#red swing hanger

[yanderenightmare]

♡ TW: enemies to lovers, past bullying, reformed bully x victim

♡ fem reader

“No way.” You shake your head—face warped in something akin to disgust. Judging him for even asking, glaring in disbelief at him and what dangles from the clothing hanger in his hand. He couldn't be serious.

“Come on, please, for me?” he pleads, downright pleads. But there’s no way.

“No.” You say more firmly, planting both hands on your tilted hips. “I don’t get what you’re thinking, but it’s not exactly a time in our lives I want to relive.”

He pouts and sags a little where he stands, clasping his hands together in prayer, making the ill-taste outfit swing. “Oh, come on, it won’t be the same as then,” he promises with zero believability backing him. He even dares smile as he spouts the bullshit in his next words, “It’ll be like therapy. Let’s reframe your trauma together.”

You scoff. He’s unbelievable. “You’re stupid.”

He feigns feeling insulted. “I’m serious!”

“You always said I looked like trash in that—no way I’m not putting it on,” you dismiss.

But then he gets down on his knees. Hands still together as if in worship. Looking up at you with puppy dog eyes. “I was lying through my teeth back then—you know that! I’ll be honest this time around. Tell you exactly how often I had to change my pants because of you—”

“Ew, stop.” You can’t believe the spectacle he’s creating—such a drama queen—and all for getting you to put on a make-shift copy of your old high-school uniform.

“Come one, pretty, pretty, pretty please?” He shuffles forward on his knees until he’s right by your feet—bottom lip jutting out in his pout. “The prettiest please?”

You look down at him—you mouth a prim pursed line, gritting your teeth to try and steal yourself. Grimacing at the outfit sprawled on his lap. There’s no way. Absolutely no way.

“Pretty please?” he continues, making you roll your eyes with a sigh.

“Fine,” you bite out but quickly add, “But you have to wear one, too.”

You think you’re being smart. But he only grins—a wicked little twinkle in his eye.

“Way ahead of you.”

From behind the outfit meant for you, he pulls forth a black gakuran to match.

Okay, so you hadn’t really thought he would have bought one for himself—you realize now the mistake in your speculation. Of course, he’d bought one for himself. But hold on… You raise your brow, folding your arms atop your chest. “And where’s the pants?”

“They didn’t have my size, but my sweats are already a good lookalike,” he explains away. “This doesn’t really fit either, but it won’t stay on for long, so’ doesn’t matter.”

He gets up and hastily pulls his shirt off of his head, then, with just as much enthusiasm, pulls the black school jacket on. And he’s right—his black sweatpants could pass for the old Tobi trousers he used to wear. All in all, it’s a sight for sore eyes. Looking at him feels just short of seeing his old high-school self.

“Come on. You said.” He holds out the rendition of your old uniform. “Get dressed.”

You regret conceding. But it’s too late to go back on your word now. Rolling your eyes, you receive the hanger with a sigh, “Oh, fine. Just this once, you freak.”

You get dressed without making much of a show. Leaving your current comfy outfit in an unceremonious pile, you pull the tacky articles on hastily. Black pleated skirt and sailor blouse with a little red bow sash—there’s even a pair of knee-high socks to go with it. As a grown-up, it’s utterly humiliating having to wear it now.

But he doesn’t seem to share your discomfort. Only groaning, “Damn. There she is—my prettiest little junior~”

You ball your skirt in your fists. Glancing up at him only to look down again, fixing your gaze to the floor. Heat in your face. Mumbling, “This is weird—you look dumb.”

“Oh yeah?” his voice curls with newfound enjoyment. “Well, you don’t look a day older.”

He comes closer, and oh god—you don’t know why you’re so nervous. But fuck—you feel like your back in time—back in time when you were a sorry loser getting picked on, and he was… he was a—

“Perv,” you manage to say. Though, that’s not really the word you’d been thinking.

He chuckles, so close now that he also starts to play with the hem of your skirt. “That’s for damn sure.” Agreeing, he hums, “Only for you though. So’s fine.”

He bends down and finds your neck with his tongue and teeth—his hand traveling up under your skirt without further ado.

“Hey,” you protest, wringing his ill-fitting jacket in both fists, hauling him off. And even though it makes him look back at you like a kicked puppy, you don’t let it get to you as you scold him, “Thought we were reframing my trauma. At this rate, you’re just itching to make me relive it.”

He tries giving you one of his innocent smiles. “Oh?” His arms curl around your waist, pulling you close—chest to chest—simpering while leering down at you, voice in a purr, “It won’t be any fun if I can’t bully you a little bit like I used to.”

He tries leaning down to catch your lips, but you push him away. Breaking free, then scoffing, “Tch, if that’s how you’re gonna play this, then have fun beating off on your own.”

“But—” He starts, but you’re already on your way to leave the room. Hooking two fingers into the band of your skirt, he stops you and spins you back, now all mopey and sorry, “I’m sorry, don’t go, princess—how about we one-eighty it, and I tell you all the reasons I love you? Will that make you humor me?”

He’s back to pleading.

And you can’t help the small smile it gives you. Muttering, “Maybe.”

He smiles giddily, too, “I love how pouty you can be sometimes.”

Your brows furrow, “Hey!” That’s not a compliment.

But he only laughs and continues, “And I love your snippy little tsundere attitude.”

“Those are both insults, you tit—” you argue, but he doesn’t care, hugging you close, lifting you off your feet before falling with you down on the bed. Hanging over you, he admires every inch of your perfect body tucked into that cute little uniform he used to make fun of because he was scared of how silly you made him feel.

“I love how you tell me off.”

Deciding to face his fears was the best decision he’d ever made.

“I love how you look at me.”

It’s crazy to think you’re here with him still, after all these years.

“I love how you put up with me, how you make all my wishes come true—how, even though I don’t deserve you, you stay with me anyway—how you’re mine even though I’m a scumbag.”

You’re eyes soften under his speech. For all his tactlessness, he can also be really quite sweet. You raise both hands, reaching out to cup his face—beholding the softness in his eyes—that way he looks at you. It makes your chest stir.

“You’re not that bad,” you confess, pulling him down to tease his lips with yours.

Kissing you once, he accredits you, “That’s ‘cause you make me a better man.”

You smile and kiss him again, then resume your teasing, “Don't get ahead of yourself. You’re still a boy.”

He lifts and raises a brow down at you in retaliation, “Is that so?” And oh no, you recognize that look.

“Well, this boy is feeling hormonal and horny and just raring to go—” he overplays. Gasping, “And what do you know? How lucky!” He lowers himself again, then starts peppering kisses all over your face in between words, “I’ve got this perfect little high-school sweetheart lying here all up for the taking—”

♡ BNHA �� Hawks, Dabi, Bakugou, ♡ JJK – Gojo, really silly in-love Sukuna ♡ HQ – Kuro, Atsumu ♡ AOT – Eren ♡ DS – Sanemi ♡ WB – Suo, Togame

♡ FEM x M INSERT masterlist ♡ GN x M INSERT masterlist

[daryltwdixon]

Red Dress

Relationship: Daryl x Reader

MDNI: smut smut smut ❤️

Notes: first one shot back since like 2012 and for a whole new fandom so plz be kind 🙏🙏

���✩‧₊˚ ੈ✩‧₊˚ ੈ✩‧₊˚ ✧. ੈ✩‧₊˚ ੈ✩‧₊˚ ੈ✩‧₊˚ ✧. ੈ✩‧₊˚ ੈ✩‧₊˚ ੈ

You were just grateful the run was going smoothly, to be honest. It had been awhile since anyone needed to go out since settling into the prison— Rick starting the garden and bringing in the hogs and horses. Things felt… easy now. So god forbid you’re walking by a clothing store on your run with Daryl and Glenn and a dress catches your eye.

“You guys go ahead,” you call to them. They stop and turn to look, glance at each other, then look back at you.

“What for? We’re supposed to stay together on these runs, Y/N” Glenn says, shifting his weight with his heavy rifle in his hands.

“Just go ahead. I promise I’ll be right behind you,” you insist, waving them off.

The guys shrug, trusting you know how to handle a walker or two. Glenn starts walking away.

“We’re gon’ just nex’ door,” Daryl mumbles, “don’t be long” and he turns and leaves for the pharmacy.

…

A small smile spreads across your lips as your fingers brush the clothing inside. It’s been a long time since you got out of your faded jeans and black tee shirt. Better to just grab necessities… until you spot the dress that brought you in the first place.

“Yes,” you whisper, seeing your size and snatching it off the dusty hanger.

When the hanger snaps up, it clangs louder than you intended on the metal hanging rod and falls to the floor—you wince. Holding your breath, you release a sigh after a moment of quiet that follows. As you turn to leave for the door, 2 walkers slam themselves on the glass door that was your original exit plan.

“Shit…” you hiss, looking around for a back up exit. Nothing but an office room. You run for that door, but immediately regret opening it when another walker comes snarling out. You fall backwards, swinging to try to grab your knife from your pocket. The walker is stumbling after you, and you swiftly pull yourself back, elbows pulling you back and feet kicking. It’s ugly with skin peeling off its face and a faded employee outfit. It’s tripping over its feet, giving you a moment to gather yourself. Finally gaining balance and confidence, you sit up on your feet, and stand— slamming your knife up under the walker’s jaw into its head. Breathing heavy with relief, you turn back to the original exit plan and see more walkers gathering.

No sign of Daryl and Glenn. Okay, on your own. You can take on a few at a time— right? Breathing in hard and knife in hand, you shove toward the door. The walkers fall back and you’re able to get one in the head while throwing yourself out the door. The other three are too close, you start breathing hard and adrenaline is coursing through you. You’re slashing your knife through the air and losing focus out of sheer panic. A walker falls backwards and you see Daryl’s hands clutching its clothes, stabbing it in the forehead. Glenn is there after him and stabbing another in the head, giving you the space to kick the last one down and finish it off. You’re huffing and puffing, the guys staring at you while you catch your breath.

“All of that for some damn clothes, miss Prissy?” Daryl snarls.

“Shut up, I could handle it” you breathe, bent over with your hands on your knees.

“Pfft, yeah” he scoffs, grabbing his bow & arrow and stalking off.

Glenn shakes his head, and when Daryl walks off he just says “we stay together.” And you nod, following after them, stuffing the clothes securely in your bag and zipping it closed.

…

“No. Way. I always wanted this kind of stuff but daddy never lets me wear them!” Beth giggles as you show her your stash of clothes. Hershel would probably kill you if he saw the clothes you brought back for her— lacy black bra for her to show her new boyfriend and a spaghetti strap shirt. It’s dark now but the candles you have lit and the moonlight shining into the cell block make it easier to see everything.

“Just thought maybe it would be fun to try on something different. Remind us of what life used to be like,” you say smiling. You pull out the dress that caught your eye to begin with— the reason for the trouble you had today. It was… well, you’d never wear it to meet a man’s mother, you could say. Red, short, and silky. The straps were thin and long. You just wanted to see what it felt like to wear something sexy again, not that the mirrors were any good in the prison anyway.

Beth is facing away from you to put on her new bra and shirt so you take that as your cue to change into the dress too. It slips on easy and fits perfectly. It sits quite a bit above the knee and your cleavage is just about ready to hit you in the face.

“Wow…” Beth says, she’s turned around and looking at you.

You put your hands on your hips and sway back and forth, “you’re not so bad yourself, hot stuff. Go show Zach! Like, now!”

She smiles and runs out of the cell, but stops short when she just about collides with a figure standing outside. Beth stumbles back and Daryl comes into the light, staring daggers at you.

“This what being nearly killed was for today, huh?” He says deadly quiet.

Beth scurries out of the room before she can be caught in the middle of this outburst, knowing Daryl can get nasty when provoked.

The color drains from your face, and you suddenly feel very hot— like tingling and on fire. You cross your arms over your chest, in defense mode.

“Fuck off, Daryl” you hiss, but it’s not as convincing as you meant it to be.

He rolls his eyes “Can’t believe you’d waste yer own life on a stupid slut dress”

He’s stalking in closer into the cell, and you’re backing up until your back hits the cold wall behind you. Luckily it’s a pretty empty cell block back here, where you and Beth like to meet up and read or decompress. No one can hear the bickering going on in cell 50E.

“Oh please, just cause you don’t know how to have a little fun doesn’t mean other people aren’t allowed to, Daryl. Mind your business” you spit, eyes narrowing at him.

He’s really close, you can smell the musk and cigarette smoke coming off of him. It’s making you a light headed the more you breathe it in. He’s never been this close before.

“Do ya’ know why we go on runs? It’s not for you to fill yer closet with cute frilly things, Y/N. We don’t risk our damn lives for you to be so fuckin selfish” he snarls, his southern accent thick as he hisses at you. If you were to move at all, you’d be touching him at this point he’s so close.

“We go on runs for the good of our people, Y/N”he sneers close to your face, “Medicine, food, supplies—“

“Shut. Up. I got it myself I didn’t ASK YOU to get anything for me. I was able to handle it myself, asshole.” You’re nearly nose to nose with him. Breathing in each other’s air. With confidence you surely don’t actually have, you drop your arms from your chest. Balling your fists at your sides and staring up at him. His eyes follow your movements and look down to fully get a look at you. You’re breathing in unison in this moment, waiting for the next person to say something. Daryl’s lip curls as he looks back up at you then away. You could swear he leans in an inch toward you. You let out a small gasp, looking at his lips.

Within the breath of a moment, he’s turning around angrily— but you reach out, grabbing his arm. His bare arm is hot under your touch and your mind goes blank. You suck in another gasp of air when he quickly spins and has a hand at your throat, pinning you against the wall again.

He’s looking daggers at you with those blue eyes— but they’re not cold. You hadn’t realized before, but now you see it. They’re dark with desire. Your hand is still on his arm, gripping him just as tightly back. Your eyes meet for a brief moment before he’s crashing into you— his lips hot on your mouth. Your body tenses up but you melt immediately into him as he pushes up against you, his leg going in between your thighs and cupping your face with his free hand. His tongue is primal, claiming you and you let him. God he smells good and the scent of him envelops you in this moment. He pulls away, looking at your dazed look and swollen, wet lips.

“Shit” he grumbles, searching your face, “why do ya’have to be so fucking pretty”

“Shut up,” you whisper and pull him back in, your hands gripping his hair. Daryl’s knee is hiked up between your legs, perfectly aligned with the apex of your thighs. You can’t help but grind down on him, a breathy moan escaping your lips.

“Fuck, Y/N” he whispers between claiming your mouth, “grind on me baby, show me how much you want it in your slutty dress you got for me”

Your eyes roll back at his dirty words, grinding down harder onto his leg. Your arms have fallen in a loose hold on his body, letting him hold you with his hand still on your throat and the other on the wall now, caging you in.

“Please,” you whisper against his lips.

“No, no— you dressed like a slut and I’m going to treat you like one now” he growls, suddenly flipping your body around and holding your ass against his lap. God he’s hard. And from what you can feel through his pants— big. You shiver as your cheek presses against the wall and Daryl’s hands travel down your body. You hold yourself helplessly up with your hands on either side of you on the wall while he pushes the fabric up around your waist. You hadn’t thought you’d have the dress on long, so you didn’t bother with panties.

“Fuck, Y/N” he says again, groping your ass and giving it a slap, making you yelp.

He hushes you, pushing his face against yours and kissing you again. His lips trace your jaw onto your ear and down your neck and onto your shoulder where the thin strap of your dress falls.

Daryl’s hands are all over you and now they’ve found your breasts, palming them with one hand as he adjusts behinds you, fisting his cock out of the confines of his pants.

“You’ve been a bad, dirty girl, Y/N” he grumbles, “and now I’m gunna fuck you like one”

“God, please”

“I aint no god, baby, and I don’ like to share neither” he says, pushing into your soaking wet cunt. He groans loudly, leaning his forehead on your shoulder for a moment as you both adjust. Before you’re even ready, Daryl is moving. His thrusts are fast and hard. The only way you know how to explain him is primal. His noises are grunts and grumbling curse words. He leans down and whispers in your ear “bet you were hoping for this, huh? When you saw this skimpy thing in the store you imagined this didn’t you? Me fucking you in it against the wall like the fuckin’ slut you are” his hand has come up between your breasts to hold your throat. The other is between your legs and causing them to shake uncontrollably. You had thought about Daryl a lot— especially at night when everyone was asleep. He would creep into your fantasizes often and you tried to shove him out every time. You knew he was a recluse and you’d have no shot with him— at least you thought. Until now. You’re moaning into the wall as he doesn’t relent his thrusting against you. But the way he’s holding you— yes it’s full of pleasure but it’s also… gentle. He’s tenderly holding your throat now and pressing your clit like he will do anything to get you to cum first.

“Mine” he keeps repeating, “you’re mine.”

“Fuck, Daryl” you whimper, “I ca—I can’t its ss too—too muchh-ch” you’re really shivering now, legs convulsing and cunt constricting around his cock.

He’s groaning against you, biting your shoulder, “cum for me baby. Be my good slut— my good girl— mine.” he growls. Your legs seize and your body tenses as you tumble over the edge of your orgasm, and he immediately follows suit, gripping your body tight against his.

You’re breathing hard, still pushed against the wall and his arms still holding you tight. His hand is loose around your neck and the other is around your waist now. His forehead leans against you and you feel the slick of his sweaty hair sticking to you as you catch your breath. As he begins to stand, he peppers more kisses on your back, pulling the strap of your dress back up. You slowly turn around to face him, and he brushes the hair out of your face as you lean against the wall again in a huff of breath.

“Don’t wear that fucking dress around nobody else, ‘kay?” He grumbles, tucking your hair behind your ear.

You let out a breathy laugh and look up at him “Only for you. I’m yours”

“Mine”

[moody-alcoholic]

Deployment

Someone stop me from writing, I feel like I'm pumping these out once a day. I'm very lucky I work from home.

Summary: Ghoap x Reader, throuple. Slow burn (sorry but not sorry). 3.3k words. Reader is female (she/her), army nurse, non descript physical features, names used: Ashe.

CW: Implied SA (not reader), assault, threats, blackmail, angst.

Previous parts - masterlist - next part

Enjoy <3

Johnny and Simon drive you to the airport, you’re silent the whole ride spending your last few minutes of freedom in the back seat with Simon, head on his chest arm round him hand in hand as Johnny drives. It’s almost like he’s trying to hit every red light so you have longer to spend with them. It feels weird back in uniform even weirder when you stepped out your flat and they were both staring at you with your duffle bag swung over your shoulder, the same duffle bag they both fought over trying to carry on your short walk to the car. Your stomach drops as you reach the airport, it never gets easier, but this time is definitely the worst. 

“You don’t have to drive in, I can walk.” You say as Johnny drives round to a side entrance of the airport, you’ve never been round here before, didn’t even know you could drive this far round the airport. 

“Don’t be silly we’ll take you in, saves you the walk cross the terminal.” Johnny says as he pulls up to the security gate. A soldier walks up to the drivers side and Johnny rolls the window down. 

“Drop off, lieutenant Riley.” Johnny says. Simon sighs shaking his head, Johnny looks back winking at Simon, you can’t help but smile. The soldier waits for a second typing something on a tablet then waves you through as the gate opens.

“Stick left, follow the yellow makers to the hanger.” He says, Johnny nods waiting for the gate to finish opening before driving in. 

“What your name just lets you in anywhere?” You joke with him trying to lighten the mood. 

“You should see what happens when I use Price’s name.” Johnny chuckles. You smile as Johnny pulls into a parking spot in the hanger, there are a few other soldiers walking around some with bags, some just standing around chatting. You don’t want to leave Simon’s warm embrace, you don’t want to get on a flight, for the first time since joining the military you don’t want to leave. Would it have been easier if you did have the full 2 weeks? Or would it have been just as hard?

You shake the thought away looking up at Simon, you un-clip your seat belt moving closer to him as he pulls your mouth to his. It’s a deep kiss slow and sweet, like he’s kissing you for the last time. It makes you sad you have to pull away first. You promised yourself you wouldn’t cry, not in public at least. Johnny gets out the car opening the side door. 

