#such raw such discomfort such distress

[dawnwriterimagines]

Innocents among you

Part Two to TRAITORS AMONG US

SIMON RILEY X FEM!READER TASK FORCE 141 X FEM!READER

Summary: Your torture is over, but is it really? There is only the torment in your mind now. The nightmares, the flashbacks, the flowers at your hospital bed and the tormentors awaiting the relief of your forgiveness.

Part 3!!

Part 4

If you liked this would you Buy me a Coffee?

---

You flatlined twice, almost as soon as you were handed off to the medics.

Committing themselves to doing CPR before bringing in the defibrillator for an electric charge to your sudden cardiac arrest. "Clear!" They restarted your heart just outside the hallway of your cell, Simon held back by Price as your heart stopped again within the same minute and panic ensued. Johnny and Kyle hearing the news, rushing up towards the hall, their footsteps probably the echo that you held onto as your heart rate picked back up.

Clearly, you lived.

You didn't have the luxury of going comatose immediately after. As you would've preferred.

You'd awoken hours after the medical team carried you off to the infirmary. Still on edge, still plagued by discomfort and cold, despite the lights of the recovery facility and the nurses that paraded around you.

Morphine wears off in about 6 hours, so you were up wailing in agony within the same time. Clearly no one expected you up so soon, but you hadn't slept in days, at least not more than an hour. Jerking up involuntarily, hands all over you to keep you down and steady, you could hear a familiar doctor's attempt to calm you down. But, the blistering pain that radiated from every pore in your body was ringing so loud, a present noise that blocked everything out.

So, at first, you'd been terrified, attempting to clutch onto the first thing you'd woken up to. But, you couldn't move, at least not voluntarily.

With the damage to your spine for countless hours, days, and what you had discovered to be two fucking weeks of endless torture, you'd undergone three difference corrective surgeries that would 'possibly' fix the nerve and circulatory damage done to you. It had left you nearly completely immobile since your admission into the infirmary. The doctors were quite astonished that you were even alive...

The nurses were patient enough with your panicked state to slowly ease you out of your stupor. But, at times it wasn't easy, especially when you didn't even know where you were at first. Since you couldn't see...

You were blind for about four days. Everything a tinted red for a few more after you'd regained your sight.

Fevers plagued you for the week, skin that was raw and inflamed from the severe cold and constant dousing from the pipes, you couldn't move if you wanted to.

The first thing you'd been graced to see were the multiple arrangements of flowers, lilies, white tulips, hydrangeas, roses...typical assortments of regret and remorse.

"Can someone throw these away?" had been your first words.

The nurse who had been checking over your vitals looks over at the flowers, the were all over the desk, even on the floor lining the windows, once they ran out of space to put them. It was beautiful. But, she knew why. Everyone knew why. You were quite famous here in the infirmary, as you were in special unit. "Of course."

They were out within the day. The room bare once more.

And then you saw them outside your infirmary window. Just a glimpse. Around the time you were still getting your sight back.

Seeing them for the first time since everything made bile build up in your throat, a screaming fear that created a pulsing headache.

Kyle, Johnny, Price and...you didn't see Simon.

Price was...a statue. Not moving an inch. His hand against his mouth, covering up the aching distress anyone could see on his face.

Kyle was pacing, back and forth and back and forth. Making an offhanded comment at one of them every few seconds.

But, Johnny was talking, pointing spitefully at someone out of your view.

He was there too then. Simon.

Turning away from the window, you couldn't look at them anymore.

"Don't let them in," you breathe out to your doctor as she sets down a trayed mug on your sliding table as she sits you up to drink a hot cup of tea, which you had requested. "Any of them. Please." You were still so cold, you couldn't imagine dealing with any type of cold weather for a while after dealing with this.

She's confused a moment, before turning to the doorway, where she recalled seeing the four men waiting outside in the hallway. She's seen them just sitting there for days now, they wouldn't beg or argue to come in, they'd just wait. It's not like you were cleared for visitors yet anyway.

Every morning she clocked in for the job, there they were. Sitting there like abandoned children, awaiting the moment the door would open to be welcomed inside.

It was like they never left.

Of course she knew who they were to you. Word spreads fast on the base. Especially for a Task Force as 'famous' as they were around here.

Squeezing your shoulder, comfortingly. Feeling protective, your doctor spoke, "Of course," she slides the mug forward a bit, taking the teaspoon to stir once and lift it to toward your lips to sip. "Blow," she guided.

You did. And sipped.

And it was warmer than any blanket they'd wrapped you in.

---

Prior to being able to trudge around on your own, with the help of a crutch you'd been given to go to the bathroom by yourself finally, the nurses had sponged you down in bed. Your spinal surgeries led to you being at risk if they made efforts to remove you from your bed for anything more than a medical emergency.

Mostly, because you're terrified of the showerhead....and it's pathetic, but no one judges you for it as you opt for a sponge bath every time instead. Even if you're shaking as the water slides down your skin even now. The last thing you needed on top of all this was to develop aquaphobia.

Today was the first day you could do it on you own, limping your way to the bathroom with your crutch. The smell of bleach is much stronger in here, it stings your nose.

You stared at the metal stool left tucked at the side, walking around it as if it would pounce up and attack you, you try not to look at it. You'd been doing well without panic attacks for a few days now, just hold it together.

Taking a breath, you reach out to the handle for the spout, glancing up at the showerhead, before back down. Swallowing thickly when you begin to turn it before pausing, hearing the water rush up the pipe to spill out. Turning it back up just as quickly, shutting off the pipe, you inhale deeply, trembling now, hand up to the chilled tile to steady yourself.

You'll try again, you had to.

Drip...

Drip...

Unable to help yourself, the sudden rush of paranoia that runs through you is terrible, a hoarse cry leaves you. You shove yourself away from the shower stall, back ramming into the doorframe, catching yourself, and away from the showerhead as the water drips, slowly from the faucet.

Drip...

Drip...

As panic tightened its grip around your chest, your breaths quickly turned to short, sharp gasps. The room spinning, colors blurring into a dizzying whirlwind. You turn swiftly, nearly knocking yourself off your feet as the thudding of your own heart startles you, you can hear it in your ears, in your hands, in your feet.

You press a trembling hand to your chest, clawing over the area, trying to slow the frantic pace of your breathing, but it only seemed to escalate. The small room narrowing to a black hole of fear and suffocation, every gasp began to disorient you, turning lightheaded.

As tears welled in your eyes, you collapse against the side wall, sliding down to the tiled floor. Slamming your palm against your chest, once, twice, as hot tears leave streaks down your bruised face, you beg your lungs to expand and wait for your breathing to regulate.

Beginning to sob uncontrollably as you hit yourself in the chest again and again and again, waiting for the moment you found yourself able to breathe.

Why did this have to happen?

You remember the violent swing of the baton against your face, the sting it leaves afterwards, the immediate spotting of bruises forming. The memory startles you, receding back into yourself, back to that day.

"It wasn't me..." you cried loudly, in the empty room. It echoes against the tiles.

Simon wrapping his hands around your neck, staring you down as he squeezed, maliciously. You couldn't breathe as your lover shook with the strength he uses to hold himself back from taking your life.

"I'm sorry," you hiccupped. "I'm--I'm sorry," you're not sure when you crawled yourself into the corner, the lights of the bathroom flickering off dimly from your lack of movement. As you're drowned in darkness, the water dripping from the spout, the cold tile against your skin, it's too much. You scramble upwards, running out of the bathroom.

The automatic lights flicker back on inside, but you're too in your head to notice.

Stumbling down to your knees as you feel the rip of a ruined stitching tearing along your side. "Ah!" comes your startled cry. Making it to the side of your hospital bed, you fist your hand through your sheets, unable to stand yourself up.

Taking pained breaths against the sterile sheets, you bury your head in them, cursing whatever luck you thought you had in this life.

They were your family...

All you had for so many years...

As your breathing slows to distraught, agonized huffs of air, sniffling to yourself as you catch sight of your face in the metal frame of your hospital bed. The dark purple bruises beneath your eyes as the swelling gradually went down, the still bloodshot left eye of yours, the twelve stitches on the left side of your face. So gruesome you knew it would scar you for life, a permanent reminder on your fucking face.

Anger bubbled up inside you at the sight of it. At the memory that would always follow when you'd look at it.

Anger that you hadn't been able to properly feel until now.

Anger that you feared to have until today.

"Are you alright?" the sound of his voice makes you visible tense.

Simon.

He's here.

You don't turn to face him, if you did, you'd revert back to the person you were cowering into moments ago. "The door was open...I just--" he pauses, swallowing thickly. "Lemme help you up."

Hearing his footsteps suddenly moving closer, you speak fast. "STAY THE FUCK AWAY FROM ME!" you scream over your shoulder, tucking yourself further away from him. "Do NOT move."

He stops in his tracks. You catch the sight of him in the metal framing of the bed, he's a blur in the metal, but you notice his mask is gone, he's Simon Riley now, not Ghost as he appeared to you in the interrogation cell.

"Don't you dare get any closer," you spat.

"I heard you," he spoke, carefully. Mouth opening and closing, before speaking again. "But, you don't have to be stubborn. If you stay there any longer you could tear your stitches."

"Whose fault is that?"

Simon shifts his stance on his feet, waits a second. "I know. And I can never begin to tell you how sorry I am for what I did. What we all did to you," he says, quietly. "The intel we discovered...or that was forged, it came from a source we've used a dozen times, (Y/n), we thought it was true. It had to be. We've never been misled before."

"So..." your nails bite into your skin, you make an amused sound, biting down on your lip for a moment, till it hurt. " That's what you came here to say, huh? What you waited days to--. Is this you justifying--"

"No, (y/n), that's not--"

"--why you tortured me, strangled me, stripped me, in that fucking cell, Simon?"

"We had to believe it, at the time..."

"Was I not a trusted source?" you argued. "Had I not proven more than a thousand times that you could trust me? I've fought next to you, laid in your bed, given you my love, my trust, I--" you shook with rage at the time and energy wasted on time family, this relationship, if the end goal was always meant to just be this.. "I thought that was at least half the reason you decided to marry me..." at the mention of your relationship, you could see the way Simon nearly lost his balance, hands coming up to run along his face. "You told me you would kill me in that room..."

"I was just talking, I wouldn't have--" his voice cracks as he whispers, trying to convince.

"When you left, I thought you'd come back to kill me any minute, or Price, to spare you. I waited to die for two days, terrified out of my mind. I wondered about heaven, not if I'd make it... but what it'd be like, what I'd be missing out on," you thought back to your time in that cell, a haunted expression Simon couldn't see. "While you all got a good nights rest, woke up for some bacon and eggs, and listened to the warden tell you that your prisoner was framed...for a crime you'd already punished her for..." you stuttered on your breathing, tears flowing silently.

Simon inhales deeply. "I could never expect you to forgive me. I-I had taken my hurt out on you, I thought you did it, I was so sure. I couldn't hear what you were saying, I just could see the evidence, and I--I'm sorry. I'm sorry, love. I'm truly--" he gets to his knees behind you.

"Get up."

"I can never tell you how sorry I am---"

"Simon."

"I never should've done this to you. If I could ever--" his voice rising with distressed breaths, you didn't have to look at him to see his face a mess of sorrow, tears that would mix into the stubble on his face.

"Simon!"

"--make it up to you. If you could ever find it in your to forgive me, (y/n). I'll spend the rest of my life--" he gets closer, reaching out.

Whipping around, stiffening completely as you feel the graze of his fingers across your skin, "DON'T TOUCH ME!" you shove your back against your bedding, your hand swinging and flying across his face. His head snapping to the side as he pauses, freezing up where he kneels, having completely forgotten your request to stay put. "What's the matter with you! Even now? Even now, you can't just listen to this one thing?!"

"I-I'm sorry..." He looks at you, finally seeing your face clearly and up close since it all happened. Finally he can see the bruises along your face, the blood that fills your eye, the dark bruise still around your neck.

Seeing him. He looks rough. Honestly, he looks terrible. His hair shaggy and falling over his eye. Dark circles with bags under them. Pale, and thinner than he should be.

His jaw clenches with guilt and he averts his eyes, you continue. "How could I forgive you for this?" you stare at him, "I could forgive you, if you hadn't let them chain me up like an animal. If you hadn't watched them drown me for hours, beat me black and blue and left me screaming for days. I could forgive you if you had just believed me even for a moment." you feign thoughtfulness. "How about you look at my face. My wrists. My legs! MY FUCKING SPINE, SIMON!"

"Nothing I can say or do, will ever make any of it ok, I know that. And I can't ask for you to ever forgive--"

"What could I possible owe you in this life, that makes you think I'd even think about forgiving any of you for the things you did to me?" you gritted out, angrily.

Simon's head drops, a slow, shuttering sigh leaves him. "I'll never stop trying to make this right. Never."

"...Get out, Simon."

"I'm sorry."

"Simon."

"I'm so sorry..." he reaches out again.

"Ghost."

He's silent this time, fingers tensing, out in mid air.

"I never wanna see you again."

"I love you, (Y/n)," he confessed, eyes feral and wide. Pulling at the ends of your slip.

"I don't want to hear that, Ghost," kicking away from him. "Stop it."

"I couldn't stop even as it happened--"

"Shut up. And get out," shaking as you sneered at his desperate attempts. "It's over, Ghost."

"And I took it on you. It hurt so much, I couldn't think," Simon's face twisted with agony and remorse. "I'm sorry!"

He was making you lose your goddamn mind, you broke. "GET THE FUCK OUT!" screaming at one another as overwhelming tears escaped your eyes.

---

It's quiet in your hospital room, it's empty now, the door closed this time.

The door knob turns and opens again a moment later. "Oh no, Ms. (L/n)!" luckily it was your assigned nurse, who takes your arm and fixes it around her shoulder before helping haul yourself up to your feet. "What're you doing on the floor? There's a call button for a reason," she scolds as you sit on the edge of your bed.

You're quiet.

Alarmingly so for your nurse, who notices the pulled stitching that creates a line of blood down your side. "If this is about what happened to you..." the nurse started, speaking carefully, pulling a lining of gauze from the side to press to your skin. You don't even wince at the pressure, even when she begins to clean and replace the broken stitch. "Don't let it break you. Not even further than this experience already has..." she says, while through the last stitch and prepping a bandage.

"I've been broken long before this," you whispered, looking towards the afternoon sun shining through your window. "This. This didn't break me, no," you admitted, before glancing up with glossy eyes, rage hidden beneath a profound look of sadness. "It destroyed me."

Her hand pauses at your side, your words startling, turning to see the tear that slips down your cheek. Knowing now how deep your scars were from this, before gently sliding the last of the bandage across your skin. "Do not think you are irreparable. That time can't heal your wounds."

"But, there's always reminders," touching the stitches on your cheek, "some things can't be forgiven."

"I never said to forgive..." the nurse interjected. "If you could, after all this, you're stronger than any woman that could be named."

You snicker at that, humming soundly. "That's an interesting thought. I guess I'm one of the weaker ones then."

"And yet, still the strongest I've ever met," she finishes. Pats your cheek, "click the button next time. Save us both the heart attack."

