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tomblythismyhusband · 2 months

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Hellooo!! I got a request for billy

Its where he finds out the reader has been hurt in some way intentionally and he freaks out and treats her like glass for a little while and js takes care of her, being rlly protective from then on

wounded [billy the kid x fem!reader]

[summary]: billy the kid x fem!reader | After having a run in with some bandits, you escape wounded, leaving Billy to tend and and take care of it for you.

[warnings]: blood, violence, fluff, kissing, light teasing

[wc]: 1.2k

[note]: tysm anon for the request!! i couldn’t tell if the request meant like- reader harms herself and Billy takes care of her or not. IDK- message me if that’s what u meant bc I would be happy to write it :)

Pain bloomed in your side as you stumbled back to camp. When out riding, you came across bandits that not only slashed your side when you tried to escape, but also stole your horse.

Luckily you had also wounded one of the men in retaliation. You had shot him in the leg, leaving him at the mercy of whether or not his partner would help him walk. You had got out easy. The bandits would’ve done more to you if it wasn’t for the threat you had laid out.

“I go along with Billy the Kid’s gang so if I were you I would start runnin’.” You had yelled, aiming your gun at the men. The men’s eyes had both widened behind their bandanas. Billy was notoriously known as a ruthless killer. Of course you knew the real him, sweet, caring, soft. They whispered to each other, and then fled quickly, one man supporting the other. Leaving you standing in the desert, bleeding from your side, gun shaking in your fingers.

As you had trudged back to camp, each step felt like a knife was sinking into your flesh again. Warm blood had soaked your shirt as you tried to keep pressure on it.

Now you finally made it back to camp. Your legs were shaking, begging to collapse underneath the weight of your weary body.

“Billy-“ You choked out as you entered camp. All the other boys in the gang had left and it was evident by the empty food boxes, and quiet fields where the horses had been.

You glanced around. “Billy?” You called again, voice shaky.

You heard rustling in one of the tents and Billy poked his head out, a smile on his face. “Hey-“ His face immediately dropped, fear replacing his previous expression. Billy swiftly stood next to you, just in time as you slumped and had him support you.

“I’m sorry-“ You choked out as your head started to feel heavy. Surely you had lost a lot of blood, your vision was now fuzzy around the edges. Not a good side.

“Why are you apologizing? Don’t apologize. Come on, we need to tend to this.” Billy said urgently, starting to help you hobble over to his tent. Halfway there he scooped you up in his arms because walking wasn’t exactly the easiest at the moment.

He carried you with ease into the tent and laid you down on his cot, immediately rummaging for medical supplies. His eyes flicked to you. He kneeled down next to your lying body.

“Care to unbutton your shirt Y/n? I can’t reach the wound with it on.” Usually, you would have made a witty joke in response but you were in too much pain and could only comply with his words. You’re shaky fingers unbuttoned the buttons of the bloody shirt as Billy gently helped you sit up right to pull it off.

Your body felt cool once you were just in your bra. You could feel the wet sticky feeling of blood on your torso, and didn’t dare to look down to see the gash.

Billy laid you gently back down, sucking air through his teeth as he examined your wound.

“Is it bad?” You asked anxiously. “I couldn’t tell how far the blade went.” You felt Billy’s calloused hands on your side.

“It could be worse. It’s doable. Luckily, you won’t need stitches.” He nodded. He turned to grab a canteen of water from somewhere in the tent, popped open the lid, and poured it onto a cloth. Once the damp cloth met your skin, you tensed and squeezed your eyes shut.

“Shh… I know darlin’ I know.” Billy murmured softly as he cleaned the area of the wound. Your hands gripped the sides of the cot as he worked.

Once it was clean, Billy helped you sit up slowly as he took a roll of gauze from the medical kit. “Put your arms away from your side.” He instructed. You complied, sticking them out so they weren’t touching your body.

Billy carefully started to wrap gauze around your waist tightly. You hated the feeling of confinement but you also knew it was the only thing that could stop the bleeding.

As Billy worked you examined him. Your blood on his clothes, the worried expression pinching his brows, and the carefulness of his movements made your heart pump faster. His eyes met yours for a moment, sensing your staring and he gave you a quick smile before focusing on wrapping your wound again.

Finally, Billy had finished. He ran his hand over the now wrapped areas gingerly, causing a shiver to shoot up your spine.

“Thank you.” You finally whispered. Billy’s hand trailed down to rest on your knee as you looked down at him.

“I’m going to kill whoever did this to you.” He murmured. You let out a soft chuckle, reaching out your hand to run it over his forehead, pushing the curls that laid there away from his pretty blue eyes.

“Im sorry I should’ve been more careful-“ You started to say before Billy shook his head and took your hands in his own.

“Don’t say that. I know you're a strong, careful woman. Whatever happened, I bet you gave them worse.” You bit your lip. Billy studied your face. “How about you lie down and rest?” You gave him a pained smile.

“I don’t really feel like sleepin’... I’ll sleep only if your beside me.” Billy let out a chuckle at your stubbornness as he got out of a kneel. Thankfully the cot was big enough for two. Billy laid down carefully next to you as you situated your own body to lie down.

You felt Billy’s arm snake under your back before you fully lied down. He pulled you close, placing a soft kiss on your forehead.

“I’m just glad you didn’t get more seriously hurt.” He whispered close to your ear. “I don’t know what I would do if I wasn’ able to help you.”

You gave him a reassuring nod and cupped his face with one of your hands. “I’m glad to have you, Billy.”

“Just so you know, I ain’t never lettin’ you out of my sighs again.” He joked, squeezing you close again playfully.

You couldn’t help it but to let out a giggle, moving your hand away from his face in the process. Billy’s head dipped down to kiss the tops of your breasts softly. The warm feeling of his lips on your body melted away any feeling of pain. “Now that’s just mean.. you teasin’ me like that.” You chuckled.

Billy flashed a devilish grin up at you. “Sorry, I can't help it.” He moved his head back up towards your lips, kissing them lightly. You both pulled away, noses close as your eyes studied each other. You loved how you could see the freckles that peppered his face more clearly up close.

“All right enough lovin’ you should be sleepin’.” Billy drawled. You felt his breath tickle your nose making you smile softly.

You both adjusted your lying positions to get comfy and for you, out of pain. “I love you.” You whispered. Billy smiled as he ran a hand on your face.

“Love you.”

With that you both napped away the day in each other’s arms.

#billy bonney x reader #billy the kid x you #billythekidxreader #billy the kid smut #billy the kid x reader #billy the kid fanfiction #billy the kid imagine #billy bonney #billy the kid #william h bonney x reader #willam afton #tom blyth x reader #tom blyth x fem!reader #tom blyth one shot #tom blyth fic #tom blyth x you #tom blyth fanfiction #tom blyth imagine #tom blyth

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retroellie · 1 year

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Bloody mess

Summary: Period pains suck and Daryl only knows one way to help you

A/N: I'm on my period and very Horny for Daryl rn, so hey :) Have a acute little period smut. Also, i want to start writing blurbs because writing full fanfics is so time consuming and i have some many ideas but not enough time to write them yk? So, expect short fics coming up!!

Warnings: NSFW, Cunnilingus, period sex, blood and just gross descriptions

Word Count: 2.2K

You don’t know how you ended up in this situation, with your hands tangled in Daryl’s hair as he went to town between your thighs. You just came home from work to find the kids at Rositas house, the house was empty and the shower was basically calling for you. You were in extreme amounts of pain, you had gotten your period that morning and throughout work you were on the verge of just collapsing so all you wanted to do right now was lay in bed and hope the cramps stopped.

The nice hot shower you took helped some, the dull ache in your stomach ceased for only a couple minutes before it came back and twice as bad. You could do nothing else but put on some underwear with a huge pad and one of Daryl’s black shirts, just lay there until it felt better. You were laying there with your eyes shut and a hot water bottle on your stomach, it was useless even trying to sleep because the pain would wake you.

You thought all hope was lost until you heard the front door open, at first you thought it was the kids so you attempted to cover up some but the footsteps you heard were much heavier than your goofball niece and nephew. The footsteps go louder as they make their way into your room, the door creaking open to reveal the culprit of the noise. It was Daryl, he was coming home from a long day at work and he was exhausted to say the least.

The first thing he saw was you with a towel underneath you, a pair of black underwear and his shirt. At first he thought you were genuinely dying with how sickly you looked but he eased up when he saw your little eyes peek over at him and he saw you were just fine… maybe not fine but you were alive.

“Hey….” You said weakly, hand attempting to block out the sun from your eyes.

“Hey. Are you good?” He asked, making his way into the room fully to set his things down.

You shrugged, moving your body so you were laying flat on your back and you could get a better look at him. You weren’t sure why but the way his black shirt tightened around his chest and how his arms were far too big for it had your stomach fluttering. Maybe it was your hormones craving to be touched or it was simply exactly what Daryl did to you when he came home from work, all sweaty and worn down.

“Hmm, it’s my period. came early this time and it hurts like a bitch.” you replied, hand placing the hot water bottle on your stomach. The pressure of it slightly makes you wince.

Daryl felt terrible, he knew it wasn’t his doing but still hurt to see you in such pain. Not to mention Daryl had seen you take out hoards of walkers by yourself, he’s seen you get shot too many times and you can take a stab wound like it’s a simple scratch so seeing you like this… in pain and broken down simply because your body is fighting against you, Daryl feels awful. He didn’t know what to do to make you feel better but be there for you and even then, that won’t stop the pain.

However, Daryl sometimes hears his coworkers talk, although they talk in such disgusting ways about women he tends to take in the information and learn from it. One time he overheard his coworker saying how period cramps can be helped with orgasms, he’s not sure if that’s true or not but if it’s the only thing to help you in this moment… he’ll eat it like a hungry man. It’ll also benefit him, he loves coming home after a long day at work and just makeout with your pussy.

“‘M sorry bunny…” he said, climbing onto the bed below you and rubbing your feet comfortingly.

You smiled, hand still gripping onto the hot water bottle as it burned your skin. Daryl continued rubbing your feet, making his way to your calves and your tired knees. The warmth of his fingers felt nice, the roughness of them giving you a slight tingle that led to your heart. You closed your eyes, taking in the pleasure of being touched.

“Ya know I heard orgasms help cramps.” He stated, causing you to let out a laugh.

You weren’t expecting it, it was random and caught you off guard. You guys had sex a lot, any chance you got Daryl would be inside of you but you never let him do anything to you in your period. Not that you think Daryl would care but it was messy and you were honestly embarrassed by it, I mean you literally have blood coming out of your vagina… you don’t expect him to want to get all bloodied up for you. You thought he was kidding but the look on his face was serious.

“Really?” You asked, sitting up on your elbows to face him.

“Yeah, why not.” He stated.

You furrowed your brows, cocking your head to the side like that was the most goofiest thing you had ever heard anyone say. Daryl just ran his hand closer and closer to your underwear, hinting at what he wanted. You obviously didn’t stop him but you did recoil back abit, your thighs slowly inching together as he got higher and higher.

“Ya don’t have to do anything’, just sit back and look pretty for me.” He grinned, watching your facial features change as his arousing words sent shivers down your spine.

“But it’s gonna be messy…” you said, hesitating on whether you wanted to do this or not.

Daryl gave you the stupidest face you’ve ever seen a person give you, he looked to say “really you dumb bitch.” With only his eyes. You were serious though, you were honestly hesitant because you were embarrassed by it.

“When has a little blood ever stopped me??” He asked, his face still with that stupid look on it.

Daryl has been bloodied before, so bloody you couldn’t even recognize him and every time you could end up fucking him silly. This way you can get him all bloody without the harm towards him plus you could ease up those fucking cramps you were experiencing.

You opened your legs again, inching open so Daryl knew he had the right away. As soon as Daryl even thought you were giving him the okay he did not hesitate in getting started immediately. He damn near ripped your panties off, seeing your cunt glistening with a mixture of blood and your wetness. Daryl has eaten cooked dogs before and even fucking worms so he was going to eat you like a fucking steak dinner.

He sat on his knees above you, stripping himself of his vest and his shirt attempting to throw them on the dresser but missing completely. As he did so his eyes were trained on your cunt, he was so ready for it and he was so excited that you actually let him do so. He then bent down, eye to eye with your cunt as he slowly started kissing his way up to it. He kissed the insides of your thighs, not leaving a single spot unmarked, he even left a hickey here and there.

Your legs were already shaking, mostly with excitement but nervousness was also seeking through your body but you didn’t feel it for long before Daryl shoved his face in your pussy. It was so unexpected that you let out almost a pornographic moan causing Daryl to chuckle on your pussy. He started slowly, lapping up the blood that was seeping out of you slowly. You could already feel your cramps stop, instead your stomach was filled with a knot that was deep inside you.

Daryl licked up your cunt, teasing your clit as he licked anywhere but the bundle of nerves. His hands held down your thighs as they started to close around his head, giving him a perfect angle to eat your pussy nice and right. Daryl had all day to make you feel good and he was going to use it all up, hoping that maybe the neighbors could hear your pleas and moans.

“Daryl…” you moaned, the words basically imprinted on your tongue from how often you say it.

He was only egged on by your moans, his lips suckled down on your clit. You were right when you said it was going to be messy, the white towel you had placed down is now red, Daryl’s upper half is soaked with your blood and his hair was covered in it too. You got so lost in lust and pleasure that you didn’t care about the mess anymore, you just grabbed a fist full of his hair and pushed him closer onto you.

Daryl’s tongue continued lapping at gout pussy, sucking and licking until you were going completely insane. His hands made their way up to your tits, lifting up his black shirt you wore to squeeze the flesh that was there. You were getting lost in ecstasy, so high in the clouds that you forgot you were even bleeding in the first place. That was Daryl’s plan all along, making sure you forgot how your body was literally shedding itself of old tissue, which honestly fascinated the hell out of Daryl.

“M so close Daryl…” you moaned, gripping onto his hair harder.

Daryl looked up, peeking up to see you high in the clouds. Your back was arched, your eyes shut tightly and your hand making sure his hands stayed massaging your tits. He thought you looked so beautiful, so angelic and so fucking sexy, he could stay like this forever if you’d only let him. Daryl knew how to make you cum and he knew how to do it well too so he took his free hand and stuffed two fingers inside you, pumping them in and out while his tongue worked in your clit.

The knot in your stomach grew tighter, becoming so unbelievably tight it became so uncomfortable as if you didn’t cum it would quite literally kill you. Your hips started to grind against his face, holding his head in place as you did so. His nose was now deep inside your slit, his tongue still lapping your bloody cunt and his fingers going at a slow and teasing pace.

“fuck… shit…. Daryl I’m cumming!!” You screamed, his actions only picking up in pace.

Just then the knot in your stomach exploded, your juices spilling out of you, mixing in with your blood. You continued to grind on his face, this time your thrust was jagged and jumpy. Daryl tongue fucked you through your orgasm, shoved his fingers in and out of you even through your walls were contracting against them. You came with a loud scream, sounding as though you had been being murdered.

After your hips had stopped bucking violently and the only thing you felt now was the soft aftershocks of the mind shattering orgasm, leaving your body shaking softly, Daryl was working his tongue on you still. He lapped up all the blood and cum that had been left behind, taking it all in and tasting the metallic sweet taste it left behind. You were sensitive now, overstimulated and every time his tongue touched your sensitive bud, your hips would jolt up and your thighs would attempt to close.

When Daryl was finally done with you, making sure your cunt was clean and rid of all juices, he pulled away from you. His face was dripping with you, blood marked his entire face almost and it was damn near dripping off of him. You looked into his lust blown blue eyes, seeing his softness in them which honestly turned you in more. He just did the most disgusting thing and his eyes are still so soft when they look at you, how can someone so rough and scary be so angelic to you.

You don’t know what came over you but for some reason you had the violent urge to kiss his bloodied lips. You sat up still looking him right in the eyes as you grabbed him by his face and pulled him into a rough kiss. You could taste yourself on his lips, lapping your juices up and taking them into your own mouth. Most would be disgusted at what you were doing, all of this would be horrific to them but not you. You found what he did so fucking attractive and he did it all for you, well maybe his self just a little.

“Do you feel better?” He said pulling away from you, seeing how your face was now covered with your own blood. You just smiled up at him, leaving soft kisses along his jaw.

“I mean for the most part… I think I might need another orgasm though.” You joked, sucking and licking at his neck now.

Daryl chuckled lowly, eyes closing as you created small love bites on his neck. You wanted him more than ever now and he was gladly going to give you everything your little heart desired. He just pulled you off of him, laying you down so your head hit the pillows and readied himself for the long, messy night that was to come.

“Anything for my bunny” he said before moving in between your legs once again, ready to overstimulate and fuck you until you were begging him to stop.