“You have to bend down to kiss me,” you say swinging your legs out the car. “I’m not getting my ass handed to me for PDA before we’ve even flown out.” He rolls his eyes bending down to kiss you. Jesus, his kiss is just as good, you feel Simon scoot up behind you. Wrapping his arms round your waist, you relax back on him for a few seconds your eyes flicking over to the car dash seeing the time, you didn’t have long if you were not going to be late. You pull out of Simon’s arms getting out the car as Johnny gets your bag out the boot. 

“I’ll see you soon,” you say turning back to look at Simon stroking his cheek. You’re about to dip out the car when Simon grabs your wrist pulling you in, his mouth is in your ear.  

“You need anything just call okay, we’re just a call away.” He says.

“Simon, I think if I’m calling you for help it’s already too late.” You say pulling away trying to be lighthearted about it, there is sadness in his eyes it makes your stomach drop.

“I’ll call.” You say leaning in to kiss him one last time. You don’t know if just you saying it makes him feel better or not but you see him relax.

“I’ll be safe.” You say standing up and closing the door, before you let him drag you back into the car. Johnny walks over with you to the sign-in office before stopping just outside the entrance. He hands you your bag and you throw it over your shoulder his hand lingers on your arm before he lets you go. 

“I’ll be back before you know it.” You say smiling at him. He still has that cheeky grin on his face, although it looks more strained. 

“You take care of yourself lass.” He says. 

“Promise, I’ll text you when I land.” You say patting your phone in your pocket.

“And every day till you’re back.” He says. 

“Of course.” You smile. You want to kiss him, hug him one last time but it’s too late, you force your body to turn into the office. Hearing Johnny’s boots walking away breaks your heart, you force back the tears as you report for duty, handing your passport over and being handed a stack of paperwork.   

—————————— 

It was hot when you land in Syria, you knew it was going to be, but by this point you had your full kit on for the hour long drive in a truck with no air conditioning. You had got talking to a doctor on the plane, he was telling you about his family back in England how this was his second tour and he was hoping to be home before the end of the month for his son's 4th birthday. He talked a lot but you didn’t mind it was a nice distraction from thinking about Simon and Johnny, and besides being friendly with the base doc came with it’s perks.

You tried to ignore the sweat dripping off you on the drive shoved in the back of a truck with a bunch of other soldiers, one of whom kept joking that if we hit an IED at least there’s a doc on board. You wished you were back in the UK in a nice cooled ward with bumps and scrapes to look after. When you weren't making small talk with the doctor on the flight you had been refreshing your knowledge on GSW’s and blast injuries, which meant a not so pleasant nap with not so pleasant imagery for the second leg of the flight.

When you finally made it to the base everyone was more then happy to clamber out and meet the base commander who was waiting for everyone. It was only when you stepped out and got a better look at him you realised who it was. Fucking Jack, Chloe’s brother-in-law. Your breath caught in your throat and you snuck into the back of the crowd almost not waning to believe it. Asshole, he’s the base commander, I guess Chloe wasn’t joking when she said he had som big promotion. You knew it was all just for show, there is no way he actually earned his way to-you squint looking at his tags-major. What a joke. You don’t listen to his speech you just want to avoid him as much as you can.

When he’s done you follow the doctor through to the medical wing for the handover, luckily, in your experience high ranking officials tend to avoid the medical wing unless necessary. You settle into a bunk, the dorms in the medical wing are sometimes, mixed and this time it’s no different, not that you care, your schedules are so all over the place most of the time it’s just sleep when you can where you can.

You look at the roster, you’ve got it easy stuck in the clinic as the day nurse, should be easy. You force some food down you in the world’s smallest canteen then make your way to bed for the night. You text Johnny letting him know you’ve landed and you’re safe, you leave out the part about Chloe’s brother-in-law. Besides nothing anyone can do about it, it’s only 3 weeks, you remind yourself, 3 weeks then you’ll be home. You roll over in the bed and close your eyes hoping sleep will find you soon.

—————————— 

There was a knock at the door you looked over at the time on the computer screen. It was already 7pm you have no more patients tonight. You get up to answer it. You’d been on the base for almost two days and so far you had been able to do everything in your power to avoid Jack, now he was standing at your door. 

“What do you want?” you ask, holding the door so he can't push it open.

“That’s no way to address a commanding officer, sergeant.” He smiles, you roll my eyes. 

“Eye rolling too, you looking for a disciplinary?” He says raising an eyebrow.

“If it will get you to leave me alone sure.” He scoffs. 

“Can I come in?” He asks.

“Nope, I’m finished for tonight book an appointment tomorrow.” You say. 

“I really don’t feel well.” He says almost pouting, is he enjoying this? It makes you feel sick.

“Well, the on call nurse will be happy to see you.” You respond going to close the door but he stops it with his foot. 

“I really would not want to air out all your dirty laundry around everyone.” He says quieter leaning in.

“My laundry is clean and folded, check my locker.” You say just as quiet gritting your teeth. 

“What about your lovers?” He says. You grab his shirt pulling him into the room and slamming the door. You head over to sit at the PC. 

“Sit,” You say kicking the chair. You open his medical file. He tries to pull the monitor to look as he sits down but you hit his hand away pulling it back round.

“Even you’re not allowed to see medical records without the doctors consent.” You snap at him. He sighs. 

“What’s wrong?” You ask him looking at him from around the monitor.  

“I have this inching in my balls, makes my dick tingle,” he says grabbing his crotch. you roll your eyes sighing, looking away. What a cunt, clearly he finds this funny just like when he thought hazing was an appropriate way to scare Chloe into enlisting. 

“What do you want?” You ask sighing, you just want this to be over now.

“I want info on 141.” He says.

“What the fuck is 141?” You ask throwing your hands up shaking your head, he looks confused for a second leaning forward. 

“Your boyfriends unit?” He says. 

“Okay and why would I know anything about that?” You reply. He sighs leaning back in the chair.

“You’re fucking them.” He say holding his hands up. 

“So?” You reply. 

“What you guys don’t talk about work ever?” He asks. You shake your head, and start typing on the computer adding an appointment to his medical file. 

“Okay but you can get info, and you’ll give it too me I order you as your commanding officer.” He says, he doesn’t sound that confident in what he’s saying. You swivel round on the chair taking the paper out the printer, signing it and folding it up. 

“Yeah I’m not going to be doing that,” you say scoffing, he sounds like a Bond villain it almost makes you laugh. 

“If you’re going to ignore orders then maybe I’ll have someone take a trip to your apartment. Canary Wharf right? Quite a fancy place for an army nurse.” You swallow hard, turning to look at him. 

“It’s a shame you felt the need to confide in me after hours, but don’t worry we’ll get you the right help.” You say standing and handing him the letter. He takes it, standing up too.

“What’s this?” He says opening it up.

“Take it to your appointment tomorrow, the doctor will need to see it.” You say going to open the door. 

“A psych evaluation?” He says, you shrug pressing your lips together. 

“I can cancel it you know?” He says. 

“Well I’ll see you at your competency hearing when you fail to show up for a mandatory evaluation.” You say. 

“Bullshit, you’re joking.” He scoffs. 

“Sorry already approved, that’s what that name is right there.” You point on the paper. You pull the door handle looking away as you feel your body slammed up against the door. Shit. 

“You know I can make your life very difficult here!" He spits in your ear as you’re pressed up against the door your arm pulled round your back. 

“I’m not scared of you just cos daddy got you a base to command in the middle of fucking nowhere.” You say. You have to believe he has no power, this isn’t even a major base it’s mostly medical staff, supply depots, nothing like the strategic power house’s around the rest of Syria. This base has 20 people mulling around max, and most of them go off to other bases to work during the day. 

“You should be I could have you court-marshalled and shipped back to the UK your career will be ripped out from under you.” He says, you can feel the anger boiling in him, he’s gripping your arm tighter pushing you further into the door. 

“You seem very stable right now maybe I should cancel that psych appointment.” You say sarcastically as he squeezes the air out your lungs. There is another knock at the door it’s so loud with your face pressed up that it makes your ears buzz. 

“Hey, wanna grab a sandwich before bed?” It’s one of the nurses. 

“Yeah I’ll be there in a sec.” You say, before Jack has a chance to stop you. He doesn't have a choice now, he has to leave. He lets you go shaking his head. You bend down picking up the paper he dropped handing it back to him and opening the door. The nurse steps out the way as he walks out starring down at you. You don’t say anything just watch him walk away. 

“I heard noises are you okay?” The nurse asks. 

“Yeah, I’m fine.” You nod. 

“Just, I heard he can get a bit touchy. The other girls have complained about it already.” She says whispering, looking at the doors he went through like he was going to burst back through any moment. 

“Yeah I heard that too.” You nod, good let them spread rumours. She smiles at you and walks in the opposite direction. You close the door to the office locking it, leaning back up against it your head hitting the door. You sink down to the floor letting out a breath you didn’t know you’d been holding. You put your head between your knees feeling sick, your breathing starts to pick up as your brain catches up to what just happened. The adrenaline is gone now your hands shake, you basically just told your boss to go fuck himself. He’s right he could have you court-marshalled, clearly if he was able to get you out here he could make you disappear.

This place is remote enough, accident’s happen, IED’s, base raids. You push the thought away your head throbbing. He’s not going to do anything, if he did anything people would know right? You take your phone out, your hands still shaking. What were you going to say? You had to tell Simon and Johnny something, they had to know, you weren't even sure what to say. ‘Boo hoo so what if you don’t like your boss no one likes their bosses.’ But what if they panicked, what if somehow Jack found out and stopped them. He knew about the flat in Canary Wharf, if he was being serious Johnny and Simon could be in danger. They can take care of themselves.

You could go over his head get to a different base speak to another commanding officer report him, they have shit in place for this, so this doesn't happen. You let out a breath trying to calm yourself, you need to think straight. You take your phone in your hands and open Johnny’s messages. The last text you sent was yesterday telling him you’d landed safely, you felt the pit in your stomach, you missed them. Seeing Johnny’s reply and the hearts, you had to warn them. You didn’t know what to say, you just typed.

——————————  

Simon and Johnny had never both been scared at the same time. Sure Simon holds his breath when Johnny’s arms deep in a bomb and Johnny’s heart sinks when Simon slips off into the shadows to flank an enemy, but rarely do both those things happen simultaneously.

It had been a day since you left, the flat felt hollow like it was missing a piece. They didn’t even have work to distract them, everything had been quiet. Simon mentioned to Johnny about the lead they were following up on in Iran and Urzikstan, whispers of Americans selling guns to terrorists. Clearly nothing had come of it. Johnny was sat at the table pretending to read the newspaper, Simon was on the couch pretending to watch the TV. 

“Four letters, old.” Johnny says tapping his pencil on the table. 

“You,” Simon replies. 

“Starts with an A.” Johnny tuts. Simon sighs. 

“Aged.” He says after a few seconds. Johnny looks over at him fiddling with the remote. He didn’t know what to say to Simon, Johnny didn’t expect Simon to be so upset you were gone. He puts the paper down walking over to sofa to snuggle up against him. Simon wraps his arm round him pulling him close as Johnny lays his hand on Simon’s chest feeling the dogtags under his shirt.

“What time is it over there?” He asks, Simon sighs, he’s pretending he doesn't already know trying to pretend to calculate it. 

“Almost 8.” He replies. Looking at his watch. Johnny sighs, seeing his phone buzz on the table. He gets up sighing like it’s almost an annoyance he has to do anything other then mope around the flat all day. 

“It’s her.” He says opening it, his eyes squint as he looks confused at the message. 

“Looks like she was supposed to send this to Chloe.” Johnny says looking at Simon who reaches out for the phone, they look at it together.

Hey Clo, didn’t mention your dickhead brother-in-law was the base commander here, I guess you were right when you said he’d had some big promotion. Anyway sorry bout that, but if you’re staying in the Canary Wharf flat you’re going to want to get gone ASAP, cleaners are due any day now. Oh and if you bump into Johnny let him know I can’t contact him right now, he’ll understand. Wouldn’t want him to panic. 

Anyway txt soon (hopefully) love you xx

Simon passes the phone back to Johnny. 

“I’ll call Price you get the bags.” Simon says jumping off the couch. Johnny is already trying to call you. 

“You sure it’s not just a mistake.” Johnny says, his body pulling him up off the couch, the phone is still ringing.

“You wanna, test that?” Simon asks pushing his phone up to his ear and going into the bedroom. Johnny looks back down at phone, call failed. 

“Christ, I hope it’s a mistake.” He whispers under his breath. 

Next part

[hotteoki]

skz treating your skzoo plush

warnings: bullying of skzoo plushies, they deserve better 💔

notes: not proofread

©️ hotteoki | do not repost

chan (방찬)

you knew chan was THE most genuine and sweet man you've ever met in your life, you just didn't expect him to be so sweet with the wolf chan he gifted you for valentine’s day too. “oh my god you changed his clothes!” chan exclaimed, holding wolf chan up high to examine it.

“yeah! i ordered a few sets of new clothes for him, did you know how hard it was to find this one?” you grumbled. it was hard to find someone who custom made skzoo plush clothes, you were lucky enough to come across a creator on tiktok and immediately contacted them.

“he’s so cute…” chan cooed at it, stroking wolf chan’s ears gently. “i’ve got a few more clothes for him that i haven’t had the chance to change,” you held up a few small hangers that carried different plush outfits that were custom made for your special wolf chan. chan hummed, “i still think the one he’s wearing is the best.”

“you recognise it?” “course i do! it’s iconic!” wolf chan was sporting the red ‘thunderous’ outfit chan wore in the mv. “he’s so cute!” he gushed, kissing the plush. “starting to think you love him more than me,” you crossed your arms, teasing him. “baby, you’re the love of my entire life, and i adore you. but look at wolf chan!”

you couldn’t help but laugh. chan snuggled wolf chan close to his chest and closed his eyes, using it as a teddy bear. “like you don’t have the exact same one,” you rolled your eyes playfully. “but mine’s not in this cool outfit!” chan protested, grinned like a child seeing a rainbow for the first time. he just had to be so perfect, didn’t he?

minho (민호)

it was a terrible idea to leave minho sitting on your bed alone in your bedroom, with your innocent leebit sitting peacefully on your pillow by himself. you didn’t think about it much when you left to go to the bathroom, and you definitely didn’t think of how poor leebit was going to be treated by your supposedly loving boyfriend.

you came back into your room, hands still damp. amidst wiping the water off using your top, you gasped at the sight of leebit stripped of its adorable sailor outfit, a rubber band around its ears, tying them together. minho was leaning against your headboard, mindlessly swinging leebit around by its leg, acting like he's not torturing one of your most prized possessions.

"leebit!" you rushed forward, snatching the plushie from minho's grasp. he glared at you, offended, like you were the one who betrayed him. "why do you do that to my poor baby?" you asked, frowning, pulling the band off and clothing it once again. "i thought i was your baby?" minho teased, stealing leebit from your hold when he saw you struggling with the outfit.

"not after what i had just witnessed," you sat beside him, bringing your knees up to wrap your arms around your body. when leebit returned to its original look, minho tossed him away, pulling you close to him. "yah, tell me i'm your one and only," he whined, pinching your side. you sighed endearingly, "lee min ho, you're my one and only." minho gave no response and only buried his face in your neck, but you felt his widening smile against your warm skin.

changbin (창빈)

your eyes grew heavier and heavier; you were exhausted from the long week of overwhelming work. changbin had suggested the both of you to go straight to bed the second he stepped into your shared apartment and saw the tired expression on your face. you had shook your head, insisting you wanted to watch spirited away with him. neither of you have had any free time the past few days, work succumbing both of you. he had originally promised to watch a movie of your choice as soon as he got home, but that turned out to be later than he expected.

yawning, you snuggled your dwaekki plushie to your body and wriggled closer to changbin's warm body. you leaned your head against his broad shoulders, finally shutting your eyes. although your brain was sending all the signals your body needed to sleep, your thoughts were running wild and free.

you were so focused on forcing yourself to sleep you hadn't even realised dwaekki falling out of your arms and getting picked up by changbin. as you were about to speak, he sighed to the doll, interrupting you. you opted to stay silent to see what he has to say.

"yah, dwaekki, don't you find her stubborn?" you had to resist the urge slap changbin in the chest. you felt his arm that was wrapped securely around you tilt up, allowing him to brush his fingers over your cheek gently. "but that's what i like about her," he murmured, clearly not wanting to disturb you, "i just wish she could take care of herself the way she takes care of me. she's so caring, loving and just every good thing in existence shoved into one person, she deserves the world. you better not repeat this to her though, okay, dwaekki?" oh you were so in love with this man.

hyunjin (현진)

when hyunjin came out of the shower, he wasn't surprised to see you curled up on the couch, blanket engulfing you into a cocoon, your eyes fixated on the movie playing on the television, hair pushed back by your pink fluffy hairband that matched with his. he was, however, surprised to see your arms protecting little jiniret, who also had a mini hairband on its head.

hyunjin audibly gushed at the adorable sight, running over to jump on the couch, occupying the spot next to you. he placed his hand over his heart dramatically, pretending to be struck, head slumping down and squashing jiniret. "no!" you pulled the plush from underneath hyunjin’s head, earning an offended scoff from him.

“do you not love me anymore? have you ever loved me? were you just using me to get to jiniret?” he feigned a series of sobs. you rolled your eyes, stroking his cheeks gently and moving your legs to allow hyunjin to use them as a pillow comfortably. “yes, i’ve dated you for over two years just to have your doll. i’ve never loved you, it was all a lie.”

he pouted, sitting up and glaring at you, “this is an important topic, and you’re not going to take it seriously?” you leaned forward to kiss his pout, hand reaching up to lightly graze over his jawline, “i love you, so very much, hyunjin,” you mumbled against his soft lips. he smiled, resisting a love-struck giggle.

jisung (지성)

"ji!" you called for your boyfriend while walking around the dorm, seemingly unable to find him anywhere. "he's in the living room," changbin said without looking up from his phone as he passed by. you responded with a quick thanks before making your way there. true enough, there jisung was, going on his phone. he was laid horizontally on the couch, his legs dangling off the arm rest.

crawling on top of him, you laid there with him, your ear pressed against his chest, his steady heartbeat bringing a sense of calamity to you. his free hand began combing through your hair, and you sighed contentedly. “haven’t seen you all day,” you complained, moving your head to rest your chin against his body, looking up at him. jisung switched his phone off, tossing it on the coffee table, “aw, i missed you too.”

“what have you been up to?” you asked, subconsciously leaning into his hand. “well, quokka and i spent the whole day watching tiktok after chan convinced me to download it and watch some edits stays made,” he gestured at the plush that was placed beside his head. you hadn’t even noticed it. “is that my one?” you reached your hand up to collect it, noticing the outfit you bought before.

“yeah,” he confirmed. “don’t you have your own one?” it was meant to be a rhetorical question, you didn’t really mind him taking your quokka, as long as he returned it; it was one of your most prized possessions. jisung’s ears turned red and his cheeks flushed slightly, “it smells of you, and i missed you.” now you felt yourself blushing, and you hid your face in his chest, slightly embarrassed. he only chuckled, looping his arms around your frame and making himself comfortable with you.

felix (용복)

you strolled into the kitchen, hugging bbokari close to you. it wasn’t rare for you to drag the little chicken plush around, felix wasn’t always at home and bbokari provided you the comfort of him, though it was never as good as your actual boyfriend. even when felix was home, you had adopted the habit of bringing bbokari around; he didn’t mind, if anything, he found it endearing, it showed how much you love him.

your original plan was to look for a few snacks after feeling a bit peckish, but when you saw felix munching on a bag of fried chicken, you gasped loudly. the poor man jumped from fear, not hearing you come into the room. “felix lee!” you covered bbokari’s eyes, “how dare you?” his eyes widened, “i didn’t know you were in the room!” “and that makes it okay for you to commit cannibalism?!” you stroked the plush’s back soothingly, pressing his face to your chest.

