Tumgik
#non con touching
envy-of-the-apple · 25 days
Text
Exception
Dark!Geto Suguru x reader
5.8k wc
Synopsis: You never bothered with Suguru's crush on you, knowing it would fade. After meeting him again years later, you make the horrible discovery that his feelings for you have only festered.
(Warnings: yandere, dark content, murder of a side character, slight gore, violence, rape/noncon, vaginal fingering, piv sex, unsafe sex)
When you were in your first year of college, you got a part-time job at a nearby cafe. 
It was easy work. Make coffee. Bake some pastries. Attend to the customers. Nothing too unmanageable. It was an insignificant part of your life. 
Then, Gojo and Geto came along.
 
Insufferably annoying. Especially, the loud one. They always caused a havoc in the cafe, often to the point where the manager had to physically kick them out. It was a turbulent two weeks, until one day you promised them if they kept it down, you'd let them try a few of your experimental pastries. 
Really, it was your own damn fault. They started coming every day after that, mostly to bother you. The only reason management hadn't outright banned them was probably because Gojo made 50% of their entire revenue. 
You warmed up to them eventually. Your fake smiles turned into more amused ones because of their antics. Once or twice, they'd get a good laugh out of you. You've heard rumors of a private, religious highschool nearby. You always assumed they were a byproduct of that. 
Eventually, Gojo becomes Satoru. Geto becomes Suguru. Nice kids, if not a bit overzealous. Despite refusing to hang out with them after work, you had to admit, you grew a bit attached to them. You found yourself asking about their day, hiding sweets for the two of them, sometimes you'd even let them steal a croissant or two. 
You bet the reason they hung around you was because, to them, you were some cool college student. Secretly, you found it a little flattering. Some days, their friendship was the highlight of your shift. It's clear Satoru is always the instigator, always looking like he's about to bounce off the walls (you have told him to lay off the sugar), it's not like Suguru was any better. He tried to act like he was the more refined part of the friendship. He often fails, at least in your eyes. 
It becomes pretty apparent that Suguru had a crush on you. You're not sure when exactly you started to notice the bashful looks, the slight flush on his cheeks whenever you accidentally brush his hand, the fact that he visits far more often (even though Satoru has the sweet-tooth) but you can't unsee it now. It doesn't help that Satoru looks downright giddy whenever his friend talks to you, barely controlling his giggles in the background. His reaction and Suguru's irritation often start a few skirmishes right outside the cafe doors. You've told them multiple times to take their fights in the alley at least. They never listened. 
For his sake, you don't acknowledge it, already knowing what it is. A schoolyard crush. Harmless, it'll pass. Eventually, when you're a distant memory to them, Satoru will tease him about it and Suguru will give a playful elbow nudge. Much to your relief, Suguru doesn't pull you to the side and confess. He's refined, in that way, never giving too much until you have the evidence and clues yourself. 
It continued like that for months. And then, something changed. 
They stopped coming around as much. Daily visits turned weekly. Weekly turned to every so often. Their energy felt off too. Satoru seemed the same as always, if not a bit more mellowed out. It was Suguru you mainly worried for. Each time he returned, he looked worse and worse. Darker circles. Eyes filled with exhaustion. 
You pull him aside eventually, asking if anything is going on, asking if he's okay, asking if he wants to talk. As sincerely as you can, you tell him that you're here for him. He at least attempts to smile at that. When you press, he shakes his head. 
"It's nothing," you both know he's lying, "it's just....it's nice to see that there is one exception." 
A little while after that, they stop coming entirely. You notice, but you aren't able to focus on it. School gets harder, you're cutting back your work to focus on it. You don't even recognize Satoru at first when he walks in nearly a year later. 
He's different. So much taller. Despite being a few years younger than you...he doesn't feel like a kid anymore. An easygoing smile is pulled on his face when he sees you, giving a lazy wave. You return it, though a bit hesitant. He talks to you as though no time has passed at all, asking what you made for him this time. He talks fast. His voice is too laid back. Too casual. Like he's avoiding something. You think you know what. 
"Where's Suguru?" you ask when you glance behind Satoru for the third time, "I haven't seen him around lately." 
He freezes, like he's been dreading that question ever since he came in. Finally, he shrugs, making a noncommital hum. His sunglasses obscure his eyes but it isn't enough to hide how cold he suddenly turned. Satoru seems to realize that too. His answer is pulled by reluctance. 