#daryl dixon smut #daryl dixon fanfiction #the walking dead fanfiction #daryl dixon #daryl dixon x reader #darly dixon #the walking dead

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garoujo · 2 years

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YOU USE YOUR SAFE WORD — TOKYO REVENGERS

feat : sano manjiro, ryuguji ken, hanma shuji, haitani rindou + (akashi) sanzu haruchiyo

ღ warnings — f. reader, safe word usage, comfort, overstimulation, fingering in mikeys, degradation, talk of multiple orgasms, empty threats / edging, minimal prep, degradation, rough sex, choking, restraints (with a tie).

ღ note — honestly i really like safe word usage writing cause i love the comfort that comes with it so i thought i’d finally write some of my own >.< these ended up so long i’m sorry!!!

・✶ ｡ﾟ SANO MANJIRO / MIKEY

it’d been obvious he’d had a rough day with how he’d returned home to you, his steps heavy and his eyes almost cold even when they meet yours—unfeeling, it was a sight you weren’t used to and as much as you wanted to make him feel better, you wanted your version of mikey to be the one gazing back at you.

“sit still.” mikey hisses from where he’s looming over you, his tone is sharp and cold as one of his hands squeeze slightly at the sides of your throat, the other keeping up the pace and pressure from where he’s stuffing two of his fingers inside of you, exhaling roughly when your tight walls squeeze around the digits. he hadn’t prepped you as well as he usually would, his mind was too hazy—too messy, so what would normally be a pleasurable ache is replaced this time with a burning sensation when his long fingers sink into your walls, pushing against something that’s almost too deep inside of you that has your thighs closing around his wrist. “mikey, it’s too—“ you squeak, tears pricking at your lashes as he speeds up his ministrations and it hurts, “quit squirming.” he huffs, fingers squeezing almost too tightly around your throat until there’s a dizzy spin in your mind and you kick your feet slightly until the first tear of the night streaks down your cheeks. “red—red, manjiro!” you cry and mikey’s movements stop immediately, the hand that was wrapped around your throat releasing instantly as his palm finds a place against your damp cheek instead and it still feels warm before he looks at you, really looks at you for the first time that night and he’s scrambling to pull you into his arms, smoothing his hands along your trembling figure as he almost breaks, nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck. “i’m so sorry, fuck—so sorry, didn’t mean to hurt you.”

・✶ ｡ﾟ RYUGUJI KEN / DRAKEN

draken was strong, you knew that but he would never go all out with you, not without talking about it before hand atleast — always making sure he wasn’t pushing you past his limits, but tonight was different maybe something had came up at the shop, maybe he was just in a bad mood, something was definitely up.

“k-kenny, it’s too much—“ you cry from where he’s got you folded beneath him, every one of his thrusts clapping as his hips all but bounce against yours, each one driven by the strength in his huge body. draken clenches his jaw, hisses through his teeth as your body jolts underneath him, he feels drunk on you—strong hands squeezing at the fat of your thighs before he’s pushing them tighter against you, uncomfortably so, his pelvis grinding against your clit—swollen from your previous orgasm as his heavy balls smack against your ass with each crushing thrust. it’s too much—you sob again, there’s a ringing in your ears, every brush against your puffy clit is sending a shock of pain straight into your core and you feel so overwhelmed when you claw at his arms, desperate for him to come back to you and just let you breathe for a second. “ken—blue, fuck!” you finally shout and it’s immediate the way draken stills, snaps his head up towards you with a deep frown before he’s pulling back, slowly and gently letting your thighs rest on the mattress below you as you gasp for air, cheeks damp with tears. “holy shit, princess. fuck—cmeer. shit, let me see you.” his touch is gentle this time when he reaches for you, hesitant incase you don’t want him to touch you but he exhales in relief when you scramble closer to him “just need a minute.” allowing him to pull you against his strong chest before he’s cupping your face—frowning down at you affectionately even though he’s internally beating himself up, angry he never noticed you were at your limit before he’s placing a gentle kiss against your forehead as an apology. he holds you a little closer that night, he’d never let that happen again.

・✶ ｡ﾟ HANMA SHUJI

hanma was a tease but he knew when to give you exactly what you wanted but something was different tonight, something a little more unhinged in his grin when he looked at you—bent you over the kitchen counter and the look in the amber eyes staring back at you was almost carnal, something was off.

“can feel you squeezin’ real tight but i told you not to cum didn’t i? you don’t wanna make me mad, right, baby? don’t wanna make me break you.” hanma grunts from where he’s looming over your figure, chuckling lowly into the skin of your shoulder as his fingers squeeze the back of your neck to keep you pressed against the counter. hanma was dangerous—unpredictable, you knew that when you got together but he was different with you, full of empty friends and playful banter but the unsteadiness in his deep tone had you feeling different, almost scared as he slams into you from behind—pace animalistic, heavy and practiced and igniting every nerve ending in your body from where the blunt head of his cock is sliding along your sweet spots but you still jolt when you feel his teeth graze the nape of your neck. hanma growls against your skin, deliberately angling your hips higher against his own so he can shove his cock deeper—deliberately pushing you towards the orgasm he told you you can’t have. “gonna cum? go on—see what happens.” he drawls, long fingers tracing their way between your legs, reaching around to find your clit before he’s toying and rolling at the sensitive bud and your eyes snap open when you feel your orgasm hurtling towards you. “gold, shuji—gold!” you cry before you feel him immediately pull off of your figure, turning you to face him and pulling you flush against his chest while his fingers trace their way along your spine. “let me see you, baby. look at me—“ he drawls, his tone honeyed and there’s a familiarity in the amber gaze that looks at you through the messy curls framing his face this time. “shuji, i was scared.” you sigh and he traces your tear stained cheek with a rough fingertip as he pouts down at you, pecking at your lips softly. “never gonna hurt you, you know i’d kill anyone who ever did, shit—i’d burn the fuckin’ world for you.”

・✶ ｡ﾟ HAITANI RINDOU

rindou could be vocal during sex, normally when he was more frustrated or had gotten into an argument with ran—you normally didn’t mind it as much, but maybe this was a bad one, his words a little sharper than usual and you can’t help but flinch at the venom on his tongue.

“fuck, look at you—so fucking desperate.” rindou grunts, feeling your walls tighten around his cock like a vice as his palm pushes against your pelvis—making him feel like he’s reaching deeper as he fucks into you, violet hair mused as it falls over his narrowed eyes. your body feels like it’s crumbling beneath him, the sharp tone of his voice like venom as it cuts through you and his cock thickens inside of your soaked cunt while the vibration of his groans echo somewhere deep in his chest. the grip he has on your hips feel bruising as your thighs wrap around his waist, one of his hands trailing across you’re skin to grab at your jaw before he’s forcing your gaze to meet the unfamiliar, cold one looking back at you. “this pussy’s all your good for, fuckin’ take it.” rindou grunts, gritting his teeth and you gasp sharply at his words, the sudden remark catching you off guard as you feel something sink in your chest—every unforgiving push of his hips suddenly feeling overwhelming when you feel your gaze turn damp. you grab at him hand, flinching when he immediately shoves you off only to take a pace that’s a little rougher, faster until a sob rakes your body. “purple, rin—stop!” you cry, scrambling away from him when his movements cease and he’s looking at you with wide eyes and parted lips. “shit!” rindou hisses, keeping his distance from where he kneels across from you and he can’t help but feel helpless when he watches you pull your knees towards your face. “babe?” he mumbles, reaching for you and exhaling in relief when you don’t shove him away, his palm smoothing along your calm as he inches closer. “that was so mean, rin.” you admit and you watch his shoulders drop before he’s pulling you tight against him, arms wrapping around with a stability that has you immediately melting into him despite the slight tremble to his arms, a shaking undercurrent to his next words. “fuck—‘m so sorry, you mean the fuckin’ world to me, you know that? can’t live without you.”

・✶ ｡ﾟ SANZU HARUCHIYO

sanzu was always a little softer with you behind closed doors, a little more stable and gentle but that doesn’t mean he didn’t get carried away. in some half hormone drunken haze as he fucks into you, getting too caught up in the moment and not realising his strength or just what he’s pushing you though when he’s got you pinned beneath him.

you’re surprised you can even form a sentence with how hard sanzu is fucking you, his eyes dark and primal as he tugs on the tie that’s tied tightly around your wrist—making you arch almost painfully as he uses his other hand to press your head into the mattress below you. “t-that’s it, fuckin’ just like that, angel—“ sanzu breathes, pink cheeked as his hips slam against yours, the bed creaking as wet squelching noises echo around the room. you let out a babble of his name but it goes unheard when he presses you deeper into the comforter, almost riffing you of the oxygen you had left when he tugs harder on his tie and you can almost feel the burning sensation along your wrist where your skin is being tugged. “haru, need—a break, please!” you try to say but sanzu can barely hear you with the way your walls are spasming and clamping down around him. “there we fuckin’ go.” he grunts, jaw slack while his coloured hair sticks slightly to the sheen of sweat across his forehead and you try to scramble away before he tugs you back by your restraints—the searing pain in your skin making you go almost limp beneath him as you try to call for him, again, using all the strength left in your body to turn your head in his grasp. “pink, haru! let me go!” you cry and you watch panic find home on sanzu’s features when he scrambles to pull you into his arms, a slight tremble to his fingers when he quickly unties you and massages at the reddening, broken skin of your wrist before he’s placing gentle kisses against the skin. “fuck, angel—should’ve realised, so fuckin’ stupid. never meant to hurt you.” he breathes, blinking up at your glassy gaze before you’re wrapping yourself around him and he’s smoothing his fingers soothingly along your skin. “how ‘bout a bath, yeah? get some cream for these. i’ve got you, alright?”

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transmascissues · 5 months

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a breakdown of my one week post-op appointment (after top surgery):

i came in wearing my mastectomy pillow around my chest because it makes walking more comfortable, and i was nervous about that because the social anxiety said it was weird to go out in public like that, even if it was just to the surgeon’s office. when the surgeon brought me into the exam room, though, she didn’t even mention it, so if you’re like me and get nervous about stuff like that, you can rest assured that they’re very used to seeing it.

i was also nervous about having my boyfriend record parts of the appointment, but she was super chill about that too. basically, whatever your social anxiety tells you is weird to do at these appointments to be comfortable or document it or whatever else, they’ve already seen it a million times and they don’t care at all.

for the past week, as we’ve been emptying my drains, we’ve been writing down how much fluid was in each bulb and when it was emptied on a sheet the hospital gave us. the first thing the surgeon did when we got in the office was look over those notes to see how much i’m draining and confirm that the fluid level is low enough to take my drains out.

the next thing she did was unwrap all the bandages and take all the padding off. she didn’t do the big reveal of my chest in front of a mirror that i’ve seen a lot of surgeons do, but i suspect that might be because she knew i already saw it when we had to send some pictures to her.

the only part of getting the drains out that i could feel at all was at the drain sites (the little incisions where the drains came out of my body). i felt a little bit of pain there when she cut the stitch on each side that keeps the drains in place, and a bit when she was bandaging the sites once they were out, but it was nothing bad. when the drains were actually getting taken out, i could feel some pulling on the drain sites, but i couldn’t feel the drains coming out at all. i thought she was still working on the stitches until i saw the full tube in her hand after. the pulling feeling wasn’t super comfortable and maybe hurt a little, but again, nothing nearly as bad as you’d think getting tubes pulled out of your chest would feel. the drain sites are definitely still sensitive now if something directly touches them, but i’m much more comfortable than when the drains were in.

once the drains were out she also peeled the steri strips off of my incisions, which was both the most painful part of the whole process and an incredibly weird feeling. the feeling of them peeling off my skin was decently painful, like a particularly stubborn bandaid coming off, but there was a band in the middle of that feeling where it was totally numb, because the skin around my incisions is super sensitive but the incisions themselves are numb. my boyfriend and dad were in the room with me and, as she was taking the strips off, i turned to them and said “that hurts but it also doesn’t?” that was the best way i could describe it in the moment. all in all, not awful, just like a bad bandaid with a weird strip of fuzzy nothing in the middle. the worst part was just that it caught me by surprise because i didn’t know they would be getting peeled off until she started doing it.

once the incisions were out in the open, she put some moisturizer on them, which felt even weirder. this time, instead of being strips of painful with a strip of non-painful, it was just a super weird liminal space where i was deeply uncomfortable and my brain reacted like i was in pain, but the only sensations i was actually feeling we’re super dull and barely there. doing that myself will definitely be…interesting.

up until this appointment, i had been wearing two ace bandages with two abd pads and gauze strips underneath. when she rewrapped me at the end, she just put the two pads over my incisions with no gauze around them and then put one ace bandage back on me. so my bandages are much lighter now, and it’s definitely more comfortable than before.

she had me make another appointment for two weeks from now (at 3 weeks post-op). she told me that, until then, i should limit my physical activity just as much as i have been so far, even if it feels like i can do more now. she also said that i can shower as long as the water doesn’t hit my chest directly, that i should change the pads every time i shower, and that i should switch to a clean ace bandage once a week (we didn’t have to buy extras, they were given to us). she recommended i get scar strips at some point between now and the next appointment, but said i shouldn’t start using them until she can take a look at my chest at 3 weeks and tell me if my skin is ready for them.

overall, it ended up being a much shorter appointment than i expected, although i’m honestly not sure what else i thought was going to happen. that being said, it didn’t feel rushed at all, and it was really nice to have her look at me and confirm that my chest is healing well.

#thought this would be a shorter post but i have. lots to say #top surgery adventures #top surgery #trans man #transmasc

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lululandd · 4 months

Text

colour me grey; (ii.)

pairing: simon ‘ghost’ riley x f!reader

word count: 5.3k

warnings: soulmates, hella smut, fluff

notes: backed myself into a filth corner so i went ham (also on AO3)

summary: where the fuck has he been all your life?

part i. |

You and Simon had agreed to meet at a fancy cafe in the middle of town to get to know each other a bit more, and you couldn’t help but to dwell in your own thoughts as you made your way towards the place. He had come off a tad pushy during planning, insisting on a specific place at a specific time of day, choosing a cafe you know was famous for being overpriced. While trying to look up the menu online, you saw the time he suggested came up as “least busy” on google, and you don’t think it’s a coincidence that he chose that time, as if he’s trying to avoid a crowd.

Is he famous? Or he’s just embarrassed to be seen with you?

It was then that your thoughts took a sharp turn to his face, and how you’ve never actually seen all of it. The lower half was always hidden under masks; he didn’t even take it off for drinks, he slipped a straw underneath it to sip. You also didn’t fail to notice that you two didn’t even exchange numbers. No face, no number, just a time and place. You wonder if your soulmate is a psycho.

It’s not like you’re completely… in danger. The soulmate bond exists—for better or worse—to prevent soulmates from hurting each other. The shared bond magnifies pain and pleasure the closer one is to the other. So if you hurt your soulmate in close proximity, you would also feel their pain. Some people don’t believe that they occur before the initial reveal of the mark, but you’re not one of them. Because you remember years ago, before knowing who Simon was, your left arm tingled and prickled for hours on end for seemingly no reason, and now after meeting him you know that was when he got his tattoo done. You were sure if he got it done closer to where you lived back then it would’ve stung more. There were other unexplainable pains here and there the years after, but you blame a lot of it to ageing, overall bad sitting habits, your lack of excercise, and clumsiness.

The sight of a large masked man roused you from your thoughts. His head snapped to you as if on instinct before eyeing the place and pointing at an empty table by the corner.

Tosser. What’s wrong with this seat?

He walked to your table when you didn’t move, gently grabbing your elbow to ask if you would reconsider and sit at the table he chose.

“Here seems fine.” You looked up at him.

He closed his eyes for a moment, expression hardening before shifting into something less pleasant. “Please?”

—

He’s internally screaming. You show up at the fancy place that he half-manipulated you to agree to with zero qualms and no objections; you just said yes and now here you are walking into the place with careless abandon in that really cute dress that he’d love to get off your—

Focus.

You didn’t even feel him staring, didn’t even fucking look back when he stood right behind you and gently tugged your hair. You just placed a hand near your scalp to alleviate the feeling as you continue typing on your phone.

Is this really his soulmate? This unaware civilian with zero defence mechanism? Her?

The moment he saw where you sat at the cafe almost made him want to walk out. It was in the middle of the room, where anyone could walk by and slip something into your drinks undetected. The thought of having people on his blind side as he was with his soulmate made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. Thankfully—although with rolled eyes and gritted teeth—you agreed to move to his proposed seat.

—

Getting over your initial annoyance by drinking the shit out of your drink, the absence of it made you realise he hasn’t taken a single sip of his.

Did he forget his straw?