“it’s not what it looks like-” felix tried to speak. “what else could it be?! how could you eat chicken in front of our child?!” he wiped his hands and mouth quickly, standing, “i didn’t mean to-” you interrupted by lowering your head, pretending to cry. this was a usual occurrence, both of you know it was all theatrics, it was just amusing to play along.

he stepped forward gingerly, wrapping his arms around your figure, bbokari in between your two bodies. felix stroked your hair, whispering apologies continuously. minho walked into the kitchen, scrunching up his face in confusion, “the hell are you two doing?” “we’re mourning our child,” felix sighed. minho stared, “you are so weird.”

seungmin (승민)

now you knew how seungmin treated his own puppym, that plush has seen things that you couldn’t even describe. on the contrary, you liked to hug your own puppym during your sleep, it was just so small and easy to hold, seungmin liked to complain about it being a replacement. normally, you never trusted seungmin with your puppym, as much as you loved him with your whole heart and soul, the man would probably throw the plush out the window just for the hell of it, so, you never let puppym out of your sight whenever seungmin came around.

you were curled up in your warm blanket cocoon, sleeping peacefully, seungmin, however, was not. he checked the clock on your bedside drawer impatiently, 2:19AM, it read. seungmin had long given up on shaking you, forcing you to stay awake with him, you had easily fallen back into your slumber each time. he grumbled; he had taken a nap in the afternoon, despite your chastising of how he wouldn’t be able to sleep at night, he probably should have listened, given how awake he current was.

bored out of his mind, seungmin looked around the room for anything to pass time, and the innocent puppym falling out of your arms caught his eye. an idea popped up in his head and he caught the plush before it could fall on the ground. he began smacking the plush against your head, making sure not to apply too much force in case you could somehow get hurt from a doll. groaning, you blinked your sleep away, reaching your hand up to block puppym from being hit against your head anymore. upon realising what was happening, you slapped his hand, making him release your plush from his grip, “what is wrong with you?! it’s the middle of the night seungie!”

seungmin grinned from ear to ear, happy his attempts of waking you up had worked, “i can’t sleep and i’m bored.” you closed your eyes again, “how is that my problem?” “it’s not, but i’m making it your problem, only because i’m so deeply in love with you.” “stop trying to sway me, i’m pissed at you,” you mumbled, rolling your body away from him. seungmin leaned down to press a kiss on your cheek, “you love me too much to be pissed at me.”

jeongin (정인)

today was as usually; the two of you were cuddling, talking about nothing but also everything in general. you had your foxi.ny wrapped tightly in your arms, nuzzling your cheek into its fluffy ears every now and then. it was near midnight, but neither of you felt like sleeping yet, feeling content with your current position.

out of nowhere, as jeongin was in the middle of talking about what to eat tomorrow, he snatched your foxi.ny from your arms and continued on like nothing happened. you stared blankly at him, "excuse me?" he gave you a dirty look, like you were the one who stole his plush, "what? don't interrupt me."

you tried to reach for your foxi.ny again, failing as he held it farther away from you. "this is actually bullying," you pointed out. he only shrugged, "you looked more comfortable with it than me." you let your arm fall on his chest, "you're joking." "i'm very serious," jeongin firmly responded throwing foxi.ny away, the poor thing landing somewhere to the corner of your bedroom.

you sighed defeatedly, knowing you would never be able to get it back until the morning. jeongin only gave you the brightest smile, kissing your nose gently, pulling away with an exaggerated 'mwah'. this was unfair, how could you possibly stay mad at him when he's this cute?

[xsublimelimex]

All characters are 21+

Mommy’s Messy Little Girls

“Higher mommy! Higher!!!” My little princess shouts as I push her on the swings I have set up in our backyard. I laugh and push faster. “You would go higher if you helped mommy by swinging your legs in and out!” I told her. “Nooo too much work!” She shouts back giggling. I throw my head back and laugh.

The cool wind is hitting her beautiful face making her cheeks and nose a rosy red color. She’s wearing a light pink Sherpa coat with black leggings. Her hair is in pig tails and she looks so adorable. “Stop mommy I wan slide!” She shouts and wiggles in her swing. I slow her down and she jumps off before it completely stops. I grab her arm before she can run away and she turns to me and stomps her leg impatiently.

“Hey! Are you crazy little girl you could have hurt yourself!” I tell her sternly while cupping her cold face. “I sorry mommy,” she says with a sheepish look on her face. I nod satisfied and squish her cheeks and press a kiss against her cold lips. “Good girl, you only have 10 more minutes and the it’s inside time because it’s getting way too cold.” She nods with her face still in between my hands and I finally let go and she races away to the slide.

I watch her waddle away, her full diaper preventing her from closing her legs fully so her run is so adorable. I laugh and sit on the porch and watch her run back and forth playing.

I hear a knock at the front door. “Honey someone’s at the door, I’ll be just a second okay?” I shout. “Otay mommy!!” She shouts back.

I leave the back door open so I can hear if she calls for me.

I pull the front door open and it’s our close friend Jess. “Oh hellos this is a nice surprise!” I say as we hug close. Her blonde hair smells like vanilla as it brushes my face. “It’s been a while since I’ve seen you and little Sophie so I thought I’d stop by. I hope I’m not intruding!!” Her brows furrowed and her kind brown eyes widened in worry as we pull back. “Of course not Sophie is going to be ecstatic!”

We walk back outside, “guess who is here!” I shout to my little Princess. She looks over from the top of the slide and screams in excitement. She slides down way to fast and runs toward her Jess. “Auntie Jess!!!!!” She screeches as she hugs Jess hard. Jess laughs and kisses Sophie on both cheeks. “Hello honey I’ve missed you.” I smile at them, “lets get inside and warmed up, I’ll make hot coco and we can watch a movie.” Sophie squeals and walks inside pulling her coat off and kicking her shoes off to the floor. “Sophie!” I say in a hard voice.

She looks over and smiles sheepishly before walking back over and putting her shoes on the rack and her coat on the hanger. “Good girl. Jess why don’t you both head to the living room and I’ll bring those hot chocolates.” Sophie grabs Jess’s hand before I can even finish and drags her to the living room to play Barbie’s no doubt. “Okay looks like that’s what we’re doing!” Jess laughs as she gets dragged.

🍼🍼🍼🍼

I walk into the living room with two steaming mugs of hot chocolate and a warm baby bottle of chocolate milk under my arm. I walk in to find them on the floor forgotten Barbie laying all around them while Sophie’s favorite movie tangled is playing on the tv.

My princess is sitting crisscrossed apple sauce staring up at the tv with her thumb in her mouth. They both look over when I walk in and Sophie claps her hands in excitement bouncing up and down on her soaked diaper. “Yay chocy milk!!”

I hand Jess her mug and set mine on the coffee table. “Let’s sit on the couch and relax a little?” Jess nods, “sounds perfect! My dat has been absolutely shit at work so I’d love to just relax.” She gasps and covers her mouth, “ohmygod im so sorry.”

Sophie laughs, “auntie said a bad word mommy!!”

“I know sweetie but she’s allowed to since she’s an adult but you can’t say bad words why?” I ask her pointedly. “Cuz I’m jus a baby!” She says. “Yes you are, you’re mommy’s stinky little princess.” She turns into a tomato and we all laugh.

I turn the overhead lights off but keep the lamps on to create more of an ambience.

Jess and I settle on the couch and we pat our laps. Sophie crawls over from her spot on the floor and climbs on the couch. She lays her head on the pillow in my lap and her piss filled diapered butt in Jess’s lap.

Jess rests her hand on her diapered butt and sips from her drink as she watches the movie.

“Chocy milk pwease.” Sophie says in a quiet voice finally coming down from all her excitement. She yawns just as I bring the teat to her lips. She opens and slips it inside suckling softly. I hold it for a few seconds but she takes it from me and hold it between her sweater paws as she watches.

I brush her soft wavy hair from her face and rub her back as I sip away at my drink.

Soon she finishes and hands me her bottle. She whines and turns over toward us her face now pressed against my tits. “Milkies pwease mama.” She cries.

“Oh Sweet Girl of course don’t cry I know you’re sleepy but don’t forget you need to bathe first. So just a little bit of milkies.” She nods and nuzzles my chest looking for my nipple.

I start to try and pull my top off but I’m struggling because I decided to wear my cute sweater instead of the one that I know is easily assessable for breastfeeding. “Here let me help you.” Jess reaches over and helps me pull my sweater off and she unclasps the back of my bra for me. It slips off and my breasts hang free. Sophie opens her mouth and attempts to snag my swinging tit into her mouth as I move around.

I quickly settle back but Sophie is so tired she doesn’t even lift her head to try to get my nipple again.

I go to push my nipple into her mouth but Jess brushes my hand away. “Let me please.” She says in a breathy voice obviously very turned on. She grabs my right tit and squeezes my nipple a bit so milk leaks on her fingers. I gasp “oh fuck.”

She squirts some milk into Sophie’s mouth who gulps it up and attempts to take my nipple in her mouth again. Jess lifts my tit and drops my nipple right into Sophie’s mouth. She quickly latches on and moans suckling hard. Jess moves her hand away and moans as she sucks off my breastmilk from her fingers while looking me right in the eyes.

Shit that was hot.

She settles back against the couch and runs her hands up and down Sophie’s legs. I look down at my sweet girl and her eyes are closed as she suckles. I brush fingers through her hair and she sighs in happiness. “Such a good girl for mama.” I tell her tenderly.

“Your nipples changed.” Jess says suddenly, I look up and she’s staring at my left nipple that’s leaking milk. I look at her in confusion so she continues “sorry that was so random but I just noticed how… big they look now?” She says slowly scooting closer to me. “And your milk has definitely came in much more since the last time I was here it’s a lot creamier?” She says in awe her eyes not leaving Sophie’s lips that are suckling much more softly now.

I brush my left nipple and pinch it more milk leaking out. “I’m suprised you noticed, but yes. My nipples are now accustomed to Sophie’s constant suckling so that combined with the breast pump I used in the first few months they’ve gotten much bigger and thicker to help her drink. And the milk honestly depends on my diet which I’ve gotten down perfectly so far so it helps it with the taste but the creamy factor, I’m not really sure I’ve looked online if the pills I took to help increase my prolactin levels had anything to do with it but it didn’t say.” Jess hums and licks her lips. “Well it tastes really good.”

“Would you… would you like to try some? I mean right from the source that is? I don’t pump anymore so suckling would be the only way.” I ask her quietly not wanting to disturb my beautiful girl from her drinking. Jess looks shocked but slowly nods, “are you sure? I don’t want to make you uncomfortable or anything.” She says in a small voice, she sounds so young in that moment I just know she’s at the edge of her little space.

“Come here sweetie, rest your head softly against Sophie’s belly.” She does as I say and just lays there looking up at me. Her mouth is slightly open and drool is leaking out all over her chin. Her hands are curled up against her chest in a ball as she waits.

I rub some of her drool around and press my finger down on her tongue forcing her mouth open wider. She makes an ahh noise as if she’s at the dentist. I pull my finger away and pick up my heavy breast and drop my fat leaking nipple right into her warm drooling mouth. She slobbers all over my nipple in an attempt to figure out the best way to suckle. I let her take time.

“Sweetie relax I’m not gonna take it away you have time to figure it out just start slow.” She whines but listens. She starts to take small little suck’s off my milk and slowly finds a rhythm. Soon I have two beautiful little girls suckling away at my nipples simultaneously.

“Gorgeous gorgeous girls. Look at my two daughters suckling on their mamas big fat nipples. Such good girls.” I coo and brush my hands on there heads as they suckle. They moan and suck harder and fuck does it feel amazing having two little girls suckling on their mommy’s tits.

Sophie slows down and let’s out a small toot. “Oof stinky baby! Does my sweet baby need to make poopies?” I question even though I know the answer. She pops off my nipple, “yesh mama I need to make big poo poo.”

Before I can reply, Jess let’s out a loud fart. “Oh no, does baby Jess need to go poopies as well?” Jess turns into a tomato and nods not saying a word. Sweet girl has gone completely nonverbal. “That’s okay I’ll get you into a diaper in no time. And then mommy will clean up both her daughters dirty little butts.” I slip my finger into both their mouths popping them off my nipples. They whine and try to latch back on.

“No girls, mommy has to get jess into a diaper like Sophie’s before she makes a mess of her leggings.” I tell them sternly. “Now up you both go, and lay on your backs in the floor for me.” They listen without a word, but before Jess can lay down she clutches her tummy and cries. “Oh hun what’s wrong?” Before she can tell me she lets out a loud wet fart and all I hear are gushes and gushes of poop spilling out of her little asshole right into her panties and leggings.

She looks at me with wide eyes tears streaming down her face as she keeps pushing. Her forehead creasing as she squeezes harder. “Mama mama” she cries.

Oh baby. I bring her down to the floor and she cries against my chest on her knees still pushing. “It’s okay honey, finish your poopies and mommy will clean you right up it’s okay sweetheart there’s no need to cry.” She nods against my chest and I look over at Sophie who is in her own world playing with her Barbie’s laying on her tummy. Her diaper so full it’s leaking out onto her white leggings and of course she’s completely oblivious without a care in the world. She’s so freaking cute.

With Jess still against my chest crying I decide to wait a few moments before getting up to get their changes. I push my nipple against her lips and she opens suckling hard and fast right away using me as a pacifier to comfort her. “Shhh honey it’s okay it’s okay. Just drink mommy’s milkies.” She hums in content as I rub her back.

I bring my hand down to her butt to see just how full it’s gotten and boy did she make a stinker. I squeeze her butt and I hear her poop squish against her as I do.

“Such a good little girl making such a big stinky mess, just like Sophie’s. Both of my stinky poppy daughters are perfect.” Sophie looks up at me and smiles before turning back to her dolls. I look down at Jess and her eyes are closed as she slowly sucks.

To be continued.

[marifilue]

Part 1: New Guy In Town

Pairing: Logan Howlett x F!Mutant!Reader - Slow burn, you have regenerative healing ability, skilled with guns and rifles, no use of y/n, reader in her 50s but because of her ability looked like in her mid 20s. Logan is from the first X-Men movie era.

Warnings: Explicit language, nothing much but we'll get there

Wc: 4,214

A voice echoes in your mind, Professor Xavier calling your name, his presence is sharp and commanding. God, he always knew how to make a grand approach. You jumped at the unexpected voice as he instructed you to meet him downstairs. You set down your book, breath caught. Then, with a quick step, you head for the door.

Grabbing a red cardigan from the hanger just behind your bedroom door and leaving your book, now neglected, by the bed, you walk down the hallway. Dusty windows let in streaks of morning sunlight, warming the cold, shadowed hallway.

You step down two floors via the stairs to reach the main floor. Just when you’re about to reach for the handle, the door swings open, and suddenly you’re staring at a stranger, a tall rugged man who left no room for the doorway, his shadow casting over you. Weird hair style, are those a mutton chops hanging by his chin? Those belonged in a period dramas, not in Professor Xavier’s polished hallway. His X-Men sweater is unzipped halfway, chest hair on full display, which he doesn't seem to be bothered. Could’ve zipped it all the way up, but for some reason known only to God, he left it halfway at seven a.m. in freezing cold.

"And, Logan, meet Hollow" Charles said, introducing the strange man to you by your mutation's name. As you peeked to the side and get a better view of Charles since this guy is blocking the entire doorway. You shot him a confused glance; must be another stray that Charles had picked up. Not that it’s a bad thing—you were a stray once, rescued by Charles after escaping some twisted government experiment.

The man turns back to Charles and points at Ororo, who’s already in the room with Scott. "Storm?" he questioned, pointing to Ororo. "Cyclops," pointing to Scott. Then, "Hollow," he said, pointing at you. You swear you've never heard a voice that deep, did he do that on purpose?

He scoffed, "And what do they call you? Wheels?" Mocking all of the names and even the Professor. Where did Charles find this guy?

You raise an eyebrow, crossing your arms. "That’s a lot of attitude for a guy with mutton chops." you muttered, eyeing him warily as he turns his head back at you.

He scoffs, "Hollow? That even a real name?" he said, your eyebrows furrowed together, resisting the urge to show him exactly why they called you that. You ignored him and stepped forward, purposely bump his left shoulder so you could enter the room with force- since he choose to stand right in the entrance door.

"My name is Charles Xavier," Charles said. You manage to keep your voice steady as you ask, "What’s going on, professor?" But part of you wonders if you’re ready for whatever answer he’ll give.

"Logan here and his companion, a young mutant named Marie, were attacked by other mutants under the influence of an old friend of mine, Erik Lehnsherr. I'm not very fond of what Erik is currently engaged in, and I believe his intentions are not positive," Charles explained, and you catch a glimpse of the— what was his name again?mutton-chops guy looked utterly confused.

"You and Marie is safe here Logan, we need to figured out what is Magneto's up to first." Ororo said "Hollow, I believe there’s a room available across from yours on the third floor. Would you mind showing Logan around the school and then leading him to his room?" Charles glanced at you with his usual smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. You had to admit that smile was a bit creepy, and his request was now undeniable.

"Sure, Professor," you replied shortly. Glancing at Logan "Chop chop, mutton chops." prompting him to follow you as you leave the office. If looks could kill, you'd be the first to die staring into those hazel eyes.

"You seem really intrigued by my mutton chops, aren't ya?" he said, following your steps from behind as you show him the classroom through the hallway. The school bells ring, and the kids make their way into the hallway, minding their own business. You snort a little laugh, low enough for him to hear. "What?" he demanded, wanting an explanation.

Now entering the kitchen and finding the door to the backyard. "I've only seen those in period dramas they haven't exactly been in style for, like, what? A century?" you said,

"Oh, I know that just fine. I was there when it was still in style," he replied stoically, stepping outside behind you. He now zips his sweater all the way up, which he should have done earlier.

"So your mutation is time traveling, huh? That's a first," you jumped to conclusions. He scoffs "That ain't it, bub. I'm just ol'." Standing beside you and staring into the green yard a hundred feet across. He tucks both of his arms into the pockets of his gray X-Men sweater.

"Like a hundred years old?" you asked, raising your eyebrows in pure curiosity. "Now that bald fella in a wheelchair have restored my memory back after attempting all night. I'm pretty sure I'm pushing a hundred and seventy. A thing I couldn't even remember for the last ten years." Logan responded whilst staring into the green yard. With this new information, you suddenly feel a slight sympathy toward him. A decade, that’s a long time to be lost.

"I have regenerative healing abilities too. If I'm right in guessing this time that's your mutation?" you said, glancing to your left to catch his profile. "Really? How old are ya?" he asks, his tone now filled with curiosity.

"Whoa, whoa. I don’t think it’s socially acceptable in today’s society to ask a woman her age," you replied sarcastically, bringing your hand to cover your mouth. "Fifty-five years old, and nobody needs to know," you whispered just loud enough for him to hear. He can’t help but smile softly, amused by your humor.

Logan brings his left arm up, rubbing his temple with the tips of his index and middle fingers. "Listen, I, uh... I've had a long night. Can we just cut the tour short and show me the room?" He said with low voice, continues to rub his temple before pinching the bridge of his nose. His slight mood shift makes you want to question him further, but you simply nod in understanding. "Come, follow me," you say as you head back into the mansion.

The next three minutes pass in silence, filled only with faint echoes from the classrooms—the low murmurs of students, chairs scraping on floors. The mansion’s grandness always felt both comforting and isolating. Logan trails two steps behind, eyes flicking over the wood-paneled walls, the high arched ceilings, and the faint burn marks from past battles. After climbing two stories, you reach the third-floor hallway. This floor has eight rooms—four on each side—and now that Logan is the last person to occupy one. You on the other hand were the first, a little over two years ago. Sometimes you wondered if you’d ever truly settle in. This floor is more sophisticated than the students' quarters, designed for teachers and offering much more privacy.

You twist the cool brass doorknob and push the door open. The faint scent of wood polish and dust greets you both. Noticing his belongings already sitting near the bed just one bag with enough clothes. Ororo must've dropped them off.

"Find me if you need anything." You said as he nods, offering a faint smile before you close the door "Thanks," he muttered. You force a polite nod with a gentle smile before heading down the hallway, sensing his gaze linger a beat too long. Whether out of interest or suspicion, you weren’t sure. though something in his tone leaves you wary.