"We don't talk anymore." He doesn't say anything more. You don't need him to.
When he pulls out his wallet, you tell him it's on the house. He looks at you then. His mouth opens, searching for the right words. He waits too long. His mask slips back into place. 
Gojo grins at you, painfully fake. 
"Take care of yourself, will ya?" 
You never see him again after that. You know it's your fault. 
You think about them every so often when you can, Suguru especially. He rests in the back of your mind like an old piece of furniture you can't bring yourself to throw out. Suguru sometimes haunts your dreams with his darkened eyes and the pure brokenness on his face. For some reason, you think you failed him somehow. You felt like you could have done more. Maybe, if you'd tried harder to reach out, things would have been different. Two boys wouldn't be utterly heartbroken. 
Years pass by. You quit working at the cafe. You graduate college. You move cities. You get a job. Eventually, you settle into a nice apartment. You forget all about your days in that quaint little restaurant, your attention hogged by a couple of annoying high schoolers. You don't think about Satoru for years. You don't think about Suguru for years. 
Until one day, when he calls your name in the street. 
He was bigger now, towering over you with broad shoulders. His hair was longer, darker too, less of a green, more black. He's ditched his school uniform, trading it for a more casual outfit. It's his face that makes you hesitate before you use your voice, that same smile, physically at least. He looks the same, but then he doesn't. 
"...Suguru?" It's a question because you're still not sure. 
He smiles wider. 
"Long time, huh?" 
Somehow, your reunion culminates in a restaurant. You still feel out of it, somehow, like you're watching yourself in an out-of-body experience. Between the food and him, you're not sure if you can even believe it. 
He tells you he heads a temple now. A pious man. You shouldn't be surprised, considering his education, but you never knew he was so invested in religion. The two of you converse about other meaningless things. The conversation becomes less stilted. More sincere. You learned your lesson from last time. You don't bring up Satoru unless he does. 
Much to your disappointment, he doesn't. 
Compared to yours, his life is so crazy. Not just with the temple. Suguru tells you he's a father now too. Adopted two little girls. He's barely 22. You can barely hold your disbelief, shaking your head as you take another sip of your coffee. 
"In any case," you say when the conversation draws to a lull, "I'm just really glad you're happy, Suguru. You deserve it." 
When Suguru gives you a questioning look, you continue. 
"The last time we saw each other, you looked miserable." 
 His eyes widen in realization before a laugh bubbles out of his throat. Deep, rich like chocolate. 
"Back then, I was going through a lot." He sighs. "I was figuring out what I wanted. It...it was a tough time for me." 
You nod along, hoping you aren't forcing him to pry. However, the Suguru you're faced with now doesn't seem like that type of person anymore. He won't give if you press. He talks on his own terms. You never once thought of him as a pushover, but he's less open now. Perhaps it's because he's no longer a child. 
Suguru smiles then, a little more sincere than his first. 
"You know...I've always wanted to thank you." 
You tilt your head. "What for?" 
He plays with his empty cup like he's searching for the answer himself. "You gave me hope when no one else did. Everyone was so quick to tell me if I was wrong or right."
He leans back on his chair, eyes drifting towards the ceiling, "Other humans, they're always so enraptured by their own lives. You were the only person who reached out. At least, who cared enough to." 
The guilt from years ago slipped back into your throat. So he had been suffering. You should have done more. He was just a kid. They both had been. You could have done something. Maybe you could have saved a little more.
His hand finds yours on the table. They're rough, calloused. You can feel the scars. He squeezes your fingers. 
"Thank you," he murmurs, "For being an exception." 
You squeeze back. 
It's a tumultuous friendship, at first. It's much like a burn. Sensitive, it hurts at first. The wound is too fresh. Eventually, dead skin and memories fade away. You find yourself texting him. Once a week. Maybe a little more, if you get brave enough. 
Once, he sends you a picture of a white cat lounging in a sunbeam.
looks like Satoru, he types. 
(You stare at the caption for a long longer than necessary.)
It does, you send back.
You visit his temple once. He invited you, actually. A free tour, he had joked. It was beautiful. A large expansive garden filled with all types of flowers. The courtyard felt like it stretched for miles. That was just the outskirts of the temple. The building was something else entirely. A large ceiling. Expansive walls. White pillars that keep going higher and higher and higher. 
