#yet again loosing control in a way that's going to hurt only me

[seumyo]

rainy mornings with husband!bakugou

Bakugou didn’t like the rain. That was a fact.

But the thing about rain is that it’s inevitable, something that only nature has control over (and additionally the particular people who have rain-based Quirks).

The rain was steady, soft against the windows like a lullaby. It wasn’t a storm, he notes, just a lazy morning drizzle that blurred the glass and painted the world in cool grays and muted greens.

He stood at the stove, barefoot, wearing loose black sweats and one of your hoodies—oversized on you but fitting snug on him (he remembered the sheer happiness you had when he told you your parcel finally arrived). The sleeves were a little too short, exposing his forearms as he stirred a pan of scrambled eggs with slow, unhurried movements.

He wasn’t in a rush, and for once, there wasn’t any tension in his shoulders. Thank god his schedule was getting lighter these days, especially as Japan is now entering a much colder rainy season this year.

Behind him, you were curled up on the couch, legs tucked under you, a throw blanket tossed lazily over your lap. You hadn’t bothered changing out of your pajama shirt yet—one of his old Dynamight shirts (which he was sure was sold at a golden price nowadays since it was one of the first ones released), faded from too many washes. You had your tablet propped on your knee, aimlessly scrolling through something, one hand cradling a mug of still-steaming tea.

He glanced over his shoulder, watching your thumb flick across the screen, your brows furrowed just the tiniest bit in that way that always made him want to kiss it away.

Damn marriage making him soft.

Having him thinking of kissing your worries away and whatnot.

“You ready to eat?” His voice was low, rough with sleep still lingering around the edges, though he’d been up for a bit now. It was the kind of morning that made him feel stress-free again—quiet, warm, you.

You didn’t even look up. “Mm… not yet. Gimme ten more minutes.”

Bakugou snorted, scooping the eggs onto a plate with a quiet clink of the spatula. “You said that ten minutes ago.”

“I did not,” you murmured, still distracted. “I said that fifteen minutes ago.”

“You callin’ me a liar?”

“...Nossir.” No, Sir.

“Uh huh.”

He turned off the burner and walked over to you, crossing the room with his usual quiet authority. You didn’t flinch when he sat down next to you and didn’t look up as he leaned in to press his lips to your temple. You just shifted slightly, making room for him as if it were the most natural thing in the world—which, honestly, it was.

Because if you hadn’t seen all of him by now—

Ahem, then casual intimacy would be a bit awkward when you’re 4 years into your marriage.

“You’re not even really lookin’ at anything,” he muttered, resting his chin on your shoulder.

“I’m looking at furniture,” you replied, lifting the tablet slightly for him to see. “For the entryway. I found this bench with drawers under it. It’s soo cute.”

He peered at it, expression blank. “It’s a bench.”

You gave a dramatic sigh. Here we go.

“It’s a functional bench. With storage. It’s called multi-purpose, Katsuki.”

“Yeah? Looks like a trip hazard to me,” he said, lips twitching at the corners.

You gave him a lazy elbow in the side, just enough pressure to make him grunt but not enough to move him. “You’d survive.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time I busted my ass ‘cause of somethin’ you brought into the house,” he said, smirking now, eyes flicking down to the tiny mountain of throw pillows on the floor that had been there since you reorganized the couch again last week. “You and your ‘aesthetic.’”

You finally looked away from your screen, giving him an unimpressed look. That expression—one he knew all too well—is so fucking cute it makes his chest hurt.

“You like the aesthetic when it’s candles and not vanilla-scented ones and have things that are either black or white instead of having color. What’re we trying to have here? A monochrome house?”

“Didn’t say I didn’t like it,” he said, and kissed your cheek again, slower this time. “Just sayin’… you got a way of makin’ this place feel lived in. That’s all.”

That made you pause. You turned your head just slightly, enough to meet his eyes, your features softened, and your smile became a little cheeky. “That’s sweet of you. I knew I had that effect on you.”

He shrugged, embarrassed now, and tried to cover it up by reaching for your tea. “This still warm?”

“Get your own,” you said without bite, holding it out of reach.

He let out a soft huff and leaned into your space more, nose brushing against your jaw. Because if anything, the husband version of Bakugou Katsuki—your husband Bakugou Katsuki—doesn’t have a concept of personal space during mornings.

“You really gonna deny your husband a sip? Really? When I prepared this for you?”

“You’re gonna drink half of it.”

“I will if you keep holdin’ it hostage,” he threatened, and you laughed—an actual, sleepy laugh—and finally let him take the mug. He took a sip, then handed it back with a little grunt of satisfaction. “Uh huh. Made it right today.”

“I make it better.”

“You put too much honey in it sometimes.”

“I like it sweet.”

“I like you sweet,” he said under his breath, then added, “Not your damn tea. That’s a health hazard at some point, dummy.”

You rolled your eyes but leaned over and bumped your forehead against his. He stayed there for a beat, closing his eyes as he let the closeness sink in. Outside, the rain kept falling, and the whole apartment smelled like eggs, toast, and the faint vanilla candle you lit sometime before he got out of bed.

“You gonna eat with me or what?” he murmured against your skin.

“In a bit,” you said again. “You’re warm. And it’s raining. I don’t wanna move yet.”

He made a low sound in his throat, something between a hum and a sigh, and settled in beside you, one arm looping behind your shoulders, the other resting on the blanket over your legs.

“This your excuse to make me feed you like last time?”

You smiled, sleep still tugging at the corners of your lips. “Maybe. That’s what husbands are for, right? Serving their spouses?”

“You’re a pain.”

“And you love me—unless you don’t. Then I’ll have you know I will be taking the washing machine with me; that one’s the most expensive piece of furniture we have.”

Bakugou snorted. “Really?” he says. “But fuckin’ right I do,” he added, voice low and reverent now. “I love you ‘til the sun fucking explodes, and even after.”

...

“That was poetic, hun. You should’ve written that for our vows.”

“... I’m regrettin’ that I forgot.”

You sat in silence for a while; the only sounds were the rain, the occasional tap of your fingernail on the screen, and the soft buzz of the world going on without them. Bakugou didn’t mind the quiet—not with you, at least.

You made it feel full instead of awkward.

Safe.

Eventually, you sighed and leaned into his side, closing the tablet and letting it slip onto the couch cushion beside you. “Okay,” you murmured. “Maybe I’m ready now. Because I don’t like cold eggs.”

He kissed the top of your head. “Yeah?”

You nodded, eyes half-closed. “But only if you bring it over here. Then we could continue watching that romance drama we forgot to finish because you went to Spain.”

Bakugou huffed, standing up with a stretch. “You’re spoiled.”

“You spoil me.”

He glanced at you over his shoulder as he walked back to the kitchen. “And don’t you forget it.”

He brought over the plates a minute later—eggs, toast, and a little variety of fruits because you liked it when he tried to be ‘balanced.’ He handed you the fork and watched as you thanked him and lazily started to eat, your movements slow, like your brain still hadn’t fully woken up.

He sat back down beside you, one knee brushing against yours under the blanket, and started eating his food, satisfied by the small sounds you made with each bite. It wasn’t fancy. It wasn’t flashy. But it was theirs—yours.

A rainy morning, warm food, the person he loved within arm’s reach—Bakugou couldn’t have asked for anything better.

So yeah, Bakugou might not like the rain, but he likes spending it with you.

SEUMYO © 2025. PLEASE DO NOT REPOST, PLAGIARIZE, MODIFY OR TRANSLATE.

[grugruel]

Sleeping With the Enemy

Pairings: Silco x f!reader

MDNI/NSFW

Masterlist

Summary: You're a councillors daughter secretly working with the Eye of Zaun, fulfilling each other's needs.

Political needs, of course. It's purely business. They would never be stupid enough to start an affair . . . Unless?

Wordcount: ca 3.5k

Warnings: enemies AND lovers, hate-fucking, toxic, Silco being evil, angsty, pinv sex, rough sex, power imbalance, fighting for control, complicated feelings, twisted love, forbidden relationship, dacryphilia ish, cockwarming, blowjob, fingering, edging, overstimulation, choking, cum eating, creampie, petnames (girl, princess, devil, Sil)

AN: yet to be proofread. This might be one of my favourite works, he's insane . . . I need him.

"Let go off me," she snarls, yanking mirthlessly against the strong womans grip. "Release me Sevika, or-"

"Or what?" She cuts the girl off with a sneer, metallic fingers sinching around her bicep. Sevika holds her close enough to force the girl to stare up through her eyebrows if she wants to achieve any semblance of eye contact.

"Or she tells her precious father," the man cuts in, a nonchalant smile to his tone.

"He doesn't know I'm here," the girl snaps, defiantly locking eyes with the industrialist. Clad in shadow, he's a mere silhouette backlit by Zaun's streets. "He doesn't know anything."

Picking up a brand new cigar, he clips the end and flicks a lighter open, toying with the flame. All in due time, he's not rushing to spoil such a favored treat.

"Good," he says and gestures dismissively, signaling his trusty henchman to leave.

Sevika releases the girl with a displeased huff and slams the door behind her. The only thing she likes less than piltovians, is them wandering too far from their fabricated safety and ending up on her doorstep.

She watches the muscular woman leave, staring at the closed door in contemplation as she once again finds herself alone with the eye of Zaun.

Something clatters behind her, a lighter discarded on a desk. "You're late," he mutters, bringing the smoking cigar to his lips.

Anger begins to blaze inside her. That's it? That's all he has to say? "Six enforcers are dead," she snaps, nose scrunching. Disgusted by the mere thought of that demon's violence. "She's a loose canon, Silco. She blew them up for the hell of it."