•••••••

A few feet away from the kitchen, a polite voice stops you. “Excuse me?” You turn your head and find a young girl with brunette hair standing nearby. “Hi there,” you responded, waiting for her to speak.

“I saw you with Wolverine earlier. Do you know where he is?” she asked. You give her a polite smile, a bit puzzled. “I’m sorry, who’s Wolverine?” you said, genuinely confused.

“Oh… his name’s Logan,” she clarifies, a little awkwardly. Wolverine? The name catches you off guard, but somehow it suits him. You nod. “And you are…?”

“Rogue. Marie, sometimes,” she said, her voice soft. It clicks in your mind, and you smile as you introduce yourself, welcoming her to the school. “I showed Logan to his room on the third floor. He said he needed some rest.” She gives a small nod but seems hesitant to leave. You notice her gloved hands, the fabric stretching past her elbows as if it’s meant to keep something hidden.

"Everything okay?" you asked, noticing her hesitation. She glances down, fidgeting with the edge of her glove. “I… well, it’s different here. But I’m dangerous. My mutation, it's not like most people’s.” She hesitates, looking up at you with a worried expression.

"Tell me more about it, what's your gift?" You softly encourage her. "When I touch someone… I absorb their energy, memories, powers… everything. I could really hurt someone.” There’s a heavy silence as she waits for your reaction, her gaze searching for any hint of fear or judgment. Instead, you give her a reassuring smile.

“I can’t imagine what that must feel like,” you said gently. “But, Marie, you’re safe here. This school is a place for people like us. No one’s going to judge you, and no one’s going to turn you away because of who you are.” She bites her lip, a mix of relief and doubt in her expression.

“It’s hard, though… feeling like I have to protect people from myself. Sometimes I wish I could just be normal.” You place a comforting hand on her shoulder. “We all feel that way sometimes. But you don’t have to go through it alone anymore. Here, you’ve got people who understand and want to help you.”

A small smile breaks through her worry. “Thank you. I didn’t think… I didn’t think anyone would get it.” You return her smile warmly. “We do. You’re welcome here, just as you are.” She give a polite smiles before disappear into the hallway, after all it's her first day. She needs time to settle in.

The clock reads 7:38. It's Wednesday, and you have an English class to teach at nine—a little over an hour away—leaving you enough time to make a simple breakfast. You tiptoe over to the cupboard to grab some flour and then open the fridge to take out two eggs and a cartoon of milk. Setting down a bowl, you mix the flour with some sugar, then crack in the eggs, pour down the milk. You stir the mixture well until it forms a smooth pancake batter. You wait for the pan to heat before carefully pouring the batter just enough to form the perfect circle.

"You mind sharing a bite of that?" a deep voice suddenly appear. You glance over your shoulder, careful not to take your eyes off the half-cooked pancake, and see Logan leaning against the doorway, arms crossed.

You nudge the spatula under the pancake, flipping it with a practiced hand. "I thought you were resting," you said. "I was, but then my stomach grumbled. Haven't ate anythin' in two days," he told you.

"Alright, I'll let you have some. Sit down," you instructed him, and he willingly obliges. "Anythin I can help with?" he adds.

"No, don’t meddle with my business in the kitchen," you replied with a cocky tone, Logan’s lips twitched into a half-smirk, one brow lifting as he watches from his seat behind you when you quietly stand still in front of the stove, humming a melancholic song he’s never heard before. Your hair is messy, pulled into a bun with your favorite floral hair clip. The ends of your red cardigan sway in rhythm with your movements.

A few minutes pass, and the two plates of pancakes are ready, each stacked three high. You place them on the table, but something’s still missing—blueberries and maple syrup, you think to yourself. You head to the fridge to grab some blueberries; there are only a few left, and you make a mental note to restock soon.

"Actually, can you grab the water?" you asked him, reaching into the cupboard above the fridge for the maple syrup. "I thought you hated anyone meddlin' in the kitchen." Logan scoffed as he shifts from his seat, grabbing a glass. He fills it with water, though you didn't exactly pay attention because you're too busy on pouring just the right amount of maple syrup, not too much, just enough.

Logan returns to his seat and places your glass beside your plate. You carefully add blueberries to each plate, and when you’re satisfied, you sit across from Logan, glancing at the empty glass he placed for you. You also catch a look at his own glass, which he’s now drinking from, fully filled with water. "Seriously?" You glance him a death stare raising your eyebrows. He puts down the glass and before he could even blink, you tossed your glass directly to his chest with enough force so his reflexes could catch it, which he did.

"Whoa, relax. I'll get em for ya." He said with stupid grin and you can clearly see how much he's amused with your reaction. He shifts once again from his seat and fill in your glass. "Don't forget the silverware. And if you're only grabbing one set this time, I can eat for two." You jokingly threatened him.

"Aight, no need to get harsh." He came back to the table and handle you the silverware whilst putting the glass with his other hand. With just two of you in the kitchen, you ate the first bites in uncomfortable silences, besides you just met him not even an hour ago. He doesn't seems to mind with the silence but you sure as hell mind, a lot.

"So I guess Storm and Cyclops picked you?" You said staring at your plate and stole glances at his. He shrugged "Yeah, funny names." Bringing another spoon into his mouth, good god he's starving. "It's a code names, just like Wolverine" you tease him after learning he had his own codenames, what a hypocrite. He caught off guard with you mentioning the name Wolverine but refuse to engage further and change the topic immediately.

"What's your actual name then?" He asked and you muttered your first name. He repeated it and tells you how much better it sounds rather than Hollow. "How long you've been here?" He adds whilst taking another bite. "A little over two years now." You said.

"The kid you brought, she’s more than she seems, isn’t she?" You curiously asked as you've interact with Marie earlier. Your best assume was that she might be a relative, probably cousin? Niece?

"I actually had no idea. She's uh, sneak in the back of my van yesterday. Real tough and a fearless kid I must say." Logan said, remembering his accident yesterday.

"You just met her? Could’ve sworn you two were blood, the way you two look alike." You said bringing a spoonful of pancake into your mouth "No, I don't have any relatives left." As Logan finishes the last bite, you take a deep breath, deciding to push just a bit.

"So, I guess...the van's your home?" you asked, glancing over at him before your gaze drops back to your plate. He sets down his fork, pausing. "Home's a stretch." He gives a half-smile, but there's something dark in his eyes that tells you not to dig further.

You nod, realizing he’s probably not one to share personal stuff. "Makes sense. Things like homes don’t seem to last very long around here, anyway." Logan raises an eyebrow, and there's a flicker of understanding or maybe sympathy? But he doesn’t respond.

The silence between you feels almost comfortable now. Almost. You force yourself to finish the last few bites, knowing he’s ready to bolt. You barely have time to look up before Logan’s already heading for the door. He mutters a casual, “Thanks for the food,” without so much as a glance back. His plate sits abandoned on the table, crumbs scattered around it like he didn’t even consider cleaning up. Typical. You narrow your eyes, letting out a small huff as you grab his plate, biting back a string of curses. The water splashes as you scrub, each scrape of the sponge a bit more aggressive than the last.

Men always have it so fucking easy, you think, gritting your teeth. They breeze in, make a mess, and then just walk off without a second thought. Meanwhile, you’re here, elbow-deep in soap suds, trying not to dwell on how much that annoys you. Maybe it’s just him, you try to reason. Or maybe it’s every guy who thinks that dishes magically clean themselves.

“Welcome to the X-Men, I hope you’ll have a great stay. We might actually come with free chefs and maids.” You muttered under your breath, doing a mock impression of Logan’s gruff voice. You can’t help but smirk as you scrub the last of the dishes, feeling a bit of satisfaction in your sarcasm. “A free maid, huh?” The voice makes you jump slightly, and you whirl around to find Logan standing in the doorway, eyebrow raised.

He holds up his hands, looking almost—awkward? “I, uh… went to bathroom. Wasn’t plannin' to ditch the plate.” Heat rises in your face, but you straighten up, not letting him off that easily. “Could’ve fooled me,” you say, crossing your arms. “Most people just disappear after saying thank you.”

Logan’s eyes narrow, clearly not used to being called out. “Didn’t think I needed to narrate every move I make.” He steps closer, reaches past you, and picks up his plate. “But if it’ll get you off my back…” He gives a quick rinse and sets it on the drying rack, as if to make a point. You both stand there in silence, arms crossed, neither willing to look away first. Finally, Logan gives a low chuckle. “Guess I’ll just have to remember the maid service isn’t included next time, yeah?” You can’t help the small smirk that creeps onto your face. “Yeah, and don’t expect turndown service either.”

Logan shakes his head, amused. “Duly noted,” he says, before heading back down the hall, leaving you with an odd mix of satisfaction and lingering tension in the now-empty kitchen.

As the clock ticks closer to nine, the realization hits: you have an English class to teach. You tidy up the kitchen in haste, wipe your hands, and check your watch, calculating that if you hurry, you’ll just make it on time.

•••••••

Your days as a teacher at Xavier’s school tend to follow a steady rhythm. Teaching English to a room full of young mutants comes with its own unique challenges, but the reward is in the way they lean in during readings, or the curious questions they ask after class. You’ve found ways to weave classic stories into lessons on self-identity and resilience, lessons you wished you had when you were their age.

After the morning rush of class, the day usually settles into a pattern of planning lessons, grading papers, and managing the occasional classroom drama. You know each student’s quirks, their strengths, the places where they struggle. For many of them, this school is the first real place where they’re free to be who they are. And for you, teaching here feels a bit like giving them a piece of the acceptance and stability you found when you arrived.

As the day draws to an end, you're called to Charles’s office. When you arrive, Jean, Scott, Ororo, and Logan are already there. Jean stands with her arms crossed, tension clear in her posture, while Scott and Ororo share a concerned glance. Logan, leaning back with arms folded, looks like he’s ready to leave, but there’s something guarded in his eyes.

Charles waits until you close the door before he begins, his tone more urgent than usual. "Thank you all for coming. I have some troubling news. Rogue has run off." A murmur ripples through the group, and you can see the concern etched on their faces.

Charles holds your gaze a moment before addressing everyone. “Erik, as you know, has always been interested in advancing mutantkind, but his new plan could force that evolution at a catastrophic scale. He’s found a way to trigger latent mutations in humans, possibly by using a device.”

There’s a heavy silence as everyone takes in the implications. Finally, Scott speaks, his tone grim. "So he wants to make everyone in the city a mutant. But wouldn’t forcing a mutation be fatal for most humans?"

Jean nods, her voice steady but laced with unease. "Exactly. The human body isn’t equipped to handle that kind of forced change. If Erik’s power source is strong enough to reach across the city, we’re talking about widespread devastation." Logan shifts, his eyes narrowed. "So let me get this straight. He’s gonna flip a switch and hope people survive the change? Doesn’t sound like a well-thought-out plan to me."

Charles sighs. "Erik’s never concerned himself with risks to those he considers weak. In his mind, this is a step toward a world where mutants reign supreme. He may even believe this forced mutation is a ‘gift.’ But the outcome would be chaos, death—" Ororo interrupts, her voice sharp. "And even if he does believe it’s a gift, we know better. This will only lead to fear, violence… more division."

Jean’s brows knit together, concern flickering in her eyes. “But if he has a device powerful enough to reach so many people…where would he even get that? It would require immense energy.” Charles closes his eyes briefly, searching for the right words. "That’s where Rogue comes in."

A hush falls over the room, and the weight of his words sinks in. "Erik doesn’t just need power; he needs someone who can channel it. Rogue’s mutation, her ability to absorb the life force and abilities of others—it’s exactly what he would use to amplify his device. If he taps into her… he could make the entire city vulnerable."

Logan straightens, his face hardening. "So that's why he’s after her. To turn her into a… a conduit?"

“Yes,” Charles confirms, voice heavy. “If he takes Rogue, he could harness her ability to absorb energy and use it to power his machine.”

Scott’s jaw tightens as he glances at Charles. "But Rogue’s just a kid. She’s barely learned to control her powers, and he wants to use her in some twisted science experiment?"

"Precisely," Charles says gravely. "If Erik reaches her first, she might not survive. Her powers are still volatile. This would overwhelm her."

You feel a knot tighten in your stomach, thinking about your own past. "I'm familiar with how dangerous forced mutations can be. My.. uh" You trailed off not sure if you could ever say it out loud. "My mutation was thrust upon me with an experiment, and I was pretty lucky to develop generative healing ability which allowed me to survive. But for anyone else with different abilities, being forced into a mutation could be very fatal."

Everyone’s gaze shifts toward you, the gravity of your experience weighing heavily in the room. Logan’s eyes soften for a moment, filled with an understanding that only comes from shared pain.

Ororo looks pained, acknowledging the truth of your words. "It could create a wave of death instead of evolution." Charles nods gravely. “Indeed. The implications are terrifying. Erik sees this as a chance to elevate mutantkind, but the price is too high."

Logan’s voice cuts through the tension. "Then we get to her first." Ororo nods, her expression resolute. "Agreed. We can’t let him use her this way. But does she even know she’s in danger?"

Charles hesitates before answering, a shadow passing over his face. “I tried to warn her earlier, but… Rogue is a stubborn soul. She believes she’s a danger to those around her.” Jean nods slowly, her voice filled with sympathy. "And if she thinks she’s protecting us, she might have… left. To protect us."

You swallow hard, a sense of urgency building. "If she thinks she’s protecting us, she could be putting herself in Erik’s hands. She has no idea he’s after her." Scott stands, fists clenched. "Then we need to mobilize, track her down. We can’t afford to lose her to him."

"Where do we even start looking?" Logan asks, scanning the room. "If she’s got it in her head to run, she’s not just going down the block." Charles clasps his hands, his voice both weary and determined. "I will head to the cerebro downstairs, I need all of you to move, we can't afford wasting any seconds."

Everyone falls into a tense silence, the gravity of the situation pressing down. Logan’s eyes meet yours, and you see a flicker of worry there, maybe even something protective. “Alright then,” Logan said, his voice low but resolute. “Let’s go find her.”

Part 2 ->

an: Hi guys, thank you for reading this part. I'm honestly so excited since this is my first X-Men fanfic. My obsession came back since Deadpool & Wolverine released. I used to write a lot about Daredevil but never have the courage to post it. English is not my first language and I hope you can still enjoy it. Let me know if you wants to be added to the tag list for the next part :)

[yiiyiiwrites]

Well you’re definitely a Maybank

Summary: requested,JJ helping his drunk sister sibling [masterlist]

“Well you’re definitely a Maybank,” JJ mumbled to himself as he hoisted Missy’s arm up.

He’d only come home to grab more clothes and saw his older sister passed out on the steps of the front porch. Cheek pressed into the dirt ridden step, hands tucked between her knees.

Three in the morning and he’s picking her up off of what ever downer she’d drank herself into. He clicked his tongue, jaw tensing as Missy stumbled over her two shoes. A pair of ridiculously high stiletto heels caught in the gap of the decking.

JJ cursed, head tilted to sky as if he was praying to whatever being to help him make life a little bit easier.

Missy grumbled a slur of words and shoved him away, “get off me creep.” She swiped her dirty blonde hair out of her face and bent done to yank her heel out of the decking. “Fucking men.”

“Uh, hello JJ here. No fucking creeps,” JJ snapped grabbing her arm to guide her up the rest of the stairs.

She straightened up, placing her hands on his shoulders to stop herself from swaying in front of him. A smile stretched her thin lips, “JJ, you look so teeny,” she said squishing his cheeks in one hand. Her high heels giving her more height, that she looked down at her younger brother.

JJ swatted her hands away, forgetting how wasted she was. Missy fell back, hip hitting the table behind her and rattling the empty bottles lining it.

They both paused, gaze caught on each other waiting. Missy shushing him as he came to help her stand where she’d seeked support from the table leg.

“He’s not home,” she said, JJ didn’t miss the pout of her lips or the way her grip lightened at the thought. “Would love to just floor him, you know just once.” She swung her arm out, shoulder crashing into JJ and her heel digging into the toe of his boot.

JJ bumped into the wall, one hand still gripping her elbow. “Leave the swinging to me and Bobby, sis,” he said dragging her down the hallway. The door to her room making him speed up.

“I can punch,” she said, brows scrunching up deep in thought. JJ knew she could, their older brother Bobby had both taught them how to throw a punch. Growing up Bobby would have said to punch first and ask questions later. But now he’d tell them to punch as a last resort.

He kicked the door open and let go of Missy, nudging her towards her mattress on the floor. The room cramped, clothes slung over the sheets where she’d tried on too many outfits before departing.

Missy fiddled with the strap of her heel, cheeks red and eyes heavy that JJ couldn’t help but chuckle. He knelt down in front of her and unclasped the strap.

She swiped the clothes from the bed and flung them into built in wardrobe, hangers clanging to the bottom. The closet of a room, the only space that had a little bit of her in. The floral bedsheet she got with her first wage package, thin crumpled rug she had to straighten every morning by lifting her mattress.

Settling into the lumpy pillow, she sighed and grabbed JJ hand tucking it under her cheek. Missy used to let him place her hand under his cheek to sleep as kid, the action one she got from their mother.

JJ waited a moment, knowing that she needed that little comfort. It’s not often she asked for the warmth, normally pushing and snapping at anyone who tried to offer her a gentle hand.

He pulled her covers over and laid down beside her. “You know the last time you were drunk, dad tucked you into bed.” JJ didn’t tell her that he’d got the brunt end of their dad after that night. Blamed him for not looking out for his sister or being the reason she got so drunk.

He stayed for a while, before he slipped out from his sisters grasp. Missy clutched the corner of the sheet and replaced it under her cheek.

As JJ stood from the bed, the echo of a door opening in the house stopped him from touching the door handle. He pressed his ear against the wood, heavy stomping telling him all he needed to know. Luke Maybank skulking about the hallway and into his room opposite Missy’s.

JJ sent John B a quick text and got back into the bed, prying the cover from Missy and settling into the uncomfy spring mattress.

**

Missy groaned, eyes squinting in the harsh sunlight creeping through the broken blinds. The pounding in her head amplified with each move she made.

She flinched as her shoulder brushed another beside her, but she relaxed at the sight of JJ. That didn’t last long as her eyes trailed down the bed and saw him fully dressed.

“JJ, get your dirty ass clothes out of my bed,” she said pushing him, but he hardly moved.

His hand came up behind him trying to find her face and cover her mouth. “Too early,” he mumbled into the pillow. He didn’t make a move, just snuggling deeper into the bed.

“Seriously J, I’m going to have to burn the sheets…” missy said shaking his arm trying to get him to get up. “Wait why are you in here?” She scrambled up from the bed and climbed over JJ, fingers brushing the hair out of his face.

JJ swatted her away, “I’m fine.” He cracked one eye open, Missy’s head leant against the rug as she tried to get a proper look at his face.

“Did something happen last night?” Missy raised a brow to JJ and sat up as he did. “I was soo drunk, knew I shouldn’t have gone out last night.” She dug her hands into her hair and pulled at the roots.

The clambering outside snapped them both out of their thoughts, heads angling to the sound. Missy shot up and put all her weight against her door.

“What happened?” She whispered harshly. “My locks broke, why not go to your room?” The main reason she took the room was because of the lack of security, their dad less likely to go for her first even though he was right across the narrow hall. Bobby was normally first, only because he was light sleeper and could hear their dad raging before it got worse.

JJ chuckled to himself, but instantly stopped at her glare. “I came home this morning and you were passed out on the steps. You don’t remember me helping you.”

“Nope.”

He knew either way she wouldn’t outright say she remembered or thank him for helping her. They just let things go and maybe throw it in the others face in anger later. They’re Maybanks.

“Well dad came home before I could leave.” JJ said at the edge of the bed as he pulled on his boots and started lacing them up. “It’s cool maybe it’s Bobby.” More to convince himself than her, so that he could summon the balls to sneak out before being seen.

If their dad hadn’t come home, JJ wouldn’t have uttered a single word about her drunk ass.

“It’s dad, Bobby’s got a long shift,” she said, she was always good at memorising his work schedule. Maybe even relied on it more than she let on. Least when Bobby was there, things were a lot less chaotic.