"Noted," you assured.

As she's prepping to leave for her rounds, you open your mouth, once, twice, before clearing it. "Is it possible, someone could help me out--the water..."

"Of course," the nurse says, quickly. "Don't worry, I understand. I'll get everything set for you."

As she walks away, you breathing out your appreciation, you take a long inhale, swallowing down the heaviness in your chest.

part 3 OUT NOW!!

and if you'd like to support a fanfic hoe in need...would you Buy me a Coffee?

Tag List:

@m3ntally-unstable @dreamsarenicer @ttsbaby01 @theweirdgeninistuff @shelbycillian @azxulaa @kthehoeforfictionalmen @amusling @v1x3n @nobodycanknoww @thesinsoflust @asexualbuthorny @poisonedsultana @blackhawkfanatic @character---obsessed @yunggoblin @teenagellamaangel @hanniebanggi @nym-phos @gastonlover9000 @lyssa-211 @doodle-cat16 @haven-1307 @kneelforloki @delphiakira @just-going-through-the-motions

[gojoest]

BURDEN and REVERENCE — gojo satoru

MDNI, pregnancy freak!satoru, f!reader, established relationship (married + reader is expecting), pregnancy, lots of pet names (love, pretty one, baby, sweetness, my beautiful wife), fingering, humping, cumming in pants (<- hinted), wc: 1.5k, not proofread, dividers by @/cafekitsune

what your fingers can’t, your husband’s will ;)

“Stupid Satoru”, with a shaky breath you mumble under your nose. “It’s all because of you—", you whine to yourself.

Grabbing onto the sink in the bathroom with one hand to support yourself, you desperately try to make the other one work its way (and magic) between your legs, albeit ineffectively.

You can’t properly reach down and take care of yourself now — courtesy of the swollen belly that your very husband brought upon you. No matter how much you bend and shift, your baby bump is still in the way. Your fingers alone prove unable to make it to the spots in you that are itching to be touched right now.

“Stupid, idiot, bastard— “

“I love you too”, a familiar voice reaches your ears — the words are spoken with a smile that’s imbued itself in the timbre of it. “You look beautiful”

A sigh breaks past your lips. “In distress? — Sure”

Your husband — and the father of your unborn child, Gojo Satoru — stands tall at the bathroom entrance, looking at you with lovesick eyes, admiring your naked body with reverence. “I’m sorry”, he breathes.

It is not an apology for being late though.

Times like this one are the raw example of the changes he had forced on your body.

There are certain things you can no longer do by yourself now that your belly’s grown quite a bit, or you can — but at the cost of great discomfort, you must admit. Tying your shoelaces, reaching certain parts of your body when you shower that require you to bend down, or when you try to get off on your own — all those innocuous activities have suddenly become quite the challenge now with his baby growing inside you.

At times like this, you need him — and he is more than happy to help and serve you.

Truth be told, he bears a little bit of guilt for burdening you like this, but it is a guilt that he likes to let plague his conscience…

…because he’s completely enamored with this state of you — pregnant, swollen with his seed that is blooming in your womb like a flower, the you that is reliant on him to wash your feet, to rub your ankles, to paint your toenails, to fuck your depths your fingers can’t reach — now those are the parts of your body only he has access to; not even you.

You need him, and he loves that.

Slowly rolling his sleeves up, he inches closer to you. “Let me take care of you, my love”

To him, you look so beautiful in your naked glory on display. Leaned against the sink with a hand between your thighs, your swollen breasts like two open hands awaiting to be grasped by him, your round belly sticking out towards him — the view alone makes his cock stiffen in a heartbeat. Fuck, he mouths the word. The pressure in his groin is festering, really fast.

You free your hand now, knowing that he’s here to take charge of things, and once before you he takes a hold of it and brings it to his lips. Starting from the knuckles he paints your fingers with tender kisses, licking the remnants of your slick on them. “You should’ve waited for me”, he hums into your hand. “You know I love joining you — don’t keep this from me”, he pouts a little.

“I know, but…”, you knit your brows. “I don’t want to be a burden to you like this, all the time”

Maybe, you’re just having another hormonal episode. Maybe it’s just that, you think, because Satoru’s never given you a reason to feel like you are weighing on him.

Eyes squinting, Satoru tilts his head in confusion. His hips push forward, causing the erection under his slacks to rub against your belly — on purpose, to prove a point. “Do I look burdened to you, pretty one?”

You chuckle. A-ha— point proven, you see. “That looks like a huge burden if you ask me” — your remark drags a short laugh out of him.

“Mind if I share some of it with you then?”, he grins smugly.

“You say some of it, but you really give all of it to me”

“It’s ‘cause you take it so well, baby”

You slap his chest — Ah, what a dickhead — and smile at him.

His lips charge towards you and peck you softly on the forehead. “You are never a burden to me”, he whispers against you before he slowly starts to drag his body down — on his knees, in front of you. Kissing every inch of you along the way — the tip of your nose, your lips, your chin, the length of your neck, your breasts, your beautiful belly... “Sometimes I fear that I am the one burdening you — with my freakish desire of you, all the time”

“So you admit to being a freak”, you ruffle his hair softly as his cheek remains pressed against your baby bump. “You flatter me too much”

“No — I revere you”, he gazes up at you, his lips longingly kissing the skin on your belly as he takes both of your hands into his and places them on his shoulders. “Here — hold on, and relax your thighs”, his hands travel down between the plush of your legs and slide them open like they’re curtains. Your nails dig into his clothed flesh, earning a low hiss from him.

“Stay like this for me, love — stay open for me to reach you” — soft pecks on the flesh that separates his lips from his unborn follow each word that seeps from his mouth, as if to ease you into his finger prodding at your slit along with his thumb rubbing tender circles on your sensitive clit. His other hand rested against the bottom of your belly.

“Satoru”, you moan softly — but demandingly — at his touch. Clenching your cunt to try and suck him in — and you do, although not entirely. You force just about the tip of his finger into you. “I am ready”

…and you’re impatient, he smiles.

His middle finger tardily inches into you, urging his cock to twitch under his pants at your warmth and at the wetness soaking into his skin. Fuck, he curses quietly under his breath — his hips involuntarily buck forward with need, his clothed bulge pressing itself on the lower of your limb; he is humping your leg like a dog.

Fuck, he must be a sorry sight for you right now — he thinks. And here you are, being groundlessly anxious about burdening him… With what exactly? Have you ever seen a dog burdened by its owner? Isn’t it the other way around? — he ponders, while his finger sinks deeper into you.

“More, ‘Toru…”, you whimper. “Want m-more..”

Grunting at the way your muscles contract around his finger, Satoru slides it in further — repeatedly reaching in as far as possible, curling and drawing back. “More what, baby?”, he coos. “More depth—“, he rams his finger in, causing you to jolt and squeeze your hands harder around his shoulders, mouth hung open, voiceless and unable to even gasp. “Or more fingers?” — he pulls away, only to push back two of them in.

You gasp, barely able to draw in a breath of air, thighs squeezing around his hand. His fingers are thick, and they are long. Two of them almost feel like a cock inside you.

“Tell me, love — which one is it?”, innocently he asks, while his fingers maneuver inside you, not so innocently. A self-satisfied look on his face that you want to wipe off with the back of your hand, but all you can muster is a whimper of pleasure washing over you.

“Oh? Is it both, baby?”, he continues coaxing you smugly. “Is this how you were trying to fuck yourself? Is that it, baby? Am I doing it right for you, sweetness?”

“Fuck, S-satoru—“, you cry. Moving your hips in sync with his fingers, your round belly hits his face with each motion, clawing low grunts from his throat and desperate humps around your leg as he slides his throbbing bulge up and down on it. He was soaking his pants by now, but you were his sole focus. He’d clean his mess later, with you in the shower — but still, by grinding on you like a dog he wanted to let you know the effect you were having on him.

“I am, baby — I am fucking you”, he croons like a sweet addition to the squelching noises of your sopping pussy. “Cum on my fingers, my love. My beautiful wife — cum on your husband’s fingers”, his glazed digits pumping harder, hammering into you fast and filling the bathroom with echoes of labored breathing and loud smacks of his hand against your soaked cunt.

“C-cuming” — you manage to utter through rapid breaths, pussy pulsing and your walls grabbing more at his fingers as the wave of pleasure washes over you.

Your hands relax their grip and hug around his neck as you look at him with weary eyes, lips panting heavily still. “What a good girl”, he speaks to you. “Now come—”, his hand retreats from your folds, causing you to slightly flinch as he pulls away from your sore, sensitive cunt, “Let me clean you up, and maybe — burden you a little”

[blackenedsnow]

hello, i..well if its alright i have a request for our edgy boy shadow..and im sorry if its stupidly specfic...can we have shadow with a s/o who has come down with the whooping cough?...and is crying and upset because of how long the sickness lasts and just how bad they feel...from not.being able to breath etc...again im sorry of this is oldly specfic i just came down with this myself and im just overall feeling misrable and shadows always been my comfort character...of your willing to wirte this thank you so much in advance..your writing is amazing..and i hope your having a good day and or night..

breathe easy

WARNING: Illness, emotional distress.

PAIRING: Shadow the Hedgehog x Sick! Reader

NOTE: Hope this brings some comfort while you’re feeling under the weather. You’re not alone, and I hope you feel better soon!

SUMMARY: Shadow comforts you as you struggle with the pain and frustration of whooping cough.

Shadow wasn’t the sort to linger in hallways, but tonight, he paused outside the bedroom door. The sound of your coughs, dry and relentless, hit him hard—not because he was unaccustomed to hardship, but because he couldn’t do anything to stop it.

You were curled in on yourself when he finally stepped inside, the blanket pooled around your shaking shoulders. Your face was streaked with tears, a raw redness tracing your nose and cheeks. You didn’t seem to hear him at first.

He didn’t speak. Instead, Shadow crossed the room, the quiet scrape of his shoes announcing his approach, and settled in the chair by your bed. His movements were deliberate and soft, as if acknowledging the fragility of the moment. “You’re crying again,” he observed, his voice low, neutral but not unkind.

You nodded miserably, trying to clear your throat, though the effort left you wincing. “I feel awful,” you rasped. “It won’t stop—it just won’t stop. I hate this.”

He stayed still, gaze steady on you, and leaned forward slightly. “It’s going to stop,” he said firmly. “Not now, but it will. I’m here until it does.”

You broke into a fresh wave of tears, clutching at your blanket, frustration spilling out in heaving sobs that stung your already inflamed throat. Every intake of breath felt labored, each cough tearing at you. Shadow reached out then, his gloved hand brushing against your shoulder—not too firm, but enough to ground you. “Easy,” he murmured. “Slow breaths. Don’t force it.”

“I can’t,” you gasped, shaking your head, though you leaned into his touch instinctively. “It’s—it’s too much.”

“You can,” he countered, voice edged with quiet certainty. “Look at me.” His crimson eyes locked with yours, calm and resolute. “One breath at a time. In. Out. It doesn’t matter how long it takes—just keep trying.”

You tried to match his cadence as he demonstrated, drawing in exaggerated breaths and releasing them. It wasn’t perfect, but the rhythmic focus helped your panic wane, leaving only exhaustion behind.

Satisfied, Shadow stood briefly and returned with a glass of warm water he’d left on the nightstand earlier. “Drink,” he said, pressing it gently into your hands.

Your hands trembled as you took the glass. He stayed close, steadying it as you sipped. The cool water stung, but it soothed some of the burning in your throat.

He set the glass down once you were done, adjusting the blanket around your shoulders without a word. His movements were careful, his expression unreadable but distinctly present.

“Do you want anything else?” he asked after a pause.

You shook your head weakly. “Just… stay?”

His lips tugged into the faintest approximation of a smile—barely there, but it softened his sharp demeanor. “I wasn’t planning to leave.”

The hours passed in relative quiet, your coughs gradually less frequent, though the misery lingered. Shadow stayed close the entire time, his presence an anchor against the storm of your discomfort.

“Try to sleep,” he urged eventually, voice low but insistent. “Your body needs it to heal.”

You nodded, eyelids heavy as you sank deeper into the pillows. Just before sleep claimed you, his voice cut through the haze, calm and steady. “I’ll be here when you wake up. No matter how long it takes.”

For the first time that day, the promise didn’t feel hollow.

[2-dsimp]

Who would baby trap mc? Asking for science.

🤓

『Featuring Babytrapping with the Hitman Team』

——;——;————;———-

Cw: 🔞NSFW MDNI! Fem reader! Baby trapping,

——;——;————;———-

Would Babytrap you intentionally

——;——;————;———-

Bjorn the Strategist: As the strategist of the team it’d only be fitting for him to intentionally plan. On knocking you up to make sure you’ll forever be inclined to stay with him. But only after doing some intensive research about child rearing and pregnancy. So he’s able to provide you with everything you may need and ensure that both you and his child are safe and sound.

Yujin the hacker: he’d be upfront with you on his plans of knocking you up. With a childish grin on his face, the hacker will straight up tell you that he’s going to get you pregnant. So that he can finally get a tasteful of your breast milk. His openness would dupe you into thinking he was joking since Yujin’s always been a prankster at times. So really you can’t blame him if he did exceed in doing exactly as he told. since he made sure to give you a prior notice ahead of time.

——;——;————;———-

Would Babytrap you unintentionally

——;——;————;———-

Ossian the sniper: don’t get me wrong he loves you dearly. So much in fact that in his sleep. He’ll go as far as to make sure you feel how deep his love for you goes until you’re filled up like a cream puff. The funny part is that when you’re holding up a positive pregnancy test in Ossian’s face he’d think he was dreaming. And would promptly wish aloud that he’d never wake up. Since the dream of having a family with you would make him feel as if he’s floating on cloud nine.

Vincent the Enforcer: would be so wrapped up in how good you felt going in raw. That he’d completely forget to pull out, and would mutter apologies underneath his breath. Whilst continuing to bust his thick spurts of jizz inside your squelching cunt. Saying how he can’t help himself and promising with butterfly kisses. Against your neck that he’d be a good daddy and take care of both you and the baby.

Danny the boss: this otaku cannot cope with how turned on you make him feel on a daily basis. He’d be so desperate to have more of you, to get balls deep inside. That place he calls heaven in between those thighs of yours. To the point of where his fat tip would break through the condom and make him nut prematurely inside you. From instantly being exposed to your depths. After Seeing the positive pregnancy test, Danny would faint like a damsel in distress. Due to an extensive nosebleed at the mere vision he had of you having baby bump. His baby bump

——;——;————;———-

Wouldn’t try to Baby trap you.

——;——;————;———-

Moros the Torturer: would never try to baby trap his sunshine. He’d want to make sure of having kids is what you’d so desire. So if you want kids you’ll have to reassure Moros constantly that you’d want to have a family with him. Since he’d hate to do anything that would cause you any kind of harm or discomfort. He knows that pregnancy can affect you long term and is well versed in the risks. So he’d never put your wellbeing in jeopardy despite how he truly yearns for a big family.

