#yet again loosing control in a way that's going to hurt only me | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

placeinthemiddleofnowhere · 1 year ago

Text

Reign down on me - Part 3

Pairing: Ghost x Hybrid!reader (eventual poly!141)

No use of y/n or mention of gender/race

Summary: Reader is a wolf hybrid in a world that treats them like second class citizens, given a horrible start in life after being thrown into the military with no preparation. After years of struggle, they're finally taken away from their base by Ghost, now a permanent member of taskforce 141 reader struggles to come to terms with the fact that perhaps there's a life there for them - if only they reach out and accept it.

Warnings: hurt/comfort, Angst, abuse mentions, self doubt, abandonment

-🐺-

When the three of you left Price’s office, you were still marvelling at your collar. Your hands couldn’t leave the leather alone, stroking it and rubbing your fingers over the ridges of the ‘141’ stamp that graced the side of your neck. It had you smiling even despite the nagging feeling that everything was going to go away; that there was a rug just ready and waiting to be pulled just when you were going to get excited about your future with the team.

You were still holding your new handler tag between your fingers when you finally laid eyes on your Sergeants. They were hanging off the sofa in the break room, shouting and laughing as they furiously tapped at the remotes in their hands and shoved at each other like wild animals. You widened your eyes at the display, watching curiously as the man on the screen in front of them warned that they were running out of time.

“Oi, you two! Pack it in, lads!”

The men immediately put the controllers down and stopped the loud music from blaring out of the TV. They bashfully faced your small group, looking from where Price had shouted and inevitably to you.

Gaz seemed to recognise you right away, his face lit up when he caught your eyes, but Soap didn’t give much away. His lips stayed firmly shut into a cheeky smile and his eyes roamed all about you, eventually catching on the shiny new collar around your neck. Gaz saw it too.

“Good to see you again,” Gaz smiled, nodding his head in greeting. “Reppin’ the team as well - nice.”

You froze for a second, not really used to having someone remember you nevermind say it was good to see you again. Though you soon let your hands drop to your sides and nodded, offering a weak smile.

“Thanks, Sergeant Garrick,” you replied, erring on the side of over-politeness.

“Pft, don’t sergeant Garrick me again, you’re on the team now, it’s Gaz or Kyle, ok?”

Your ears raised in surprise. If you’d tried to call Sergeant Maddox by his nickname you’d have had your back flayed. Though when you thought back to it, Gaz had made a face everytime you addressed him before - he’d even tried to correct you and insist on Gaz a couple times. You’d decided in the past that it seemed like a ruse to make you step out of line, though now you realised he probably did just prefer his nickname.

“Alright, Gaz. Nice to meet you too…Sergeant MacTavish?” You said unsure, trying to gauge if ‘Soap’ would prefer his title or his nickname.

“Soap’ll do fine for me, furball.” He snorted, face cracking into a big grin.

Furball would not do for you. You felt your ears drop and had to will yourself with everything you had not to let loose a growl. It mustn’t have been enough to completely hide your displeasure. Ghost put his hand on your shoulder, forcing a flinch out of you yet again, and squeezed. Whether it was meant to be threatening or reassuring, you weren’t sure, but either way you untensed your body and sighed out the rest of your annoyance.

“Behave, Soap,” Ghost tutted.

“What? I’m just being my charmin’ self.”

“Be someone else for five minutes,” Ghost snarked.

“That desperate to hear my impression of you again, LT?”

“Maybe later, Soap,” Price said briskly. “There’s work to be done. Now that everyone’s on site, we can head over to the training I've set up for the day and we can get stuck in. You boys ready to head out?”

Soap and Gaz nodded, picking up their jackets from where they’d been strewn across the couch and got ready to move. You geared up to follow them, but Ghost put his arm out like security barrier, sending you into a surprised stop as you walked into him with an ‘oof’.

“We’re gonna pick up your new boots first, Pup,” Ghost explained, his eyes twinkling when you tilted your head up at him. “We’ll catch up with em’ in a minute.”

“Pup?” Gaz repeated.

He’d stopped in his tracks as he heard that. From your periphery you could see his eyebrows raise.

You felt your cheeks heat up like tiny furnaces and continued to avoid his eyes, simmering in your own embarrassment. It hadn’t occurred to you that Price hadn’t picked up on it, but now that Garrick had, you felt the full flush of embarrassment hit you in a fiery torrent. Just great, the new team are gonna pick up on Ghost’s babying and have a field day with it, you thought dourly.

“Yes?” you said cautiously, waiting for the jeering snipes to begin.

“Do you want us to call you that now?”

Fuck off.

Get Fucked.

Why don’t I call you that?

Those are the responses that your invaluable years of being taunted within an inch of your sanity suppress. Instead you shrugged lamely, forcing your body to relax and your fangs to unsnarl.

“Call me whatever you want,” you grunted, leaving out the silent ‘most people do’.

You braved a glance over at him and watched as his eyebrows twitched upward. There was a distinct lack of mocking grin and on top of that, he didn’t hit out with a rebuttal. He just tilted his head at you and averted his eyes, silently going off in the same direction that Soap and Price had and letting the door whoosh shut behind him.

“Gaz was just bein’ polite, Pup,” Ghost sighed, squeezing your shoulder once again.

“What?”

“He wasn’t trying to make fun of you. He was just figuring out how to address you.”

You looked back up at Ghost and frowned, feeling your brows sink heavily over your eyes. Was he in your head or something? You folded your arms over each other and huffed out a breath, already irritated that Ghost had been the cause of the situation in the first place with all his coddling and cooing.

“Never said he was,” you answered defensively.

“Your attitude gave you away, darlin’.”

You knew then that under his mask, Ghost’s eyebrows would be drawn upward, enhancing his knowing stare underneath that dark mask of his. It sent your heart hammering and your fizzling mood freezing out with a small dying gasp. You wondered what your punishment for said ‘attitude’ would be.

“Sorry, Sir,” you murmured, feeling your slanted tail awkwardly tuck in between your legs. “Won’t happen again, sorry for speaking to you out of turn.”

Suddenly the collar round your neck felt tighter and the cool tags burned your goosebumping skin. The weight of it felt impossible now that it was tying you to Ghost, now that you knew that you were supposed to be performing to a standard that fit a man like him. You were supposed to compliment him, not embarrass him with your silly antics.

“Hey, you’re fine, alright? I’m not angry with you. I only mention it because I don’t want you to think he’s like those men that were on your old base,” he said gently.

You curled your hands into fists by your sides, willing them to stop shaking now that Ghost was watching you closely. His eyes followed the movement and you gulped, not quite sure how to respond. You’d have had your ass kicked for speaking like that to anyone on your old base, nevermind whoever your current handler was at the time. Now Ghost was telling you he wasn’t mad and looking at you with those big stupid eyes of his.

“Honestly, you’re not in trouble,” he sighed, reaching out and stroking a hand over your head. “If it helps, I can stop calling you pup if you don’t like it?”

“No, that’s alright,” you said a little too quickly.

“You sure?”

You nodded, not wanting to embarrass yourself any further by squeaking out anything else. Or perhaps even admitting that you liked it - that it made you feel safe, like his. It felt like Ghost cared for you on a level no one ever had before, following his kind words with kind actions.

How could you willingly let go of that?

-🐺-

Your parents had already taught you that being cared about was not a luxury that most hybrids were afforded. You remembered what it was like being dropped off at Branhaven that first day, that memory haunted you in almost every nightmare you ever had. You’d been so sure that they meant what they said when they wanted the best for you. It only stung all the more years later knowing that everything they said was just a lie designed to cut you off like a limb gone badly necrotic.

They’d taken you out on a car ride, just you by yourself, and you’d been so excited to begin with. Your little tail wagged so hard even despite being pressed harshly into the stiff leather seats. They never usually took you anywhere alone, it seemed like such a special day at first - Your brother and sister always got fun trips and you always got dropped off at your grandmas and plopped in front of the TV for the day. Now your parents had done the opposite.

It was finally your turn to have a day with them. Or so you’d naively thought. Too young at the tender age of ten to figure out that something out of the ordinary was never a good sign.

They’d been so smiley though, giving each other happy looks as they drove far far away from your little home town, humming along to the radio even. It would never have crossed your mind that that day was going to mark the change of everything. They’d even stopped at McDonalds and bought you a happy meal and let you choose a milkshake to wash it down with. That never happened, you’d only ever gotten to jealously watch on as your brother and sister got nice things like that. It was too good a score to stop and think anything bad about.

But then reality hit after a few more hours on the road. They stopped the car outside of what you thought was a toll booth which presided over a big ugly grey building in the shape of one of your brother’s play block towers. That’s when it occurred to you that maybe you weren’t going somewhere fun, maybe you were facing something of the opposite nature. It didn’t help that the man at the ‘toll booth’ said that your parents were expected, that they were pleasantly on time for their appointment.

“Um…why did we stop here?” you’d asked, your voice squeaking out so timidly as you tried not to upset them.

They never liked it when you talked too much or asked too many questions. Behaviour like that was often met with sighing and temple rubbing and ‘would you just be quiet?’. Though you couldn’t contain yourself then as you looked at the facility in front of you, frowning as you caught sight of a crying kid being dragged through the big metal gates, throwing themselves against the fence in hopes to try and cling onto something and not be lead into the building within.

Was it a doctors office maybe? Some kind of specialist you had to see now that you were a growing hybrid on the edge of…what was the word again? Puberty?

“Well kiddo, we’ve had a tough decision to make,” Your dad had said, placing his big hands over your mum’s.

You tilted your head when you noticed that she was avoiding looking at you. Suddenly they weren’t smiling anymore either. The car felt very stuffy all of a sudden, the smell of the fat and salt from the Mcdonalds was clogging thickly in the air.

“What tough decision?” you asked, feeling your ears slowly pin against your head.

“Well…as you know you were a- a shock to your mother and I. We never thought in a million years we’d have a hybrid child, never knew the- the DNA was in us,” your dad had said, saying that dreaded DNA word in the same annoyed hiss he always did. “And we’ve never been prepared for the reality of it, the challenges that come with having a kid that’s…different. As you get older, that’s only gonna get more challenging for us. You’re going to become aggressive, and you’re going to have mood swings and you’re going to be difficult to control - it's just the way of hybrid kids.”

“You’re going to be a danger to your brother and sister,” your mum said, still refusing to look over at you, instead keeping her sights pinned on the entrance to the building. “To us.”

“Yes, and then what can happen is that you start wandering off, going out and getting into all sorts of trouble like those awful stories you hear on the news. You could get involved with gangs, you could hurt other people and go feral, you could do all sorts of damage and then the police would be forced to hurt you, maybe even kill you if you became a real danger. And you don’t want any of that do you?”

You frowned. Of course not! You shuddered to think that you would ever hurt someone, you’d always been the exact opposite of everything they'd just described. You were a pushover. You were kind to a fault, always trying to get on people’s good side on the off chance that you might receive a shred of their kindness. You’d never dream of being aggressive or of hurting any of your family.

“No, I don’t want that!” you agreed, searching your dad’s eyes and looking for him to acknowledge your plea.

You wanted him to know that you weren’t like that. You hoped he knew that you’d never ever want to hurt him in a million years, he was your dad, you loved him endlessly. Even when he barely showed you an ounce of his own love in the meagre years you’d been alive, you would do anything to show him that you weren’t like those other hybrids. You were theirs, you had their DNA, even if yours had wolf in it, you didn’t think that mattered.

“We know you don’t want that,” your dad said sympathetically, his voice dramatically pitching as he showed his ‘understanding’. “That’s why we’ve made the decision to sign you up for a program that the government recently started. It’s designed to help good hybrids like you, ones that want to grow up to be good people, to become productive members of society.”

You always laughed bitterly thinking back to that now. Member of society - hah! You were made little more than a slave, kept locked away behind fences or escorted around by groups of strange men with guns, and yet that program was supposedly to turn you into some paragon of virtue for all hybrids to aspire to.

“I want to be good,” you affirmed, smiling as your dad smiled back at you.

And you did. All you ever wanted was to be good.

“I know. And we think you’re gonna be so happy here, and you’re gonna do so well with the program! So we’re gonna go in and finish signing you up and you’re going to answer all of their questions honestly and politely, ok kiddo?”

“Oh…ok!” you’d said, not wanting to immediately bother him with your annoying questions. “But um- sorry - can I ask? What is the pro- program?”

Your dad’s mouth pressed into a thin line and you baulked, gulping as you realised you’d annoyed him after he’d just been so happy with you a second ago. Stupid dog! You were immediately frustrated at yourself, getting him worked up just when he was so proud a second ago.

Though you were pleased to see he would answer you regardless, he was just so kind as to explain things.

“It’s with the military, we were told by the helpline that this was the best place for you to go. Since you’re a wolf hybrid, you’ll be happiest here - you can get all your energy out properly and be part of a big ‘pack’ when you get assigned to a unit. They said it’ll be just like school, like a special school just for hybrids! They’ll train you up first and then you’ll begin getting sent out to places around the world where people need help, until eventually you get your very own personal handler who looks after only you and takes you with them everywhere,” your dad explained, his voice slightly strained as he tried to position the job as nicely as he could.

You frowned. You ignored his ‘don’t question me anymore’ eyes. Questions bursting from your mouth before your head could quash them down.

“A handler that looks after me? But you and mum look after me,” you laughed, “Why would I need someone else to do that?”

“Because you’re too old for us to look after anymore, we have to let a professional take over now,” your mum said, finally turning around to look at you, waving off the hard look your dad shot her. “You have to stay here, where its safe for us and you. They’ll know how to handle you properly here. Hey now! No, don’t make a fuss. What do we keep telling you? You’re not a baby, you don’t need to bother with crocodile tears!”

You couldn’t help but get panicked then. Halfway through her speaking you realised that they actually intended to drop you off here and give you away. How could they just do that? You had to be mixed up, you reasoned, you had to be thinking stupidly as usual and you were getting it all wrong.

“B-bu-but I…do I- I’ll get to come home and visit right?” you spluttered, trying desperately to withhold the tears that were streaming down your cheeks, rubbing furiously at the evidence that you were in fact the baby she was describing. “You- you said it’s like school! I’ll get to come home on the weekend then, won’t I? I’ll get day’s off on Saturday and - and Sunday and I’ll get to c-come home, right?”

Your mum was about to speak again, but your dad forcefully dug his hands into hers, grabbing with enough force to shake her, practically baring his teeth at the barest hint of her mouth opening. She shut it promptly again and he breathed out a loud sigh, one that still reached your ears over the frantic rushing of your own blood stream.

“Oh kiddo, you’re getting yourself all upset just before you have to meet the nice people! C’mon now, stop the silly tears. We’re gonna get you inside and you can ask all the questions you need to. In fact I think they’ll be very excited to get to talk to you. Now dry your eyes and come with me, that’s it, just breathe and calm down. No need to be a silly baby, because you’re not a silly baby are you? That’s right, you’re a big strong wolf. Come on then!”

Your mum stayed in the car, offering you a small smile as you went. Though as you think back to it now, you realise it was probably a smile of relief. One reserved only for herself.

Your dad’s parting words were little better than your mum’s smile. He’d said he’d speak to you again soon. That was just before he’d sent you packing into the strange office after signing in at the front desk, escorted away by a big bald man in a crisp green uniform, barely able to turn your body enough in his iron grip so that you could get one last look at your dad. He did a great job of feigning concern as he smiled encouragingly through the doorway. It was enough to help you calm yourself a little, thinking that at least you’d probably see him again on the weekend since he told you he’d see you soon.

From then on however, you weren’t able to ask any questions, it hadn’t gone at all like your dad had said it would. You still weren’t able to confirm if you were getting time off to go see your family again, still weren’t getting to learn what it was you would be doing. You were cut off at every turn.

