he appeared to be somewhat pleased to find the both of you in such a compromising position, a slow grin coming to his face and his eyebrows raised, like he had found something particularly interesting.

"Strade!" Ren managed to squeak, his shaking hands still trembling and struggling to button up his jeans. "I-It isn't what it looks like, I swear, we weren't doing anything-"

"Now, now, little fox." Strade interrupted, his voice low but undeniably teasing and amused. "I'm not mad. I'm actually kind of impressed." He stopped catching the apple and raised it to his lips, taking a swift bite and smiling as he chewed, his teeth wet. "I didn't think you had it in you! Masel tov!"

A furious blush came to Ren's face as he looked away, clearly uncomfortable and maybe even a little bit frightened by Strade's sudden presence in his room, the deliberate invasion of his safe haven away from the older man. Strade appeared to be ignorant of this, that or he didn’t care enough to notice, as he continued to chew open-mouthed on his apple, still staring the two of you down.

"Well, come on now. By all means, don't stop on my account." He said, making both of you look up at him with wide, frightened eyes, as his own softened with poorly concealed lust. "I wanna see where this goes."

"You...you can't be serious," Ren mumbled softly, his quiet tone taking on a grave quality, his thin brows furrowed in concern under his bangs and his tail standing stiff with fear, his eyes meeting your own with an expression of concern and undeniable care.

"Ah, you’re misunderstanding me. I see." Strade replied with a short laugh as he casually sauntered into Ren’s bedroom, placing the half-eaten apple core on his desk before leaning against it, his hands behind his back, his feet crossed over the top of each other. 

Ever casual, never one to reveal anything. 

“That wasn’t a question. I’m telling you. Keep going. ”

"S-Strade..." Ren mumbled softly, tearing his eyes away from yours and looking back towards your captor. "Come on, we weren't...doing anything."

"Mm, of course, of course." Strade hummed, running his tongue over his teeth as he casually reached down to the pocket of his slacks. "So, our dear, sweet fraulein here just...sits around with their top off all the time, hm? How unlucky of me to have never caught that!" He laughed as he pulled out a leather holster, revealing it to you from his pocket, and yanked his well-used bowie knife from it, sharp silver shining in the low light of Ren's bedroom. "Don't make me ask twice, Ren. You of all people know what happens when I do that."

You could feel your heart beating at the very back of your throat as you heard Strade's words, a reaction that you knew Ren must have been feeling too, by the way his body stiffened, his Adam's apple bobbing against his frail throat.

"W-What do you want me to do?" Ren stammered softly, his eyes flitting down bashfully, his expression that of fear and unspoken obedience .

"Touch them like you were," Strade said curtly, though with a look of eminent satisfaction on his face, pointing the knife towards you, threatening you. "Take them. Fuck them, and fuck them hard . That’s what I want you to do, fuchs. "

Ren's eyes widened again at the sudden direction of the knife, his ears flattening again at the mean petname, and his eyes went back to you, just as frightened as you were. 

He gulped hard again and took a few steps closer to you, looking down at you with an expression of guilt and concern, because at least he had the decency to feel that, if anything, gnawing his lip as he knelt down over you again and took your chin in hand, his delicate little claws digging into your cheek and jaw. 

You knew that Ren wouldn't have had a chance in Hell at standing up to Strade if he tried, you knew that and you didn’t want him to get hurt defending you, but you couldn't help but feel a twist of betrayal in your gut at his complete lack of opposition to him, that he was doing as he was told without even the slightest argument. 

"Just...pretend it's us, okay?" Ren said quietly, his tone earnest and protective, obviously trying to make the most of the situation as a nervous smile came to his face. "Like we were before, yeah? When it felt good."

"Mm," You let out a muffled grunt as he shifted back on top of you, his hand back on your breast, his cock (slightly soft but not nearly as much as it should have been) pressing back against the warm spot in your shorts.

Ren kept looking at you intently, gauging your reaction as he tried to resume the pace that you had been going at before, teasing a nipple as he rubbed his cock up against your clothed cunt, and though it felt good, because of course it felt good, you couldn't stop your stomach from churning tight little knots at the reminder of who was watching, who was judging the two of you and seeing how well you could perform for him. 

"Ah," Ren let out a little groan, reaching back down to unbutton his jeans and shift them down his thighs with his underwear before he pressed his cock against the gusset of your shorts, rubbing the weeping head against the sodden fabric. 

Any hesitance he might have had wasn't stopping him, it seemed.

Maybe he had felt conflicted about it, conflicted in the ethics of enjoying a largely unresponsive body underneath his, but his enjoyment and evident arousal seemed to have been winning against his quickly depleting morals. 

"You're taking your sweet time, fuchs ," Strade commented dryly behind the two of you, picking dirt from his nails with the tip of his knife, his voice loud enough to make Ren flinch and his rutting hips stutter. "Show me something I want to see or I'm going to get impatient." 

“R-Right, yes, I’ll try.” Ren stammered, his sweet face blushing bright red as he brought both hands to your hips and pulled at the waistband of your shorts, tugging them down quickly, forcefully, his claws grazing the soft skin of your thighs and leaving behind shallow marks in your skin. He took a deep breath and then nodded a bit, like he was trying to amp himself up, more than anything else, before speaking quietly yet again with a soft and concerned gaze toward you. “S-Sorry if this is…ya know, uncomfortable…”

You barely managed a flat glare in his direction before he was pushing himself inside of you roughly, your cunt nowhere near wet enough to support an easy entry as he pressed up, right to the very base of his cock, where his knot was beginning to swell. You shrieked shrilly and clung tight to his smaller body, digging your nails into his back and making him bite back a whimper, as his cock slid out of you and his hips jerked backward at the pain.

Funny. You would have imagined he'd have a greater pain tolerance by now.

He bit his lip with an annoyed (almost panicked) little grunt, reaching down to the base of his cock and jerking his fist up and down it a few times, to get himself hard and ready to push back inside of you. 

"Can't keep it up, Ren?" Strade then asked with a mean chuckle, slamming the knife down into the wood of the desk and standing behind him, looming and lecherous as Ren kept trying to keep himself hard, muttering out little excuses, protests, ‘please, just give me a second’s. "Well, you know what they say...don't send a boy to do a man's job, eh, fraulein ?"

He pet the space between Ren's ears condescendingly before he made eye contact with you, raising an eyebrow as his honey-deep eyes narrowed a touch. 

"Come here, baby."

Biting your lip and shooting an apologetic look toward Ren as you do so, you obediently crawl out from underneath him and over to Strade's side, humiliation and shame making you shiver as the two men watch every move ardently. 

A slow, satisfied smile came to Strade's face when you knelt at his side, and when he stroked your hair, sweet and cloying and nothing he’d really do to you in a thousand years, you instantly keened into his touch with a pleased sigh, kneeling up even further to chase the touch when he pulled back for a moment.  

He let out a soft laugh from the back of his throat as he kept stroking through your hair, like you were a pet in his lap. 

The comparison, you thought, was quite apt at that moment.

He knew he had you in the palm of his hand, and what was worse, he knew that he could do anything to you just as long as he followed it with these moments of quiet kindness. 

All the while, Ren was watching intently, his gaze growing heated and..even a little jealous. 

It was an expression that you were familiar with.

"Hm…I’m really sorry to break this to you, buddy" Strade started, his gaze going back towards Ren, his voice domineering and demanding of all attention in the quiet room, as he pushed a hand through your hair and pulled your head forward to press against the quickly stiffening bulge in his trousers. "But your little playmate here is already a nasty little whore. Isn't that right, liebling ?"

Unable to truly answer with words, you pressed your face against his crotch, gripping his trouser leg in a desperate attempt to ground yourself when you were feeling so dazed, and took a long breath of him, enveloping yourself in his warmth, his scent.

Much like Ren’s attempt to ignore his animal impulses, the urge to fight back was weaning, quickly, as you let yourself be used by him. 

"Is someone getting jealous?" Strade asked with a teasing lilt to his voice, his smirk broadening as his eyes went up to meet Ren's heated gaze, as he twisted his fingers in your hair and kept you pinned against his broad thigh, unzipping his slacks with his other hand and palming himself, despite keeping you so still. “You can tell me, Ren…”

Ren's eyes stayed locked on Strade’s, his cheeks flushing a little as his eyes flitted down to the ground. The younger man was silent for a moment, not knowing how to respond before he said something.

"M-Maybe..." Ren stammered in a quiet voice, a slight pout to his full lips.

"Aw, how sweet~" The older man crooned as his smirk shifted into a grin. "Jealous of who, I wonder?"

Ren gulped tightly, looking more and more embarrassed as he averted his eyes, his tail swishing behind him.

“You know who,�� He replied, his voice almost curt, despite how much he was blushing. 

"Ah, do I?" Strade hummed thoughftully as he tilted his head, letting out a little sigh through his teeth as he tugged his cock from his underwear and slowly jerked it, in front of your waiting eyes. "How about you tell me, fuchs ? How about you tell me with your words? It’s unlike you to be so quiet, so shy…"

Ren barely resisted a little whimper at the back of his throat, his hands balling into fists at his sides, watching the two of you intently as Strade jerked himself off, as you pressed yourself even closer to his cock, inhaling his scent.

He looked almost angry, angry about how jealous he was.

Perhaps angry that Strade always managed to wind him up like this. Always managed to get what he wanted, no matter what that might have been. 

"I- I'm jealous of you touching her..." Ren replied quietly and with a bit more embarrassment clear to his tone, his little body practically shaking with shame. “I’m jealous that you can take her so easily…and I’m jealous that you’re taking her and not me.”

Strade let out a condescending 'tut' with his tongue, before he leaned back against the desk, keeping your head pinned to his thigh as the grip around his cock tightened, just a touch, enough to make the vein next to his knuckles stand up, his eyes ever indulgent as they glanced from you and back towards Ren.

"Nothing's stopping you from joining your little friend on your knees, sweetheart," He crooned, obviously appealing to a softer part of Ren, a needier part of him that yearned for Strade, as much as you did. "Go ahead, if you're so jealous."

Your eyes shot back to see how the younger man would respond to such an invitation. Predictably, Ren blushed heavily, his ears upright and erect, his tail still, his cock hard, evidently not realizing how badly he had wanted to do exactly what Strade was telling him to do. 

"Can I...?  I really want to..." Ren mumbled quietly and in a pleading tone, feeling like he wanted nothing more than to be in the same position as you, serving his master, worsipping him.

“Get down,” Strade growled softly, his eyes dark and starving when you looked up at him and his whole expression victorious, like he had won the best possible prize at the fair. “On your knees.”

Ren sank down to his knees obediently, without even a word  and crawled over to the both of you, perching himself next to you, his naked thigh pressing to yours, his frantically wagging tail carressing your back.

In the end, the two of you did grow closer…just like you had wanted to.

Shotgunning (Lawrence/MC)

"Can I try some?"

Your voice was quiet in the heavy, moisture-dense air of the apartment, in the quiet of the city waiting outside the wide windows, as you sat up on the bed and moved a little closer to Lawrence, who had just lit up a joint.

They had taken some time to prep it after settling cross-legged on the ground, grinding up a little nugget of weed and tobacco as you idly scrolled through your phone, your eyes occasionally shooting up to watch them as they rolled the rolling paper tightly and reached for the lighter from their bedside.

"Huh?"

They looked up towards you, lowering the joint after taking their first drag and exhaling the mouthful of smoke steadily. They blinked curious grey eyes and ran their tongue over their chapped bottom lip, taking a moment to compose themselves.

"Can you try some...what? The joint?” They blinked again, before they nodded their head, shaking a heavy chunk of blonde hair across their shoulder. “Um…y-yeah, sure you can..."

They held the joint up towards you, sitting up on the knees to be closer.

You set your phone down and scooted up on their bed, throwing your legs over the side before taking the joint in hand and inspecting it closely. 

"I've, er…I’ve never tried it before, actually." You said softly, looking from the joint and towards them again. "Can you show me how?"

A light smile came to their pretty face as they let out a low chuckle, pushing their hair back behind their ear in a practiced, delicate gesture.

"Sure..." They said with a nod before they took the joint back from you. "So you gotta take a drag on it...like this,"

You watched intently as they raised it back to their lips and took a long drag on it, an indulgent look of thoughtless sleepiness on their face, which you enjoyed…maybe a little more than you should. They held the smoke on their tongue for a moment, before taking a long inhale through their nose and then exhaling, breathing out the smoke slowly.

When they breathed out, the smoke streaming from their lips and nostrils looked like worms, like tendrils, like vines, thin and white. You didn't even try shaking off that intrusive though

"Then you exhale like that. Don't try to hold it in for too long or you'll cough like crazy." They then said with another little smile, holding the joint back out to you. “Try it.”

You huffed through your nose and rolled your eyes at their instructions, feeling condescended to despite Lawrence’s sincerity, and took the joint again, raising it to your lips and taking in a slow drag. 

Lawrence watched as intently as you had as you took a second drag on the joint and held your breath, holding the smoke on your tongue, thick and smokey.

"Yeah...that's it.” They praised, tilting their head slightly. “Just take it in slowly, don't let it catch you off-guard." Their smile broke into a slight grin. "You're doing it right though. So, so far so good..."

Your brain felt like it was slowing down, bit by bit, as you held the smoke on your tongue for a moment longer, before you took in a breath, a quick inhale, too quick to let the smoke permeate your thoughts properly, and when you tried to exhale outwards steadily, as they had, your breath caught roughly in your throat and made you cough. 

Lawrence started laughing, something you had never seen them really do, but tried to suppress it with a fist raised to their lips. It was nice, even kind of sweet, but you couldn’t really pay attention to the gesture when you were still coughing.

"Aah, ah, you're getting it…” They said through quiet chuckles, sitting up from the floor to rub your back. “Well, you were getting it...it’s okay, you’re okay…"

"I don’t like weed," You groaned as you held the joint out back to them. “Or smoking, or anything. I don’t want anything in my lungs but air now, actually.”

Lawrence laughed again, taking back the joint as they kept rubbing your back, as your coughing settled down into slow breaths.  

"Mm…ah, there is a technique that you might enjoy a little more." They murmured softly, as the hand on your back slid upwards, up towards the very top of your spine, gently stroking the sharp notch of the bone. “Do you wanna try it with me?”