Koji the medic: is meticulous when it comes to sex, he’ll make sure that no happy accidents. will happen under his watch since he doesn’t particularly like to idea of having kids. Nor does he plan to entertain the idea of losing his dearest nurse to birthing a parasite. If push comes to shove he’ll definitely choose to toss the whole kid away than to ever risk lose his darling.

[rorylovesangst]

A Burning Hill

construction worker/underground fighter simon riley x waitress

mood board

song of the chapter is I Bet On Losing Dogs by Mitski

tws: sh injury, physical discomfort, emotional distress, self-deprecation

previous chapter → chapter 3 -> next chapter

word count: 2.5k

The next time you see him, it’s not at the diner. But you really wish it was.

The bell above the pharmacy door cuts through the heavy quiet with a sharp, irritating jingle. The air is thick and stale, heavy with the scent of cardboard, antiseptic, and damp. You pull your coat tighter around your body, its nylon whispering as you move, and your sneakers squeak against the warped linoleum, leaving small wet prints behind.

The overhead lights flicker faintly, casting yellow, uneven shadows over the shambolic shelves. Rows of half-forgotten remedies line the aisles, their withered labels mucky and peeling. The heater in the corner gripes mellifluously, pushing out only the faintest suggestion of warmth.

You find the burn cream on the far aisle, tucked between dented bottles of rubbing alcohol and crushed boxes of gauze. You crouch, your cold, stiff fingers skimming over the boxes, your eyes snagging on the bold prices: $17.99. $23.95. $19.90. An acidic knot twists in your chest. It might as well cost your entire paycheck.

The bell above the door chimes again, and the sound of boots scuffing against the linoleum cuts through your thoughts. You shift slightly, keeping your focus on the shelves and their ludicrous prices.

Embittered, you snatch a box of the cheapest cream and stand up too fast, your heel catching gawkily on the edge of your coat. You stagger backward, colliding with something solid—no, someone.

“Shit—sorry,” a voice rumbles behind you, low and familiar, vibrating through you like an aftershock as their breath puffs across your shoulders, balmy and minty.

Your breath catches, and you whirl around on your heels. His face is right there. Broad shoulders framed by a battered green jacket, the same blond buzz cut, and eyes so stygian they feel like ink.

Riley. Coffee, light and sweet.

For a moment, you’re too agitated to speak. The box of burn cream slithers from your fingers, thudding softly to the floor. He bends to grab it, rising in one smooth motion, holding it out like an offering.

“You okay?” He’s watching you with a smirk, cool and coy.

“I’m fine,” you say nippily, hell for leather. You pluck the box from his hand, holding it in a hermetic embrace against your belly.

Your eyes flick from his hands, seething and raw, back to his face. “You should clean those up,” you blurt, leaking like a faucet from your mouth, as you stare at the shelf behind him, the vitamins coalescing into a colorful, prismatic haze.

He raises an eyebrow, the faintest hint of amusement wrestling at the corner of his mouth. His knuckles flex as he rubs one hand over the other, and his voice carries a dry, razz edge. “Clean ‘em up, huh? That coming from you? With that look on your face?”

You blink, startled. “What?”

He gestures loosely toward you, his dark eyes probing over your posture, your face. “Your eyebrows are all pinched up. You’re holdin’ that burn cream like your life depends on it.” His tone softens, a few opaline teeth keeking through his curling lips. “Not exactly subtle.”

Your cheeks prickled hot, and you innately loosen your grip on the box. “It’s fine.” You’re flaring, voice serrate, defensive. “I’m fine.”

“Sure you are,” he replies, tipping back slightly, though his gaze doesn’t waver. “Bet it doesn’t even hurt, right?”

“It doesn’t,” you snap again, the words brazen this time.

He chuckles, low and throaty, the sound entwining around you like vines. “Could’ve fooled me. You’re holding yourself so tight you might snap in two.”

You scowl, shifting on your feet, suddenly hyperaware of the dull throb radiating from your chest. “Shouldn’t you be worrying about your own injuries?”

“Oh, I am,” he says with a grin, holding up his hands dramatically. “Look at me. Poster child for health and safety.”

Against your better judgment, an infinitesimal laugh escapes you before you can stop it. A few more glistening teeth poke out from behind his grin, and you immediately hate yourself for finding him funny.

“Seriously, though,” he continues, his tone softening just a touch, “you should take care o’ that. Burns ain’t something you want to mess around with. Get infected easily, y’know?”

You flub for words, making them come out like a dog's breakfast. “I—I know,” you mutter.

“Good.” He nods toward the cream still clutched in your hand. “Tha’s a start. Now you jus’ need to stop looking like you’re about t’bolt.”

Your eyes dart to his, startled by his bluntness. “I’m not—”

He cuts you off with a wry smile. “Yeah, you are.”

You open your mouth to argue but close it again, the words failing you. You glance down at the burn cream, suddenly feeling the weight of his attention like a spotlight.

“I should go,” you blurt, stepping back.

“You’re good at that,” he says lightly, though there’s no malice in his tone.

“At what?” you snap, your embarrassment bubbling into a rolling boil.

“Running off,” he replies, shrugging. “Guess I’ll see you at the diner, sweetheart.”

The word sweetheart lands like a stone in your chest, sending a hot flush up your neck. Without another word, you turn and head for the exit.

It’s only when the cool air nips your face that you realize the burn is still safe and sound on the shelf where you’d slipped it in your panic. You don’t bother turning back. The burn will heal itself, without the aid of an overpriced cream.

Olive, of course, does not agree with you.

She’s protesting at you over the running water, your hands pruned and wet as you wash the dishes. “Blue, I’m so fucking serious! Why didn’t you get it?”

You shrug, handing her a plate to dry. “I dunno. Slipped my mind, I guess.”

“Slipped your mind?” she scoffs, glaring at you with her jade eyes, “You are telling me it slipped your mind to get the burn cream as if you can’t hear the gauze every time you move.” You nod, and she scoffs again. “Ill buy you some then.”

“No—no. Olive, seriously. I will get it. I swear.”

“You better,” she demands, draping the rag over your shoulder before going back out to the front. You watch her go, your hands still submerged in the soapy water. The warmth seeps into your skin, feeding the black holes that live deep inside you—parched, gnawing voids that grow where your bones should be. She tugs her umber hair into a clip as she walks, her hips swaying in that effortless, kittenish way she has. Olive always moves like she owns the space around her, like the world bows to her rhythm.

In the year and a half you’ve worked at the diner, she’s become a lifeline—motherly, but not your mother. She’s too young for that, only a few years older than you, and far too happy. It’s the kind of happiness that feels like a foreign language, one you’ll never learn to speak.

Olive had your back when no one else did. She let you crash at her place when things got bad, even found you that rundown ranch for dirt cheap—just a couple hundred a month. You try to repay her the only way you know how: covering shifts, cooking the occasional egg bake, and pretending not to need anyone.

But the truth is, Olive is the only one who’s seen through you.

And that’s why you’ll get the damn burn cream tomorrow. Probably.

You spend the rest of your shift crammed in the back, where the dishwater steam clings to your skin, making you feel as though you’re dissolving into the air. On your lunch break, you slump against the countertop, your arms folded like the weight of the day is too much to hold upright. Tony’s voice fills the space, rough but warm, as he flips something sizzling on the grill. He slides you a chicken quesadilla with a gruff, “Messed this one up,” followed by a quieter, “Looks like you could use the extra pounds.”

Olive’s voice cuts through the clatter of the kitchen. “Blue! Get out here a sec!”

You pause mid-bite, blinking toward the kitchen door. Tony gives you a pointed look, smirking as he flips a pancake. “Guess you’re wanted.” You sigh and stuff one more fat bite into your mouth, cheeks bulging like a chipmunk.

You rub your hands on your apron and push through the swinging door, the abrupt garishness of the diner’s main room making you squint. Olive stands near the counter, her back turned to you. But she’s not alone, and you almost choke on your food.

Olive peers over her shoulder, her perfect teeth glistening behind her pink lips. “This is Simon,” Olive says, nodding toward the man beside her. “He’s a family friend. Said he came in here the other day.”

Riley’s gaze meets yours, soft and steady. His dark brown eyes flicker with recognition, and he smiles faintly.

Olive glances from you to Riley—Simon?—her eyes narrowing as her gaze bounces between the two of you. “Have you two already met?”

Simon glances at you briefly, then back at Olive. “Something like that.”

You shift on your feet, feeling heat creep up your neck. “We ran into each other at the pharmacy,” you mumble, brushing a stray hair out of your face.

“Literally,” Simon adds with a small chuckle, but there’s no edge to it, no teasing smirk. Just an easy, almost apologetic tone.

“Ah,” Olive says, her curiosity lingering, but she waves it off. “Well, now it’s official. Blue, meet Simon. Simon, meet Blue.”

He holds out his hand, and for a moment, you hesitate. Then, reluctantly, you reach out to shake it, wary of the wrap engulfing his knuckles. His grip is warm despite his callouses and scars, and you wish you could curl up in his palm and steal all his warmth, but you pull away quickly.

“Nice to meet you,” he says, his voice low and calm. “Properly, I mean.”

“Yeah. You too,” you reply, your voice far more cloying than you intended, making you cringe.

The scrunch of your gauze sparks his attention, causing him to furrow his brows. “How’s the burn?”

You blink, taken aback. “The same as this morning,” you mumble, smoothing out your apron.

“Thought so,” he says, eyebrows slightly raised. “Burns aren’t something to mess around with.”

You nod, glancing away. “I’m taking care of it.”

“Glad to hear that,” he says with a faint smile.

Your gaze drops to his hands, the cuts on his knuckles. “What about you?” you ask, surprising yourself. “Your hands… are they okay?”

Simon glances down at them like he’d forgotten they were there, then shrugs. “They’re fine. Just clumsy, I guess.”

“Looks like more than just clumsy,” you murmur, but he doesn’t respond, just rubs the back of his neck sheepishly.

“You two done swapping injuries?” Olive cuts in with a grin. “Blue, Tony’s yelling back there. Simon, want me to grab you a coffee or something while you wait for Price?”

Simon nods, but his eyes linger on you for a beat longer. “It was nice seeing you again,” he says softly, stepping back to let you pass.

You mumble something resembling “You too” before slipping through the door, your pulse hastening for reasons you can’t quite place.

The quiet buzz of the diner feels like a bulky, smothering blanket, pressing down on you as you wipe the counter with bovine, ruffled motions. Your skin feels sticky, the burn on your chest starting to throb painfully; it’s alive and refusing to let you forget it, growing tentacles and eyes. The sting isn’t just a sting anymore. It’s oozing, sticky, raw in places it shouldn’t be, but you can’t bring yourself to look.

Olive’s voice breaks through the silence, humbler than usual. “Simon’s a good guy, you know.”

You freeze for just a moment, not ready to hear it. You know she’s talking about him, but you can’t quite bring yourself to nod or even respond. Your hands feel too rigid, the tingle of the burn creeping over your chest, making it hard to focus. You wish you could ignore it, wish it would go away.

Olive doesn’t push, though. She doesn’t seem to need you to respond. “I’ve known him for years. He’s the quiet type—keeps to himself mostly, but when it counts, he’s there.”

You wish your heart didn’t strain at her words. She makes it sound so simple, so tranquil. But everything about Simon feels like a weight you weren’t ready to carry. You can’t get comfortable around men. Haven’t been able to for as long as you can remember. Maybe it’s the way they look at you. Maybe it’s the way you look at them. Every part of you wants to space yourself, to keep up the walls you’ve spent years building.

You clear your throat, trying to push the uncomfortable feeling aside. “I thought his name was Riley,” you murmur, almost to yourself. “That’s what it said on his jacket.”

Olive glances up, her smile soft but knowing. “Riley’s his last name.”

You’re eyes flutter, caught off guard. “Oh.”

“Yeah, Simon Riley,” she adds, a slight warmth in her tone.

You nod, your fingers moving to polish at the counter again, but your movements are slugish now, bemused. Ronny coughs and sniffles from the back, a rough sound, cutting through the silence just as Olive speaks. His cough rattles through the diner, something almost intentionally loud about it, like he knows exactly what he's interrupting, exactly when to make his presence known. You can’t help but feel a strange sense of unease wash over you at the sound.

You shift anxiously, the burn on your chest now impossible to shrug off. It’s not just a dull throb anymore, but a sticky, aching kind of pain that pulls at the skin, and you can feel it starting to seep through the fabric of your shirt. You try to hide it, but it’s getting worse—making you feel more exposed with every second that ticks by. The tightness in your chest isn’t just from the burn. It’s the weight of your own discomfort, the way you can’t bring yourself to reach out for help, even if you know it’s getting too bad to handle alone.

Olive doesn’t press on Simon anymore, her gaze softening with a quiet understanding you can’t quite place. “He doesn’t talk much, kinda like you.”

Your hand intuitively goes to your chest, trying to kneed at the burn, but the pain intensifies, and you wince, clenching your jaw against it. You want to pull away, to escape the way it feels to be so visible—so vulnerable. But it’s too late.

Olive doesn’t say anything else, and the diner seems to settle back into its rhythm. But in the back of your mind, there’s that thought, small and growing: Simon. He might be a good guy. You just might not deserve someone like that. Not when you can’t even handle your own skin, let alone anyone else’s skin pressed against your own knowing the rot will spread.

[nina-ya]

Patching up Sanjis Wounds

Zoro Law Sanji Shanks Ace Luffy Sabo Doflamingo Pairing: Sanji x Reader CW: Blood mentions, light wound descriptions, Sanji being a little flirty shit as usual. WC: 756

The chances that the love cook would take a huge hit for you and leave you to be the one to patch him up are high, and unfortunately this exact scenario just unfolded. Sanji is currently sprawled out in front of you after taking a major hit for you, bleeding from every place imaginable. The bleeding from his nose is most likely from the fact that you’re currently compressing some of the cuts on his chest so they can clot and those lovesick eyes he is directing towards you is practically confirming your suspicions. “Why did you do that?! Do you know how reckless that was?!” You practically yell at him as you scramble to help him. “I always help a lady in need, especially you~” he slurs out. You can’t tell if he’s love drunk or has lost too much blood based on the way he’s speaking. You roll your eyes at his response and start unbuttoning his shirt to take a better look at his wounds. He seems to light up at your touch. “Mademoiselle, I didn’t think this would be how our first time would go. I imagined preparing a lovely dinner fir-“ You groan loudly. “Sanji! With all due respect, this is not what you think it is. Get your mind out of the gutter and tell me where it hurts.”