Always sending texts to JJ, updating him on whether their older brother would be around. They had a group chat but the only one that texted on it was Bobby.

Missy glanced down at the skintight mini dress still clinging to her, she grabbed a baggy T-shirt from the floor and pulled it on. “It’s cool, I’ll distract dad so you can leave.” She didn’t leave much room for debate, already out the door and down the hallway.

She didn’t bother to sneak her way into the kitchen, wanted her dad to hear and see her.

“Hey, dad,” she called over her shoulder, waiting for him to shift in his position from the sofa. “You want a coffee?”

The tv in the living room blaring, Luke Maybank giving his daughter a thumbs up, too engrossed on the deep sea fishing show he watched.

Missy fell back a few steps, glancing at the back door. She caught it before it could slam shut, JJ’s figure running out back.

[harmonyrae]

Power Couple

CHAPTER TWO - Hook, Line & Sinker

Concept: AU of how Sylus & you (reader) met. Both are leaders of large factions in the N109 Zone, Onychinus (Sylus) and Himitsu (you). They have been cutting into your territory over the past few weeks, so you decided an introduction is required. You laid the trap and Sylus walked right into it. But this is just the beginning...

The next morning you roll over and try to block out the stinging rays of sunshine pouring through your windows. You sit up, immediately regretting the decision. You take a deep breath to steady yourself and smell the distinct scent of coffee and cinnamon sugar. Your chef, Maddy, had arrived and was preparing your breakfast. You toss the heavy blanket off your body and reach for your robe hanging beside your bed. Standing slowly to glide your arms through the silk. You glance at your pillow. The distinct stain of makeup smeared across the black fabric. You roll your eyes and walk over to the mirror to see the damage when the door swings open.

“Dorian! What the hell are you doing here so early?” 

“Well, we have a bird ready to sing and a very angry client ready to rip apart our contract. I told him to wait until tonight to make a decision. We need to make a move on Onychinus as soon as possible. Today, preferably.” The way he furrows his brow shows you how important this is. Hitsumi is about to lose a major client, just as you suspected. 

You turn on your heel and head straight for the bathroom. Dorian follows you and continues to tell you about the hissy fit the client had on the phone with him not 10 minutes earlier. You slam the door in Dorian’s face. 

“What the f– BOSS!” Dorian yells through the door impatiently. 

“Give me 20. I’m showering, drinking a coffee and then we can head down.” You can’t hear Dorian’s reply as you turn on the shower. If you’re going to handle this interrogation personally, which you don’t do very often, you damn well better look good doing it. 

The shower is not nearly hot enough to relax your tense muscles. You’re reviewing the plan in your head for the 10th time when your makeup is finally fixed. You open the door to your walk-in closet and let your hand graze the expensive fabrics. You remove a pair of sleek black high-waisted trousers from their hanger. Slipping on a delicate red lace camisole and the matching fitted black blazer. You gather your hair into a high-ponytail and flick a final quick swipe of burgundy lipstick across your lips. You carry your heels to your bedroom door and open it to greet Dorian leaning on the door frame impatiently. 

“Record timing. Shoes.” It wasn’t a question, but a demand. You pass your heels to him as he kneels to help you step into them. You adjust your earrings and button a single button on your blazer allowing the lace to peek through. Following Dorian to your front door you stop briefly at the kitchen island and grab the to-go box Maddy made for you. She’s used to you not having time to sit down for a proper breakfast. You give her a quick hug before you leave the penthouse.

As the elevator door opens to the basement, you steal your resolve as you start down the hallway. The soft clicks of your sleek heels bounce off the walls as you pass the masked men holding heavy weaponry leaning against closed doors. At the end of the hallway, the final door is illuminated by the dim glow of a small light hanging above it. You pause, taking a deep breath. Dorian squeezes your hand. You carefully turn the handle and swing the door open quietly. 

A young man sits strapped to a single metal chair in the middle of the room. His head hangs to his chest. His wrists raw from the handcuffs locking him in place. A discarded mask on the table in the corner catches your eye. You walk over silently and pick it up. Dorian settles next to the door, crossing his arms. You hold the bird mask lightly and walk up to the man in the chair. 

“Is it Luke? Or are you Kieran?” You make sure your voice is gentle. The man looks up at you, his handsome freckled face riddled with bruises and cuts. Strands of curly ginger hair hang around the bandage around his head. His dark eyes soften when he looks at you.

“Luke.” He mutters.

You turn the mask over in your hands. Feeling the fabric and stitching, you close your eyes briefly to focus your senses. You don’t feel a tracker. You smile at Luke.

“I’m Y/N.” Your gaze slowly hardens as you allow your innocent act to slowly fade away. “And if you tell me what I want to know, you’ll walk out of here, a free man, in 5 minutes.”

Luke tenses and he squints at you. “You’re the interrogator for Himitsu? That’s… unexpected.”

You don’t correct him. Instead you smile at him sweetly. “Yes. I am. And I’m sure you’d rather go home than take a trip to the bottom of the ocean.”

Luke’s eyes widen before closing them and allowing his head to hang down to his chest once more. His chest rises and falls faster as fear settles in.

“Two pieces of information. And we drop you off at the hospital, no questions asked. And I’ll make sure you get your mask back.” 

Luke looks up and stares at the mask in your hands. You catch a glimpse of sadness in his eyes before turning his gaze to you. 

“What do you want to know?” His voice is hoarse and low.

“One: the location of Onychinus’ base of operations. Two: your boss’ name.” You return to the table where you picked up the mask and pick up Luke’s phone. You circle around the back of Luke’s chair and press his thumb to the phone to unlock it.

“That’s it?” Luke sounds surprised, yet reserved. “Thought such a prominent group like Himitsu would already know that stuff.” 

“You are not here to ask questions. The next words out of your mouth will be an address and a name or we will be taking a trip to the pier.” You pull up the contact list and wait for Luke’s next words. 

“Industrial District. Red brick mansion with a black gate. Sylus.” Luke’s voice breaks and he stares at the floor.

You scroll through the phone and find the name with a little crow emoji beside it. You stride to the door. You nod at Dorian who opens it and you take a stroll down the hallway. 

You press the green button and press the phone to your ear. The low rings rumble in your ear and you feel your heartbeat quickening. You know the plan and have no doubts, but the twinge of anxiety remains. 

“Luke.” A deep voice tickles your ear. You’re taken back by the voice, unsure what you expected. 

“I’m curious. Why does Luke have a crow emoji next to your name on his phone?” You are met with silence. A full minute passes before the voice pipes up again.

“I assume you have demands?” Sylus doesn’t miss a beat or play into your game. You hear the soft clink of ice in a glass through the phone. 

You sigh. This is your chance, not just to eliminate the competition, but to finally learn more about the elusive leader who has a reputation with every resident of the N109 Zone. You needed to know who this man was. You needed to have an upper hand. 

“Actually, Hunter wants to offer a cease fire and a peace offering.” Your voice offers a cheery disposition. 

“Is that so?” Sylus chuckles. “Didn’t take him as one to surrender.” 

You grit your teeth. You are not surrendering, you would never. But the cocky tone in his voice is exactly what you were hoping for. 

“Hunter just wants this bloodshed to stop. They want Luke to return home safely.” Sylus clears his throat at the mention of Luke’s name. You make a mental note, Luke is important to him.

“Is Hunter really offering Luke as the peace offering?” 

“Yes. One of them.” You’re sure he can hear you smiling. 

“What’s the catch?” Finally, he’s taking the bait.

“An introduction. Hunter wants to meet you. Discuss the cease fire and pass along the peace offering in person. Luke and an antique Winchester shotgun.” Sylus is silent for a moment before a soft laugh flows through the phone. 

“Hunter knows I’m a collector. Flattering. I don’t know much about him. I guess this is my chance to learn a thing or two.” Hook…

“Blackburn Bar, tonight at 8pm. No guns or nosey backup. Oh, and an evol suppressor. Hunter will be wearing one as well.” Line…

“Tell Hunter I look forward to meeting him.” Sinker. 

The drum of the dial tone rings in your ear as Sylus hangs up. Your smile is growing, hurting your cheeks. You slowly walk back down the hall to the interrogation room and knock on the door twice. Dorian emerges and closes the door softly. His eager eyes digging into yours, searching for answers.

“Looks like we are caging a crow.” 

Chapter 1: https://shorturl.at/Bx95C Chapter 2: https://shorturl.at/3PwTi Chapter 3: https://shorturl.at/a7xnF Chapter 4: https://shorturl.at/fKYgX

Tag List (comment if you wanna be added!):

@trishiepo0

[ithinkabouttzu]

Kinktober Special: Joe Liebgott x Reader

a/n: Hey guys!! Surprise surprise! Here’s a little thing i’ve been working on and thought I should share for Halloween! I hope you gave have an amazing day today! Also please minors do not interact with this post, thanks!

word count: 1.9k

genre: smut ofc; romance

Warnings: Fingering, cursing, anything sex related tbh. ( fem! reader)

description: after a long night of waiting up for your husbands arrival, he knows just exactly how to repay you…

BoB Masterlist

You looked at the clock on the wall. 8:13 pm. It’s already 8 o'clock and Joe still wasn’t home yet. There was a quick pace in your chest as you walked up to the window near the front door. You wished to see his car pull up to the front of the driveway, but to your disappointment, there was nothing. Just the quick pats of rain that fell onto the street. Worry began to set in your heart, making you immediately assume the worst. Was he okay? Had he gotten into some sort of accident? The anxious thoughts swarmed though your head as you walked back to the reclining chair in the living room, plopping down in the seat, and rejoining your nice glass of red wine. You sighed to yourself. He should have been here by now.

The soft crackles coming from the fireplace brought a nice wave of warmth to your seat. The soft sound of music played throughout the quaint home. You weren’t familiar with the tune, other than the fact that it was sung by the soothing voice of Billie Holiday. The nice melody calmed your nerves while you waited for his return. You took the glass in your hand, and walked upstairs to the shared bedroom.

The room was dark and quiet. You could barely hear the music from upstairs. You turned on the dim light and sat down in front of your vanity. You combed the ends of your hair softly, finding any knots and combing through them gently. It was usually rare on nights like these that you wore your hair down, but it was something Joe enjoyed, maybe a little too much. You had been waiting on him for almost two hours now. Your and his dinner had already been cooked, a nice pot roast, now waiting for his arrival.

You had bathed and rid yourself of your old grimy work clothes that now laid in your room's hamper. You figured it would be nice to surprise your sweet, hard-working husband with a treat of his own. You decided for a sweet nightgown, just a thin piece of black laced sheer hung around your body. You thought it’d be best not to wear your brasserie, letting all of you show. If anyone else was in the home, they would have been able to see right through your flimsy little nightgown.

You could say that this was well deserved for Joe, all those nights of him bringing you flowers after work, or brushing your hair when you were too tired to do so yourself. The one night you decided to compensate him for his good deeds, was the night that he was late from work. You kept your makeup simple, only mascara and a red lip. You started to re-apply your red lip again, making sure the coat looked fresh, when all of a sudden the doorbell rang.

You ran to the window in the room, it was him. Joe’s car was out in the driveway. You could only assume that he was outside, currently being drenched by the strong rain. You hurried down the stairs. You made it to the door in almost no time, swinging the door open quickly that he wouldn’t be left out in the cold rain any longer.

When you opened the door, he looked frustrated. Not at you, but at the weather. Joe stomped into the house and immediately started to ramble. “Honey, I can explain.” He took off his hat and overcoat and hung them on the coat hanger, he hadn’t even taken notice of your outfit yet.

“My boss made me stay late, I tried to call you but the telephone at work was cut off, then when I got on the road traffic was horrible and…” your husband explained himself, he sounded desperate for your understanding. Also maybe a little pissed at himself for being home later than expected. You tried to listen, really, but your brain was almost immediately turned to mush by the way Joe looked in his buttoned shirt. He had obviously sat in the rain for too long, his white shirt had become see-through.

You felt your mouth salivate. His hair had curled up from the rain too, making him look fresh out of the shower. You squeezed your thighs together, hoping to release some of the pressure that resided in your pussy. You felt heat rush through your body as your husband brushed his hair back with his hand.

He looked so good. You spoke up, “You poor thing. You’re soaked. Let's get you some warm clothes, alright?” You looked up at him.

There it was. He finally noticed your outfit. Something shifted in his eyes. They became darker, more primal-like. You felt his eyes scan your body. He had no shame, he let his eyes wander all over you, taking in the scene that laid in front of him. Now it was his turn to salivate. You noticed the almost immediate swell in his pants, the outline of his cock growing with each second he kept his eyes on you. “Oh sweet girl…” He practically groaned out the words. You felt your cunt squeeze around nothing, the desperation in his voice made you weak. “Come here baby, spin around fa’ me.” His raspy voice teased, it was almost too much for you. You had been needing him all day, and you were finally getting what you wanted.

He grabbed your hand, letting you take a small spin for him. You loved feeling his sharp gaze. You knew he liked what he saw. “Fuck” he whispered a sharp curse to himself. You could see the thick dick print that outlined his pants. Poor thing. He picked you up with almost no warning, throwing you over his shoulder. You moaned in surprise. He gave you a hard smack on the ass as he carried you up the stairs. “Atta girl, so soft.” He mumbled in your ear. Once he finally made it to the room he practically threw you down onto the bed. You giggled at his impatience.

Excitement ran through your body as you heard his belt unbuckle. You raised yourself up on your elbows. “You like it?” you said, asking him about your gown.

“I love it. Fucking beautiful.” He sounded animalistic as he hurried to unbutton his shirt. He immediately joined you in the bed once he tore off his last button. He didn’t give you any moment of mercy. He dived straight into your neck, kissing and licking your sweet spot hungrily. “Honey” you sighed out of pleasure. You felt his teeth sink into your soft skin, making you slightly jump. He acted ravenous. You felt your panties flood as he continued to leave small bites all over your neck.

He groaned into the small area, now moving farther down to your collarbone. Joe took off his pants, whilst still marking up your collar. Making you feel his warm cock through his thin layer of underwear that rested on your thigh. You started to lift up your gown, ready to take it off, before he stopped you.

“No, leave it on. You look so pretty.” You shook your head in approval. He looked into your eyes deeply, dipping his mouth down to your breasts, still keeping his eyes on yours. “Can I?” He asked, looking up at you for approval. “Yes” you replied back in barely a whisper. He kissed your sternum through the thin layer of clothing. He groaned out again once he saw your naked chest. “Your titties are so fucking pretty baby, you know that?”

He wasted no time diving into you, planting a wet kiss to your soft nipple, hardening it immediately. Goosebumps ran throughout your body once again. He took his free hand to massage your other breast. His big hand felt so warm around your sensitive areola. He squeezed you softly. “You’re perfect, doll, so fucking perfect.” He managed to mumble out as he sucked on your breast. He finally decided to give your chest a break, before traveling his hands to your warm cunt.

You felt another rush of wetness dampen your panties. His finger curled at the hem of your underwear. You knew him, he wasn’t going to take them off until you asked. “Please– I need you.” You practically cried out, you failed at trying not to sound desperate.

“That’s it sweet girl.” He returned the whisper, taking a small nip at your navel. He slid your panties off quickly, and moved his body down towards your heat. He let out a loud grunt when he saw the state of your pussy. “Such a sweet cunt. I can’t wait to feel you.” His words made your head spin as he pressed his digits softly into your bundle of nerves. “Mmm.” You moaned out to him. “Feel good, baby?” He asked you while continuing his previous motion.

The feeling was overwhelming. His fingertips stayed firm on your clit, rubbing circles slowly until you felt pure pleasure. It wasn’t long before he moved his fingers to your opening. He only put one finger in first, sinking it in slowly. He gave you a second to adjust to his finger’s large size. Your walls squeezed around his finger as his thumb started to rub circles on your already swollen clit.

“Feel good?” He asked you again while pressing his finger deep inside of you, hitting that spongy spot in your walls, the feeling was almost too much. “Yes” You moaned out loudly, his deep voice making you clamp down on his finger. He cursed before mumbling about how tight you felt on him. He was going tauntingly slow, “I’m gonna add another one, okay doll?” You felt the thickness of his second finger fill up your tight cunt. He continued to massage your walls, quickening his pace once you adjusted.

Before long, you felt that familiar pressure bubbling up inside of your stomach. Without even explaining it to him, he already knew you were close. “Gonna cum?” His question sounded desperate. You felt the headboard hit the wall repeatedly, his pace making the bed shake. “Mhm” you replied, loving the way he played with your pussy. You took the last bit of energy you had left in you to look down at him. What a sight to see. Joe, on the edge of the bed, rutting himself onto the edge of the sheets just to feel some type of friction. You moaned and your eyes rolled back at the sight.

“C’mon baby, cum for me” With those words, you released the pressure that had finally been building up in your stomach. You cried out in pleasure as your release flooded all over his hand. His fingers rocked you back and forth slowly until you came down from your high. “Did you like it, sweet girl?” He made his way up to your face, moving the extra fly-aways from around your eyes. “Yes, I did.” You said in a slight whisper before yawning, your body had felt weak. Sleep would come over you sooner than later.

“Did you?” You asked him, remembering the scene that was presented before you. You could see red appear on his face when you asked him.“Couldn’t help myself.” He let out a nervous chuckle while looking down towards the wet spot on his underwear. Making it obvious that he had finished prematurely in his pants. “Let's go to bed, you need sleep, sunshine.” You agreed with him, nodding your head. Joe took off your gown and replaced it with one of his more comfortable t-shirts, before tucking you into bed with him. “Sleep well, princess.”

Thank you for reading again! I hope you all enjoy! Have a Happy Halloween! 🎃🤍

[itsbubbleteataro]

The Radio Host and The Reporter (pt 3)

Parings: Human!Alastor x Human!fem!Reader

Warnings; Alastor being Alastor, murder, gore,

Part two Part four

NOT PROOF READ

When the sun rose the next day you were filled with excitement. Keeping your blinds open to ensure you would wake up with the sun you stepped out of bed. You stretched as you stood up, yawning as you exited the room. You started to make some coffee as you threw together a breakfast of eggs and bacon.

Playing your breakfast and taking your coffee you take a seat on your chair looking over your notepad figuring out how to word your next article. Taking bites and sips here and there you pick up your pen, enjoying a morning of silence while you make some corrections.

After finishing up your coffee and breakfast, you go ahead and put your dishes in the sink, rolling up the sleeves of your white silk nightgown before starting on your dishes.

Cleaning out your mug, pans, and plates you put them away, raising to your toes to place away the items that are located on higher shelves. Taking a step back you close your wooden cabinets.

Brushing off your nightgown, you run fingers through your hair, finding it to be too messy for your liking. You head over to your closet, placing a hand on your cheek in thought. As much as you would love to go out and gather more information, she does need to set to work on actually writing the article out instead of having strewn about notes.

Walking back to your table you scoop up the notebook, placing it on your desk next to your typewriter. You had purchased the typewriter not long after you had your first article published, in fear that your father would end up reading the original papers and figure out it was you all along.

Walking back to your closet you pull out a nice looking dress and lay it on your bed. You then pull a matching coat and hat out and walk towards your coat hanger by the door, hanging them up so you could grab them before you left. You return to your closet and grab a pair of tights and placing them next to your bed.

You walk into your bathroom, you go ahead and start the shower water, wanting to be fresh as possible before your date. You flush red at the thought.

"Oh get a grip girl! Why are you doing so much! He's just helping you out as a friend, I'm sure there's nothing more to it"

You shake your head and puff out your cheeks with a huff. You go ahead and strip yourself of your nightgown, throwing it into your bin of laundry for you do at a later date. Extending a hand to test the water before you go ahead and step inside, quickly washing your hair and body before stepping out after shutting the water off. You wrap your hair up in a towel and wrap yourself up in a bathrobe.

You walk back to the living room, knowing that you're the only one in the home, there's no reason for you to have to dress any more conservative. You turn the radio on just loud enough for you to hear it in your room while you work.

You flick through the channels, subconsciously landing it on station that Alastor works. Deciding you like the music that plays you go ahead and sit down at your desk in your room, beginning to write away on your typewriter.