“Alright,” You replied, keening up a little into the touch, as Lawrence got closer to you on the bed, their bare thigh pressing against yours, knees knocking together. “Why not?” 

Their hand trembled a little, long fingers twitching, as they held the burning joint back up to their own lips, taking in a longer exhale than they had before, their grey eyes flitting shut with the pleasurable sensation of numbness that followed with it. 

They let their hand relax against your thigh then, the glowing ember of the joint warm against your skin, as they inhaled sharply and peered back towards you, and brought their face closer to yours, close enough to kiss, close enough that you could smell the heavy scent of weed on their breath, on top of the plant matter and soil that clung to them. 

"Now...inhale as I exhale...slow...steady."

When they exhaled the mouthful of smoke against your lips, you took in a shaking little inhale, feeling both the smoke and the warmth of Lawrence’s breath on your skin and tasting the haze of the weed on your tongue.  

“That's good...that's very good," Lawrence praised very softly, watching as you took in more of the smoke, rubbing your thigh encouragingly. “Taste it. Taste the smoke on your tongue.”

It was difficult to focus on what they were saying, exactly, as you felt their warm breath against your lips, their big hand on your thigh rubbing against your skin. 

This felt better than taking the joint normally, that was all you knew.

They moved forward slightly, their body leaning toward yours, sitting thigh-to-thigh and shoulder-to-shoulder. 

"That...feels nice," You mumbled softly as you exhaled finally, your head swimming nicely through the haze of weed, the haze of suddenly burgeoning arousal. “Mm…yeah. Maybe I get it now.” You then said with a little chuckle, peering towards Lawrence when you felt the muscles in their thigh tense up a little, felt them shiver.

Without a word, Lawrence leaned in further, their mouth hovering over yours again, but the hand on your thigh didn’t move. You felt their breath on your lips again. Their fingers were trembling ever so slightly as they keened parted lips against yours, inhaling your own scent as they did so.

"Law..." You mumbled softly, your cheeks flushing a little darker as the hand rubbing your spine spanned forward against your cheek, cupping it so gently.

"Kiss me." They then whispered against your lips, their breath warm and hot and alive in a way they so often weren't . 

You couldn't think of any reason not to.

You leaned in and kissed them softly, tasting the smokey sweetness on their lips as your tongue pressed forward and parted them, letting you deepen the kiss and properly enjoy the comforting warmth of their mouth.

The two of you tumbled back against the bed, making out hungrily like a pair of doped-up teenagers.

You didn't even notice when the ember of the joint burnt the sensitive skin of your thigh.

Menophilia (Fox/MC)

You were in trouble .

Fox had caught you trying to signal the attention of a member of staff that had flitted to and from the apartment while he was working, and naturally assumed the worst of you. Not like you could really blame him. 

You were a hostage, for God's sake, who knew what you could have gotten up to when you were out of his sight?

That's why you were sitting in the living room, your (metaphorical) tail between your legs, waiting for the scolding of a lifetime.

"So...would you like to explain to me what you were doing trying to contact my staff?" Fox said, his tone almost grave as he closed the door of his office behind him and leaned against it. "I do hope you weren't planning an escape...after all I've done to train you so well, after everything that we’ve done? I should really be more insulted than I am, you know."

"I wasn't," You murmured softly, looking down at your lap with a shake of your head as he paced to your front, kneading your fingers against your thigh. "I wasn't planning to escape, that's...not what I was doing, I promise."

"Oh? What was it, then?" He asked with a raised brow, taking a step closer to you, taking your chin in his hand and raising it up to meet his eyes, his own cold. You made a little noise of discomfort when he took your face in hand, looking down at your flushed expression with a vague look of condescending sympathy. 

Better that than anger, you guessed.

"What were you planning, if not an...elaborate escape? A surprise party, maybe? Should I have my secretary write up an RSVP?" He finished with a forced chuckle, a little shrug of his shoulders.

"I just...I needed something that I didn't have," You replied, your words a little slurred as he squished your cheeks. 

"What could you possibly need that you don't already have?" He then asked, narrowing his eyes a touch, like he couldn't believe what you were saying. "You're provided everything in the world, the best possible luxuries, and yet, you still demand more? How insatiable of you, pet. You'll be wanting to go to the opera next!" 

Your cheeks flushed again as you tried to pull back from his firm grip, but it only encouraged him to pull you in even closer, digging his claws into the soft skin.

He took a moment to brush a thick lock of hair behind your ear to reveal your flushed face to his view, smirking lightly before it twitched for just a moment, as his nostrils flared and he finally took a good long whiff of you, and...worked out the reason you were trying to ask for things from his staff in almost an instant. 

Your face flushed bright red immediately when the expression of recognition slowly came to his face, trying to avert your gaze and hide just how embarrassed you were, as a slow and hungry smirk spread on his face.

"Sooo, that's what it is," The older man chuckled darkly, his golden eyes gleaming with amusement and mischief. "Someone forgot to take their birth control, didn't they? Haha, how cute! Now you're streaming like a fountain, aren't you?"

"Oh my god," You murmured, practically trembling from how mortified you were feeling, trying desperately to pull back from him.

"Aww..." He grinned a little wider, clicking his tongue in mock sympathy. "Did you think that I wouldn't work out your little secret?" He laughed again at your blushing and trembling. "Or were you hoping I wouldn't notice? I'm a fox, if you forgot, sweetheart," He leaned a little closer, his ears twitching and his tail wagging, seemingly emphasising his point even further. "I can smell it now, actually, now that it’s just the two of us..."

"Can you please just ask someone to get me some tampons or something...?" You mumbled, keeping your eyes locked down and waiting desperately to just be dismissed.

"And why would I do that, darling?" He laughed again and rubbed your chin as he watched your embarrassed and trembling reactions indulgently. "I mean I'm enjoying this very much, personally.”

"Fox..." You whimpered softly, biting your lip as your cheeks flushed even more. "Please...I don't ask you for anything."

"I'm not giving you anything either." He replied easily, finally letting go of your face to join you on the couch, slinging an arm around your trembling shoulders and watching you with a sharp grin. "Maybe if you let me enjoy what I want first, I'll think about providing you with what you need , hm?"

You didn't move your head, not wanting to look up and be an accomplice to your own degradation, but your eyes flitted upwards to see as he placed his free hand on your thigh, digging his claws in and gently, barely jerking it to the side to meet his own thigh, wordlessly telling you what he wanted, what he expected.

You didn't say a thing as you let your legs part, showing a soaking, red stain on your white underwear and the smear of blood covering your inner thighs.

His eyes widened as he looked down at the small stain, but the older man didn't resist an even wider grin as he grabbed your thigh even harder and yanked your body down against the couch, offering him the perfect opportunity to cage you down and stare at the mess between your legs. 

"Well, would you look at that?" He said, with a voice as close to awe as a bastard like Fox could manage. "And they have no one to blame but themselves for not asking me just a little bit sooner~ You really could have avoided all of this mess, sweetheart."

"You would have said no..." You murmured softly as he got closer to you, his nostrils flared and dragging your scent in, keeping your legs parted with a firm grip on your thigh.

"Of course, I would have said no, are you kidding?" He replied with a scoff. "I would have done it just to watch you squirm like this and see the look on your face. Priceless! It would have been just too cute for me to resist."

You let out an unsteady breath, almost a whimper, through your gritted teeth as he continued to stare down at you, taking in long breaths of your heavy scent like he was indulging in a delicious meal or a fine wine. After a few moments, he finally looked you in the eye, his own blown wide with hunger, running his tongue over his jaws.

"Do you want me to clean you up?" He asked, his voice almost a whisper, and leaned closer, his clawed finger running up the middle of the soaking gusset of your panties, where the blood was still soaking through.

"H-Huh?"

"I said..." The older man repeated himself, his voice taking a teasing undertone, as his expression got hungrier. "Do you want me to clean up your little mess, pet~?"

You didn't answer properly, not with your words, not trusting them enough not to give away how nervous and frightened you were. You took in another breath, still wet blood seepeing down your thigh and soaking into your panties. Despite everything telling you to do otherwise, though, you parted your legs further, showing him the mess of blood between your legs.

"Hah..." 

With a slow, drawn-out motion, his fingers shifted from your thighs and the soft folds of your pelvis, to the soaking creases of your underwear, gently pulling the wet fabric away from your sticky labia as he stared intently at the mess. A hungry grin painted his darkened features as he looked at it, his eyes hungry and inquisitive as he smeared the blood even further down your trembling thigh.

"It looks like you leaked quite a bit." He said softly, placing himself between your legs. "It must have been all day, right? All day...you leaked all day long and didn't even try to ask me for help..." He ran his tongue over his teeth again as he leaned in a little closer, his face inches from yours. "Now...how about we get you out of those dirty panties once and for all, and I can have a proper taste, hm?"

"T-Taste?" You said quickly, sitting up.

"Well, if you've been leaking all day, I do think it is only fair to taste what you've offered up." He replied with an easy smirk. 

You didn't have the chance to react before he was dipping his head and running his tongue over your hole, delving and devouring almost immediately as soon as he got the taste of your blood.

"Oh...ohhhh," You gasped, your once wide eyes sliding shut as you felt his lips trail against your labia, your clit, completely undeterred by the blood that was still oozing from inside of you as he kept your legs parted forcibly. "Oh god, Fox..." Your gasps faded into moans as you pressed your head back against the couch and raised your hips against his tongue.

He was tasting you, well and truly, and what's more, he was enjoying it.

Almost as much as you were.

He pulled back just a touch to breathe hotly against your cunt, his tongue lightly dancing over your clit as you heard him chuckle and moan quietly, raggedly, too overwhelmed by his own pleasure to try and intimidate you. 

"You taste perfect," He mumbled softly, pressing another deep kiss to your hole, his sharp teeth grazing your skin as he tasted you. "Oh, if you only knew how much your master has been wanting this~"

You moaned softly, letting your hips tilt upwards a touch as he dragged your body down against his, letting him devour you just the way he wanted, his fingers kneading your hips as he did so, digging into the soft folds of your tummy, your thighs. 

You couldn't resist reaching down and pushing a hand through his hair, rubbing against the base of his fox ears as they twitched at the motion. You were relieved that he let you do something that invasive, and even surprised when he moaned a little and pressed against you even more, pushing his tongue deeper and tasting every drop of new blood oozing from you. 

"Fox...ahhn..." You groaned, wrapping a leg around his slim shoulders, letting you rock up against his devouring mouth a little more. You probably looked a mess but like you cared. He looked at you like a piece of art, a fine meal, so that's how you felt.

"Please keep going..." You begged, squeezing your eyes shut. "Never stop, never stop..." 

"Ah," He gasped raggedly, glaring up at you with eyes blown wide with hunger and desperation, his face smeared with blood and his sharp teeth stained with the same. "You have NO idea what you're asking of me, pet…”

Body Modification (Strade/MC)

"You know that you can just buy these online?" 

Strade's voice was casual, almost playful, as if he was talking about what he had for lunch and not vaguely threatening you (as he often did), as he used his knife to slice open a package he was holding, sifting through it with a raised brow. 

"They don't even ask for a license or anything. Wild!" He continued with a laugh, fishing out what looked like...a set of needles. 

He held it up to the flickering light of the basement, his gaze scrutinous before he looked towards you again with a smirk. 

"I can only imagine the amount of adrenaline-hopped kids shoving these things into themselves. That's what we used to do, anyway."

You swallowed hard, looking from his eyes and to the pack of needles, sparkling and silver in the light, your brows knitting together in concern.

"What are you doing?" You asked, your voice unnervingly soft.

"Hmph," He let out another laugh, an (unfortunately) attractive huff through his nose before going back to his drawer of tools to look for something, a clatter of metal and tools loud in the small room as he sifted through it. "You don't have enough holes yet~"

Your face flushed bright red and you felt your brain start to short-circuit just thinking about what he could be planning, shivering and trembling in the cool air of the basement.

"S-Strade..." You muttered, trying so hard to stay calm but barely able to stop your teeth from chattering. "What are you doing?"

"Shaking already, eh?" He said with a little click of his tongue, fishing out a sharp pair of pliers and facing you again. "Don't be such a baby. You've gone through way worse than this."

You were silent as he paced across the basement and to the support beam that you were tied to (as you often were), staring down at you hungrily.

"You know, I like it when you're less docile..." He continued, his voice a little softer as he lowered himself down to one knee and yanked your shirt up your chest in a clenched fist, dragging you closer to his own body and exposing your breasts all in one go. "You're a lot more fun. I like when you're fun."

"Mmf..." You shivered a little more, yanking at your bondage, as he set down his tools and reached forward to run his thumb over one of your nipples, watching indulgently as the little nub hardened and swelled. 

You took in a sharp inhale and bit your lip hard to keep from making any more sounds, trembling as your chest felt all the more sensitive.

It felt so... forbidden. And so good.

If Strade's intent was to torture you, he was failing spectacularly.

"Feel good?" Strade asked after a moment, leaning in to bring his face closer to yours. "You can admit it, you know. I like making you feel good, too." 

"Nnnh..." You gasped again when Strade started to circle his thumb around your nipple, stimulating the sensitive spot and clearly relishing in just how much you were reacting to it, your breathing growing heavier and your mouth open with each desperate gasp. "P-Please..."

"Please?" Strade raised a brow with a slight smirk, gently pinching the swelling nub, between his thumb and pointer finger. “Please what, fraulein? Please keep going, please stop?” 

You barely even registered what he was saying, hissing through your teeth as your eyes squeezed shut and you pressed yourself closer to Strade’s larger body. You were so lost to sensation now, so caught up in the burning pleasures, your body trembling as Strade's fingers worked on your chest.

"Mm, I think that's pretty good..." Strade mumbled to himself quietly, almost too quiet for you to hear, before taking the pair of pliers in hand and closing the metal teeth on your sensitive nipple.

The second you felt the tight squeeze of the pliers, your eyes shot open and a harsh cry was forced from your lips, the pain causing your body to instinctively try to pull away from Strade's, though the support beam prevented you from going anywhere.

Strade didn't stop himself from giving the pliers a teasing little tug, a mean smile on his face as you screamed, a tear rolling down your cheek at the pain. It certainly wasn't the worst thing you had felt, not by a long shot, but even so, it was hideously painful.