He pouts when you shoot his advances down. “It hurts right here,” he says, guiding your your hand over his heart. Before you scold him again for his flirtation at this inappropriate time, you see the deep red that has enveloped his chest and you gasp softly. Sanji's injury is much worse than you initially thought, and the sight of the deep red seeping from his chest was enough to fill you with concern. You hold back your frustration and focus on the task at hand. "Sanji, where else does it hurt?" He winces and lets out a heavy sigh, his usual confident demeanor momentarily fading as he admits, "Everywhere, honestly." You fight back the pang of frustration and set your focus on treating him. "Alright, let's get you patched up. But seriously, Sanji, no more of your romantic fantasies right now. We need to stop this bleeding." As you work to remove his blood-soaked shirt, Sanji can't help but show his appreciation, although his pain is clear. "You have the gentle touch of an angel, ma belle." You can't help but let out a half-laugh, half-sigh. "Sanji, I'm trying to save your life here, not audition for a romance play." He manages a weak smile amidst his discomfort. "Sorry, it's just hard not to admire your beauty, even in the midst of all this." You smile slightly and focus on cleaning his wounds, and begin to wrap up some of the deeper gashes. Sanji winces and grits his teeth, but he doesn't complain about the pain. He seems to understand the gravity of the situation, and it has sobered him up, for the most part. “You know this was stupid, right?” You mutter softly, your voice filled with care. “Nothing is stupid when it comes to you.” he retorts. You let out a sigh. “Sanji, this was very stupid. If you had gotten more hurt than this, if you had… if you had died, I…” you trail off, suddenly becoming emotional. Your lip quivers as you try to focus on holding back tears so you can help him. Sanji sees your distress and lightly grabs your hand. “I will not die, not any time soon at least. I need to at least get a kiss from you before I can say I have lived a satisfied life.” You sniffle, your emotions still raw, but you manage a small laugh in response. “Yeah, well, I don't think ill be satisfied with just a kiss.” Sanjis' blue eyes sparkle with longing and a grin spreads across his face. “Oh? Do tell what it is you had in mind.” He says cheekily. Your laughter fills the air and affection floods your voice. “Hey, lets get you to Chopper first, okay?” You say, finalizing the wrapping of the wounds. “But for now, I will leave you with this.” Leaning in, you press a kiss to his lips. Its a tender and affectionate kiss, conveying all the emotions you had been suppressing: relief, gratitude, and an undeniable connection between you two. Sanjis' Lips were warm and warm and welcoming, and for that moment, you can forget about the chaos of the world around you two.

[burningred1989]

MISSED NOTE

A/N: After a dazzling performance, Y/N walks backstage, teary-eyed and overwhelmed, after missing a note during her show. Harry, notices her distress and immediately rushes to comfort her.

MASTERLIST

<<<<<

Y/N's show had just ended, and the stadium echoed with the cheers of thousands of adoring fans. Backstage, the energy was electric—crew members congratulating each other, the buzz of success in the air. But amidst the celebration, Y/N walked slowly through the chaos, her glittery stage outfit catching the light as her head hung low. Her eyes were glassy, tears threatening to spill, and she clenched her fists at her sides, barely holding it together.

Harry spotted her from across the room, a bright smile on his face as he made his way toward her. But the moment he saw her expression, his smile vanished. Concern etched itself into his features as he quickened his pace, gently cradling her face in his hands when he reached her.

"Hey, love," he said softly, tilting her face to meet his gaze. "What’s wrong?"

Y/N tried to brush him off, her hands weakly pushing at his arms, but Harry’s hold was firm yet tender. "Don’t," she whispered, her voice trembling. "I’m fine."

"You’re not," Harry countered gently. "Talk to me."

And that was all it took. The tears she’d been fighting spilled down her cheeks, her shoulders shaking as she choked out, "I missed a note. I—I feel like I failed them."

Harry’s brows furrowed in disbelief. "What? I didn’t even notice."

That only made her cry harder. Her sobs wracked her body as she tried to explain how she felt, but the words were lost in her anguish. Without hesitation, Harry lifted her up, her legs instinctively wrapping around his torso as she clung to him.

"Come here," he murmured, carrying her over to a nearby couch. He sat down, settling her on his lap so she could straddle him. Y/N buried her face in his chest, her glittery makeup smudging against his shirt as he wrapped his arms around her. His hand rubbed soothing circles on her back, his lips brushing against her ear as he whispered, "You were amazing out there. I promise you, no one noticed. You gave them everything, and they loved you for it."

Y/N sniffled, her tears soaking into his shirt as she let his words wash over her. She felt safe in his arms, his steady heartbeat grounding her. What they didn’t know was that a crew member had quietly filmed the moment, touched by the raw vulnerability and Harry’s unwavering support. The video would later be shared with fans, who would gush over the tenderness between them.

After a while, Harry pulled back slightly, tilting her chin up to look at her. "How about this," he said with a soft smile. "Let’s get out of here. I’ll take you to a diner, and we’ll get you a strawberry milkshake. Sound good?"

Y/N nodded, a small smile breaking through her tear-streaked face. "Okay," she whispered.

<<<<<

As they walked toward the exit, Y/N still looking delicate in her stage outfit, paparazzi swarmed them. The sudden flashes and shouts made her tense up, her earlier anxiety creeping back. Sensing her discomfort, Harry didn’t hesitate. "Alright, hold on tight," he said with a grin before crouching down and hoisting her onto his back.

"Harry!" Y/N squealed, but laughter bubbled out of her as he took off running, weaving through the crowd of paparazzi with her clinging to him. Her laughter rang out, and for the first time that night, she felt truly lighthearted.

They made it to the diner, where Harry ordered her a giant strawberry milkshake. She sat across from him, her face lighting up as she took the first sip. Harry couldn’t take his eyes off her, a soft smile on his lips as he watched her relax.

When they finally left, Y/N was wearing Harry’s oversized hoodie, which hung down to her thighs like a dress. She held her milkshake in one hand, looking completely at ease despite the paparazzi still lingering outside. Harry laughed as she ignored the cameras, too focused on her beloved milkshake.

"Come on," he said, grabbing her free hand and guiding her to the waiting van. She squeezed his hand, glancing up at him with a grateful smile.

By the time they got home, Y/N was smiling again, her earlier worries forgotten. And Harry? He silently vowed to always be there to catch her when she stumbled.

[pickingupmymercedes]

Hiii I love your writing so much!! I was wondering if you can make a Lewis x reader where she has some type of chronic illness and one day she gets a really bad flare up and he takes care of her :)

If you’re not comfortable or don’t feel like writing it you can ignore this ask :)

Hi love, of course! I did a shortish one-shot

Btw, I chose eczema because my beautiful best friend has battled it a good chunk of her teen years and I'm so incredibly and forever proud of the amazing woman she's become, and how she continously lifts other people even when she doesn't have to . Love you H.

Warnings: description of eczema

______________________________________________________________

The sun dipped below the horizon, casting hues of orange and pink across the sky. In the serene twilight, Lewis Hamilton sat by the window, watching the Melbourne lights twinkle like distant stars. His thoughts drifted to the upcoming Japanese Grand Prix, the anticipation of this week off tingling in the air. But amidst the excitement, a sense of worry gnawed at him.

Beside him, you lay on the couch, curled up in discomfort. The gentle hum of the evening enveloped the room, but your soft whimpers cut through the tranquility. Lewis glanced at you, concern etched on his features.

"Are you okay, love?" he asked, his voice laced with worry.

You managed a weak nod, but the pain etched on your face betrayed your words. Lewis sighed softly, his heart heavy with concern. He knew all too well the toll your chronic illness took on you, especially during flare-ups.

Your eczema, a constant companion in your life, often made its presence known at the most inconvenient times. Lewis had witnessed the struggles you faced; the silent battles fought behind closed doors. Yet, through it all and much to your comfort, he remained steadfast by your side.

That night, however, your flare-up seemed particularly severe. Lewis could see the discomfort etched in every line of your face. Gently, he knelt beside you, his touch feather-light as he brushed a stray lock of hair from your forehead. "I'll take care of you, darling," he murmured softly, his voice a soothing melody in the dimly lit room.

Despite his assurances, you couldn't shake the feeling of shame that enveloped you. The raw, red patches on your legs, a stark reminder of your condition, made you feel vulnerable and exposed. The thought of facing the world, especially at the upcoming Grand Prix, filled you with dread.

Lewis sensed your inner turmoil – it was a place your mind tended to take you – his heart aching at the sight of your distress. With a tender smile, he reached for your hand, intertwining his fingers with yours. "You don't have to hide, love," he whispered, his voice a gentle reassurance. "You're beautiful, just as you are."

Days passed, and the Japanese Grand Prix loomed ever closer. The excitement in the air was palpable, anticipation crackling like electricity. But amidst the flurry of preparations, you couldn't shake the lingering doubt if you should go at all. As the day of the race dawned, nerves fluttered in your stomach like a restless butterfly. The thought of facing the world, your eczema on full display, filled you with dread.

Regardless, you made your way to the track, the air alive with the roar of engines and the buzz of the crowd. Amidst the sea of faces, Lewis's support anchored you, a steady presence in the tumultuous sea of life.

The days following the Grand Prix went as usual. Another Mercedes bad weekend, the headlines filled with the dread of how they would bounce back, but amidst the bad press, a simple message on social media caught your eye, touching your heart in a profound way.

In a picture of you and Lewis, taken during the Grand Prix, was accompanied by a heartfelt caption.

"I've always been ashamed of my eczema, hiding it away from the world. But seeing [Your Name] embracing her skin and being open about her struggles gives me hope. Thank you for showing me that it's okay to be myself, flaws and all. 💖 #EczemaWarrior #TrueBeauty"

Tears welled in your eyes as you read the heartfelt words, the impact of your openness suddenly crashing you, the realization that your journey could inspire and empower others was almost overwhelming.

With a trembling hand, you liked the post and replied with a heartfelt message of your own. "Thank you for your beautiful words. You are strong and beautiful just as you are. Never be afraid to show it. 💖"

The outpouring of support and encouragement that followed was overwhelming, a testament to the power of authenticity and vulnerability. Messages from fans around the world flooded your notifications, each one echoing the hope you felt.

However, amidst the sea of positivity, a few photographers at the Grand Prix had been less than kind. Their whispered comments and mocking glances hadn't gone unnoticed, leaving a bitter taste in your mouth.

One evening, as you sat in Lewis’ lap in his home back in Monaco, he turned to you with a gentle expression, his eyes filled with concern.

You looked into his eyes, seeing the genuine care and love reflected in his gaze. Taking a deep breath, you squeezed his hand reassuringly.

"You don't have to talk about your eczema just because people are noticing it, you know. You owe them nothing" he said softly, his voice filled with compassion. "I just want you to be happy and comfortable."

"I want to do this, Lew" you said, your voice steady with conviction. "I was the kid embarrassed of it, hiding it away from the world. Other kids need to know they have no reason to be ashamed. If sharing my story can help even one person feel less alone, it's worth it."

Lewis's eyes softened, a proud smile gracing his lips as he nodded in understanding. "You’re so brave, babe.” he whispered, pulling you close. "I’m forever proud of you”.

[bits-and-babs]

⋆ 𝐏𝐎𝐀𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐃

Dark!Commander Mills x f!Reader

word count: 3.7K

warnings: 18+ MDNI, Dead Dove Do Not Eat; this fic may be unsettling for some readers. Dark!Mills, Chasing Predator/Prey, fear, tense scenes. DubCon [Non-Con Themes?]. Mentions of body hair, Size Difference/Size Kink. Pussy slapping, unprotected p in v sex, tummy bulge, claiming, cream pie

➛ mills masterlist I| main masterlist |I send an ask I| taglist

Jagged bark digs into the skin of your back through the thin, soft cotton fabric of your shirt. You feel the amber tree sap seep into the canvas, sticking uncomfortably to your back and clinging to you as you try to ease your hyperventilation. The cells of your lungs vibrate with alarm, stinging as you suck in mouthfuls of oxygen.

Get away.

The sunshine thrashes you, your skin slick with the sweat that rolls down your temples. Heat ebbs at the edges of your mind, teasing you with the promise of unconsciousness. Rest. It urges you to let your knees slump, to ease your aching body down to the forest floor and close your eyes for a moment– you can’t. You can’t be certain how far ahead you were or how much of a head-start he had conceded.

It had been freezing when you awoke, the cold biting your skin raw even as it thawed. A low hum deafened your ears, subconscious tears frosting your coarse eyelash hairs together and forcing your lids shut. Panicked, you had pushed the heels of your palms to your eyes in an attempt to melt the frosty glue, feeling something slippy and thick smear across the skin of your cheekbone.

The metal tang to the scent that pierced your nostrils indicated you were bleeding, pain leaping forward in your skull and forcing your eyes open in your discomfort. Like a mallet smashed over your head, the sounds of your surroundings cracked through your ear drums. A deafening siren screamed, blurring your vision with the intensity of its volume. Glass tinkled against the metal shell of the cryogenic chamber as you’d wearily pushed yourself from the leather seat you had called home for an estimated double solar-cycle. Your limbs were stiff, unused and preserved in ice for twenty-four months.

Green flooded your vision as you rose to your feet, a flashing light on the data pad of your chamber indicating your apparent survival following defrost. You’d been thankful to see your vitals displayed across the screen– you had felt so awful upon waking that you were almost certain you had died.

Relief that had flooded your veins curdled into distress when the data pad beeped, a cursor swiping across the pixels to dismiss the notification of your stirring.

You hadn’t given the scene much notice from then, jittery fear shuddering over your skin and forcing your feet forward. The ship that had meant to deliver you to Somaris was nowhere in sight, but debris pieces of the vessel had lay strewn across the forest floor. Orange embers still glowed within the metal of some large slabs of metal.

The realisation had been slow to arrive, the throbbing remnants of a concussion sweeping nausea throughout your body as you stumbled over the fallen trees. The piercing ring of the alarm continues to circle your agitated mind, tormenting you with the sinking reality of your plight. Stranded on a planet far beyond the solar system you had come from, surrounded by alien creatures you hadn’t seen stored in information holo-pads and without a ship to re-enter orbit– all while attempting to avoid the person who you had no doubt was hot on your heels.

Initially, you had assumed that the scaly, lizard-like animals were causing the snapping of the twigs in the thick treeline of the forest. While some were humongous, you noticed some were of a smaller size. Even the creatures that reached your hips posed a significant enough threat for you to avoid them by ducking behind tree trunks and bushes, their sharp teeth dripping with saliva when they caught your scent.

Whipping around at the sound of another ‘crunch’, you’d caught sight of him. Long, ebony hair fell in strands in front of his face; his brows pinched together in a stalker's concentration. His lips set in a grim, thin line, recharge-blaster aimed directly at your calves. The amber sap that had coated your skin from the trees appeared to have drenched his eyes, irises burning a bright honey colour in the brutal sunshine.

You hadn’t stopped running since, chest heaving as the cells of your lungs screamed at the intensity of your pace. The thick fabric of your flight suit, coated in leather around the collar, was heavy to carry, your legs aching as you’d lept over each of the fallen trunks in your way.

Shuddering at the memory of the hours you have spent evading capture, you inhale shakily in an attempt to ease your thumping heart. It threatens to crack your sternum, bludgeoning the bone with its rapid pace. Even though you’d stopped for some time, dread kept your heartbeat thrumming like the wings of the birds on your home planet, your blood rushing in your ears and drowning out the squawks of the flying lizards, their beaks long and sharp, wings leathery with clawed hands at the joint.

A stream trickles nearby, the running water rippling around the surrounding rocks. The breeze is cool against your face, tickling your cheekbones in a soft kiss. Despite the rustling of the leaves, the babble of the small brook, and the distant hiss of the hot spring geysers, it’s utterly quiet.