You excused yourself for a bit to grab him one. As much as you want to see what his face looks like, ultimately if he doesn’t want to show it then you really shouldn’t force him to. Besides, maybe he’s had a weird day and this could be his breaking point so might as well do something nice for the man. You can feel his eyes on you, and confirm that he’s watching when you walk back with the straw in hand. Waving it at him awarded you with crinkles at the edges of his eyes.

“Cheers, love.” he chirped, taking off his mask as he said so and sipped his drink right off the cup, ignoring your straw entirely.

This bitch.

His face was…. fine. Not horrendously disfigured like you had initially feared, but also nowhere near as handsome as you secretly wanted him to be. You don’t know how to feel about the scarring on his face, it was attractive for sure but also concerning at the same time, and the sight of his skewed nose made you wrinkle yours.

You nervously mentioned the possibility of seeing a doctor and setting his nose back to its proper place.

He laughed at the comment, leaning very close to you at the table, “Why pay a bloody doctor to do it when I can pick a fight with a left handed prick for free?”

That little quip made all the prior agitation you felt towards him dissipate into thin air.

You don’t remember the last time anyone made you laugh that much on a first date. It was the most fun you’ve ever had in a while. The man opens doors, walks on the outside part of the sidewalk, looks both ways for you before holding your hand to cross the street, offers you his jacket even before you realise you were cold.

Where the fuck has he been all your life?

—

To his horror, you invited him back to your place even though you two barely know each other and practically just met. And to his disgust, he said yes. He knew he should say no, refuse, but there’s a pull that he guesses was the soulmate thing talking, so here he is.

He gingerly crossed the threshold of your home, noting the fragile knick-knacks lined up on badly screwed on shelves, the pile of unfolded clothes sitting on an armchair, the strung up plastic bag filled with other plastic bags in the kitchen, and the worst thing he could ever see in someone’s–much less his soulmate’s–house; a decently sized collage of pictures hung up on a wall in the living room.

It was of you, your friends, family, and possible ex-partners judging from the poses and the amount of people in a single photo. You seem to take notice of where his attention lies and sidled up next to him.

“These your friends?” He wanted to confirm, pointing at the large frame. He already has a general idea which ones are which. It’s not like he wanted to hear you ramble and tell you things about yourself excitedly or anything. Definitely not. He doesn't want to see your eyes shine and sparkle as you talk about your family, he’s for sure not waiting for your laughter as he points to a blurred group picture.

It didn’t take fucking long for him to get attached to you. As a matter of fact, it took two missions. Two fucking back to back assignments away for him to miss your presence and laughter and the normalcy of your civilian life. He misses your warmth, the horrible show you put on the telly, and the meals you cook. What he doesn’t miss was the peace and quiet his own flat afforded him, since there’s always weirdly something to do in your place; appliances to be fixed, plants to water and shake, repaints to be done, rodents of unusual sizes to catch, and most important of all, you.

You. How you come to him with your problems, the way you latch onto his arm as you two walk, your assurance and confidence in yourself, the perseverance you exhibit when problems come your way.

It was the first time in his life that he ever felt the need to check his phone on the helo. He’s seen everyone else done it numerous times before. He’s used to Soap obsessively checking his dating apps, Gaz’s blur of fingers on his phone’s keyboard to catch up with his loved ones, and Price putting on earpods underneath the helo’s noise cancelling headsets to listen or watch videos his wife sent him. He sighed with relief when he turned his phone on and got bombarded with messages from you. He watched the notification bar scroll by like the end credits of a movie. They contain either animal videos, long winded messages telling him how your day was, paragraphs of work gossip, memes he could barely grasp, sprinkled here and there with ‘i miss you’s and his favourite: selfies. Now scrolling upwards manually to see the messages more clearly, he heard a crackle on his headset as Soap chimed in next to him.

“Looks like ya got in trouble or some shite, LT.”

“Sod off, Johnny.” He snapped harmlessly. “You wanna see how much trouble I'm in?” He tapped on a notification and showed his screen to his best friend. It was a picture of a white cat sleeping in a bed of flowers, bathed in sunlight.

“Aww fuck that’s cute, is that where you’re goan sleep tonight? outside?” Soap jeered. He fiddled with his gloves a bit before bumping his shoulder, “I’m glad you’re happy, Simon.”

He huffed, “Who the fuck snitched. Who told you I was happy?”

A raspy chuckle escaped him before taking out his own phone. His own phone lights up not a moment later. Soap had sent him a video. It was of a man with the words ‘I miss you🥺’ above him, rolling his eyes and putting on a smug face before the caption changes into ‘Of course you do. It’s me.’

Ignoring the fact that Soap had clearly seen quite a few of your messages sent to him, the video made him chuckle and he forwarded the link to you. He didn’t expect for you to reply immediately; With a gif of a hamster shovelling a whole baby carrot in its mouth no less. He had to turn his screen off and put his phone back in his jacket pocket so Soap wouldn't see that one.

He arrives home to his dusty flat, mindlessly putting his clothes in the machine before running a hot bath. It’s been his routine ever since he was eighteen, and if he may be honest, his favourite. Not that the thought of doing this at your place hasn’t crossed his mind, he’s just reluctant to let you see his bloody clothes, his newly acquired scars, and the state of his mental well-being.

He knows he’s gruff and irritable the first few hours he’s back, and he doesn’t want you to think you had anything to do with it. The thought of your worried and dejected face if he accidentally snaps at you makes his skin crawl. He knows you would understand if he just… explains that he needs space and alone time after work, but he hesitates every time. He tries to take his mind to a happier place and checks his phone again as he waits for the tub to fill; sitting at the edge while opening the encrypted folder full of pics of you two together, and some candids of you. He didn’t even know he was smiling until he put his phone away and saw himself in the mirror.

He ignored his reflection and threw in a bath bomb that Gaz had gifted him for his ‘birthday’. It’s a silly little gag that Soap had pulled on him one day, randomly singing happy birthday to him—since no one knows when his actual birthday is—and poor Gaz didn’t know it wasn’t actually his birthday and got him a gift the next year. Simon relishes in the smell of lemon and tangerine, breathing in actual air that’s not filtered through the musty fabric of his mask, sighing in comfort as he dips, feeling the warm water hit his bare skin. It’s been weeks since he’s able to let his guard down and take his mask off.

You join him in the bath, hair pulled up nice and neat. He smiles at you, the overhead light hits you at just the right angle that it obscures your face, but he knows it’s you, sitting oh so pretty in front of him, laughing about something he didn’t understand and splashes the water in his direction, not stopping even when he asked you to, then lunging at him, holding him under th—

Water sloshes off the rim as he startled awake, coughing water out of his lungs. Scrambling out the tub, he looked back at the now tepid water, the image of you lunging at him burned into his skull.

It was a dream. Thank fuck it was only a dream.

It was then that an awful, icy fear rushed through his veins, stopping him in his tracks. His brain has caught up to the present and inserts you into his nightmares. There’s conflict in his mind, neurons firing as fast as bullets as one thought crashes onto another, whether he should leave you, keep you close to him, maybe he can apply for SFA or—

The F in SFA stands for Family, idiot. You’re not even engaged, Simon. Get a grip.

His exhausted body yearned for bed, for sleep, for him to just be horizontal for sixteen hours straight. He slowly blinks, realising with a delayed start that he had wasted twenty minutes just standing there staring at his bed while his thoughts of you run rampant. He stared harder at the bed and decided he doesn’t want to sleep here, it just wouldn’t feel right. He’s slept better in your shitty creaky queen sized bed than the expensive king size one he’s currently looking at. Packing up necessities, he rolled his luggage out from his dingy apartment and into yours.

—

He showed up at your door with his eyes bloodshot, hoodie askew, and hair damp. You heard him mumble something about going to bed or some shite but you stopped him with a firm hand to his abs.

“Dry your hair first.” You sternly suggested. His size doesn’t intimidate you as much anymore, it’s more his gaze that makes him scary—if any.

Simon placed a hand on his head, mussing his hair about, unintentionally flicking tiny droplets of water on you. He clicked his tongue as he unsubtly wiped his hand on the front of his pants, “Dry enough.”

“Not if you wanna sleep in my bed, it’s not.”

“Fahkin’ wimin...” His accent thickens as he groans and grumbles. He follows up the insult by gently putting his hand in yours.

Despite his protest, he follows you willingly and without further questions towards the bathroom.

The face he makes as you touch his scalp is akin to that of a pitbull. That dopey, always smiling look. His head moves whichever way you pull his hair to, obedient to a fault. Man straight up purred and leaned his head on your shoulder when you scratched the base of his skull.

You grimaced as he dropped into your bed in his outside clothes, but there was no waking him up. Simon fucking Riley started snoring as soon as his head touched your pillow, even went so far as taking one of your stuffed animals as hostage for good measure.

—

Your stuffed animal didn’t make it through the night. He woke up to the sight of it practically flattened in his hold, its whole body a deformed pancake. Instinctively digging his nails into his palms, Simon had to make sure he’s not hallucinating or dreaming. It’s a habit he picked up whenever things got too… happy for him. He looked around the room which is now bathed in sunlight, meaning he had slept for a full—he glanced at the clock by your bed—thirteen hours. He sat up in bed, leaving the toy alone to hopefully recover.

Going on autopilot, he did his morning routine and only when he saw you out and about in his hoodie did he snap out of his stupor.

It was the violet one from the top of his luggage pile, the one he remembers wearing when you first met him under that awning. He smiled at the sight of you looking so perfect in it, couldn’t help but appreciate you and sear the moment into his mind. He’s glad that he gets to meet you, see you in your day-to-day life, and that he gets to feel normal for the briefest moment of his life. He spotted your morning tea sitting on the kitchen counter and headed towards it immediately. He hates the way you take your tea; it’s ridiculously weak, unbearably sweet, and probably seventy percent milk, but he drinks it in one go. Just to annoy you.

And how adorable you are when you’re annoyed. He grins widely as you stare at him in disbelief. He’s convinced that you think he takes his tea exactly as you do from all the times he’s drunk and remakes it for you. Right now you’re storming right at him, groaning his name in protest, your face twisted in exasperation. He opens his arms to receive whatever you deem fit as punishment, so you trudge into him like a bull, planting your face onto his bare chest, taking both of you down onto the sofa, collapsing into a fit of grumbles amidst his giggles.

He touches you delicately and affectionately, as if afraid you would break away and disappear if he touched you any other way. His back had started to hurt from the position he found himself in, so he cradled you in his hold as moved into a better position. Your head had been momentarily dislodged from his chest and onto the sweet junction on his neck.

You were sitting on his lap, breaths calming down to a slow and steady rhythm as you slowly got more comfortable in his arms. Feeling you relax in his embrace puts another smile on his face, bringing solace into his heart like nothing else could. Putting a hand down to your thigh, he absent-mindedly traced circles into your skin, and found himself fervently licking his lips when he felt you shift on his lap.

“Simon…”

He peppers kisses to the top of your head, and you moaned when his fingers slipped under your shirt, brushing against your skin. He stared you down, taking in your flushed face, your inability to look at him, and the way you bite your lip. He breathes in your scent, desperately committing every single detail to memory. His free hand caressed your neck, tilting your head up so you’d look back at him. He slowly kissed a burning path up your neck, trying to find soft spots as he licked and nibbled, stopping just shy of your mouth as his lips hover over yours.

You meet his lips eagerly as he kisses you, a needy, open mouthed kiss. You inched forwards, pressing yourself closer to him; your hands roaming whichever part of him you could as your forearm rests on his shoulders. There was something about hearing your quieted moans that made him burn hotter, made something in his chest loosen. Planting both hands on your waist, he couldn't help but to smirk as you let out a little yelp, breaking the kiss.

“Something wrong, love?”

—

The audacity of this man to be cheeky when he’s the one that started all this.

You unhooked your hands from behind his neck and cupped his jaw as you started to grind down on his erection. He meets your gaze with that same lust reflected in his eyes. You heard the strain in his voice when he said your name, felt his grip tighten on your waist as his darkened gaze flickered from your eyes to your mouth. Unable to help himself, one of his hands moves up to loosely grip your chin before placing a delicate thumb on your bottom lip.

Opening your mouth to start sucking on his digit, the coarseness of his thumb on your tongue spurs you to go even further. You let go of his face to better manoeuvre his hands, letting go of his thumb with a soft wet pop to move onto his index and middle. Simon hummed in appreciation as his other hand slid up your torso to cup your breast. Shivering at the contact, you inadvertently squirm harder against his cock.

His other hand lowered from your chest down to your hips to calm you down and held fast to steady you. He groaned as you fought in his hold, grinding harder on him.

“Easy, love.” he synced his hip movements with yours, pressing his erection closer to your clothed cunt when you didn’t stop.

Your eyes flickered towards his to find him staring intently at your mouth with a heavy lidded gaze. You try not to drool all over him or yourself over his relentless hold on your mouth.

—

Watching your tongue fidget beneath his fingers was intoxicating to him, so was the steady stream of your saliva from your mouth to his wrist. You dipped your head closer to his as he let go, and your mouth was on his again, kissing him more insistently this time. You parted your lips to lap at his, begging him to open his mouth. It was getting harder for him to hold himself back, not while you cup his face with such tenderness and inch further to get as close to him as possible. Simon finally opened his mouth, deepening the kiss as you whined and lapped at his tongue.

A smile spreads across Simon’s face, breaking the kiss only for you to lean forwards and chase after him. Finding out you were an impatient little thing awakened a dark sense of joy inside him. He tastes you, feels all of you, looks at your happy face and willingly gets lost in it. You paw at his pants, eager to slide it off him. Hissing through gritted teeth as cold air meets his burning skin, he yanks your underwear aside and feels a rush of accomplishment wash over him as he discovers that you were already leaking for him. A light brush of his fingertips along your folds had you breathing hoarsely by his ear, and in retaliation came a long upward wet lick on his neck that ends up as a nibble on his earlobe.

Precum generously dribbled down his length, he couldn’t help but to let out an appreciative grunt, shuddering at the feel of your hands pumping his cock. Your pace turns more erratic as he easily slides a finger into you.

You keened his name as he added another, your breaths coming in quick puffs as you latch onto any part of him you could reach with your mouth and started sucking. He was glad he went out shirtless so he didn’t have to bother with taking his clothes off.

Simon involuntarily laughs as he slowly eases his finger out, leaving a string of slick from your wet cunt to his fingers, earning him a particularly hard suck on his chest. He can’t wait to see the colour on it. “On your knees love, on the floor.”

He watched you in muted fascination as you obediently got on your knees without breaking eye contact, giving him kitten licks before fully putting his cock into your mouth, feeling your tongue on the underside of his shaft made the world blur around the edges of his vision into mere colours.

Oh, he won’t last long.

You swirl your tongue, going deeper with each bob of your head, testing your gag reflex. He couldn’t help but to thread his fingers in your hair, guiding you to go slower. His cock twitched dangerously close to cumming as you bat your lashes at him. There was something about you, your mouth, your skin, your smell, and the sight of you fingering yourself that inched him closer and closer to bliss.

“Enough love.” He commanded, his voice tilting dangerously close to a tone he uses in combat, borderline close to yanking your hair as you resisted his order, disobediently dragging your tongue torturously slow on his vein. “Turn around.”

Unmoving, you gave him little licks and kisses with an air of defiance, making him gather all his remaining strength and control to not start manhandling you as he desperately wants to.

—

The soulmate bond pulled you so close to pure pleasure that you decided to drag Simon down with you. His cock felt as if it was made for you, the shape and girth of it made it dangerously easy to pull into your mouth. You wonder how it would feel inside you.

You hear him almost snarl when you lingered instead of listening to his command, his erection painfully hard and angry in the palm of his hand. Batting your wet lashes at him, you slowly turn around to brace yourself at the coffee table.

Hope it doesn’t break.

It held both your weight surprisingly well for an ikea table with thin legs; Simon didn’t hesitate to cage you in as soon as he strips you of his hoodie, feeling his solid front on your bare back as one hand expertly pinching and rolling your nipple, while the other rubs the area where your womb sits. You moan embarrassingly loud at the gesture, no one had ever held you in reverence like this before.

Time moved torturously slow for you, he was now in full control and took his time biting and sucking hickeys onto your neck as he ruts in-between your thighs. You can’t help but whine every time his cockhead catches on your clit, each time giving less friction as both of your sex are covered by a heady mix of his precum and your fluids.

He ruts harder as he holds the lower part of your hips, keeping your legs together, holding you tighter and pulling you back until your ass meets his hip every time he thrusts. His tongue licks a long wet strip at the nape of your neck as his movements halts down to a complete stop and you…wait.

The vision of the living room beats in tandem with your heart, each second that passes feels agonisingly long. Wiggling your ass impatiently, he rewards you with a painful bite on your ear, making you yelp. The feeling of surprise wasn’t even close to being recognised when your brain focuses on the feel of him lining himself up, the tip of his cock pressing relentlessly against your folds. He grabs your hip tighter when you try to accommodate yourself and push back into him.