Your hands were smacked with a ruler when you didn’t give the lady the answers she wanted because you were too busy trying to determine what the hell this program really was. You’d jumped the first time she did it, wailing from the shock of it at first before the burning sting set in. She’d just tisked at you and repeated her last question in a shout, asking you about any possible allergies or health problems.

Little were you to know, you’d face much worse in the years to come.

You tried to do everything that was asked of you just to avoid that horrible ruler for the rest of the day. However it wasn’t enough to make them happy, nothing was. They didn’t smile at you or speak to you encouragingly, their monotonous voices were like sandpaper on your ears. They shuffled you along from room to room, processing your forms and getting you set up with a bunk - in a room full of similarly sniffling hybrid children - before whisking you away to a building outside that looked much like a garage.

They’d thrown some items of clothing at you from off the racks and told you to get changed behind the makeshift curtain they’d set up, ordering you to hand over your old clothes afterwards. The room smelt like stale laundry detergent and bleach. The air stung at your eyes while you changed, biting at your overstimulated senses.

You’d felt all the more inconsolable as you gave away your favourite tshirt, mourning the loss of the happy little cartoon dog as you had to trade him for a plain green button down. You struggled to put it on with your shaking fingers, huffed when you had a hard time squeezing your tail through the toughly stitched hole in the rough trousers. Military issue wasn’t built for comfort, that was one of your first hard learned lessons.

“The fit’s alright,” the bald man had confirmed when you were out, staring at you with a bored look of a man that was going to be doing the same assessment with tons of other hybrids for days to come. “Look after those clothes, you won’t get another set until you progress to the next stage.”

-🐺-

“Pup?”

You snapped out of your thoughts and lasered in on Ghost, suddenly realising how badly you’d zoned out. How long had you been ignoring him for? Fuck!

“Yes,Sir? Sorry, Sir,” you said quickly, trying to rectify your mistake. “I…”

He’d asked you something…

“I asked you if the boots fit alright?” Ghost chuckled, ruffling a hand over your head.

You sighed and looked down at the shiny new shoes, still blown away by how easily Ghost had acquired not only those but also a full new set of hybrid uniforms and underwear. The quarter master hadn’t even blinked at his request, he’d just gotten Ghost to sign a few forms and just like that you had a brand new wardrobe full of new and perfectly pressed clothes.

Normally you were only allowed to replace one new piece at a time, and usually you’d be met with annoyance and huffing at every request. The old quartermaster would drone on about money and what a waste it was to give you something new. This one just smiled as he handed you a bag with all of your fresh new things, telling Ghost to let him know if you needed any new patches for your shirts while you did all you could not to gape at him.

“The boots are good, thank you. They just need broken in,” you shrugged, already feeling them rubbing a little uncomfortably across your left ankle.

“Mhmm, just let me know if they dig too much. I can tell Price if you need a break today. Remember what he told you earlier, we want you to communicate with us, alright?”

“Alright,” you answered, still feeling like you’d landed in some kind of alternate reality overnight.

“That’s my good pup.”

He squeezed your shoulder and led you off to the training area then, his back turned as you stared up at him with big eyes. My good pup. Your spine had tingled so warmly after hearing that, you’d even felt your traitorous tail wag a little before you gripped it tightly in your hand and stopped it.

The whole way to the training area you repeated his words in your head, almost drunkenly swooning over the rumble of his accent. It kept you following slowly behind him, trying to ensure he didn’t see the ridiculous little smile that had refused to leave your face after his praise. Not that it was just the praise itself, of course, no he’d called you his specifically.

It was only when you were met with Price again that you were able to think straight. Your posture went rigid when you met his eyes and noted that he looked serious now. The job was officially starting.

You’d been led into a cavernous building with big bright lights glaring over your head. It’s floors were filled with tall panels of wood that stretched high above you and even over Ghost's towering frame, filling the room with a cheap sawdusty smell. From inside you knew there were men waiting inside the labyrinth that surely lay within, you could hear their heartbeats echoing in the expansive space, you could smell their sweat as they adjusted to the warmth of the blaring overhead lights.

Everything was set up for a simulated mission. You’d done similar drills many times before, your heart was already beating fast with anticipation, base instincts beginning to bubble to the surface. You were ready to run, ready to hunt.

However the nature of your quarry was still to be revealed. That kept your head just human enough to listen to what Price had to say. It never did to misunderstand the mission and run straight into failure, and at that point you wanted to do everything you could to try and dodge any punishments.

“So we’ve got a simple set up for today, this is mainly to get you properly acquainted with the team and get you familiarised with us,” Price said carefully, keeping strict eye contact with you to make sure you understood him.

If you were to hover outside your own body you knew your pupils had probably already dilated. Your chest was probably already noticeably heaving as the wolf inside you seized control over your mind. He’d know you were almost gone, and would need carefully given instruction.You flicked your ears for him, letting him see that you were listening intently to what your new Captain was saying.

Little did he know there was a new part of you now primed and ready to receive his praises, endorphins were ready to fire as you got ready to impress him. You felt like you had a real chance to shine now, to do well for someone other than yourself.

“Basically we’re going to run you through some tracking drills. We’ve got some bits of clothing prepared for you to scent and you’re gonna run through the maze taking down hostiles and securing your ‘hostages’. This is gonna help you remember our scents so that you can find us in the field in future, and it’s gonna give us a taste of what you can do when you’re up against an enemy. You’re gonna start off with Ghost keeping you in a collar hold to start, you’re gonna alert him when you find an enemy or sense a hostage, but we’ll let you do some solo runs as well. Sound good?”

“Yes sir,” you answered in a growl, the wolf inside straining to go.

“Alright. Ghost, help Pup stick their gear on, I’m gonna go up to the stands and get ready to watch.”

With that Price moved up to the metal steps to your left, ascending to the high walkway above so that he could watch over the maze and track your movements. With each thud he made, your heart beat with it. You tried not to wriggle too much while Ghost got you ready, but you did receive a small ‘hey!’ and a tug on your collar when you tried to look past Ghost and toward the course. After giving you a second to calm down, he stuck you in a vest and hooked your comms up to his and Price’s, ensuring he secured a looped earpiece round your ear to hear them with as well.

From then on it was like torture waiting for Ghost to get himself ready, it felt like time was moving at half speed, your tail swished impatiently as he got himself into safety gear and took his sweet time grabbing one of the training guns from the racks. You shivered with anticipation, heavily scenting the air already while you stepped from foot to foot. Your body was burning with energy, your legs ready to pounce.

“Alright I’m gonna get the lights in a second, we’re gonna simulate a city street at night, so you’re going to have low visibility,” Price explained, voice sparking to life through the comms in your ear. “If you walk round to the entrance you’ll see Gaz and Soap’s jackets. You’re gonna get a good whiff of em’ and use that to track em down, Pup. You ready?”

“Ready, Captain,” you answered, already straining in Ghost’s hold.

“Fuckin’ hell,” ghost rumbled.

He’d gripped your collar after he finished sorting his gear and now you were primed to go, struggling to try and pull him forward as you sensed the job was starting. ‘Work mode’ had shuttered off any other thoughts. All that kept you in your spot was the incredibly tight grip that Ghost had on you - that and all the training you’d had not to abandon the handler that was collar holding you. You might’ve tried to squirm free otherwise.

“That’s one strong wolf,” Price chuckled, disappearing as he shut off the lights with a loud click. “Hold on tight, Ghost.”

Your instincts flared ever more wildly in the darkness. The flickering lamplights above were just bright enough to lead you around to the starting gate of the course and to the discarded jackets strewn on the floor.

Ghost took one of them in his free hand and held it up to your face, letting you drink in the scent of it while he kept a firm grip of your collar. Almost immediately you were getting warm notes of aftershave and undertones of rich home cooking. Gaz, you guessed in the back of your mind, vaguely recognising the scent from back in the break room. Ghost lifted the next one for you, repeating the procedure again. Annoyingly that’s when you realised that Soap was an expert in demolitions. You knew that now from the hints of explosive materials that you could sniff out.

You whuffed out an agitated breath and stopped Ghost from taking the jacket away, holding it longer so that you could try to find something to pinpoint Soap properly by. Sniffing out explosives and associating that with a friendly would be a very very bad idea, even with your clouded brain you knew that, so you wanted to establish his scent by something better. You inhaled again and gulped the scent in, holding onto the gentle hints of sage and cigarettes that emanated from below the plastics and frowning when you swore you could detect a familiar hint of spicy citrus peels…

You dropped the confusion as soon as it came, satisfied that you could accurately identify both Soap and Gaz. There was no point wondering why that secondary scent was on there, and now you were far too eager to get started. You rushed forward and had Ghost quietly swearing again as you set off through the wooden course, soon greeted with more accurate building facades as you stepped out onto an almost abandoned city street.

You huffed in deep lungfuls of air, twitching your ears all the while as you listened out for hostiles and tried to scent out your targets. There were so many intermingling scents, so many distractions to sift through. Only a few steps forward you detected something in an alleyway to your left and turned to Ghost, flicking your head in the direction of the possible enemy ahead.

Ghost nodded and flicked two of his fingers to his side, signalling for you to heel while he raised his gun. Luckily your training allowed you to tamp down the instinct to run off and chase the enemy like a snarling beast, otherwise you’d have run off to do just that.

Instead you quietly followed along with your handler while he picked off the hostile with a suppressed shot. Your ears twitched nonetheless when it came, feeling like a fly had buzzed right into it with the noise that it made. The training guns were always too high pitched, never able to quite simulate the real sound of a shot.

“Good,” ghost whispered, just barely enough so that you could hear.

Your tail swished and you smiled to yourself as Ghost took a hold of your collar again, allowing you to lead him further through the street, brimming with pride after being complimented. It took a little time to work your way through the course, keeping yourselves pressed tightly into the shadows. The two of you crouched and ducked through the alleyways, picking soldiers with weapons off one by one and leaving the fake civilians to wander.

When you finally came to a building that emanated with the smell of amber tinged aftershave, you stopped suddenly and perked your ears, alerting that you’d found your target. Ghost made his way to one of the windows and peeked inside, whispering to you that there seemed to be two men, and one was holding a gun to Gaz’s head. He released your collar and swirled his index finger by the door, signalling for you to wait by it and get your orders

“I’m gonna take the man with the Gun out from here. You try to go inside and take the one by the doorway. You can surprise him if you act fast,” Ghost whispered. “On my signal.”

You nodded and primed yourself at the door, ready to fling it open and throw yourself inside. You watched Ghost intently from your periphery, doing everything not to snarl with all the adrenaline that coursed through you. The warm buzz of a mission going well never failed to make you happy, always showing you that you were capable and strong. Something to be feared when out on the field.

Ghost grunted at you to go and just as his shot rang out, you ripped through the doorway and set yourself on the man inside. He screamed loudly as you took him down, a sound like a strangled cat leaving his throat as you swiped at the target pad that had been put there. It always terrified people when you did that, making them realise just how much of a threat you were when you easily ripped the foam and simulated a perfect kill.

In real life that kill would’ve been near silent once their vocal chords had been torn, but the man before you was shrieking as you loomed over him. It was enough to bring his friend rushing out from the shadows, emerging from a room just behind Gaz in a blaze of shock from all the noise.

Just as the man’s trudging steps hit the floor, you leapt from your old target and toward the new one, snarling and growling up a storm. You were ensuring you drew the fire to you and not your hostage, just as you’d been trained to do. Though before he could get a shot off, you were on him, slamming his gun hand to the ceiling above and overwhelming him with a few snaps toward his precious face.

That was usually enough to have people panicking and forgetting all of their training. In this case it was as well. The man screamed and tried to use the butt of his gun to hit you, but you directed his hand away easily and barked loudly in his face. When you bit at the foam by his throat, he screamed all the harder, sending you into a revelry as you savaged the fake target with glee.

By this point your mouth would be dripping with blood, and your teeth practically burned with the lack of wetness there. Your mouth watered at his pathetic cries, jaw working as you willed yourself not to clamp down on him and bite. It took everything in you to remember this man wasn’t actually your enemy, and you’d already ‘killed’ him. You didn’t need to do anything else.

“Oi, shut it!” Ghost shouted, pulling you promptly off of the terrified man while glowering down at him. “You know better. Dead men don’t whine and piss their pants.”

“Sir, I-“

Ghost shot him a warning look, forcing the man to bite his lip and let himself fall back, closing his eyes as if he’d just drawn his last breath. You snickered to yourself and hummed with pleasure as Ghost raked his hands through your hair, roughly petting you with his thick skeleton gloves.

“Good Pup. Price was right, you’re fast!” he praised, working his hand over your vest and giving you a few encouraging pats.

You rumbled out a happy little chirp, already non-verbal as the adrenaline fully set in now. You were deep into the mindset of the wolf, trusting your instincts and training to keep you right. Shut up, focus, signal, bite the foam; your deep rooted commands played like an old mantra.

“We both told you,” Gaz said, “that one’s a beaut in the field.”

You looked over to him then, some of your humanity returning as you realised how embarrassing it was to be petted and cooed over in front of your Sergeant. Though Gaz’s compliment didn’t escape you and, dumb animal that you were, you chirped at that too. He smiled at the sound and shook his head, looking over to Ghost and away from your horrified widening eyes.

“So mister saviour,” Gaz said, fluttering his eyelashes and clasping his hands by his face. “Are you gonna get me out of here?”

Ghost snorted and pulled you close to him, firmly keeping you fixed to his front.

“You wait here while we get Soap. We’ll get you both out at the same time.”

“This Soap guy sounds like an idiot. You should just leave him and take me away,” Gaz grinned, his character voice cracking as he laughed.

“Don’t get too jealous, Garrick. I’ll be back for you soon enough,” Ghost rumbled. “I can take you then.”

You blinked as you watched Ghost wink and felt your cheeks flush. The men had an easy friendship; not the kind you’d seen between the guys at Branhaven that were quick to shout ‘gay!’ If they had to shake another man’s hand. They certainly wouldn’t have pretended to flirt while on a training simulation with the Captain watching.

Speaking of-

“Get on with it,” Price drawled, making you jump as you remembered he was on the comms.

With that, Ghost allowed you to lead the way to Soap while Gaz picked a spot to hide. You made your way easily through the streets, jointly taking down more of the men while they ran around in a frenzy.

After hearing all the gunshots they were like noisy wasps buzzing around, guns pointing out in front of them like angry stingers. They were sloppy though, and loud, easy targets for you both to tear through until you found Soap’s trail and sniffed him out to a fake multi story flat.

You ascended the stairways and took all the men that stood in your way, checking each door and systematically destroying all your opposition until you found the door that Soap was behind.

Sure enough you could sense his racing heart and smell that familiar warp of plastic and Sage and cigarettes. There were other smells there too though. More hostiles. You turned to Ghost and held up 3 fingers, letting him know about the others in the room. He nodded his head and quietly got to work bringing out a camera, allowing you both to see the position of your targets.

Just like Gaz, there was a man holding a gun to Soap’s neck. One other man was pacing the room and the other was facing the doorway, ready to shoot. Ghost sighed out an annoyed breath and retrieved the camera, looking up to the ceiling as he thought about how to go ahead.

“I’ll take out the one facing the doorway first. You take down the one with his gun to Soap and I’ll get the restless one after that.”

“But then Soap’ll get shot,” you murmured, not sure if this was one of the times you should be verbalising.

“We’ll both get shot if I leave someone facing us. Risking the hostage is a move we have to make, not like they’ll be any better off with us dead and one left with a gun in their hands.”

“You can shoot from the side and let me run at the one facing the door. He won’t swivel in time to get Soap.”

That was the kind of plan you were used to. Usually the human soldiers and the hostages took priority, while your life hung in the balance. It was mostly only saved by your incredible speed, sometimes your vest, as you weaved your way forward, bounding toward the enemy with unpredictable animal movements.