Foreboding chills you to the bone, wringing you dry.

It feels off, this delicate balance of stillness. Trepidation crawls up the vertebrae of your spine and prickles your skin with goosebumps. There’s an ambience; thick with something sinister. It coats your surroundings and lingers in the air like unsparked lighting, threatening to pounce.

Your hair stands on end, blood freezing along with the beat of your heart when you hear it; the zooming charge of a blaster.

“You can’t run from me forever.” It’s delivered with an alarming deadpan, his even voice ricocheting off the tree line. You can’t tell where he is like this, your neck reeling on its shoulders as you frantically search the area.

Darting your eyes amongst the bushes, you spot him- his footsteps cautious as he picks each footfall carefully. He’s learnt from his previous mistake, ensuring not to reveal his position with a snapping twig.

You swallow back a whimper, skirting around the trunk of the tree. Palm pressed to your nose and mouth; you hear your trembling breaths as you attempt to smother them. It’s terrifying, the level of noise you make. You’re certain your pulse gives away your hiding spot- that the vibration of the very cells of your being is connected to an amplifier and blasting through the woodlands.

In contrast, your pursuer is almost silent, barely making a sound as he picks through the undergrowth. You wonder how it’s possible for such a large man to make so little noise. He’s so careful, so silent that you pause your breath to listen for him better. Where-?

“Sweet Thing…” you hear him coo, a slight taunt to his voice that makes your nails dig into the tree's bark. Your lungs threaten to scream, ankles promising to buckle beneath the suffocating pressure.

Crouching as low as you can onto the balls of your feet, you attempt to shuffle around the trunk's circumference. You’re careful to test each footstep, feeling for fragile foliage beneath the sole of your shoe before setting it on the floor. You swallow thickly, wincing as the dried leaves rustle quietly.

It’s as though time momentarily stops. The rubber of your heel catches on the roots of the tree, slipping down the curved surface and sending your foot crashing through the sun-baked foliage with a sickening ‘crunch.’

Oh.

Tensing up all at once, your muscles pinch with fear. You fail to suppress the heaving breaths that rattle through you now, sucking in mouthfuls of oxygen and wheezing in terror when you exhale.

“Hmm,” a hum sounds to your left, loud to your ears. You bristle, the seams of your person screaming that you need to move, to run. Instead, you stay rooted to the spot, fight or flight bested by the primal instinct to be still. To hide. The atmosphere shifts, the chill of the breeze twisting to an icy disquiet.

Don’t. Don’t move, be still. If you’re still, he won-

They crawl across the curve of your jaw at first, fingertips creeping along the line of the bone before gently grasping your chin. White hot fear holds you perfectly still as his thumb pushes into the soft flesh of your cheek, the scrape of his knuckles biting into your skin as they purse your lips together. With your feeble attempt to shake him, his grip turns solid.

“Got you.”

His gruff voice rasps against the shell of your ear, lips brushing the thin skin and raising goose pimples across your neck and down your spine. Breath caught in your throat, you barely manage a whimper of response– the sound cracks in your vocal cords and sounds more like a startled exhale.

Your resolve fractures into tiny shards as he uses the grip on your chin to tilt your head backwards. Tension cracks between your shoulder blades at the awkward angle, your muscles straining as he pulls them taut. There’s a tensity at your throat, too, the thew connecting your jaw and neck almost pained by the extreme flex.

Amber. The thin strips of gold lay stark against the pitch black of his dilated pupils, irises merely a slither as the abyss swallows them whole. An eagerness paints his expression, even as his thick, dark brows pinch together in concentration. The hulking frame of your hunter stands above you, neck practically folded over to stare down at your kneeling form. He’s scanning your face, assessing each aspect of your visage and taking in the details. The paw grasping at your face tilts it left and right as he searches for… something.

Again, you wail as you feel his thumbprint dig into the soft flesh of your cheek. It braces against the edge of your molars, prints embedding– branding itself into the skin beneath it.

“Shh-Shh,” He hushes you softly, voice somewhat soothing now as he sweeps his knuckles across your temple and over your cheekbone. “Quite the hunt. Chased you all over, 70652. ”

The five digits of your passenger number ring through your eardrums like the alarms that had alerted you to your crash landing. It flits across his expression, a smug, mocking look as the realisation strikes you between your ribs like a wet blade—the pilot. Commander Mills, you had been told before cryostasis, was a skilled enough aeronaut to deliver you safely to the destination of Somaris. It appeared he had failed his mission.

“I- I don’t-”

“Everyone in the cryo-bay is dead,” he speaks over you, matter-of-fact in his unwavering tone. Your eyelashes flutter closed, confident Mills can feel your pulse pump blood through your veins as he trails his fingertips down your jugular. It tingles, the feather-light touch, adrenaline rushing over your body in surging waves. “It’s just us.”

“Hngg-” you mewl as he crouches behind you, dragging his lips gently across your pulse point as he breathes you in- the scent of your evasion. Soil coats you in an earthy smell, the metallic tang of blood from the scrapes of the thorny undergrowth. Mills groans against your jugular, scraping his sharp incisors over the thrum of your heart while savouring you.

“Aren’t you lucky?” He whispers, gravelly voice barely registering at this volume. Mill’s hand slips down your throat, calloused fingertips tracing down your central points. Your throat, your sternum between your breasts. The deliberate trail has your breath quickening, an underlying threat of danger making the hairs on your arms stand on end. “Lucky that I found you before those creatures did? Hmm?”

The delicate intonation of his question is deceptive. He’s not being kind- he’s mocking you. Still, the enamel of his teeth sinking into the concave connecting your neck and shoulder has you crying out, wetness pooling between your thighs.

“Mhm,” he lathes his tongue over the indents his teeth leave behind, splaying his fingers wide as he trails his palm over your stomach. Need unfurls beneath the weight of his hand, twisting and coating your abdomen when his fingers dip just beneath the waistband of the joggers you had been provided before entering cryostasis. “This... Is thanks enough.”

Heat creeps across the apples of your cheeks as you feel his hand slip further into your pants and wedge beneath your panties. You can do nothing but turn your hot face away from him, squeezing your eyes shut when his fingers brush through the thatch of curls across the curve of your pussy. Mills hums softly, your only warning before he’s sliding the pad of his finger through your slick cunt.

“Shit,” he grunts softly, the tip of his nose trailing up the length of your jugular. “So wet for me already.”

Sinews in your jaw ache at the force with which you clench your jaw, trying desperately to swallow down the moans that threaten to bubble up from your throat. Mills is circling his fingertip just barely over your clit now, the delicate touch coiling a throbbing heat between your thighs.

It’s a subconscious response, one that bypasses your brain and jolts your hips forward onto his hand. You don’t mean to, your fingers sinking into the soil beneath you as your body tenses. It sends a bright, hot arc of pleasure through your body and you wail raggedly, the short-lived friction enough to blur your vision.

Mills leaps.

Ripping his hand from your pants, he grabs ahold of your waist in a bruising grip, flipping you over onto your back harshly. It’s so fast, the world careening sideways. When you land it almost winds you, your spine hitting the ground with a thud. Twigs and rocks dig into your flesh, but Mills gives you no real opportunity to complain when he pins your body down with the hulking weight of his own.

Urgency spurs Mills on, pushing his fingers under the waistband of both your joggers and your panties before yanking them down your thighs. He doesn’t bother to remove them, abandoning them over your shins. They bunch around your ankles, movements restricted by the fabric. Your body is trembling, buzzing with something far from the fear he had originally inspired in you.

Mills is huge. Broad and muscular, when he leans his body over yours he almost blocks your whole line of sight. His muscles shadow through the thin fabric of his shirt, sweat causing the material to cling to his damp flesh. The chase across the forest seemed to have had little effect on his athletic frame, the exhaustion that had afflicted you unapparent when he pushes your knees back against your chest.

“Just look at you. Trembling. Panting. It’s gorgeous.” Subtle cruelty drips from his tongue when he praises you, watching your nipples harden as your folds are exposed to the cool air. Honey irises drag over your sopping cunt, greedily lapping up the view. You shouldn’t be enjoying this, so exposed to a stranger you had been running for in fear of your life just moments before.

“Please,” you beg, pathetic sobs cracking in your throat at the desperation to be touched.

“You’re in no place to be directing me, Sweet Thing.”

Despite his apparent refusal, Mills is pushing the trousers of his flight suit past his hips to expose his cock. Again, he refuses to waste time in removing them entirely, removing just enough to ease himself out of the confines of the material. You only catch a glimpse of his cock before he hoists your thighs over his pelvis, but your heart seizes at the sight– an angry, red tip leaks precum that smears across the inside of your thighs, veins protruding across the large shaft. You can’t fit tha-

God, he pushes the pad of his thumb into your clit and you yelp, seeing stars. A steady, wicked throb of bliss pulses through you as he applies pressure to the bundle of nerves, swiping his print back and forth. It’s overwhelming, and you can’t help the way your hips jolt as you feel him attempt to breach your entrance with the head of his cock.

“Stop moving,” Mills orders, hand wrapped around his dick as he sweeps through your folds. You’re sobbing now, tears welling in your eyes as he continues to abuse your swollen clit. He slips again, dark eyes flicking up to your face when your hips jolt upwards to chase his touch, the build of your impending orgasm catching you off guard with how quickly it seems to blossom. The third time, when the tip of his dick notches the inside of your thigh rather than taking root, his patience snaps.

Mills suddenly draws back from you, removing his hand from your clit before bringing his open palm down on your throbbing cunt with a brutal slap. Pain bows through you, blending seamlessly with your bliss and causes a sharp, high pitched cry of his name to tumble from your lungs. In your shock, your hips momentarily still. Taking advantage of your dazed state, Mills quickly lines his pulsing cock against your cunt and drives home, swiftly ramming into you with an abrupt snap of his hips.

A haggard gasp rips through your throat at the sudden intrusion, the painful stretch of his cock cracking through you and making your eyes roll back. Dirt cakes under your fingernails as you grasp feebly at the damp soil, trying and failing to find any kind of purchase to ground yourself.

“Take it,” Mills orders, his gruff voice impossibly reaching lower octaves as he pushes his length further into you. He sits back slightly, his eyes almost pitch black with how his pupils swallow them up as they settle on your cunt. Fascinated, he watches your lips stretch around his girth and paint his protruding veins with your slick. “Make it fit— Shit!”

His crude growl scrapes your eardrums as he bottoms out inside of you, hips flush with your own. You can’t breathe, feeling as though he’s big enough to settle amongst your lungs. You heave shallow breaths, your head pulsing with mind-numbing dizziness.

Then he’s moving. He drives forward at first, reaching depths inside you that make your abdomen ache before pulling out of you. The stark emptiness he leaves you with is short-lived, thrusting forward and stealing what little oxygen you had swallowed down.

Heat simmers through you with each shred of the head of his cock against something blinding inside of you. It gives you no room to think, to move, the cruel pace Mills sets. It’s merciless, pummelling into you and driving you up across the forest floor. “Fuuuuck, that’s good,” Mills groans loudly, holding on tight to your hips to prevent you from sliding away from him. You sob brokenly, hitting his chest with the heel of your palm as you struggle against the orgasm that’s practically hurtling towards you. Christ, his dick is so hard, ramming through you and pushing up against your cervix and causing a delightful ache.

The wet sounds of him thrusting into you are obscene, slick and desperate as he begins to pull you down onto the snaps of his hips. Fat tears stream down your cheeks, collecting in your hairline as you sob his name over and over.

“Look at you,” Mills practically snarls, eyes set on the bulge in your lower abdomen and in awe of what he finds there. Fuck fuck fuck. You can see him, see the outline of his cock driving in and out of you through your abdomen. “Mine.”

Through your haze, you feel Mills press his giant palm against your abdomen, feeling himself twitch and thrust inside of you. His forehead drops against your shoulder, hips beginning to stutter as your walls flutter around him.

It’s overwhelming; the intense pace, the brutality of his thrusts, the way your clit brushes against the pubic hairs on his lower pelvis. You sound fucking wrecked, wails spluttering with each devastating rock of his hips.

“Aha-ah- ohfuck,” you babble, eyes rolling back as your body curls inwards. You’re burning, tightening, your orgasm creeping across the pit of your stomach. “I-I’m gonna-“

Mills groans loudly, and your back arches suddenly when he bites into your collarbone. His teeth sink into your flesh, hard enough to draw blood, and the pain shoves you right over the ledge you’d been dancing over. You cum with a scream of his name, clamping down around his cock as ecstasy surges through you from head to toe. Your vision blurs, hearing cuts out.

“Shit,” you hear him spit distantly, despite the close proximity to your ears. Mills’ hips push up deep inside of you, his body lurching and trembling as he cums inside of you. It feels, even in your altered state of consciousness, like it takes forever. Milking him endlessly, his breath shuddering against the wound on your clavicle as he gently grinds into you to ease himself down from the high.

There’s no movement, no sudden release of your body and flopping to the side. Mills stays stuffed within you, your mixed cum dribbling down the inside of your thighs as he squeezes the flesh of your hips with his palms.

Your sobs of his name had been loud, noisy enough to draw in all kinds of lizard creatures, but Mills seems insistent on remaining like this, scraping his teeth across the curve of your shoulder and beginning to rock into your swollen cunt again.

“There’s a few hours before nightfall,” he talks over your garbled string of noises, overstimulated and exhausted from the hours of running and the brutal way he had fucked into you. “You can take me again before then, can’t you, Sweet Thing? Before we head back to the ship?”

Your body resigns to his question, already far too wearied and submissive to argue what feels more like an order than a question— besides, bliss is already pooling in between your thighs when he pinches your clit with the pads of his forefinger and thumb.

“Good Girl.”

END

Join the Tag List Misc Character Taglist: @glassbxttless, @peachyproserpina, @pansa-1-san @htccu7gho9

Gif belongs to @zachsnydered

[whumpsoda]

for a captivity idea, maybe write about the day Nevan broke like how Malak did? maybe when Darius realizes that Nevan is much more keen to be motivated by praise rather than punishment—as Nevan can ground himself and battle through the pain or discomfort, but the moment concept of praise as a reward is reinforced he crumbles

WOHEO Masterlist

cw: brainwashing/conditioning, memory loss

———————————————————————

Heaving ragged, quivering breaths of distress and raw desperation, Nevan’s head beat and pounded hard on the walls of his mind, thus drowning him in thick pain. His lip trembled with timid haste as his teeth ran across the frayed tips of skin, hands shielding his susceptible ears.

“C’mon… be a good boy for master, won’t you?” Darius sneered, the faux sweetness of his voice eliciting horrified trembles down his captive’s spine.

Nevan wanted to be a good boy, really wanted to be a good boy, and such feelings no short of terrified him. He was slipping, so very wretchedly easily, and he was well aware of it. 

One chill, slender hand snuck it’s way over his in the attempt to pry Nevan’s palm from his ear. “So tense, are you? Nothing to be afraid of, really. It’s only Master.” 

Nevan’s brain could not help but scatter, just for a moment upon his master’s magical words. How could he possibly resist? His eyes were quick to glaze over, lids draping and vision twisting blurry. Nevan turned to his master, limbs drooping. Just as he had wanted.