Meanwhile at the radio station where Alastor works, he found his thoughts too occupied as he looked down at his script. He had about a half hour before he had to go on air and yet his thoughts were filled by you.

The way you had kept up with him on the dance floor the night before, the way you smiled. How your eyes reflected in the low lighting on the speakeasy. The shadows interest in swing music. The way you always had your hair up in a neat updo fitting ever so snugly under your hat fitting in with the trends. The way your laughter filled the room, your bright smile. The way you blushed when he kissed your hand, all of it filled his mind.

He could not make heads or tails of why he was thinking of you, nor of the way his heart seemed to beat faster around you. Alastor couldn't tell if he liked the feeling or hated the feeling. So far it seemed to be more akin to the feeling of a hunt. Ah yes a hunt. He had gone on one last night. It had been a good one as well.

He had used the heart to make a wonderful gumbo, even using some of the liver as well. Yes the feeling in his chest whenever he thought of you was that of a hunt. Something of adrenaline. Perhaps after taking you out on the town this afternoon the feeling would fade, surely it had too.

Meanwhile you finally looked up from your work, seeing that the sun had moved sighed. You had been working on your writing for a few hours now. Getting up from your seat you unwrap your hair from the towel and strip yourself of your soft bathrobe in order to get ready.

You pulled your stockings on first followed by your undergarments. You turned your vanity to go ahead and get your hair and makeup done. Your hair was pulled up into a faux bob and your makeup was done similar to it was when you had gone out, minus the bright red lipstick. Turning back to your bed you tug on your dress.

You can feel butterflies forming in your stomach at the thought of the time ticking closer to when Alastor would pick you up. You gently pat your cheeks.

"Oh don't get yourself in a tizzy girl just close your head(1). Just because you think he's the cat's pajamas(2) don't mean you can go around carrying a torch(3) for him! Oh pull yourself together! It's just nerves, nothing else"

You go to pull your shoes on, a pair of casual boots with a slight heel on them. As if on que, a knock rings off your door. Scrambling to your feet you pull your door open to a smiling Alastor. Returning his smile you pull on your coat and place ur hat on your head and head out with him.

"My what a wonderful day for a stroll, wouldn't you agree Cher?"

Asked Alastor as he took a look over at you. He quickly looked away, feeling heat rising past his neck. Again that feeling worked its way into his heart. Again he just told himself it was something akin to the adrenaline he feels when he hunts. Yes surely that was it. Surely he was incapable of loving a woman other than his mother he reasoned. Surely that was the reason his heart was beating wildly in his chest, not because you looked so beautiful, so innocent as you smiled up at him. Surely he wasn't admiring the way your eyes seemed to scan the area as if you were a newshawk(4) on the hunt for the next story.

Yes he told himself it was just nerves or adrenaline. Surely it would fade after the afternoon together. Surely it had to right? It would he told himself as he looked down at you, having looped your arms together strolling down the lane. He didn't miss the way your eyes lit up when spotted something you liked. Or how you would stop to smell the flowers as the two of you strolled through the park.

Yet in all of his observations about you and the area, he failed to notice how fast the time seemed to pass, only really noticing after you had pointed out how low the sun had started to set and that you were getting hungry.

Without a second thought he lead you to his favorite restaurant. It's nothing too special, but the way your eyes light up as you scan the menu for items you like just seems to do something to him.

He ordered his usual, venison steak while you ordered a serving of jambalaya. He made a mental note of how your eyes shone as you took your ur first bite. He felt a new emotion burning in his chest. He wanted it to be his cooking that made your eyes sparkle, not some random chef's cooking.

He quickly turned down to his meal, cutting into it and taking a bite. What was that? What was that thought that entered his head. He's never had such thoughts before and that says a lot considering his well, hobby.

What was this new emotion? It wasn't like the feeling he had chalked up to adrenaline and nerves, it was more ugly feeling. Gods he was driving himself up the wall(5) trying to figure out the emotion.

You noticed how he seemed to be glaring at his food.

"Is everything okay Alastor? What's eating at you?(6)"

You asked, placing your spoon down and folding your hands in your lap. Tilting your head you watched as Alastor looked up to meet your gaze, his eyes softening away from the gaze to an emotion you haven't quite learned to read yet.

"Right as rain my dear, just thinking about some trouble makers at work is all"

Alastor fibbed smoothly. You nodded taking his answer much to his enjoyment. He figured he would simply ask his mother when he saw her the next day as being wrapped in his thoughts was starting to diminish the quality of the date.

The two of you finished up your meals, and had a short argument over who would pay. Alastor won of course, saying he was the one who had asked you to join him this evening, on top of being ever the gentleman. After Alastor had paid he escorted you to your humble home.

"My dear I very much enjoyed myself on this fine evening. It would do me a great pleasure if you would accompany me on another one later on"

Alastor asked as you had your back to your door. You quickly nodded your head accepting his offer before bowing your head and unlocking your door and closing it behind you.

Your heart beat wildly in your chest, still you denied that you had any sort of feelings for him. Yet you couldn't deny the heat that rose to your cheeks when he had asked, or the way your heart had nearly tumbled out of your chest during dinner when his gaze had softened when he looked at you.

Taking your hat, coat and shoes off you scurry to your bedroom, changing into a silk white nightgown before taking your hair out and flopping onto your bed. Your thoughts swirled through your head. The way his hazel eyes softened when he looked at you, the way his hazel skin made him look oh so handsome in the lighting of the sunset. The way his pin straight was starting to return its naturally curly state by the time he had walked you home.

You groaned, rolling on to your side. You had other things to worry about, you had another article in the works, one that was almost done on top of that. It was a huge one, about all the recent missing people, suspecting a killer may be on the lose. You had to shift your focus away from the sweet lovesick thoughts of Alastor over to your work. You had to think of something for your next work. You got up from your bed and walked over to your notebook, scribbling down the name of a radio host who just happened to be Alastor's co-worker.

He was on your list to investigate and over dinner Alastor did say that there was trouble in his station. Surely it wouldn't hurt to take a look, right?

As Alastor turned away from your door to start his walk back to his cabin on the edge of the bayou, his thoughts swirled. He stared at the ground infront of him as his feet carried him. The troublesome feeling hadn't left him. Instead the feeling seemed to grow. His control on his shadow slipped, causing it to break away and stop, its head turning towards your home.

He stoped when he felt his shadow wasn't with him. He looked at it, taking in the soft smile it had spread across its face as it looked at your home. He shook his head, his shadow snapping back into place. He had to control it for a little bit longer. Just until he got home, then he could let it run lose.

What in the world was this feeling? The way it made his neck and cheeks burn when you flashed him a gentle smile? The way your eyes looked at him with such concern for his well being when you asked if he was alright or when you had wished him safety the first time he walked you home. He was torn between wanting to capture that look in your eyes forever and never wanting to see you worry so ever again.

He pushed open his cabin door and shut it behind him, releasing his shadow letting it run wild. He feeling wasn't adrenaline he quickly ruled out. Again he'd have to speak with his mother about it. She was the only person in the whole world he trusted with such information on himself. His shadow stayed by the door, its lovesick grin never leaving its form as Alastor made his way to his bathroom to freshen up before bed.

He stepped out of his shower, his hair returning to its natural curly shape. He changed into his sleepwear, his shadow comming along. Thoughts of you swimming through his head as he laid down to rest. He supposes he may not mind the thoughts, as long as they don't interfere with his hunts or his work. He rolled over to his side, placing his glasses away on his nightstand before drifting asleep.

The next day after work, he went straight to his mother's home. The two sat on her couch, sipping hot tea. He explained his feelings, something that he had always struggled with while his mother's grin grew wider with each word he spoke.

"Well Alastor, if you were to ask me, I'd say what you are feeling towards the dame(6) would be love"

Alastor did a spit take, coughing, as his mother pat his back and gave a hearty love. She was overjoyed, her son finally finding love, something she was beginning to think was impossible.

"As soon as you start courting her I would love to meet her!"

"Mother"

Alastor wined. He relented, agreeing anyways as it was his mother. When he returned to his home he formed a plan, his shadow excited for the new changes coming into his life, even if its master hated change.

Many a date later, the two of you were sitting at a more fancy restaurant, the two of you dressed accordingly. As you cut into your steak, Alastor asked a question that would change the direction of your very life.

He took your hand after you had placed down your knife. Rubbing his thumb over your knuckles you looked up at him, swearing you could see red dusting his cheeks.

"Mon Cher, there's something I can deny no longer. I would like your permission to court you if you would be so kind"

You set your fork down as you gave your response,

------------------------------------------------------

"Close your head" - shut your mouth

"Cats pajamas" - slag for thinking someone's cool

"Carrying a torch" - to have feelings for someone

"Newshawk" - reporter

"Driving up the wall" - going crazy

"Dame" - a woman

[nkn0va]

Helltaker request: Modeus, Azazel, Justice, and Pandemonica constantly stealing their S/O's hoddies even though it's a little big on them.

You know now that I think about it I do envision that as being on the shorter side

Man, I'm really skirting the line between NSFW and SFW when I write for Modeus, huh?

Modeus

-You already know, Modeus does it out of horny.

-The first time she does so, it's when you're out of the house doing something, she usually sneaks into your room. This time though her eyes seemed to drift over to your closet, and she got an idea.

-She opened the door, scanning for what she wanted in particular before she found a hoodie of yours, and immediately pulled if off the hanger before she could even think.

-Putting it on, she starts to get turned on just by the smell and feel of it, reminding her of you. Just in less wholesome ways than what is traditionally expected.

-She doesn't really give a shit or think about being subtle about it, you eventually find out what she's been doing by the...distinctive smell on your hoodies you soon pick up on.

-Whether you decide to enable or attempt to stop this behavior is up to you, but regardless, she will be coming up with new ways to get her hands on your hoodies. What the power of horny does to a person...

Azazel

-The complete fucking opposite of Modeus lmao.

-Spending her entire life up until she met you in Heaven, she's not used to the uncontrolled conditions of Earth, the realm of God having perfect, warm weather all the time. She gets cold extremely easily.

-It was currently the middle of December so winter was in full swing. Her normal coats weren't cutting it anymore now that the snow had decided to do a bit of trolling and break the heating system in the house.

-She really, really didn't want to take anything from you without permission, but at this rate she didn't have a choice if she didn't want to get sick, so she very reluctantly took a hoodie from your closet.

-You were larger than her by a fair bit, leading to the hoodie being one or two sizes too big. This does work out in warming her up though, to the point she loses track of time.

-You come home only to find the angel snuggled up in your hoodie, causing her to freeze up before apologizing very profusely, turning red as a cherry all the while. Please reassure her it's no problem and she can do it if she wants, she will love you even more for it once she can get over it.

Justice

-Out of everyone here, Justice is by far the most relax and upfront about things in general, this is no exception.

-She can't exactly see, but going through the clean laundry, she picked out a hoodie she'd never felt before, and figured it was yours. So she decided the only natural course of action was to put it on and ask how it looked.

-Does not give a fuck, will casually walk up to you and ask if it looks good on her. Spoiler: it does. She is not the awesome demon for nothing.

-You can definitely trust her more than most with your stuff, which Justice uses to wear your hoodies whenever she wants. It may be sweaty if she wears it after a workout or something but she's at least courteous enough to wash it after she's done without you needing to ask.

-You can't bring yourself to be mad at her, not when she's one of the only mentally sane demons out there.

-She does in fact rock your clothes, probably better than you do.

Pandemonica

-Due to living in Hell her whole life until coming up to Earth with you, she's used to the infernal, burning environment, a bit too much. When winter or cold weather in general strikes, she falls apart, she was never one for the frontlines like Justice or Judgement.

Whenever she has to work one of these days, she'll announce that she's borrowing a hoodie from your closet before she retreats to her room to continue working.

-It's easy to sympathize with the tired demon, knowing that denizens of Hell were not accustomed to cold temperatures. It was only right of you to help her be as comfortable as possible while she's in your home.

-Speaking of such, bring her some coffee and put an air humidifier in her room while she's working, she will appreciate that more than she can put into words. Keeps her from getting sick while you're at it, which she cannot afford from how hard being a receptionist of Hell pushes her.

-(And it also helps lower your chances of getting your fingers broken when she's no longer tired which is definitely a plus.)

[physics-of-one-piece]

I am done bottling up this story, I gotta talk about it bcs I'm so happy with it, I'm obsessed with it.

So that Rosinante x Reader x Doflamingo fic where Reader is Rosinante's wife is called...

Drums pls

🥁🥁🥁🥁🥁🥁🥁🥁

I’ll build castles for you, my love (look at me, not my brother)

Part 1 is all about Rosinante x Reader (& Law my bby boy 🥹🥺), Part 2 which is all about Doflamingo x Reader might turn into another part cus I want to cover the pre-baby and then post-baby and I don't think with all the ideas I have one part will be enough.

I like to call this fic “Doflamingo takes Rosinante's wife and baby as his own because he is the older one and Rosinante is dead anyway but damn what a sick thing to do but also really fits Doffy, good luck, girl, you're stuck with the terrible brother” or “Doflamingo trauma dumps to Reader and attempts to gaslight Reader”

The amount of times I said "THIS PINK BITCH 😡😡🤬🤬" while writing Part 2 is INSANE. HOLY FUCK HE DESERVES TO BE THROWN INTO THE SEA. LET THE SEA KINGS EAT HIM, HOLY FUCK THIS PINK BASTARD.

Anyway, here is a snippet of one of the scenes 😊

“You know, Tsuru-san…” said Doflamingo casually as he strutted to the window, grabbing his large pink feather coat from the hanger, swinging it over his broad shoulders as he went. He placed his right foot atop the windowsill; the sound of his shoe landing on it resounded in your ears ominously.  With the saw-like, terrible sound of his strings, he pulled open the window, letting in the fresh spring breeze. You smelled the cherry blossoms in the distance. He turned from the window toward Vice Admiral Tsuru, a large grin on his face. “One day I’ll be the one kicking you marines out,” said Doflamingo darkly, smiling at Tsuru, the expression sharp and promising. Vice Admiral Tsuru looked incredibly bored by the implication. “You don’t have that kind of power, even as a warlord.” said Tsuru, staring back at him, unafraid. “We’ll see, dear Tsuru,” mused Doflamingo, chuckling, offering another unnerving smile before saying, “After all, what can a marine do against a god?” Your blood ran cold. You felt your stomach clench in fear. Despite his eyes being concealed behind his sunglasses, you felt his gaze shift to you at the same time as he turned to face you, and you fought back a shiver. “See you next weekend, querida.” said Doflamingo, and smiled at you. The curl of his lips was soft, the grin of pearly white teeth charming and pleasant, the dimples on his cheeks more gentle than the ones present in the smile he’d aimed at Vice Admiral Tsuru.  Even his deep voice sounded impossibly softer. Doflamingo didn’t look frightening in that moment at all. He looked quite charming and handsome, like some divine being offering you the rarest of blessings. You decided not to think about the fact you could now read his emotions by his smiles. In a flutter of pink feathers, Doflamingo leapt off of your windowsill. You saw the gleam of his strings in the sunlight as he unwound them from his fingers, attaching them to the clouds, using them to soar forward over the bay of Marineford, the blur of his pink figure reflected on the surface of the sea. After glancing down at it, you realised the bracelet of white-pink pearls Doflamingo had crafted you had the exact same pearls as the necklace of red pearls he wore around his neck. You watched the pink little cloud of Doflamingo grow farther and farther away, becoming smaller and smaller against the canvas of endless blue. You stepped away from the window, and hoped the sky next weekend would be cloudless.  A woman can hope.

The Doffy smile that flashes across my mind for the scene where he says bye is the one from this manga panel:

Taglist: @fanaticsnail

[iwantjaketosullyme]

𝐝𝐨𝐮𝐛𝐥𝐞-𝐞𝐝𝐠𝐞𝐝 𝐜𝐥𝐚𝐰┃ᴍ. ᴏ'ʜᴀʀᴀ

➺ pairing: miguel o'hara x f!reader (established relationship) ➺ summary: dating miguel may be a double-edged sword, but it certainly has its perks... (w/c: 4.3k) ➺ warnings: quite suggestive, sharp objects? (claws/fangs), allusions to sex, arguing, mention of loss, light cussing a/n: i made the conscientious decision to channel my desire for this man and his claws into a fanfic instead of biting the person closest to me like a rabid dog (i had no choice, it was this or being put down). i hope you like it ! :)

─────── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───────

The air is charged with the thrumming pulse of energy typical to Nueva York, the daytime’s hustle and bustle replaced with thriving nightlife. At the heart of the futuristic metropolis, the sweeping skyscrapers almost seem to have a life of their own, as their LED displays illuminate the night.

A light, cool wind wafts through the gap of the open window, brushing one of your cheeks while your make-up brush applies blush to the other. The vanity table you’re sitting at is right in front of the window, giving you a perfect view of the city you call home. 

You’re applying the finishing touches to your make-up, humming softly to yourself when you see an unmistakable flash of red in your peripheral vision. Your humming stops. A brief peer outside the window reveals that the red dot is coming closer and closer. Him. With a roll of your eyes and a petulant scoff, you rise out of your seat and walk over to the wardrobe on the other side of the bedroom. 

Your absentminded humming resumes, eyes trailing over the closet rail as you peruse your options. Accustomed to the sound by the numerous times they’ve heard it, your ears register the familiar thwip, thwip of webbing nearing your apartment. You return to the task at hand, determined not to return to the window.

Not that one, too short. You’re only going out for girls’ night, and besides, you’re taken. Metal on metal screeches as you push the dress aside by its hanger. Not that one, not short enough. You shake your head, about to give up when you spot a sliver of silk hiding in the back of the closet. Pulling on it, you single out a dress you don’t remember ever wearing before and conduct a quick appraisal of it. It’s a little silk number with a neckline that will show just the right amount of skin without being too racy. Perfect. 

In the very same moment, a sudden gust of wind whooshes into the room, curtains billowing in the breeze. A broad shadow darkens the spot by the window that you had previously occupied – the same shadow as always. You begin to unhook the dress from its hanger, back half-turned away from him as you choose to take brief peeks at his figure instead of facing him fully.

“Baby?”

Miguel’s deep voice fills the room, powerful timbre reverberating against the walls of the room, and the walls of your heart. You recognise the relief in his voice that comes from seeing you for the first time in two months, but resolve to ignore it. Ignore how the sight of him swinging through the window captivates you, the glossy lustre of his suit catching in the light.

You sense him coming closer, not by the sound of his nimble footsteps, but by the hefty presence of his shadow looming over you. You’ve always laughed at the juxtaposition between his muscular build and his spider-like acrobatics, but tonight, you leave no such room for humour. The past two months without him have been the longest two months of your life, and you aren’t going to let him swoop in and charm you enough to forget the pain of separation you had endured. You make that sentiment clear in your reply.

“And what kind of time do you call this?”

Instead of the apologetic response you desire, you hear two rapid beeps as he activates his wrist device. 

“LYLA, pray tell, what time is it?” His voice is affected with the sardonic tone that you know all too well. The look of concern on your face morphs into one of mild irritation, simmering anger threatening to bubble up to the surface.

“It is currently twenty-one hundred hours!” The female A.I. chirps obediently. Since when did she follow orders?

“You heard her,” he states pointedly, “nine o’clock.”

“Well, actually, it’s 21:01 now-” LYLA chimes in again. With an annoyed grunt, Miguel wastes no time slapping his wrist and deactivating the device, effectively silencing her. Atta girl, you think. At least one of us can get a reaction from him. Clearly, your passive-aggressive greeting didn’t do the trick. 

In the earlier stages of your relationship, when your romance was only tentative and his shadow at your windowsill never guaranteed, you would’ve kept your feelings to yourself. You’d greet him with open arms (and open legs), a smile veiling your displeasure. Back then, you were just happy to see him again. His snarky remarks always betrayed the mask of stoicism he tried to uphold, and you’d do anything to hear another – you never knew if it would be the last. 

As strong as he was physically, his aversion to speaking about the matters of the heart showed you that he was emotionally fragile in the same measure. Best not to rock the boat, you figured. Enjoy his company now and mourn his absence later. But months of hiding your true emotions had taken their toll on you.