“We go with my plan,” Ghost said firmly. “Take down the one by Soap on my signal.”

There was no room to disagree. You readied yourself and waited as Ghost kept his hands primed on the door. You breathed out and listened to him countdown, bolting through the doorway like a bullet when you saw it open wide enough.

You beelined for the man over Soap and threw yourself at him, sending him flying backwards as you ripped into the foam. The man struggled at first, but settled on the ground once he saw the foam torn apart in your teeth and stared up wide eyed and silently.

Your heartbeat thrummed in your ears and you turned then, hurling yourself over to Soap and curling round him with a growl. Your hair stood up on your neck as you looked out for anyone that might crawl out the woodwork to attack him, ready to face a similar scenario just as you’d had with Gaz. Your limbs shivered with anticipation, ready to strike. You snarled out a bark, body expelling every bit of nervous energy it could.

“Woah there wolfie,” Soap laughed, wrapping one of his big arms around your shoulders, curling his hand round your collar in a restraining grab. “You’re good, you got em all. You’ll terrify the shit out of a real hostage makin’ all tha noise.”

You huffed indignantly and settled back, letting your growls die out in your throat as you realised he was right. Ghost shot down the wanderer when you’d taken a protective stance of Soap, and now you were in a silent room with only fake dead men as your teammates stared intently at you.

“Good job though, you really got that guy,” Soap affirmed, petting your head even more enthusiastically than Ghost, sending you grumbling and pinning your ears back as you felt your hair fill with static.

Soap jumped a little as he heard you, reeling back his arm and regarding you with a careful look. You fell silent as you saw him, frowning at his sudden show of fear. He was holding his hand to his chin, pulling it away quickly once he caught you staring.

In the darkness you swore you could make out a scar there. The light bounced off of the ridges and sparkled in his glassy eyes.

“Jesus! Remind me not to cross this one,” Soap said breathily, shooting a nervous smile at Ghost.

“Pup’ll remind you just fine,” ghost snorted, “got a good growl on ya, isn’t that right?”

You shrugged and avoided his eyes, realising that you had been pretty noisy. Though you couldn’t help it when it came to all out confrontation. It made men quake in fear, made them sloppy. It was one of your best weapons, limited as you were to using your teeth and claws and, ever so occasionally, knives.

“Come on then, you two. Best get moving.”

You awkwardly stood away from Soap, trying not to scare him anymore than you already clearly had. Normally you wouldn’t worry about that sort of thing, but Soap hadn’t actually been mean to you yet and you didn’t want to provoke him into behaving that way. You'd already learned from your past mistakes.

Once you’d all left the building, you regrouped with Gaz with little effort and Price had turned up the lights and rejoined you all. He praised you for your skills while reprimanding the others for messing about too much and then said the simulation would reset and everyone would switch a few more times.

The day went on with you ‘rescuing’ the whole team at least once, allowing you to become acquainted with Price’s earthy tobacco and dove soap smell when it was his turn to play hostage. It didn’t take long until you didn’t need to smell their clothing before being sent out into the course. Ghost had had a turn, switching out with Price, and you found him easiest out of everybody, primed to seek out his citrusy orange peel scent like it was a second air source. You hadn’t needed the old balaclava that Price offered, shaking your head as you pulled him toward the entrance.

Price had grunted and swore something awful while he took control of you, sending Ghost laughing over the comms. Ghost was nice enough to stay hooked up so that he could advise Price when needed. He told him to put a little pressure on the scruff of your neck if you pulled too much. He’d needed to do that a couple times as you raced ahead, trying valiantly to get to your proper handler while the Captain fought against your fast pace. You were so wrapped up in the situation, too far gone worrying about Ghost’s pretend capture, to even be scared when Price threatened to get a hobble for your legs if you didn’t behave.

It was a heavy day, by far one of the most intense training sessions you’d had in a while, but one filled with high praise that kept you raring to go. After having enough simulations that you lost count, all the running around and growling had burned your throat ragged and you were truly finished.

Ghost caught you almost doubling over with the effort it took to stay standing after the last bout and stuck his arm round you. He held you firmly to his hard vest as he petted your head and encouraged you to take a few breaths.

“That’s it, take it easy, good pup. You’ve done so well today, you’ve impressed me,” he whispered, leaning down just so that you could hear him. “C’mon let’s get you outta that gear. Time for a break, hm?”

You nodded tiredly and looked up as the others glanced over at you both curiously. You didn’t have enough energy to be embarrassed while they watched Ghost help take your gear off. You just clung to him and groaned when the weight of your vest was removed and you were left in your uniform again. You couldn’t help shivering now that the cold air had started to seep in through the metal walls of the warehouse building.

“Cold, Pup?” Price asked, voice gruff from all his shouting at the soldiers.

A lot of men had had to be reprimanded for screaming and struggling against you; all being told that if they acted like squeaky toys they were going to get bitten like squeaky toys. It certainly felt true as you struggled against yourself with each hour that ticked by, finding it harder and harder to resist the urge to attack. You wanted to do a good job, wanted to end the enemy and protect your pack. It took everything to remind the wolf in you that they weren’t the real enemy and your ‘pack’ were perfectly safe.

You looked up to Price, suddenly very aware that you saw him differently now. You saw each of the 141 differently as you cast your eyes over them - saw them not as your deceptive antagonists, but something new…something you hadn’t encountered before.

“It’s freezing in here,” you huffed, answering Price’s question honestly, without fear that he’d reprimand you for it.

“Here, take this.”

Gaz stepped forward and pulled his hoodie out of his jacket, separating the sleeves before handing it to you. His scent drifted up from the fibres, piercing the cold air with its warmth. You took it gratefully, but tilted your head up at him, confused as to why he’d give it to you.

“But won’t you be cold?” You asked with a frown.

“Nah, I’ve still got my jacket,” he said, wrapping his jacket around his back for emphasis, “take it, it’s fine.”

You bit your lips, mind racing as you lifted it up and wrapped it round yourself, noting how oversized it was as it crept down your legs. The soft grey material hugged the cold from your bones and you smiled, savouring the warmth that it offered.

“Thanks Gaz,” you said, almost groaning as you felt your tail wag wildly from behind you.

Something told you that you were going to be doing that a lot more often now…

#simon ghost riley #Simon Riley #Ghost #mw2 #ghost x reader #Hybrid!reader #reign down on me

1K notes · View notes

holybibly · 9 months ago

Note

You're so right on your possessive piece on san, seonghwa, and mingi. Especially mingi that boy is so possessive! And he loves attention. Hard thoughts here, just imagine him catching you staring at all his rings on his big hands OR THOSE THIGHS. And him teasing you about it cause you're so cute when you blush. Also pussy drunk mingi >>> he eats out on the counter, in his studio, in the bed, everywhere. Your writing is so amazing and it's so fun to see all your thoughts through hard thoughts week 💚💚

Just a reminder, the hard / unholy hours will continue for the rest of the week.

Thank you, darling. I'm trying so hard to write more and better so that you can continue to enjoy my work. Frankly, I love praise, but I'm always terribly embarrassed by it. But I really appreciate everything you've said 💖💖💖

And now it's time for a bit of talk about my toxic boys. I hit the nails on the heads, didn't I? I have a feeling that practically all of my bunnies are of the same opinion. They give off that vibe, don't they? And I should probably just write something for them. I'm kind of crazy about this concept and I'm not ashamed of it at all.

Oh Mingi, he's definitely a pussy eater and yes, he's fucking drunk on it. (Slightly off-topic, but I'm sure Seonghwa, Wooyoung and Hongjoong feel the same way. As if they want spent a lifetime between your legs. San is definitely an oral fixation and enthusiast. As for Yunho, Yeosang and Jongho, I think they don't mind eating you. But it's not high on their list of priorities.)

I think that at the beginning of your relationship he would have been a little bit shy about it. But, hell, he'll find it harder to control himself the more time you spend together. Poor guy just wants to stick his tongue up your sweet little cunt, sue him for that.

So when he finally gets to do it, all hell is going to break loose. God, he can never get enough of you, can he? He's got this wild hunger inside him. It's clawing at him from the inside. He needs you so badly.

You're his perfect breakfast, lunch, and dinner.

"It's all just for me." Mingi moans. He leans forward and licks a thick strip of your cunt. You cry out at the hot sensation, at the wet and skillful tongue sliding through your folds, and your head falls back onto the pillow as you feel his fingers stretch your labia to give him better access.

He pulls away for a split second, just long enough for him to hum lowly and mutter under his nose, "So damn wet and only mine." Your hands are gripping the sheets, and he's even more enthusiastic as he dives back in, opening you wide for his insatiable mouth.

Your nipples are so hard they hurt, and your head is spinning from all the sensations. He's driving you crazy, but for Mingi, this is just a warm-up; he hasn't even started to eat you for real yet.

Mingi swirls his tongue greedily around your hole a few times before going deep and fucking you too fast with his talented tongue, enough to make your walls clench tightly around him. After a few more thrusts, he pulls back and uses a long, slow lick to catch the large amount of fluid that is leaking out of you, his tongue pressing down flat and heavy on you. He licks you like an animal, panting and growling at the taste of you. When he reaches your clit, he gently glides his tongue over the sensitive bud several times, finally pulling it into his mouth to suck on it, causing you to moan loudly and desperately.

"Oh, fuck. Damn, M-Mingi. Oh God!"

You swear you can feel him smiling at you with a smug and lecherous smile as he returns to your hole to start all over again, but with even more desire and hunger. His guttural moan sends a wave of destructive vibrations through you.

He's pretty damn good at it.

You lose track of how many times he repeats this process until the excitement overwhelms you so much that you think you may die.

Since he started fucking you with his tongue, you have no idea how much time has passed. Hours, maybe even days. Mingi certainly has the look of a man who could do this forever.

"I can't do it anymore." You say, and the desperation in your voice is so clear to hear.

"Do you want to cum, doll?" He mumbles, pressing his cheek against your inner thigh, his gaze so foggy and distracted that he will be completely whipped for you. "You can do it. If you want to. Cum for me, doll. Let me drink you more."

#ateez smut #kpop smut #atz smut #ateez hard hours #ateez unholy hours #seonghwa x reader #seonghwa smut #park seonghwa smut #ateez scenarios #ateez au #ateez x reader #smut #mingi smut #mingi smau #song mingi smut #mingi x reader #san smut #choi san smut #san x reader

401 notes · View notes

textualdesires · 2 years ago

Text

Animal Impulses [Tyler Galpin x Reader]

You stumbled upon his hideout. Had discovered his secret. And you had every intention of helping him control his urges.

[Tyler Galpin x gn!afab!reader]

WEDNESDAY SPOILERS BELOW

Warnings: Dacryphilia, Blood Kink, Pain Kink, Size Kink, marking, choking, P in V penetration, Oral (f and m receiving), unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it!), mentions of murder, tyler being creepy, dubcon if you squint

18+! MINORS DNI! (I will block you.)

Enjoy!

____________________________________________

„You should be running.

Be scared of me.

How are you not scared of me?“

You don’t know how you found yourself in this situation to begin with.

You should have known better.

There was a curfew for a reason.

My god, a killer was on the loose.

Targeting both the Nevermore students and the townsfolk.

But yet your feet almost automatically strutted through the fallen leaves.

You had found a cave, then.

And just like a child, curiosity got the best of you.

You didn’t know.

That you had walked straight into his lair.

You’d known Tyler for ages.

The sweet barista who always made sure your drink was extra hot, like you requested.

Who had at some point memorized your order, your cup ready before you even entered.

Sure, you had crushed on him.

Who wouldn’t fall for the soft curls, the bright smile and the intriguing secret behind his eyes.

You finally found out what it was.

His heavy steps cornered you now.

He towered over you as he trapped you against the walls, his eyes darker than you’d ever seen.

„I know you won’t harm me.“

It was barely a whisper.

Your breath was visible in the cold night air, your cheeks reddened not only from the temperatures.

You could feel a warmth radiating off him, even as he stood in only a shirt.

His fist hit the wall next to you with an impact that made some rubble fall.

„How are you so sure?

I don’t see friend or foe when the impulse takes over.

I could hurt you without even knowing it.“

Your hand found his tense shoulders now as you soothed over his barely covered skin.

A deep breath escaped him now, like he had let go off years of pent up anger.

But he was far from calm, far from harmless.

Somehow that just drew you in even closer.

„I know you, Tyler.

You’re not a bad person.

Your impulses, tell me about them.“

„You sound like my shrink.“

„I’m just trying to help.“

„How could you possibly help?“

It was you who had the upper hand now.

Softly you let the hand that was previously on his shoulder drag towards his chest.

You inched in closer, so close you could almost feel his lips on yours.

„Perhaps I can take away some of your pain.“

That was his cue as he harshly pushed his lips against yours.

You matched his pace, fighting desperately for control.

You weren’t surprised when his teeth gnawed on your bottom lip.

He had drawn some blood with his sharp teeth.

You could see him changing now, see the ferocity in his every move.

His chest was heaving as he desperately tried to hold back the animal impulses.

With a grin you licked the blood of your own lip.

He pulled you in by the waist, hips grinding against yours as he once again took you in.

He had tasted blood and he wanted more.

In whatever way he could.

It was you who slowed him then, forehead resting against his.

„Does it help? Does it still the urges when we kiss?“

„It does, but I want more. I need more.“

„I have more to give.“

You started leaving chaste kisses along his jaw, lips traveling towards his neck.

You sucked bright red marks into his skin, the fact that you were marking up the police chief’s son just giving you even more confidence.

His hand found your hair then, pulling you back.

„Stop being a tease.“

„Why? I thought you needed more.“

„You should not mess with me.“

You grinned a bit as you pulled his shirt above his head then.

You wondered where all this toned body and warm skin had been hidden when you would ogle at him in the coffee shop.

You wanted him for a while now.

Your sharp nails dragged along his torso, causing Tyler to groan.

He knew pain, it had become a close friend.

One he loved when it came from you.

God, you were even better than he could have imagined.

He had been pinning you for ages.

Had tried to tell himself it was just a harmless crush.

Even when he could smell you from miles away.

Even when he found himself in front of your window, quietly looking in.

You had come to him like a gift from the gods.

You had dropped to your knees now, not even caring about the gravel scratching up your knees.

You were quick to unbuckle his belt, pulling down his jeans and boxers at the same time.

His physique just kept bringing surprises.

With a tip of his finger he tilted your chin up, looking into your eyes.

He did not want you to stop, god no.

But he was afraid of what he would do once you started.

„Are you sure about this? I have no clue how this will affect me-„

He didn’t get to finish his train of thought.

You grabbed him, your tongue swirling across his tip.

The grunt that left his body was inhumane.

Like he had been touch-starved for centuries.

And you were intent on fulfilling his desires.

You opened your mouth, letting your lips slip around his tip.

His hands immediately found your hair, scalp burning as he took control.

He pushed himself further into you, causing you to gag around him.

Tears started running down your cheeks as he continued to push into your throat.

He was vocal, clearly enjoying himself.

You could feel it, too.

The way he would twitch every now and then, precum filling your mouth.

He pushed you off him when he couldn’t handle it anymore.

„Stand up.“

It was an order, one you gladly followed.

Your eyes shot up to his and a breath escaped your lungs at the state he was in.

His pupils were blown, his chest heaving.

His curls had fallen clad against his forehead with the heat you produced.

He grabbed your chin so softly, you almost forgot the monster behind his eyes.

Soft kisses found your cheeks as he relished in the taste of your tears.

His mouth traveled further and further, coming to your beck and leaving wet trails that cooled with the night air.

You could feel yourself pulse at how much he turned you on.

„I can smell you, you know?“

You gulped slightly, causing him to chuckle.

Your cheeks were now beyond red, your face emitting just as much heat as his body was.

You tried hiding your face in his shoulder but he would not let you.