You notice his followers are everywhere. Most carry the same smile on their face. Bright, happy, cheery, but too strained. Like it's a job for them. It feels weird to say, but he fits nicely here. You think that because this wasn't the place you thought Suguru would end up. He dons the traditional clothing perfectly. Like they were made for him. They probably were, considering how high his reputation was. 
If he hadn't had the same face, the same hair color. You wouldn't have recognized him at all. He's managed to replace every single thing in his life with something new. It doesn't go unnoticed by you that you're the only thing he keeps from the past. A momento of sorts. You're a keepsake, for him. You don't mind the symbolism. You've always been easily flattered. 
You just failed to realize that not all of his feelings had changed. 
It was in front of your house. After, yet another visit to the temple (much at Suguru's insistence), he'd offered to walk you home. You would have declined if it wasn't so dark out. In the end, you accept his offer. 
"The girls have come to like you," Suguru says after a lull of pleasant silence. When you glance at him, you find his eyes on you. 
"Have they?" you prod. 
In all honestly, you didn't think they liked you at all at first. You don't have that much experience with young children, but you found it odd how unnerved Nanako and Mimiko seemed to get around you, practically hiding behind their father's figure, peeking out with untrusting eyes. Suguru had to gently coax them out with soft words, insisting that you were a close friend of his, you were 'different'. 
"Yes, they talk about you all the time," he continues, rolling his eyes in affection, "Mimiko especially gets very animated." 
Your heart skips a beat at his answer. You never felt one way or the other about children, but it felt nice when two little girls felt so highly about you. Those two especially. 
"It must be from all the sweets I bribed them with," you say, jokingly, "Please tell me I didn't cause them any stomach aches." 
He laughs, light and pretty. 
"It's not that," he responds, "it's because of you, mostly. You're different from the others."
You smile, but it's half-hearted, an attempt more than anything. It takes you a while for you to work up for the question. For some reason, you feel a bit nervous, like you're stepping on something you shouldn't be. 
"Different," you start, "you keep saying that. What does that mean? What am I different from?" 
He stops, just at the entrance of your flat. Suguru's fingers drum on his pants. You stare at him. He stares right back. 
"You are different, in so many different ways," he says, though it feels as though he's speaking to himself, rather than you. 
He takes a step forward. Tiny, he barely even moved. And yet, the distance between the two of you has vanished completely. 
"You've always been. Different from everyone else. The only one." You can't tell if he cut himself off, or if there was truly nothing else to say. 
It was barely a kiss. His lips brushed against yours, barely touching. Soft, like he cherished you the most out of all his possessions. The gentleness of it all is enough for you to freeze. 
Then his hand curls around your waist, and you jolt back into your body. 
You splay your hands on his chest, pushing him away until you have enough momentum to step back. His loose hold on you falls away. You can't look at him, even when you can feel his stare burn into you. 
"Suguru," you say, because you're mind is still running to catch up to your heart, "I-we-" 
Your name being called stops your babbling. You don't think he saw, god you hoped he hadn't. When you look over, he's smiling, so you don't think he did. He was never one to hide his feelings. Still, you step away from Suguru, ignoring how stiff the man had become. 
"Hey," you say, mostly out of relief because you couldn't deal with this anymore. When he wraps you into a hug and a chaste kiss, you wordlessly accept. Suguru's gaze on your back only gets stronger. 
"Who's this?" he asks, gesturing at Suguru. Your smile falters as you glance at Suguru. His face was blank. He wasn't even smiling anymore as he continued to stare at your man. 
"A friend," you say before Suguru can make this already worse, "and he was just leaving." 
"Oh," he says, before smiling down at you. Delightfully oblivious. 
"We'll talk later, okay Suguru?" You send Suguru a hurried smile before dragging him into your shared flat. 
You lock the door behind you. He says something just then, you laugh, trying so hard not to sense Suguru's presence through the door. You don't think he leaves. Not for a good long while. 
You don't speak to Suguru, after that. 
You wince whenever you see his name through your contact list now, as though even seeing a remnant of him is painful. You don't go to the temple anymore. Your communication with the girls turns nonexistent. 