“Don’t.” He mutters an order against your skin, inhaling deeply. “I wanna savour you.”

At that moment you don’t even know what that even means, you’re too busy honing in on his cock that’s slowly but adamantly inching into you, thrusting shallowly and easing you everytime he feels resistance.

“That’s it love, there we go.” He breathes out harshly as you feel him bottom out, his hips flush against your ass, eliciting little whimpers from you as he stays still.

You moaned when he pulled almost all the way out, thrusting slowly and deeply into you everytime. Every movement he made is deliberately slow, like he’s there to enjoy his moment and you don’t matter. Tears roll down your cheeks and pool onto the table you were crowded against, he moved nowhere near fast enough to build you up. He hears you audibly sob and stays still inside you.

“Y’aight?” He asks, turning your head a little so he can repeatedly kiss your cheek. He lets out a little shaky laugh that borders on condescension, “Too much?”

Oh fuck you.

“H-harder, Simon.” you choked out, and he obeys. His hips snapped onto yours in an instant. His arms envelop you even tighter; one of his hands slides down to circle your clit as his rhythm picks up and his thrusts become more forceful.

The poor little table squeaks and jostles every time he bucks into you, his large hands roam your body feverishly, his pace increasing as he becomes more vocal, muttering borderline incoherent praises.

You weren’t far behind either, the constant barrage of yesyessimonyespleasedontstopyes spurs him to rail you more vigorously, sliding out completely before slamming back into you harder, faster, his hands a bruising grip on your hips at this point. With eyes clouded, mind unable to think about anything but to clench around his cock and your pussy at his mercy, you wailed as you came to an abrupt climax, clinging onto the table as he continued ramming into you. His pace became more erratic and animalistic as he got closer to his release. It didn’t take long for you to gradually feel the warmth of lust again, his ecstasy leaking into the soulmate bond overriding the pain of over-stimulation as he came with a stutter of his hips.

He eased his hold on you, his hands merely holding you in place, to not let you fall sideways onto the floor. You feel his cock twitch inside, before he pulls out with an uncharacteristic moan. You slowly turn your head towards him and can only watch as he eyed his copious amount of cum dripping out of you.

—

The mean voice that he’s used to listening in his head whispers at him to just bully his softening cock back into you, to stop his stream of cum wastefully trickling onto the floor. Maybe grab both your hands from behind so you can’t fight back. He reluctantly lifts his gaze from your leaking cunt to watch you catch your breath, resting your cheek on the table, seeing how your continuous panting leaves a foggy patch on the surface.

It took a long while for you two to come down from the high, with him collapsing like a sack of potatoes behind you, taking you with him to ease both your knees. He hears and feels your little whimpers as he holds your waist steady with one arm, his thumb mindlessly going in circles.

He patiently watches the shadows move as the sun rises higher, as either of you are sitting comfortably on the floor, his back resting against the sofa.

“Don’t think I’ve ever came that much before.” He spoke up, feeling the cum that dribbled from between your legs has now reached his. Worry has started to seep in. The gears in his head have started turning again.

“I’m on birth control, don’t worry.” You answered, rather coldly, if he may be paranoid about it.

“Got caught up in the moment, won’t happen again.”

“Same.” You turned your head towards the kitchen and he followed your gaze, “Make us some tea, Simon?” You sweetly asked him as you left a kiss on the corner of his mouth.

He would freely hand you his still bleeding heart if you ask him with that tone of voice. Never in his life had he dreamt of meeting someone like you. But here he is, basking in your glow, maybe the first time in what feels like forever that he felt comfortable sitting in silence with another human being. Where the stillness stops being oppressive and his consciousness is free of doubt and uncertainty. He feels... Safe.

Is this love?

#call of duty #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #call of duty imagines #scuffed writing

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sprout-fics · 1 year

Note

Hi! I’m not sure if requests are open (genuine apologies if they’re not, feel free to ignore me!!) but I was wondering how König might react to an S/O with a lot of chronic pain? I know that’s kind of a weird thing to ask,, I just adore how you write him (dark König too !!) and I suffer with horrible chronic pain, particularly in my back, legs and shoulders. I’m essentially in pain 24/7 and its yucky but your version of König is so lovely I’d be honored to see how you think he’d feel about it or comfort them!!

Affliction. Affection.

(König x GN! Reader)

Call of Duty Masterlist

Rating: General Word count: 1.6k Tags: Sickfic, Fluff, Domesticity, Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, Cuddling, Caretaking, Love Languages, Acts of Service A/N: (This touched my heart, anon. I also deal with chronic pain, thought mine is much less consistent than yours. It's something I think about a lot in terms of caring partners and love languages. So I wrote a bit about how I'd want to be comforted on a particular bad pain day, in hopes maybe you'd be able to relate as well. I hope you enjoyed ❤️)

It’s the pain that rouses you from sleep.

You don’t even realize that’s what it is at first, woken more by your whining, uncomfortable whimpers than the twisting, taut sensation of your muscles pulled too tight. A bowstring drawn back, threatening to snap. The pain extends outwards, like fissures it delves deep into you, letting you gaze into the depths where the thorny weight of hurt bubbles upwards along your hips, your spine, your legs.

The bed is empty aside from you, you realize, when you reach for him. Normally you’d be displeased that he’d leave you. Now, however, you can’t summon the power to care, instead hauling the blankets warm and thick around you. You burrow into them, cocooning yourself as if the layers can insulate you from the hurt that extends ever outwards. Knees up to your chest, face hidden underneath the sheets you whimper at the pain, vulgar, fetid as it churns in your stomach with the tell-tale murmur of nausea.

König is somewhere beyond you, fumbling in the kitchen. You hear the clank and clatter of pans and cupboards in the small space you two share. His gangly limbs don’t fit the scale of it, constantly misjudging his reach, his height as he bangs or bumps something in the way. It’s an adorable feature to the soldier, usually allowed all the space he needs within the field of battle to stretch, tower to his full potential like the leviathan he is.

There’s a clatter, followed by a hushed, hissed curse as König scrambles to right whatever it is he’s accidentally touched. Yet it’s followed by silence when he spares a glance back at the open door of the bedroom, as if making sure he hasn’t disturbed you.

You don’t bother to look up, focusing instead on your breathing, trying to quell the sharp ache that rises fiercely inside you with every heartbeat. In through your nose, holding, then releasing and trapping the warmth of it below your covers. You can feel the blood rushing in your ears, unable to stop a stifled groan of pain as the ache washes over you once more, twisting, pulling, hurting.

König’s footsteps draw near, his quest in the kitchen now abandoned as he takes in your curled form burrowed deeply within the messy covers. You hardly notice, entire form rigid with discomfort as you try to focus on something, anything other than the horrible, sickening churn inside you.

“Liebling?” König asks after a minute of silence, wordlessly watching you stiffen and shudder in the sheets. When you don’t answer, however, he draws closer, at last crouching beside you. Even at this position you still have to look up at him when he delicately peels the sheets away from your face, baring you to him.

“Liebling, what’s wrong?” He asks, and the sound of his voice alone melts some of the hurt inside you. His eyes are gentle, soft, when they look down at you, brow knotted as he takes in the distress that washes over your face with the next wave of pain.

“H-hurts.” You manage, voice a touch raw with both discomfort and the bleariness of sleep.

König breathes, lets out a held breath at your response. Then your vision darkens for a moment as his hand reaches out to the space between you, settles at last over your face, where it cups your cheek in a tender caress. You can’t help the little whine that escapes you at that, as you nuzzle into his palm.

“I-I’m okay.” You tell him after a few deep breaths. “Just a bad pain day. I’ll be okay.”

Yet when you look up after scrunching your eyes König’s face remains unchanged, eyes shiny with anxiety, wide with worry as he gazes at you.

“How bad?” He asks, and you blink at the timidness of his voice, unsure and searching for the answer in your gaze. Then, quieter, he ventures: “You…you’ll be okay?”

It’s the uneasiness there that loosens your limbs in surprise, allowing that ache inside you to dull even for a few moments. There’s an almost boyish heartache to his gaze, distressed and a touch inconsolable to the twisting grimace across your face. It’s as if he almost doesn’t believe you when you try to reassure him, plagued relentlessly by the thought of your pain as if it were his own.

You feel your gaze soften upon his own, feel the sharp, ragged corners of you dull to fit into the soft confines of his tender heart.

“I’ll be okay, I promise.” You murmur to him, and that at last seems to draw the veil of melancholy back from his expression. König’s thumb grazes across your cheek, scraping against your too warm skin.

“Can I do anything?” He asks gently, entreating as if he’s offering himself to the altar of you. “Food? Medicine? H-Heizkis-...what is the world in English…” You watch as his face takes on a new expression, perplexed and vaguely annoyed. It draws a smile from you, upturning your lips even as you grimace.

“...Heating pad?” You offer helpfully, and König’s eyes brighten as he nods in recognition.

“Ja.” He replies quickly, sitting up a little taller, expectant and enthusiastic in his efforts to help.

“Mm.” You murmur, tucking your face into his hand so your lips graze the inside of his palm. He shivers.

“A heating pad would be nice, actually.” You return. “And some painkillers. Though I think I’m a little too nauseous for food.”

König’s brow draws again at that.

“You should have something, vöglein.” He murmurs gently. “Your stomach will hurt if you do not eat.”

“It hurts already.” You whine, but that doesn’t seem to deter him, expression unbudging. “...Maybe just some crackers?”

König nods, resolute now in his mission, ever the soldier. Yet just as he’s about to draw away he pauses, turns his eyes back to you.

“...I need my hand, liebling.” He tries gently, but your fingers only encircle his too large wrist instead with a little noise of protest. “...Bitte?”

You turn your watery gaze up to him, eyes wet with pain and the remnants of sleep.

“You’ll come back?” You ask, and you feel like a child, clinging to the mere comfort of his touch.

König melts.

“Of course.” He murmurs, and the shadow of him dwarfs you as he draws near, allows his lips to graze across your brow in a tender, lingering kiss. “Soon.”

You release him then, with a small sniffle, allow him to retreat so you can again curl into the mess of blankets around you. His footsteps fade, and you try to focus not on the pain but the sound of his movements, the remaining echo of his voice that soothes at the tender heart of you.

It feels like he’s been gone forever by the time he at last returns, again fumbling on the other side of the bed until there’s a telltale click of a heating pad turning on. You reach for it automatically, only to find your outstretched arm caught in his grasp. A confused, bedraggled noise is torn from you when König gently pulls you from your nest of tangled sheets. Yet suddenly there’s arms around you, lifting you, moving you as the bed shifts under his weight.

He settles at last behind you, his back braced against the headboard, legs sprawled on either side of you as you’re propped up against his chest. The sudden cold of the room leaves goosebumps trailing along your arms. Yet before you can protest there’s a hand gripping yours, allowing it to settle around a glass of water, the other depositing two tiny capsules into your upturned palm.

His touch follows yours as you take the medicine, swallow the water in one go. You think that’s enough with the way König rumbles down at you, like the sound of wind through a fir forest, pulling at the trees. Yet when you try to shift, tuck your head into his chest you find yourself instead being directed towards a single slice of warm bread, the steam curling up and filling your nose.

The putrid pull of nausea threatens your stomach, but you eat anyways, letting warmth curl across your tongue until the bread is gone. It’s then, only then, that you allow yourself to go fully limp in König’s arms, sinking into his heat and trying to burrow into the dip of his ribcage. You hardly hear him as he moves once more, one arm securely fastened around your waist as he slides downwards. The touch flares the hurt there, and when you whine his lips settle across your shoulder in an apology, muttering in tender German until he at last allows you both onto your sides, draws you back into him.

The heating pad appears a moment later, pressed against your front and you sigh at the blessed heat there, drawing the pain from you like siphoning poison from your limbs. As you settle you feel him reach, draw the covers over your form once more.

“Better?” He asks after several moments of blissful silence, where the world softens at the edges and allows you to sink into momentary relief.

“Much.” You reply simply, voice groggy as drowsiness pulls at you once more. Then, after a moment. “Thank you, König. Danke schön.”

König hums, and the sound echoes in his chest like the creak of elder trees atop foggy mountains. His arms fold around you, nose bumping against your shoulder as he too, buries himself in the relief of you.

“The pain will get better.” He murmurs there, voice a little helpless at the mere touch of you. “I’ll be here until it does, and I’ll be here after too, meine Liebe.”

The pain in your limbs feels dulled by the golden, yielding touch of him, here to hold you away from the bitter wash of pain within the sweetness of his embrace.

#König #könig x reader #könig imagine #könig x you #könig headcanons #cod mw22 #mw22 #mw 22 #oneshots #requests #My requests are still closed! I'm almost through my inbox!

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lihhelsing · 9 months

Text

Hate That I Loved You

Now complete on AO3!

"There you are," Lou's voice send shivers through Eddie's body. Bad ones, the kind that makes him want to go into flight mode. Eddie's never been much of a fighter anyway. "Are you done overthinking it?"

Eddie huffs and soon Lou's in his space. Chrissy side eyes him as if ready to intervene but Eddie nods to let her know it's fine. He's the one who invited Lou, and he knew exactly what he was like.

"Is that because you missed me?" Eddie gets into his game because he knows better than to fight it. He can't show vulnerability when Lou's always ready to tear him apart.

"I'm gonna go make sure everything is ready for us to start," Chrissy informs and gives Eddie another pointed look. 'Don't fuck this up' is what she means.

Then it's just Lou and Eddie and Eddie is terrified of that.

"You've performed at the Grammy's before. This won't be that different," Lou says and it's true. It won't be that different except that to show vulnerability Eddie will be essentially naked behind his guitar.

Lou also fails to notice he's not nervous about performing, he usually never is, as arrogant as that sounds. He's nervous he will get sucked into his orbit again. He can't have that, he knows he won't survive a second time.

"You look good," Lou says and Eddie knows the way his voice dials down, too low to be casual. He's flirting as he approaches Eddie and grabs the lapels of his jacket.

Lou is gorgeous, blonde hair always carefully set to look messy, blue eyes that shine and pierce through Eddie's soul every time, and there's this undertone of relief coursing through him because this move, this classic Lou move, makes Eddie's stomach churns with something bad.

He feels queasy and it's a good thing because it means Lou doesn't hold that power over Eddie anymore. Eddie might still hurt from what Lou put him through because it was a really low moment on his life but he doesn't hurt anymore because of the feelings he had for Lou. He doesn't have feelings anymore, there's just this empty sensation of indifference. Lou is gorgeous and it's like Eddie's brain is just ignoring this and looking at all the the ugliness underneath the surface.

"Sorry to interrupt," there's a sound behind them and Eddie's head whip faster in that direction just to see Steve's wide eyes as he looks at the two of them, looking cozy and intertwined, unable to know Eddie's real feelings towards that man in front of him. "You, uh, forgot this."

Eddie's eyes slip from Steve's terrified expression to his hand, where he's holding his bow tie, crumpled up as if Steve had been squeezing it. How long had Steve been there?

Lou is the one that moves, snatching it from Steve's hands and moving to put it on Eddie. Eddie tries to push him away, but Lou holds still, his hands already laced around Eddie's neck.

"You can go now," Lou says in Steve's direction, dismissing him without even looking and Eddie is too overwhelmed to find words quickly, so Steve is through the door before Eddie even opens his mouth.

The shoot is… Less painful than Eddie expected it to be. The realization that he has no more feelings for Lou is liberating, but the fact that Steve clearly got the wrong idea is eating at his insides and Steve doesn't seem to be anywhere during the shoot so by the time they are done, Eddie's anxiety is through the roof.

The worst part of the day was having to watch Lou give his Grammy speech again, with Eddie standing right behind him, being the one who announced the winner, as Lou thanked everyone and their mothers and casually forgot Eddie's name.

It seems so petty, now that Eddie is looking at things with a clearer mind, but it doesn't hurt less. They filmed everything as it happened and then went over it again with Eddie and his guitar as he stood naked, all his feelings on display, especially after their big blowout that ended up with Eddie being framed as hysterical and unprofessional in every gossip magazine.

All that to say Eddie and rock bottom are more than acquaintances at this point.

Lou flirts and smile and touches him and all Eddie can feel is a mild annoyance and a bit of repulse. He's almost happy when things are over, as someone rushes to him with a robe for his modesty.

"You did good," Lou says, as if Eddie still needs his approval for everything he does. He doesn't.

"Again, thank you for agreeing to this," Eddie replies, trying his best not to look at him. Gareth and the boys are over at the food table, chatting excitedly as they get ready to shoot their scenes for this part before the Grammy's stage has to go.