"Very nice. Very nice, indeed." Strade hummed with an indulgent smile. "Now..." After swapping the pliers to the hand still clutching your shirt (yanking your sore breast up a little higher), he reached over to the set of needles and fished one out of the little baggie, the point sharp and dangerous as he lined it up with the swollen flesh of your nipple. 

Your body immediately went still at the sharp point, your wide eyes unblinking as you stared at him, waiting for the pain.

"I always liked piercings," He said casually, like he was just having a regular conversation. "I dated a guy in my twenties who was covered with them, you know, he was this alternative queer in Berlin with piercings and tattoos all over, and they'd always make me crazy. Of course, that was before I killed him." He laughed again, pressing a little more against the needle, a bead of blood welling to the surface as he did so. “He was the perfect guy, then.”

You grit your teeth together, still pulling at your bondage and waiting for the pain, but still, there was nothing...nothing.

"You're already pretty close to perfect in my eyes," Strade continued, with just a touch of affection in his hungry eyes, affection that might have been genuine had he not been threatening you with a needle. "Let's get you even closer, hm?"

He didn't bother counting you in, nor waiting for your guard to drop fully before he pushed the needle into the reddened flesh.

You yelped loudly in pain as blood instantly welled up to the wound and trailed down your breast. Your body was shaking and fighting against the ropes, though to no avail. 

He knew better now not to tie you down so loosely.

After fishing for what looked like a slim metal hoop from his bag of tools, he then pulled the needle from your flesh and slid the open hoop through the freshly bleeding hole with a surprising amount of care, his fingers twisting on the delicate metal ball at the end of the hoop like he'd done it before.

And maybe he had.

"There!" Strade pulled his hands back with a triumphant grin, admiring the new piercing that adorned your shuddering chest. "It's pretty cute...and your little tits are all puffy and sensitive now, eh?" He then teased, leaning forward and running a blood-spotted finger over the new piercing through your chest, stimulating it while it was now so painfully sensitive.

You couldn't answer, your muscles spasming in pleasure (in pain) as Strade's fingers trailed over the new jewelry, his other hand reaching up to palm your unmarred breast. 

The pain was still there, because of course it was, but it was now just another way to heighten the overwhelming sensations that were coursing through your body.

"Hhhh..." You moaned softly (to Strade’s evident albeit deeply pleased surprise) as he touched you, starting to stimulate your other nipple with a hungry look. "D-do you think you should... do the other one?"

"Mm, I think that's an excellent idea, fraulein ," Strade purred with a broader smile, running his tongue along your jaw, his wet teeth pressing a smile into your neck.

"Let's get right to it."

Exhibitionism (Ren/MC)

You stood still on the train carriage, crammed between bodies squeezed in tight like sardines in a can, holding onto the hanging strap like it was the only thing that would keep you from falling, keep you upright.

In the months of getting to know each other, you had earned enough of Ren's trust for him to let you out of the house on what he called a 'date' - a day out in the city where he would treat you to anything you wanted, just so long as you behaved exactly as he wanted. 

You couldn’t deny that a part of you was a little excited by the prospect.

However, that was naturally superseded by the parts of you that were incredibly anxious about giving him that much control over you. The control that he so desperately craved.

Ren kept an authoritative hand on your hip all the while, his tail idly swishing to and fro behind him (in the small space you were both crammed into) as he scrolled through his phone, ever casual, occasionally chuckling at jokes on his timeline and playing videos on silent. When you were standing so close to him, you could see a playful smile on his face.

"Oh, we're not too far now," He said, looking towards you as he clicked off the social media app he was browsing and through his phone menu. "Just a couple more stops and we'll be in the town center. I can't believe how busy the train is today!"

"Heh, yeah," You forced out a chuckle, your face taking on a reddish hue as he slid his hand lower, threading his thumb through the belt loop of your jeans and pulling you a little closer to his side. You had a bit of a height advantage, and that was more obvious the closer you stood, when his pointed ears barely grazed your cheek, but that didn't stop you from ducking your head down submissively as he pulled you close, trying to make yourself look smaller. "It's, um, it's pretty busy. But it’s a Friday, so…"

"Yeah," He mused with a low drawl, as he brought up an app screen you didn't recognise and began to fiddle with it, toying with settings and other things (written in Japanese). "We should probably be careful with what we say."

Without warning, you began to feel a soft, albeit deceptively powerful buzzing, pressed right up against a particularly sensitive bundle of nerves inside you and against your swollen clit. 

You had seen this coming.

He'd been torturing you with this particular toy all morning, and had only conceded to the date on the second condition that he could keep it inside of you while you were out in public, visible to the entire public. And, despite how much you had argued against that condition, you had ultimately relented to his whims, out of your own sheer desperation to leave the house.

You did your best not to flinch, nor to let your expression give away the surprising (and deeply pleasurable) buzzing against your cunt, lest anyone else in the packed train carriage clock what the two of you were up to. You instead reached down and grabbed his elbow tightly, digging your nails into him through his jacket and thick coat.

Ren smiled a little broader and put his phone away in his pocket, humming to himself innocently, as if he was none the wiser, as he reached down to the short hem of your skirt (another condition to you leaving the house, though this one was more of a gentle suggestion than anything else) and slid his palm against your arse, giving it a gentle squeeze, teasing you and winding you up even more.

You tried not to flinch at that either, though you were sure that your flushed cheeks were giving the game away to anyone who might have been in the know.

"We're going to have a lot of fun today," Ren murmured, letting his head rest against your shoulder, his tail wagging a little slower and gradually curling around your legs, comforting when he was (kind of) the opposite. "Because I know you're going to do as I say, aren't you, sweetie?"

"Mmhmm," You nodded, biting your lip as he squeezed your arse a little harder, one of his claws toying with the lace of your panties. 

"Full sentence, please," Ren replied, his smile spreading into a sharp grin as he put his hand back in his pocket and increased the buzzing, making you suppress a little shriek and clutch onto his arm tighter. "Use your words."

"Ngh..." You pressed your face into the crown of his head, the fur on his ears tickling your cheek. Your groan had been enough to alert someone’s attention, a guy with his headphones in, but he clearly didn’t think much of your distress when he looked back at his phone. "I'm...I'm going to do as you say."

"Good pet,” He then whispered, keening up on his tiptoes to kiss your cheek. “I just know you’re going to do so well.”

Watersports (Lawrence/MC)

"NGH!"

You grunted harshly as Lawrence tackled you down to the ground, forcing your back hard against the ground as their heavier body pinned you still and caged you down beneath them. 

"Shhh shh shh shh shhh...."

Though their face was flushed and a little frightened-looking (as if they had never done anything like this before), Lawrence shushed you in a quiet, almost sleepy tone, as they leaned forward, their breath shockingly cool against your skin, your cheeks, your lips. 

"Don't fight me, it's so much better if you don't fight, trust me," They asserted, still keeping their voice quiet as they sat up on their knees, keeping you pinned down with their hips and their strong arms pressing their weight into your shoulders. "This can be easy, we can make this so easy , if you don't fight."

"Fuck you," You muttered through grit teeth as you tried to wrestle up against them, trying to free yourself from their strong grip on your body.

"L-Language," They replied with a dirty look, as if you had offended them, before they swallowed hard, their Adam's apple bobbing against their pale throat, and pushed themselves to their feet, suddenly standing tall and towering above you.

Planting a bare foot right at the center of your chest and pressing most of their weight down onto it, Lawrence kept holding you down against the ground, their pale grey eyes locked on yours. Their breathing became shallow and quicker-paced as they stared at you hard, and even down on the ground, you got a sense that they were trembling, still scared of what they were capable of.

It would do you no good to fight against them or to swear at them, but you couldn't help your anger. 

"I, ah..." They started, making an attempt to sound nonchalant as they pushed their shaking fingers through their hair. "I think you should just...relax. A-And calm down, a little."

"Where do you get off telling me to fucking relax?" You demanded, your voice louder than theirs (which they clearly didn't like, from the way their eyes darted to the door of their apartment nervously) as you continued to fight against their body. "Why don't you relax and let me go, you fucking psycho!?"

" Psycho? "

Lawrence's eyes narrowed as they spoke, an expression that gave away their growing anger and annoyance. 

"Now that's just...unnecessary..." They continued to murmur, eyes flitting to the side as they pressed a little more weight into your chest and listened to the gasping wheeze you let out as a response, reaching up to grab and claw at their ankle. "You...you really don't wanna say things like that to me..."

You swallowed hard as your breath felt heavier and harder to get out of your lungs, your teeth gritting and your eyes fluttering at the pressure. 

They could have broken one of your ribs from this angle if they wanted to, quite easily in fact. 

You had to wonder why they weren't doing that yet.

"Or...or what?" You replied through your grit teeth, one eye squeezing shut as another surge of pressure was pressed into your chest, testing your luck beyond all better judgment not to.

Lawrence was quiet for a good moment, their eyes locked on yours before darting to the side nervously, their chapped bottom lip between their teeth. They were still breathing heavily and slowly. 

"I could hurt you." The pressure of their weight on your chest was more intense now, and they let out a brief, quiet growl. “I could really hurt you, and I would enjoy doing it too.”

"You're already hurting me," You replied through your tight frown.

"Am I...? Am I, really?"

Lawrence tilted their head to the side slightly, an expression that was almost mocking and teasing without intending to be (though you really had no idea of Lawrence's true intentions right now, their pale face was so blank and devoid of any true expression).

Their voice was still quiet, almost thoughtful and dreamy, but it was obvious that Lawrence no longer saw you as a person when they stared down at you with their doe wide, grey eyes.

No, you were more of an animal now, a pest to be gotten rid of, a bug to be squashed.

A plant to be plucked from the garden.

You swallowed hard and your body began to thrash when, after a long moment of quiet between the two of you, Lawrence started to tuck down their sweatpants and revealed their naked and...worryingly hard and lengthy cock, without saying a word.

Lawrence smiled, but there was no joy or light-heartedness behind their expression. It was a dead kind of smile that reminded you of a corpse, an ill-fated humour without feeling behind it, their grin refusing to touch their narrowed eyes with any degree of amusement. 

They then shifted their weight once more, easing up on your chest just slightly to focus a little more attention on prying their hefty cock from their sweatpants and holding it above your eyes. 

They were breathing heavily now, and they spoke softy but without any of the previous fear or hesitation, as if they knew now that they had complete control over you. 

And they certainly did, at least for the time being.

"You know...it's so rude of me, but I didn't offer you anything to drink."

Your eyes shot wide.

"Lawrence..." You said, your voice partway between a warning and a plea. "Don't-"

Though you were predictably cut off by a splash of disturbingly warm fluid on your face. 

Lawrence let out a low chuckle as the warm (disgustingly warm, despite how cool their breath had been on your skin before) liquid hit your face, but they said nothing about it, not even to gloat or goad when you immediately squeezed your eyes shut and jerked your head to the side with a shout. 

They only shifted their weight again, watching with a curious, albeit indulgent look as the dark yellow fluid ran down your skin, repulsive and demeaning, and stained the collar of your shirt.

"Is this what you wanted?" They asked, their tone dripping with contempt as the stream finally relented, the smell of ammonia thick and heavy in the humid air of the apartment. "Ah, I see now...you're one of those types that have to be forced to behave. Isn't that right?"

You stared up at them with a grimace, despite the dark flush to your cheeks, shaking your head to throw off the drops of fluid the best you could, cringing as you felt it cling to your skin and soak in your fucking hair, god-

"Are you going to be good?" Lawrence then asked with another condescending tilt of their head, the start of a smile growing on their face.

"Mph," You bit your lip again, peering up wearily towards them, drops of fluid still clinging to your eyelashes. "Y-Yeah...I'll be good."

"Good."

Gags (Strade/MC)

The fan blades turned slowly above your head, creaking and swaying in the hot air of the summer night, yellowing from age and dotted with little mold spots that nobody thought to take care of or attend to. 

Sort of like you. 

You were in a cheap motel, strange and far from any sense of home that you might have had, ridding you of familiarity or comfort you never thought you’d associate with his house. Strade had some business to attend to in the States (no doubt to do with the shitstains that ran the website he streamed on and revenue and royalties and whatnot) and he didn't trust you and Ren enough to be left alone together.

So, Ren stayed home and you stayed with him. You just hoped that there wouldn't be any animosity from the younger man when you came home.

If you came home. 

It had been a quiet night of pay-per-view movies and takeout pizza that left a grease stain behind on the cardboard and cheese that stuck to the roof of your mouth. It was the kind of food that you loved when you were younger, when you were a plucky college student who went out drinking with friends and strangers, and needed carbs to soak in the booze, lest it spill out of you.

But you weren't that person anymore. You didn't even know what kind of person you were.

The kind of person that let this happen to them, you guessed.

"You can't scream and you can't make any noise, or it's just going to get worse. But, I'm going to give you a fighting chance, okay? Because I'm just so fucking fond of you. "

Strade's voice was uncharacteristically quiet as he pressed the thick rubber ballgag between your teeth forcefully, like he was worried about possibly disturbing your neighbors in the other hotel rooms and calling attention to the two of you. He kept you pinned still to the bed with a heavy knee against your back, and though you thrashed and fought against him, you knew that he would ultimately win whatever brawl you had.

He always won.

The rubber tasted sour against your tongue and the leather belt, pulled tight around your head and buckled at the nape of your neck, was stiff and 'unlived in', and you guessed that he had bought it fresh that day in preparation for this.

With a low grunt, he pulled the belt one notch tighter, forcing the rubber ball deeper into your mouth and the leather to dig in uncomfortably on either side of your lips.

" Wunderschon ," He smirked as he took his knee from your back, satisfied that you didn't immediately try to move once he permitted you your freedom. "And I don't think I have to worry about you screaming now, either."

"Ughk..." You groaned into the gag, as he tangled his fingers in your hair and jerked your head upwards, forcing your eyes to meet again. While yours were no doubt hazy by your newly submissive headspace, his looked fond, almost affectionate.

"Mm, very cute," He crooned, reaching forward to press two fingers against the rubber ball and trailing the touch downwards, toying with your plush bottom lip. "I don't usually care about this kind of thing. Ropes, cuffs, it's a means to an end with me, but, ah..." He tilted his head just a touch as a thick stream of drool pooled from your parted lips, down your chin and coating his fingers with shining, wet silver. "You, meine liebe ? You're good enough to eat right now."