His hand gripped your cheeks then, pressing a long and furious kiss onto yours.

„Never said I didn’t like it.“

His hands rummaged your body, grasping at the too many layers you wore.

Carefully he slipped you out of your coat, letting it topple to the floor.

He was not as careful with your shirt.

With a loud rip he had torn it off you, leaving you exposed.

„Tyler!“ You yelled in surprise.

„Don’t fret about the shirt.

I told you, I needed more.“

You shut up then, his hands unclasping your bra and throwing it to the ground.

His lips traveled along your clavicle, further and further down until finally he found the are he desired.

He was quick to pull your jeans down your waist, causing you to stumble.

His hands were fast to hold you in place.

His tongue lapped at your core feverishly within seconds.

He didn’t give you time to adjust as his sloppy movements started.

He was fast but controlled, knowing exactly how to move.

„You taste just as good as I imagined.“

Your cheeks reddened even further if that was possible.

Gosh, how could you have been missing out on this?

Perhaps you should have done this sooner.

Maybe you could have prevented some of the misery then.

A gasp escaped your mouth as he pushed two fingers into you without warning.

His long fingers stretched you out delicately.

He had to prepare you for what he wanted to do.

He had urges, sure, but he was not cruel.

Not to you at least.

His tongue worked simultaneously with his fingers, curling and hitting a spot deep inside you.

You saw stars as your body felt overwhelmed, your legs almost buckling underneath you.

„Tyler, I‘m gonna-„

„Cum for me, little one.“

He didn’t need to tell you twice.

Your moans echoed along the empty space as you gripped his hair for any form of stability.

You thought you would faint.

You swore you could have.

Tyler stood again once you had gotten over your high, pulling his long fingers out of you.

„Taste yourself.“

Your lips wrapped around his fingers, his eyes scanning you as you lapped up every last drop of it.

God, he wanted you.

Needed to feel you around him.

He wanted to destroy you.

His hand wrapped around your throat immediately.

You squealed under his touch, for the first time showing any sort of fear.

But this was no normal fear, no.

It was laced with arousal, laced with want.

It was more delicious than any fear he’d seen before.

The moan that ripped put of your throat as he squeezed made him hungry for more.

„You liked that, huh?“

You nodded softly, an innocent smile meeting his dark grin.

He picked you up by the thighs then, pushing you into the wall behind you.

With ease he held you in his place, his arms flexing.

He needed to get his fix now.

He lined himself up with you as your hands wrapped around his neck, holding on to him.

You hissed as he pushed his tip into you.

Even now he was slow and careful not to injure you.

A whine escaped him as he bottomed out.

Slowly he started pushing into you.

His hips snapped against yours as he almost pulled out only to thrust back in again.

He picked up his pace, groans escaping him as he fucked into you harder.

It didn’t take you long to get to your second orgasm.

He rode it out with you as your fingernails scratched up his back and neck.

He was determined to give you what you wanted.

Your loud moans had him getting closer to his own relief quickly.

His hips stuttered when he came with a few loud groans.

He stilled, pulsing inside of you as you could feel him filling you up.

His lips found your neck again, biting and sucking at the skin to stifle his sounds.

He had to mark you as his.

Had the world to see that he wrecked you.

Carefully he set you back down as he tried to catch his breath.

A short laugh escaped his lungs as he saw how exhausted you looked.

It was an earnest one.

Like you were the cutest thing he’d ever seen.

Your heart fluttered softly.

It felt like he was himself again.

The barista that would make sure the heart on your drink‘s foam was perfect.

The one who would trip over his own two feet when you caught him staring.

The one you had fallen for so effortlessly.

He pushed his forehead against yours, pressing a few soft pecks onto your lips.

„You understand you can’t tell anyone?

About the lair?

About who I am?“

You nodded softly.

You would keep his secret if it meant you could keep him around.

Your hand softly pushed his hair out of his face.

„This can be our little secret.“

He smiled, another kiss meeting your lips.

He pulled you against him then, his arms wrapping around your waist softly.

He never wanted to let you go again.

You were his now, had saved him.

Why kill when he could have his own personal way of stilling the animal impulses?

#tyler galpin #tyler galpin x reader #tyler galpin x you #tyler galpin smut #tyler galpin imagine #wednesday #netflix

4K notes · View notes

deadgirlsnoring · 7 days ago

Text

Sub! Alex turner

pet names, anal, spanking, paddle, spit kink, dildo, vibrator, cum eating, black girl reader.

“You’re ruining t-them.” He whimpered, voice slightly muffled from being bent over and pushed into the pillows.

You had yanked off the new panties you bought for him, the color a dark red. “Shh.”

His hair was all disheveled, lips bitten and swollen along with his back covered in red lipstick stained kisses.

Your hands held both of his wrists at his sides, going to kiss at his plump ass cheeks, “Mm, p-please,” You had to hold his wrists, god he was such a mover.

He tried moving closer when your tongue swiped across his pink puckered hole. Moaning, he backed himself into you, wanting more.

“Don’t fucking move,” you mumbled, grabbing the paddle before sitting down on the bed and adjusting him over your lap. A small pout fell on his face, his hair covering his eyes.

1..2..3

A choked moan turned into gasp escaped his lips, harshly biting down on his bottom lip, “Fuck! Mommy.. p-please.”

4..5..6

The paddle made way to the flesh of his ass once again, a sob breaking loose, “Please! I’m sorry! I’m sorry, I-Im sorry m..mommy, no more..” You giggled, he was just so cute it made you soaked.

“Two more puppy, okay? Such a cute boy for mommy. Love it when you’re such a slut, hm? Don’t you? Say it.” The paddle made its last hit, an almost pornographic moan leaving his pretty pink lips.

“Uh, fuck I’cant m-mommy.” Manicured nails played with the fat of his ass cheeks, the warm flesh making him squirm over your thighs.

You can feel his neglected cock twitching, “Oh puppy, you better fucking say it.”

“I-I—Spit it the fuck out.” God you were so rough with him, he rubbed himself against your thigh, groaning, “Mm I’m suchh a..a slut..”

Your hand slapped against his ass, “Good boy.” His whole body reacted, mouth dropping in a silent moan. “I love you mommy.”

Moving his body up onto the bed, you positioned him back to earlier, having him arch his back against the bed, his asshole making a big scene. “What toy do you want?”

“Whatever you think is best mommy.” A long line of spit connected to his pink hole, dripping down to his full needy ballsack.

You rummaged around the box, settling on a long vibrator dildo, one you haven’t used yet. It came with a remote control, your favourite kind.

“This one puppy?” His eyes widened at the size, had to be at least 6 inches, without it moving yet. You brought out some strawberry lube, only because Alex adored it, when you guys made out he wouldn’t let go of you.

“Such a desperate doggy.” You muttered, rubbing lube on his hole when he started massaging his hard cock on the mattress. A deep sigh escaped his lips, his eyes closing shut with pure bliss. Your thumb slipped in, and you saw the clouded look as he looked at you with his doe eyes.

He smiled, breaking eye contact, “I can feel you sucking me in, you need me?”

“S’ bad mommy, ple—fuckkk, need you soo bad,” Your brows raised watching as a pink raised to his cheeks, “Mhm? You ready for me?” He nodded his head, pouting his puffy lips.

You covered the entire dildo in lube letting your cutie watch the whole thing, he gulped, eyeing it all.

“Come here.” You ushered, “Take off my bra baby.” He was such an expert, clipping it off without even looking around you. Your hand cupped his cheek, plump lips swallowing his own.

Alex trembled under your grasp, his hands coming up to cup your perfect breasts. Squeezing, pulling, rubbing. He felt so dizzy you had to pull back from the kiss, he looked like he was from a porno. God, your boyfriend was so hot.

“I love you pretty, mm you ready?” He dizzily nodded. He settled in position, inhaling sharply when you breached his hole. “Mmfucckk…. That’s so good mommy.”

“Uh huh? Yeah? Almost in puppy.” When you got to the last 2 inches he cried out and his back arched even further, “Hurts sooo good baby, shitt I-I.”

Hm? Turn around lemme see that pretty little face.” You watched as he struggled, stifling a laugh. His legs were shaking as he got up on his knees to maneuver himself around, small little pleads and mewls leaving his lips.

“Spread em.” You cooed, you hadn’t even turned on the vibration’s and he was already shaking from the bottoms down. You made sure it was all in before you grabbed hold of the base and pulled it all the way out, and pushed it back in. “Ughh! Fuck! Mommy that’s sooo much.” You watched as his insides swallowed the dildo up, it looked so dirty.

“Soo much what? Cock? Shut up.”

“G-Godd I’m cummingg!” You shook your head, “I’m not stopping, cum if you want puppy.” You set a pace, a fast one, one that kept hitting that same target inside him. “Mmfph! S’good! God, mommy it f-feels amazingg.”

He felt that jerk of his hips, his vision start blurring and he knew what was coming. “Y/nnn, I really l-love—shit—you. Mmmfuckkk….”

“Mommy w-wait, I can’t—ffuuckk!! OoOh! You turned the vibrations on, just the first level. You hadn’t tried it on him yet so you wanted to test the waters.

You caressed his thigh, a quiet grunt escaping his lips compared to his loud almost fake ones. He moaned out, “Feels so good, feels like I’m gonna cumm again, so full.”

The feeling was so intoxicating, it had his brain feeling foggy, almost like his body had been frozen then felt a huge rush of heat. God the deep desire he felt for you ran deep.

He was sweaty, eyes glazed over and flushed, “M..More.. C-Can you g..go up a level please?” You smiled softly, pressing the button before watching him intently.

It’s like his whole body reacted. It touched that perfect spot inside him, eliciting that response only one thing can do, he loved it so much.

“You love it? Tell me you do Alex. Tell mommy you love what I do to you.” He squirmed, a cry escaping him. “Fuck! Mm I love it so much mommy I love it, I’m yours I love what you do to me baby, I’m all y-yours t..to use.”

“Can I cummm? Pleasepleasepleasee,” He whispered, trying to keep his eye contact but his glazed over eyes kept closing.

You brushed your lips together, pausing when you’re barely touching and just stared at him, his eyes all glossy he looked so edible. Connecting your lips your manicured hand wrapped around his throat, chasing his lips that were chasing yours.

You’d have to stop and wait for a little bit when the toy would hit his prostate, a choked gasp escaping his lungs.

“Hey, hey,” you mumbled, “you wanna cum? Beg for it.”

Connecting them once again, you bit and sucked on his bottom lip, dragging it out with you, a whine following suit.

“Mommyyy, can I cum please? Please? God please! I’m so needy for you fuck I want it—want youu.”

“Go on puppy, you can cum.” You turned it up to the highest level, wanting to see how it would affect him, shocked how quickly it seemed to do so.

“Thank you!, thank you mommyy, I love you.”

Alex saw static, the knot quickly unraveled in his stomach, a pornographic moan mixed with your name fell from his lips over and over again, you could tell your panties were stuck to you.

He was slump, he’d never had an orgasm this strong before, he was so loud he knew you two would have complaints, it would be inevitable. “You’re okay baby, you okay?”

Xoxo

#black!fem!reader #dom reader #dom!reader #sub character #black fem reader #black reader #black!reader #blackfem!reader #black!femreader #alex turner #sub!alex #sub!alex turner #sub!character

93 notes · View notes

whorergal · 2 years ago

Text

SHE'S MINE (PART TWO)

summary: after you've been attacked, the group becomes cautious and confused, now being targeted as well. but you still can't get over the fact that ghostface had helped you and why you think you know who it may be. and maybe you wouldn't mind keeping a secret.

warnings: scream vi spoilers, language (cussing), blood, gore. it follows the plot loosely.

pairings: ethan landry x fem!reader

authors note: hiiii i really hope u enjoy :-) also i have no idea if mindy shared the apartment with tara, sam and quinn but if she didn’t, we're just going to pretend she does and i also altered ethan's motive a bit too for this (lowkey was inspired by don't blame me by taylor swift so if you like listening to music when reading, i recommend that song for this part)

———————————————————————————

The hospital visit wasn't as long as you anticipated. Two of the stabs you endured hadn't cut deep so they were able to stitch it upon your first visit and they closed up that same night—it still hurt like a bitch. Your previous stab wound was the worst one overall as the stitching process was a lot more painful because your skin was sensitive as it had been punctured once before.

When you were released, Sam took you under her care. She didn't feel safe having you and Anika alone in your apartment since the attack so she offered her, Tara, Mindy and Quinn's home to you two. It didn't really matter for Anika as she was always there in the first place but it bothered you.

You didn't mean to feel unappreciative but you hated being controlled by useless fear. Whether or not Ghostface attacked you in your home, he would find them someway or another; it didn't matter where you were. But, you agreed in order to clear her conscious.

They didn't ask much questions when you were in the hospital. After the second Ghostface left the apartment, you remembered blacking out and waking up in the hospital bed with Anika by your side. The doctor wouldn't let anyone come in since you were preparing for surgery but decided to let Anika stay since she was your roommate.

Her story was that your security system she had built when you two first moved in had went off when the second Ghostface broke in. Her and Mindy didn't tell everyone before leaving because they didn't want to risk not making it in time. The frat house was only a block down so they just ran their way to your building, ultimately finding your unconscious body on the kitchen floor.

Anika told you that they had met Ethan at the entrance of the building when the ambulance was called and said you called him, which was true but you wondered what took him so long. You were highly suspicious of him but you didn't want to be because he was your best-friend, you couldn't imagine him having anything to do with this.

Ever since that night, he was around, a lot. He even skipped his Econ classes to keep you company because Sam didn't want you to be alone and everyone else was busy.

You didn't ask him about what happened. You were afraid of what the outcome would be. But you knew you had to do something in order to understand. At least interrogating the truth out of him (because he couldn't lie to you) would give you peace of mind—well, depending on the answer.

"You don't have to be here, you know." You broke the silence, watching him write notes from the lecture he was missing.

"But I want to be," he told you honestly.

"E, you're missing Econ. You have an exam this week."

"I'll be fine, don't worry." He looked up from his notebook, putting the lecture video on pause to give you his full attention. "I don't want anything to happen to you again."

"Ghostface rarely attacks in the daytime," you joked.

"Still, Y/N/N." He was being serious. "Your stitches haven't even fully healed yet."

"This isn't the first time." You sighed. "Plus, Ghostface never attacks the same person twice."

"Says who?"

"Says Mindy."

Ethan rolled his eyes. "Yeah, well, I don't want to take any chances."

It went back to comfortable silence. You went back to reading your book for your English class while he continued to write his notes. After a couple more minutes, you decided to ask the question that had been eating you alive.

"What took you so long?" you asked randomly.

He furrowed his brows, turning to look at you. "What do you mean?"

"When I was attacked," you clarified. "I called you and you said you and Chad were on the way. Anika and Mindy beat you to it and Chad wasn't even with you when you arrived."

Ethan looked away, his face becoming pale. "Well, I went to go find Chad when you were on the call but I couldn't find him so I decided to leave. I didn't realize how much time I wasted until I saw police lights outside your building."

That was the first and final conversation you two had about it. You gathered what you knew from it but, again, you didn't want to believe he was Ghostface. Unless he wasn't and used the costume to throw the other one off. But where could he buy a replica of it that quickly and still be able to make it in time to save you? It didn't make sense.

You kept this realization to yourself. You felt guilty for it, especially because if he was apart of the plan in harming your friends, this smudge of proof could be enough to hold him accountable before it was taken too far. Of course, you didn't listen to yourself and decided to keep his secret that he wasn't even sure you knew because of how much you liked him.

On the third day of your recovery, your stitching was finally beginning to heal. It hurt to bend down and sometimes walk because it worked the muscles underneath the wound but you couldn't stand doing nothing anymore.