From the dark, a red orb slips her way. He leans forward, having the rooms gloomy light illuminate his face only to throw the girl a disapproving look, barely deeming it worthy to look her in the eyes. "You forget yourself, girl."

Swallowing, she forces herself to calm down. Aggrivating such a volatile man never proved a good idea, and displaying anger against his daughter proved even worse.

Carefully, she ventures closer. Testing the waters and finding them thick as mud. The very air around him emenates danger, and her body slows down, relucant to put itself in such unpredictable environments. "You broke our deal," she announciates, finding it safer to put the blame on him rather than the blue haired demon he protects so ferociously.

"You disrupted our shipment," he repeats her ridiculous attempt. "It's simple business. Collateral," he shrugs and gestures toward her, vaguely implying the deaths should be on the girls consience. He doesn't say it outright because he doesn't need to, because he doesn't care if it hurts her feelings. Because, he doesn't care about the lost lives of a few topsiders, lives of enforcers even less. In true rebel spirit.

Massively unimpressed, he sizes her up when she places herself on the other side of the desk. Gripping the edge, the wood is tough beneath her fingers as she strains to keep herself in check. Blue and green light his back, lining the countours around his body. It softens him in some ways, as if the light hasn't completely shunned him yet.

Suddenly smirking, Silco's gaze drifts over her. Studying her tense disposition with spiteful glee as he enjoys the irony of a murderous piltovian. "Contemplating violence wont relieve you of this predicament."

"Killing you would."

"Threatening me so early in the morning?" He tsks, taking a deep drag of the cigar to then blow a ring of smoke in her direction. "Perhaps I should have approached your father instead, the councillor would've been easier to handle . . . More willing to please."

Keeping eye contact, she doesn't react, and a glint of cuiosity to sparks in his gaze. "He has nothing to do with this, and you know it," she tries again. "But Jin-"

Silco's smirk falls. "Hold your tongue, girl." Pinching the bridge of his tall nose, he releases a heavy sigh. "Lock the door," he orders, looking at her through his eyebrows.

Menacing, haunting. She could describe him with a hundred different horrific words. Yet, he doesn't scare her. They both know she's right.

Breathing relief, she does as she's told. When asking her to create a boundary between the world and this room, he shows her nothing has changed. Whatever they have remains within the confines of his office and her bedroom. It takes the edge off, and she lets the inhabiting worry slip away.

Upon her return, she softly stalks around the desk until sidled up against the short side. "Shoving clever words down my throat won't shut me up, Sil."

Rubbing his face, he looks at her through his fingers. Heavily disapproving of the nickname. "Dont tempt me," he warns. "I'll find other ways to shut you up."

She swallows, a single pulse throbs in her core. Moving around the desk, she slides a finger along it's edge and places herself infront of him, bathing her in the very same darkness that Silco finds himself in.

A small smirk flicker on his lips. But even though it dissolves, turning back into its usual serious mask, the satisfaction of the expression linger on his features.

"It cant happen again," he warns a third time, he must going soft on her. His hands move, trading the cigar for the the ability to touch her. One hand reaches for her thigh, sliding beneath her skirt. While the other reaches up, grabbing her chin to stare into her eyes. "The shipments are important." Silco applies just enough pressure on her chin to keep it stinging, just enough to understand that he didn't take the loss lightly. While the thumb beneath her skirt brushes lightly over her hipbone.

Inspite their predicaments, their relationship was business from the beginning and the majority still is. He tells her this through the contrasting touches.

She nods.

"Use your words, girl. Tell me you understand. This cant happen again."

But she won't concede, not yet. "No more attacks," she murmurs, placing her hands on his thighs. "No more deaths." The girl sinks to her knees, slowly, and making sure he keeps his gaze glued to hers. Being so close to him, she gets a whiff of his cologne. He smells of musk and wood, Smoke and whiskey. He smells of man.

They know what buttons to press when it comes to one another, and right now, she needs safety for her people in much the same way he needs independence for his. The difference laying within their methods of accomplishment. But looking at them now, it's clear they've got more in common than she's previously thought.

Silco spreads his legs further apart, welcoming her advancements. "I wonder what daddy dearest would say if he saw you now; that pretty princess of his . . . Negotiating on her knees." He slides a hand beneath hers, lacing their fingers together before leaning back in his chair to enjoy the show.

It's a small sign of fondness, one he confidently gives. Showing his inclination toward her means little, for they already know where they have each other. Unwilling to put it into words, they feel them silently.

Truth is, they enjoy the power imbalance, they enjoy the hatred their respective people share. Peculiarly, it unites them, and simultaneously fuel their polarity. They're a strange equation, two variables with a common sum.

Helping each other with free hands, they unbutton his pants. "Im sure he'd be proud of your devotion," he mocks, exhaling that infamous low chuckle.

Spitting into her hand, she reaches into his pants. "He'd share the pride with your people," she smiles and looks up at him innocently, pulling his member out. "–when they find out you're working with a councillor's daughter . . . Fucking her no less." She leans in, teasing his tip with a slow circling lick, gathering the pre-cum on her tongue. With a corner curving upward, his lips part, and there's a silent intake of breath. Brushing his hand along her cheek, he collects stray hair covering her face and gathers it at her neck, twirling it around his fingers. "Go on," he urges.

And so, she finally closes the distance and takes him in her mouth.

With a hiss, he squeezes the hand laced with his. Slender fingertips dig into the back of her hand. "Little devil," he groans, hand burrying deeper into her hair and balling into a fist, coincidentally pulling on her scalp.

Clasping her still spit-wet hand around his shaft, she strokes him, adding on to the bobbing of her head.

"Yes," he moans, reclining his head against the back of the chair. "Carry on, girl."

Im sync with her hand, she works him until he's close to squirming, trying his very best to keep a semblance of composure. Never did she think such a powerful man would tremble beneath her touch or the pressure of her lips. But here he was, his usual neat combed back hair fallen over his forehead, beads of sweat gathering on his temples.

He'd started using his hand to guide her head, helping her find the perfect path toward his climax. Chest heaving and teeth bared, he chuckles breathlessly as the squelching of their actions reach his ears. Pushing her too far, she makes half-choking noises when she takes his entire length down her throat. Causing saliva to spill out of her mouth and roll down his length.

"Sloppy," he snarls, manicured nails digging into her hand. "-used to sucking cock."

She whines from the rare usage of crude words, making her core purr. His inches twitch in her mouth, sensing how close he is. "Please me," he supresses a groan, calling her name. "Swallow."

It happens quickly. His breathing turns rapid, his hips arching as he spills into her mouth. Tasting of rich salt as she swallows.

Smirking devilishly, he catches his breath. "Thats it . . . Well done." He brushes his thumb along her index finger.

Joy trickles into her heart at the praise, but there is little room as her body is already filled to the brim by need. With heavy eyes and glistening lips, she stands up on her knees. "Kiss me," she whispers.

Unlacing their fingers, he moves to slide a thumb across her lips, gathering some of the milky seed she'd yet to swallow. "Open up, princess." He pulls on her hair to tilt her head back.

Her lips part automatically, a knife slicing through her pride at the irony of the name. Silco slips his thumb into her mouth and wipes it clean on her tongue. He watches with fascination as her lips close around the digit, volunteering to suck it off as he pulls it out. "Kiss me," she repeats.

The fingers still burried in her hair twitches at the sight. Acting on impulse, they bunch her waves, pulling her close enough for their lips to play ghost. He tilts his head to the side, bringing them impossibly closer. "Tell me you understand," he murmurs, watching her reaction as the featherlight touch tickles her lips.

Her expectations for the night and the soft shell of intimacy around them shatters, but she'll never give him the satisfaction. The kiss was a wish from her own selfish needs, but giving him what he wants without the safety she require for her people is not. "No."

With a harrowing glance, he releases her. "I have work to do, you know where the door is," Silco says, nodding toward the exit. He then runs his hand through his hair, combing it back into place.

So quickly is the mood ruined and the rush of lust diminishes, settling her nerves. Instead it is the annoyance and the anger she arrived with that begins to rebuild.

The girl scoffs. "Petty, man-child," she mumbles, keeping her voice beneath her breath. But she wants something from him too, anything. She's derserves it, it just the matter of taking it.

Then, something just clicks in her mind and an irruption takes control of her body. Narrowing her eyes in quick to non-existent contemplation, she grabs his collar and pulls him in for a kiss. It only lasts for a second before she pushes herself away and stands up, not planning to stick around to deal with the consequences.

But before she gets a chance to move too far, a hand grabs her forearm and yanks her back. "You stubborn girl," he whispers in her ear, an arm slung around her torso as Silco holds her against his chest. She feels her panties being pulled to the side, and the head of his member lining up with her core. "Bleeding your integrity dry for those imperious, self-important cretins." He teases her entrance, sliding the tip up and down her folds.

"I am one of them, or do you forget?" She snaps.

Without warning, he lowers her onto his inches, fitting them inside her like they've been molded. The girl gasps at the feeling and Silco's fingers curl, releasing a groan as his fingers rouch the fabric at her ribs. "Even now?" He adjusts the girl in his lap. "Would they deign to descend from their thrones as you? Stooping to my level, manipulating on a whim to fullfill your needs." He pulls her closer, nudging her profile with his. All the while he's got his still hard member pushed up inside her, soft walls of flesh welcoming him eagerly. "Would they still accept you when found-out, or will they throw you to the wolves as the rumours spread? When they find out Zaun's villainous crime lord is fucking Piltover's princess," he laces the words with venom, hands slipping upward. One stops at her breast to squeeze while the other clasps around her throat. "When they whisper of the ways he uses her. How he puts her on her back, makes her kneel . . . How he bends her over," he murmurs, sending shivers down her spine.