Suguru hasn't said anything to you either. The line has grown dead both ways. 
You feel guilty, even though you know it wasn't your fault, you still can't help but wonder if you could have done something different. Did you do something that made him think you were interested? You probably had, knowing how unaware you could be, sometimes. You couldn't help but feel ecstatic when the two of you reconnected again. You'd been so excited for Suguru, happy for him because he'd finally found his way. You didn't know he still liked you after all these years. It was a schoolyard crush, at least, it was supposed to be.
Looking back, you didn't think you'd even told Suguru that you were already seeing someone. One blunder after a blunder. 
It must have been embarrassing for him, you can't help but think. Even when he was younger, Suguru had always held onto his pride dearly. You don't know if your friendship could ever be the same after this, but you'd like to extend the olive branch. If he'd take it. 
You tell your boyfriend about the incident eventually. You know it's not your fault, but you still feel like it is. He takes it well, once you explain, looking at you sweetly. 
"I could tell something was going on between you and him," he says, "but thanks for telling me." 
"You aren't mad?" you ask, half-afraid of the answer. 
"At you? Course not. Him, however"- he made a swing motion with his fist "-he does something like that again and I'll punch his lights out." 
You laugh, knowing it's a joke, giving him a chaste kiss on the cheek. He beams. 
It takes a week of radio silence to forget about the mishap. You're humming a song you've forgotten the lyrics to when you arrive at your apartment. Your boyfriend said that he was coming home early tonight. You'd planned something quiet for the evening. A movie, cheap drinks. 
"Welcome home." Suguru grins. You freeze. 
He sits on the couch, splayed out like he belonged there. He's not wearing his priest garment, now garbed with a simple shirt and jeans. It takes a minute for you to figure out what you're looking at. Slowly, you close the door behind you. 
"Hey," you say, hoping your tone doesn't indicate just off-put by this encounter you are.
Suguru doesn't seem to mind your reluctance. 
"He let me in." Suguru points to somewhere behind you. Oh, your boyfriend is probably in the bathroom. "He was such a nice man. You were very lucky." 
"Thank you," you find yourself saying, "I am." 
His smile grows bigger, and you wonder if there's a joke you aren't let in on. Like he's saying something that's going right above your head. 
When you take a glance behind you, your partner is nowhere to be seen. It makes you wonder if you should say something to Suguru right now. Mend the bridge that's shattered between you. Currently, he seemed to be in a good mood. 
"Suguru," you start, taking a tiny step forward. You twiddle with your fingers. 
"Listen, I'm really sorry for how things went the last time we met. I just-" He hushes you, putting a finger to his lips. 
"You shouldn't air out your affairs in front of him like that," he tells you, "you might hurt his feelings." 
What? You look behind you again. Nothing. 
Suguru laughs. It sounds off. Wordlessly, he points behind you again but angles his finger a tiny bit higher. You follow his direction. 
Immediately, you wish you hadn't. 
He's in pieces, scattered all over the ceiling. A hand is above the door, a leg is above the kitchen. It's like his appendages were chopped before being glued onto the ceiling. There's no blood, just body parts. 
The worst part was that he was still alive. His head was still attached to his torso, the only part of him that was still intact. His mouth was open, his eyes were wide, and it took you a second that he was trying to tell you something. Repeating a word over and over. 
Run. 
Your hand covers your mouth as you continue to stare up at him. What was left of him. You think your knees are threatening to give before Suguru's holding you up. You can feel him lead you towards the couch, sitting you down in the plush mattress. He curls an arm around you, letting out a sigh.
"I meant what I said." Suguru adjusts your hair. "He was such a nice man, for a monkey anyway."
It doesn't occur to you that Suguru had done this until he speaks. You'd known Suguru said he performed exorcisms in his temple. You didn't-you couldn't-
"You?" you can barely push the wavering words out, "you-how-Suguru-" 
He hushes you, drawing you closer to his body. You're completely dwarfed by him as he rests his head on your neck, breathing in your scent. You are barely coherent, sucking in air as your voice dissolves into sobs. 
"I would have liked it if things hadn't turned out this way," he sighs, "but I don't believe it would have turned out any differently." 
His tone is almost pitying. 
"You may be the exception, but you are still one of them. Unaware of the true hierarchy." Suguru hums. 