You made the excuse that you were planning to meet Ethan at his dorm for the night because you promised to help him with Econ. Sam wasn't exactly keen on the idea, wondering why he couldn't come to meet you here but you told her you were beginning to feel claustrophobic and wanted to get out. She didn't say much in defense and reluctantly agreed.

They all offered to walk you there just in case something were to happen but you brushed them off. If your assumption about Ethan was correct, he wouldn't let anything happen to you.

The subway was packed because it was nearing Halloween and it took you awhile to finally make it inside one. And the thirty minute ride to campus added onto the time. It was around twelve at night when you arrived at his dorm.

First, you decided to knock. Nobody answered. Then you remembered he had an Econ lecture to attend for the night and took out the extra key he had given you awhile ago and unlocked it yourself.

Honestly, you were glad he wasn't there because it would make your digging a lot more easier.

You searched through everything he owned. Through his drawers (which you highly regretted), under his bed, inside some of his unpacked bags—everywhere but you couldn't find anything that incriminated him.

It had been what felt like hours, but was really only thirty minutes, when you gave up. Your phone was going off but you didn't pay any mind to it because the group had consistently texted you ever since your attack; you just assumed it was them checking up on you and then getting paranoid because you weren't answering. Even if you knew you should've checked, you didn't bother as you were going to head back to the apartment anyway.

You quietly snuck out of the room, making sure the coast was clear until you turned your head to the left and saw Ghostface, waiting there for you. When you tried to scream, they grabbed your face with their hand, restricting your voice from releasing.

They were strong, being able to grab your entire body with their one arm and toss you carelessly back into the room.

You hit the floor, wincing at the impact because of your stitches. Ghostface shut the door behind them, looking down at you. They stalked toward you very slowly as you made sure to keep your distance from them.

Using the dresser that stood behind you, you lifted yourself up with your available arm as the other clutched your stitching instinctively to keep you balanced. It was a silent stare-down until they reached for their mask, untucking it from the behind. Then, they pulled it off.

You stared in shock. "…Ethan?"

"Y/N." He didn't have much expression on his face. He looked out of breath as you could see sweat shimmering on his face from the lighting.

"Oh, my god," You breathed out. Although you suspected him this whole time, finally being able to know it was the truth hurt you more than being stabbed. "You're Ghostface."

"What the hell are you doing here?" Ethan ignored your statement as he furrowed his brows.

"I knew it. I knew you were the one who saved me," you confessed. "That's why I'm here."

"You shouldn't be here," he told you, shaking his head.

"You're trying to kill me and our friends and you're telling me what I shouldn't be doing?!"

"Y/N, there's more to this than you know."

"That much is obvious," you snapped. He tried to step toward you but you backed up. "Stay away from me."

"Please, just listen to me," Ethan began to plead.

"You let them attack me!"

"No, I didn't!" he declared, lowering his voice when he saw it made you flinch. "They promised to leave you out of it. That was the only thing I told them to do."

"They?" you repeated in confusion.

He thought over his response for a second. "Look, what I'm doing—what I've done—is for a good reason. You have to understand."

You furrowed your brows. "What have you done, E?" You couldn't help but use his nickname; you couldn't help but try to hear him out.

"Y/N." He walked toward you slowly and this time, you didn't back away from him. "You're the only thing I care about. If it means I have to kill a thousand people to keep you safe, then I'd do it."

"I don't understand." Your voice was almost a mumble.

"I agreed to do this before I met you but when I did, it all changed. I-I tried to convince them to stop. I wanted to try and be good—for you but she found out and threatened to kill you if I didn't continue with the plan so I did with the exception that they would leave you out of it," he explained softly. "I did this…for you."

You looked at him like he was insane (he kind of was). "You'd kill our friends?"

"If it meant that you'd be safe."

His words didn't completely register but when they did, you couldn't help but feel guilty. You had a crush on him for so long and here he was, basically confessing his love for you in such a fucked up way. You hated yourself for finding him even more attractive after hearing him say those words.

"Ethan…" you whispered his name.

"Can I kiss you?" he asked. "Can I please kiss you?"

You didn't give him an answer as you closed the space between the two of you.

It seemed wrong—no, it was wrong. Kissing him while he still wore the Ghostface robe, one that he wore while taking someone's life.

You knew he wasn't wearing this costume for fun. They only ever wore it for a purpose. Even though your mind was totally blanked because of how dumb his lips made you, when you pulled apart, you began to think about where he had come from and who he had just killed and why you weren't more concerned about the matter.

He chased after your lips, kissing you again with more force this time, even pulling you closer by the waist. You only pulled away because you were receiving a call.

You pulled your phone out from your pocket, the reality setting in when you saw Sam's contact. He looked down with you, not doing much in keeping you from answering. It took you a couple more seconds of contemplating until you decided to click the green button, putting the phone to your ear.

You took a deep breath before answering. "Hello?"

"Y/N, what the hell?!" Sam hollered into the speaker, her voice mixed with relief and annoyance. "Why weren't you answering? Are you okay?!"

"Yeah, I'm fine," you replied rather nonchalantly. "I had my phone off. What's wrong, Sam?"

There was a short beat. "Ghostface attacked us."

You furrowed your brows, glancing at Ethan. "What?"

"Yeah, he killed Quinn and…"

"And?" you repeated instantly. "Who else, Sam?"

"Anika…" Sam's voice was barely above a whisper. "Y/N, I'm so sorry. I-I tried to help her."

You shut your eyes, feeling tears starting to build. There was silence on the line and you were sure it was because Sam didn't want to say anything knowing you would be taking her death as personal as Mindy did.

Suddenly, your stab wounds began to throb which made you let out a grunt. You knew better than to cry over Anika only because it would achieve nothing. Yes, it was messed up that you were now standing in the room with her murderer, watching him undress himself of his black robe that he wore while killing her but you realized nothing you could've said or done—whether you got to him before she died—could've changed her outcome.

You watched him pull out a hunting knife from his back pocket, the silver glistening with dried blood. That blood probably belonged to Anika and Quinn. It made your throat go dry.

"Sam," you blurted quietly.

"What, Y/N?"

You were going to say it; tell her the truth. It was the right thing to do. Ethan, even if you liked him a lot, had just murdered your best friend and one of Sam's. They deserved the justice of their murderer being caught.

But when he walked back over to you, his eyes scanning your expression, you had already picked your choice.

"Y/N, what? Are you okay?" Sam's voice echoed in your mind.

"Yeah, yeah, it's just…" You tried to find the words. "Is everyone else okay? Did you get hurt?"

"We're fine. Mindy got cut but she's fine," Sam answered softly. "Can you come down here? I'd feel a lot better if you were here with us. Plus, I'm sure you can comfort Mindy than the rest of us. She doesn't want to be anywhere near Tara or Chad."

You let out a shaky breath. "Yeah. Ethan and I are on our way."

"Ethan?" she questioned.

"Yeah. Remember I told you I was going to meet him at his dorm? I was with him the whole night," you lied.

"Oh, okay." Sam sighed into the speaker. "That's good to hear, actually. Mindy thinks Ethan was the one behind all of this but if you were with him then it checks him out."

"Don't worry, Sam," you said. "We'll be there shortly."

"Okay, see you soon. Be safe."

You nodded, even though she couldn't see you and then hung up.

"You kept my secret?" Ethan asked.

You shook your head. "I shouldn't have. You killed Anika and Quinn."

He bit his lip, nodding calmly. "I know, I know. It wasn't exactly my first choice. But I had to for saving you the other night."

"Yeah, I know," you mumbled. "But did you mean it?"

"Mean what?" He furrowed his brows.

"What you said about wanting to be good?" You repeated his words. "Because that's the only reason I saved your ass. I should hate you. You killed Anika."

"Y/N/N," he said softly, walking over to grab your hands. "I only did this to protect you. They made me think my original motive was right but it's actually fucked up. I realized that the moment I met you. So, yes, I do mean it. And I'm sorry about Anika. I didn't really want to do it either."

You mulled over his words, looking down at your connected hands until you finally spoke. "Okay. Then, I'll help you," you informed him. "But, in order for me to do that, I need to know everything."

Let's just say it was an interesting conversation.

#ethan landry x reader #ethan landry #ethan landry x you #ethan landry imagine #jack champion #scream imagine #scream vi imagine #ethan landry x y/n

1K notes · View notes

dakota1435 · 21 days ago

Text

Moonlight – Vampire!Sylus X Reader ✩₊˚.☪︎ ⁺₊✧

Word Count: 2.8k

tags: NSFW!!, blood mention, sylus is consent king

Previous chapters: x

Chapter 5

For the rest of the time, you don’t see Sylus nor the twins. It astonished you a bit, how much they left you alone. Given such privacy, you decided to wander down the same hallways, same corridors. There were definitely parts of the mansion you haven’t seen yet, but maybe that was for the best. You enter a broad common room, one that actually has a large glass window. The sun was rising, you noticed. Your sense of time has been skewed since you’ve arrived, considering there were a lack of windows, and mostly saw Sylus at night. Oddly enough, you didn’t really feel different.

As you stare out of the window, watching the sky blend with colors, you hear a low voice behind you.

“Do you miss the sun?” Sylus asked. You turned around, a little unphased at his sudden appearance. He lounges comfortably in a large leather chair.

“I do,” you answered honestly, “but I never saw the night sky as much. It is beautiful and comforting in some way.” Sylus takes a glance at you as you spoke, but doesn’t respond. “Where were you?” You spoke again, hoping to fill the thick silence in the air.

“Wrapping up some loose ends from the auction earlier.” He smirks, his canines flashing. You didn’t know what to say to that.

“The sun is coming up, shouldn’t you…be away?” You said, choosing your words carefully.

“Do you want me to leave?”

“No! No I—”

“The sun isn’t going to kill me, kitten, it probably takes a lot more than that,” he interrupted, finding entertainment in your anxiety. “But, I don’t like it either. I was going to leave soon,” he admitted. It made you realize you just didn’t know anything about Sylus. Mysterious as ever. He stands up and calmly walks towards you. It takes a few paces before his height is towering over you. You don’t move, unsure if it was fear or curiosity that kept you rooted in your spot. He tucks your thick, long hair behind your ear. He looked down at you as if you weren’t real, that touching your hair brought him back to reality.

“Can I ask you something?” You felt a dash of courage reach up to you. So far, you’ve been able to speak freely in front of Sylus. But you were never going to push the limit.

“Speak.”

You take a breath, as if preparing your question. “How often do you need to… feed?” The last word barely came out. You averted your gaze, almost embarrassed you were asking such a question. It felt too personal for someone like Sylus. Much to your surprise, he snickers.

“I take care of myself when I need to.” His words were a bit vague. A thought popped in your mind and you blurted it out without thinking.

“Are you feeding from other people?” As the question leaves your lips, you feel something uneasy in your gut. Your heartbeat begins to pick up, no doubt Sylus wouldn’t notice. You don’t know why you would feel uncomfortable with Sylus feeding from someone other than you. Sure, you didn’t want him to hurt innocent people. But that’s what he bought you for, right? In the two weeks you’ve been here, he’s fed once. It keeps you on edge constantly, always mentally preparing yourself for Sylus. When did you become so submissive?

You feel Sylus standing deathly still. It doesn’t help the growing anxiety in your chest. “It’s not easy to control myself with someone like you. But it hurts, doesn’t it? The bite. I don’t exactly want to scare you off, kitten. I paid good money for you.” He places a soft hand under your chin, compelling you to look into his eyes. You realized he didn’t exactly answer your question, which was an answer itself. His touch was comforting, but his words reminded you of what you were to him. Just blood. That’s the only reason why he bought you. He’s taking care of you, because you are blood. Something churns in your stomach, a feeling you couldn’t quite grasp.

“You can’t scare me off.” A lie, but you wanted to come off stronger. That you weren’t weak, even if that meant willingly submitting yourself. You hold the eye contact between you two, standing your ground. A smirk teases his lips.

“I suppose you’re stronger than I’d like to think.” It sounded like an insult. He lowers his head close to yourself, his lips inches away from your ear. “Tell me, then…” his voice grew darker, huskier. It gave you goosebumps. “If I bit you right now, would you resist? Would you squirm in the pain I give to you?” His sudden change in demeanor makes you hold your breath. He slowly lowers his hand down to your wrist before firmly grabbing it. A soft gasp escapes from your mouth from the rough contact. He stands himself up, looking back at you again. Still holding your wrist, he brings it up near his mouth. You watch, silently, as he touches his lips against the pale of your skin. Not exactly a kiss, but something else entirely. It’s…Intimate.

“It doesn’t have to hurt so much, you know,” he said, dropping your arm back down.

“It doesn’t?” You questioned, trying to find the answer before he gave it to you.

“Give yourself to me. Give me all of you,” he urged. He slightly bows and extends his hand out to you. He was inviting you. “Let me guide you through the pain. Let me take care of everything.” The pink morning glow started to fill the room. You take a look outside before back at Sylus. His palm, face up, is waiting for you. Beckoning you, in a way. His tone was seductive and sweet like warm honey. You realized he was telling you to trust him. You feel your mind hesitate, but your fingertips tingle with anticipation for what’s to come. Sylus was difficult to read, but you knew that he was trying to be gentle with you. In his own way, at least. You take a deep breath, mentally preparing for what’s to come. If the pain won’t be as bad…then surely it can be more bearable. You take a deep breath as Sylus’ unwavering stare burns into you.

He won. Steadily, you reach back out to him. A wicked smile flashes his lips, his white fangs reminding you of what was to come. Your hand just barely rests above his.

“Come,” he commanded. Without warning, you are instantly transported into a dark, windowless room. You still grip onto his hand, afraid you’ll trip. A few warm lights emit in the room, giving it a visible glow so that you could see. Sylus doesn’t take his stare off of you. It was like he was observing every part of you, every reaction and movement. Taking a look around, you found yourself to be in the same room you woke up in after being bit the first time. Given on Sylus’ choosing, you assumed this was his personal room. “I hear your heart pounding. You are still frightened,” he pointed out. You didn’t realize your heart has been pulsating since you grabbed your hand.

“I’m sorry,” you murmur, unsure why you were even apologizing in the first place. Everything about this situation was unpredictable. You didn’t know what to think, let alone feel.

“Relax,” he commanded again, “you can handle it.” His confidence in you was harsh, but mildly comforting. He slowly closes the distance between you two, his close proximity causing you to be still. He caresses your jaw, his touch feather-light. It felt like electricity, his touch lingering with a buzz.

“Tell me,” he says. You look up at him, a little puzzled. He takes a step closer, your bodies almost touching. The back of your legs were close to the edge of the bed. If Sylus comes any closer, you’d have to sit yourself back on the bed. “Tell me that you’ll give yourself to me. All of you.” He lowers his head and places a gentle kiss on the side of your neck.

Oh.

You can feel the rapid heat swell in your cheeks. If your heart was already pounding, you weren’t sure if it was going to keep beating much longer. Sylus doesn’t move another inch as he awaits your response. You swallow, preparing for the words about to leave your mouth.

“I…I give myself to you, Sylus.” You whispered. He shifts forward a bit, causing you to sit on the bed below you. His body now hovered above you, his leg placed deliberately between yours, causing you to open up a bit more. Never, in your life, have you thought this is where you would be. Your head swam with racing thoughts of what was about to come. But, there was something in his touch that made you feel warm all over. It soothed you, like a heavy-weight blanket. You felt dizzy, your nerves tingling where he touched. It felt like fire and ice at the same time. He places another kiss on your neck, the sensitivity makes you want to squirm.

“Be a good girl. I’ll take care of you,” he reassures you again, sensing your nervousness. His lips brush against your ear before you feel his hot, wet tongue trace up the skin. The sudden feeling betrayed the breath you were holding, causing you to sigh out loud. “Don’t hide anything from me. You said you would give me all of you.” His tone turns darker, possessive even. You had no idea how to process any of this, it all felt like it was moving too fast. Your body and mind were at war with each other. You craved more, desired more, but your mind told you this was still a predator. A very big, hungry monster. His body presses closer against you, one hand embracing the side of your neck while the other grasps just above your hip bone. Another kiss to your neck.