She grows dizzy, a mix of worry and pleasure clouding her senses. His words hit home, drawing her lips into a thin line. "They are still my people," she breathes, voice close to breaking, sunding more like she's trying to convince herself.

"They will be your downfall." He puts pressure on her throat. "We've made sure of that, you and I."

"No . . . Silco, that's not true."

The hand holding her breast slips beneath her skirt. "We've made our beds-" slender fingers find her clit. "And we will sleep with the consequences."

Head lulling back against his shoulder, back arching, pleasure spikes as he stimulates her thrice fold. Circling her clit while throbbing inside her, and acting catalyst is the experienced hand around her throat. It limits the bloodflow and multiplies her pleasure. "Fuck," she whimpers, hips squirming, flesh randomly spasming around him.

Silco groans at the sensation, gaining his own pleasure from the whole ordeal. But that is not his goal. "Be still," he warns.

The collossall amounts of pleasure blinds her, it grabs hold of her senses and refuses to let go. Her nerves burn and fingers curl. Its all too much, yet not enough. Tears of gather in her eyes, slowly spilling over to roll down her face. "A-almost . . ."

Silco adjusts his grip around her throat so uses his thumb to tilt her face toward him, then watches how the tears streak her makeup, leaving watered down mascara in their wake. He places his lips on her skin, kissing the tears away while enjoying their salty taste. He studies her rosy cheeks and knitted expression, memorising the small whimpers she breathes.

The girl can no longer keep still and her back prepares to arch, limbs preparing to surge with blinding hot pleasure. "Im-- mhh, I-" She mewls, and the knot releases.

. . .

Until it isn't. She feels Silco retract his hands, causing oxygen flood her brain and irritation to anchor her mind. The knot in her stumach re-ties, loosely adjusting until the pressure completely dies down. "I see callousness runs in the family," she complains, almost in pain from the sudden lack of stimulation.

Silco circles an arm around her waist. "It's essential to survive," he says and stands up, still swollen member slipping out of her. Supporting the girl as her knees wobble, she's unable to stand on her own due to the afflictions he's caused her. Turning her around, he helps her onto the desk. Chest to chest, he braces against the wood, one hand on either side of her, effectively boxing her in.

She lays a finger beneath his chin, and he looks up at her through his eyebrows. Exhaling, he moves between her thighs. Silco reaches out to her, loosely cupping her face as his thumb smears the streaked mascara. "There is no white knight," he says, pushing reality on her, weather she's willing to listen or not.

She nods. "I know." Tainted by the impure air of Zaun, branded by the touch of it's Eye. If she ever is to be saved, it must be by her own hand. Her smile is faint as her eyes fall from his.

He grabs her face and squeezes her cheeks. "Look at me," he tells her with a gravely tone. Their eyes lock. Dissappering between them, his other hand lines himself up with her core.

Taking a gamble, she grabs his tie and pulls him in, properly locking lips for the first time. Because he doesn't pull away, and neither does she. Her bottom lips begins to tremble, surprised he ever let it go this far. Their initial moment passes, evolving into seconds until they realise neither is breathing and they tear apart for much needed air, not straying far. Their lips hover, ghosting as previously. "You steal whats not your's to take."

She nudged his nose with her own. "Does survival not apply here? I never took you for a hypocrite."

His top lip twitches, and she feels him bare his teeth in a silent snarl as his fingers apply pressure to her cheeks. "How clever," he murmurs, and pushes inside her once again, catching her off guard.

They share a reflexive gasp, and as he starts to move, every thrust exchanges breaths between them. The girl's lips curve, heavily enjoying the tiny sliver of emotional intimacy he's finally giving her.

Her legs circle around his hips as he grabs her waist one handed, adding further levrage as his fingers dent her flesh. Silco starts a heavy pace and their lips reconnect, mirroring their bodies, it reflects their feelings. The kiss growing needy and rough.

"Get on your back for me," he mocks and releases her face. "Prove them right."

She bites his lip, tugging on it as she lies back against the desk and pulls him with her.

Hand suddenly free, he hooks it beneath her knee and pulls it up against his side to gai better access. Slowing down the pace, he manages to take her deeper, harder. She groans, head lulling to the side as her climax begins to build. "Dont stop." Not again.

"Look at me," he breathes, warning in his tone as he's inclined to watch her topple over the edge. Her brows knit together, but her gaze finds his. The knot closing as his thrusts begin to grow erratic.

Pleasure burns her fingers and quickens her pulse. "Close, c-" she begins, but he cuts her off with another kiss, tongue slipping between their lips to explore her mouth.

And just like that, she bursts. Traveling through her from top to toe. Silco following short thereafter. "It's alright . . . Good, girl," he whispers.

Once they've caught up with their breaths, Silco straightens out, and rearranges his clothes before helping her to her feet.

-

"I understand," she says, halting by the door.

He looks up from his seat but is quick to stand, slowly stalking toward her. Stopping just short of her smaller frame, he reaches behind her back to grab the door handle. "I don't control her. She is my daughter like you are your father's," he says and meets her eyes. "But I will speak to Jinx." Leaning down, he kisses her cheek, catching her off guard. Affection is newly discovered territory between them, but from him to give it so freely after battling it out is a very big surprise. But as quick as ot started, it's over. His soft expression morphing into his usual stern disposition. "Dont be late again girl," he says and opens the door.

-

Somehow, they've become entangled. Silently sharing affection their respective people would deem unfit. Silco wont hurt her, if he can help it. But such is nature. They'll stand on opposite sides, prioritising their own families, cities. But not without a thought of the other, wishing it could be different. It probably never will be, for such is faith and such is time. If only it could rewind.

-

[sugary-strawberry-shortcake]

“Take It Off.” (Yandere Older Brother!Damian x Sister!YN)

A/N: if any of you want to be included in a taglist for my series 'Reverse Bloom‘ feel free to just tell me. in the next few days I’ll make a separate taglist post too.🩷

Damian didn’t understand it at first. Why something so small—so ridiculously insignificant—would make his skin itch.

A pink ribbon. Soft. Loose. Curled into her hair like something innocent.

But when she wore it, the world changed. People stared longer. Teachers smiled differently. Boys laughed too loud around her locker. They didn’t see her as Y/N Wayne—sweet, shy, quiet. Pure. They saw something else.

Something they wanted to reach for.

And that wasn’t allowed.

She didn’t understand. Of course she didn’t. She was always naïve like that—always thinking she could make friends in a city that breaks everyone. She still smiled like she didn’t know how this world worked. Like she hadn’t died in it once already.

And now that he remembered?

He couldn’t unsee it.

The photo of her corpse on the slab. Her hair matted. Her wrists bruised. Her ribbon cut and discarded on the floor.

So when she walked in with it again—smiling, soft, stupidly sweet—his control snapped.

She was his blood. His sister. The only other biological child of Bruce Wayne. She was his responsibility. His to protect. His to watch over. His to keep safe when the rest of the world failed.

If she wanted attention, she should’ve asked for his. Or the family’s. Not the world’s.

He was trained to defend.

They were not.

She didn’t get to offer herself up to the public like that. Not when she was already the only delicate thing left in this house. And if that meant taking the ribbon, the smile, the freedom from her—then so be it.

She didn’t understand yet.

But she would.

The car door shut behind her with a soft click, the leather seats still warm from the morning sun.

YN settled in quietly, brushing her fingers through her hair—just enough to fluff it a little. The pink ribbon rested neatly near her temple, tied in a small bow, the ends tucked into her curls.

It was a delicate thing.

Soft. Feminine. Innocent.

And Damian had been staring at it since the moment she stepped out of the house.

The car pulled away from the curb.

Neither of them spoke.

Until—

“Take it off.”

She blinked, glancing at him. “What?”

He didn’t look at her. His voice stayed flat.

“The ribbon. Take it off.”

Her hand hovered near it. “…Why?”

“You don’t need a reason. Just do it.”

She frowned. “It’s not hurting anyone.”

“It’s drawing attention.”

“And?”

Damian finally turned his head toward her, green eyes sharp.

“You know what kind of attention.”

She narrowed her eyes. “You can’t control how people look at me, Damian.”

“I can control how you present yourself.”

“Excuse me?”

He leaned slightly forward. “You think boys at that school aren’t already staring at you every time you walk through the hall?”

“I don’t care.”

“Well, I do.”

“You’re not my father,” she snapped.

“No,” he said, “but I’m stronger. Smarter. Faster. And unlike you, I understand what people are capable of.”

She glared at him, chin tilted. “You’re overreacting.”

“And you’re being reckless.”

“I’m wearing a ribbon.”

“A ribbon you don’t need,” he hissed, voice low and simmering.

Then—before she could flinch or pull away—his hand moved.

Fast.

Too fast.

She let out a startled gasp as his fingers curled into the fabric near her temple, not yanking—not quite—but firm, unyielding.

“Damian—”

She lifted her hand to stop him, but he was already there.

His other hand caught her wrist—easily. Her arm was like paper in his grip. His heart clenched. She was small. Frail. Soft in ways that didn’t belong in a world like Gotham. In a world he lived in.

And he knew it.

He had trained for war.

She could barely lift a textbook.

“Let go,” she whispered.

“Then stop acting like you’re not mine to protect.”

She froze.

His fingers slipped the ribbon from her hair. She tried to jerk back—not to fight, not really, just to reclaim a little space.

But he didn’t move.

Didn’t loosen his hold until the ribbon was curled in his palm.

He looked at it.

Then looked at her.

Her hair was mussed now, the curl loosened where the ribbon had been. She looked younger. Smaller.