"That's alright. It wasn't your fault. You were simply born this way," he continues, "I don't mind teaching you." 
You wiggle, trying your hardest to get out of his grip. Suguru only clicks his tongue. A harsh grip on your waist is enough to still you. You can't understand what's going on, maybe you never will, but you know one thing. You let a monster back into your life. Geto Suguru was not the same person you knew when you were younger. 
Or perhaps, he was always this way. He was just better at hiding it, back then. 
"I'm sorry," you finally let out, "Suguru, I'm-I'm so so sorry. I'll do whatever-whatever you want. Anything just please please please-" 
"I'm afraid there's nothing I can do for him," Suguru doesn't sound too apologetic, "though, I could put him out of his pain. Would you like that?" 
You didn't need him to elaborate. Suguru would kill him. Or perhaps he was already dead. His moving eyes, his twitching lips, were all just muscle memory. The last of his brain synapses. There was no science, no magic, that could bring him back from this. 
And maybe, that tiny selfish part of you wanted to stop seeing his mangled body. 
You nod and you can feel Suguru's grin. He snaps his fingers. The thing disappears, vanishes into mist. 
"All gone!" Suguru declares. "There. Isn't that better?" 
You wince when he touches your face, brushing away the tears. You're too scared to do anything more. You don't fight when he kisses your neck. You don't fight when he kisses your jaw. You don't fight when he kisses your lips. 
It's with the same gentleness as the last time he'd kissed you, right outside of your apartment. Soft, warm, loving. 
You start sobbing then. Ugly, heaving, heartbroken. He takes it in stride, humming as he pushes your body down until your back is pressed on the couch. His lips brush your damp cheek. 
"There's no need to be afraid." Through your tears, you can see him smiling down at you. "The worst has passed. I'll take care of you from now on." 
The worst part about all of this is how honest he sounds. Like he truly believes he's doing this for your good. It makes you wonder who the delusional one is. Him or you. 
He's tuts in sympathy as you lay there, shivering underneath him.
"You must be so confused, poor thing." He tilts his head, the back of his fingers stroking your cheeks. "I should explain, shouldn't I? Unfortunately, I'm more interested in other things right now."
You must look horrible, but Suguru doesn't seem to mind, bending down, melding your lips with his. He sighs, like he'd waited eons for this. You stiffen when you feel his hands play with the band of your skirt. As if he can feel your beginnings of struggle, he pulls back, staring you down. Brown, almost black, eyes peer down at you. There's a hint of a warning curling on his lip. 
You still immediately. If he could do that, what could he do to you?
"None of that," he chides, and yet he's so painfully gentle about it, "be good." 
What was he? How did he do this? How could he? You want to ask them all but you can only get one out when you lift your head, getting your voice to work. 
"Why?" 
You don't know what you're asking. He clearly does. Another soft smile. You wish you could tear it off his face. 
"You were always the exception, even back then," He says quietly into the stale air of the apartment. His eyes drift and you wonder if he's remembering the you all those years ago, secretly passing pastries to him and Satoru, giggling at jokes only a highschooler could make. "The only one of the humans who didn't utterly disgust me." 
Fingers reach for the hem of your skirt, pushing it up your bare legs. 
"And it's natural, isn't it? To protect the exceptions, the rarities of the world," he says, "To keep them away from the impure." 
You start crying again. He patiently hushes you, kissing away your tears. This time, you don't bother putting up a fight. You just squeeze your eyes closed, flinching when he reaches to your inner thighs, feeling the cotton of your panties. His breath hitches. So does yours. 
He bypasses the cloth with two dexterous fingers. When he touches the skin, you flinch, trying to squeeze your thighs closed. It doesn't help. Suguru leans forward, you can feel his breath on your cheek as you shiver underneath him. He finds your clit, teasing it with a calloused thumb. You think you're mouthing it, even when you can't bring yourself to say it. Don't touch me don't touch me don't touch me. 
He doesn't listen. You don't know if he heard it or not. It didn't matter, either way. It wasn’t like he was planning to stop.
Despite how much you don’t want this, your body doesn’t listen. His touch is gentle, soothing on your pussy despite the horrors you’ve seen him do. It doesn’t take long for your cunt to adjust, dripping.
There’s a satisfied sigh above you and you know Suguru had felt it too.