You haven’t experienced another experience this close. Sure, there were people you flirted with. Talked dirty with, made out with. But this? It was something on another level. It felt ethereal, as if Sylus was a fallen angel made for you. Each touch, each kiss felt like liquid sin. It was rather intoxicating and since you were this far, you already decided you would give yourself wholly. You feel yourself become softer as his touch continues. You wrap your free arm around him, holding his head as you let him continue. Your reciprocation gives Sylus a silent permission to go further. He lifts his head to stare at you, his crimson eyes filled with desire like you have never seen. You find yourself already breathing hard, knowing your cheeks are red and eyes glossy.

At this moment, this was the point of no return. Holding the side of your face, Sylus lowers himself to kiss you. It’s soft and gentle, but as you return the kiss it becomes more greedy. His grasp on you tightens and you’re both moving with uncontrollable desire. You feel his tongue over your lips and without hesitation you open your mouth more. You didn’t care you were at the mercy of your buyer, a blood thirsty vampire. Dangerous and a killer. You numbed the thoughts with the current pleasure. He doesn’t want to hurt you, you told yourself. You feel your body becoming hot all over, a dampness forming in between your legs. A soft moan escapes your lips when they aren't occupied with Sylus’.

“Do you want more?” He breaks the kiss, his voice husky and deep. Your lips tingle from the kissing that you didn’t want to stop. Unconsciously you graze your fingers over your lips, feeling them plump and wet. You nod in response. “I need to hear you say it,” he said darkly. Sure enough, he didn’t move until he heard you speak again,

“...Yes.”

“Yes what?”

“Yes!” You exclaimed, flustered at his teasing behavior. “I want more.” On cue, Sylus leans back down to kiss you with passion. You feel his hand trace down your chest, over your stomach, and stopping right above your core. With ease, he slips his hand under your clothes. Your breath is caught in your throat as he begins to touch you. You hold onto him tighter, as if you could seep through the floor. He begins kissing your neck again, along with your jaw.

“Already so wet, are you?” Sylus snickers under his breath. You wish you could bury your face, a little embarrassed at your extreme sensitivity. His hand teases you below, causing you to whimper. Without a doubt, you were utterly soaked. He sits himself up, still playing with you. His brows were a little furrowed and his breathing labored. It turned you on more, to see that he had the same desire. You could tell from his piercing gaze he loved to watch you twitch under his touch. He wanted to see all the faces you could make, all the sounds coming from your pretty little throat. Sylus teases your entrance before putting a finger in. You gasp, looking up where his hand is. It was just one finger…yet it felt already enough. It slips in with ease, prompting Sylus to slowly move in and out. You couldn’t hold back the moans anymore as he thumbs your clit, lazily rubbing in circles.

If this is what heaven felt like, you were ready to go.

He added another finger and you felt full. You couldn’t imagine anything more than that. You dramatically reach out to him, desperate to hold and cling to. You take your courage and crash your lips to his again. Your lead takes him by surprise, but he doesn’t falter. His hand is working harder now, your moans slipping in your kisses. The pleasure made your mind blank, only focusing on one thing only; Sylus. Sylus, Sylus, Sylus.

“...Please.” You mumble. You could barely think straight. Sylus lifts his head, and his hand works harder.

“Please, what? Speak sweetheart.” You were already drunk on your own pleasure. Words pop in your mind but fade as you feel yourself getting closer. It’s as if he knew every sweet spot about you. Everything about his touch was perfect and it made your muscles feel like jelly. He takes his two fingers out for a moment, earning a whine from you, before he slicks them against your throbbing clit. He slips them in again, back to their original position. Feeling wet all over, a new form of pleasure overtakes you. You feel your core tightening.

“Don’t stop,” you breathed, trying to concentrate on every single thrust and touch he gave you. You were becoming undone so easily beneath his touch. Your eyes glazed over him, seeing his starving expression. You think, now, it was time. You put your head to the side, exposing your neck as best as you could. You could feel your legs tremble, knowing you were close. “Bite,” you barely managed to get out. Your moans were uncontrollable, it was a miracle you weren’t hyperventilating.

“Tell me what you want, sweetheart.” Sylus said, his voice dark with lust. His mouth was slightly parted as he breathed fast, his fangs slightly exposed.

“Mmmf– Bite!” You yelled out. Sylus doesn’t hesitate after the words leave your lips. He licks up your neck before sinking his teeth down. While he still fingered you, his bite created a new form of pleasure like you have never experienced. Instantaneously, you come on his hand. Your thighs shake as you dig your nails into the back of Sylus. He cautiously removes his hand as he still drinks from you. Your breath was rapid, a light headedness coming in heavy. Well, you thought to yourself, it didn’t really hurt. Your grip on Sylus loosens, causing him to pull away from you. He looks at you with wide eyes, a drop of blood falling past his lips. He must’ve thought he went too far, but seeing you were still conscious, he gives you a rare, soft smile. A sheen of sweat wears on you, your cheeks still flushed. You were glowing from the after pleasure. As your breathing becomes more in control, Sylus speaks.

“Are you feeling okay?” He asked plainly. You can’t help but laugh, feeling sheepish knowing you came just from his hand and bite.

“Yes.” You smile back at him, feeling your muscles worn with exhaustion. As you calm down from the orgasm, you can feel your eyelids getting heavy.

“You did well,” he praised, tucking a wild strand of hair behind your ear. Something about his constant praise made you blush. “I’ll draw you a bath,” he said, before promptly lifting himself up off of you. The physical absence made you ache in a new way, a way you never felt before. He goes into the master bathroom before you hear a rush of water pouring in. For the few seconds you have, you recall what happened. You feel your neck, the wounds already healed.

Something deep buries in you, and you knew this was just the beginning

#vampire #fanfiction #lads fanfic #lads x reader #lnds sylus #sylus x mc #sylus x reader #l&ds #l&ds sylus #love and deepspace #love and deepspace sylus #sylus #hehehe

66 notes · View notes

thesweetnessofspring · 4 months ago

Text

A little different version of "so after" and loosely inspired by Far From the Madding Crowd. Rated M and bordering E because..."so after."

Peeta's scarred hands work in the fireplace, arranging everything for the fire. First he situates the New Year log, taken from an oak tree in the woods, in the grate and places the kindling of pine needles on top. Peeta guides he singular flame of the match onto the kindling and it catches. I lean against the armrest of the couch, watching his lips pucker as he blows on the fire. Some of my own fire, left to nothing but embers, burns low and pleasant at the thought of the way those lips press to my forehead and cheek after a nightmare. And leads me to think of the night on a beach. As the fire in the hearth builds, the orange glow shadows his face, his hair appears golden with the light.

The fire reaches a steady crackle, lighting the room with its promise of a new year bringing better days. It's been just over a year since Prim's death and those days I was lost in my grief. And yet, ever so slowly, good has come. I make it a game, thinking of the good things that have happened this past year. Most are from Peeta, who first coaxed me from my empty days into the spring air and reminded me how flowers still grow.

I wait for Peeta to join me, so that I can burrow myself in his arms, my ear over his heartbeat. Yet he stays where he is, sitting back on his heels and staring at the fire. If his hands weren't flat against his thighs, I might suspect he was having a flashback, he's so far away from me.

"Peeta?" I ask. "Come sit by me."

He still stares at the fire, not moving toward me. "Does it bother you what people are saying about us?"

"What's that?" I ask. I hadn't noticed much. But then again, I don't bother with most people these days. Peeta doesn't, either, though he will go on walks and pass by the market that's popped up during the rebuild. He hears more than I do.

"That we're living as husband and wife," Peeta says. He turns his head to peek over at me, half of his face shadowed and cautious.

"I suppose we are. In our way."

We've shared our meals, kept each other company, and held hands since he came back. When I couldn't take sleeping alone anymore, I went into Peeta's bed. I'm surprised by how comfortable it feels to admit that what we have is almost like a marriage. Not since before my father's death have I ever thought I might be someone's wife.

"They don't mean it like that," Peeta says. "They're saying I'm taking your milk without paying for the goat."

It was an old saying, talked about with judging looks. The man for taking advantage of a woman without ensuring her proper legal protection. The woman for running the risk of having a fatherless child. When he found out Peeta and I were sharing a bed again, Dr. Aurelius encouraged me to take birth control and I could think of no reason to object. So even if Peeta were taking my milk as they say, it couldn't hurt me. Not in the way I worried about so much before.

I still flush at the thought of it, of the two of us naked and touching each other, of his lips on mine and his hands on my body. I clench my legs together at the thought.

"That's stupid," I say.

Peeta's cheeks turn dark in the firelight and he avoids looking at me. "I'm only saying what everyone else says. And of course, the idea of us—like that—it's stupid."

"I said they're stupid," I say. "Not us—"

I fluster and can't say the words. Only there's the thought again, the thought of olive skin to pink skin, scar to scar, and him inside of me, all over me. Tasting him again. Would he taste the same? Or sweeter this time, after so much bitterness?

"Not us what, Katniss?" Peeta asks quietly.

Our eyes connect and there's something burning brightly inside of me. Life. A warmth that I'd thought had long been extinguished, and yet persists despite all we've lost. What he means to me, the safety and goodness he brings to me, had never gone away. It only waited for this moment, when everything was right.

I slide from the couch and crawl to him on the floor. When I sit by his side, my back to the fire, it's just how it was at the beach. Only he hasn't even touched me yet and I'm craving him. So I lean in and kiss him, soft at first, as we brush off the last dust of distance between us, and then the kiss grows deeper and slows so we can savor it. Although I've kissed Peeta a thousand times before, and a couple made me want more, this feels like the first time. It's certainly the first time we've been able to kiss like this all on our own with no one watching. I want more, and he must, too, because our kisses build to crushing, breathless events.

At some point, I swing one leg around him so I'm on his lap and his hands are at the small of my back and I want, I need his skin on mine. So I break our kiss to pull my shirt over my head and then reach for his, too.

Once we're both topless, I cup his cheek to draw him into another kiss. His bare hand rests on my waist, then travels up to my breast. I tremble from the intensity of the feel of him there, of the way I need him more. My body seeks it, pressing down on his lap and finding him seeking me, too.

It's not enough. As much as I know we're on the right track, it's as if I'm smelling the food instead of tasting it. The motions only make me want more.

Peeta pulls back for a moment only to flip us so that I'm on my back parallel to the fire and he hovers over me, elbows holding him up. His curls cascade around his face as he peers down at me.

"Don't stop," I tell him, missing the contact more than anything.

The flames catch his eyes and he kisses all over my face and down my neck, my chest, my arms, my stomach and taking extra time where the scars run deepest, his tongue running along them. At my belly button he looks up at me and I hurriedly lift my hips up to slide off my pants. He moves back up to kiss me on the mouth, but I'm more aware of his hands gently tracing my underwear. I open my legs to his touch.

"This okay?" he asks, uncertainty in his words.

"Yes," I assure him and he moves more confidently in rubbing me over my underwear. It doesn't have that same spark as when I was on top of him, but I do like him touching me there. Then there's a place he finds and I jerk with a sharp pleasure and give a little cry.

"Right there?" he asks, going over the spot again.

"Yes!"

He swipes up and down and I whimper, biting my lip. Still, I need more. I put my hand on top of his and guide him beneath my underwear. When his fingers find my bare flesh over that spot, my whole body blazes with heat and I move my hips against his hand. Peeta's free hand cups himself, squeezing over his pants, his body shaking now. He's holding back, keeping himself hidden from me, as if we were still those kids in the arena. Me squeamish at the idea of seeing him completely naked, and him waiting for me to let him in, even though our lives depended on it. But we're not as we were before in the arena. The most obvious sign now is that I want to feel him, too.

I grab hold of him over his pants and for a second he falters where he rubs me, giving a short curse. That reaction makes me more responsive in turn. I lift my head up to kiss him and then make for his pants, first unbuttoning and then tugging them and his underwear down.

While Peeta untangles his bottoms from his prosthetic leg, I peel my damp underwear off and then we're naked together, both of us pausing to look from the other's bodies to making eye contact and swiftly looking away again. It hits us both what we're about to do, what we could do.

"We don't have to go further unless you're sure," Peeta says.

He's right. I know we could keep going the way that we have, with our easy routine and companionship for the rest of our lives. Neither of us will abandon the other. If we were going to, it would have happened long ago. Yet, even if we don't do this tonight, it's obvious we will in time. I don't think there is a single thing in the past that could have changed us coming to this point eventually.

"Come here," I say.

Peeta doesn't need telling twice. We take our time exploring each other, asking questions, trying things out. I almost feel foolish how little I know about my own body while Peeta gives more to guide me on, though he says he doesn't mind experimenting. Some things feel wonderful, others are just nice because Peeta is touching me. He takes it all in until he has me soaring from his caresses.

After Peeta asks if it's what I want and I confirm it, finally, we're joined. I'm breathless for a moment and there is a tightness that's uncomfortable at first, until I adjust to him. Peeta hovers above me, staying still, watching my face. When I make eye contact with him and nod, he begins to move. Our communication then is through our sounds of delight, quick kisses, the tilt of our bodies, quick affirmations, a cry of the other's name.

The fire dances beside us when Peeta brings a blanket over our naked skin and I'm in a haze of blissful sleep, making a pillow of his chest.

"Katniss?" he asks.

I hum to let him know I'm listening, so warm and happy the next words, said as soft and low as a baby bird's downy feather, take me by surprise.

"You love me. Real or not real?"

The question I've asked since after the berries myself, always in a muddle of confusion, comes to light like a spring morning. There is now, and for always, only one answer to give.

"Real."

#everlark fanfiction #thg fanfiction #everlark #rated m #so after

88 notes · View notes

shushmal · 9 months ago

Text

small part of a bigger wip i don't think i'll ever fully flesh out but i like it so i wanted to share. very loosely based on franchises like halo, alien, portal, etc.

Steve steps through the portal like a god descending from the heavens, straight backed and powerful, even as he's dragging Dustin kicking and screaming away from the chaos just on the other side.

"I won't leave him," Dustin is screaming.

Robin doesn't know if she's ever heard a more inhuman sound, the way grief and rage has twisted Dustin's voice into something other. And Robin's entire life has been dedicated to new and untouched worlds, to the pursuit of everything alien and non-human.

"Let me go, Steve, let me go! I won't leave him, fuck, fuck you, I WON'T LEAVE HIM! EDDIE! EDDIE!" Robin watches the way he digs his fingernails into the exposed skin at Steve's neck, unprotected by his suit, drawing blood with each rake of his fingers.

Steve is unfazed, his eyes hard and intense as he drags Dustin towards the quarantine doors. Robin can't hear what he says to Dustin, even when Dustin screams back.

"I HATE YOU."

It hurts her, because she knows how it's no doubt hurting Steve, even as he shoves Dustin through the air lock, sealing him behind glass and silencing his screams.

Steve should have gone through too, but Robin knows him. It's why she hasn't closed the portal yet, why she hasn't moved from her station to do damage control, to log the losses:

Crew Member Eddie Munson — KIA

She watches Steve instead, as he picks up his saber and weaponry again, pulling it over his shoulder as he steps back up to the platform, the static electricity of the portal arching up to meet him, like fingers begging to draw him through.

He stops though, and Robin could cry—unsurprised and still grateful that he treats her to one last look. It says everything and nothing, because nothing needs to be said, not between the two of them.

I love you. I'll miss you. I'll come back to you, in this life or the next.