"I was hoping we could grab a coffee," Lou says, flashing him that smile that used to melt Eddie's inside.

"Can't do. Gotta be here for the rest of the shoot," Eddie explains, motioning around them as the set keeps going even though they both seemed to be stopped in time.

"That's ok. My driver can pick you up later and bring you to me. I'll have wine and sushi ready for you, babe," Lou says in a sickeningly sweet voice and Eddie hates it.

"What happened to coffee?" Eddie quirks an eyebrow. Lou is so sure of himself and Eddie is so easy that all he has to do is offer him a good time and Eddie will come running.

"I can have coffee for later, I know you like to stay up all night," Lou winks, and Eddie wishes he could see how ridiculous he looks. It's almost pathetic, especially because Eddie knows he gets a thrill out of all this. Of trying to be better than everyone to hide the fact he's just a narcissistic piece of shit.

"No thanks, I'm good," Eddie shrugs and he does what he should've done at the Grammy's. He walks away.

Before he gets too far, he looks back at Lou, smiles big and says "Oh, and lose my number."

Quick Author's Note: This is getting bigger than expected as ALWAYS. Things have to get bad to get better so please don't hate me. I think it's probably going to have 6 parts in total! Hope you're still with me, xx

#steddie #steve x eddie #Hate That I Loved You #Steddie fanfic #steddie fic #Steve harrington #Eddie Munson #Rockstar AU #second chance romance

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cambion-companion · 1 year

Text

Dark Waltz

Part 2 here

Inspired by the song: Dark Waltz by Hayley Westenra

In celebration of 2,000 followers I wrote a oneshot/drabble of the reader needing to seek comfort in the only person she feels comfortable baring her heart to. I got a little carried away so there is an 18+ only warning for this one.

I do want to continue this in a Part 2 just with pure filth haha but fluff for now

Tag list: @fuckinglittlekitten@bored-and-nerdy@echos-muses@moni-cah@mothertower@runningmunson@gabrieletargaryen@weskamoe@andreeasancheez@fleur-foudroyee@bcon24@tresefitzgibbons@lovesickwildcat@samblackblog@tinykryptonitewerewolf@thesapphirequeen@ohsehunbabyy@bitch-biblioklept@drawing-kitty1@scarletttargaryen@themartiansdaughter@blue-velvet-valentina@megatardisbaby@roseglowx@gotjonsa1@flowerpotmage@sirenofavalon@darylandbethfanforever9@enchantedpendant

Word count: 1,014

Aemond x f!reader | fluff | comfort | light smut toward the end, not explicit

Your soft footsteps padded down the dimly lit stone hallway. Your cold feet sunk deep into the plush rugs, the hanging tapestries seeming to come to life in the dancing shadows cast by the flickering torchlight.

You hugged yourself for warmth, wearing only your thin nightshift, the tear tracks still fresh upon your cheeks. Your eyes were swollen from how long you’d been crying, along in your chambers of the Red Keep. It was one of those nights, when the demons that haunted your memories came back to torment your mind. When all of your failings and insecurities, the hurt suffered alone and in silence for so long, caused the old aches in your heart to reopen.

Your one source of comfort lay just at the end of this hallway, through the heavy oaken door you found yourself stopping in front of, raising a hesitant hand to knock. Perhaps this was a bad idea after all, you should gather what remained of your good sense and return to your own bedroom. The desperation to ease the aching in your chest, to find out if your feelings could be more than a fleeting fantasy, spurred you into action.

You rapped your knuckles upon the wooden door, a quick sharp sound. Losing your nerve, you quickly turned and hastened back the way you’d come, stopping frozen as a soft voice called to you from behind.

“Y/N?”

“Aemond.” Guilt constricted your throat as you faced the prince, his long silver hair disheveled, looking at you with sleepy confusion.

He beckoned you closer, touching your upper arm lightly when you approached. “Is all well?” He peered closer at your puffy face. “Come.” Aemond glanced behind you to the still empty hallway before pulling you into his chambers.

It was dark, your eyes taking a moment to adjust, soft moonlight spilled from arched windows across the carpeted floor.

“I couldn’t sleep.” You felt Aemond’s hand lightly rest upon the small of your back as he guided you further into his room.

“I gathered as much.” He walked around you, tilting your chin up with a long finger to better look into your face. “Is there a specific reason I hear a knock at my door in the middle of the night only to find you fleeing the scene?”

Your face flushed, grateful for the darkness of the room as you gazed into his handsome face. You and he had become fast friends during your stay at King’s Landing, Aemond had been the one peer you felt comfortable being yourself with. He had become your closest confidant and ally, especially after you had coaxed him into revealing what lay underneath the leather eyepatch he wore at court, revealing the beautifully faceted sapphire.

His violet eye flicked between your own, measuring your every change in expression as you stared at each other, the heavy silence conveying more than what words could ever achieve.

A look of sympathy creased Aemond’s brow, and your own face crumpled, tears falling freely from your eyes as you fell into his arms, a large hand cupping your head against his chest.

“Who has done you this hurt? I will have them repay your pain tenfold.” Aemond placed a gentle kiss to your crown.

You hugged your arms tighter about his waist, breathing in his scent of smoke and leather. “I just need you to hold me, promise you’ll never leave me, even if it’s not true.”

In a fluid movement Aemond scooped you into his arms, moving to the large bed before depositing you onto the mattress. You scooched over to give him room as he reclined next to you, pulling you tight against him. The moon lit his hair in silver radiance, the rest of his face lay in shadow as he wiped the tears from your cheeks.

He brushed his thumb along your trembling lower lip. “I will never leave you, Y/N.”

A different emotion swelled within you, another tear leaking down your face. Aemond swooped down to kiss the droplet away, his lips trailing to the corner of your mouth before he pulled back.

“I have trusted you with the secrets I keep most jealously, and you have not turned away.” Your heart stuttered as Aemond’s hand came up to rest atop the curve of your waist, gripping lightly. “I would never cause you harm of any kind, Y/N.”

Almost as if you were lost in a trance, you reached forward, cupping Aemond’s jaw in your hand, leaning up into him slowly. He made no move to stop you as you tilted your head, your gaze dropping to his parted lips. His hand trailed up from your waist, across your shoulder, to grip the nape of your neck, guiding you closer until your lips brushed, your quickening breaths intermingling.

You pressed further against him, your tongue sweeping into his mouth as you deepened the kiss with a low groan. Aemond’s fingers tangled in your hair, hot lips moving against yours with increasing intensity, his low sounds of pleasure reverberating against your own chest.

You bit his lower lip gently, before breaking away, molten heat pooling in your core at the expression he wore, the strands of moonlit hair messily falling across his angular face.

“Tell me what you need.” Aemond’s eye was almost pleading as he searched your features.

“I need you.” Your breath trembled, knowing the both of you danced along the edge of a great precipice. “Make me forget everything, everyone before you.”

“As my lady wishes.” Aemond’s lips found yours once more, his touch tender but with the evidence of barely restrained passion he kept in check for your sake. “Roll over.” He breathed against your panting mouth, moving over you as your stomach pressed into the soft mattress.

“Do you trust me?” You felt his weight shift atop you as Aemond’s hands ghosted down your sides to the hem of your nightdress.

“With my life.” Your voice was thick with desire, raising your hips to help him guide your shift up your body. “With my love.” A moan escaped your lips as you felt Aemond’s mouth upon your neck, sucking bruising kisses to your tender skin. “With my heart.”

#aemond fluff #aemond x reader #aemond drabble #aemond imagine #aemond oneshot #aemond angst #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond x you #aemond x y/n #aemond fanfic #aemond fanfiction #hotd aemond x reader #prince aemond x reader #aemond stannies #aemond one eye x reader #aemond fic #pro aemond targaryen #aemond x fem!reader

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birrdies · 6 months

Text

needs

last life fic (1.8k words)

Etho was good at mostly being alone.

Silences were easy things to fill with simple nothings: tinkering with faulty machinery, tearing his latest project down to its barest bones and starting all over (just for the hell of it), exploring as far as his tired legs would carry him. When hands are busy and a mind is occupied, it’s difficult to notice the nothingness close in on him.

Solitude. It didn’t matter the world or game. To Etho, it was as much a talent as it was instinct. To build a fortress up from the ground and pretend he didn’t care that he didn’t have enough to fill the empty rooms. To spend nights alone, because it’s for the best. Because he didn’t need it any other way. There was nothing he needed that he couldn’t wear nor fit in his pockets.

There were things he wanted, sure, but need and want were different things. Want was frivolous; it was a thorn in his side that he never could muster the courage to pull out. Need, was permanent. Need was saved for when things went bad. When the thorn was ripped from skin, when he needed to staunch the bleed.

This game wasn’t any different.

Want was a crumbling snowy castle resting like a tomb in the center of the end of the world. Want was a pair of twin staircases, a shield painted red and blue, and his name scrawled on the deed to his own freedom, handed straight into the hands of a madman.

Need was a fence splitting their home in two, the ravine and impossible task that separated them. Need was a burrow underground, a set of new faces, a message of death written in red.

Need was picking at the remains of what once stood as his home like a vulture.

Only one of the towers still stood. The moon hung low in the sky overhead, a silver spotlight on everything that he once had. The ground was upturned all the way through to the stone underneath. Dirt and wood and remaining pits of soul sand sunk into the holes dug and blown into the groundwork of the castle. Like it had tried burying its own body but couldn’t quite get the job done.

Etho skulked his way across the wreckage. This place belonged to the enemy now. It wasn’t his home anymore, no matter how much it masqueraded as such.

There wasn’t much left. A few potions he’d tucked away underground days before. A beaten set of iron armor. Scraps of gold and stale bread. Less than he wanted and more than he needed. The rest he could recover with time buried underground. That, he was used to.

Burying himself underground, gathering what he could to fool others into thinking of it as strength, only to rise from the dirt with a sword, bow, and the need to be the one to walk out of there. Not enough to be a phoenix rising from ashes into flames, but rather a body climbing out of the dirt to fight and survive.

He’d played more games than he could count that way, in the solitude and protection the caves and earth below had to offer. When he was alone, there was nothing that could truly hurt him— not in any way that mattered. Really, he should’ve been relieved. He should’ve felt lighter on his feet, a burden shed from his back.

But instead, he didn’t feel much like anything at all.

It hurt less than it should have, but more than Etho ever anticipated. The thorn had been pulled clean and he bled, but he felt less the pain and more the uncomfortable twinge. The calculated knowledge that skin had been broken but the detached thoughtlessness not to feel it.

He was alone again. But that was okay. At least he knew what to do with it.

“Find anything good?” Etho looked to the half-collapsed parapet above his head. Cleo leaned over the edge, her hair hanging in her face. Another need, if he wanted to survive. The more bodies the better. It didn’t make him any less alone, just more fortified. Etho wasn’t so prideful as to think that he’d last out there on his own. Not this late in the game. Not with the Reds out for his blood.

With a sigh, he shut the chest he’d been rooting around in. “Invisibility potions,” he said, packing whatever he could away in his pockets. “Extra armor I stashed. Some iron and gold. I bet Grian and Joel already picked up everything else worthwhile.”

Cleo hummed. Etho grasped the wrung of a rickety ladder to hoist himself up onto the parapet beside her. She stood with ease, hands on her hips and an amused quirk to her mouth as she overlooked what never belonged to her.

“We’re going to stick it out with Ren and his shadow freaks?” Cleo asked after a moment. He could feel her gaze on the side of his face, but he didn’t return it. “That’s our plan?”

We. Our. She was just as bad as Bdubs. Etho had the thought to be angry, but really all he could manage was confusion. Curiosity. How did they make it look easy? Like handing over trust was as easy and mindless as breathing? Meanwhile he was a machine short-circuiting between two ends of a binary: what his heart longed for and what his head demanded. The desperation to claw more out more lives for Bdubs from anywhere he could. Anywhere except himself.

“The Greens and Yellows should stick together,” Etho said, detached and factual. “At least until we knock out the rest of the Reds. Joel and Grian are going to be a big problem… Tango, too, now that I think about it.”

“You’ve made a lot of enemies this go-around, haven’t you?” Cleo teased. He knew she was teasing, but suddenly he was punched by the first flare of something since he stood on the opposite side of that cliff face.

Etho scoffed and turned to overlook the rest of the hills. Lava burned far off, an orange glow that bled into the night sky. When that wither erupted from the heart of the snow castle, Etho thought that was the end of the world. But it was nothing compared to this: the damage left behind.

“I didn’t even do anything,” he said quietly.

“You didn’t have to,” Cleo retorted. She rested a hand on Etho’s shoulder and he lacked the grit to brush it off. There were few people he both feared and respected in equal parts, and the person standing next to him was one of them. “Surviving this long always puts a target on your back. Plus, you’re the lucky guy who’s left to clean up all of Bdubs’ messes.” “You know a lot about that, don’t you, Cleo?”

He didn’t know where it came from. The words were nasty and sharp but his voice was even and calm as ever; he wasn’t convinced he’d even said it. But Cleo only raised her eyebrows in surprise and turned her attention to the rest of the world. She pursed her lips.

Neither of them said anything. The longer he stood in the bones of something he loved, the more he felt the ache start to sink in. Like pins and needles it started to spread from the pinch in his side, through his chest, up the back of his throat, and behind his eyes. It didn’t hurt yet, but he knew it could. He knew it would, when the worst of the numbness receded. If it ever did.

He didn’t know if it would. He didn’t know if he wanted it to. It was so much easier to deal with like this.

“It‘s okay if it hurts,” Cleo said finally. The hand on Etho’s shoulder never wavered, only squeezed the tense muscle there. “I’d be more worried if it didn’t. You’re more human than you pretend to be, Etho.”

The center of the snow castle's been caved in. A bomb detonated by Martyn. The walls to the east were crumbled and resorted to nothing more than dust. A fatal blow from the wither. A large, steep drop between the gap under the walls and the bottom of the hill. The last time they fought side-by-side. A single fence post remained in front of the door to their bedrooms.

He was good at being alone. In fact, he was better off for it.

He didn’t need Bdubs. He never needed Bdubs. It was convenient. It was easy. But then it wasn’t. Bdubs kept dying. Bdubs needed more lives. And suddenly it wasn’t anything about needing him and everything about wanting him. About doing everything within his power to keep him.

It was silver-tongued lies and trigger-finger betrayals. Scar coiled in fishing line, an axe through his throat before he knew what happened to him. The curse was easy to blame, but the truth was it simply provided him an excuse. A loop-hole. He would’ve done it either way. He would’ve made a way.

Because he wanted Bdubs and his brain forgot where the line between want and need stood.

“I could’ve given him a life.” A stab of remorse. The numbness started to fade as the sun threatened to rise and reality set in over the remains of what he had. “Things could’ve been different.”

“Maybe,” Cleo relented. She sat leaning against an old pillar of wood that supported what was left of the parapet, staring at Etho with an unusually soft expression that he had a difficult time feigning strength in front of. “But we both know Bdubs was dead either way.”

“No.” Etho shut his eyes. He willed the burning behind them to fade. “I could’ve given it to him, Cleo,” he said again, because she didn’t understand.

It was his fault. He fought tooth-and-nail to protect the single thing he was foolish enough to let in. Only to shoot it right down in the same breath. A punishment for his mistakes, doled out by his own hand.

The wood beneath him creaked. Cleo shuffled behind him until he felt her body heat slotted against his back. Her arms wrapped around him, trapping him in her embrace and squeezing his shoulders and chest tight. He didn’t open his eyes. Because he feared when he did reality would come crashing down, and he’d be forced to remember that one of them would likely be dead by the end of the day.

Cleo hooked her chin over Etho’s shoulder. The side of her head pressed flush with his. Shakily he laid his hands on top of hers, afraid she’d let go.

“For what it’s worth,” she said against his ear. “I think he’s already forgiven you.”

#birdie writes #last life #etho #zombiecleo #cletho #last life fic #they've been constantly on my mind for weeks #and i dont have motivation to write my larger cleo and etho project i have going right now #so i feverishly just wrote this in an hour #enjoy #ethubs #etho fic #ethubs fic

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asena-graywolf · 1 year

Text

Somnophilia

It was a hot summer night. You went to bed early because you had a stressful day. You came home so tired from work that you drank a glass of milk and threw yourself into bed without even having a chance to eat.

You slept with your head on the pillow. You needed sleep so badly that you could sleep uninterruptedly until the morning.

Unfortunately, a bad surprise from your husband woke you up from your sweet slumber.

Since the temperature exceeded 20 degrees even at night, you slept in an oversized T-shirt and only underwear underneath.

Kuro approached you from behind and took off your underwear while you were asleep. He checked with his fingers that your pussy was wet. Even in your sleep, you were always wet for him.