He hated that she looked upset.

He hated more that she still didn’t understand.

“Don’t wear things that make people look at you like that,” he said softly. “I won’t allow it.”

She stared at him, cheeks flushed, breathing tight.“You don’t get to decide what I wear.” He didn’t answer.

He just slipped the ribbon into his pocket and leaned back in his seat.

She turned toward the window, shoulders trembling with quiet frustration.

And neither of them said another word for the rest of the ride.

She never asked for the ribbon back.

And he never returned it.

Authors note:

my first drabble of a singular member. Will probably do a few more. If you have any requests feel free to tell them to me.:)

[starkeymeow]

❛ we make each other alive . .

does it matter if it hurts? ❜

I’M COMING, WAIT FOR ME.

PLOT you enter the hunger games a proud weapon of your district, only to find your sharpest blade is the boy beside you, and you’re not sure which one of you the capitol wants to break first.

CONTENT chapter one, best read in dark mode, rafe cameron x reader au, blood, meeting the mentors, tribute parade, not too much rafe and reader interaction YET but it’ll come sooner than you think.

main masterlist | tag list | previous next

you’ve been on trains before. nothing like this one.

this one is too smooth, too fast. you barely feel it move. the windows blur with tunnels and sleek, metallic walls outside, sometimes breaking into vast stretches of nothing but gray-blue light and darkness blinking like a heartbeat.

you sit alone in a chair that could probably buy someone a house. everything is red velvet and gold trim, like the whole train was stitched together from the capitol’s pocket change. it smells expensive, too, like citrus and fake flowers.

you’re still in your reaping dress. someone said they’d bring you new clothes soon. someone else took your measurements. you don’t remember who. your ears have been ringing since your name was called.

rafe’s across the room, stretched out on the other side of the glass table, one leg over the other like he’s posing for a photo. he hasn’t said much. his face is unreadable, blank, but not stupid, like he’s already memorizing escape routes. or maybe he’s memorizing the names of every other tribute so he can picture them all dead.

his jaw clenches when the train shifts again, barely noticeable unless you’re looking.

you are.

the tv flickers on in the far wall. someone’s playing back the reapings.

district 1’s girl looked dangerous. all eyes and confidence. her male counterpart practically flexed his way down the stage. typical.

2 is you and rafe. 3, 4, and so on.

none of them look particularly terrifying. not yet. they will, once they’re all cleaned up and shoved into costume and trained to kill. but right now most of them look like scared kids in too-big shoes. even the ones who try to smile.

you both just watch the reapings on the screen to fill the silence, but nothing sticks. no one looks that threatening. yet.

then the door hisses open. enobaria, one of the few living victors in two, steps in first. she’s tall, composed, her glossy dark hair pulled back in a ponytail that looks too tight to be comfortable. she’s dressed sharp, tailored, like someone with nothing left to prove. and her teeth . . . they catch the light when she smiles. pointed. sharpened. but she doesn’t bare them unless she wants to.

she gives you both a once-over. “stand up,” she says. her voice is calm, but still firm. rafe stands first, slow but steady. you follow, legs stiff from sitting so long. your stomach turns with the train, or maybe it’s her.

behind her comes brutus. he’s massive, silent, and broad-shouldered like a living wall. he doesn’t bother with a greeting. just closes the door behind them and lets the quiet settle.

“so,” enobaria says, crossing her arms loosely. “you’re the ones we’re working with this year.”

brutus grunts. it might be agreement.

“you look the part,” she adds, tilting her head. “though i heard someone got a little messy getting here.”

her gaze slides to rafe. not judgmental, just amused. rafe shrugs, unbothered.

“he shoved me first.”

brutus narrows his eyes. “you still broke his nose.”

“he was weak,” rafe says. “he would’ve died in the first five minutes.”

you glance between them, curious how this will go.

enobaria lets out a short laugh. “well, he’s not wrong.”

brutus doesn’t laugh. but he doesn’t press, either. “next time, control the impulse,” he says. “you’re a tribute. not a brawler in the street.”

rafe gives the smallest nod, jaw tight.

enobaria moves closer, nodding toward the door. “come on. let’s talk where it matters.”

they lead you down the corridor to the next train car. it’s some strategy room, clearly. it’s darker, more utilitarian. the walls are lined with screens, a long table set in the center surrounded by deep leather chairs. maps of the arena’s past years flicker faintly, and files are stacked at brutus’s side.

you sit beside rafe. he leans forward with his elbows on his knees. you sit straighter, eyes flicking across the maps, learning. everything matters now.

“this is where we get to know what we’re working with,” brutus says, finally breaking the silence. “we’ll go over schedules soon. training days, interviews, assessments. but first—we need to know you.”

“what’d they teach you in the academy?” enobaria asks, sitting across from you. her eyes land on you first. “what’s your strength?”

you don’t hesitate. “blades. close-range combat. throwing knives too.”

“accuracy?” she asks.

you nod. “tight grouping. fast recovery. high hit rate.”

she lifts an eyebrow. “mental?”

you pause. then, “i don’t freeze, i think under pressure. i read people.”

“hm.” she taps her nails against the table once. satisfied.

“you?” brutus turns to rafe.

“hand-to-hand,” rafe says. “blunt weapons. axe, mace, staff. trained in a few chokeholds.”

brutus nods slightly. “pain tolerance?”

rafe’s mouth quirks at the edge. “pretty high.”

enobaria hums. “good. we can work with that.”

that makes brutus look at him a little longer. not smiling. but almost pleased. “you’ve got potential,” brutus says simply.

“both of you,” enobaria agrees. “we’ve seen enough tributes over the years to know who’s dead the second they get off the train. you two—”

“they might have a shot,” brutus finishes.

you glance at rafe. for the first time, he’s looking at you too.

“now,” brutus says, dragging a folder closer. “you’ll have three days in the training center before assessments. we need to talk presentation. strategy. we want sponsors watching you from day one.”

“confidence,” enobaria says, pointing at you. “you’ve got that, i can tell. play it up. don’t act like a victim. victors don’t come from people who want to be liked.”

you lean back a little, arms crossed.

“this year’s tributes look soft,” brutus says. “a few big ones from four and eleven, but no real killers. not yet.”

“that gives you an advantage,” enobaria says, gesturing lazily. “you walk into training like you’re already the ones to beat. let them know you’re district two. let them fear you.”

rafe leans forward slightly. “what about other strategy?” he asks. “like alliances?”

brutus smiles for the first time. it’s not kind. “you make them. you break them. that’s up to you.”

“but don’t expect loyalty,” enobaria adds. “only one of you walks out. remember that.”

her eyes slide to yours, thoughtful. “are you planning to be the one?”

you answer before you can think, “i don’t plan to die.”

brutus lets out a short, sharp laugh. it’s not mocking, it’s approval. “good. that’s the attitude.”

you feel your pulse steady a little. faster than it should be, but controlled.

you don’t know what’s coming exactly, but it’s war. and at least now, you know who’s on your side.

brutus stands then, massive and silent, nodding toward the door. “we’ll regroup before we reach the capitol.”

enobaria follows, pausing in the doorway.

“get some rest,” she says. “you’ve got a lot of blood to spill.”

you see the capitol from the train window as it pulls into the platform, and for a second, it feels like something’s crawling beneath your skin. there’s a quiet itch that tells you this is not your home. this is the center of the world that wants you dead, but dressed up pretty when it does it.

they lead you through long marble corridors, ceilings stretched so high it hurts your neck to look. peacekeepers flank every corner, faceless in their stark white armor. everything smells sterile and expensive.

you’re taken to the third floor. district 2’s floor. brutus tells you it’s yours now, until you’re dead or crowned.

your apartment is bigger than any home you’ve ever lived in. warm lighting, silver walls. there's fruit in glass bowls, too, and a view that wraps around the city like a threat.

but there’s no time to rest. your prep team is waiting.

they descend on you like insects, swarming with excitement and thin, practiced hands. you lose count of how many of them there are—two? three? one has pink hair styled in loops, another wears latex gloves and talks only in hums. they’re gentle, mostly. methodical.

they strip you down to nothing and pretend not to notice the bruises on your ribs, the dried blood under your nails, the way your lip is still swollen from the reaping.

you sit still through the scalding bath, the scrubbing, the waxing. they touch every part of you like you’re a project, like you’re not a person. they remove every piece of you that looks too human, like body hair, scars, dirt, blood, pride.

when they finish, you feel hollowed out. but also . . . polished. like a weapon pulled clean from the forge.

they leave, giggling, promising to return. and then the door clicks open again, and in walks your stylist.

her name is valis.

she’s tall, not much older than you, with skin like obsidian and eyes rimmed in silver liner that somehow makes her look even sharper. her hair is shaved close on one side, the rest pulled back into a thick braid wrapped in gold wire. she wears all black, all angles. she looks at you the way someone looks at a blueprint, deciding how best to make it a masterpiece.

she doesn’t smile.

instead, she steps closer, circles you once, and says only: “you’ll be unforgettable.”

you believe her.

valis doesn’t ask you many questions. she tells you how it’s going to be.

“district two is masonry, strength, legacy. they expect you to look like gladiators, yes, but that’s easy. what they won’t expect is how we make you divine. not just killers, but symbols.”

you’re fitted into a bodysuit made of something metallic and matte, like iron but soft to the touch. dark, gunmetal gray that catches the light and splits it. sculpted pieces of armor are fitted onto your shoulders, chest, arms. not bulky. sleek. molded to your frame like it belongs to you, like it was always yours, waiting.

etched into the armor are fine lines, maps of old battlegrounds, wars lost and won, mountains cracked open for stone. the designs shimmer faintly when you move.

your hair is pulled back, tight and regal. your face is left mostly bare, just sharp contouring, metallic powder across your cheekbones and down your collarbone.

valis places a final piece on you: a headpiece like a crown, low and fierce. a brutal, elegant circlet of dark steel or iron, shaped like a blooming crown with jagged upward spikes, mimicking both a rose’s thorns and the carved stonework of district two.