One finger pushes into you. You gasp, curling your back, unprepared but Suguru’s giving a pleasant hum, easing you into it. Despite how humiliating this entire situation is, your one reprieve is being able to bury your head into his neck, keeping yourself there as he continues to have his way with your body. You can feel him kiss the crown of your head, an action that completely juxtapositions another finger entering your wet hole.
He’s gentle, but not slow. He fingerfucks you with earnestness, curling his fingers when your walls tighten around him. Your crying is interrupted by the reluctant moans and gasps every time he presses deeper into you, finding a spot that has you seeing stars behind your eyelids. You bit your lip, keeping the noises inward. He tuts at that.
“Don’t be shy,” he coos in your ear, “it’s okay to enjoy it. I want you to.”
As if to highlight his words, he gives another particularly intense push, you wince when you can hear the wet squelch of his fingers.
“It’s nice, isn’t it?” Suguru asks, “I could always be this nice with you.” You let out a squeak when his thumb presses against your clit, unable to keep it in. Suguru gives a breathy laugh.
His other hand starts to explore, reaching up to your button-up, flicking them off with a single-experienced hand. The bra you wore is barely seductive, but Suguru’s tracing the ends of it anyway, touching the fabric just by your skin before pushing the undergarment down.
Whether it’s from the air or his fingers fucking your pussy, your tits are already sensitive. You let out a breathy whine when Suguru grips on of them too hard, squeezing the fat in his large hands.
“So sweet for me.” You can hear the smile on his lips.
Everything becomes too much, and before you can think, your hand is shooting down, grabbing onto his wrist, squeezing as hard as you can, your nails digging into his skin. Your other is pushing against his shoulder. He barely seemed to even notice, holding you down with his weight, thrusting in his fingers all the way to the knuckle.
“Suguru I-” It’s supposed to be another plea for him to stop, but your weak voice calling out his name only seems to excite him further. His thumb dances on your swollen clit, his fingers never relenting until he’s pushing you higher and higher until you fall.
White hot electric pleasure snaps within you, forcing your body to jolt, as you curl up from the sofa. You think he’s saying something, words of comfort as though he could be any crueler, but you’re not listening. You came so hard you almost forget where you are, who you’re with. You can feel Suguru watching until you fall against the cushion again, utterly spent. Your grip slackens against his wrist, before falling away completely.
“See? Didn’t I say I’ll take care of you?” You don't even have the energy to glare at him.
He’s giving another laugh, kissing your cheek before he’s leaning back. His fingers slip out of you, and then there’s a sucking sound. You can’t help it, blinking open your eyes. Suguru stares back at you, eyes half-mast, a pink tongue flicking out to lick at his fingers before he puts them in his mouth completely, swallowing down the evidence of your orgasm. A lewd moan escapes him, muffled. You once again wished you hadn’t looked.
You’re already expecting it, but you still flinch when you hear the zipper loud and clear. He moves his jeans low enough to pull out his cock. He’s already hard, a bead of precum right at the tip as he gives a few cursory pumps. He’s big, you blearily realize. Despite the mind-numbing orgasm he’d just given you, you doubt it’d be enough to even take him.
“It won’t fit,” you find yourself whispering.
Suguru just hums in acknowledgement, giving you a knowing look as he finishes tugging off your panties. The fabric slides off your shaking leg before dropping onto the carpeted floor.
It’s too late for a fight, but you’re rising anyway, pressing your hands against the cushions, trying to create some space. Suguru is quick to shut it down again, leaning back into you as he palms himself some more.
“You’ll be alright,” he assures but it doesn’t help the panic the fear in your soul, “I cherish you too much to break you.”
With little effort, he spreads your thighs. His cock rubs against you once, twice, before entering your throbbing pussy.
Already it’s too much. He’s thick, stretching out your walls, threatening to rip you in half. You close your eyes again, squeezing them shut as the pain starts to edge a little too close to bloody. Helpless, your hand finds his shoulder, not pushing but digging your nails into his shirt. He purrs when you grip him tighter, moving until he’s seated fully into you.
He stays like that, keeping himself there as your walls squeeze him tighter. It’s almost a relief that it ended, but now, he’s taken everything.
“Look at me.”
His voice is rough, almost a rasp, an order. You find yourself obeying. Through your tears, you blink up at him, finding his gaze.