His palms gripped both of your hips, pulling down his shorts and pulling his hardened cock out of his boxer

"Don't worry, I won't hurt you sweetie" she whispered in his ear

Gently holding your waist, he straightens you to lift your hips a little more towards him.

He massaged his hardening cock and before long he shoved his huge cock into your tight cunt

The warmth, humidity, and wetness of your vagina drove him crazy when he got inside you.

“Ahhh! Y/n…” he muttered

Feeling the presence of a huge dick inside you instantly woke you up from your deep sleep.

You lifted your head off the pillow and jumped

“Huh? Kuro? What are you doing?" you said in a hurry

“Y/n, please baby. I need you so much. Help me"

"So you dare to fuck me in my sleep, at my most vulnerable"

"I am sorry. I needed it so badly, I couldn't stand it"

"Then fuck me hard"

You lifted your hips towards him and embed your head back into the pillow. As soon as you lifted your hips, you got slapped on the ass and Kuro suddenly started to fuck you at ferrari speed like a car on the gas pedal

The pillow you buried your face in suppressed your moans. Your muffled groans delighted Kuro. You discovered a different side of being fucked by your husband without being able to sober properly.

"Ah! Kuro fuck me!”

"How willing you are, ma'am"

You got another smack on the hip. Kuro continued to ebb and flow without a moment's hesitation.

Kuro's monstrous cock was widening your narrow cunt

“I have to widen your narrow pussy a little more, honey. Maybe I'll leave a baby there"

You were not yet in a position to welcome the idea of a baby. Because you were just married. It hasn't even been a year since we got married.

“Ahh! Are you hungry? Don't worry. I will fill you with my semen, my beautiful wife. I'm about to cum"

“Cum now darling! into me”

“Shall I cum inside?” he made fun of you

“Cum inside me, Kuro!!”

You almost screamed and Kuro just shoved his whole dick in your cunt and stuffed all his hot semen into your womb.

He smacked your ass one last time as he was coming out of you and pulled away from you.

He cleaned himself and put his shorts back on.

You lower your hips and lie face down again. Your back ached from bending over. Had the same pain in your knees and legs

You were both out of breath. Kuro lay on your back, resting his head between your two shoulder blades. He tugs at the collar of your shirt and leaves gentle kisses on your back and neck.

“I know it was short, but do you think I was good enough?”

"Is it good? Just don't try well. You were great. Maybe you even left a baby inside me"

He got up from your back and reached for the empty space next to you. He pulled you to his chest and wrapped his arms around you.

“If I did as you said, I will be proud that you carry a piece of me in you”

#hq x y/n #haikyuu x imagines #haikyuu!!#hq x reader #haikyuu x reader #kuro tetsuro x y/n #kuro tetsuro x reader #kuro tetsuro x you #kuro tetsuro #kuroo tetsuro x you #haikyuu kuroo #kuroo tetsuro fanfiction #kuroo tetsuro imagine #kuroo tetsuro scenarios #kuroo tetsurou smut #kuroo tetsurō #kuroo tetsuro smut #haikyuu smut #haikyuu smut x reader

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ifancyharry · 1 year

Text

About a breakup

Just something I wrote cause I was bored and had a lot in my mind! ☹️, it’s angst

Harry never calls.

Harry never calls because if he doesn’t hear yn’s voice she doesn’t exist anymore. She doesn’t exist on this earth. In the space between his songs. in the words he can’t say. In the lingering moments he can’t seem to think about anything.

She existed, she did. She existed in his bed, she existed with her lips on his, she existed when she brushed her fingers through his hair (“don’t cut them, don’t cut them, I beg you!”).

She exists and despite harry pretending she doesn’t, he feels her everywhere. Everywhere and all at once.

She’s everywhere when he’s walking and sees a dog that resembles her’s, she’s everywhere when he sees a book he knows she would like and he gets the sudden urge to buy it for her, and he would, he swears he would, but harry doesn’t call and YN doesn’t exist anymore in his universe.

And it’s rather funny to him (not really, because he cries about it every once in a while). It’s funny because how could he even think about going on with his life if she’s not there to watch. To see him. What he’s doing. What he says. How could he know if he’s doing okay without her telling him? How does he know if he’s real if she’s not there to hold him?

How can the absence of her feel like the absence of himself?

Harry doesn’t call. And YN’s okay with that. She dials his number sometimes (on those nights when she feels this deep ache in her chest she doesn’t know how to satiate), but she never gets the courage to press the call button.

She stares at the green button for hours, and time passes and his absence grows larger, up until she can’t take it anymore and she feels herself drown in it. Sometimes she wonders if the number is still his.

Could he have changed it?, could he? Despite knowing he’d lose every chance of hearing her voice again?

To YN, it’s a little less funny.

She doesn’t find it funny how her own hands feel empty, incomplete, how she sometimes has to hold herself really tightly because she feels like she can’t do it, his absence weighing heavy on her limbs like a bad illness. It wets her limbs with pain and they feel soggy, ran through. And she wishes she could give them a good wash and go on with her life. If that was all it took to forget the feeling of Harry’s rings on her skin, she would’ve done it a long time ago.

But if she’s really being honest, maybe she wouldn’t. Because then she wouldn’t know him. And maybe sometimes she accepts that knowing him was worth the pain she had to endure.

Harry sometimes sets two places at dinner and when he realizes he feels so embarrassed he gets nauseous and doesn’t want to eat anymore. He likes to think it’s out of habit, but he’s one to get rid of bad habits rather well, so how can he explain it?

Harry fails to understand sometimes there’s no explanation to feelings, and he can’t hope to grow a new heart and toss this one in the bin.

When his friends ask why he doesn’t call her (Jeff asks a lot), he doesn’t know how to explain it’s not rejection he fears, but he’s scared the time apart changed them so much they don’t fit anymore. What if her hands molded onto those of another?

He read somewhere that if you’re really close to someone with time you start to mimic their movements, up until the point where you’re synchronized without trying. He always thought that was a little bit too romantic for him to believe, but what if it’s not? It’s one of the questions that keep him up at night the most. What if somewhere in her bed YN’s staring at the ceiling too? Could that mean that despite being apart some people never really leave you? Because he swears he can feel her deep underneath his skin. He’s comforted by that thought and he hopes it’s true.

YN read that too, she doesn’t remember wether Harry was the one who told her or it happened after their breakup. Time doesn’t really exist after you get hurt. Contrary to Harry, she knows it’s true. Because she never used to pinch her lips while thinking and now she does it all the time.

So it’s true, then. Her self will forever be altered by Harry’s. Does this mean she’ll never be able to forget the feel of his name rolling off her tongue? (Harry,harry,harry, like a hunted melody)

Or it’s deeper than that? Maybe she will forget his name but she knows she’d remember the look of his eyes forever.

So then what good does it do?

All the time apart, what. good. does. it. do?

If he’s within her now, if he’s already hunted her. Why waste time. Why not waste it together?

So, YN presses the button, because she could never forget his eyes.

And Harry picks up — hello?

She feels whole again.

#harry styles blurb #harry styles fluff #harry styles imagine #harry styles one shot #harrystyles #harry styles angst #harry styles x reader #harry styles #harry styles fic #harry styles x y/n #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles x you #boyfriend!harry #harry styles au #harry styles fic rec #harry styles writing #harry x reader

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k-marzolf · 5 months

Text

Speechless #2

I originally removed this because I wasn’t sure what direction to take, but inspiration struck and I know now.

*hints at sexual abuse & trafficking, previous master/slave, sexism/misogyny, dark themes, possessive themes, fem!reader*

Part one, here.

Your back didn’t hurt so bad after Billy applied a salve on it.

He kneeled down, and was tender with you, washing your face with his canteen of water, gently. “What happened, pretty girl?” He asked, voice deep.

“I was sold, sir. My Master got tired of me. I knew it was coming. He called on me less and less.” Your lip didn’t tremble, your voice was soft but firm. It was just a fact.

“Jesus,” said Billy, setting the cloth aside, and helping you drink. Being a victim of sexual abuse, the fact that you’d been sold angered Billy on a personal level. It brought all the memories of Arthur rushing to the surface.

“Pretty boy, ain’tcha?” He had leered at eleven year old Billy, who stood up to him with a bat.

He blinked trying to push the thoughts away.

You tried not to drink too much, but god you were thirsty. He let you, encouraging you to drink more when you stopped. You wiped your mouth, as he drank from the canteen himself. He was dusty, but underneath it all he was beautiful. You appreciated that.

He capped the canteen, and stood up. “Can you walk?” He asked, putting the canteen and cloth away in his canteen.

“I think so, sir.” You murmured, softly. Complaining was foreign to you. You would have been severely beaten if you’d uttered a word of complaint.

Billy’s lips brushed your forehead. “Let me know if it gets to be too much, pretty girl.” He husked, and you both began walking.

He was likely taking you to a military base, and you were on alert unsure what to expect around unknown men. You tried not to be wary, but life had made you wary. Men have always harmed you in some way.

You felt dizzy as you walked, your stomach wanting to empty its contents. Likely due to the beating you’d received, and the heat. You reached for Billy’s camouflage jacket, and he stopped, feeling you tug on him. You flinched when he turned to you, and said; “Sorry sir, feel dizzy.” You mumbled.

Billy picked you up, “Shoulda killed the fuckers.” He growled. He looked down at you, clutching his jacket, trembling in his arms. You were probably in a lot of pain. But beyond asking for help, you had not complained.

You suffered in silence.

He hated himself for thinking you were beautiful, for wanting you all to himself. He didn’t want to share you with any of the other men who’d likely be drawn to you. It made his stomach tighten. He never had anything of his own. Always an orphan with nothing to his name.

Even now, all he had was a dinky little apartment. But Billy wanted you. Both from desire, and a need to have something no one else had. He adjusted you in his arms, the base coming into view.

He wasn’t going to let anyone touch you, if you would have him, Billy would take you for his own. Billy had nothing to lose. Agent Orange was the key to making you his.

To give him the wealth he needed to make his dreams come true.

All he needed to do was prove his usefulness.

Tags; @idaofinfinity @e-dubbc11 @rosaleenablack @firexfate @aoi-targaryen

#billy russo #billy russo x reader

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and-stir-the-stars · 1 year

Text

Evan and Mikey drabble that I didn't bother proofreading:

"Evan…"

Michael wishes he wasn't so unsettled by his little brother's eyes.

It isn't even the twin gaping pits jammed into the center of Evan’s face that are a bit too wide, or the thick black liquid oozing from the empty eye sockets, or the lights glaring amidst the darkness.

It's the fact that those two pinpoints of light are staring directly at Michael that makes the blood freeze in the elder Afton’s veins. He isn't sure why. Maybe it's because Evan had always been a quiet child; quiet and shy, reluctant to look anyone in the eye or start a fuss, especially after Michael’s behavior toward him had turned from teasing to cruel. Maybe it's because he never expected his little brother to look at him again.

Michael takes a step forward, his eyes locked on the pain clearly etched in the way Evan has his brows furrowed angrily in Mike's direction.

In his haste, Michael forgets about Evan’s silent protector.

Michael takes a step forward, and in the corner of his eye, he sees a flash of gold and purple. That flash is all the warning he gets before an unnaturally heavy metal hand digs into his shoulder with enough force to draw blood. A deep, guttural, enraged growl echoes in Michael’s ears, making the hairs along his arms stand on end and his entire body tense as teeth gnash inches from his face.

The golden paw jerks against Michael’s shoulder, and the sudden upset of balance sends Michael’s head tumbling straight into the gnashing teeth.

Except the teeth pull away at the last second.

Michael stumbles on his feet. The growl still echoes in his ears, the twisted metal still holds firmly just underneath the skin on the back of Michael’s shoulder.

In the back of his mind, Michael thinks– knows– that he should be dead.

The metal protector is farther away now, trembling as it watches him like a German Shepherd being held back from a cat, straining against its leash.

Without the teeth seconds away from tearing his head off, Michael can see his little brother's ghost again.

Evan is still staring straight at him, but now, he has one fist raised in the air with a violently trembling arm as the dark tears leak down his face.

"Stay– away– Mikey–" Evan grinds out. "Stay away. You're not going to get me or my friends ever again. I'm strong now, Mikey. Strong enough to stop bad things from happening."

Michael has heard a similar tone from Evan before. It reminds Michael of how Evan would threaten to tell father if his big brother kept being mean. Except this time, Michael knew it wasn't an empty threat that Evan would give up on if his older brother glared at him. This time, Evan meant it.

Tears prick Michael’s eyes; all the horrible things Michael has ever done that have been trapped inside his head claw at the backs of his eyes, desperate to get out. "...Bad things like me?" Michael whispers before he can stop himself.

"Yes." Evan's voice is strained, as though speaking through vocal cords put through a garbage disposal.

Evan’s protector jerks forward, the German Shepherd finding a sudden slack in its leash and greedily clawing forward every millimeter it can.

Michael flinches.

And so does Evan.

"I can hurt you," Evan sobs. He still holds his fist up in the air, and his entire arm is tense from the tips of his fingers to his shoulder. It's not just Evan’s arm trembling from exertion, either; his entire body is shaking from the effort of keeping the growling yellow figure back.

"I can hurt you for what you did. I want to hurt you." Evan's voice wobbles so much Michael can barely make out the words. "I want to hurt you so much."

And then Evan collapses. His knees hit the ground with the thick thump of skin slamming against tile, so loud that Michael can hear the painful sound even from a distance. Evan’s head lowers until all Michael can see is a shock of tangled, blood-stained brown hair. The fingers of one of Evan's hands grapple against the smooth tiled floor like a drowning man clawing for something to grab onto amidst the waves. But through it all, Evan keeps his fist raised up, keeps the yellow monster from getting too close to Michael.

"I– I'm bad," Evan whimpers into Michael’s stunned silence. "I want– to hurt you. I'm bad, I'm bad, I'm bad, I'm–"

Michael shoves the large yellow paw off his shoulder and doesn't even flinch as the motion makes the twisted metal buried under his skin slice through his flesh.

He pushes past the large, growling creature without a thought and collapses next to his little brother.

Michael’s arms circle around his brother.

"Listen to me," Michael said, voice raw. "You are not a bad person. You aren't; I swear to you, you aren't."

His hands lead Evan’s head to rest in the crook of Mike's neck. Evan’s hands fisted in Michael’s shirt and dug painfully into his skin, like Evan wasn't sure whether to cling onto him or push him away.

*Fredbear as a silent protector inspired by the past refuses to be forgotten

#evan afton #michael afton #the crying child #afton family #tw blood #fnaf

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borathae · 2 years

Text

“Jungkook is angry at Taehyung and it just so happens that the latter is currently chained up and at the mercy of his hands. Seeking his revenge should be an easy thing to do, if only Taehyung wouldn’t look so fucking good taking his punishment, maybe then he’d have an easier time staying focused.”

Pairing: Vampire!Jungkook x Vampire!Taehyung

Genre: Smut

Warnings: bondage with chains, forced blooddrinking, choking, rough handjobs, sloppy oral, hate sex, angry kissing, licking haha listen, Kook tries to have the upperhand but does he really?

Wordcount: 3.3k

a/n: i have no excuse, my only excuse is that I am a hoe for Taekook and i wanted to write the scene in Sanguis Alpha. lisTEN CAN I? live in peace? thank you ajdfjasj

The door falls closed. His chains rattle. A torch gets lit. Light. It hurts his eyes for a second.

Taehyung blinks, raising his head.

"You", he croaks out, voice hoarse from not using it in days.

Jungkook locks the door and turns around.

"You know why I’m here."

He takes off his leather jacket, throwing it over the headrest of the only chair in this god awful room.

"Do the others know?"

Jungkook rolls his sleeves up, revealing his black tattoos. The silver jewellery glimmers in the dim light, jingling with every move he makes. Those big rings on his fingers make Taehyung weary. They will hurt like a bitch, how wonderful.

"Of course not."

Jungkook closes the distance between him and Taehyung. Taehyung laughs dryly.

"How cowardly, killing a man when he is unable to fight back."

"Shut up, you did the same to all your victims", Jungkook spits, grabbing Taehyung by his chin roughly, "besides, I’m not here to kill you."

"If you are here to bore me with another lecture of hope, no thank you, I've had enough of those."

"I don't give two shits about hope" Jungkook hisses, letting go of Taehyung’s face so roughly a sharp pain courses through his jaw, "I'm here to make you feel it."

Jungkook gets a hold of Taehyung’s neck, making the other gasp in surprise. He squeezes down hard.

"I'm here to show you how it feels when someone forces you to choke one someone’s blood."

Taehyung looks into Jungkook’s eyes. All the anger he feels, Jungkook mirrors it right back at him.

“You know it wasn’t me, who forced you”, Taehyung spits.