“Good boy, so good.” Darius cooed, sounds Nevan knew so well we’re fakely kind and dripping with humiliation, but in the moment he simply leaned into the scratch of slick nails below his chin. His mind swirled in a flurry of pleasure, keening toward his master, as if the vampire was tenderly reeling him in with his song-like voice.

“You want to be good, right? Even better?” Oh, how he wanted to be good. “You must listen and forget, Nevan.”

Forget.

Forget? 

“F- for… get?” Nevan whispered, meek and small on his knees. His master merely nodded.

“Yes, pet. Let Master work his magic as he drys your little brain of all the pesky memories that are no longer useful.” No. No. “Then, Master might just name you as the most pathetic pet of them all. Doesn’t that sound nice?”

Nevan recoiled, coming back to himself an inch, baring his teeth in defense. He did not want to forget, especially at the mercy of Darius. Could not. Who would? Not Genevieve, not Amara, not his parents, not his friends-

“Hey.” Darius returned, puckered lips beating simmering breath right over his skin. “Calm down. Listen to your master.”

Nevan mewled the slightest of a moan in response, shoulders buckling as an immense shiver of bliss overtook him in an instant. His expression swiftly dropped slack, in contrast to the poorly upheld smile of Darius’ that gradually twisted into that of a grimace.

Listen, listen, listen.

“Hush your head for me now. You can do that, can’t you? Your thoughts are running dry, gumming up and fogging until all you can muster up is your master.” Nevan’s brain complied in full, dissipating until all he could manage to focus on was his master’s wondrously heaven full voice. He sighed in befuddled contentment. “Just relax, letting my calm wash over you and drown you in its hold.”

Maybe, even while pathetically whimpering with pleasure, Nevan could still…

Still resist…

Alas, he was already nodding along and smiling, fight fizzled out at the flick of his master’s tongue. Defiance seemed so unreachable, such a distant idea he could not reach through the cotton plugging up his brain.

His master grinned, the faintest taint of a smirk infecting the tenderness of his spell, dripping just the slightest of sour. Even so, Nevan was quick to melt in his seat with eagerness to obey his every word.

“Your feeble mind is being so easily thwarted, terrible memories stolen away and taken where they will not return. The horrible memories that hurt and only exist to bring you pain. Master is taking them away, isn’t that just nice?”

Nevan nodded along with an empty head, no idea of what he could be agreeing to, almost as if dancing to the hum of Darius’ voice. “Mmm… um, thank, thank… you…” 

Fingers snuck their way over the human’s chin, clutching his flesh and strengthening his nod. “You don’t know anything, Nevan, not anymore, do you?” Darius sneered, smugly.

That wasn’t right. Was it? Nevan knew lots of things. “N- no, I… do…” 

“You don’t know your friends, your family, no one.” Darius stated, so matter of fact Nevan could not help but digest his nonsense. Yet, he still knew it was nonsense. 

“But… um, but…” His master’s speech failed to make any logical sense. Nevan had so many people who loved him, and he knew them very well. His mind was scattered into puzzled pieces, confusion coating every half baked thought that ever so slowly crossed his path.

“Because you don’t have any of that, Nevan. No friends, no family, no one but Master. You don’t need anyone else.” The last bit was whispered like butter licking Nevan’s ear, lips so close his master was nearly kissing his skin.

“O- oh. Oh… Master…” His chest tensed with stinging anxiousness. His brain in it’s entirety was settling into Darius’ magnificent grasp, growing horrifyingly, but at the same time blissfully, fuzzy. 

No friends…

No… family…

No… um, no…

Nevan swallowed. He… didn’t have any of that. Did he? It was dreadfully hard to search for any memories of such things, which sparked a light of faint fear to stir and contort with bitterness in his belly.

Even so, Darius’ voice was like a ringing in his ear, reverberating and echoing like that of a holy god. “You can’t remember anyone but Master. Everyone else, all of the painful, irrelevant people dissipate from your head, leaving emptiness in their wake.” 

Empty. Empty, empty, so very empty his mind was, connections growing thin and snapping off into the abyss of the vampire’s talk. There was someone there, right? There had to be. “Don’t… know… can, can’t… ‘member…”

Expression twisting with wickedness, his master firmed his clasp over Nevan’s chin. “Who can’t you remember, Nevan? Who don’t you know?”

So desperately he wracked his brain, as much as he could in such a pitiful state, blockades standing tall and firm. “Don’t, don’t, um… dunno…” Nevan’s brows furrowed, eyes pricking with timid tears. “Can’t… don’t… um…”

“Hush. Good boy. No one is left in that tiny head of yours, is there? Nobody left expect for Master.”

“Master…?” Nevan was so confused about everything said in that moment, but he still knew his master well. That was all he needed, was it not?

The vampire hummed in approval. “That is because, my pet, there has only ever been your master. Your pathetic, little life has only been filled with you and your master, from beginning to end, with not another being to interrupt. Isn’t that right?”

“Y- yes… Always… Master…” The fact circled its way around his head, plastering to the walls and fitting into its spot between his gears. It made perfect sense to Nevan, not a single other person coming to mind beside his master.

“Always and only, Nevan.”

“Only… Master…” He’d always been with his master, hadn’t he? Just the two of them… right? Except, somehow, that was wrong. His stomach churned and bubbled, red hot feelings subdued by his previous conditioning snaking free. “But, um, no… no, no, no-!”

“Let go, Nevan, to the grip and truth of my word. Let go of your mind, let go of your pain, and give it away to Master.” Darius pressed him to the wall by the head, smooshing him as far as possible into the concrete.

“N- no! No, no!” Master was wrong, master was very, very wrong and he could not for the life of him place why. Something had to be wrong, even under the weight of such heavenly sensations, because Nevan could simply feel it deep inside of his shivering bones.

“Yes.”

“No! No, no, no! No!”

Nevan no longer knew why he was holding on, why he was so terrified to obey his master. He was utterly unable to unstick his hands from his ears, or to uncurl his shaking frame. Something was missing, maybe many things, but he could not possibly say what. There was only an overwhelming sense of something he could not place, only recognizing the feeling that, even against his master, Nevan must disobey.

“Let. Go.” His master snarled, vibrant with authority and commandment. Rich with force and strength, impossible to fight with.

After holding so dearly on for the last bit of life, the last bit of fight, the last remaining tie to string together Nevan to himself broke.

A swift snap, it went.

He let go of a ragged wail, scratching from his throat and caving in to his master’s will. He released his own inhibitions, his complete accord, releasing the hurt of his own wants. His figure slumped to the wall, drowsy drool dripping from his parted lips, overcome with mind melted exhaustion.

After a time of silence and a pounding brain, slow, careful fingers dipped over Nevan’s dropped, gasping head, calling his remaining conscious back to his master. The touch was pleasantly soft, picking him up from near unconsciousness with pleasure.

Hooking another finger under his human’s chin, Darius met his unfocused gaze with satisfaction. “Pet, tell me, might you have any friends? Any family?” His voice was hushed and tender, gracing Nevan with muddled honey.

It took him a beat of quiet to process the inquiry. “Uh, um….” What an odd question. Did he? That sounded off. Nevan scoured his mushed up mind, unable in the end to make such a strange connection. Faintly, he shook his head. “N- no… no…” Why did the admittance claw at the gentle strings of his heart?

His master simply huffed a content chuckle in response, palm dancing down his thrall’s cheek and sending him spiraling. “Wonderful.”

———————————————————————

Taglist- @softvampirewhump @iys-cloud @battyfantasy @xx-adam-xx @silly-scroimblo-skrunkl

@mylifeisonthebookshelf @mis-graves @3-2-whump

If anyone wants to be removed or added to the taglist, please let me know! :)

[smgsyndicate]

Little!Rain & CG!Alpha

No CW, Age Regression, Kinks DNI

Regressed Rain with CG!Alpha ??? Yes .

Anyways, a 2k-something word long mindless fic about them being adorable. No warnings, just cuteness

ALSO . Suggestions and criticism is welcome and encouraged (please be nice tho lmao)

The ministry halls were unusually quiet, though that may have something to do with the time. Alpha looked down at his wrist to check the time, sighing very obnoxiously when he was met with the sight of his bare wrist. ... The fire ghoul doesn't even own a watch.

Alpha just huffs, pulling out his phone and squinting at the light as it shines the numbers 3:33am brightly in his face. He groans, turning his phone back off and scrubbing tiredly at his face before going back to what he was doing ... Pacing the halls.

Sometimes, a feeling Alpha could never get anyone else to understand, would creep up on him. The feeling brought up intense urges to make sure absolutely *everyone* was safe.

This time though, he was thankful for his un-fightable urge, rounding the corner of the water ghoul's wing when he hears a soft sniffling. His ear flicks, eyes turning to pin pricks and his breathing slowing as he listened for the soul crushing sound again. ... *There!* Right there it was again!

But if a ghoul is crying... Who? Must be a water ghoul, obviously. But *who?* The sound was too raw and bare with emotion, as opposed to the silent and angry cry of a certain ghoullette, Mist.

The sound was a shitty attempt at hiding sadness, something Chain was *never* good at. You would *always* know when Chain was upset, letting out ugly (in Chain's own humble opinion) sobs anything something upsets him.

There was a distinct lack of destruction around, leading Alpha to believe it wasn't Lake either. The older fire ghoul brushed the tips of his fingers across the doors, wondering *who* could be so sad?

The answer hit him as he heard a sad wet sniffle come from the door to his right. He pauses, turning towards it. The name "Rain" is etched in a gorgeous stone that Alpha wouldn't be able to tell you the name of, sea creatures of all shapes and sizes glued to the pretty name tag.

The guitarist stared at the door with his mouth twisted to a slight frown. It's not that he didn't like the new ghoul- quite the opposite actually. His calmer personality and soft voice was a much welcome change to the hyperactive ghouls that were Swiss, Phantom, and Sodo.

Alpha hovers his hand over the door knob, hesitating. He didn't really know the guy, opting to spend his time reading or messing around trying to make his own music. Would his help be appreciated? Or even actually helpful?

The ghoul sighs, turning to walk away but a distressed chirp catches his breath. His head whips around to face the door again, throwing caution to the wind and knocking as gently as he could. (Which isn't all that gently, but he's trying?)

The crying grows quieter before a shaky voice reaches his ears. "H-hello?" Alpha winces at the attempt of sounding normal. "Hey buddy, you doing okay? I can try to help if you need anythi-" before he could finish, the door is opened and he stumbles with the force of a water ghoul hugging him tight.

The fire ghoul's face contorts into a mix of discomfort and surprise. Alpha had no problem letting the newer summon hug him, no. The problem was ... How was he supposed to comfort the ghoul?

He hugs the shorter ghoul, rubbing his back with what he hopes is a reassuring smile and not one that expresses his current feeling of being out of his depth. "Shhh.. shh... It's alright. What's going on?"

Thankfully, Rain either doesn't notice or doesn't comment on it, hiding his face in Alpha's chest with a body wracking sob. "I- I-" Rain's gills flutter and he shakes as he tries to get his breathing regulated enough to speak. "I wan- I wanted to prac'ice my bass but when 'm got there, is was broked! The strings!"

The guitarist nodded sympathetically, but was still a bit confused. How did this all lead up to this much distress? "A-an then when I tried to fixed it? We has no more!" Alpha frowned at the water ghoul's words for a few different reasons. Firstly, he feels bad for the bassist. Secondly, the practice room is usually stocked- so he made a mental note to remind Special to order some more. Third of all... The ghoul is a mess over something that's not that big of a deal? And his words are all slightly off and it's almost like a child throwing a tantrum-

Alpha would've face palmed if not for the fact he currently had his arms full of a Rain ghoul, who is still clinging to him just as tight. He's not as experienced with the coping mechanism known as age regression, but he'd heard enough from Omega that he's confident enough that that's what he's dealing with.

With as gentle of a smile as the fire ghoul could muster, he carefully moved the water ghoul so he could see his face. "Rain, how old are you right now?" The bassist blinked at him owlishly, lashes wet and small tear tracks left in his sorrow's wake. His brow furrowed adorably, (at least in Alpha's opinion), before he softly spoke.

The older ghoul tilts his head. The answer wasn't English? "Can you repeat that, little one?" The water ghoul lets out an embarrassed chirp at the name, shyly nodding. "... Trois.." Alpha wracks his brain for information, frustrated at the lack of answers before he lets out a soft "oh." of understanding. "You're three, droplet?"

Rain just nods, biting his lip anxiously. "I- I can uhm. I can go 'way an deal with it on my own though- if you wanna. M a big ghoul... An .. droplet 's Dewy's name. Not mine! Silly!" He giggles a bit at the end, but his voice is heavy with rejection.

Alpha frowns at that, shaking his head gently and keeping his tone light as to not frighten the little ghoul. "No, no. It's alright. You can stay with me until you're feeling better. Besides, there's plenty of other names out there little guppy."

That seems to be a good enough response because soon enough he finds himself with a hand full of a purring water ghoul. A small sound catches the guitarist's attention, ear flicking. "You hungry, little one?" He says with amusement, still gently rubbing Rain's back.

Rain flushes and hides his face in embarrassment at his stomach growling. "M... Mhm..." They hum out in agreement. Alpha lets out a small "aw" at their adorable behaviour, bringing a hand up to push their curtain bangs out of their face.

"No need to be shy, dragonfly. I've got you." The fire ghoul goes to pick him up but pauses. "Is it alright to pick you u-" he's interrupted by an excited trill and Rain lifting his arms expectantly. "Uppies!" He cheers, tail wagging so quickly that it shakes him slightly.

Alpha laughs at that, picking up the excited water ghoul. Surprisingly, Rain is pretty light. He expected some sort of struggle carrying a full gown ghoul (or well,,, full grown *physically*,) but it seems not to matter. Alpha maneuvers him to be resting on his hip as he makes his way towards the kitchen, eyes flicking over to the regressed ghoul every few seconds to make sure he's alright.

The bassist pouts, fins flattening, when Alpha gently coaxes the bassist's fingers out of his own mouth. They whine, immediately going back to do the same thing again. Alpha just sighs dramatically with a smile, trying to think of something better.

Naturally, he'd give the little one a pacifier, but he's never personally dealt with this situation before. He feels out of his depth with no tools or toys or anything to help keep the water ghoul all happy. Still, he tries his best to make Rain happy.

"Shhh... None of that baby. Can you tell me what kind of drink you want? Or maybe something to eat if you feel up to it?" Alpha remembers something Omega said about some littles not wanting to eat if they feel too young, opting for a drink alternative if they can. However, the guitarist can't remember what age range the Quint had said. "Mnh... M'k.."

The fire ghoul nods, carefully setting the bassist down on the counter and grabbing the milk jug from the fridge. He hums in thought as to what container to put it in, knowing the water ghoul would spill it in his current space.

"Boddle!" Rain chirps out happily, pointing at a cabinet Alpha's never used before. The lead guitarist nods with a relieved sigh when he sees an array of different bottles and sippy cups in the cabinet. He pulls out a blue one with cute little sea creatures on it and closes the cupboard, pouring the milk into the bottle and moving to put it in the microwave.