You let out a surprised grunt as Strade shoved you back against the bed, your head hitting the pillows and your back on the mattress, before shifting between your legs and yanking at the waistband of your jeans, not even giving himself a moment to unbutton or unzip them as he tore them down your trembling thighs and tossed them across the motel room.

A lot of things could just be done with brute force, and that was something you had come to quickly learn with Strade.

"Speaking of..." He let out a soft chuckle as he placed a large hand on your belly and used the other to yank your panties down with an equal amount of force, to the degree that you swore you heard a tear. "I think I'll do just that."

Any protests you might have said petered into desperate moans and whimpers into the thick rubber as he lowered his head and dragged his tongue over your cunt, immediately seeking the tight, warm heat of your hole as he kept you pinned still beneath him, a meal ready to be devoured, a helpless victim ready to be taken advantage of.

You didn't quite have the luxury of calling yourself helpless anymore though. 

He had taken that away from you. Just as he had taken so many things.

"Ghk-" You made another attempt to speak, though you couldn't manage much but a quiet vocalization, a helpless gurgle of pain and pleasure as you rocked your hips up against his ravenous mouth, desperately seeking his probing tongue despite how much you knew you shouldn't.

Evidently pleased by your jutting hips, he moaned deeply, running his tongue broadly across your cunt before focusing his attention on your swollen clit and pressing two thick fingers inside of you as he tongued and nipped and bit the sensitive little bud, just to hear you try to squeal and cry into the gag.

"Mm, I love all those desperate little noises," He growled, pressing a hungry kiss to your soft thigh, his teeth bruising and biting and leaving more evidence of his conquest over your body. "I might even like them a little more when you're gagged. They just sound so needy and pathetic, I can’t get enough."

Your face flushed bright red at the insult, though that only made him laugh and press another deep kiss to your cunt, worming his tongue into what little space was left around his fingers (which had taken to rubbing against a particularly sensitive spot inside of you that always drove you crazy). 

You breathed out heavily through your nose, squeezing your eyes shut as you tried desperately to chase after more touches, more of the burning hot pleasure, however bad it made you feel after the fact.

You just wanted to feel good. Was that such a bad thing?

You didn't think so.

“ Ich möchte dich verschlingen, ” He whispered hotly against your skin, biting down on your thigh again before he pulled away and pressed the hard bulge in his slacks against the warm, wet space permitted by your cunt. “ Meine fleisch, meine liebe .”

He didn't even bother pulling himself out of his slacks as he rutted against you, his lip between his teeth as he stared down at you hungrily, your flushed cheeks, your watering eyes, your parted lips drooling down your chest and making the white tank covering your chest wet and almost see through.

"God, if you could look at yourself now," He growled, pressing his face against your neck and biting down, similarly hard, on the juncture between your shoulder and your neck, the space where your collar didn’t cover. "If you could see what I turned you into ."

You whimpered helplessly, opening your eyes to tiny slits to peer up at him wearily, groaning into your gag.

"Fucking slut," He smirked, running his tongue along his teeth as he bit you, and bit you, and bit you and bit you and bit you and bit you- " MY fucking slut. There was no way I was going to leave you with Ren while I was gone...let him claim what was mine the second he had the chance to. No way."

Your eyes widened just a touch at that particular reveal, before he reached up with his free hand to grab your face roughly, his big hands squeezing your cheeks and keeping your eyes glued to his. 

"You're mine," He growled, his voice intensely serious. "Mine to hurt, to fuck, to kiss, to kill, to fucking love, however I fucking want to. Never forget that, ja?”

Maybe he had been granting you a mercy by gagging you. 

So you couldn’t admit your love as easily as he could, in spite of how much you wanted to.

You nodded helplessly, all the same, in place of an actual confession. “Good girl,” He murmured, his voice a little lower as his rutting hips slowed, just a tad. “Such a good girl, fraulein. A good girl for me. Just for me”

Lingerie/Panties (Ren/MC)

"Aw, you look so cute!"

Ren cooed excitedly, raising his hands up to his mouth to cover his beaming smile, his tail wagging up frantically behind his small body.

You grimaced tightly as you stood still in front of the young man, crossing your arms over your chest (trying not to push it forward or expose your cleavage too much) and shifting uncomfortably as you shivered in the relative warmth of his bedroom, your body barely covered by the skimpy lingerie he had given you (coerced you into).

"I almost can't bear it," He said as he bit his lip, barely suppressing a giggle as he stood forward to admire you more closely, his golden eyes gleaming. "You fill it out so well! All your curves and slopes," He tilted his head as he looked at you a little more intently. “You really look so perfect.”

"Asshole," You murmured, trying to adjust your position to make your outfit sit a little worse on your body, shifting your hips and dropping your chest so it was less obviously pressed against the... cat-shaped hole in your bralette. God, he was truly unbearable sometimes. "Where have you put my other underwear? I really don't want to walk around like this all night, when it’s so cold..."

"Mm, but you know I hate it when you're all covered up," He replied with a little pout, standing a little closer and idly toying with the intricate bows that kept the bralette pulled tightly around your chest and up your shoulders. "You don't really need to wear clothes anyway, not around me. Ha, how silly of me," He laughed softly again and leaned in even closer, running the tip of his nose against your jaw. "Pets don't wear clothes, you shouldn’t have been wearing them at all~"

"I'm not-" You squeaked, a flush to your cheeks and an uncomfortable burning in your core, trying to take a step backward before the edge of the bed hit the back of your thighs. It made you shiver again. "I'm not your pet..."

"Oh, are you really that cold, sweetie?" Ren said softly, completely ignoring your protest as his hands reached down to your full, scarred hips to idly toy with the matching bows that rested on your hips. "I'll have to keep the house extra warm for you then...although," He giggled again, reaching up with one hand to run a claw over the little, pierced nub of your nipple which was pressing up against the bralette. "I have to admit, it would be pretty cute to see you shivering all the time. See your cute little nipples hard all the time, too..."

Your face flushed in embarrassment as Ren drew closer and touched you so intimately. You knew that you should push him away, you knew you should stop all of this, you knew that...but part of you didn't want to, part of you wanted to let Ren do whatever he pleased with you. 

You didn't know when you had stopped fighting against this. You didn't know when he had broken you down so far.

Would you ever get your old self back? And did you even want it back?

"Do you like the idea of that?" Ren then asked, his voice soft and crooning and gentle as he gently pressed your body down to sit against the bed, so that he was taller than you (for once), his ears twitching and his tail wagging. "Me buying you pretty outfits and keeping you dressed up and warm and taken care of all the time?"

"Mph," You did your best to suppress a soft groan, looking down at the floor to avoid Ren's gaze. You struggled to maintain your composure, your voice trembling as you spoke up again, your anger gradually dissipating more and more when he spoke to you so sweetly, when he promised you such nice things. "Yeah...take care of me. Please."

"There we go," He purred with a triumphant little smile, leaning down to press a sweet kiss to your forehead, making you flinch and whimper. "There's my good pet, giving up for me."

You swallowed hard, your eyes flitting back down to the ground as your cheeks flushed a little more, humiliated and defeated, like even your body was conceding that he had taken every sense of humanity from you, and had done it so easily, too.

You would be good, you would wear the outfits he wanted, the lacy frills, the fetishistic underwear, the costumes...you were tired of being bad.

You wanted to be good. You wanted him to be good to you.

He gave you another kiss on the cheek before reaching up to stroke your hair reassuringly.

"I'll get you something warmer to wear, hm? And then I can make you something warm for dinner." He said softly, a gentle suggestion that you knew there was no chance of arguing around.

"Mm...yeah, thank you." You nodded, glancing up with a little, submissive smile. "That sounds nice."

Bondage (All/MC)

🥀

"Keep still, I can't have you moving around like this."

Lawrence's voice was a low growl as they wound duct tape tightly around your ankles and down the backs of your feet, each movement too erratic and thoughtless for them to make sure they weren't hurting you or burning into your skin with the thick, tight tape. 

You yelped and squirmed as best you could when they pushed you onto your front, first winding the tape around your knees (thusly pinning your thighs together too) and then forcing your arms into an uncomfortable, prayer-hands position against the sloping concave of your back, before winding the tape around your wrists and palms and pinning them there, rendering you totally helpless as they kept going with their uncomfortable bondage. 

Their breathing was getting a little ragged the more they bound you, and when they pressed up against your body, tearing off a strip of tape and laying it flat against your forearm, you could feel their hard cock through their sweatpants, rocking up against your backside. 

"There...there," They murmured very softly, finally setting the duct tape down and letting their now unoccupied hands gently hold your hips, keeping you still, stopping your squirming. "That's...all I wanted to do. You understand that, right? I just..." They trailed off as their hands trailed down your hips, down your plush thighs pushed together by the bondage, down to your bound feet. "I just needed you to stop moving...drawing attention, just in case someone heard."

You took in a shaking breath against the cushion they had forced your head down into, trembling as you felt their thumbs run down the sensitive soles of your feet, quickly pulling back when they curled, when you let out a helpless whimper at their curious touches.

"Please let me go," You whined softly as their hands went back up to your hips, pressing themselves against you again, their cock still hard as they rocked your body into the bed. "Please, I promise I won't tell a soul about this."

"I know you won't," They replied, though their voice was a little more rasped and thick with pleasure when they found a warm spot against your backside, against the tight crotch of your jeans, to rock up against. "Because I'm not going to let you go. I...I don't even know what I want to do with you, but I know that much. I can't let you go, now." They draped themselves over your back then, pressing their chest against your shoulders, one hand staying on your hips as the other reached up to pull your hair away from your neck, so they could look at you. "I want you much too badly to let that happen."

You can feel your cheeks flush darkly as you squeezed your eyes shut, biting your lip as you felt theirs press against the exposed skin of your neck in a sweet kiss, your bound body shivering and trembling as they continued to rut their hips against your ass, despite the gentleness from their trailing hands and lips.

You were trying to will it away, trying to get away from this situation, but you couldn't. And what was worse, your core was beginning to stir, responding to Lawrence's movements.

"You're beautiful," Lawrence murmured hotly against your skin, digging their shaking fingers into your hips as they tried to push harder against you, making your legs tremble and struggle to hold them up. "I...I had to have you, you know? It was like a compulsion, and I..." They attempt a weak little chuckle, nestling their nose into your hair and taking a deep inhale, smelling you. "I know it sounds crazy. I know I AM crazy, but..."

"Y-You're not crazy, Lawrence..." You stammered softly, your fists curling at the small of your back, beneath the tight duct tape. "I don't think you're crazy. Just, please, let me go and I can help you, I can get you help-"

"Ah," They cut you off as their body stilled against yours, before they let out a little breath and pulled themselves away from you. "Ah...of course you'd lie to me. I should have expected that. But...well, that's okay."

They reached over for the duct tape again, a sight that made you immediately tense up and start to struggle and squirm.

"I'm not looking for you to validate me, or validate who I am," They said softly, taking your shoulder in a strong hand and forcing you onto your back, looking at your face with dull eyes. "I know who I am. I know what I'm capable of," Their grey eyes were so blown with...arousal? Anger? You weren't sure. "But you don't know what I'm capable of, do you?"

They lowered their face close to yours, their blonde hair falling over their shoulders and tickling your burning cheeks.

A mocking smile came to their face.

"You don't know what I could do to you, how I could hurt you, how I could kill you, if I really wanted to. You don't know any of that." They murmured softly, taking another slow inhale of your scent before they sat up again, and ripped the tape away from the roll. "On second thought, I don't need you to talk. I might like you better silent, actually."

You didn't have the opportunity to argue against what they were saying before they grabbed your cheeks in a rough grip and laid the strip of tape over your lips, taking the time to wind the roll around your head a few times, catching your hair in the tight stickiness and making it all the more painful.

"That's better," They muttered softly, their voice growing even more ragged as they tore off the strip and took your cheeks in hand again, staring down at you, their gaze growing even hungrier and more flushed. "Yes, that's much better. That'll do nicely."

They smiled again, before bringing their lips down to your gagged ones, giving you a sweet kiss.

You whimpered beneath your gag, squeezing your eyes shut, the only movement you were even capable of now.

"I'll keep you like this now. Just as I want you."

🦊

Ren's hands were careful and considered as he knotted the pale pink ropes down your chest, his claws delicately catching and grazing against your skin in a way you guessed was deliberate, hungry for bloody, little wounds that marred your skin and made you his.

Having kept you in the hideously girly, pink lingerie set from the previous day, Ren wanted to make things a little more intense by presenting you with a matching, pastel pink bondage set from the top shelf of his closet, intricate, leather cuffs for your wrists and ankles, a blindfold, a ballgag, and a coil of rope to top it all off.

For now, though, your wrists were cuffed behind your back as he tied the intricate shibari tie, a tutorial on his phone screen nearby to make sure he was doing everything right. 

All things considered, Ren's dexterity and focus were pretty remarkable, as he seemed to be doing everything correctly, pulling the exact right knots into the exact right positions and making sure it didn't bite into your skin too much, still prioritising your comfort over anything else for the time being. 

"How does it feel?" He asked with a smile, his voice as mellow as ever as he took the trailing ropes in hand and gave it a little yank, making sure it was secure and the knots were taut and tight. "I've actually never tried this before...you have to tell me how it's feeling, okay?"

"Okay," You murmured softly with a quick nod, as he slowly pulled the ropes between your legs, trembling a little as he pulled them tight against the (slightly damp) gusset of your panties. The pressure against your cunt was enough to make you pull at your cuffs. "Ah, y-yeah, it's fine...it feels fine." 

His hunger was evident when he looked at your body, but you still had the impression that, though he clearly wanted to touch you, to reach out and feel you, feel the heat of your panties against the ropes, he was resisting the urge to for now, knowing that it would be disrespectful to do so while you were in such a delicate headspace.

"Hey. Don't try to escape, okay?" He warned softly, his tone chiding and matter-of-fact, like he was scolding a child and not...well, talking down what was effectively a hostage. "I'm being gentle with you for the time being, so...don't make me regret that."

"I-I'm not," You replied quickly, letting your bound wrists fall still as he shifted behind you and pulled the ropes against your cunt harder, like it was a little punishment for your indiscretion. "I'm not trying to, I won't try to...s-sorry."