He stares down at you, a look of satisfaction in his eyes and you don’t think you are yours anymore.
He pulls back, your cunt tries to suck him back in, but he drags his cock out anyway until only his head is barely inside.
“Perfect,” Suguru murmurs as though it’s a secret not even you should hear, “absolutely perfect.”
You cry out when he pushes back in. It’s a gentle pace, slow and steady like he’s easing you into it. He’s being kind, you finally realize, a thought that makes your skin crawl. It’s so much worse than if he had been nasty. Harsh and biting with thrusts that would make your body sore and weak afterwards. If he was abusive, not caring about you, just his own pleasure. You wish Suguru was being mean, being cruel. At least then, you wouldn’t like it.
Despite the unexpected size, your body is adjusting. Pain ripples into reluctant pleasure, numbing your mind as his hips meet yours. It gets even worse when Suguru leans down, biting and sucking at your tits, enough for there to leave a mark. Something that will bruise and remind you of what he did.
“You don’t know how long I wanted this,” he’s saying somewhere above you but your head is swimming and you can’t focus where you want to, “how long I’ve wanted you like this.”
Suguru sits up again, grabbing one of your legs, hiking your hips up so his cock can go that much deeper inside of you. You babble something that you yourself can’t decipher. Suguru’s lips curl into another painfully soft smile.
“Ever since highschool,” he’s confessing like he’s a sinner and you’re his God but you know that isn’t true because what sort of god would be humiliated like this? “Remember that apron you wore?”
His hand reaches over, spreading over your pussy, stretching the fatty part of your cunt so he can have a better view of him disappearing inside of you.
“I always wondered what you’d look like wearing nothing but that on, spread out on the counter for me.”
He flicks your clit, and for the second time that day, you can feel yourself crashing. As though he can sense it, his thrusts shorten, grinding against your pussy and there’s a hand catching your chin, forcing you to look.
Suguru’s smile is gone, replaced by a snarl that promises to eat you alive. His eyes are blown wide, and he’s gritting his teeth, barely holding control by a hair.
“Come for me.”
You’re too far gone to do anything but listen.
You stutter in his grasp, arching your back, cumming with a breathy whine. It’s like a tide, pushing you out into sea, refusing to take you in. Unconsciously, the leg he holds tightens around his waist as you pulse around his cock.
He follows after, barely holding himself together, not when your cunt is milking him for all its’ worth. There’s a few particularly harsh thrusts before something warm and sticky fills your battered pussy before he's falling into you, pressing your body against the soft cushions.
You lay there, panting with him on top of you. Slowly, you come back to yourself, feeling your arms your legs. Your brain resets, and you’re suddenly remembering that you have a murderer’s cock inside of you.
Suguru’s face is buried in your neck. He gives a shaky kiss to your jaw; another on the corner of your lips. You can only stare at the ceiling, where the remnants of a body used to be.
"You know, the girls have always wanted a mother," Suguru's saying into your skin.
"I'm sure they will be very pleased with my choice."
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whumblr · 4 months
Note
can you write a prompt for an intimate whumper x whumpee? 😭
"Sshh, it's okay, loved one, it's okay. I know you don't like being touched. That's fine. I don't mind. You're allowed to feel that way. You know, I might even prefer it that way. What you're not allowed to do, however, is pull away from me."
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bigfootsmom · 6 months
Note
hello i am on my hands and knees politely begging for a elevator fic snippet 🙏🙏🙏 (aka im foaming at the mouth and desperate)
well since you asked so nicely :3
TW for non-con touching and strangulation //
The small noise that Buck whimpers out is completely involuntary. It falls from his lips, unbidden and distressed, fluttering into the stifling air hanging between their bodies. The pressure on his throat increases, John’s fingers curling tighter. He thinks it’s just another warning, waiting for John’s hand to relax like before. But it doesn’t, the pressure becoming more and more uncomfortable. 
Panic slams into Buck’s gut, fear hiccuping in his lungs as his next inhale meets resistance. His hands twitch at his sides in an aborted movement to reach out and shove John away. But he can’t— he can’t because John’s threat against Eddie is still hanging heavy in the air. He has to keep him distracted so he doesn’t—
Bang! Buck jumps, briefly pressing against John’s hand before he pulls back again. There’s another bang, the doors of the elevator reverberating with the noise as several more metallic thuds follow in quick succession. Over the cacophony Buck swears he can hear someone calling his name. Straining his ears, Buck’s stomach swoops with a dizzying combination of dread and relief. It’s Eddie— Eddie is banging on the elevator and calling for Buck. 