“I’m being serious, Miguel.” You step into the dress, tugging it on as you talk. “You were gone for two months.” You swivel round to face him, noting that his holographic mask has disappeared to reveal his angular face, all sharp lines and harsh shapes. You look directly into his eyes as you hold two fingers up in front of his face. “Two!”

“Yeah, I can count, thank you,” he sasses back, unperturbed.

You pinch the bridge of your nose with your thumb and two forefingers as you breathe through your nostrils in an avid attempt to regulate your rising temper. The lethal combination of his cool composure and his dry quips never fails to irritate you as much as it amuses you.

“Look,” your eyes narrow, “I don’t want to hear your witty jokes.” You sense another annoying rebuttal from him as he opens his mouth so you backtrack quickly. “I mean I do, because I want you here with me, but I don’t want to hear them right now when you’re meant to be apologising!” Your voice breaks involuntarily as your emotions betray you. If there was any chance of your facade still being intact, it was gone now.

Speaking of facades, it had taken time to unmask the real Miguel O’hara. The Miguel who would talk your ear off about his nerdy new gadgets, the Miguel whose snores could rival a grizzly bear’s, the Miguel who could – and would – eat a dozen empanadas in one sitting (even though they were so bad for his fitness regime). 

The Miguel, who was also Spiderman.

It was for this reason, that a certain part of you was wary of scaring him away with your feelings. It was so glaringly obvious that it had been a while since he’d been vulnerable with someone and had a connection as intimate as yours. Since he’d allowed himself to have a connection as intimate as yours. As time progressed and feelings reached new depths, he’d let you see past his meticulously-crafted persona as Nueva York’s guardian. 

Bit by bit and little by little, he’d given you glimpses into just how heavily the burden of being the city’s sole saviour weighs on those heavy-set shoulders of his. Each time, you had shown nothing but love, support and understanding. How he responded to you baring your heart to him now would tell you whether or not that was reciprocated.

His eyebrow quirks up in surprise, large hands coming up to sit on his hips as he tries to decipher what it is you’re saying. Well, might as well tell him everything, you suppose. “Every night that you were gone I would sit at that window,” you both look at the window he had come through not too long ago, “and wait for you.” 

Eyes of red pierce you where you stand with your arms crossed over your front, clutching the untied dress up to your body. 

“I didn’t know if you were even still-” Your breath hitches as a lump grows in your throat. You duck your head, taking a moment to recollect yourself and willing your voice not to break this time as you force the words out. “If you were even still alive.”

Burly arms engulf you, enveloping you in his warm embrace. “Shh…tranquilo baby, tranquilo.” The depth of his baritone voice soothes you as he rocks you from side to side, calming you down. “Hey, look at me…I’m fine.”

A gloved hand comes up to rest on the back of your neck, secure grip guiding your head up from where it had settled between his pecs. He tilts your head back to meet his gaze, half-lidded from looking down at you. “Don’t worry your pretty little head about that, you’ll get a migraine.” 

He leans in til your noses brush each other’s. “Then I’ll be the one stuck fixing you up.” He shakes your head lightly, bringing a reluctant smile to your face. You love your playful grump of a boyfriend. 

“Forget about the past. Let’s focus on you and me, right here, right now, hm?”

With a bashful nod, you hum your affirmation and return your head back to his chest. No more girls’ night for you. You’d rather spend the night with your favourite pair of girls instead, you think, as you press the side of your head further into Miguel’s sizable pecs and give one of them an appreciative squeeze. Damn, have they gotten even bigger since he left?

Temporarily distracted by Miguel’s honeyed words, you take this moment to recommit his features to your memory. You bask in the easy comfort of being in the presence of your person, and surrender to its lull. A curious hand lifts one of his gloved hands to your face, lolling it about, and you get lost in your thoughts as you observe just how big it is compared to yours. 

Watching you closely, Miguel notices that your gaze has not once strayed from his hands; more specifically, the tips of his fingers. Where his claws would be. Pointed canines gleam in the light as he smirks to himself, amused.

Suddenly, you hear the shing of his claws extending, metallic sound piercing the still air and cutting through your thoughts. The sharp, pointy tip winks at you, and you gasp as you are hypnotised, transfixed by it. You can feel yourself almost going cross-eyed from your laser-focus on it, so with a satisfied – and slightly delirious – sigh, your eyelids flutter shut to stave off the dizziness. You snuggle further into Miguel, leaning into the hand that cups the side of your neck. His warmth seeps into the sinews of your muscles and you relax into his touch.

You’re not expecting it when your eyes are prompted back open by the sharp pinch of his talon pressing into the plush of your bottom lip. It brings you back into the present and claws you back from the recesses of your mind that you had retreated to, chill against your skin contrasting the previous warmth and shocking your system. When your eyes meet his, they find them already trained on your face with a questioning gaze – are you okay now?

The concern splayed on his face reminds you of why you had to be placated in the first place, and just like that, you are snapped from your blissful reverie. You avoid his gaze, separate yourself from him and choose not to answer his question, one of your own on the tip of your tongue.

“So,” you clear your throat, eyebrows drawing together. “Why exactly did this mission take so long, then?”

“Come on baby,” he chuckles, but you can tell by the twitch in his jaw that you’re starting to get on his nerves. “You don’t really want me to bore you with the specifics, do you?” 

You do not respond. Assuming that the conversation is over and he’s been successful in persuading you, he leans down to go in for a kiss. He’s in for a surprise when you turn your head softly in indignation, unwilling to put the matter to rest.

“Well, what if I do?” You finally find your words; arguing with someone like him whose authority usually goes unquestioned is no easy feat. “I need an explanation at least, if I’m not going to get an apology. I mean, what’s so big of an emergency that you have to leave me for two months with no warning?!”

The lines of his face that had softened for a time become rigid and harsh again, hardened expression devoid of any of its previous mirth. 

“You know I can’t tell you that.”

Your body stills at his words. While you are disappointed, you cannot say that you are surprised. Although he has shared his identity as a vigilante with you, a great deal of his hero affairs are still kept private from you. Miguel doesn’t let you in on the intricacies of what he does, but you suppose you shouldn’t expect any less from the leader of an elite strike force with a whole arachno-humanoid-poly-multiverse to protect.

Not that you’re supposed to know about any of that, of course. 

“Okay,” you relent, feigning resignation. “Let me hazard a guess.” 

He cocks an eyebrow and waits for you to continue.

“There’s some kind of threat on the loose that could cause the end of the world as we know it, and you’ve been off on some kind of righteous, multiversal crusade to save us all from impending doom!”

A moment passes. The silence is loud. 

Despite being thrown off by your disturbingly accurate description of his activities, Miguel quickly masks his shock. Stubborn as always, he acts as if he did not hear you and brushes you off with a stern “It’s classified. You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

You don’t know what you’re talking about? You scoff internally, stare shifting to the wooden floorboards. Super-senses be damned, Miguel is not as slick as he thinks he is – how else would you have found out about the secret Spider Society, if not for his carelessness? Some days before he’d left, in the dead of night when he thought you were asleep, you heard snippets of his conversations with his spider-counterparts. Something about anomalies and canon events. Direct orders whispered aggressively into his comms device. His word was absolute and final, clipped tone leaving no room for negotiation. This is the first time he’s using it on you, though. 

Finding out about secrets he’d kept about his work life had made you wonder about his personal life too. He’d never told you much about it, and his typically curt responses become even shorter when you tried to pry. What you do know, is that it has left a sense of melancholy that enshrouds his being. It deepens the furrow of his brow and lingers in the steely, guarded glint in his eye. But entwined with that melancholy is a certain magnetism, something electric and yet tangible, distinct and yet enigmatic. It glows red like the laser of his webs, like the colour of his eyes when he is lost in the throes of passion. Right when you think you’ve got it in your grasp, it evades you, smooth and fluid like his ducking and weaving in the midst of a fight. He was just as much in your reach as he was elusive.

And judging by what he says next, nothing’s going to change anytime soon.

“Look,” he instructs you, placing a guiding hand on your cheek and redirecting your focus onto him. “I came here to tell you that I’m gonna be gone for a while.”

You shoot him a deadpan look. He sighs and corrects himself. “A longer while. There’s something I have to finish.” 

“Ha!” You let out a sarcastic laugh. “Something you have to-” The frown on your face deepens further. “You know what, nevermind.”

Frustrated by his cryptic words, you secure your hold on your dress and march over to the mirror. You can hear him grumbling to himself but don’t bother paying him any mind. Looks like girls’ night is back on. Who does he think he is, telling you nothing and expecting you to give everything up for him? Your time, your energy – your love?

As you rage internally, you fumble with the ties at the back of the dress, twisting and turning as you try to tie them yourself.

“You want some help with that?”

“...” 

For once, you decide, you’ll give him a taste of his own medicine. Let him be on the receiving end of his typical bull-like stubbornness and see if he likes it. The eye that twitches at your lack of response gives you your answer.

“Oh, okay, you’re just gonna keep struggling.”

“...”

“The silent treatment? Really? Sooo mature.” The irritation in his voice is almost tangible, and you secretly revel in it. In the reflection of the mirror, you can see him standing with his hand on his hip that’s jutting out; he’s clearly not enjoying being ignored. You hold back a petty snicker. Serves him right.

After a few more moments of you jerking about with your elbows akimbo and nose scrunched up in concentration, you succeed. In your current vulnerable emotional state, you can’t help but be pleased with yourself for doing it without his help. You don’t need him, really.

Your victory, however, is incredibly short-lived. While admiring your reflected figure in the mirror, you notice that the price tag is still attached to the dress. In the one spot you really couldn’t reach. Damn it.

“...help me get the tag.”

“Huh?” Miguel feigns ignorance, the cheeky bastard. “I didn’t get that, could you speak up a little?” He’s going to make you regret ever trying to one-up him.

“I said, could you help me get the tag?” He doesn’t move an inch. “Please?!”

He huffs in what you assume to be approval. Instead of grabbing the pair of scissors that are on the vanity like you expect him to, he walks over to you with that cocky saunter of his, purpose in his steps. A large hand splays itself on your shoulder, and you feel the snag of his talon on the tag as he tears it off with unsettling precision.

“Thank you,” you mutter under your breath.

You try to pull away from him, but his hand on you coasts along your shoulder until it finds your neck, again. You start to squirm, but his grip on you is firm and unyielding.

Your gazes lock in the mirror and you can feel the tension rising like the blood rushing to your face right now.

“You look…yummy.”

Yummy? What would be more fitting, is a statement like ‘wow, my love, seeing you in this dress has me thanking the gods for the gift they have bestowed upon me, lowly mortal that I am’, or a simple ‘you look hot’. Of all the words to describe the absolute vision of beauty that you are in this dress, he chooses the same one that could be used to describe a burger, or something. Maybe all those gains are getting to his brain. 

Your internal lament is interrupted by the flexing of his fingers. He tightens his grip on your neck to focus your attention on him, the column of your neck fitting snugly into the mould of his palm – you have nowhere to go.

You know that your boyfriend was never one to miss a detail, a characteristic further enhanced by his spider mutation. A true man of science, Miguel never strayed far from his training – in his mind was a catalogue of each and every one of the reactions he had seen displayed on your face and the actions he had performed to elicit them. Observe, record, review. Every caress, every pull, every squeeze. By now, he had perfected his method; a fact that would usually make your skin buzz with anticipation now makes your stomach pool with dread.

Even when you know he’s about to use his charm on you, there’s nothing you can do to stop it. Not that you’d want to, really.

His claw trails down your décolletage, leaving a light sting in its wake that’s equal parts pleasant as it is painful – your favourite kind of balance and he knows it. It teeters on the edge of your limit, gentle enough not to draw blood but harsh enough to draw out a dull pain that makes your heart thrum with excitement. You know that with his enhanced hearing there is no doubt he can hear it beating like the wings of a hummingbird, the poor organ struggling to pump enough oxygen around your body to keep you from panting like a dog under his intense scrutiny. Your suspicions are confirmed by the smug huff he lets out, puff of his breath wafting over your face and pricking your skin with goosebumps.

You let out a shaky exhale. Your chest sticks out as your lungs expand with air again, pushing his claw further into your skin so it digs deep enough to leave an imprint. The extended talon continues on its titillating trip down the smooth expanse of your skin, your eager body betraying your mind by keening towards him. It is no stranger to his wily charm, much used to his teasing touch being a promise of what is soon to come.

No, you remind yourself. You are angry. The sole claw lowers further, dipping into the v shaped slit that your dress’ neckline leaves exposed. He pulls at the gathered silk, applying enough pressure that it tugs at the ties holding the dress together on your frame, your sloppily-done knot threatening to come loose and bare even more of your skin for his greedy eyes to devour. He locks eyes with you again and raises a single eyebrow, a silent question. Your breath hitches in anticipation, but you keep your head up, chin raised defiantly. Still angry.

He massages your shoulders, large hands that have been made rough with work kneading the stiffness out of them. Your eyes shut against your will and you are so caught up in his relaxing ministrations that you don’t remember the point in which his titan frame swallowed yours up in a back hug.

You feel the rumble of a snarl bubble up in his chest, vibrations travelling from his being into yours. He leans down, hooks his chin onto your shoulder and playfully bites at the air beside your ear, a non-verbal attempt at coaxing you back into conversation. 

For a man like him who is rarely given to mirth, it is moments like these that you cherish, when he’s all bite and no bark in the best of ways. The clack sound of his venomous fangs coming together makes you recoil reflexively, but you cannot deny the thrill the sound incites in you. You shudder in excitement. Against your better instincts, the thought that he has the power to do with your life what he will but chooses not to is part of his allure. It stimulates the adrenaline that surges through your veins like a live current, dangerous and deadly. 

“Good girl.” He affirms your submission, so you try to take a step backwards so as not to give into his playful persuasions. Alas, your resistance only delivers you further into his clutches. 6 foot – nearly 7, he would correct you – of hunk keeping you in your place, where you belong. Safe, and in his arms.

With an effortless tug, he pulls you towards the bed where you both collapse in a heap. The pair of you are a tangle of limbs, so that you cannot move without moving him, and he cannot move without moving you. Your bodies are in sync, now all that’s left is your hearts.

When you begin to drift off to sleep – shouting matches are actually rather exhausting – the tickle of his soft breathing over your face wakes you.

“I lost something dear to me.” You open one eye, urging him to continue. “Someone,” he corrects, “dear to me.” 

This grabs your full attention, and now you are wide awake. The moment you’d given up hope, was the moment he’d decided to open up the window of his heart to you. Let the cool breeze of your love enter.

“I don’t always like what I have to do, but I know I have to be the one to do it.” His eyes are earnest, but his gaze is soft. Touched by his honesty, you place a tender palm on the plane of his cheek and stroke it up and down. “I’ve given up too much to stop now.” 

Never have you heard a voice so heavy-laden with grief. 

“Baby-” you start.

“You know I’d never want to hurt you, right?” He cuts you off. He whispers it into the shell of your ear and noses at the skin of your neck, feeling the hum that you let out. 

He leaves a trail of kisses from the base of your throat to your neck as if urging the words to spill out from you. 

“Do you forgive me?” You are quick to find his eyes, placing your hands on his impressively-large pecs. Should any one person be allowed to have so much chest?!

“Oh,” you put on an act of sudden realisation. “I forgave you as soon as you swung through that window, big boy.” You reach up to grip his chin and pull his face down to yours, taking in the perplexed look on his face as he attempts to connect the dots. “I just wanted to make you work for it.”

For the second time tonight, you see an unmistakable flash of red, this time in his eye.

─────── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───────

☼ 𝘵𝘢𝘨𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵:

@heirtothekingdom , @lanasblood

𝘭𝘮𝘬 𝘪𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘯𝘢 𝘣𝘦 𝘢𝘥𝘥𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰/𝘳𝘦𝘮𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘥 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘢𝘨𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵 <3

© iwantjaketosullyme tumblr 2023

[leclercskiesahead]

When Charles heard the promotional idea for the Ferrari fashion show, he said yes immediately. He enjoys fashion. Maybe not as much as some other drivers, but it is always exciting to see the designs people come up with, how much twist they can put on an ordinary clothing item. He has friends who work in the industry, so he hears a lot too.

There are plenty of reds and yellows in the costume room, predictably. It is a spring and summer collection after all, so bright colours always feature, and the colours of Ferrari are naturally so bold and bright. One stylist tousles his hair while another mixes and matches a few different items before they settle on a large red shirt and some equally large black pants. He is a little disappointed they didn't use a pair of cream pants, just so he can have more Monaco colours as well, but the stylists are happy with the pants matching a black stripe on the back of the shirt.

He feels like a character in a TV show set in a historical time, but the strong colours are definitely very modern.

The shooting is smooth, save for one part where he misses his marker and ends up standing off camera. The director asks him to hold longer at the end of the runway, but praises his walk (thank you Doni, he has learnt from watching the shows). They only need a few retakes to get different camera angles. It is one of his fastest media shoots.

The chatter in the costume room lets him know Carlos has arrived to do his scene. Something stirs inside him as he approaches the room, thinking of all the ways he can tease Carlos and embarrass him as he tries on his different outfits.

They are picking from amongst the yellow pieces for Carlos, which makes sense, since Charles has already taken the rosso corsa. Carlos' hair is already styled - although by himself or by the stylist Charles can't be sure, because Carlos' hair always looks styled.

Carlos spots him and his face breaks into a sly grin. "Oh wow, look at this guy. A most beautiful model."

Charles can't help the laugh that escapes him. They are always like this, him and Carlos. He is not sure who started it, but they have been teasing each other like this ever since they became teammates.

A very beautiful couple, they'd said of their poster in the garage.

Very good looking. You mean that guy? they'd joked, pointing to a poster of Charles during the Monaco GP.

Driver, fast...and beautiful, they had said to describe Carlos for a TV bit.

It was harmless and they were both confident in their appearance.

Carlos' eyes are scanning him, studying his outfit. "It has a...olden vibe, no, yours?" he notes, echoing Charles' thoughts from earlier. Then, "Like you are really Lord Perceval."

Charles can only laugh again, an exasperated one through his nose. The nickname should be annoying, really, and if it was anyone other than Carlos he might have protested against it. But Carlos had a way of saying it that just sounded so natural and not at all like a ribbing. And he used it just sparingly enough that Charles wouldn't get sick of it.

Still, Charles needs to return the banter.

Just to be annoying, he whistles as the stylist finally hands over a yellow long-sleeved shirt that looks two sizes too small.

"I think it's good, no?" Carlos says. "Give people something to talk about. I hope the fans make so many meme videos of me."

"You are going to look ridiculous, mate," Charles assures him. Carlos just waggles his eyebrows as he heads towards the changing screen.

The first thing Charles says when Carlos emerges is - "Oh, mate!"

It is one thing to see the shirt on its hanger. It's another to see Carlos in it, the highlighter colour practically molded to his skin. It is so unlike Carlos' usual style that Charles can't help but laugh.

Carlos too is grinning like a maniac, taking it all in his stride.

"I look like a footballer when they take off their shirt to celebrate a goal but they have the undershirt," he states proudly. He turns and swings his hands downwards. Charles recognises the 'siu' celebration. He can see Carlos' muscles flexing under the tight fabric.

It takes a moment for the thought to catch up to him.

Charles blinks again. The stylist is asking Carlos about another pair of pants. Carlos is just chatting as per usual, but his shoulders and arms suddenly look more defined. His skin is looking very tan against the bright colour of the shirt, even though they haven't had summer break.

He is under no illusions. Carlos is a very good-looking guy with a nice body. Charles has seen him in the gym at Fiorano, in the ice baths before sessions, in his fireproof. And sometimes he let himself look longer than he really had to.

But he's usually surrounded by just Andrea when he lets himself indulge. Not a whole film crew.

Carlos has to change his pants, and when he reappears, all the joking and teasing evaporates in Charles' mind. The stylist has given him a pair of heather grey sweats that hang low on his hips. They are more casual than the previous pair he tried, but somehow emphasise his silhouette more - the taper of his waist, the sway of his hips as he walks. Carlos is goofing off in front of the mirror, doing some cliche poses and then a turn and stare in what Charles just about recognises as a Zoolander reference. When the light hits just right, he thinks he can make out the tips of Carlos' hip bones.