“you’re not just from district two,” she says, fastening it. “you are district two. they’ll see you and remember why they’ll root for you.”

when you step out of the prep room, you see rafe across the hall. he looks like he’s been carved out of stone.

his stylist’s clearly coordinated with valis. the look is sharp, sculptural. thick, slate-gray armor plates molded over a fitted black base layer, like cracked stone pulled from a mountainside and reforged around his body. there's silver powder dusted into the creases, like light catching between bricks. his shoulders are draped with some idiotic black cape lined with marble-patterned fabric that sways just slightly when he moves.

he looks less like a boy and more like a statue brought to life.

your lips twitch, and he notices, takes his time dragging his eyes from your war crown down to the laced boots hugging your calves.

“nice crown,” he says, like he’s trying not to smile. “very queen-of-the-quarry.”

you arch an eyebrow. “nice cape. looks like something they pulled off an old memorial statue.”

“i was going for intimidating,” he deadpans. “you know, before we get turned into national entertainment.”

“i think we’re already that.”

he glances at the armor shaped tight to your ribs. “yours actually fits,” he mutters. “mine’s like walking around in a coffin.”

you tilt your head. “that’s because mine was made for a victor.”

he gives you a look for that. flat, unreadable. but there’s a glint in his eye you’re starting to recognize.

the dry amusement. the you’re just as annoying as i am, and i hate that i like it kind of look.

“you look like a funeral,” you say, nodding at his costume.

“you look like the reason there is one.”

you pause, slow grin. he breaks first, just a small exhale, a breath of something close to laughter. it's sharp and quiet and it doesn't last. but it’s there.

and that’s the problem. you don’t want to laugh with him. you don’t want to see him like this. not when you're both dressed like weapons, walking toward your own slaughter. and yet, you like it. more than you should.

valis claps once behind you, sharp like a whip crack. “positions!”

you climb into the chariot first. rafe follows.

your mentors are waiting nearby. brutus doesn’t say anything for a long time. just looks at the two of you like he’s seeing a dream come to life.

then finally: “if you die dressed like this, it’ll be the most expensive mistake the capitol’s ever made.”

enobaria grins wide, fangs flashing. “you’ll burn them down,” she says. “and look beautiful doing it.”

district 1 steps out before you, draped in diamonds, glinting like fire. they’re tall. smug. perfect.

but when you and rafe mount your chariot and the horses start to move, you can feel it already. there’s this roar rising before you even reach the avenue.

the horses pull forward, muscles rippling beneath their sleek coats, hooves clacking steady against the marble-like ground. you’ve seen this parade before, sure, through a screen. but nothing prepares you for the real thing.

the crowd is massive. oceans of color and sound. glittering costumes, faces painted in horrifying beauty, hands reaching up, voices screaming for names they don’t even know yet. and you, you're on that screen now. you’re one of them. you’re the face they’ll remember.

and you’ll give them something worth remembering.

you stand tall, head high. your shoulders are pushed back, chin lifted like you were born to be here. and in a way . . . maybe you were, born to bleed in front of them, born to make it look good.

rafe doesn’t say a word beside you. you don’t need him to. he stands just as tall, just as cold. the two of you balance the chariot like matching statues—his side, your side. equal presence, equal pride. he doesn’t lean in, doesn’t try to whisper. he knows better. right now, this is a game of image, and you both know how to play.

you see district one’s chariot just ahead, gold and jewels and arrogance, but hear the pitch of the crowd shift when yours rolls out. louder. more excited. more curious because there’s a kind of danger to the two of you that can’t be replicated with glitter.

district two doesn’t come to entertain. you’re here to conquer.

your costume shifts when you move, metal and leather catching the overhead lights. your headpiece is heavy, it presses down on your skull like a threat. but you keep it there like it’s second nature.

when the chariot turns the corner and the path begins to narrow, your gaze lifts, and there he is.

president snow.

standing tall atop his ivory platform, hands folded neatly in front of him, white rose pinned to his chest like an omen. he watches like a god. and you hate the way your chest tightens just looking at him.

it’s not awe. not fear, exactly. just that reminder that no matter how tall you stand, he still sees you as small.

your eyes flick sideways. rafe’s jaw is tight. his brows pulled just slightly, just enough for you to see it. he feels it too. but he doesn’t waver. and neither do you.

you nod, just once. it’s not warm. it’s not for comfort. it’s strategy. we don’t falter. not here. not in front of him.

and then, you feel it.

the shift. the slip.

a slight release of pressure from your crown before it clatters, sharp and metallic, against the chariot floor. it bounces once, then rolls to the edge. off. gone.

you don’t move. rafe doesn’t either, his posture iron beside you.

you don’t even look down. not a twitch. the crowd hasn’t noticed, not really. the cheers are too loud, the cameras too high up. but you saw the way the district three tributes flinched behind you, their eyes darting to the fallen headpiece like it was the first drop of blood in the arena.

they’re worried for you. maybe even pitying.

you feel heat crawl up your neck. not from shame. from rage.

you hate when people assume they should be afraid for you. like you can’t handle the weight of a crown. or a mistake. or a punishment.

you meet their gaze over your shoulder, cold, sharp, unblinking. mind your business.

and then you turn back to face the capitol like nothing ever happened. spine straight. chin high. head bare, but proud. the spiked crown left behind like a piece of armor you never needed in the first place.

the parade ends in a slow blur of heat and noise.

hands reach for you and rafe immediately, belonging to security, staff, some faceless intern pulling you both down from the chariot with quick, trained motions. the horses are led off. the chariot’s rolled away.

you’re still standing tall, armor stiff, head bare, skin humming with leftover adrenaline when you’re guided toward the group already waiting near the edge of the staging area.

valis stands front and center, perfectly composed. she spots you both, gaze flitting briefly to the empty space where your crown once sat, but she doesn’t say it. not directly.

“i’m sure someone’s already picked it up,” valis offers instead, her voice light, easy, like she’s talking about a misplaced bracelet instead of a political symbol. “it’ll be returned to your suite. no need to worry.”

you don’t answer. just raise a brow, lips parting slightly in that resting expression of yours that always seems like a threat in disguise.

beside her, enobaria steps forward, more practical in her approach, arms crossed but face impressed.

“you stood like killers,” she says, nodding with approval. “not scared. not too smug. like you belong in the arena already. the way you claimed your space . . . people will remember that.”

you glance briefly at rafe, who looks equally unimpressed. good.

“i told you they’d pull it off,” valis adds, half to enobaria, half to herself. “i knew they would.”

their escort pipes in with a sudden clap of her jeweled hands. she’s tall, with pale pink skin painted in shimmery swirls, lashes curled up like petals, and an updo stacked so high it nearly brushes the overhead lights. her name is cassaline, and she literally sparkles when she talks.

“this is so thrilling,” cassaline squeals, already guiding you both toward the elevators with her arms open like she might actually try to hug one of you. “i cannot wait to show you your floor! i know you’ve already seen the dining room but your bedrooms are simply to die for! and i know you’ve had such a long day but—oh—it’ll be quick, i promise! just a little peek and then you can sleep like champions.”

you almost laugh. like champions.

rafe walks beside you, quiet, his shoulder bumping yours lightly as you’re led further into the hall.

you feel brutus’s presence more than you see it. he’s behind you both, a wall of silence. but something makes you glance over your shoulder. and you catch it.

he’s not looking at you. he’s watching something over your shoulder, just past your line of sight.

your eyes flick past him, slow and casual, until you spot them. there are clumps of tributes lingering in small groups. district four, five, six. stylists, prep teams, mentors. they're laughing, murmuring, adjusting costumes. but their eyes?

their eyes are on you. not just glancing, but watching. a few lower their heads quickly, whispering. a few don’t even try to hide it. like maybe they expected something out of district two. and maybe now they know they were right to.

you hold their gaze for just long enough to make them uncomfortable. good.

then you look back at brutus. and finally up at rafe, who meets your glance like he’s been expecting it. like he saw it all, too.

“get me out of this,” you mutter, your voice low, clipped, directed at valis without even turning her way. “i want to lay down.”

@nicholaschavezslut69 @iissza @snowtargaryen @yootvi @ariiwritess @spideysimpossiblegirl @skyslowalking @adribarbie @obsessionsarenotfortheweak @0-tatiana-0 @beebeerockknot @rafestar @drewstarkeyzwhore @drewsephrry @annaconscience @writtenbyhollywood @yourtypicalteenagegirl @daisydark @v4mpscrms @issahruiz @ilovefictionallmenn @derpjungkook @vanessa-rafesgirl @sunny1616 @alphabetically-deranged @nrmlgirl @supercxnt @xoxosblogsblog @rafegetinmybed @siyahmoonlight @livie4lifestarkeyblyth

[bweeeb]

NOTHING BETTER THAN REVENGE

Summary: The reader wants to show Pedro that he is the only one begging to cum.

warnings: same as the others, Fucking LIKE RABBITS. Get out of here if you don't like smut.

requests are open, I write anything!!!

Pedro had been cocky again.

All day.

Making those smug little comments.

Walking around shirtless like he didn’t know exactly what that did to you.

Touching you all the time. And worse? Acting like he was the one in charge.

So now?

Now you were going to show him what real control looked like.