"It's alright..." There was an obvious smile on Ren's face as he pulled the ropes around to your front and through the knots down your chest, pulling them taut in the pattern of a tortoiseshell (a design you recognised very quickly from the various comics and cartoons he read and watched and insisted weren't pornographic). "You're behaving now, you're being a good girl for me, and I appreciate that a lot. It's a lot more fun when you're good, isn't it?"

You nodded shyly, bashfully, swallowing a little harder as the ropes of the harness were pulled a notch tighter and fed into the quasi-collar of rope around your neck, which he quickly knotted to keep secure. 

Ren's smile grew from one of anticipation to one that was slightly more malicious and desirous as he moved back in front of you, crawling around you on his knees and staring down hungrily at the tight ropes digging into your skin, making your flesh bulge around each of the harsh lines of pale, pink rope.

"So cute..." He said softly, leaning in close, his tail wagging erratically as his ears twitched. "So pretty..." He stared at all the places where the rope had bitten into your delicate skin, relishing in the swelling and harsh redness around the knots. "You look so perfect for me like this, pet. So, so pretty and trussed up and...hah..."

You took in a shuddering gasp, raising your chin a little as he lowered his face down to the crook of your neck, almost scenting you, the tufting fur of his ears caressing your cheeks as he did so. He pressed his cheek against yours for a moment, sniffing your hair as it trailed down your shoulders, the proximity making it that much harder for him to contain himself, evident from the way he quickly straddled one of your spread thighs and began to rut down against it.

"Can I do the rest?" He mumbled hotly against your cheek, panting a little as he reached up to grope your chest through the bralette while he palmed himself. "Like, the gag and the blindfold? Can I use those...please?"

"R-Ren," You squeaked, biting your lip with a little whimper as he pressed himself against you even harder, his chest against yours, his rapid breaths hot on your skin. "I don't...I don't want you to use those things on me..."

"It'll be okay." He insisted, a little frantically. "I'll be right here looking after you, and I'll be good, I promise, I will." He pressed himself against you again, gasps against your neck, his movements slightly jerky as he rutted faster and harder, each motion almost feverish. Like he was going mad from his own desperation. "Please, please let me...I want to see it finished."

Unsure of what to say (if you could even say anything), you let out a shuddering breath, jerking your chin upwards even further and biting your lip to suppress more whimpers and cries of mercy as he continued to grope your chest and palm his cock.

"Tell me you want it," He whispered with a slightly manic edge to his voice, pressing his nose into your cheek as his tail kept wagging "Say it. Give away the power...before I take it from you. You know I will."

You swallowed hard with another little whimper.

"You've already taken it," You murmured softly, looking down towards your spread thighs, his rutting hips, as he reached for the cheap ballgag, not even bothering to wait for your reply, your consent for him to do as he wanted. "Why even give me the choice?"

"Yeah...I suppose you're right," Ren then said, his voice still surprisingly soft as he stopped rutting his hips for a moment. "I guess I just wanted to hear you say it. Feel like maybe...you wanted me like I want you." 

His softly spoken explanation was certainly counteracted as he pressed the ballgag (cheap and firm plastic, the leather already biting into your skin) against your lips roughly and slowly worked it in between your teeth as you whimpered and whined and tried to pull away from him.

"But it doesn't matter if you don't want me. Not really," He whispered, pressing his cheek against yours once again, inhaling deeply as he watched you helpless and unable to speak. "Not when I have you like this...I can pretend all I want, can't I?"

🔨

"NGH! Fucking cunt!"

You fought furiously underneath Strade's body, kicking legs and fighting fists, as he pressed both palms against your shoulders and pinned you down against the basement's cement floor with all of his weight, gritting his teeth and breathing outwards with exertion as his hair clung to his sweaty face.

You had managed to get a few punches in, probably bruising his cheek badly and bloodying up his nose as it streamed down his chin and dripped on your naked chest, which encouraged you to keep fighting, but he certainly wasn't making it easy, nor was he relenting on you in any way possible.

"Hah...I have to admit, I'm pretty impressed. Not many people put up so much of a fight however many months in!" He growled with a dirty grin, his accent especially thick, placing his palm in the middle of your chest and leaning up to wipe his bloody nose on the back of his hand before licking it clean with a dark look in his eyes down towards you. "But I really am going to need to you settle down before you do something you regret. You don't have a death wish, do you?"

"Fuck you," You spat, letting out a wheezing grunt of pain as your head fell back against the floor, your chest heaving under his weight, your lungs desperately trying to keep up with your fighting spirit. "Fuck you and fuck this fucking place, you fucking prick!"

"Hmph," He let out a huffed laugh through his nose as his brows furrowed thoughtfully. "Alright then, I'll play the way you want to." Strade then leaned back, sitting his full hips down against yours and reaching to his waist, fumbling around with his belt as if looking for something. "I'm gonna need those hands to keep still first though, okay, bud?"

"NGH!" You grimaced tightly as you attempted to punch up to his chest again, but not before he quickly grabbed your wrists in one strong hand, forcing them and your arms out straight in front of you, your shoulders straining from his strength, almost threatening to pop right out of their sockets as he forced your back off the ground with a mean pull. "FUCK, stop, STOP, they're gonna break-!"

"Ah, don't be dramatic," He said with a roll of his eyes, cuffing your wrists together tightly with a pair of metal handcuffs (where did he even get those?) and finally letting your back drop back down to the ground and letting your aching shoulders rest. "I'm not gonna break your shoulders, but those hands..."

Despite the blood still clinging to his skin, he grinned as he placed his palm against yours, admiring your trembling fingers as they curled into tight fists around the tight metal cuffs.

"I'd love to see those fingers bend backward . I wonder how far we can manage before they break ."

You shrieked again, your eyes wide and bloodshot as he held onto the thick chain of the handcuffs with one hand and grabbed the pointer finger of your right hand with the other, tilting it back, little by little, enough to get you desperately bucking and squirming underneath him. 

"Stop, stop, stop!" You pleaded, a spring of tears falling down your cheeks as the bone in your fingers started to strain. "I'm sorry, I won't fight back anymore, I won't, I promise!"

"Ah, nicht so stark jetzt , eh?" He smiled with a dark chuckle, raising a brow and tilting his head in a particularly condescending way. "Not so strong when I'm planning on breaking one of your pretty little fingers."

"Mph," You whimpered as he pulled back just a touch more, the bone in your knuckle popping against your skin painfully. "Strade, p-please, I'm sorry, I won't fight anymore, I won't..."

"You know..." He purred, his eyes softening just a touch though his smile didn't relent, even a little. "I don't think I believe you. I think I'm going to have to force you to submit to me."

With that, he pulled back your finger completely with a sickening snap , your finger breaking in his grip, an excruciatingly sharp pain shooting across your hand and down your arm, making you scream out loud.

"That's one," He said with an indulgent look, staring at your mangled finger as he took the middle finger in hand and yanked that back too. "Shall we say ' two for two '? You popped two punches at me, I get to break two of your fingers...what do you think?"

"I hate you," You mumbled with a pathetic sniffle, your breathing shaking and shuddering with sobs as you peered up towards him as tears clung to your fluttering eyelids. "I hate you so much..."

"Aw," He replied with a slight click of his tongue, tilting his head. "That's not nice to say, fraulein ...especially when I like you so much."

He yanked the second finger back forcibly with another painful snap , shooting just as much, if not more, pain through your arm. 

You screamed again, breathing heavily through your teeth, tears streaming down your cheeks as you tried desperately hard to wrench your wrist from his vice-like grip. 

Strade looked down at your trembling, mangled hand, evidently satisfied, when he finally let go of your wrists and let you cradle your bound hands back to your chest with a huffed sob, a cruel smile forming on his bloody face.

"Look at how much you're trembling...you look so pathetic, liebling . And pretty hot, if I'm going to be honest." He chuckled again, wiping up his bloody nose again. "I'm enjoying this an awful lot."

He reached forward and gently brushed the sweaty hair out of your desperately flushed face, smiling broader as he did so.

"You really are adorable like this. I mean, you're in such a position to be played with, all you can do is beg for mercy. It's just so...enticing. Makes me want to do bad things to you."

You were silent as you peered up towards him, the pain still shooting down your trembling fingers and through your body. 

He had beaten any sense of fight out of you, as he so often did. 

It would have been unfair, if you weren't so fucking easy to beat down.

After a few moments of heavy silence, he reached for the chain of the handcuffs again, prying your hands away from your chest, but instead of torturing your fingers any further, he just rubbed his thumb against your palm encouragingly, gently, like he was trying to calm you down.

"I'm surprised...I thought you would be more of a challenge. But it really is quite thrilling to see you so helpless." 

Strade looked down at you and smiled mischievously, dipping his head to press a kiss to your unwounded knuckle.

"I think a night down here would do you good...remind you of your place, hm? What do you think?"

Emetophilia (Lawrence/MC)

"OH, GOD, LAW-!"

You managed a disgusted yelp, a repulsed grimace on your face as you attempted to wriggle away from Lawrence's hunched-up, still retching form, though their hold on your body stayed firm as ever as they spewed their guts out all over your naked body.

The vomit was thick and almost heavy as it weighed down on your skin, both in sensation and scent, since it smelled of beer, microwaved food, and rot, just like Lawrence always smelled. The greasy feel of it clung to your skin like slime or ectoplasm (if you could possibly know what those things felt like) and despite how still you were trying to be, it managed to drip down every sensitive area of your body and cover each of your shuddering curves. 

You cringed, looking down at your shaking stomach now painted in milky-yellow puke, trying to suppress the urge to vomit yourself.

"F-Fuck," They stammered, finally looking up towards you with an absolutely mortified expression on their face, their pale skin even paler (almost green in hue) as they reached up to cover their vomit-slicked lips with trembling fingers, looking like they were about ready to puke again. "I'm so sorry, I don't know what came over me...I-I just couldn't hold it back, I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry." 

"It's okay, Law," You mumbled with an attempt at a smile, though you were still repulsed as you looked down at yourself, as the vomit slowly made its way down your stomach and towards Lawrence's still hips. "Just...just let me up and we can clean ourselves off, okay? And then we'll take care of you, okay?"

They said nothing for a moment, swallowing hard and wiping their mouth down their chin, their bottom lip pulled down and exposing pale gums, doe-grey eyes wide and panicked, before they...began to move again, pressing themselves deeper inside of you, since they were still as hard as they had been before, for whatever reason.

It felt good, of course, it did, but that didn't get rid of the fact that you were still absolutely covered in their vomit, and the more they moved, the more it moved with you.

"Lawrence," You then said, your voice taking on a note of firmness as you glared up at them, meeting their eyes with your own. "Let me up. Now." Your voice had lost a bit of its usual edge though, and your quivering lip wasn’t going to be intimidating anyone soon.

"Ah," They gasped softly, lowering their body back against yours, their chest pressing into the broad puddle of vomit still clinging to your own. "I...I want to keep going. I'm sorry I threw up, but I...I have to keep going. You understand?"

"Don't keep going!" You nearly shouted, outraged, though they quickly covered your mouth with a broad palm (god, was that the one they wiped their puke up with, fuck-), their other hand reaching round to fist in your hair and keep you pinned still.

"Be good," They growled softly, so quietly and dangerously, lowering their head down to your level, their lips inches from yours, so close you could still smell vomit on their breath. "I'm going to keep going...so enjoy it, or don't. I don't care which." 

You swallowed hard and whimpered against their palm as they continued to thrust up into you, keeping your head still.

"Be good...be good."

Barely seconds after removing their palm from your mouth, they kissed you hard, their sour tongue immediately pressing between your lips like an invasive species, and you were forced to taste the vile, acidic remnants of bile and vomit on their lips, their tongue. 

You squirmed and wriggled underneath them, trying to shove them away, your arms against their strong shoulders and broad chest, but your refusal to acclimate to what they wanted and the way you fought back against them seemed to only excite (and annoy) them more, as they started to thrust in and out of you again, with a new kind of vigor. 

The combined sensation of the crushing kiss and their tongue in your mouth, and the aching stretch of your cunt around their monstrous cock, pushing deep, so deep you felt it nudge against your fucking cervix, made you moan involuntarily against their lips and hungry mouth. You could hear every one of their pleased sounds too, as they fucked into you harder, pressing your chests together and coating themselves in their own vomit even more, like the two of you were bathing in it. 

It’s fucked up. It’s so fucked up, but you couldn’t deny how arousing it was knowing that they'd fuck you, even when you were covered in their vomit and when you smelled like shit. 

You could feel your cunt clench tight around them as the burning shame in the pit of your stomach made you moan even louder against their invasive kiss. Your eyes rolled back into your skull, and, dizzy with sickening pleasure, you allowed yourself to press your vomit slick fingers into their long hair and let them fuck you as they wanted.

It’s sick. 

They were sick. 

But you were so, so much worse for wanting it so bad that it ached.

Collars (Strade/MC)

"I have a present for you."

Strade’s voice was deceptively cheerful, almost airy in how light it was, as he approached you early in the morning, while you were still nursing a cup of coffee and a slice of wholewheat toast (he had good taste in sourdough, if you were going to give him credit for anything).

"Oh?" You glanced up cautiously, taking another long sip of coffee as you toyed with the thick crust of your toast, letting it break and fall apart on your plate. You didn’t trust that any gift from him would go well for you, not even for a minute. But you weren’t stupid enough to say that. "What's the occasion?"

"Come on now, don't play dumb," He chuckled, reaching forward to ruffle your hair and curl his fingers into it, a fist at the base of your skull, giving your head a little shake as he did so (reminding you of the number of times he’d done it before, bashed your head into cement, brick, bone). "Don't tell me you've forgotten already. It's our anniversary!"

"Anniversary?" You mumbled, swallowing thickly and setting your mug down, your face tight with a grimace as he curled his fingers tighter and tighter into your hair (threatening, always threatening, always keeping you alert and ready). "It's...it's been a year? Really?" 

"Yes, yes," He said, smiling as he brought his stubbly chin down to the crown of your hand, his free hand going down to your shoulder and rubbing his palm down your bare arm, feeling your goosebumps. It's almost a hug and it almost makes you vomit. "How time flies, eh? It feels like just yesterday I was picking you up at that seedy bar and we were spending our first night together."

You swallowed again. 