Suddenly, his throat is very dry.

And then Carlos is strolling out onto set, Charles' gaze magnetised to the back of his hips as he goes, watching them sway with his natural stride.

Oh. The fans are definitely going to be making videos. Although Charles isn't sure they are going to be memes.

[shieldofiron]

Heaven's On Fire

Also on Ao3

They used to kiss like it was fighting.

Freshman year, both of their freshman years, and they were fifteen and hopped up on hormones and anger. It was the first boy girl party and Carver’d been bitching all night.

So when spinning the bottle kept landing on him, Eddie kissed him like a fight. Bit Jason’s bottom lip so hard it almost broke. When they had to spend seven minutes in heaven, they made it hell, rolling around in Denise Sandderson’s coat closet, making the wire hangers bang together.

It wasn’t even kissing, then. Wasn’t kissing when Eddie started dealing and Jason would come over to score and he took his first hit from a shotgun, his lips bruised by Eddie’s. They both got held back that year, both had something to prove to each other when Jason would strut around like big man on campus. As if he didn’t groan when Eddie sucked hickey’s just below the collar of his uniform, and Jason wouldn’t take Eddie’s hand and wrap it around his own neck, making Eddie squeeze until they both gasped. A dance only they knew the steps to.

It was just fighting, a new kind of bullying and bullying back where Jason would straddle Eddie’s lap and suck on his tongue like he was trying to rip it out.

It didn’t count, no way it could count.

It was after another boy girl party when they actually kissed for the first time. Chrissy had just broken up with Jason- long time coming if you asked Eddie- and he’d been bitchy all day. Eddie was just counting the minutes until everyone was too drunk to notice and he and Jason would sneak off behind the woodshed, or to a closet, like always.

But he didn’t show, even long after the party was almost empty and Eddie’s lunchbox was empty.

Eddie ought to take the cue that he should go home, but the house was just a few doors down from Jason’s house, and he’d noticed that Jason’s parents car was missing, which meant they were out at one of their Bible retreats or hunting trips, whatever they did that had Jason all alone.

He’s never been there, but he guessed from the light that was on, that Jason was up in his bedroom.

Halfway up the tree, he kind of wondered what the fuck he was doing. Was he really about to knock on Jason Carver’s window and say… what? Why weren’t you there for me to make out with? Sorry about your girlfriend except I’m not all that sorry, she should have dumped your ass long ago.

And while he’s hanging off the tree, wallet chain swinging in the breeze, Jason walks by the window and freezes.

With nothing else to do, Eddie tries to wave and almost falls the fuck out of the tree.

Jason makes this big dramatic sigh like it’s a huge imposition for him to open the window, “You ever heard of knocking?”

“Thought you wouldn’t want me to be seen at your house.”

“Yeah,” Jason snorts, rubbing his nose with the back of his hand, “This is so much less inconspicuous.”

He’s been crying, Eddie can see it now. Not cute crying either, like when Billy Hargrove has had a few and gets misty eyed. Jason’s face is puffy and red, uncomfortable looking.

“You ok?”

“Why are you here?” Jason spits back.

Eddie doesn’t have a satisfactory answer, so he feigns ignorance, “Chrissy came without you to the party, I thought you might be sick.”

“So you came over to where I was sick?”

“I’m… high?” He wasn’t really, a light secondary buzz off other people’s smoke. But it was plausible enough that Jason’s shoulders relax.

“Got any left?”

“Yeah, sure.”

Its Eddie’s own joint, which he offers on fingers splintered from the window frame after he flips into Jason’s room.

Jason doesn’t wait for a blowback, just goes to the other side of the room to light it, as much distance between them as possible.

“We broke up,” Jason says, his face a mask of anger.

“I’m sorry.”

“No, you’re not.”

“No, I’m not. But I kinda am. Sorry, Jason.”

Jason takes a rough puff, and then another.

“She… uh…” Eddie sputters.

“She broke up with me because I’m… I’ve been cheating on her,” Jason sniffs, handing the joint over, “So.”

“With who?”

It’s only after a few moments of Jason’s pointed silence that Eddie gets it.

“Right, but that doesn’t count,” Eddie says with a chuckle, waving the joint in the air.

“Get the fuck out,” Jason roars. His cheeks have gone bright pink.

“I just meant-“

“I shoulda pushed you out of the tree.”

“You…” Eddie’s brow furrows, “Thought it counted.”

Jason just draws a breath, his nostrils flaring. The way they do before a fight and before…

Jason’s hand is at his jaw and his other hand is fisted in Eddie’s jacket. It’s like it’s always been. He crowds Eddie back against his little desk, and Eddie’s wondering why he never climbed through Jason’s window. Could have gotten him in his cute little bed with the blue comforter and…

Jason’s lips tremble against his, and it’s just instinct, Eddie pushes forward… but Jason pulls back, falling out of step with their regular dance. His cheek is hot when Eddie puts his hand there, and Eddie’s heart flips like a pancake in his chest.

He kisses softly, Jason’s upper lip, his lower lip, they part and Eddie explores tentatively, fascinated. Jason’s crying, Eddie can taste the tears at the corner of his mouth. He kisses them away, painting his cheeks with tiny pecks, cradling Jason’s jaw. Jason was soft and pliant in his arms, and it was like Eddie could feel him for the first time. The tension running under the surface, muscles rolling beautifully when Jason threw his arms around Eddie’s neck and melted.

Eddie’s hand fell to Jason’s chest and Jason yelped, springing back. His little blue polo had caught fire from the joint now smoldering threateningly at their feet. Eddie stomped it out under his boots while Jason whipped his shirt off.

When he finally looked up, Eddie was grinning and Jason was pale and bloodless, his blue eyes shining with hurt.

“I… just… can’t do this anymore.”

Eddie picked up the smashed joint and threw it into the wastepaper basket under the desk, “Do what?”

“… screwing around. It’s messing with my head.”

“You gonna get another girlfriend?” Eddie’s heart sank.

“Dunno.” Jason shrugs, looking down.

“What if… we did something else.”

“Like what?” Jason blinked.

Eddie reached out and grabbed Jason’s hand, lacing their fingers together.

“Not screwing around.” Eddie clarified.

Jason just blinks up at him, “You’re fucking with me. That’s not f-fucking funny.”

But he doesn’t pull his hand away, so Eddie can tug him closer. Eddie sits on the edge of the desk and fits Jason between his knees.

“You’re really gonna fight me on this?” Eddie whispers.

“I just… can’t… you’re messing with my head.”

Eddie ran his fingers along the bridge of Jason’s collarbone, “I didn’t know… I thought it was just you trying to… fight me or something…”

“I…”

“Kiss me, again. Please, Jason,” Eddie smiles.

It wasn't like fighting. Not like fucking either. Turns out Jason could kiss sweet when he wanted, all trembling fingers and watery blue eyes. Eddie didn't fight anymore, he just surrendered to the dance.

---

For @dragonflylady77 to make you smile

[whumpsecretsantaevent]

SS In July gift: @hiding-in-the-shadows

This is an exchange event so there will be a blanket trigger warning for all entries, so read at your own risk! Potential trigger warnings may include nsfw themes as well as gore and possible squicks.

KASSSSS!!!! ❤️❤️❤️ HAPPY NOT CHRISTMAS, LOVELYl! 

You're such a legend and you should know that I was so so happy when I saw I was assigned to you, legit squealed 😭❤️😌 amazing taste in tropes btw - OM NOM NOM 🍽️

I apologise so so much for the delay! my laptop decided to do the die on me and I've been stealing other people's laptops to write where I can! ❤️

I hope you like 🥺 I tried to hit your tropes, and I hope it's okay 😖 I made a new whumpee for it! Nehehe - more pain for more pretty men!

Lots of love, your secret Santa! 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was a regular Friday night for Otis, and thank fuck it was. The weekend was starting to feel like it would never arrive and the past hellish week had definitely aged him ten years. Wisps of grey hairs sneak through his dark brown curls, frown lines and wrinkles starting to creep in. The joys of stress, right?

He lay curled up in bed, eyes fluttering shut and breaths drifting softly in and out of his lips. A half-finished glass of red-wine sat on the nightstand, next to a well-worn copy of 1984, his go-to staple book when he was so run off his feet with work that he hadn’t had a chance to snag a new romance novel from his favourite used bookstore a few blocks down from his house. Everything was silent. The only glow was the flickering street lamp across the street, seeping through the slits in the curtains. 

Otis drifted away with the high of the alcohol, giggling and hiccuping softly to himself as he did so. His shoulders loosened with every soft chuckle, melting into his mattress as the warmth of the blankets envelop him. The soft breaths soon morph to gentle snores and in minutes, the lull of sleep pulls him under.

…

The piercing sound of shattering glass snaps Otis wide awake. He springs upright in bed, his heart pounds at his ribcage, racing a mile a minute. He sits as still as a statue for a moment, frozen solid in fear, cold sweat drenching through to the bedsheets. His eyes dart around, frantically searching the darkness. And then he hears it again. Another crash. Louder this time. The alcohol seems to dissolve in his bloodstream, the adrenaline sobers him in the blink of an eye.

Someone’s breaking in.

Gruff, mumbling voices whisper downstairs, then comes the creaks of the floorboards beneath cautious, tiptoed footsteps. Otis can feel his stomach twist and turn, pinching into a knot as bile rises to his throat. From head to toe, his body trembles so much he’s vibrating.

There’s nothing worth stealing. Nothing. No rolls of money stashed anywhere and even the damn TV is ancient technology. He can’t hope and pray that they’ll take something shiny that catches their eye and let it out the back door. They’re going to search. Turn the house upside down, scour from top to bottom. And they will find him. Sooner or later.

Otis’ ears prick at the groan of the stairs, the same step halfway up that always creaks when he usually stumbles down half-awake for midnight snacks. His body jumps into action before his mind can comprehend that he’s even moving. Otis races towards his wardrobe and throws himself to the floor, ducking his head underneath the dangling clothes on hangers. He swiftly drags the doors shut as quickly and quietly as he can possibly manage - submerging himself in pitch-black darkness. Otis folds to his knees and peeks through the slats of the wardrobe doors.

The doorknob to the bedroom rattles and twists, and then it swings open. Two tall, muscular men, dressed in all black come storming through. Searching the room, ripping off the covers from the bed and rummaging through all of Otis’ belongings. They sift through his drawers, pulling photo frames off the wall and smashing them on the ground.

A choked sob tries to claw its way through Otis’ throat. He slams his clammy palm over his quivering lips to trap his own cries. Squeezing his eyes shut and pressing a tear from underneath. Snot trickles down from his nose, his chest heaving. 

He’s panicking, he knows. Freaking the fuck out. How the hell are you supposed to stay calm in these situations?! Help is out of the question. His phone is still charging on the bed stand, he didn’t think of swiping it when he dove into the wardrobe. He didn’t think! He just did! He should have leapt out the window and crawled his way to safety, broken bones and all. Now he’ll be on the front page of the newspaper.... ‘Male found dead in burglary gone wrong’.

“Don’t be shy, little buddy. Come out and play!” One of the intruders calls out with a dark chuckle, suddenly squatting to check underneath the bed like he was so certain Otis would be huddled underneath there. Otis’ eyes blow wide, shuffling further back into the wardrobe. The dark figures circle his bedroom, and one of them heads straight towards him. Striding towards Otis’ hiding spot.

A dizziness spins in his head and the stuffy air around him feels suddenly suffocating. Otis traps his breath in his lungs. 

He’s going to die- oh god help him, they’re going to find him-

Otis screams his lungs out as the wardrobe doors swing open with a bang against the wall, a beam of light from a torch blinds his tear-filled eyes. The intruder smiles down at him, a terrifying look of amusement sparks in his eyes as he stares down at Otis cowering on the floor.

"Boo! Comfy, little one?" the intruder asks, his voice dripping with sickly-sweet sarcasm.

Otis doesn't say a thing. He can't. He's paralyzed with fear. His mouth blubbers open like a fish out of water. He just gawks up at the intruder, his eyes wide and bloodshot with terror.

The intruder laughs, a cruel, mocking sound. "Don't worry your pretty little head," he says. "We’re not going to hurt you. Not yet, anyway. Why rush the fun? We’ll have all the time in the world."

He reaches down and snatches Otis by the arm, hauling him to his feet. Otis cries out in pain as the intruder's grip digs deep, bruising into his flesh. He kicks and flails with every ounce of energy he’s got. They overpower him easily, without so much as busting a sweat. Every hit and swipe must feel like a tickle of a feather to the burly man. They throw Otis carelessly onto the bed, shoving him down onto the mattress and snatching his flailing arms to pin his wrists above his head. The man’s entire weight crushes Otis as he climbs on top.

“NO- FUCK- LEMME GO!” Otis roars, his voice breaking into a high-pitched squeal, and squirming underneath the intruder’s hold. Hot tears spill down his cheeks. “PLEASE! TAKE WHAT YOU WANT AND GO-”

The intruder shoves his hand over Otis’ mouth to muffle his cries, “Shut him up-”  he growls the order to his accomplice. The other intruder quickly fishes around in his duffle bag until he holds up a leather muzzle, dangling it from his hands. Otis lets out a blood curdling shriek beneath the man’s sweaty palm, bucking his hips on the bed and writhing desperately. He clamps his jaw shut, grinding his teeth and shaking his head from side to side - refusing to let them strap that vile thing in his mouth. Fingers pinch his nostrils shut, another hand pries and rips at his jaw to pull his mouth open. 

The accomplice swarms in to wrap his hands around Otis’ throat, squeezing until he rasps and wheezes on stolen air, the pinky-hue of colour fades from his face until his skin turns porcelain white. A metal bit forces its way through his parted lips and presses down on his tongue, the leather muzzle swallows the lower half of his face. Any desperate sound he tries to make gets lost in the abyss - he can only huff furiously through his nose.

“You’re exhilarating when you cry, aren’t ya, lil buddy?” the intruder marvels, he wipes at the wet droplets collecting on Otis’ eye bags and licks the salty tears from his finger. “Would you look at those puppy dog eyes?”

This can’t be happening. This can’t be real. Panic fogs Otis’ spinning mind and clouds every rational thought. It’s - It’s a nightmare, it has to be!… the wine must have dragged him into a heavy, disturbed slumber. Or the stress! Maybe it’s taking more of a toll on him than he thought. 

“Nah-ah. Focus on me, sweetheart,” The intruder croons, his fingertip dabs at the tears slipping down Otis’ puffy, rosy cheeks. Otis’s eyes stay glued shut, squeezed tight until his bloodshot eyeballs feel like they might pop out of his sockets and burst. Muggy breath wafts hot against the leather muzzle, welded to his face with sweat. Thick trickles of drool slip from his quivering lips, his teeth scraping on the bit. 

He pants and heaves for air beneath the muzzle. The heat is unbearable, and the sweat drips down his face, stinging his eyes. Blood rushes to his head and his heart pounds in his chest.

Otis’ eyes shoot open. But he wishes he stayed hidden behind the safety of darkness behind his eyelids, where he doesn’t have to face reality. Where he can’t see the stranger pinning him down with a wolfish grin. 

“Good boy,” the intruder praises, cool as ice, stroking his hand through Otis’ sweat drenched hair, “I knew you’d be an angel for us. Picked a good-un, didn’t I?”

It’s sickening. Every touch revolts and terrifies Otis’, making his stomach do somersaults. A petrified whimper makes it through the gag, and he winces. He’s never heard a person whimper before…never heard himself whimper before. The sound is so foreign to him, so out of place, that it took him a moment to realise it was actually coming from him. He was whimpering like a child, like a wounded animal.Like a dog. He can't stop it. The pain is too much, the fear too overwhelming. 

The intruder climbs off Otis’ body, and forcefully rolls him over and face down, shoving him onto his belly. His wrists are seized in an iron grip, and wrangled from stretched high above his head to criss-crossed over the small of his back. Otis sobs into the bedding his face is shoved into. The stranger splays his warm hand between Otis’ shoulder blades, and slides painfully slow down his spine. Every nerve-ending lights up, his skin crawls and twitches.

“You’re going to do nicely. Sweet little thing like you. You’re going to be the perfect pet,” the stranger purrs.

Pet.

Otis’ vision dips to black. He just felt his soul leave his body. He felt himself floating upwards, and out, away from his body. He looked down and saw himself lying pinned on the bed, lifeless. Hopeless. 

A leather cuff slips over each wrist, strapped tight before being linked together with a chain in between. Otis tugs at the restraints with all the strength he can muster, his muscles bulge and his veins pop as he strains against them. Sweat beads on his forehead and his breath comes in ragged gasps. 

The accomplice jingles something beside the bed to grab Otis’ attention. Otis’ twists his head, writhing on the bed to look…and then a guttural scream rockets up his throat, shaking his head so violently that his sight mists. 

A collar. With a silver, engraved dog tag dangling from it.

“If you’ll do the honours…” the intruder nods to his accomplice, giving him the greenlight. He swiftly fastens the dog collar around Otis’ throat, buckling the band until Otis chokes and cries out behind the bit, before he finally loosens it, allowing him to suck in air again. His cheeks burn cherry red beneath the muzzle with shame. His humanity stripped away from him with only a few instruments, he’s entirely at these bastards mercy.

“Guess what your dog tag says, boy! Go on!”

Otis lets out a pitiful whine, shaking his head trying to free himself of the muzzle. His hair flops around like a dog drying their fur.

“Oh right. I forgot. Guess I’ll have to tell you!” The intruder elates, grabbing Otis by the collar and spinning it around his neck to grab hold of the tag.

“Pup. If found, return to Master Becker.”

They must be able to clock the look of pure terror on Otis’ face, his eyes streaming with tears, nostrils flaring.

“Oh, that’s me, by the way. I’m your new owner, little one.”

This is insane. No-one can own him. He is his own person, with thoughts and feelings and dreams. They have no right to take that away from him. To beat him down to nothing more than a tamed, defenceless animal. 

He won’t give up easily. He will not back down, and he will never surrender, no matter what the odds. He will fight back at every twist and turn, until the very end.

“Let’s wrap it up here. Grab the legs. I’ll take his arms,” Becker barks. Otis is lifted into the air, the accomplice grabbing his kicking feet and Becker hooking his arms under Otis' armpits. 

Otis struggles and flails, but he was no match for the two men. They carry him effortlessly, as if he were a small child. Otis's head lolls back, and he closes his eyes, feeling helpless and defeated. He knows that there is nothing he could do to stop them. They are going to take him away, and there is nothing he could do about it. They carry him out the room, making their way downstairs and back down that creaking step.

It might be the last time he’ll ever hear it. He already misses it-

They drop Otis’ to his feet when they reach the final step, but he crashes to the floor in a sobbing heap. Every muscle gives out on him, he slumps like dead weight. Becker wrenches his fist in Otis’ hair and drags him back up and standing, and forces him to stumble towards the door.

When the door opens, there’s a black van parked outside. Right under the streetlamp. It’s running, its engine’s quiet hums cut through the silence of the night like a knife. Otis’ breath sprints away from him, he screams again, his legs go to give out - but Becker catches him in his arms.

He massages Otis’ Adam's apple, bobbing beneath the collar, with his calloused palm, “Breathe, boy. Do as you're told.”

Otis quickly shakes his head 'no'. Not that he won't, but he can't. Every breath is ten times harder than the last, his chest heaves and his lungs burn. Spots dance in his vision.

Becker pulls a strip of cloth from his pocket, and ties it over Otis’ swollen and tear-filled eyes, blindfolding him, “Calm down. You needn’t ever worry about anything else. Just listen to my voice, heed my word as gospel. Only me. Only my voice. And nothing else ever again. Until that ticker in your chest rusts and stalls to its final seconds.”

Otis keens, shredding his throat with his garbled cry. He collapses into Becker's arms once more, as he rubs meant-to-be soothing circles and pats Otis' back. Shushing him as he wails.

“Hush, little puppy. Stop your whining. Let’s get you to your new home,” Becker coos, tugging at Otis’ collar.