And then Steve turns, and steps through the portal. Robin cuts the contact as he goes, killing the link between them with a sob tearing through her chest. She adds him into the mental log in her list:

First Lieutenant Steve Harrington — KIA

She only allows herself the barest moment to grieve before she moves. The entire ship will be cut off and isolated soon, until central command can guarantee the ship isn't infected. She only has so much time to get to a rescue pod. She only has so much time until Nancy—

"Robin."

Robin doesn't slow her pace, even as Nancy catches up to her, her hand on Robin's wrist. She doesn't let Nancy turn her away, doesn't let her slow her down.

"You can't," Nancy says, hisses, her ire hiding her own grief. Nancy always turns emotion into cold rage. "He's gone, Robin. You can't save him."

"I can," Robin snaps, snarling when Nancy sighs, like Robin is some overemotional child.

"Do I really mean so little to you?"

"That's the difference between us," Robin says, ripping her arm from Nancy's fingers. She turns on the heel of her boot, and it's the first time that she's ever dared to look down her nose as Nancy, Nancy who she loves, love to hold, to kiss, to touch. Her Commander off-world. "Between Steve and the rest of us. You've got everyone sorted so easy in your head, each one ranked higher than the other, who you can and can't live without."

"Robin—"

"And I do, too," Robin admits, teeth grinding together, the fear and sadness burning a hole through her chest, yawning wide and wider and threatening to consume her. "I do, too, and I can't live without him.

"But Steve? Steve would die for any of us, every one of us, even your fucking brother who already left him for dead once."

Nancy gapes at her, her pretty face pale and her eyes red.

"Steve would die for me a thousand times," Robin tells her, her voice wobbling, the righteousness bleeding from her mouth like an open wound, leaving on the anxiety, the fear. "And he'll die for Eddie a million times.

"But I'm not going to let him. I'm going to go get them both and bring them home and fuck you if you think you can stop me."

Nancy stares. Says nothing.

And Robin leaves.

#stranger things #steddie #ronance #stobin #dustin meets her at the pod and they go rescue their guys who are surviving together alone on a hostile planet #(this story would have been an excuse to do survivalist steddie cuddling for warmth but like scifi flavored)#dw nancy isn't far behind she's bringing the firepower and ronance makes up #blows a kiss to the stars #gimme inspiration to finish things pls #shush mal #my fic #dribble drabble #my steddies

83 notes · View notes

adultish-momma · 2 months ago

Text

Rose Thorns

Fighting monsters hits a lot different when the monster wears a face you know.

Funny how hard it is to break the cycle.

(Or the fic about Riddle's Overblot and the aftermath of that fight)

Warings!: gore, blood, violence, injury, near death experiences, parental abuse, controlling parental figure.

A/N: I found most of this draft in my phone notes app, so here I am bringing it to light. This one is a bit darker, but it's a scene I've had visualized for years now and needed to finally put down in writing. Please mind the trigger warnings. Again, this is a fic specifically about Riddle's Overblot and his Trauma Dump(tm) chapter, so if any of those scenes bother you in the offical game, do yourself a favor and skip this one.

And as always, if you think I've missed a warning, please let me know. Thank you!

They say that when you're knocking on death's door, the world looses its colors. Life quite literally seems to bleed out of everything you can see, leaving a grayscale mockery in its wake. There's probably a scientific reason for it, something to do with "primary functions". Some people wax poetic about the experience, weaving romantic words to paint a bleak moment with some measure of sense. There's lots of different interpretations of what goes on behind this phenomenon, this almost universal experience.

The rose garden had fallen into an ashy wasteland, grays and whites and blacks interrupted only by splashes of crimson red. Riddle's red hair, his glowing red eye, and the roses dripping with a suspicious red liquid. (The stench of copper and decay did little to disguise what that liquid could be). Even the Heartslabyul students that stayed behind to help knock some sense into their wayward leader were slowly draining of color, the looming shadow of the ink monster steadily darkening their bright visages.

Yuu wondered if the world looking so gray was new to Riddle, or if this is how his black and white upbringing had always altered his perception of the way things were.

The prefect wasn't supposed to be here. Crowley had personally escorted (read: dragged) them out in the initial wave of evacuation from the Heartslabyul dimension. But with so much panic going on, it was easy to slip back through the mirror. Easy to fight upstream through the crowd to return to the fight. All they had to think about was who was left behind, and suddenly returning to fight an impossible fight was an easy decision.

They thought of Trey and Cater, fighting for the life of their friend, two upperclassmen who accepted this random magicless student and monstrous feline (no matter what their motives might have been). They thought of Ace, Deuce, and Grim, facing yet another monster, this time with a face they recognized, with a face they respected. They thought of Riddle, a tyrant born from only knowing abusive love, angry and hurting and dying.

Choosing to come back and help was easy. What was hard was trying to figure out how to help.

The monster behind the House Warden roared, solidifying its inky shape the longer it fed on Riddle's magic. It was almost as if the giant caricature of the Queen of Hearts was using Riddle Rosehearts as a conduit for its own power. Wait... magical conduit... your magestone completely tainted with blot...

Holy shit his magestone.

The Ramshackle Prefect frantically searched the Overblotted form of the Heartslabyul Dorm Leader with their eyes, hoping to easily spot the stone. No such luck. They turned their gaze to their friends, hoping to let somebody know this battle changing, tide turing information. That's when they saw him.

Grim, lying haphazardly on the edge of the battlefield. Rosehearts must have flung him. His blue flames were flickering, small tendrils of blue slowly turning gray. He looked so unlike the lively character they've been rooming with the past week, now he looked small, vulnerable, fragile.

The flame in one of Grim's ears snuffs out.

They need to act. Now.

There's no thought behind Yuu's next move, not really, there's no time. People are going to die. And if Riddle Rosehearts lives to see tomorrow, he's going to live with being a murderer if they don't do something right exactly the fuck now.

Riddle had been defending himself from the mages in the garden. You know, the people who posed an actual threat to him. He never even registed the prefect on the sidelines. The red-head was not expecting to get physically tackled from his blindside.

Yuu is desperately trying to pin the very dangerous mage beneath them while simultaneously searching for his magestone. Ink coils around the boy, tightly constricting around his ribcage. Almost like a corset. And something pulses and glows just beneath the faux corset. They have their fingers reaching, pushing past all that insidious black and-

A scream rips from Yuu's throat, pain searing through their left thigh, and the previously grayscale world implodes with color.

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

Yuu has been having some strange dreams ever since they've arrived in Twisted Wonderland, but this one has to take the cake.

They watch as if through a sepia-tinted screen Riddle Rosehearts grow up under his mother's watchful eye. They see the moment he meets Trey and Chenya. It's almost like a movie, it even sounds as if Riddle is narrating his tragic backstory.

Something in them sparks as Riddle's mother berates him for eating that strawberry tart. Maybe it's just her tone, or the look on Riddle's face, or heck maybe it has something to do with their own shrouded past in their old world, but they can't just passively watch anymore.

"Shut up!" The words echo in the dreamspace, loud and commanding. Both mother and son pause, bewilderment taking over their faces. The voice of the Riddle they know now even quiets, and as the prefect steps in front of the young boy, everything in the memory comes to a standstill.

The Ramshackle Prefect begins arguing with Dr. Rosehearts, snarling and ferocious in their pursuit to protect the young Riddle of this realm. And the real Riddle? He's watching this all. He's watching how Yuu keeps physically blocking his mother from coming any nearer to his younger self. He's watching as the magicless student that publically humiliated him earlier that week, humilitaed him because they were able to keep their cool when he was not, he watches as they lose their composure. He hears them when they say:

"Rules are meant to keep people safe! But this? This is about control and abuse. It doesn't help Riddle, all it does is turn you into a monster."

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

Riddle wakes up with a start, eyes flying open and darting, hands twitching like he's looking for something.

"Riddle!!" Trey appears in his line of sight, breathless and shaking but looking relieved. Cater's bright orange hair also pops into view, but this upperclassman still looks stressed, looking between his House Warden and something over Trey's shoulder.

"Your back," Trey says, pressing hands against the sophmore's body to make sure he was, in fact, alright. "We thought you might never wake up."

"Wha-"

"Hench-human come on! This isn't funny anymore!"

"Shit this is so much blood, fuck my jacket's soaked through."

"Move over, we have to apply pressure to both ends of the wound."

"No shit Juice, but there's a fucking hole through their leg -"

"WAKE UP YUU! Please, please, please wake up"

Riddle doesn't want to look, doesn't want to see the carnage. He still sees them as they were in his dream-memory, strong and sturdy, able to withstand his biggest fear without a second thought.

But this is Yuu, his Yuu. So he turns around, because he needs to see them with his own eyes.

What he sees makes him want to vomit.

Ace and Deuce are crouched by the prefect's legs, the boys' jackets wrapped tight around Yuu's right leg. Jackets that are now more red than white. Grim is frantically pawing at Yuu's face, tears soaking into his fur. And Yuu?

Yuu is pale, paler than they've ever been. Lips turning blue. Their chest is expanding, thank the Seven, but just barely, and not as often as it should be. And shattered on the ground around them, some shards still lodged in their closed fist, is Riddle's black magestone.

Riddle watches, numb to everything around him. Eyes fixed on his broken magestone. He doesn't notice Trey trying to talk to him, doesn't register Ace screaming at him, he only comes back to when Cater loads Yuu up on his broom and takes off.

Riddle picks up on of the shards left behind, black, nasty, angry magic still faintly pulsing from the stone. Magic that almost killed him today. Anger that has been killing him his whole life.

Yuu saved him today, in more ways than one.

Riddle pockets the shard, placing it in his breast pocket, right above his still aching heart. A reminder of their sacrifice. A reminder to earn their sacrifice when they wake up.

And a reminder to look into all those Heartslabyul rules and maybe, just maybe, update them. Afterall, rules are there to keep those he loves safe.

#twisted wonderland x reader #rewrite au #twisted wonderland #rewrite lore #twst riddle x reader #Mirrors are Never to be Trusted #twisted wonderland riddle #twst riddle #tw: injury #tw: violence #tw: blood #tw: gore #tw: parental abuse #tw: controlling parents

37 notes · View notes

driflew · 1 month ago

Note

Blindsided au?

i wrote a partner piece to the Ren dream thing about Martyn and dreams/nightmares, so here's that

Martyn’s vision is red. His left eye stings with salt and blood and sweat and he can barely feel it for the cutting pain of every other part of his body.

There’s a knife or perhaps a thousand, gleefully carving up his entire right side. There is blinding pain up his back and across his chest and down his arm. There is a hole in his face and a chasm in his chest and he can feel every wailing burning nerve exposed to the open sky. Martyn cries out, but his attacker takes no pause and feels no mercy.

Martyn’s heart beats so hard and loud he’s certain it’ll just shake its way out of his chest to fall out of the serrated skin and splash onto the street.

Martyn wakes up screaming. He sits up in bed, arms pinwheeling wildly, swiping at an opponent he can’t see.

One of his hands grabs at his chest, looking for a knife he doesn’t find. It’s only fabric, dry and intact, as if he isn’t even hurt.

And… he isn’t. He isn’t in pain. It takes him a moment of panting in the dark to remember, but Martyn isn’t hurt.

Martyn is… Martyn’s in his bedroom—a fist in the sheets below him confirms that. He doesn’t close his eyes—can’t let himself, not yet—but when he makes himself stop, stare down at his legs, and breathe, he’s able to remind himself of the safety of his room and the rocking of his ship, to ground himself with the ocean’s waves.

Martyn is… not by himself. His door is open, but the sliver of light is blocked. There’s someone at the door, watching him from across the room. He glances up, unsure what to expect, but his shoulders sag as he takes in who’s here.

“Ren?” Martyn asks. He’s surprised at how small his voice sounds, but the silhouette puts him at ease.

“Your majesty,” Ren corrects, and yes, it’s him. It’s difficult to tell, with the only meager light coming from Ren’s back, but the ears and unchanged clothing give him away. His arms are crossed, his tail loose by his leg, and his expression is completely lost to the night.

It wasn’t often either of them had bad dreams, way back then. Martyn’s were always the silly, meaningless sort, like heading into town without his clothes or all of his teeth falling out. Ren’s always slept light, and so was always woken by Martyn’s tossing and turning, already sitting up and fretting by the time Martyn finally woke. Martyn used to laugh when he told Ren about whatever dumb dream he’d had, soothing himself until both of them could sleep again.

Martyn’s nightmares aren’t laughable now. He takes a second to breathe, still gasping, still trying to get his panic under control. Ren leans against the doorframe, but whatever he thinks of this display, Martyn can’t tell.

Martyn would really love to be able to sleep again.

“I know you’re angry and not really giving me the time of day right now,” Martyn says, “But it’s night, so. Would you… would you sit with me? Just for a minute.”

“No.” Ren doesn’t hesitate. Doesn’t even think. Martyn’s breath hitches, though he hopes Ren doesn’t catch it.

“Right, yeah,” Martyn says. He would have thought Ren would at least let him have this. They were close for years—does Ren really think so little of him? “Don’t— Don’t know why I even asked.”

Ren says nothing. Martyn can’t see his face like this, backlit by the low moon, and he’s not sure what he imagines it to be. Maybe it’s a mercy that Martyn can’t see it—does Ren look at him with disdain even now?

“You’re probably tired,” Martyn says, because suddenly, he doesn’t want Ren to look at him. “I appreciate you coming to check on me, but you don’t need to. Sorry for waking you. Go get some sleep.”

“I wasn’t coming to check on you,” Ren says, “I thought you were being murdered. I wanted to see.”

With that, Ren turns around and leaves. He doesn’t bother to close Martyn’s door, so Martyn hears clearly the sound of Ren’s own door opening, closing, and locking. Martyn feels numb as he stands, heading over to his door to shut it himself.

Normally, Martyn would leave it unlocked for Ren to reach him, but just this once, he clicks it shut. Clearly, Ren has no interest, and…

Martyn returns to the bed, sitting on the side. Clearly, Ren has no interest. Not in Martyn apologizing for his absence, not in Martyn earning his forgiveness. Not in Martyn at all, really, not a shred of care or sympathy left to spare him.

…Fuck.

Martyn really messed up, huh? Maybe if he’d fought harder to get back to the castle. Maybe if he’d fought harder against the man with the knife. Maybe if he hadn’t gone out that night at all. Maybe if he’d just fucking bled to death.

At the very least, he thinks it would have hurt less.

—

Martyn’s vision is red. There’s someone over him with one hand on his neck and fingers at his face, above his right. He can hardly see them except as shadows, growing larger, getting closer, blacking out his vision—

Martyn wakes up screaming. He sits up, the hand having released him, but there’s still someone there at the edge of his blind spot. His head snaps over, mind blanks with panic, as the stranger comes closer to him.

Martyn swings as hard as he can at the shape. His movements are clumsy, his body barely awake, but all he can think about is the feeling of fingers in his eye socket.

The person jumps back, out of his reach, but puts their hands up in an attempt to pacify. The silhouette isn’t right—it’s familiar, but it’s not what he expects it to be. It takes him a moment to place it, and in his hesitation, the stranger starts to speak.

“Martyn, it’s me, it’s okay. I’m not going to hurt you,” he says, and Martyn realizes slowly that he knows that voice.

“Ren?”

“It’s me. I’m sorry I scared you. It’s just me,” Ren confirms. Martyn wants to let that relax him, but his shoulders don’t budge, and his breathing gets no easier.

Ren reaches out slowly, looking to grab onto Martyn’s arm. The entire right side of Martyn’s body thrums with agony too well remembered, and flares painfully at the suggestion of touch. Martyn shakes his head, drawing all his limbs in toward himself, just so Ren can’t reach any of them.

“Not— Don’t. Not right now,” Martyn says. He’s still gasping, so he forces himself to take a long, shaky breath in. “I can still feel— it won’t help.”

Ren’s hands drop back into his lap. His ears are flat against his head, distress obvious. Martyn wants to reach up and scratch one, but his palm burns at the thought.