You had to, or you might have been sick.

"But I'm getting off-topic," He mumbled into your hair, his hand stilling as he held your shoulder, his fingers gripping a little tighter, digging into your skin (as he had done so many times before, you had the scars to prove it, to prove how much he liked digging into you ). "I have a gift for you, to celebrate such a happy day. Would you like it?"

"Mm..." You hummed uncomfortably, biting your lip, suddenly not hungry, and thoroughly put off the idea of finishing your breakfast. "Sure...that sounds nice."

"Good," He praised you casually, carelessly, (just as he hurt you so causally and carelessly, treating you like a toy he could throw away if he so chose to) as he let go of your shoulder (and your hair) and stepped to your side, a gift in hand wrapped in brown paper and twine. It was so normal looking, you almost laughed. "Here we are. Just for you."

You ran your tongue over your bottom lip nervously (you had bit it hard enough that it started to sting, it was the least amount of pain you’ve felt in days) as you took the little package, your hands shaking. 

You half expected it to blow up in your hands, or to start oozing blood or moving, like he had cut off a still-living limb from a new playmate that had been doomed to rot in the basement and gifted it to you, but nothing like that happened.

He waited expectantly for you to unwrap the gift, and...well, you had no reason not to.

Not really.

You untied the twine and removed the brown paper from the gift, your fingers brushing up against the cool metal that lay underneath.

It was a collar. 

Brand new and polished to pristine condition, you made note of as you pulled it from the paper, and lightweight enough in your palm that it probably wouldn't have even left the bruises on your neck and shoulders that your current one did.

"Out with the old, and in with the new," He said with an amused laugh, crossing his arms over his chest proudly while you gaped at the new collar, before taking the controller for your current collar from his trouser pocket and giving the button a quick click. 

The painful, bone-achingly sharp shock didn't emit like you had expected it to (like it had so many times before, you hadn’t even done anything wrong, he just did it when he felt like it) , instead, the tight metal clasp popped open at the nape of your neck and you felt it loosen instantly.

You gasped and reached up to grab it quickly, so it wouldn't fall, before rubbing your bruised skin with a relieved groan, feeling the slightly scabby bumps that the sharp prongs from the shock mechanism had left behind at the top of your spine.

"Now, don't tell Ren, I really can’t have him getting jealous," He said with a teasing tone to his voice, pacing back to his spot behind you and removing the old collar, setting it down on the counter (no doubt to be used on another helpless plaything, a pet he decided to claim as your replacement, who even fucking knew). "But your new collar doesn't even have a shock emitter in it, not yet. I figured, well, it's been a year now...I think I can trust you not to do anything stupid, since you've been so well-behaved up until now. Acting like such a little suck-up. It’s pretty cute!"

He didn't ask permission as he took your new collar in hand and brought it up to your neck, slipping it around your throat and clicking it into place, the new metal band a little looser around your neck than the previous one, but still just as immovable.

You barely resisted a whimper as you reached up to touch the polished metal, feeling the notch at your throat that he could use for…well, whatever he wanted (a leash, an o-ring, a tag that had your name, his address, a plea to ‘please take me home, I miss my owner!’)

If anything, this new collar laid his claim on you even more so than the last one.

The last collar, as heavy and as painful as it was, implied at least a certain degree of resistance, symbolising a painful punishment for misbehavior that must have happened frequently enough to necessitate such a brutal contraption.

This one told everyone what you were with just one look, that you were truly a spineless animal who didn't even need to be threatened with punishment anymore, because they thought so little of themselves, they didn't even try to fight back.

It told everyone that you had handed him your submission on a silver plate, and he had proved his ownership of you to be long-standing, brutal, and true.

He might have been bad, so bad, maybe even evil, but God, you were so much worse.

"Ah, it looks perfect. Not like I had any doubt," He toyed with the notch of the collar with a little smirk clear to his voice, triumphant and victorious, and no doubt imagining the things he could do with it. "You always look perfect."

"Mm," You bit your lip, eyes flitting downwards towards your old collar, unable to look back at him, unwilling to, (you might have cried if you even tried to).

"Aren't you going to say thank you?" He then asked, his voice a harsh whisper in your ear after a heavy moment of quiet, a thick finger trailing along the metal and back over the tight clasp that bolted you to him, permanently, if he decided to keep you . "I went through all the trouble of making it for you, after all…I think I deserve something in return."

"Ah...yeah," You cleared your throat and looked over your shoulder, through your thick hair (it had grown out in the year of him keeping you, he hadn’t cut it, he didn’t want to) back at him, an attempt at a weak smile on your face. "Thank you…I love it, I really do."

"You're so welcome," He purred, satisfied with your gratitude (at least for now) as he pressed another kiss to the crown of your head, humming happily against your skin as he wound his arms around your waist, pulling you tight to his body. 

You squeezed your eyes shut, your hands trembling at your sides. 

"Happy anniversary, liebling ...let's hope we get to another year, hm?"

Overstimulation (Ren/MC)

"Ah-ah-ah-!" You gasped brokenly as your hips rutted up desperately against the wide, rumbling head of the hitachi, wielded like a weapon, something to be used against you and to cause you pain, as his other hand roughly groped your chest, his claws digging into your skin.

"Oh, those sounds are way too cuuute~" Ren cooed condescendingly, rolling your nipple (pert and pink and oh-so-sensitive from all his teasing) between his thumb and pointer finger, pressing the vibrator even harder against your cunt as he brought his face closer to yours, sharp teeth smiling as he watched you hungrily, like you were a squirming animal in his trap. "Is that what I do to you, baby? Do I make you sound all porny and desperate, hmmm?~"

"Mmph..." You squeezed your eyes shut, tugging hard at the zip-tie that kept you bound and secured the basement's support beam and biting your lip, hard enough that you might have been concerned about drawing blood (if you could even think). When he tilted the vibrator a little, rubbing the ridged side against your clit, you took in a broken gasp, your eyes shooting wide again, staring up at the swinging lightbulb behind his head like it was the only thing you had left. "Nghhh, stoooop, I can't-!"

Ren giggled a little, running his tongue over his shining, wet jaws before leaning in close, pressing his nose against your neck, taking in your scent. 

"Not yet, not just yet," He whispered as he pressed the vibrator down a little harder, listening to your hitched breaths as he dragged it up and down your weeping slit, stimulating every sensitive area you had. "You can take it, I know you can take it. Don't you want just a little more, anyway? Don't you want to make me proud? I can make you feel so much better..." He nuzzled his face against your neck then, his own breath growing ragged and his tail wagging erratically as he kept pawing at your chest. "I'm the only one who can make you feel this good, after all."

"R-Ren, please, I really can't take it," You whimpered desperately, your voice quivering as much as your body was, trying to plead to him as he stared intently at your sweaty face. "It hurts, please..."

"Oh, you poor thing..." Ren said with a pleased sigh, a condescending click of his tongue. "You should believe in yourself more. You just need the right kind of encouragement, I think..."

He stopped groping your chest for a moment to caress your cheek and push your hair away from your hot face, an intimate and gentle gesture reserved for lovers (that feels mocking when he does it), and then leaned in, planting a firm and deep-tongued kiss to your lips, sharp fangs nipping your lips and making you bleed.

Unable to fight back, you groaned helplessly, your eyelids fluttering and your body tensing up as he kissed you, the hand on your cheek pushing your head back against the support beam, pinning you still so he could take you exactly as he wanted you. 

"I just love the sound of your moans, you know," He whispered against your lips, parted and panting, a thin string of spittle connecting them and threatening to break. "And your reactions, god, they're getting me so hot... and I'm not even halfway done with you."

Not even halfway done. How on earth were you going to survive this?

Ren chuckled quietly, almost innocently, biting his lip to suppress a smile as he pressed his forehead to yours, his eyes on yours as he gradually turned the vibrator up a few more notches, the buzzing getting louder and so much more intense.

"God-!"

You gritted your teeth with a desperate whine, your toes curling against the cold cement floor and your legs trembling underneath him, where he was straddling you and gradually rutting his own hips down against you. 

"Please, please stop, I can't, I can't-!"

"Oh no. I don't think I'm ready to stop just yet." Ren replied with another little chuckle, his playful smile broadening further into a sharp grin, his smile lines dimpling. "After all, you are so very pretty when you're all turned on like this. When you're drooling as much as your cunt is." He giggled again, his pale cheeks flushed pink, like he was saying something especially naughty. "So many cute sounds just waiting to be made, like you're my very own personal hentai..." 

A lecherous look came to his golden eyes as he turned up the vibrator another notch.

"Let's see if we can make just a few more, shall we?"

"AHHHN!" You cried out, your back arching and your eyes squeezing shut tight, your lips trembling as he pressed even closer to you, his chest practically pressed against yours, tilting the hitachi again and rubbing the bumped ridge of it against your hard clit, stimulating where you were most sensitive and relishing in just how much it was torturing you. "MPH!"

"Ohhh, oh, baby, that's it. You're doing oh-so-well, doing such a good job for me." He whispered hotly, kissing up your neck, his tongue occasionally darting out to lick over already existing bruises. "Why don't you be a good girl for me and just let yourself feel every single little thing I can give you, hm?" He tilted his head, his ears twitching. "It's easier than resisting it, right? Easier to be honest than to keep lying to yourself that you don't adore this feeling~"

"Pleaseeee," You drawled, a viscous string of spittle trickling from your lips and down your chin, tears beading in your eyes, your forehead sweating from the effort of keeping yourself from breaking apart completely under him. "Please, please, fill me up then, make me cum, I can't take it-!"

Ren laughed out loud upon hearing your request, digging his knee into your spread thigh, painful and heavy. 

"Are you begging now? Really?" He chuckled. "I'm not sure if you're in the position to be doing that, sweetie. But, yeah, maybe I will fill you...or maybe I'll do something else." 

The vibe went up another notch. Your eyes rolled back in your skull and you were beginning to lose the ability to even make words anymore.

"And I can do so much more than this too..." He whispered, pressing his cheek against yours and staring at your face, watching as your expression gave away just how much you were getting lost in the pleasure, eyes going hazy and your mind fuzzing into fog behind it. "I can make you feel so many things... so many things you haven't felt before. I can make this last forever, if I really wanted to." He giggled softly and gave you a light peck on your trembling lips. "That's an idea, isn't it? Keeping you tied up in this basement, rutting against a vibrator, cumming your brains out day after day. Maybe I'll be kind enough to fuck you sometimes too, if you ask for it super nicely. Sometimes."

Another notch. You felt your body jerk and spasm, a puppet with cut strings, a toy moments from breaking.

You wondered how many other toys he had broken. Then wondered how you still even had enough of a brain to think about that.

"I can do a lot of things to you, and I intend to do each and every one. Just as I please."

Breathplay (Lawrence/MC)

Your breath hitched tightly in your chest, tight enough to hurt, tight enough that it made your lungs burn and throb, as the plastic bag was slipped over your head and pulled around your neck.

Taking in what very little air you could and making the plastic constrict even tighter as you did so, you fought desperately hard against the strong grip around your neck, big hands (beautiful hands, hands you admired and fantasised about) unrelenting as they held the plastic tightly, undeterred by your convulsing body, and utterly silent.

Like they were doing this just to listen to your wheezing gasps of breath, just to listen to you as you were about to die.

"HGK-!" You gasped again, your eyes rolling back into your skull (showing the milky whites and bloodshot veins) with each heaving breath, sucking plastic into your gasping mouth, reaching up with bound hands to Lawrence's wrists to try and pry them away, though to no avail. 

They just held on tighter, forcing your squirming, spasming body upright, almost on your tiptoes just to meet their height.

Your limbs felt heavier and heavier with each second, sluggish and slow like you were moving in slow motion. 

Every part of your body hurts.

You knew that one day, Lawrence was probably going to kill you but not this soon, not like this, not without giving you a fighting, fucking chance-

Eventually, probably seconds before you were about to pass out (or die), they relented and let you go, watching curiously as you fell gracelessly to the floor with a heaving gasp of air, like a fish out of water.

"God," You moaned helplessly as you tried to climb up to your knees and get away from your captor, your watering eyes tearing up and your shoulders beginning to shake with barely there sobs. "God, oh God, oh God…"

"Stop complaining," Lawrence murmured through a low (and familiar) monotone, taking a step closer towards you and pressing a socked foot to your thigh, forcing you onto your back so that they could stand over you and admire your helpless body as it shook. "It's not that bad…"

"Law, please," You whimpered through your sobs, watching with wide, terrified eyes as they palmed their hard cock through their sweatpants, the image of it long and hard at the sight of your suffering imprinted onto your mind. They had enjoyed doing this to you, it seemed. "Please, don't, I can't-"

"The human body can handle an awful lot," They continued with a slight tilt of their head, a faint flush to their cheeks as they groped themselves more. "It can survive without air for almost six minutes. Of course, after four minutes, it's at risk of serious brain damage. Ah-" They took in their own short gasp, pale grey eyes growing hazy and lustful the more they touched themselves, prying their heavy cock from their sweatpants and gripping it tight, the flushed head drooling with pre-cum already. "But that's not a problem for me. I don't mind a broken toy to look after."

"Mph," You tried to crawl backward, warm tears trailing down your face as they sank down to one knee, and then the other, caging your body down with their own, appearing so much bigger and more monstrous than they had before. "Lawrence, please..."

"Shhh," They shushed you softly, not out of a need to treat you gently or with any degree of care, but out of a desire to keep you as quiet as possible. "That was barely thirty seconds. Let's try and get you to a whole minute, hm?"

"WAIT-!"

You couldn't even begin to say anything as they pulled the plastic bag over your head again before you even had the chance to take a proper gulp of air and prepare yourself for this torture.

The second time was so much worse than the first, your lungs already on fire from their previous abuse, the plastic constricting even tighter somehow and sticking to your sweaty face as you took in panicked gasps, writhing helplessly underneath them as they kept you pinned to the ground.

It was even worse, though, now that you were able to see Lawrence looking down on you so intensely, their grey eyes narrowed and focused as their hands clenched even tighter at each side of your neck, keeping the plastic bag taut.

"Fifty...forty-nine...forty-eight," They murmured, their voice sounding like it was underwater as their hands shook, just a touch, and their hips dipped down to meet yours, rubbing the head of their cock against the (unfortunately) weeping mound of your cunt. 