He was lying on the bed — wrists tied loosely to the headboard with silk. Not tight enough to hurt.

Just tight enough to remind him: you own him tonight.And the worst part?

You hadn’t even touched his cock yet.

Just your fingers grazing his thighs.

Your mouth at his ear.

Your hips grinding just out of reach.

He was already hard. Red. Leaking.

You looked down at him with a wicked grin, one brow raised.

— Hmm… you’re not listening very well, papí. —

He groaned, shifting beneath you, hips twitching up for any friction.

You rolled your eyes like he was pathetic.

— What did I say about being good?—

— Fuck, baby, I’m trying, please—

— I just wanna touch you—

You let out a sharp, cruel laugh and slapped his thigh — not hard, but firm enough to make him gasp.

Then you leaned in, your lips brushing his ear, voice like satin-wrapped steel:

— Seems like you’re not old enough to missbehave…—

Your hand cupped his cock briefly.Just enough to make him buck.— …your dick keeps getting up like it has no manners. —

He whined. Actually whined.

Tried to reach for your hips, but the second he tugged on the restraints, you pulled back and sat up straight, crossing your arms.

— Ah-ah-ah.—

Your voice went ice cold.

— You don’t get to touch me.—

Pedro growled under his breath, eyes dark and furious — but the way his cock twitched said something else entirely.

— This is what you get for thinking you could fuck me three times and walk around like I wouldn’t take that personally. Silly —

You reached between your legs and slowly lowered yourself onto him — just the tip — then stopped.

His body arched.

He was throbbing. Desperate. Cursing in Spanish.

You moaned softly, pretending to enjoy it all for yourself.

— Mmm… I missed this.—

— You fucked me the day before yesterday old man. —

— I never get tired of you —

— Too bad, because you’re not allowed to come.—

Pedro’s mouth dropped open in disbelief.

— Baby, no no no no, please, let me come, I swear I’ll behave, I’ll be so fucking good, just let me—

— Shhh.—

You started riding him slow, hips moving in long, torturous rolls, hands in your own hair, not even looking at him.

Like he was just… a toy.

A cock.

A punishment.

He was panting now.

Trembling.

His arms strained against the restraints, but he didn’t dare disobey again.You came first — of course.

Loud.

Proud.

Fucking magnificent.

You dragged it out. Rubbed your clit right there on him, moaning shamelessly.

Soaking him.

And then? You stopped. Just like that.

Pulled off him.

Untied his wrists.

Grabbed your robe.

And walked out.

— Where are you going?! —

he shouted behind you, voice ragged.You looked over your shoulder and smirked:

— If your dick can’t behave, papí… it doesn’t get to finish.

Later That Night…You came back hours later — quiet, casual, wearing nothing but a silk slip.

Pedro was still lying there, hard, wrecked, frustrated.

He tried using his own hand, but nothing compared after you had already squeezed him with your sweet, hot pussy.

You climbed into bed, pulled back the covers, and laid next to him like nothing happened.

Then you rolled over, pressed your lips to his ear, and whispered:

— Now you can come.—

He nearly cried. He grabbed your waist and shoved his hard, weeping cock into your hole, he fucked you hard from the side like a needy rabbit, right next to your ear he moaned loudly,

— I'm going to shove fucking babies in you, darling—

grunting you moaned, grabbed the hair on the back of his neck and felt him lick the skin of your neck. — Cum inside of me, Pedro. Fuck. I'm obsessed with your dick —

— Oh baby, that's it. Fuck. Take all my cum. —

He groaned as he buried himself deep into your womb and made you shake with another orgasm.

— I love you.—

He murmured and kissed you softly before you both passed out.

[madamechrissy]

Losing Control Now- Mafia Gojo part two Preview/snippet

It's HERE

Pairings: Mobster Gojo x bartender F!reader

CW: Sexual tension, hurt/comfort- gonna be angsty chap for our reader she's a lil bit of a mess, Toru gonna take care of her dw

“What fucking happened!? Can you just share your location?” Satoru’s already desperate as he slips into his car, his driver waiting for his orders.

“You can’t see me like this.” You whisper miserably, sipping more of the cheap wine. “I am a fucking wreck, please don’t.”

“Do you live far from the bar?”

“No…”

“Then let me come see you.”

“Why?” You whisper, and he exhales, heart pounding as he hears it, the pain in your voice.

“I just want to see you. Please?” You sigh then, and he hears a ding, as you share your location.

“I’m telling you, I’m not good company right now.”

“I’m on my way.” As he hangs up, you take shaky hands, struggling as you go to the mirror, swiping at the pesky mascara trails from work makeup that’s been on for hours. You try to put yourself together, taking down your hair clip, letting it fall and frame your face, cheeks flushed, eyes puffy from tears.

When Satoru gets there, half your cheap bottle is down your throat, and you’re just a little wobbly as you open your door, Satoru presses you inside then, shutting the door quickly, your back against the cool wood. His hand cups your face, brushing over your heated skin, as you look up at him, like some fucking dream in the night, you take several breaths, just standing there.

“Shit, you are the prettiest mess I’ve seen.” He murmurs then, and you giggle through a fresh onslaught of tears, your hands trailing up his chest.

“You’re like the only good fucking thing right now, I know that’s too much. We just met… I know I sound insane.” Satoru shakes his head, leaning lower. “I’m going to scare you with all my baggage.”

“Can’t scare me, baby girl.” He murmurs, leaning even closer, tasting the wine on your breath, sighing. “Having a party?”

“A pity fucking party.” He laughs softly with you again, this stranger damn near gets you just looking at you, just standing here. Your body relaxes, your heart thrumming in your chest.

“Think I haven’t had a pity party?” His eyes are glimmering, so beautiful you fall into them then, hands trailing down his chest, lower, watching his snowy lashes flutter, his lips part.

“Want the long version or the short?” You whisper, and Satoru tilts his head, hands now trailing down the nip of your waist, still in your little work dress, and god you do look so sexy in it.

“We have a couple hours, and I have a driver, why don’t we just…” His big hands unbuckle the belt at your waist. “Relax, hmm?”

“Yeah, you want my cheap ass wine Mr. Gojo?” You tease, he smirks then, nodding.

“Show me what you have, think I’m bougie?”

“Sure do.” You giggle then, noses touching before you press your lips against his, and it takes everything in him not to just fuck you right on your door, to hold himself back and just let you flow, to be what you need. He kisses you though, so deeply, lapping at your lower lip, swollen from you biting it so much, a hand enwrapped in your loose hair.

“God, the cheap wine tastes good on you.” He says, and you sigh, pressing a kiss on his pointy chin. “Wanna get out of this work suit? Sexy as it is.”

“You want me undressed, huh?”

“What do you think?” Satoru presses against you, and you feel him, hot and hard against your tummy, making you gulp and tremble.

“I think you’re too perfect.”

“Pshh, me? You haven’t gotten to know all of me yet.”

“I want to. Shit, I-”

Satoru slams his lips on yours again, a hungrier kiss now, sliding the little houndstooth pattern blazer right off your shoulders, tongue slipping into your mouth deeper. “I wanna know you too.”

Perm tags- @alt--er--love @indiewritesxoxo @nanasukii28 @cuntphoric @loafteaw @n1vi @miizuzu @beachaddict48 @honeybunnnnie @re-tired-succubus @gojosukuna2268 @waterfal-ling @1brii @wise-fangirl @moncher-ire @orikixx @uhnosav @baepsays  @designerpvssy @orixxxana @airandyeah @nina-from-317 @evelynxxo @naammiii @soyokosuguru @espresso1patronum @tomboy-disaster @iam-souless @lanii-i @cristy-101 @tojicvmslut @cvixmei @mutsu422 @g00seg1rl @mutsu422 @ivyvenus333 @suki91 @aldebrana @strychnynegirl @jinjen

[dorcas4meadowes]

Blood bending - Luke Castellan

Pairing - Luke Castellan x Fem!Poseidonreader (yes persassy)

Summary: watching avatar the last Airbender, but it's just giving Percy ideas on how to hurt Luke <3

(My bsf gave me the head canon and had to execute it)

warning: mentions of blood

w/c (short) 648

Master list

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Nostalgia endeared the Hermes' cabin, settling amongst the slouching bodies who took closure beside the blaring television. The soft glow that the screen emitted illuminating their tired yet content faces, casting a haze amongst the cabin of travelers.

The day had be tedious and the fatigued residents found solace in the familiarity of Avatar the last air bender, the show reminiscing through their adolescence.

As the final notes of the departure theme begun to unfold many moved from their strategically placed pillows and forts of blankets to take advantage of the interval. Numerous of the smaller Hermes' children retreating to their beds with heavy yawns and blankets draped over their shoulders. The remainder of inhabitants consisted of the older counsellors, except for a disappointed blonde who sat with his arms folded over one another with a disgruntled expression on his face.

He could not relish in the show for as long as the couple adjacent to him continued to be happy.

He made you laugh? The guy with the personality of wet cabbage, Percy thought as Luke - your boyfriend of 2 months - whispered something into you ear which made you helpless giggle. Percy rolled his eyes and tried to divert his attention away from Luke, focusing on the scent of buttery popcorn which wafted across the room and then in an instant, a sinister thought crossed his mind.

You had caught your breath from Lukes words and let yourself relax against him as one of his arms loosely hung around your middle, his other intertwined with your fingers which rested against his leg. You mumbled mindlessly until something caught your gaze, your brother.

"Can you see what Perce is doing", you asked Luke since your head were mainly stowed into the side of your boyfriend.

"I don't exactly know?" he responded, which made you lift away to watch Percy abide to be a buffoon.