“Shut up”, Jungkook barks, squeezing Taehyung’s neck with such force the latter feels himself hiss, “I don’t care if you did it or not. You knew what your friends were doing, that’s just as bad.”

“They’re not my friends.”

“Holy fuck, will you shut up?” Jungkook yells, slapping Taehyung across the face with the back of his hand.

Taehyung groans, closing his eyes in annoyance. He was right, those rings hurt like a bitch.

“Good that’s better, now fucking take what you deserve”, Jungkook spits and grabs Taehyung’s face harshly. He forces his thumb into his mouth and a second later Taehyung feels the heaviness of a nuzzle on his tongue.

Taehyung looks at the bloodbag Jungkook is holding and has to fight the urge to laugh. Oh how pathetic.

Jungkook squeezes, surprising Taehyung with just how much blood he gets fed. Taehyung groans and shudders, feeling it coat his mouth and run down his throat. Cold blood. Disgusting.

"That's it. Do you feel that? Do you feel how fucking terrible that feels?" Jungkook spits, squeezing harder and harder.

This is too much. Taehyung can barely keep up with swallowing. He grunts and pants, looking into Jungkook's eyes. They were pitchblack, focused on his lips and with black veins pulsating underneath.

Taehyung groans, tugging on the chains. This is so much fucking blood. It may be cold and disgusting, but right now it tastes like heaven to him. A heaven he is currently choking on.

Jungkook squeezes again, tightening his grip around Taehyung’s throat.

"Fucking choke on it you prick", he spits, watching how Taehyung’s eyes go out of focus and his body begins squirming. The noises he makes sound painful and panicky. Jungkook feels….bad.

He stops squeezing and rips the empty bloodbag away. Then he lets go of Taehyung’s throat.

The latter wheezes and coughs in an instant, spitting the blood everywhere. It covers Jungkook's face, startling the younger vampire.

Taehyung grunts, locking eyes with a panting Jungkook. He is licking his lips, chest heaving up and down quickly.

"T-that’s what you deserve", Jungkook stutters, gawking at the blood running down Taehyung’s chin. The smell of it on his face is making him dizzy. With shaking fingers he fetches the second bag, ripping it open and gripping Taehyung’s throat again.

"Open the, the fuck u-up."

Taehyung scoffs and chuckles deeply, taunting him with a cock of his right brow.

"What is it Jungkook, are you struggling to hold back?"

Jungkook breaks his eyes away from the blood to look into Taehyung’s eyes.

"No I'm not", he hisses, wiping the blood from his own face, "I know control now, Yoongi is teaching m-me."

"I see, so those pitchblack eyes of yours show control."

Jungkook blinks in an attempt to get rid of them. He fails.

"Shut up", he spits, forcing the nuzzle so deep into Taehyung’s mouth that Taehyung has to gag. The blood explodes inside his mouth, forcing yet another gag to come out of him.

"I'm just so angry. I'm in perfect control", Jungkook spits, squeezing harder and harder and harder until the blood is spilling out of Taehyung’s mouth as he can’t keep up with swallowing.

The bag is empty. Jungkook removes it harshly, watching as Taehyung parts his lips and lets the blood trickle out of him. He only does so to taunt him, letting the scarlet liquid soak his shirt and chest.His face looked human. It angered Jungkook.

"Why aren’t you going mad?" he spits, twisting Taehyung’s hair painfully.

"Why should I? Cold blood is disgusting", Taehyung lulls.

"But you are supposed to be crazy right now. You fucker are supposed to feel h-how it is to, to lose control."

"I don't lose control, Jungkook."

"But you should!" Jungkook screams, spilling tears, "you are supposed to be crazy! Why aren’t you crazy?!"

"Because I'm not like you."

"What?"

"I'm not a Ripper or a Glutton, Jungkook."

"What? No", he laughs nervously, "n-no, you Alpha guys are supposed to be like me."

Jungkook lets go of Taehyung's hair, twisting his own instead.

"You are supposed to go crazy", he whispers, gawking at the puddle of blood which had formed on the ground, "y-you are supposed to feel how it is to lose control over your own body."

Taehyung looks at the distraught on the younger vampire's face and feels pity in his heart. He never hated Jungkook, perhaps he even felt for him. He knew that he was a sweet and gentle guy and that being a Ripper was torturing him. He knew that Namjoon did terrible things to him and that tonight was an attempt to get over that trauma through violence. And Taehyung felt pity for Jungkook because he knew that the young vampire had hoped to see the same agony in Taehyung's eyes than he had to feel. And now it feels as if his wounds will never get to heal, that his trauma was destined to plague him. Truly, Taehyung feels deeply for Jungkook.

Jungkook looks at Taehyung and steps closer. There was slight madness in his gaze.

"I know something else", he says and goes to cup Taehyung's crotch.

Taehyung hisses and flinches. That touch he hadn’t expected.

"I'll make you lose control. You'll be in agony", he spits, squeezing down harshly.

The air is tense. Taehyung waits for Jungkook to rip his cock out and start whatever he has planned to do. Silly boy, sexual torture is Taehyung's specialty. The youngling will give him more pleasure than agony.

But Jungkook doesn’t go further. He stares into Taehyung's eyes and breathes heavily.

Taehyung laughs.

“Don’t tell me that you are actually waiting for my consent.”

“Shut up”, Jungkook yells, “I don’t wait for anything.”

Taehyung stays quiet, staring at Jungkook with dark eyes. His hand stays unmoving on his crotch, but begins to falter as the seconds draw out. Yes he does. Taehyung knows that he does. Oh how sweet, Taehyung thinks, tender Jungkook truly has no evil in him.

"Well, then get it over with. Will you?" Taehyung spits, making himself big in front of Jungkook. This could be fun. Taehyung gets played with and Jungkook is in the belief that he is getting his revenge. Taehyung is willing to take that sacrifice.

Jungkook wastes no time, ripping Taehyung's pants down so they are pooling by his legs. The air feels cold on his skin and yet Taehyung doesn’t let it show. He won't react, that's what Jungkook wants and he won't give that little brat what he wants.

Jungkook grabs his cock roughly and starts his movements. Their eyes are still locked with each other, not a hint of emotion is on their faces.

"I fucking hate you for what you allowed to happen to me", Jungkook spits, squeezing around Taehyung’s cock.

"You know I wasn’t myself back then", Taehyung answers, cursing his body for reacting. He knows it is merely a biological reaction and yet it is a shame really, how quickly Jungkook’s touches worked.

"That's no excuse. One stupid spot on your rotten heart doesn’t excuse pigshit", Jungkook answers him darkly, rolling his thumb over Taehyung's cockhead. There is a smirk threatening to wash over his face, but he won’t show it. That was easy. He didn’t think Taehyung would grow hard that quickly.

"At least I don’t walk around, pretending to be good while having the blood of dozens on my hands", Taehyung retorts, "Vienna 1975. I know it was you."

"Shut it!" Jungkook yells and squeezes Taehyung's cock with so much force the latter groans in surprise, jaw clenching. Jungkook is better in that practice than he had thought. Well that is going to be fun.

Jungkook speeds up his movements then, fuelled by anger and rage. The slip is rough and with too much friction. Those rings. They hurt. Taehyung bites down on his tongue, raising his head proudly.

"You are such an asshole, still thinking that you’re better than me just cause you’re older", Jungkook growls, grinding his thumb into Taehyung's slit. It is hard and painful and yet the shiver that runs through Taehyung's body doesn’t go unnoticed by either one of them.

“You think you deserve her just because you are older than any of us?” Jungkook spits and it makes Taehyung's stomach tighten. He didn’t need to be reminded of her, not right now, not when he is in this position.

“At least I can control my urges. She’d only end up dead in your arms”, he spits.

Their eyes lock, darkening.

"I fucking hate you so much", Jungkook spits, dragging his nails down Taehyung's length. He squeezes at the bottom and drags his closed palm back up. He repeats what he had done over and over until Taehyung's skin is red and sensitive.

"The feeling's mutual", there is a certain rasp on Taehyung's voice, it wasn’t there before.

Jungkook frowns, new anger flooding his chest. He starts jerking Taehyung off again, going fast. The chains rattle. Taehyung pulled himself up by them, now twisting them in his hands. Jungkook looks back into Taehyung's eyes. Black veins appear on his face, Taehyung mirrors it.

"It's not nice isn’t it? Getting forced to feel pleasure while being rendered helpless. It sucks, doesn’t it?" Jungkook spits, twisting his wrist repeatedly as his fingers work Taehyung's swollen tip, "well that’s my fucking reality", he presses out, blinking away his tears quickly.

Taehyung furrows his brows, twisting more of the chains. It is actually very nice, but this isn’t the kick Jungkook wants out of this. So Taehyung pretends to be mad.

"Fuck you", he growls, cock growing bigger in Jungkook's hand.

"No, fuck you. You fucking asshole", Jungkook throws back, closing his free hand around Taehyung's neck. He feels how Taehyung swallows heavily and how his cock twitches in his hand. It infuriates Jungkook, it infuriates him to the point that he starts squeezing down on Taehyung's neck.

"You fucker are enjoying this, aren’t you?" he growls, fangs digging their way out into the light.

"You think I am? That's fucking biology nothing more", Taehyung spits back, eyes slowly turning red. He was very much enjoying this, but that is not what Jungkook needs to hear right now.

Their eyes meet. Jungkook squeezes down harder. His hand speeds up, gliding so much easier over Taehyung's cock now that his precum eases the slip. Jungkook snarls, Taehyung answers it with a growl.

"Liar", Jungkook barks, watching the way Taehyung is twisting the chains as if his life depended on it. His wrists are bleeding already, his knuckles are white and yet he continues twisting them, holding onto them tightly.

Taehyung merely scoffs and clicks his tongue. That brat won't get a reaction from him. Jungkook growls in anger. Taehyung laughs dryly.

"What is it Jungkook? Are you already regretting starting this little thing?" he challenges. He is so sure that this is going to break Jungkook. What he hadn't expected however was Jungkook falling to his knees and replacing his hand with his mouth.

"Ah" Taehyung stops himself from moaning at the last moment, twisting the chains instead.

Jungkook looks up, dark anger burning in his eyes as he sucks on Taehyung's cock with vigour. His tongue swirls up and down his length with every bob of his head. He slurps and gurgles, the sounds echoing through the room. Taehyung can feel Jungkook's fangs on his length, they pinch him every so often. It makes him tighten his fingers around the chains.

"Pathetic", he says just to anger Jungkook even more.

Jungkook growls, furrowing his brows. He gets a hold of Taehyung's tight balls and squeezes them hard. Taehyung groans, quickly swallowing it down however. Jungkook smirks triumphantly. And just as he squeezes around Taehyung's balls a second time, he sinks down on his length and swallows him completely. He growls as the tip hits the back of his throat and then starts bobbing his head up and down quickly, making sure Taehyung's cock goes down his throat with every move.

"Fuck."

The word bounces off the walls. It taunts Taehyung. Fuck indeed, he broke. It taunts Jungkook too, but for a completely different reason. He felt his cock twitch in his leather pants at the sound of it.

Their eyes meet, both of them glowing red and with black veins pulsating underneath them.

Jungkook sinks down on Taehyung's length again and swallows around him. His fingers squeeze his balls, rolling them in fast motions. Taehyung's lips part, fangs glistening in the lights.

Jungkook growls, pulling back to suck on Taehyung's hot tip. It makes the older vampire twist the chains, muscles in his arms flexing and the buttons of his shirt straining as his chest heaves up and down quickly. He hadn't expected Jungkook to be that talented. He is truly losing control over his body, that little brat is actually doing it.

Jungkook sinks down again without warning, bottoming out in an instant.

"Jungkook, fuck."

Taehyung's moan echoes in the small room. He fucking hates how quickly he caved in. And Jungkook hates how hard his cock had gotten in the last five minutes.

Jungkook releases Taehyung's cock with a loud bop and gets back to his feet. He gets a hold of his length and starts jerking him off again. Hard and fast.

Their faces are so close, their breaths are intermingling. Their eyes are still locked, dark and fiery.

"I hate you", Jungkook spits, moving closer. His eyes fall on Taehyung's lips.

"The feeling's mutual, brat", Taehyung growls, drawing closer as best as his chains allow him to. His eyes are glued to Jungkook's swollen lips, tongue darting out to wet his own.

They kiss. Jungkook likes to pretend Taehyung was the one who initiated it. Taehyung likes to pretend the complete opposite. Truth was. Their lips crashed together at the same time.

It is rough and filled with anger. Fangs clash together, tongues fight for dominance without ever winning, deep moans mix with each other. Jungkook twists his fingers in Taehyung's hair, excusing the gesture as wanting to hurt him when in reality the lingering taste of blood makes his brain scramble. The chains rattle, a growl follows. Taehyung, who had just this moment bit down on Jungkook's lower lip, licks over the wound messily.

"Ah", Jungkook pulls back, licking over his aching lip, "fuck you."

He speeds up his hand in punishment. He pays special attention to Taehyung's tip, grinding his palm down on his overly sensitive frenulum.

"No, f-fuck you", Taehyung snarls, eyelids fluttering.

Jungkook's eyes race between Taehyung's. His thumb rolls circles on his wet, hot cockhead. Taehyung's eyelids flutter again, a quiet sigh leaving his swollen lips.

Jungkook pulls Taehyung closer by the back of his head. Foreheads bump together, noses rub on each other. Their eyes don’t close, staring the other down.

"I hate you so much, you asshole", Jungkook rasps, voice heavy in arousal.

His eyes flit to Taehyung's chin and the scarlet blood on it. He grunts, draws closer. His tongue darts out, connecting with his skin in fast and sloppy licks. Fuck, he thinks, fucking hell.

"Jungkook", Taehyung answers him, there is desperation in his voice.

Jungkook speeds up his movements, jerking off Taehyung's entire length again.

"Don't say my name like that", he spits, twisting Taehyung's hair painfully at the same time as he pulls him even closer. Lips dance over his lower face, hungry and desperate. The blood tastes so good, holy fuck it tastes so fucking good.

Taehyung grunts and furrows his brows. His mouth parts, a moan follows. Jungkook grinds his thumb over Taehyung's frenulum again, twisting his hair at the same time. His legs give up on him, he uses whatever strength he has left in his arms to keep himself up straight. The chains rattle and groan.

Jungkook lifts his head and returns to jerking off the entirety of Taehyung's long cock. Fast. Hard. Filled with anger. And. Lust. As much as he hates to admit it, this turns him on.

"Do you feel that? That’s what it’s like to feel so fucking helpless", Jungkook spits, basking in the way Taehyung’s eyes threaten to roll back in pleasure.

Taehyung is shaking, legs trembling and hips chasing the rough handjob. It feels so fucking good.

"Jungkook", he chokes out, gasping for air.

Jungkook moans, drawing closer. His breath is hot as it swirls over Taehyung's lips.

"Stop saying my name like that", he hisses, twisting his wrist skillfully.

Taehyung keens, shuddering uncontrollably. His eyelids flutter, his cock throbs.

Jungkook feels it and feels how it makes his stomach twist in arousal. Taehyung is right where he wanted him to be. Shaking and squirming in the desire to cum.

"Fucking cum you asshole", he spits, forcing Taehyung to tilt his head back.

Taehyung closes his eyes and furrows his brows. He climaxes with a deep, guttural moan, twisting the chains so much he actually lifts himself off the floor. The pleasure is amazing, hot and intense, and he hates how good it makes him feel. Jungkook jerks him through it all, drinking in every expression with the same hunger he feels when feeding.

Taehyung slacks against the chains, tangling like a piece of meat on a hook. His head hangs to the front, shoulders heaving up and down quickly.

Fuck.

Jungkook lets go of his length and releases his hair.

"Fucking pathetic", he grumbles, wiping off his hand on Taehyung's shirt. And yet he is nice enough to pull his pants up for him again, even going as far as to fasten his belt. He also caresses his hips, almost making Taehyung laugh about just how adorably sweet Jungkook is. He can’t even punish him without making sure he gets a little pampering afterwards. Oh truly, Taehyung thinks it is beyond sweet.

"And yet here we are", Taehyung says, having to chuckle in amusement afterwards. He nods into the direction of the prominent dent in Jungkook's pants and raises his head.

Jungkook stares at it.

"This looks painful. Don’t you want to get rid of it?"

Their eyes meet, racing between the others'.

"I'm here, helpless. You could fuck me if you wanted to and I could do nothing but take you", Taehyung taunts and smirks, "come on Kook do it, turn me into your little whore."

For a moment Jungkook looks at Taehyung's lips. He gulps and looks back into Taehyung's red, glowing eyes.

"I'm not here for that. This doesn’t change anything", he says and turns to leave. He is by the door, unlocking it and taking the torch with him when Taehyung speaks.