He stops when he hears a distressed whine, turning to see the bassist frowning at him and reaching for the bottle. "Oh, I'm just heating it up for you little one. Don't worry, you'll get it soon enough."

This doesn't seem to please Rain, making him whine louder and shake his head. Alpha swears he remembers Omega saying that he should heat up the milk, saying regressors would find the warmth soothing and it would be easier to make them take a nap, but in this moment? Alpha just wants the bassist to be happy.

Definitely not because Rain has him bending to his every demand with big round eyes and watery tears threatening to emerge and a sad little pout on his face .. ... No, definitely not. Alpha hands the bottle to the water ghoul, watching him fumble with it for a moment before chuckling and taking it back.

"Right. Forgot. You're just a little thing, aren't you?" He says fondly, big blue eyes blinking back at him owlishly. "Come here, you." He says, scooping up Rain as best he can despite only being a bit taller than the little ghoul.

Alpha carries him to the couch, sitting down carefully and putting the bottle down. He reaches over and grabs the spare blanket they always leave there in case they find a sleeping ghoul on the couch and wraps it around the bassist, swaddling him as best as he can.

Rain chirps and trills loudly at that, making Alpha chuckle. "You like that, huh? Being all comfy and cozy?" The water ghoul doesn't really reply, just happily nuzzling against the lead guitarist with happy little sounds.

The fire ghoul hums. "Alright, alright. Let's get something in your tummy now, hm?" Alpha paused, realizing he's been talking out loud to basically himself since Rain's too little to respond.

He stays quiet, feeling slightly embarrassed as he picks up the bottle and brings the nip to the little ghoul's mouth. Rain blinks at it before looking up at Alpha.

The fire ghoul sighs, realizing the water ghoul liked him talking. "Alright, alright, fine. You win. Now drink your bottle before I die of worry you silly thing. C'mon, open please baby." The bassist doesn't quite understand for a moment but with the help of Alpha trying to work it into his mouth, the water ghoul happily starts to suckle on the bottle. He purrs in-between gulps of milk, eyes closing and body relaxed peacefully as he drinks.

"Thereeee you go, buddy! Good job! You must be starving, huh? All tired out from such an exhausting day, hm? We'll go restring your bass tomorrow, okay? Right now, just rest up and relax." Rain chirps, happily drinking the bottle still.

Alpha just smiles softly when he notices the milk starting to drip down the bassist's chin, gently removing the bottle and wiping off the spilt milk gently. "I guess that's naptime, little shark." He says quietly, slowly standing up and carrying Rain to his room.

He looks around, never having been in the newer summons room before. The walls are painted with an ocean mural, all sorts of sea creatures and coral painted as well. Alpha carefully lays the little water ghoul down on the bed, adjusting the blanket and pulling another over him to make sure he's comfortable.

Rain whines quietly, wiggling a bit and chewing on his lip. Alpha tsk'd and gently pulled the bassist's fangs away from his own lip. "None of that, little one. Settle back down and go back to sleep baby ghoul."

The fire ghoul noticed a small box sticking out from under the bed, pulling it out and opening it to see some little gear. He smiled and picked up a small green pacifier with a little fish charm on it. "Here you go, this should be better, yeah?"

Alpha gently slips the pacifier into Rain's mouth, watching the water ghoul easily relax at the soothing pressure. The fire sighs, feeling slightly disappointed at having to leave now. "Alright... Sleep well little one."

He stands up to walk away but is stopped by a heartbreaking whine. When he turns back, the bassist is looking back at him with big watery eyes, begging him to stay.

The lead guitarist can't help the small smile. "Alright baby. I'll stay." He says softly, moving onto the bed and holding Rain close to his chest protectively. "Sleep tight, little rainbow." Alpha kissed the little ghoul's forehead, happily falling asleep to the sound of quiet happy little purrs.

[lupinsversion]

𝐁𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐑𝐮𝐬𝐬𝐨 - 𝐒𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐍𝐞𝐰

• summary: during sex, billy wants to try some subtle knife play

• contains: billy russo x fem reader, sexual text, p in v, mention of safe word, knife play, dom vs sub, mentions of cum

• word count: 1.6k

masterlist || requests

They were wrapped in each other's arms, their bodies moving together in a dance of intimacy and connection. Their lips moved in passionate kisses, the sound of their combined breaths filling the room. Billy ran his hands through her hair, his fingers tangled in her silky locks, as he kissed her more deeply, his tongue tracing a path of desire across her lips.

As the heat between them continued to build, Billy broke away from the kiss, his dark eyes meeting hers.

"Baby," he murmured, his voice filled with longing and a hint of something more. "I want to try something different tonight."

Her cheeks were flushed and her hair a knotted mess against the pillow, but despite all of that, Billy couldn’t have found her more beautiful. She was too lost in the pleasure to respond to his question with words, so instead she stuck to nodding, ensuring that he knew whatever it was, she was okay with it.

His lips curved into a sly smile, pleased with her response. This is exactly what he had desired, her complete trust in him to explore this new aspect of their intimacy together. Carefully, he positioned her on the bed with a firmer-than-gentle touch, wanting to emphasize his control in this moment.

His body looming over hers, he took a deep breath, his eyes dark and intent as he reached for the knife lying strategically on his nightstand. He held it delicately in his fingers, the gleam of light catching on the sharp edge of the blade.

Her eyes flickered down to the knife, taking in its beautiful handle and sharp, silver blade. She gulped as she looked back into his dark eyes, giving another nod as she realized what he wanted to exactly do.

He watched her reaction intently, making sure to notice any signs of fear or discomfort. He didn't see either, but to be sure, he spoke. "You sure you're okay with this? Tell me now if you're not because I promise I will stop. Immediately. You tell me to stop and I will. No questions asked, no hard feelings."

“I remember our safe word.” She whispered a bit breathlessly.

He smiled softly at the reminder of their safe word. The very word they established when they were first starting to explore their boundaries together years ago. He was pleased to know that she still remembered it after all this time. "Good. You remember it, and you'll use it if you need to, right?" He asked, looking for confirmation but not in a way that lacked control.

Another nod came from her as her body subconsciously squeezed around him, her walls clenching around him as he never pulled out, leaving her full.

"Mmm" He purred approvingly, his dark eyes glinting in the low light. Her body's subtle movements confirmed to him that she was as eager as he was, and in that moment, he felt a surge of raw, dominant energy. He placed the tip of the blade just below her jawline, lightly tracing a pathway down her neck, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake.

His movements were light, but there was a possessiveness to them that could not be mistaken. The edge of the knife never touched her skin, but its mere presence, paired with his intent eyes, created a delicious mix of fear and excitement that added to the intensity of the moment.

He continued to trace the knife along her skin, moving lower, to the base of her neck and then the curve of her collarbone. Feeling her body tense, he paused for a moment, watching her reaction carefully. When he saw no sign of distress, he continued, pressing the edge of the blade into the hollow above her collarbone - not enough to break skin, just enough to increase her arousal and leave her wanting.

A gasp fell from her lips, her hips arching against his, silently begging him to start thrusting into her, to add to the pleasure.

Her smirked at her desperate movement. He knew she wanted him to move, but Billy wasn't a man who rushed. In fact, he took pleasure in prolonging these sorts of moments; moments that left both him and her desperate and wanting more. He moved ever so slightly, but it was clearly not enough for her as she reacted by pressing her hips into his even more. He let out a low chuckle. "Not yet, babe."

His movements, though measured, soon became more purposeful. His hips, in tandem with the blade tracing her skin, moved in teasing, measured thrusts that were slow and deliberate. He moved in time with the edge of the knife as it continued its path over her collarbone, and then even lower, to the valley between her breasts.

With every gentle thrust and every light brush of the blade against her skin, he watched her reactions intently. Her gasps, twitches, and moans were like a symphony to his ears, adding fuel to the smoldering passion between them. The control he had over her was something he relished in, making every movement deliberate and calculated, designed to push her to the edge of both pleasure and uncertainty.

He continued his tantalizing pace, the knife moving lower now, tracing the curve of her stomach and then lower still, to the soft skin of her inner thighs. The cool metal of the blade contrasted sharply with the warmth of her skin, creating an intoxicating sensation that heightened her arousal even further.

His pace and movements were slow, methodical. Each thrust and drag of the blade was timed perfectly, building tension and adding to the delicious torment of not being quite enough. His dark eyes remained locked on hers, watching her every reaction, gauging how much and how little to give.

He continued this teasing rhythm for a bit longer, drawing sounds of pleasure and frustration from her, until he felt that he had pushed her to the brink. Then, and only then, did he increase the pace just slightly, just enough to give her a taste of the fulfilment her body craved.

“Billy… fuck.” She cried out, her legs wrapping around his torso to keep him close as her fingers gripped at the pillow by her head.

Her cries and her legs tightening around him were exactly what he had been waiting for. Feeling her cling to him, he rewarded her by increasing the pace and pressure of his movements, giving her just a bit more of what she was so obviously begging for.

The control he had over her, the power he held in that moment, was intoxicating. His dark eyes blazed with desire as he continued his relentless pace, watching as she surrendered herself fully to the mixture of pleasure and uncertainty that he had wrought in her.

Every sound, every movement she made fed into his growing arousal, his every sense focused on her and her alone. It felt almost primal, almost animalistic, this need to push her to the edge and then bring her back, pushing her again and again, finding a rhythm that was both teasing and tantalizing.

With every thrust and every brush of the cold blade against her skin, he maintained a control that was almost surgical in nature. Billy was a man who had mastered the art of teasing and controlling his partner's pleasure, and in this moment, it was on full display.

As she cried out again and tightly wrapped her legs around him, he could sense she was nearing that edge. Each thrust and each sweep of the knife became more intense, driving her closer and closer to the release she so desperately craved.

Billy continued the relentless pace, keeping her on that razor-sharp edge of pleasure and pain, until finally, he knew she could hold on no longer. With one last, deep thrust and a light press of the knife against her soft skin, he pushed her over the edge, watching as her body shook with the intensity of her release.

Her sounds of pleasure and release echoed in his ears, mixing with the symphony of their combined breathing and moans. He watched her for a few moments, relishing in the sight of her pleasure. It was a moment of quiet dominance, of ownership, that left a deep sense of satisfaction within him. With a small jerk, he filled her with a guttural groan.

Gradually, he slowed his movements, allowing both of them to come down from the high they had reached together. His breathing was still heavy, but he felt calm, in control, as he continued to watch her reactions, ensuring she was okay and enjoying every moment with him.

Once he felt her breathing begin to return to normal, he carefully removed himself from their embrace and laid neben her on the bed, setting the knife aside. With a tender hand, he brushed away the matted strands of hair from her face, his heart swelling with affection and a strange mix of satisfaction and possessiveness.

"You okay?" He asked, his voice soft but still carrying a hint of authority. His fingers delicately traced along the path the knife took along her skin, as if to check if he hadn't left any marks. It was his way of showing care, mixed with the possessiveness that he felt at that moment.

“Feeling perfect.” She whispered in confirmation, a tired smile forming on her lips as she turned to her side to nuzzle closer.

Her response, paired with her soft smile and her nuzzling closer to him, brought a deep sense of satisfaction and contentment. Billy gently wrapped his arms around her, pulling her even closer to him, feeling the warmth of her body against his.

He laid there quietly for a moment, just holding her, feeling the steady rhythm of her breathing against his chest. In that moment, everything seemed peaceful and perfect. With a gentle stroke of her hair and a light kiss to the top of her head, he tightened his embrace around her, relishing in the feeling of having her so close.

© lupinsversion 2024

[ammonite-collective]

TW: talk of OCD, intrusive thoughts, saliva, harming children

Disclaimer: If you feel you experience intrusive thoughts, consult a medical professional. This is not a replacement for therapy and I am not an expert, just someone with OCD talking about his experiences. I support self diagnosis but please do not diagnose yourself off of this post.

What is OCD?

I think everyone knows it stands for Obsessive Compulsive Disorder but what does that mean?

Well the main premise is an obsessive thought followed by a compulsion to “fix” the thought. Okay well what does that mean?

Here’s an example from my own experience.

The thought: I just shook hands with someone. They definitely had germs on their hand and now they’re on my hand. I’m going to catch a deadly disease from this person and die.

The compulsion: Washing my hands until the skin is red and raw.

If you don’t have OCD, you probably would just assume what we do makes no sense. You would be mostly correct. However, it makes sense to us. For someone who has OCD, these thoughts terrorize our every waking moment. We cannot go through a day without having an obsessive thought and needing to do something about it. Whether that thing makes any sense logically or not, is not important to us. It’s real for us.

I typically struggle with symmetry obsessions and contamination obsessions.

The way symmetry obsessions present is that I have to determine the exact middle of pretty much everything and blink when I find it. When I’m on the road, it’s typically telephone poles or whatever my brain determines is important. I don’t really have intrusive thoughts about this, it’s more immense discomfort and a horrible feeling of dread if I don’t do it. I also have to eat exactly the same amount on each side of my mouth. Say I have two green gummy bears and one orange. The green both go on opposites sides and I eat them simultaneously. The orange either gets my middle front teeth or I give it to someone else.

With contamination, it presented differently when I was a child and teen with obsessive hand washing and carrying around hand sanitizer with me. Unfortunately, I also experienced trauma related to this obsession and it changed to reflect the trauma. I cannot handle the idea of saliva. I just can’t. Sometimes it even applies to my own inside my own body. I can’t finish drinks in any container because I know that some of the liquid at the bottom is most likely saliva. Yes, it’s my own. I also cannot drink or eat after anyone. The idea that even tiny particles of saliva are on whatever they touched feels catastrophic to me. Sometimes I am able to kiss people, but if I’m having a particularly bad OCD day, I can’t. As listed above, this is partially due to the fear of disease and germs but it also has to do with the trauma I experienced.

Intrusive thoughts

This is where OCD tends to be the most misunderstood and stigmatized.

Intrusive thoughts are unwanted thoughts or mental images that make the person experiencing them distressed. Being upsetting is a requirement for an intrusive thought. If it is not upsetting, it’s not intrusive. They can also come with disorders that aren’t OCD but I am not knowledgeable on which ones.

Examples include: horrific images of loved ones dying, thoughts of harming others, or sexual imagery (must be unwanted).

Before I explain some of my intrusive thoughts, I must reinforce that intrusive thoughts are ALWAYS unwanted. They are things you would never want to happen and never do.

TW: intrusive thoughts of harming children for next paragraph

Some of my intrusive thoughts involve the fear of me hurting children or being a p*do. As a person who has experience sexual trauma, some of which while I was a child/young, these thoughts are the worst. Once I have this thought, my day is basically over. I can’t do anything that day and I absolutely cannot interact with a child. I tend to avoid children because I am scared I will hurt them. If I come across a child, these thoughts typically cross my mind and I need to walk away. “Was I creepy?” “Did I want to do something to that child?” I didn’t talk about these thoughts for years because I was terrified I was a bad person for having them. That I actually was a p*do and I needed to be far away from children. While I still feel this way sometimes as the nature of the disorder, I know in my heart that I am not bad. I love children and I want some in the future. I want to experience the ups and down of parenthood and I deserve to get that experience regardless of my disorder.