Their expression gave away at how surprised they were that you were wet (because of course you were fucking wet, wet enough that it was soaking into your panties), but they didn't stop counting, nor did they stop bucking their hips against yours, providing you both with a modicum of stimulation while they were committing such an awful act.

"Thirty-seven...thirty-six..." 

Slightly crooked teeth bit down on their bottom lip, their words trailing into soft murmurs as their cheeks grew even more flushed.

You were helpless to do anything but slowly suffocate underneath them, any trace of oxygen long gone as the plastic constricted tighter and tighter, your body completely slack and dead beneath theirs, like a wilted flower that had its stem cut.

"Twenty-three...twenty-two..."

You weren't sure when you passed out, but it was probably after you felt the splatter of warm cum soaking through your panties. 

[oh-nostalgiaa]

Writing Prompt Masterlist, Part Four

Masterlist of Writing Prompt Masterlists

The Prompts

35 Types of Hugs Prompts

100 Dialogue Prompts to Make a Reader Swoon

200 Random Dialogue Prompts

Affectionate and Affirming Prompts

Amnesia Dialogue Prompts

Angst Prompts

Angsty Question Prompts

Angsty Question Prompts, Part Two

Angsty Question Prompts, Part Three

(More) Angsty Question Prompts

Angsty Sentence Starter Prompts

Apology Starter Prompts

Attorney-at-Love Prompts

Autumn Prompts

Awkward Post-Argument Scenario Prompts

Blanket Fort Prompts

Budding Romance Prompts

Comfortember 2022 Prompts

Comforting Dying S/O Prompts

Cuddle Up a Little Closer Prompts

Dirty Kind of Teasing Prompts

Enemies to Lovers Confession Prompts

Enemies to Lovers Later in Their Lives Prompts

Establishing a Relationship Prompts

Exes to Lovers Dialogue Prompts

Exes to Lovers Sentence Starter Prompts

Extensive Scar Related Prompts

Fall Writing Prompts

First Impression Sentence Starter Prompts

First Meeting Sentence Starter Prompts

Five Senses Prompts

Fluff Bingo Prompts

Forbidden Love Sentence Starter Prompts

Friends with Benefits to Lovers Prompts

General Sentence Starter Prompts

Gentleness Action Prompts

Giving Flowers to Your Lover Prompts

Grumpy + Sunshine Dialogue Prompts

High Pain Tolerance Starter Prompts

Human x Ghost Prompts

Human x Werewolf Prompts

Hurt / Comfort Dialogue Prompts

"I'm Paying Attention" Love Language Prompts

Injury Prompts

Instigation Starter Prompts

Intimate Prompts for Slow Burn Relationships

Jealous Confession Prompts

Kiss & Tell Prompts

Long Distance OTP Prompts

Love Languages Prompts

Love Languages - Receiving Gifts Prompts

Love Realization Prompts

Mermaid AU Prompts

Morbid Curiosity Prompts

More Angst Prompts

More Talking About It Starter Prompts

New Year's Dialogue Prompts

Nice Things to Say to People Prompts

Non-verbal RP Starter Prompts

November Prompts

October Prompts

(More) October Prompts

Oddly Obscure Friends to Lovers Prompts

OTP in Denial of Their Feelings Prompts

Prompts to Shake Things Up

Protective Starter Prompts

Random Question Prompts

Roguetober 2022 Prompts

Romantic Confession Dialogue Prompts

Rookie Couple Scenario Prompts

Royal x Groundskeeper OTP Prompts

Royal x Royal OTP Prompts

Scar / Injury Related Symbol Prompts

September Prompts

Setting Prompts

Show, Don't Tell Prompts

Situational Prompts

Sleepy Dialogue Prompts

Smut Prompt List

Smutty One-Liner Prompts, Part IV

Soft Gestures for Lovers Prompts

Soft Touches Prompts

Some Poorly Timed Confession Prompts

Some Simple Comfy & Sleepy Dialogue Prompts

Spooktober 2020 Prompts

Spooktober 2021 Prompts

Things Done While Sparring/Fighting Prompts

Things Done with Hair Prompts

Things You Said Prompts

Unrequited Love That's Actually Requited Prompts

Vampiric Starter Prompts

Ways to Respond When Someone Says "I'm Okay" Prompts

Wedding Dialogue Prompts

Welcome to the Holiday Season Prompts

Werewolf Starter Prompts

When in Doubt, Fake a Marriage Prompts

Whumpcember 2022 Prompts

Workplace Romance Prompts

Worried and Relieved Dialogue Starter Prompts

[padfootagain]

His Heart in Your Hands

Hi everyone! Today, we’re answering a request for my 6k event made by @jackys-stuff-blog for our dear King Caspian: “*Yikes* I need to be fast uhm... Okay, congratulations on 6k followers again, you deserve it 😊 Can I request something for king caspian with this prompt Wounded character leads to confession. Where he comes back from a journey and the reader is patches him up (she is working in the Castle) Please? Thank you 😌🥺❤️🫂 I hope it's okay like that Oh, only if you have some places for requests left”

Thank you so much for your request! I hope you like this!

Hope you all like this, tell me what you think!

****

Pairing: King Caspian x reader

Warnings: angst, mentions of blood and description of a wound, violence… our baby’s fighting!

Summary: Caspian comes back to Cair Paravel alive after a campaign against a neighbouring kingdom, but he’s still in a pretty bad shape. You’ve been worried sick about him, and even if you are but a servant, even if it’s not your place… you can’t help but look for him that night, just to make sure that he’s alright.

Word Count: 2950

Caspian’s Masterlist – Main Masterlist

You knew that you shouldn’t be there, and yet, you couldn’t help your feet as they crossed the castle.

You were but a servant, after all, you ought to remain where you belonged. Which was anywhere but near the King. And yet…

… yet there you were, in front of the door of his private chamber, with some water and some clothes and bandages in your hands.

You had managed to convince your colleague to let you go in her stead; to have an excuse to offer the guards to let you pass and access the King’s private chambers. And she disapproved of your feelings towards the leader of your people, but she didn’t understand. She didn’t understand that you knew him. That you had spent long evenings with him, when you should have been cleaning and he should have been resting; talking, laughing, falling in love, one dreadful and yet irrevocable step at a time. A love that you had never confessed, knowing that he would not feel the same, knowing that this was impossible.

There had been rumours spreading while he was gone, talks of a terrible injury, the kind that could be lethal. Talks of his death, even. Of Caspian being hit by the sharp edge of a blade across the chest, of his blood staining the grass and making the cold ground fume. Of his eyes closing forever, of a last breath being drawn… And you refused to believe it. Even when people started to guess the name of the next King, you refused to give in. Something inside you knew that he was still out there, alive and breathing and that he would come home, eventually. Your friends called it delusion, denial. You preferred to call it instinct.

Still, when you had seen him, along with a large crowd gathered by the doors of Cair Paravel to welcome him back, you were worried. Everybody was. If he was smiling, Caspian was paler than you had ever seen him, his arm wrapped in a bandage, pain written all over his features despite his best efforts to hide it. Instead of the traditional banquet, the King had retired to his chambers as quickly as he could to rest, and rumours were starting again, claiming that his injury was worse than it seemed, that his life was still at stake, that a doctor was there constantly, that he had called for his advisors to decide on who would step next to the throne, just in case…

You had to make sure that none of these rumours were true, that he was fine. So, you imagined that trick with your colleague, convinced her to do it. And if she was supposed to give the bandages and the water to the guards, you had claimed that you had been told to bring them directly to the King. A royal order. No one could go against that. If Caspian failed to back up your story, you could be fired, or worse, sent in a dark cell for many years, but you didn’t care. Caspian and his injury were the only things on your mind.

You gathered your courage in a long intake of breath, and finally knocked on Caspian’s door.

His answer sounded distant, weaker than usual. Still, you obeyed the invitation, opened the door and walked in.

Caspian was lying in his bed, pillows set against the headboard so he could be half-seated. There were candles on his bedside table, and a warm fire in the hearth, and yet the room was dark, the inky sky shy of a moon and stars tonight. A half-eaten meal rested in a small tray by the bed, a book was set on the covers. And Caspian was there, buried under blankets, looking weak for the first time since you had met him.

Oh, you knew that he could be a gentle soul, you had talked about his weaknesses, he had showed you parts of his heart few had been lucky enough to glimpse at. But this was different. Somehow, over the course of the last year, ever since you had started speaking to him in private, Caspian had been a constant in your life. Once a week, you would sit together in the library, or in the gardens if the weather was gentle enough to allow it, and you would talk about yourselves, about what had happened in your lives while you were apart, about his worries, and your tasks, and he would complain about foreign dignitaries that drove him crazy, and you would laugh as you mocked some impolite lords and ladies. Every week for a year, you had been longing for these few hours spent with him, for his reassuring presence by your side, for the attentive ear he was lending to your unimportant life. And perhaps it was stupid, because again, you were but a servant, but during all these evenings you couldn’t help but believe him when he said that he cared, that he wanted to see you, that he was happy to spend time with you. It had been a regular meeting that had marked your life in such a way that you could not imagine living without it now.

And now, Caspian was lying in a bed, pale as sheets, beard a little overgrown, eyes so tired they seemed buried in their sockets, dark bags dug under his eyes. And for the first time, you thought that perhaps the rumours were true, that his life truly was endangered, that you could lose him for good…

“Y/N?”

He beamed up at you, a tiny bit of colour coming back to his cheeks for a moment, you couldn’t help but smile back.

“Your Majesty,” you bowed before walking closer, setting the water and clothes on a small table near the bed.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, but there was no resentment in his voice, more like disbelief, a tinge of awe at the sight of you.

“I came to take care of your bandages.”

“You?”

“I… I might have insisted…”

He chuckled, but quickly winced instead, hissing as his hand flew to hold his ribs. And he looked exhausted all over again.

“I apologize… broken ribs,” he explained. “Laughing is not recommended for a few more days.”

“I am sorry, I did not mean to cause you any pain. I can come back later…”

“No!”

He held out his hand, and you had no choice but to take it.

“Please, stay,” he asked, begging, and you had never seen such desperation in his eyes before. “Please…”

“Alright, I will stay.”

He pulled you closer, gently, until you would sit by his side; and he smiled at the feeling of the mattress bending slightly under your weight.

“What happened?” you asked, suddenly conscious of the quiet in the room, a silence barely disturbed by the cracking of the fire and the lulling movement of the wind.

He gave you a reassuring smile.

“I shall be healed in a few weeks, there is no need for you to worry.”

“There are rumours…”

“I am certain that they are most interesting. When is my untimely demise supposed to occur?”

He seemed relaxed despite his tiredness, and you caught yourself smiling at his joke.

“About three days ago.”

“Dear Aslan, I am back from the dead already!”

“It would seem so. You look the part, at least.”

He tried not to laugh, and you apologized as he winced.

“I have missed this.”

“My obvious disrespect toward my King?”

“You. I have missed you.”

He blinked, and you thought he needed rest, but he asked for you to stay again, just a little longer, and you couldn’t refuse.

“You did not answer. What happened?”

Caspian shrugged.

“It was a battle, I was wounded. There is nothing else to say about it.”

Slowly, you nodded, knowing that he was avoiding your question, but letting him get away with it.

“I should change your bandage. And then, I will let you rest.”

“Do I truly look so bad?” he asked with a crooked smile, but it faltered as you averted your eyes. It was your time to avoid his question.

You helped him out of his shirt, revealing the large bandage that encircled his torso and shoulder. He had another one around his arm. Both wounds were deep cut, that had been stitched by the expert hands of a doctor. Still, as you stared at the broken flesh, at the spots of blood still on his skin, at the red line crossing his chest… you realized just as lucky he was to still be breathing.

The rumours, if exaggerated, were not unfounded either…

You got to work in silence, hands shaking as you held back tears. Because you could have lost him this time, he could have never come back home, and then you would have never been able to tell him what he meant for you. That he was everything. That you loved him with a devotion you had never guessed yourself capable of. With a love you knew could never falter…

“Y/N?”

He wrapped his hand around yours, steadying your trembling fingers. You realised, then, that you were crying.

“I am fine. It is just a wound, it will heal.”

You didn’t stop him when he guided your palm to his heart, splaying your hand across his warm chest, and your heart staggered at the contact. He made you feel the organ hidden there, beating steadily, unwaveringly.

“I am fine. I am here,” he went on, tone soothing, unbelievably warm, and it made you cry even harder, breaking all of the borders to your hearts, all the walls guarding your soul.

“I was so scared,” you admitted, voice hoarse with your cries. “I am so scared…”

“There is no reason for you to worry. It will heal. I am perfectly fine. I simply need a few days of rest, and then everything will be back to normal.”

“You could have died…”

“But I did not.”

“This time. This time, you did not. What about next time?”

“Next time, I will not die either. I will come back, and you will be here to welcome me home, just as you are here now.”

He brushed your tears away with his thumb.

“Stop crying. I cannot see you in pain.”

But you didn’t calm down, and he frowned in worry.

“Y/N, what is it? What is on your mind? What has you so upset?”

Under your palm, his heart was still beating, you could feel it run across your entire body. You would have sworn your own heart was in sync with his now.

“I am sorry,” you whispered. “I cannot help it. The way… the way I feel for you. I am sorry.”

He frowned slightly at that, but there was some hope in his eyes as well.

“I think… Seeing you like this… I cannot hold it back any longer. I just… I must let it out. Even if I know that this is impossible, and that my feelings are unrequited… and perhaps you will never want to see me again but… it hurts too much to think that you could have died without knowing.”

You were bolder than you had ever believed yourself to be capable of when you reached up to touch his cheek, fingers tickled by his beard.

“I love you,” you confessed in a breath that even you could barely hear, and yet Caspian seemed to catch it loud and clear. The way his breath caught in his throat, and his heart under your palm sped up, became erratic… all these were giving him away. “I love you, Caspian. I have loved you for a long time. And… I know that I am servant, and that I will never be more than a faithful friend to you, but… I wanted to tell you, while I have the chance. Because despite being forbidden, my feelings are earnest, and that ought to mean something… If anything, it ought to be worthy of acknowledgement, at the very least…”

You were surprised to find tears in Caspian’s eyes, some that he tried to blink away, but failed to force into disappearance. Instead, he pressed your palm harder against his chest, and his heart was beating dangerously fast now. And through his gesture, he was trying to tell you something, or rather, to show you, as words were failing him now.