He subtly gestured with his fingers to mimic water bending moves he had seen and then you knew what he was trying to do as his eyes bored into Luke's.

"Baby, he trying to blood bend" you said with ease, glancing back to Luke who didn't move from his spot, an amused smile playing on his lips.

"He can't do that right?" he questioned.

"He wouldn't have the control", you responded.

"Can you?"

"Yes" you mumbled, avoiding the question.

"On who?" he asked.

"That is none of your concern".

Instead of bending Luke's insides, Percy knocked over a bottle of water which sat on the coffee table, spilling its contents across the surface, a laugh falling from your lips.

"Percy its not going to work" you snickered, softening back into your boyfriends arms.

"How do you know?" he inquired, moving his fingers once again.

"You need to be calm".

"I am calm".

"Yes very" Luke intervened.

"Shut up Castellan" he yelled.

"Percy Jackson, do not scream at my boyfriend".

"He deserves it".

"Right i'm calling Sally" you threatened, but before you could stand he begun to apologise immensely. "Not to me, to Luke".

He appeared revolted, his cheeks turning a dark hue of red, "sorry" he whispered.

"Louder".

"Sorry" he said, quieter than the first time.

"Thank you Percy" Luke said beside you, accepting the deflated confession.

"What would you have done anyways Perce?" you asked him. You watched him think about ways he could injure your boyfriend, his features forming a smile.

Throw him into a fire?

Make him spill water on himself?

Drown him?

He could do the last one simply without bending his blood so instead of replying he made a list of potential ways he could hurt your boyfriend, the repetitive thoughts of violence lulling him to sleep against the couch underneath him.

You allowed him to rest until it was only Luke and yourself on the couches. After a few complaints about the sound from the television you stood and let your boyfriend walk you back to your cabin, with a snoozing Percy resting against him in his arms. 

"He's cute when he's asleep".

“When he isn’t trying to drown you”.

[placeinthemiddleofnowhere]

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… 

[al-1-na]

𝐊𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐚𝐲 𝟐𝟖 ~ 𝐎𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐖𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐈𝐭’𝐬 𝐘𝐨𝐮 (req.)

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𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: sub!Rafe x Reader

𝐂𝐖: Explicit sexual content (18+), consensual power exchange, reader in control, praise kink, light bondage, overstimulation, soft degradation

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: Rafe Cameron is used to being in charge everywhere else — except here. In your bedroom, behind closed doors, he surrenders completely. Tonight, he wants to be used, loved, and unraveled, and you’re the only one who knows exactly how to take him apart.

𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭; 𝐓𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭; 𝐏𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

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He’s already waiting when you walk in — Rafe, shirtless, sitting at the edge of the bed, hands in his lap like he’s trying not to touch. You see it in the tension of his shoulders, the way his thighs twitch. He’s nervous. Needy. And absolutely beautiful.

“Clothes off,” you say softly, closing the door behind you.

His eyes meet yours. There’s a flicker of resistance — not out of disobedience, but habit. Then he nods, standing slowly, peeling off his jeans and boxers until he’s bare before you. His chest rises with a shaky breath.

“You trust me?”

“Always,” he says, voice rough.

You smile and walk to him. Your hand rests on his jaw, thumb brushing his cheek. “Good boy.”

He exhales hard — like the words alone undo him.

You push him gently back onto the bed and pull out the silk ties you’d left in the drawer. You see his eyes flash with anticipation.

“Hands up.”

He obeys, wrists bound to the headboard — loose enough not to hurt, tight enough to remind him he can’t move without you.

“I want you to take everything I give you tonight,” you whisper, climbing onto him. “Can you do that for me?”

“Yes,” he breathes, already trembling.

You trail your fingers down his chest, letting your nails scratch lightly. He arches into your touch, breath hitching.

“You’re so easy like this,” you murmur, settling between his legs. “All that anger and control… gone the second I touch you.”

He whimpers, completely still, so hard it’s almost painful. You don’t even touch him — not yet. You kiss down his stomach instead, licking a line to his hip, watching him twitch.

“Please,” he whispers.

You smile. “Beg louder.”

He moans — frustrated and desperate. “Please touch me. I need you.”

“You’re going to wait,” you say, moving over him again. “You don’t come until I say.”

His whole body trembles when you finally wrap a hand around him — slow, tight strokes that make his hips jerk despite the restraints.

“You like that?” you tease, watching his face. “Being at my mercy?”

“Yes,” he gasps. “Only when it’s you.”

You straddle him, dragging his tip through your slick folds, but not letting him in. He’s panting now, hands clenching in their bonds.

“Please let me… I need—”

“You’ll get it when you deserve it,” you cut in, voice low and firm. “You’re lucky I’m even letting you have this.”

He nods wildly, pupils blown. “Yes. Yes, I am. I’m yours.”

You sink down slowly, inch by inch, until he’s fully inside — thick, pulsing, and aching beneath you.

His head falls back, mouth open, moaning uncontrollably.

“You’re perfect,” you whisper. “So big and full for me.”

His hips buck, instinctive, and you grab his throat — not hard, just enough to make him look at you.

“Stay still.”

He nods, whimpering, struggling to obey.

You ride him slowly at first — deep, grinding strokes that make his legs shake. Then you pick up speed, and he starts to fall apart.

“I’m close,” he pants.

“Hold it.”

He cries out, tears almost in his eyes, but obeys. You squeeze tighter around him, watching him unravel beneath you, high-pitched moans spilling from his lips.

And then — release.

You let yourself go first, clenching around him with a loud cry. That’s all it takes. His orgasm hits hard — his back arches, hips stuttering as he spills into you with a desperate sob of your name.

He trembles under you, helpless and wrecked.

You untie his wrists, gently rubbing the marks, and he immediately wraps his arms around you, burying his face in your neck.

“Did so good,” you whisper, pressing kisses to his hair. “You gave me everything.”

He doesn’t say anything for a moment — just holds you tighter.

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𝐓𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭: @notkiaralol @rcsbabydoll @cokewithcameron @psychocitylights @favzcarpentr @alwaysherother @mavericksice @daryldixon83 @luvinqaidan @43hughes @k4yr14 @asher-420s-blog @soft-starr

[deadgirlsnoring]

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 cherry 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

[holybibly]

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."

[thesweetnessofspring]

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."

[driflew]

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.

[analog-autistic]

wahoo, more of the abyss adopting random ass children

@buggz-owlz …. you seem to like my writing :3

tw: implied intersexism, culty stuff, mind influence, implied mind control/hypnotization, implied child abuse (ask to add more!)

—

Dex ran. They ran, and ran, and ran as far and fast as they could.

The only thing going through their head was running away. Making sure the soldiers behind them didn’t catch up.

Their white and gold robes were torn, their mask making it difficult to breathe- but they couldn’t stop now. Their father- the leader and high priest of the Followers of the Light- would kill them if they were caught. So they couldn’t stop.

The white mask, meant to hide their flaws, was still stuck tight to their face. They could never take it off. They didn’t know how. The magic seal on it made sure nobody would ever see their “imperfections”.

But they couldn’t live like that. So they ran away.

That was the only thing in their mind. Running.

They were so focused on running, they didn’t notice the unnaturally dark cracks in the ground.

They didn’t notice the shadowy sinkhole opening right infront of them.

Just one misstep sent them tumbling into a deep dark hole- one too deep to crawl out of on their own.

“She went this way! Don’t loose her!”

She. Ugh. Every time those soldiers spoke was a reminder of why they ran away in the first place.

Suddenly, something occurred to them. They were trapped in a hole in the ground- if those soldiers looked in there, they’d be good as dead.

But just as the thought entered their head, the sinkhole began to close above them. Dark, thorned vines and long, stretching arms made of void and shadow closed the gap, cutting off all sunlight from reaching them.

Their heart started racing. Everything around them was dark. It absorbed all light, leaving nothing but a dark, empty abyss surrounding them. And they felt suffocated.

The darkness of The Abyss’s was exactly what they had been taught to fear their entire life. And now it was all that surrounded them.

“Now what’s this? A Follower of the Light, here in my domain?”

Dex shivered. No. No. Nononononono. This wasn’t supposed to be happening. This can’t be happening. There was nowhere for them to run. It was them, and The Abyss Itself.

Shadowy tendrils and arms reached up and wrapped around Dex, pinning their wings to their back and keeping them from moving. Three giant purple eyes opened up and stared down at them, revealing The Abyss’s form. It smiled at Dex, who was now on the verge of a panic attack- and it definitely noticed.

“Oh, why so fearful, little one? I won’t hurt you.”

They exhaled, and their eyes started to water. They struggled to speak, tripping over their words and eventually forming a sentence.

“What… what do you want from me?”

“I want to help you. A runaway light is a rare occurrence, but one I’ve grown to like.

The pressure of being the child of the priest… the responsibility must weigh heavy on your shoulders, hm?”

Its voice was slithering, it felt like it was burrowing into their skull… yet unexpectedly comforting and warm. Dex hated it. They hated that this thing they were meant to fear was so… welcoming. Something inside them wanted to embrace it, to let it take them, to wrap themself in the darkness and shadows. Part of them never wanted to see the light again. And it knew.

“I… I-I…”

They were hyperventilating, trying to breath normally seemed impossible.

“L-Let me go… please…”

“Oh, starlight…”

It spoke as though it pitied Dex. Maybe it did.

“You can’t survive out there. Sol certainly won’t take you back- not after you’ve run away like this.

Your father and his soldiers will hunt you down to the ends of the world to punish you for your disobedience.

But now… now you’re here with me. And there’s nowhere to run.”

It was right. They couldn’t go back to their father. And now, surrounded by darkness and shadows, there was no escape.