"I think we both know this isn’t true."

Jungkook leaves without answering, jaw tense and nails digging into his own palm from clenching his hands too tightly.

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rotworld · 2 years

Text

3: Outnumbered

you can't outrun a pack of wolves.

->explicit. contains noncon, gangbang, gore, murder, semi-public sex, feral behavior, predator/prey, implied captivity, conditioning, mindbreak

Fifteen seconds per house. That’s all you can spare. Stagger up to the porch on your bleeding, blistered feet, bang on the door, and try not to hope too much. “I need help,” you tell whoever might be listening. Fifteen seconds. If nobody answers, you have to move on.

You try cars when you see them, wave down anybody who passes. Hobbling down the side of the highway, you look like a ghost or a bad Halloween prank. The sores and scrapes on the soles of your feet heal up, scab over, then start bleeding all over again. It’s a spotty, uneven trail, splatters and dragging footprints in crime scene red, but it’s a trail all the same. They could track you with less. A young couple sees you, slows and thinks about it. They pull over and you hurry to the passenger side window. “Please help me,” you beg them. A heavy full moon pushes through the clouds.

They leave you there. Speed off without a word. Too much time wasted. You keep moving, follow the lights.

WELCOME TO SUMMITVILLE says a weather beaten metal sign. It’s midnight and there’s nobody around, just long, empty streets and shuttered storefronts. Not good, you think. Too small. Not safe. There’s a gas station on the corner and you limp through the doors. Harsh, fluorescent light stings your eyes. Cold. Smooth, hard floor. Not dirt and twigs, at least. You grab a bag of chips, a cold drink. Eat here? Keep walking? Fifteen seconds. Shouldn’t linger any more than that. You’re so tired, hurt so much. You lean your forehead against the refrigerator doors. Deep breaths.

“Holy shit!”

You drop everything. No. Not him. Not any of them. Just some guy. Works here, probably. Wears a blue shirt and khakis, headphones around his neck. He’s staring. His eyes move down to your torn t-shirt, the sweat and grass stains, nothing but underwear underneath, then flick back up again. Doesn’t quite meet your eyes because he’s looking at that ragged neckline hanging off one shoulder, at the marks underneath.

Like spots. Like clumsy basting stitch. Crescents of teeth, the flesh sunken and scarred. All over your throat and shoulders and forearms.

The rumble of a motorcycle pulling up outside makes your heart skip a beat. Been here too long. You shove past him, pulse racing. Enclosed. Trapped. The door opens, bells chime. “‘Scuse me,” you hear, a casual, bored drawl, and you go completely still. Don’t blink. Don’t breathe. Crouch between a line of beers and a row of cheap candy and listen. The guy in front of you hesitates. Looks at you, then glances towards the front of the store. “Anybody home?” The next words are sharper, more impatient. He leaves, and so do you. EMPLOYEES ONLY says the door, but it’s unlocked. A back exit down a short corridor. Voices from the front of the gas station drift by.

“What can I get you, sir?”

“Lost my dog somewhere around here.” You can hear the cruel smirk in those words. “Seen any strays lately?”

Back outside. Chilly wind. Cold pavement. It hurts, everything hurts, but the pain will come and go. They won’t ever stop. Fifteen seconds. You follow the railroad tracks downtown. Hardware. Auto shop. Antique store. Everything’s closed and dark and dead. The night is cold and your fingers are numb. There’s an old place, worn brick and empty windows, ancient FOR RENT signs slathered in graffiti—an open door in an alley. Could stop, catch your breath. Fifteen seconds. It lures you in but you freeze in your tracks halfway to the door. Voices. Growling. You wedge yourself behind a dumpster as footsteps pass by.

“...can’t fucking believe this. I told him to get one of those GPS collars, y’know, with a tracker on it? Now we’re gonna be out here all fucking night—”

“Quit your bitching. You got a nose, don’t you? Don’t need a fucking GPS.”

“Who was on duty, anyway?”

“I dunno. Forest, I think.”

“Gonna fucking kill him when we get back.”

“Alpha beat you to it, I think. You see him tonight, don’t make eye contact. Haven’t seen him this pissed since the territory dispute.”

They pass without stopping. Footsteps fade. Forty seconds, way too long. You slide out from behind the dumpster.

You hear a growl.

You look back only for a second. You need to check. Have to know your chances. The wolf comes prowling out of the abandoned building, half in shadow. Too dark to make out details, but a varied coat, you think, a light muzzle, a dark stripe along the spine. Teeth bared, he sinks low to the ground and snarls. Your final warning. No time to think. Doesn’t matter who it is, anyway. A wolf is a wolf and you’re delirious with exhaustion.

The blisters on your feet split open and every pounding step across concrete feels wet and sharp. You hear the wolf right behind you and then a pause, a growing gap, and you know he’s about to lunge. You throw yourself towards the curb just as a huge, powerful body slams into the pavement where you were just standing. You both lose time, scrambling, pushing yourself to your feet. He recovers faster. Can’t last like this. The world bobs and trembles all around you, dark and hazy at the edges. Have to hide. Break line of sight. You weave into another alley. Climb a fence clumsily, scream when jaws snap like a bear trap around your ankle, but you hold on. You slam your heel against the wolf’s face again and again until the jaw loosens, teeth slipping out of new, fresh marks. You land hard on the other side with a grunt. Not good. Everything hurts, more than before. The wolf paces on the other side, panting, irritated. Yellow eyes watch you scrape yourself off the pavement and limp away.

Your legs protest, knees buckling. You suck in a ragged breath. Not now. Not like this. Have to hide. You drag yourself down another quiet street. There’s a howl behind you. Another answers up ahead and you veer off in another direction. Where? you think, looking around wildly. Where, where, where? Lights. Follow the lights. Streetlamp. Traffic stop. Headlights. A car trundles out of a small, crowded parking lot. Light. Noise. People, there are people here!

You shove through the doors and you’re engulfed in it. People! Neon and the stench of alcohol and talking, laughing, bodies shoulder to shoulder at a bar counter. It’s packed, it’s busy, it’s safe. “Help,” you say, but it’s too loud. They can’t hear you. Music, blaring guitar, a sports game on the TV in the back. “Help me. Please help me!”

You go to the bar, slam your hands down on the counter. So much dirt and grime, blood under your nails. The bartender takes one look at you and fumbles, drops the glass in his hand. You hear it shatter under the counter. “Christ,” he says. “Is, uh…is that—?”

“That’s them, yeah.”

You choke on a gasp. Fuck. You didn’t look close enough. Weren’t paying attention. People, you thought, and charged in without a second thought. Right next to you, seated on a barstool, elbow on the counter and chin resting against his hand—

“Sit,” he commands. A shiver runs down your spine. You fight the impulse to obey. Your body revolts, breaking out in a cold sweat. Those animal eyes are even more frightening in a human face. “Gone for a day and forgot how to behave already?” You’re acutely, painfully aware of everything, from his casual posture to the lazy smile on his face, the neon shine reflecting off of his leather jacket. “You’d better close for the night,” he says. The bartender doesn’t even stop to grab anything, doesn’t say a word, just walks straight out the doors and never looks back. A few other patrons follow, but a few stubborn stragglers refuse to move. One of them gets between the two of you, drunk, slurring his words.

“Who the fuck do you think you are?” he says, just before his face is slammed into the bar counter.

You don’t move. You don’t speak. You stand there, your gaze trained on the floor and your bare, mangled feet, as shouting turns to squealing and dies to pained groans. You hear his nose crunch. You hear his face turn to tenderized meat. You hear stools scraping the floor and clattering, overturned, as everyone else makes a dash for the doors. The only one left squirms helplessly in the grasp of your alpha, hair caught between clawed fingers. There’s no anger on your alpha’s face, no strong attachment to the violence he’s inflicting. He reaches across the counter and grabs an empty beer bottle, smashing it into a pronged, jagged weapon. It goes into the man’s throat with swift, brutal precision, a hard squelch and splatter. The body slumps over the counter, clawing at a bleeding, gaping wound, and then falls still.

Your alpha wipes the blood on his jeans. He leaves the corpse there, ignores it as he takes his phone out of his pocket. He texts someone, lets out an amused exhale. You take a step back and he pins you in place with nothing but a sharp glance. “You wanna make this worse?” he asks.

You can’t breathe. You’d thought about this—had nightmares, woke up screaming—thought about what you’d say to him. Now, nothing comes to mind. Instinct tells you to lower yourself. Sit or kneel. Show your throat and apologize. “Please,” you say, a sob building in your throat. “Please, I want…I don’t—”

“Don’t wanna get punished?” His eyes are amber, burning gold. “Shouldn’t have run, then. Easy as that.”

“I wanna go home.”

“Why do you think I’m here?” he asks. “You should be grateful. You’re not gonna freeze to death tonight.”

“That’s not my—”

The bar counter cracks and splinters as he slams his fist down. His whole body lurches forward as he just narrowly holds himself back from lunging at you. Your alpha exhales, runs a hand over his face. His ears have grown pointed, lightly furred at the tips. You listen to his harsh, uneven breaths, a curved fang retracting back behind his lips. “You’re lucky,” he mutters. “So fucking lucky I give a shit about you. You remember the territory dispute? Remember all those bones we found in that basement? The chains on the walls? You want that to be you?” You shake your head and he growls. “I asked you a fucking question. Is that what you want? Do you want me to treat you like shit? Wanna get forgotten in some musty fucking dungeon, never see the sun again?”

“No,” you sob. The dam breaks. Everything you’ve been holding in, all the pain and fear and helplessness comes surging out at once. You collapse, your knees bruising on the wooden floor. You can’t run anymore. This is as far as you go. Your alpha appraises you with cold eyes. “I’m sorry,” you say.

“You don’t mean it,” he murmurs.

“I do! I’m sorry! I’m…I don’t want…”

The doors open behind you, cold air rushing in. There’s a commotion, a few shouts and jeers and clapping as people—not people, not really—start to file in, surrounding you. You see familiar work boots, lace-up, steel-toed. A few pairs of slips on and tennis shoes. You cry out when somebody’s hand closes around the nape of your neck, squeezing, forcing your head down against the floor. A warm body folds against your back and you hear snickering.

“I almost had you!” you hear, a boyish singsong that devolves into laughter. Sully rocks his hips and he’s naked, you realize, just shifted back. His cock is hard and throbbing against your ass, rubbing a damp spot of precum into your underwear. “Aww, are you tired? Poor little human all tuckered out? That’s okay. We caught you now, so you can relax.”

“Wasn’t you, jackass. They’ve been running all fucking night,” Basil mutters. He’s standing to your right, dirt caked to his sneakers.

“But I’m the one who herded them here,” Sully insists. You whimper when he starts humping you, his hips pumping in quick, animal motions. It’s reflex more than conscious thought, the familiarity of your warmth and softness under him.

“We all herded. You just got the last stretch. Y’know, the easy part.”

“You’re just mad ‘cuz you’re not ranked high enough to have a taste till we get home.”

“Stop fucking fighting,” the alpha says. There’s no real bite to the words, just bemused affection. “Let Blake through.”

The crowd parts. Sully’s grip on your neck eases and someone kneels in front of you. Gentle fingers caress your chin and urge you to look up. Faded jeans. Aviator jacket. Dark hair streaked with gray and silver and stern, worried eyes. Your beta says nothing. You feel small under his scrutiny, embarrassed and ashamed. He examines the swelling on your bruised cheek, the scrapes on your forehead.

Finally, he says, “We were worried about you.” His palms are warm and soothing against your skin and you fight the urge to lean into him. “You could’ve gotten hurt out here, you know. You could’ve gotten into serious trouble. Not all humans understand or respect pack laws. Are you listening to me?” He keeps his voice gentle and steady, never raising it, never growling. His thumb strokes your cheek. “I think you are. I think you’re just being difficult. That’s okay. You were difficult when we found you. Do you remember that? We trained it out of you. I’m surprised you got this far. You’re not going to run again, though, are you?”

You swallow hard. The others are quiet. You hear a barstool creak as your alpha stands and approaches. It’s hard not to whimper or flinch. He doesn’t intervene. He just stands there at the edge of the circle. You feel his gaze burning into your skin.

“I’m going to ask you one more time,” your beta says. “You’re not going to run again, are you?”

You tremble. It’s hard. You want to speak. You want to promise him you won’t run, you won’t disobey, you’ll do everything they tell you. You want it all to stop. But you know how this is going to end. You don’t want this to be for nothing. Your only freedom is this small act of defiance, resisting everything they drilled into you. It’s all you have left.

Your beta pets you like a dog. His touch is gentle. He strokes your hair and the smallest whimper escapes you. “Max,” he says. Someone behind you steps forward. “Basil.” You hear spluttering, a shocked, “Wait, I…really? Holy fuck. For real? I can?” that your beta ignores completely. “Sully.”

“One step ahead of you. Hold still, cutie.” Sully rips your clothes off in shredded fistfuls, uncaring of how his claws carelessly slice into your skin. “Oh—fuck, sorry, alpha. I think that was your shirt.”

“It’s fine,” your alpha says. “Reeked of outsiders anyway.”

A panicked, “Wait!” slips out before you can stop it, a scared noise that draws their attention like bloodhounds to a deer. “I can’t…hurts…”

“It would hurt less if you hadn’t made us chase you this far,” your beta says calmly. He holds you still as the others close in, his grip on your chin tightening. “It wouldn’t hurt at all if you didn’t run away.”

Sully fucks you open with hard, punishing thrusts, spurred on by your shrieks and crying. “Fuck!” he groans, hips pumping until you’re completely, painfully full. He grabs your ass with both hands, squeezing and kneading, sinking his claws in. You yelp when he slaps you, the shape of his palm seared into your skin. “Ngh, you feel so good!”

You’re in such agony that you don’t realize someone else is touching you, not until you feel a large, calloused hand fold your fingers around a hard cock. “There we go,” Max’s low, quiet voice murmurs. “Just like that. Now do it on your own.” Max is so big he fills your palm. It’s humiliating, how easily you give in. They trained you so well that you don’t have to think about it, squeezing just above the engorged flesh of his knot and making him moan.

“Do I just—?” Basil shifts nervously on your other side. “Should I—? I mean, I don’t wanna overstep…”

“Come here, Basil,” your beta says. He almost trips over his own feet in his rush to obey. Every set of eyes in this room is looking right at you, watching you quiver and moan. Sully slams into you from behind and keeps a firm grip on your hips, keeping you from moving away. He’s already close, too pent up and excited from the chase. He starts rutting mindlessly, nipping at your shoulders and the side of your neck.

“Gonna cum,” Sully mutters.

“No knotting,” your beta says.

“Aw, but—but!”

“Sully,” your alpha growls.

All the air in your lungs leaves in a rush when Sully tears out of you. You hear him snarl, sounding just like he did as a wolf, and then his teeth are in your neck. He latches onto an old scar, tearing the bumpy flesh open again. He doesn’t let go until his harsh panting evens out, until the obscene, slick sounds of him jerking off slow from their frenzied pace and you feel his cum splatter across your back. “Just you wait,” he mutters, kissing the bloody bite he leaves behind. “Gonna fuck you stupid when we get home. Gonna stuff you with my knot all night.” His weight leaves your body and you’re cold, your back arched and your entrance spasming, clamping down on nothing. You wanted him to cum inside, and the realization makes you feel sick.

Your beta shows Basil how to hold your jaw. How to stroke your hair, how to pull when you misbehave. Just enough force to make your scalp burn and tears prick your eyes. Someone else takes Sully’s place and fills you in one brutal thrust and your eyes roll back in your head.

“Holy fuck,” Basil gasps. You take him easily. You barely gag. His length fills your mouth and his tip bumps the back of your throat, and your instincts are pleased, purring. You don’t feel human anymore. “Shit, they’re—so fucking good!”

“...long drive back. Shouldn’t stay too long,” you think your beta says, but you aren’t listening. Can’t, not with all the growling, the slap of flesh against flesh, the ringing in your ears as your toes curl and you feel the smothering rightness of your place here on your knees. Max cums on your hand and then he thrusts his softening cock against it, smearing his scent between your fingers and over your wrist. Marking you. Making you theirs again. Basil starts to move his hips, a slow, shaky pace as he praises you breathlessly, calls you good and sweet and perfect. The praise makes you giddy and you relax your throat, drooling around his length as his balls slap your chin.

“...few more times, just to be sure,” your alpha says, his voice sounding so far away. His eyes find yours and you try to bare your neck to him even now with Basil fucking your throat, arching your back and meeting the thrusts of the person behind you, presenting yourself just the way he likes.

Your alpha smiles for the first time that night and everything hurts so much less.

#rotpeach writes #original #goretober #dedicated to everyone who wanted last years werewolves to be meaner #boy do i have the pack for you lmfao

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