“Is there anything I can do?” Ren asks. Martyn pauses before he answers, trying to slow his breathing. It doesn’t fully work, but he at least makes it manageable enough to talk.

“Sit with me. Where I— where I can see you,” Martyn says.

Ren pulls away, out of the bed entirely. He moves toward the end, sitting where Martyn’s legs had been a moment before. Martyn’s out of his reach, though he occupies his nervous hands by brushing his fingers through his own tail.

“Does this help?” Ren asks. Martyn knows it must be eating at him to not be able to immediately soothe Martyn the way Martyn always seems to do for him, but still, Martyn nods.

“Just— just need to see where I am,” Martyn says, “Till my body remembers I’m not actually dying.”

“Is that what you were dreaming about?” Ren asks.

“Sort of,” Martyn says. He doesn’t really want to talk about it, but he knows Ren well enough to realize he won’t be settled unless he knows why Martyn’s screaming his throat raw in the middle of the night. “Losing my eye. That whole— that whole fight. Barely even a fight—I was pretty lame, if I’m honest. Was— was just torture.”

Martyn can’t see Ren’s face. It’s too dark to even guess what he might be thinking, and Martyn doesn’t have the energy to try. Maybe it’s for the best—he doesn’t want to know what his king thinks of the fact he lost his eye without hardly scratching his killer.

“It’ll pass,” Martyn adds, into the silence. He smoothes one of his hands against their blanket, drying the sweat off his palm and reminding himself he’s somewhere safer and softer than blood-streaked stone. His heart still feels like it’s going to break right out of his chest, but his brain, at least, knows he’s safe.

“Before,” Ren ventures, careful, “When I had a really bad nightmare, you showed me how to count my breathing. You said someone else showed you. Is this why?”

“Yeah. Used to be really annoying back when I was in the men’s quarters with the rest of them—pretty sure half the reason they made me captain was so they didn’t hear me screaming awake every other month,” Martyn laughs, but it’s not particular cheery. “Scar showed me, surprisingly enough. Did it for me once or twice while everyone else pretended they were still asleep.”

“Did it work?” Ren asks, “The counting, I mean.”

“Some— sometimes. Not really good at counting it myself,” Martyn says. Ren nods. He turns his whole body to be facing Martyn, placing his hands in his lap.

“Okay,” Ren says, “Follow me, then.”

If there’s one thing Martyn knows he can do, it’s that.

Ren counts and Martyn follows, breathing in or out as Ren directs. All the nerves are gone from Ren’s voice—an effect of the crown, Martyn supposes. He must be good at hiding when he’s unsteady. It makes him soothing to listen to, and before Martyn knows it, his heart is actually coming down. His body stops aching in parts, remembering his pain healed years ago. Still, when Martyn reaches out to Ren, the hand he lifts is his left.

“Just hold it for now?” Martyn says, palm-up, and Ren is quick to link their hands together.

#blindsided #lew writes

24 notes · View notes

set-phasers-to-whump · 1 month ago

Text

decisions

prompt: forced choice

whumpee: illya kuryakin

fandom: the man from uncle

hi this one got a bit longer than intended but such is. it's pre-ship and features a bit of whump for napoleon as well. hope you like!

Napoleon wakes up and before he so much as opens his eyes he ascertains that he’s tied up, quite severely, to a chair which is bolted to the floor. His bindings are rope, scratchy and thick. At least his shoes are still on and there is no water surrounding his feet. Small victories.

He opens his eyes and discovers that he’s not alone.

Illya’s sitting across from him, similarly tied up. He’s sweaty from effort, but his bonds appear unaffected, and it is at this point that Napoleon realizes that they’re not going to be getting out of this easily.

“Are you alright?” he asks, and Illya nods.

“You?”

He nods as well. Wonders what fate holds for them, knows it can hardly be pleasant.

The man who enters the room just then is not someone Napoleon knows. Nor Illya, from the looks of it. He smiles, quite friendly, and Napoleon is put deeply on edge.

The man stands directly in front of him. “Nice to finally meet you, Mr. Solo,” he says smoothly, which is another bad sign.

“Now. Let’s get straight into it. Left or right?”

“What?” This is decidedly not the sort of question he’d been expecting, and he can’t make heads or tails of it. The man’s hands are loose, so he’s hardly hiding any kind of nasty surprise, and there’s nothing in the room that makes this question make sense.

“You heard me. Left or right?”

“In regards to what, exactly?”

The man grins again. “Just choose.”

Napoleon shrugs as much as the bindings will allow. “Left, I suppose.”

The man whistles sharply, and a door at the back of the room opens. Another man enters, looking considerably more physically imposing. So he’s got minions, Napoleon thinks. Great.

“He wants the left,” reports the man in charge. His goon nods, slipping a length of metal pipe from out of his sleeve. Shit, Napoleon thinks, and braces himself for a hit.

Except it never comes. The minion, as Napoleon has already begun calling him, approaches Illya, and so suddenly that Napoleon cannot so much as cry out, he swings the pipe directly into Illya’s left ankle.

There’s an audible crunching sound, and Illya lets out a sharp breath. Napoleon just stares at him, shocked.

“What the hell?”

“Don’t speak unless I tell you to,” says the man in charge. His voice is flippant and yet belies an enormous amount of power.

Napoleon shuts up.

“Now then. Let’s let the real fun begin, shall we, Mr. Solo?”

“What do you want?”

Another unnervingly placid smile. “Only to hurt you.”

“Funny way of doing that, hitting him instead of me.”

The smile widens. “Oh, trust me. You’ll hurt plenty.”

Napoleon elects to ignore him, for the time being. He focuses instead on Illya, who is breathing heavily in the way he does when he’s trying to control a rather immense amount of pain. I’m sorry, Napoleon thinks, as if Illya will hear. I didn’t know that would happen.

“My next question, Mr. Solo, is this: waterboarding, or whipping?”

Napoleon blinks. Doesn’t answer. What the hell?

“I won’t repeat myself next time, and he’ll just end up getting both. Choose, for his sake.”

“You’re not—why not me?”

“I’m sure you’ll work it out. Now choose.”

Napoleon locks eyes with Illya, who looks back, unflinching. He blinks once, very deliberately, and Napoleon speaks before he can question it.

“Waterboarding.”

He knows Illya’s trained for this. They both have, in their time. This does absolutely nothing now. Napoleon’s heart beats wildly in his chest and there’s a sense of rage threatening to consume him as the minion approaches Illya with a towel and a bucket.

Watching his partner be waterboarded is one of the most painful things that Napoleon has ever experienced. The way he fights, absolutely futilely, as the towel is placed over his face, as the water is poured over. The way his body thrashes against the restraints. The way he coughs and gasps when the towel is pulled away, only to be replaced mere seconds later.

Waterboarding is supposed to make the victim want to speak, to share every secret they’ve got, but at the moment Illya isn’t so much as making a peep, while Napoleon feels like he’d spill everything he knows if they’d only stop.

“Stop!” he shouts, though he knows that they won’t listen.

“Shut up. Every time you speak without me telling you to, I’ll hurt him just that little bit more.”

To prove his point, the towel is replaced once more. Illya gasps for breath and it turns into a horrible coughing and spluttering as the water—the last of it, it looks like—is once again poured over his face.

When the towel is removed this time, it’s placed neatly onto a table, and the bucket is set onto the floor. Napoleon observes these things out of the corner of his eye, the bulk of his attention focused on Illya's coughing, shivering body across from him.

When the coughing at last subsides, the man approaches Napoleon again. He is so angry he can barely hear the words spoken to him over the pounding of blood in his head.

“Hammer or pliers?”

“Leave him. The fuck. Alone.”

“I’m afraid I can’t do that. I’d like to see you suffer a bit more, first.”

“I’m going to kill you.”

“Bigger men than you have tried. Choose, or shall I remind you of the rules again?”

Brief eye contact with Illya, another single blink. Napoleon hopes to god he’s reading this right, that Illya isn’t simply doing this coincidentally, that he’s at least allowing his partner the freedom to choose.

Choose. Right. He feels sick. Wishes, above all else, that it was him in Illya’s position, making decisions about his own fate.

“Hammer,” he says, and his voice sounds alien to his ears.

“I do hate to repeat a question, but needs must. Left or right?”

Another single blink.

“Left.”

He doesn’t want to watch. But he has to.

The hammer comes crashing down onto Illya’s left hand and there’s a sickening cracking noise and Illya makes this completely involuntary sound of pain and shock and Napoleon feels like his entire being is getting ripped in two.

“Stomach or chest?”

The single blink again. Napoleon cannot wrench his attention away from the tear that travels its way down Illya’s cheek.

That metal pipe makes a reappearance, slams into Illya’s stomach. There’s a loud exhale as the air is forced out of Illya’s lungs, and he gags harshly.

God, Napoleon is going to be sick. He’s sitting here watching and making decisions and Illya is getting tortured and he can’t do fucking anything about it.

He can feel blood trickling down his wrists from where he’s been straining against the ropes with every action taken against his partner. He focuses his attention on this infinitesimally small pain, hates himself for losing focus on Illya for even a second, but—

He wants nothing more than to break free of these restraints and kill this guy. Brutally, if necessary.

“Fingers or toes?”

He forces his attention back to Illya. Two blinks.

“Toes.”

The minion places his entire weight onto Illya’s left foot, the same one he’d previously smashed with the pipe, and Illya groans. Napoleon struggles harder against the ropes, without making it obvious what he’s doing.

When the minion at last steps off of Illya’s foot, his partner is crying. It’s involuntary, a pain response, and Napoleon knows this, and god, he understands. What the man had meant earlier, when he’d asked, why not me?

This is more painful than anything else they could do to him, by far.

“What you want?” Illya asks. It’s the first time he’s spoken and his voice is wrecked, all small and shaky and wrong.

The minion steps back and to the left, faces Illya, and the man in charge gets up into his space. They’re not looking, and Napoleon fights frantically against the ropes in this window of opportunity.

“Don’t speak.” There’s the sound of a slap, but Napoleon isn’t paying attention. He’s got the ropes off his wrists, and he’s untying the ones around his ankles as quickly as he can.

“Or else what?” Illya asks, and Napoleon knows he’s seen him, knows he’s doing what he needs to do so that they can get out of this.

There’s a dull thud and a wince.

“I suggest you don’t try to find out.”

He’s done it. The ropes are gone. He just has to get up, while their backs are still turned—

They’re turning back around. Fuck!

There’s no time to do anything, but then Illya says, “fuck you,” which takes Napoleon completely by surprise—he can count on one hand the number of times he’s heard Illya curse in English—and it takes the other men by surprise, too, because they both turn back around just before their eyes would’ve landed on Napoleon.

The hammer is picked back up and just as it’s being brought down onto Illya’s already destroyed hand, Napoleon flings himself out of the chair.

He tackles the minion first, not quite stopping the hammer but at least preventing it from doing maximum damage. He wrests the implement from its wielder’s grasp, smashes it into the man’s head. He goes limp immediately.

One down.

The other man, the mastermind of this horrific torture scheme, is standing above him with the metal pipe in his hands. He swings it down, and Napoleon just barely rolls out of the way. The pipe hits the body of the minion instead, adding insult to injury.

Napoleon leaps to his feet. The fight is harder than he would’ve expected, given the relatively small size of his opponent and his apparent unwillingness to do any of the truly nasty work.

Still, he gets there in the end. He sacrifices himself to a couple strong hits from the pipe, but then the hammer connects with the man’s skull and this wave of pure anger and adrenaline overtakes him.

He loses himself for a second. And then Illya’s saying, “it’s enough, Cowboy, stop,” and he opens his eyes and finds himself straddling a body which is only vaguely recognizable as Illya’s torturer.

He drops the hammer to the ground with a deafening clatter and then gets to his feet. His hands are covered in blood and he can taste it in his mouth.

He’s gone, is the first thing Napoleon thinks, untying Illya with trembling hands. He can’t hurt him anymore. Illya’s safe.

“I’m so sorry,” he says quietly, as he unties the ropes around Illya’s ankles. “God, Illya, I’m so sorry.”

“You did not hurt me,” Illya responds, wincing as Napoleon inadvertently brushes a hand against his injured ankle. “No reason to apologize.”

“He hurt you because of me.”

“No, he did this because of him. Come, we should leave.”

Napoleon wants to argue. Wants to apologize for the rest of his life, wants Illya to yell at him and tell him to go to hell, wants—

He wants to hold onto Illya forever and protect him, even though he knows Illya’s more than capable of protecting himself. He wants to be around Illya always, to threaten those that would come near him, try and harm him like they had today.

He doesn’t know what he wants, in short, and his heart is still pounding and he feels dizzy with relief and guilt and about a million other things he can only guess at.

Their getaway is slow-going. Illya can barely walk on his destroyed ankle, although he does his best. They limp out of the building, Napoleon with the hammer in hand lest anyone else should come crawling out of the woodwork.

But they meet no one. The path to their car is mercifully short, and Napoleon drives them back to their safehouse with his hands clenched firmly around the wheel so that they’ll stop shaking.

“It’s okay,” Illya says, quiet and sudden, when they’re about a mile away from their destination. “I know…I know you will blame yourself about this. But you did not do anything. It is not your fault.”

Napoleon suddenly finds himself blinking back tears. Get it together, he tells himself. It’s not you who was just tortured. At least not physically.

“I just sat there,” he all but whispers, after a beat. “They were torturing you, and I just sat there and gave them directions.”

“They made this decision. And you told them to do what I chose.”

“He said—he said he was hurting you to hurt me.”

“And?”

“That makes it my fault, Illya,” Napoleon says, and he can’t quite stop his voice from breaking.

“It is his fault,” Illya says, and there’s the familiar sureness in his voice that has heretofore been missing. “He wanted to hurt us. You did not make this decision.”

“But—”

“No. Not your fault. I do not blame you, you cannot blame you.”

Napoleon does not know how to argue against this. Even though the guilt feels like it is going to eat him alive.

They arrive back at the safehouse, and he helps Illya through the door. There’s about a million things that they need to do. Tend to Illya’s injuries. Contact Waverly. Pack and prepare for an evac.

Illya collapses immediately onto the couch. He’s damp with water and sweat and blood, his hand is swelling something awful, and his ankle must be faring similarly. He looks absolutely exhausted and pained, and Napoleon is about to start bustling around, gathering ice and bandages and alcohol and cotton balls, but then Illya lightly taps the space beside him.

“Sit with me?” he asks, and Napoleon thinks he’d do absolutely anything Illya asked of him right now.

He sits, looks at his partner. Illya is looking back at him, terribly vulnerable beneath the tiredness and hurt, and Napoleon feels himself begin to properly cry.

He shouldn’t be crying. He’s not even hurt, besides the scrapes around his wrists and the bruises from the pipe. But there’s nothing for it and no way of stopping now that he’s started.

“Napoleon,” Illya begins, but Napoleon cuts him off.

“Just—I don’t want to hurt you any more, but can I—can I touch you?”

It sounds pathetic and stupid but he just wants a physical reassurance that Illya’s here, still alive despite the torture and not even upset with him, after everything. That protective feeling is back, hot in his chest.

“Okay.”

He carefully pulls Illya towards him, gentle as he can be, attentive to any indication of discomfort.

He doesn’t get any. Quite the opposite, actually. Illya leans into him, warm and still trembling a bit, and Napoleon wraps an arm around him and just holds on.

thanks for reading! hope you liked <3

#whumptober2024 #no.23 #forced choice #fic #the man from uncle #torture #tied up #emotional whump #comfort #my writing #i say things #illya kuryakin #ough. still a bit sick and so mad about it.#also lazy about it and i need to not be. i got shit to do man! but instead i'm lying around rewatching slow horses lol #such is life. tomorrow i'll do real work. i must.

24 notes · View notes