It spoke slowly and deliberately, its voice almost hypnotic.

Dex couldn’t speak. They weren’t sure if it was their own fear, or if The Abyss was messing with their head.

“Hmm… that mask you’re wearing… what does it hide, I wonder?”

The Abyss leaned in closer, the shadows closing in. More of the shadowy arms and vines that immobilized Dex reached up to their mask. They struggled against the darkness holding them back, but it was no use.

“No… p-please… please don’t… don’t take it off… I-I…”

Their voice was quiet- the combination of the suffocating mask and the fear running through their veins was making it difficult to speak. But their protests didn’t go unheard.

“Why? Why would you keep something like this? Something that’s only hurting you?

I know the answer, of course, but… I want you to tell me.”

Dex could barely think.

“They… they’ll kill me… I-I can’t show my face…”

The Abyss laughed softly, sadly staring down at Dex like they were a stray kitten. It reached out to them, carefully tilting their head up to look at it.

“Oh, you poor, naive little thing…

Sol, nor their followers, can touch you here. The darkness will protect you, as long as you embrace it.

You have nothing to fear, my child.”

Dex shuddered. They didn’t have a choice. They were too tired and weak to fight back, waves of exhaustion pulsing through their body.

They sunk into the shadows holding them up as they accepted their fate. The darkness curled around them to keep them upright.

“Just… please… don’t let them find me…”

“Trust me, little shadow. They will never hurt you again.”

The shadows surrounding them reached for the mask. It pulsed with a bright light, the seal desperately trying to stay in place, but the void quickly overwhelmed it. It shattered into glowing shards of light, all quickly smothered by the darkness.

Dex looked up at The Abyss, their dark brown eyes fixated on it. They had a cleft lip, a few scars, and short, curly hair.

“See? Isn’t this so much better?”

Dex steadied their breath, staring into The Abyss’s eyes. They were the only thing emitting any sort of light. They couldn’t speak, only breathe as the bright purple eyes put them into a trance.

The Abyss’s form shifted into a smaller body- one not much taller than Dex. It walked towards them, and as the shadows partially released them, Dex hugged it as tight as they could.

It embraced them as well, and the last of the light in their soul slowly faded into nothingness.

—

btw abyss isn’t technically the good guy here . There’s no good guy here everyone is evil as hell 👍

hope you guys liked this one I liked this one :) I’d hug the abyss tbh

also fun fact the abyss isn’t actually cold! It can change it’s temperature to whatever it wants. it can be very warm actually:) toasty warm :)

[just-here-for-the-fanfiction]

stein x reader smut

You have only been steins weapon partner for a couple of months now. You enjoy living with him, and helping with his experiments. But while you've been here the one thing you haven't been able to have, is sex. Your not the kind to want a relationship, but you're still alive. As a living being, you have the biological urge for sex, as stein would say.

Youve noticed his lingering glaces lately. It's not like you've made it easy to ignore you. Walking around in a t shirt and panties most of the time. But still he hasn't made a move, and your starting to get impatient. So tonight, you plan to jump him.

You start to walk through the lab in search of the stitched man. You find him at his desk, his mind absorbed in the screen so he doesn't see you yet. You walk slowly, with purpose to the man and spin his seat around to face you.

"What are you..?" He says before your lips crash into his. Your legs going around his to straddle him in the chair.

"Well stein" you say "what I really, really want right now is sex, and I was hoping you would indulge me."

The only answer he gives is a growl, as he grabbed your hips. You start kissing and biting down his neck. Trying to gain control in the situation he ruts up against you. A moan leaves both of your mouths.

Stein takes this moment to pick you up from the chair and set you on his desk. Brushing away the keyboard and papers. Grabbing the collar of his coat, you pull his mouth back to yours. His tongue licks your lip asking for permission. Which you plan to deny until he grinds into you again, causing a moan to slip from your lips. He takes this opportunity to slide his tongue into your mouth. You battle for dominance but you very quickly loose. So whole stein explores your mouth, you push his coat off.

You tug at his shirt, and he takes it off for you. But Stein decides you are far to clothed. Taking his scalpel, he cuts your shirt off.

"No bra, huh (y/n)?" He says, just heavy in his voice now. His large hands start kneading your breasts. Eliciting another moan from your lips. It suprises you because you never get this reaction when you touch yourself.

You close your eyes, enjoying the sensation. You hear a thud suddenly, looking through half lidded eyes you can see stein has removed his pants. Leaving him in only his boxers. You take a moment to appreciate his body. But he doesn't give you much time. He starts grinding into you again. You gasp, and grasp onto his shoulders. He sets a relentless pace, earning a few soft moans from himself.

You can feel the bubble in your stomach growing now. Just as you think it might burst he stops. You look up confused.

"I need you. Now." He says. Eyes filled with hunger. You shudder. Partly because your anxious for what's about to come, and partly of pride knowing that you did this to him.

He pulls your underwear off, and quickly drops his as well. You gasp in suprise. His penis is larger than you anticipated. Free from the confides of his boxers it now stands proudly at his stomach. But much like before he doesn't give you much time to admire it.

He slips on a condom before he positions himself at your entrance, and pushes in slowly. Allowing you time to adjust to his size. It hurts at first but soon that's replaced with pleasure. You grind up at him, signaling he can move now. And fuck did it feel great when he started to move. Pulling his shaft most of the way out before shoving it back in. You hear him groan into your neck.

Breathlessly you ask "please stein, faster." You think he might not have heard you but he obliges. Gripping your thigh for better support, he rams into you. You moan loudly, and he pulls your hair in response. Desperate for more friction. Your hand goes down to your clit and starts rubbing circles. You moan loudly again, resting your forehead on steins shoulder. You feel the bubble in your stomach start building again. You know you won't last much longer.

"Stein," you say. "About to.."

"Me too" he grunts

He feels your walls start to clench around him. You bite his shoulder, but he doesnt mind. He always did like a bit of pain. He watches as pleasure washes over your delicate features, and he keeps pounding watching you ride out your orgasm. But his thrust are getting sloppy. You are very tired after your orgasm, but hold out for steins. You feel his member twitch inside of you, with one more thrust he stops. Riding out the waves of his own orgasm. His head resting on you. After a few seconds he pulls out of you. Removing the condom before tying it and throwing it away. Both of you still breathing heavy.

He looks up at you and says "maybe we should do that more often."

You laugh lightly and respond "yeah I think I'd like that"

[beigetiger]

Honestly Skulduggery in Hell Breaks Loose hurts my heart. He was simultaneously a hyper-violent asshole who sold out his teammates for a half-assed attempt at killing Serpine, but he was also JUST SO SAD. I spent the first half of this book wanting to punch him and the second half wanting to give him a hug, no matter how bad of an idea that would be. Anyways, spoilers ahead.

His self-esteem, for one, is absolutely awful, and he’s kinda right to think of himself in that way. He understands that his love of violence and hurting people isn’t normal, even if his friends go out of their way to try and not make him too uncomfortable. He questions Ghastly as to why he sticks around despite Skulduggery ditching camp to try and failing to kill a guy, and berates Ghastly for trusting and loving him on account of the fact that Skulduggery will probably just hurt him again.

And that scene where he was talking to Valkyrie and they were just chatting about random stuff? Broke my heart. At first I thought that Skulduggery might not like or trust someone who claimed to be his friend from the future, but him being happy to meet Valkyrie because it means that he’s still capable of loving someone and that he’s not a total lost cause was heart-wrenching. I really loved all of the Dead Men interacting with Valkyrie, but those two definitely hit me the hardest.

And another absolutely heartbreaking thing to watch was him using necromancy magic on Serpine by accident. The aftermath of the whole thing did such a fantastic job illustrating his frustration with his own magic, with how he killed Serpine, and with knowing that he’s now essentially damned his teammates. He also seemed so legitimately frightened by his own magic, making him default to refusing to acknowledge it as part of him and not want to talk about the subject. In fact, watching him panic and the other Dead Men react to his shadow magic was super interesting because they don’t really fear it. And why would they? Lord Vile hasn’t happened yet, Skulduggery is their friend, they all have nothing to fear, even if they are a bit out of their lane. Valkyrie was really the only one who understood the full implications of the situation that they were in, which gave her even more of a reason to panic because it means that the timeline had gone horribly wrong.

Also, some of the stuff that Serpine was saying to Skulduggery while chained up? Absolutely FOUL, I cannot even begin to imagine the amount of self-control it must have taken for Skulduggery to stand there and take all that for as long as he did. Because while he has pretty much no self-restraint for 90% of this book, this was the one place he knew he couldn’t mess up. And he messed up, not that it particularly mattered in the end anyways. But I like to tell myself that I have decent self-control, and I would have snapped that man’s neck so fast if he started talking in disturbing, gloating detail about the death of my loved ones. Really just goes to show that Skulduggery didn’t want to lose the rest of the people he cared about as well. That went great, didn’t it.

Somewhat unrelated to this whole tangent, but knowing that Skulduggery and Rustica (Ghastly’s mom) were buddies and would hang out and joke with each other hurt so much more knowing how Rustica dies.

And completely unrelated to this tangent, Valkyrie having to watch a version of her partner die only to kill an old man and have the timeline revert so that he’s alive but remembers nothing that happened must have been a DISTURBING experience. I’d probably never sleep again, I’d be so worried about the people I care about constantly. And also I’d be stuck trying to unravel the layers of the universe. I’m fully convinced that the reason Valkyrie sometimes blocks out information people are trying to give her (or trying to dumb it down/ trivialize it) is because this woman has handled the horrors of the universe and probably implements this technique to stop herself from going insane thinking about it.