But you didn’t understand, and so he cleared his throat, at long last.

“I did not think that you felt this way for me.”

“I thought I was being obvious,” you replied, a painful smile on your lips. “All of my colleagues know. They have guessed. They call me a fool for it, and they are right, of course.”

“A fool?”

“You are King, and I am a servant. There is no more foolish love as this one.”

“I highly disagree. If anything… if anything, I am happy you are letting yourself yield to such foolishness.”

You frowned at his words, afraid to understand what he meant.

He looked down for a moment, looking for the right words, it seemed, and you gave him the time he needed to start speaking. Anyway, you didn’t know what to say.

“If you are opening your heart to me, then… I reckon that I should open mine as well. I… I was hoping you would come, that I would see you today. But I was worried that you would not want to see me, so I did not ask for you to come.”

You frowned at that.

“Why would I not want to see you?”

Caspian shrugged.

“I did not think that you harboured such feelings for me. I thought… I thought I was a mere friend. You have never shown any sign that there could be more…”

“You are King, there cannot be more. Despite my feelings, I am well aware that there will never be anything more between us.”

But Caspian shook his head, capturing your gaze in the blackness of his irises.

“Y/N… I am King. I am the one making the laws, I can marry whoever I want.”

He said it like it was easy. Like it would not create rumours, create tensions with other lands, like it would not infuriate the entirety of the Lords and Ladies, like the whole of Narnia would not criticize his choice. Like it merely depended on the two of you. It seemed such a foolish view of the world, naïve, too much so for such a clever man.

“The political crisis that would follow would be disastrous.”

“Why would it be? There is nothing wrong in falling in love. There is nothing wrong in marrying the woman I love either. We have never behaved in a disrespectful way, we have never crossed any line that should have remained uncrossed. There is nothing wrong with this…”

The woman I love.

His words echoed still in your ears, in your heart as well. You could not believe them… or rather, you could not believe that they were meant for you.

“Besides, there is a very easy solution to our problem.”

“Really?”

“I can dismiss you from the castle. Then you will no longer be a servant working at Cair Paravel. And then, if you want me, I can marry you.”

You stopped breathing altogether, and Caspian seemed amused by your expression. The smile that formed on his tired features was full of fondness.

“It is funny that you blame me for being blind, when you have been just as unable to see the truth as I was. I thought, too, that I was being quite obvious.”

“You cannot be meaning that.”

But he pressed your palm tighter against the skin of his chest, so you could feel even more vividly the beating of his heart against your hand, until it felt like you were touching it, like you were holding the organ itself.

He looked at you with such intensity, the entire world around you had disappeared.

“Y/N… do you not know…? Do you not know that my heart is yours? That it has always been yours? Can you not feel it?”

He gave you a gentle smile, voice barely more than a whisper and much deeper than usual, the weight of the confession making it too hard for him to breathe.

“My heart is in the palm of your hand, where it has always belonged. It has always been yours to hold in your hands.”

It was his turn to reach for your cheek, and you leaned into his touch without noticing. When he gently pulled you down, failing strengths not allowing him to lean up to meet you, you didn’t resist. Instead, you allowed him to guide you to him, until his lips and yours were but a breath away from each other.

“I love you,” he whispered, and your heart, you thought, exploded. “Can I… Can I do this? Y/N, I have been dreaming about this for so long…”

Instead of answering, of granting him permission to finally kiss you, you were the one to close the distance between your mouths, kissing him achingly, with every bit of your worry, your love, your passion, your withheld feelings poured into him through the tender gesture. And he responded with the same strength, the same unwavering desire to hold you closer, to devour you until you were one, to show you just as much he felt for you…

You kissed for a long time, forgetting about the world, the duties, the ranks and the time that passes. And in your palm, his heart was beating.

[friendship-ditch]

Whumptober Masterlist ⚘

Hiii, finally got around to making a Masterlist for all of these. I can’t believe I did every single prompt or that it’s done, but I really enjoyed this <3

Most of these contain the general whump warnings (blood, injury, etc…) but are probably tamer than some others

Panic Attack (Eowyn x Fem!Reader)

Role Reversal (Arwen x Fem!Reader)

"I warned you" (Tauriel x Fem!Reader)

Hallucinations (Galadriel x Fem!Reader)

Healing Salve (Arwen x Fem!Reader)

"It's not my blood" (Platonic Aragorn x Fem!Reader)

Magic with a Cost (Galadriel x Fem!Reader)

"Leave the lights on" (Arwen x Fem!Reader)

Bruises (Platonic Faramir x Fem!Reader)

Slurred Words (Platonic Aragorn x Fem!Reader)

Loneliness (Eowyn x Fem!Reader)

"Just a little more" (Tauriel x Fem!Reader)

Multiple Whumpees (Platonic Boromir and Faramir x Fem!Reader)

Surivors Guilt - Alt. (Platonic Aragorn x Fem!Reader)

Childhood Trauma (Platonic Faramir x Fem!Reader)

Wound Cleaing (Platonic Aragorn x Fem!Reader)

Motion Sickness - Alt. (Arwen x Fem!Reader)

Revenge (Eowyn x Fem!Reader)

Blood Trail (Arwen x Fem!Reader)

Shoulder to Cry On (Eowyn x Fem!Reader)

Forgotten - Alt. (Platonic Faramir x Fem!Reader)

Reopening Wounds (Platonic Aragorn x Fem!Reader)

Shivering - Alt. (Tauriel x Fem!Reader)

Regret - Alt. (Eowyn x Fem!Reader)

Stitches (Platonic Faramir x Fem!Reader)

Nightmares (Galadriel x Fem!Reader)

Voiceless (Arwen x Fem!Reader)

Denial (Tauriel x Fem!Reader)

Fatigue (Arwen x Fem!Reader)

"What have I done?" (Platonic Boromir x Fem!Reader)

Asking for Help (Platonic Aragorn x Fem!Reader)

[plantyberry]

Cloudcuckoolander Tally Part 3: Chapter 1-3 and 1-3-2: The Fencing Club, or, 'If I swallow Excalibur, does that mean I'll become invulnerable?'

And we are back for the newest installment of the Cloudcuckoolander tally, this time featuring the fencing club. And I'm definitely counting this thing as part of my NaNoWriMo wordcount tally goal dammit.

Now, for the sake of simplicity, the following factors are preferable (but not necessary) for your cuckoo MC

-Friends or more with Adrian -Gadgetry as a hobby -NOT have the following fears: Blood, Fear, Attention -Greed will help

Additionally, the Fencing Club is the only pick that allows you to have a mute MC while still grabbing the 'Keikaku' achievement.

On the way to the club:

I double-check to make certain that the passing university student isn't actually a zombie in disguise. cuckoo +1

The Adrian conversation (topics about clothes are mostly identical, with a few differences):

Red Cape + Frame = 3 or height = tall: -"Little?" I wonder if Adrian has suddenly gone blind. --"Aye, Aye, fairy godmother." +1 Cuckoo

Vampire Cape: +1 Cuckoo -Strike a stereotypical vampire pose. +1 Cuckoo --"I never bite and tell" +1 Cuckoo --"Lies and slander! I've got my own superior vampire teeth for that!" +1 Cuckoo

Spandex Tracksuit: -"I was thinking about wearing this instead of my uniform today." --"If we switched to plastic swords we could totally do naked fencing!" +1 Cuckoo -I say nothing, I merely start dancing the Tango de la Muerte. +1 Cuckoo (and the Keikaku achievement)

I launch right into the meat of the matter.

-"There was a murder during my last work shift…" --(if police)I begin to describe my brilliant werewolf culprit theory. +1 Cuckoo ---I'm not joking. +1 Cuckoo --(if reporter, paramedic)"All I have to say is… zombies." +1 Cuckoo ---I'm not joking. +1 Cuckoo --(if lab technician) In the end, this is the work of werewolves/zombies… +1 Cuckoo --(if wildlife biologist) I elucidate in great detail upon the nitty-gritty details regarding my genius mutant bear theory. +1 Cuckoo ---I'm not joking. +1 Cuckoo (Whenever applicable) I'm not joking but I pretend that I am in a brilliant double-blind maneuver. +2 Cuckoo

-"So I was recently mauled by an invisible poltergeist…" -- Show your bruised arm to Adrian ---"What? I find this situation perfectly normal." ----I'm not being sarcastic. +1 Cuckoo (Note: If your cuckoo score is under 5, you gain +1 Denial instead)

-"It seems that my apartment may be a little bit haunted…" --"I don't know, man, that bedroom ghost sounded pretty sexy." ---Obviously, I'm not joking. +1 Cuckoo

I launch into a long involved story regarding my terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day. -(follow the 'recently mauled by an invisible poltergeist' answer line) --"I blame the poltergeist. Also the werewolves, potential zombies, and I've got a sneaking suspicion that mutant fairies may be involved," you ramble. +1 Cuckoo

I believe actions speak louder than words

-I silently whip out my thirteen-page description of my past day including all details regarding my past work shift, my nightmare and strange injury, as well as the current haunted atmosphere of my apartment. --I wave my arms around in my best impression of a haunting ghost. +1 Cuckoo ---I reenact a scene from an earlier Knights of Our Lives episode that just so happened to appear in my dreams before. +1 Cuckoo (MC needs to know who Caleb is) ----I spin in a circle while twirling my arms. Surely Adrian will understand my meaning. +1 Cuckoo

Outside / Event prompts:

-"I'm on to you and your zombie ways, Sefu. No mercy shall be given by me or my flamethrowing sword!" +1 Cuckoo

-Perhaps it was the werewolf that ate Caleb Degaré? +1 Cuckoo (You need to know who Caleb is)

About the swords breaking: -(If you've got the stats or a high enough cuckoo score) "Don't worry, I've got the stats to save everyone." +1 Cuckoo (The Stats: Body >=30 or Body+Magic>=30 or (Talent=Agility + Body>=20) or (Interpretative Dancing>2 and Body>=20)

Post-Adrian Greetings

Talking about Arthur: "I just want to know if he's secretly a zombie/werewolf/mutant. He is, isn't he?" +1 Cuckoo I wonder if I accidentally left my apartment on fire this morning. +1 Cuckoo I wonder if an African swallow could really carry a coconut? +1 Cuckoo I hold up my phone with a Monty Python and the Holy Grail meme about coconuts on its screen. +1 Cuckoo I wonder if one of those sword swallower people could gulp down Excalibur? It'd be handy to be your own sheath. +1 Cuckoo (Requires Arthuriana fanatic)

Asking about the Apocalypse: "Pure unfiltered meta knowledge." +1 Cuckoo

Ask how much wood would a woodchuck chuck if a woodchuck could chuck wood. +1 Cuckoo

Changing your clothes:

-This is it! The perfect time to start a strip tease right in the middle of the practice hall! +1 Cuckoo (fear mustn't be 'attention')

Weapon Choice:

-Never mind the sabre, foil, and épée fencing swords. I really wish that I could use Excalibur to sword fight instead. Just like in the old tales of might and magicry. +1 Cuckoo (++)

Before the spar:

Talking to Hjordis about the swords breaking: -In the end, I can't help but suspect toilet gremlins. +1 Cuckoo

Tell everyone about what happened to you in the restroom: -"If there's something strange in your neighborhood, who you gonna call? Ghostbusters!" I burst out singing in a very thematically-relevant manner. +1 Cuckoo

When finisheing to prepare for the spar: -It's time to do the Dance of Joy +1 Cuckoo

The color of your sword: -…the color out of space. +1 Cuckoo (++)

Entering the piste: -I throw my extra glove straight in Sefu's face. That's what they're meant for, right?! +1 Cuckoo -I AM Michael Jackson. I put on a single glove and moonwalk to the piste. +1 Cuckoo

-I strike a delicately posed stance, balanced on one leg, knee bent and lifted above my hips, arms extended at my sides like the wings of a crane, as my sword points at the unseen heavens above. +1 Cuckoo -I gravely inform the audience that only masked eyes are allowed to behold my full splendor. +1 Cuckoo

-Frosty the Snowman dances seductively down my spine. +1 Cuckoo

The sword shower incident:

Note: Aside from the stats, you may succesfully pass the sword dance checks if you are a changeling or possess the Lucky talent if your dice roll goes well, though it's an obviously unreliable method to succeed unless you intend to save scum this until you force a pass.

Unwilling rescuer: -I duck and cover and- no, why are my feet moving forward?! No, no, no I'm not trying to 1v1 an entire shower of sharp shrapnel! --I wonder what I should have for dinner tonight? +1 Cuckoo

If the rescue failed, but the people wore masks -Now it's definitely time to do the Dance of Joy +1 Cuckoo --No unmasked eyes are allowed to behold my glory indeed. +1 Cuckoo

Wrapping up (Post good end)

-I launch into a statistical analysis of the causes, probability percentages, prevention methods, and data anomalies found within all train derailment accidents within the past twenty-five years. Yes, most certainly this is an appropriate conversational topic right now. Cuckoo +1

Changing area: Armory -"Don't let the darkness consume your soul or the splinters find your throat," I enigmatically tell my departing clubmate. Cuckoo +1

Changing Area: Men's restroom -"Don't let the darkness consume your souls," I enigmatically call out as my two squabbling clubmates leave before me. Cuckoo +1

Changing Area: Ladies' Restroom -"Don't let the darkness consume your soul." Cuckoo +1

Changing Area: Universal Restroom -"Don't let the darkness consume your soul," I enigmatically tell my cheerily departing clubmate. Cuckoo +1

Changing Area: Corner of the Fencing Hall -"Don't let the darkness consume your soul," I enigmatically reply. Cuckoo +1

It you're possessed (Just… Why?), there is one option right before the sparring match -He's coming! He's coming! He's coming! Cuckoo +1

Out of these options, the Tango de la Muerte (Interpretative score helps succeed the check) and Masked Eyes (Will and Magic +1) option are good picks, in my opinion. Getting the good end is a bit harder in this club that in the polo club because you have to pick the right options to make it happen. Additionally, an important thing to note is that successfully fending off the splinter shower will injure your ankle slightly, which will make escaping the hydra more difficult, if you wish to avoid Merlin forcefully healing you later on.