To people who don’t have OCD: The people you love with OCD deserve for you to be kind to them. Their disorder does not make them scary or unlovable. They are deserving of compassion, especially when they’re struggling.

To people with OCD: I love you. You are not weird or evil. I believe in you and I care for you. You are doing so great.

[unforgivenn]

16th Hour - #7 A life sold

Previous/ Masterlist

CW: Captivity, Psychological manipulation, Dehumanization, Panic attacks, trauma, threats, Short term amnesia, Power imbalance and coercion, Slavery, forced obedience, Marcus being a creepy bipolar whumper

When Samuel awoke, the world was different. It was darker, colder. The remnants of the drug still clung to him, making his limbs feel heavy and his thoughts sluggish. He groaned, his hand going up to rub at his forehead. God, he had a terrible headache- Wait.. Where the fuck was he? He looked around, his panic rising. The room was small, and cramped, with only a faint light filtering in through a narrow window. The bulb looked like it would fall down any second. His body ached from being sprawled awkwardly on the floor, but the physical discomfort was nothing compared to the mental anguish that washed over him.

His hand flew to his throat, trying to breathe. You cannot be having a panic attack now Sam! He scolded himself.

The door to the room creaked open, and Samuel flinched, his heart leaping into his throat. Marcus stepped inside, his presence filling the small space with an oppressive weight that made Samuel want to curl up into a ball and just disappear. The man looked down at him with a cool, detached expression, as if Samuel were nothing more than an interesting object to be studied.

“Good morning, Sammy.” Marcus said. “I trust you slept well.”

Samuel nearly gagged at the pet name. "Who- Who the fuck are you?"

Marcus only smiled, making Samuel almost want to turn over and puke from the disgust he felt from the man. "Concussion. Cute."

"Y-You- What do you mean?" Samuel looked up at him in both confusion and fear.

Marcus continued, his tone eerily calm, almost conversational. "You know, the transition to your new life isn’t always easy. Some adjustments are necessary. Like, for instance, what happened last night. You were heavy, and my men aren’t exactly the most graceful."

Samuel’s mind reeled, his words getting louder along with his anxiety. "W-What do you mean? What happened?!"

Marcus’s smile widened, revealing a hint of cruelty. "Oh, nothing major. Just a little accident. You hit your head on a metal rod. Concussion, minor bleeding. Nothing a little rest won't fix."

The words were like daggers, each one piercing deeper into Samuel’s sense of reality. "You—you're telling me... you're telling me they dropped me? They let me fall?"

Marcus shrugged nonchalantly. "It wasn’t intentional. But then again, accidents happen, especially in a place like this. You’re not exactly the most important thing here. You should remember that."

Samuel's vision blurred with tears, a mix of physical pain and the emotional weight of his situation. He was now at the mercy of a man who saw him not as a person, but as a possession, a commodity.

"Fuck you," Samuel spat, his voice weak but filled with a desperate, raw anger. "How can you just- just stand there and talk about me like I’m nothing?!"

Marcus’s smile faltered, replaced by a look of mild annoyance. "Oh, don’t get all emotional on me now. It’s not going to change anything. You’re here to be obedient, to fulfill your role."

Samuel’s heart sank further. The room felt like it was closing in on him, the shadows growing darker, more menacing.

"Please," Samuel pleaded, the word escaping as a pained whisper. "Please, I... I can’t take this. I need—"

Marcus cut him off with a dismissive wave of his hand. "Enough of that. You need to understand your new place. I’m your owner, and you will follow my rules. Failure to comply will result in... consequences."

Samuel’s thoughts spun with fear and confusion. What kind of consequences could Marcus be talking about? The auction had already stripped him of his dignity, his humanity. What more could they do?

Marcus straightened, his eyes narrowing as he assessed Samuel’s distressed state. "I expect you to behave. You’ve been given a new identity, a new role. Embrace it, or suffer the consequences."

Samuel’s tears flowed freely now, mingling with the grime on the floor. He was overwhelmed by the weight of his situation, the crushing reality of his new life as a commodity, a thing to be owned and controlled.

The bitterness of betrayal, the horror of his fate, the rejection by his own family—all of it was too much. He couldn't help but let out a small, broken sob.

Marcus ignored his distress. "You must be hungry, huh? I know the facility isn't exactly gentle with its livestock." He turned on his heel, his footsteps echoing as he left the room, the door slamming shut behind him. Samuel was left alone, his sobs echoing in the small, dark space. The silence was suffocating.

The weight of his new reality was unbearable, pressing down on him with every passing moment.

Samuel curled up on the mattress, the rough fabric scraping against his skin. His tears were a mix of sorrow and rage, a testament to the depth of his suffering. He wanted to scream, to fight back, but all he could do was lie there, consumed by an overwhelming sense of despair.

When he tried to get up from the sickly mattress, he realized he couldn’t. His eyes traveled down to his foot, which was clamped to a chain connected to the wall. Panic surged as he tugged at the chain, desperately trying to free himself.

The door creaked open again, and Samuel looked up, his eyes swollen and red. Marcus stepped in, carrying a tray with a simple meal. Just some strawberries and porridge.

Samuel choked on his sobs, his gaze darting to his chained foot. "Y-You... this..."

Marcus followed his line of vision and shrugged. "It's only until you earn my trust."

"You should eat now. " Marcus said almost immediately after, his tone cold and indifferent.

Samuel’s stomach twisted at the sight of the food, his appetite nonexistent. "I’m not hungry."

Marcus’s expression hardened. "You’ll eat. This isn’t a request."

Samuel’s resistance crumbled under the weight of Marcus’s authority. He took the tray reluctantly, the food bland and tasteless in his mouth.

"I suppose you must have questions." Marcus eventually broke the silence, folding his arms.

"I..." He stayed quiet, not entirely sure what to ask. "I don't want to be a pet..."

Marcus only sighed. "If I want you to be a pet, you be a pet. If I want you to be my lover, then you be my lover and show affection. If I want you to die, You fucking die."

"Oh." Samuel gave a small nod, swallowing the urge to shout at his captor.

Marcus stood up, his shadow stretching over Samuel like a shroud. “You’ll come to understand, in time,” he said softly. “This life you’re entering—it’s not so bad, really. It’s all about perspective. Acceptance. The sooner you accept your role, the easier it will be.”

Samuel shuddered at the thought. Accept his role? How could he accept being treated like an animal, a possession? The very idea was repugnant, an affront to everything he had ever believed in. But what choice did he have? Resistance would only lead to more pain, more suffering. He could already feel the edges of his sanity fraying, unraveling under the strain of his predicament.

“I... I can’t,” Samuel whimpered, his voice barely more than a breath. He couldn’t do this. He wasn’t strong enough.

Marcus sighed, a sound of mild disappointment, as though Samuel had failed some unspoken test. “You will,” he said with chilling certainty. “You will because you have no other choice.”

The finality in Marcus’s tone sent a fresh wave of terror crashing over Samuel. He was losing himself, slipping further and further into a darkness from which there was no return. The life he had known was gone, obliterated by the twisted system that had marked him as less than human. There was no justice, no mercy, only the cold, indifferent cruelty of those who held power.

As Marcus turned to leave, Samuel forced himself to move, to do something—anything—that might delay the inevitable. He reached out, his fingers brushing against Marcus’s pant leg. “Please... please don’t do this,” His voice choked with tears. “I’m begging you! Just... just let me go. I-I won’t tell anyone! I’ll disappear!! I swear! Just please...”

"You were chosen for this. You were born into this system, into this role. There’s no escaping it.”

With those words, Marcus stepped out of the room, closing the door behind him with a final, echoing click that seemed to seal Samuel’s fate. The sound reverberated in the small, claustrophobic space, leaving Samuel alone with his despair.

He lay there on the cold floor, his body wracked with sobs that he could no longer hold back. The reality of his situation was too much to bear. He was lost, trapped in a nightmare that would never end. The future stretched out before him, bleak and terrifying, a yawning abyss that threatened to swallow him whole.

The government that had done this to him—the system that had labeled him as livestock, as nothing more than property—was a machine of pure, unrelenting evil. It crushed people beneath its gears, grinding their hopes and dreams into dust without a second thought. There was no humanity in it, no compassion, only the cold, mechanical efficiency of oppression.

Samuel’s thoughts spiraled into darkness, his mind teetering on the brink of madness. He couldn’t see a way out. There was no light at the end of this tunnel, no hope of rescue. He was alone in this hell, and the only thing he could do for now was endure.

But for how long? How long before the weight of it all crushed him completely? How long before he lost himself entirely, becoming nothing more than the obedient, broken doll that Marcus wanted him to be?

All he could do was survive. One day at a time, one moment at a time. And hope—pray—that somehow, someday, this nightmare would end.

But deep down, he knew the truth.

It never would.

Taglist: @electrons2006/ @anutz1234/ @ash-reh/ @whumped-by-glitter/ @catnykit/ @morning-star-whump/ @paperprinxe/ @octopus-reactivated/ @whumpdemonium/ @watermelons-dont-grow-on-trees/ @noeul-whumpppss

@whumpifi/ @fable-bug-real/ @cheesemctoastnuggets/ @deputydeputyp/ @thelazywitchphotographer/ @isntthisblank/ @noeul-whumpppssssss1234

@nuriiz134/ @fox-fox234/ @carosbee/ @writingphoenix @carolinethedragon/ @possumhoe/ @evagran/ @somebody327/ @someoneoninternettt/ @classyanchorlove/ @kiratheperson/ @boahamcock/ @pyromaiow/ @imarandomgamer/ @edward-mybeloved/ @skribl/ @aleki-lives-here/ @roskarovio/ @pentagramstars/ @ossknsma/ @abbyreader23/ @cluelesscameraman/ @alphabet-egg/ @cheesemctoastnuggets/ @deputydeputyp/ @thelazywitchphotographer/ @isntthisblank/@demetercabingreen-thumb/ @noeul-whumpppssssss1234/ @electrons2006/ @demetercabingreen-thumb

@vampiresprite/ @lucas--43/ @defire/ @mylifeisonthebookshelf/ @whumpwhittler/ @taterswhump

(lmk if you wanna be added or removed <3)

[poop-your-baby-out]

As she edges closer to the bathroom, her eyes scan the line of laboring women ahead of her. The scene unfolding before her heightens her distress. Each woman is caught in the throes of a dual struggle: pushing to birth a child while simultaneously contending with the involuntary expulsion of large, hard stools. The corridor, a gallery of raw human effort, showcases woman after woman bearing down hard, their expressions contorted in intense concentration and discomfort.

The women make deeply embarrassing faces as they push—cheeks flushed, eyes squeezed shut, mouths open in silent cries or punctuated with sharp exhales. The stools are visibly large and seem stubbornly lodged, only partially expelled despite their efforts. This visible struggle adds a visceral layer of reality to her fears; it's not just a possibility but a scene actively playing out in front of her.

She watches as one woman leans against the wall, her body bent forward in a deep squat. Another grips the handrail along the corridor, her legs trembling under the strain. Each woman's hospital gown is shifted awkwardly, failing to provide privacy in these intensely private moments. The shared vulnerability among them is palpable, yet each is isolated in her personal battle.

This tableau of desperation directly feeds into her own spiraling worry. If these women, so evidently struggling, are any indication, the chances of her reaching a private space in time are dwindling rapidly. The physical reality of her condition—pressured, urgent, and uncontrollable—mirrors theirs, and the solidarity of shared experience does little to comfort her. Instead, it magnifies her anxiety, embedding a deep fear that she too will soon be one of the women squatting and pushing in the hallway, exposed and overwhelmed.

Her heart races as she clutches tighter to the volunteer's arm, seeking some anchor in the storm of her panic. Each step forward is a battle against time and physiology, her mind racing with the imagery of what might soon be her own public and unavoidable ordeal. The corridor stretches out like a gauntlet, each woman's plight a mirror to her impending ordeal, each second drawing her closer to a moment she desperately wishes to avoid.

[acapelladitty]

Edward Nygma/Reader - Mating Press

Summary - Edward discovers a new position he wants to try and you're more than willing to indulge him. (Also includes aftercare.)

Your knees practically touching your ears, the stretch of your limbs would be almost impossible to bear if it wasn’t for the distraction of the animated face which sat only a few inches above your own, his emerald gaze pinning you into place with a greater ease than his body ever could.

“You take my cum so well, sweetheart.” Edward growls, his surprisingly powerful thighs flexing against your own as he ruts his cock deep within your hole. It was a new position for you both, your back pressing roughly against the cheap rug which he had thrown to the floor to save you from the cold stone.

It was a double-edged sword, as the cheap fabric only served to irritate the abused flesh of your back, the skin there heated and raised from the flogger which he had spent minutes striking you with as he forced you to swallow his cock as deeply as possible.

His shock of auburn hair has fallen across his sweat-slicked features and the only thing preventing you from pushing it from the deep lines of his forehead, a result of his intense focus, is the death grip you have on his back – your fingers digging into the wiry muscle there with every punishing thrust.

The stretch of his cock is delicious as it reams you out without mercy, every inch being easily pressed inside your fluttering hole as his groin slaps against your own.

“Yes.” You whimper out, not trusting your voice to be much louder. “Yes! Please, Edward, I-” You cut yourself off as his cock brushes a spot which makes your breath catch in your throat.

“Tell me what you want.” He demands, uncaring of your pleasant distress, his hips rolling as his thumb slips up to brush against your clit. “I want to hear it.”

“Fill me up! Fuck me! Breed me like you own me, like I’m a whore.”

“Whose whore? Who owns you? Who’s the only one to fuck you like this?” Every question is punctuated by a harsh thrust, punishing and fulfilling all in one as your toes curl and your spine arches off the rug.

“Yours, Eddie! Only yours.” You scream out as his thumb drags a senseless pattern across your clit, the added sensation almost too much to bear.

His grin is smug, quickly broadening by the arousal which stutters his cock as fresh heat floods deep within your hole – his release meeting the demands you had made of him.

x-x-x-x-x

The waves of nausea which threatened your throat burned the sensitive skin which was already bruised from Edward’s earlier use as he thrust his cock within your throat – his harsh use blocking the delicate passageway as you writhed and bucked beneath him. Your hands are quick to reach for the side the bed, allowing the feeling to pass as you hang your head over the edge before falling back onto your side.

You are there less than a moment before warm arms scoop around your side to pull you within them, snatching you close to his body as Edward presses your back flush to his exposed chest. The movement is gentle, but it still ignites a shudder as the skin, still reddened and raw by his earlier use of the flogger, is once again disturbed.

“Would you like some cream?” Edward’s voice is mellow in your ear, soothing and calm and an easy anchor for you to latch on to as you suffer the comedown of your heightened activities.

You pull away enough to alleviate the discomfort of your skin and curl your feet within his own to keep that physical touch which you both craved. “Yeah.” You answer. “But only in a minute. I want to – want to stay like this. For a while.”

His hum is one of understanding and, although you can’t see him, the warmth of his hand as it settled gently on your hip is all the comfort you need.