Buck wants to call back, he wants to scream at Eddie to get far away, he wants to cry for help, he wants to— the hand tightening around his throat violently throws him back into the present moment, the possibility of calling out to Eddie dying in his throat along with his last stuttered inhale.
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darkkitty1208 · 1 year
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Hello there, may I steal a bit of your time? I recently reread Defender Strange's comic and couldn't get this idea out of my head, so I'm asking ya out, can you please write something regarding this- Stephen was gathered from a battle field and SIMTony takes him to Tower with him after kicking the bad guy's ass and takes care of that worn out.
That's it. Thanks ya for hearing me out. Lots of love!
Thank you for the prompt, lovely! 💖 Super sorry it took quite a while. (I say, knowing full well it took longer than just 'quite a while' for me to finish this. *stares at my towering pile of WIPs and prompts sitting in my ask box that I've yet to finish*)
I feel like I've sort of lost touch on my writing style (and writing as a whole) a little bit but, hey, I finished this! Haha. 
Disclaimer: I haven't read the defenders or SIM comics yet, so this whole thing is just based on my assumptions of their characters. I'm only familiar with MoM's Defender Strange, and prompter seems okay if I'd write him instead, thankfully, so yeah. ^^ Feel free to point out anything that stood out, though!
TW: This fic contains NON-CONSENSUAL TOUCHING but NO RAPE.
~
Stephen stumbled back with a grunt, but quickly managed to catch himself before his back could land on the ground. Dodging the whip Mordo sent his way, he conjured twin mandalas over his wrists that glowed a bright blue. 
"It's not too late, Stephen!" the man called out, and slid his feet away from Stephen's attack. He took rapid, calculated steps towards the other sorcerer, getting close enough to loop his arm over the man's neck in a tight grip.
"You can still join me," he said, "we can work together."
Stephen struggled against him, clawing at the arm that constructed his breathing. 
"Like hell that would convince me," Stephen huffed out, strangled, and knocked Mordo's stomach by his elbow, who stumbled back, enough to let go of him. He panted, readying his next attack as Mordo stood back up. His limbs worked almost on their own volition as they danced their familiar dance in battle, and for a moment the only sounds echoing in the air were their grunts and puffs of air, the way their boots slid against the ground, the swish of their robes flapping at each turn, the way each new band and shield and mandala they conjured emanated familiar sparks. 
Just when Stephen thought he had the upper hand, one slip of his feet and a kick to his chest had him toppling to the ground with an 'oomph', and quickly found himself wrapped around bands. He let out a yelp as his hands were squeezed against his body, and struggled against the constraints. But it was to no avail, as it held a tight, inescapable grip around him. Struggling against it only proved to make the pain worse. 
It was useless, he thought, as he stopped his ministrations and settled on glaring at the eyes staring down on him. Mordo's stern eyes, looking straight at him, suddenly shifted at the sight, turning almost… soft, to his dismay, and Stephen hardened his glare in return.
"We could've been so good together," Mordo breathed out, almost in a whisper. "I didn't want it to end this way, Stephen. But you must know I have no other choice. You must know that this is for the greater good." 
Mordo lifted his hands, and Stephen knew that, at that moment, despite his panicked struggling, he couldn't do anything as the spell was about to be cast on him. It was a simple spell, really – even a novice could cast it – but it was a deadly one. It would render any sorcerer useless if cast against them, blocking their access to channelling interdimensional energy permanently, reducing them to what they once were before being introduced to the Mystic Arts. Mordo always had great capabilities, especially in terms of magic, but to think that he had managed to master that spell for such purposes was… beyond Stephen, to put simply. 
The spell wasn’t meant to incapacitate him, he knew that much. Mordo needed something more permanent – he couldn’t risk the possibility of all else. 
The spell, he knew, was meant to break him. 
“You should be grateful, you know. Many sorcerers have died at my hand in my quest to rectify what they have meddled in the natural law,” he remarked, and Stephen scowled at him. “I do not wish for you to fall in the same fate as they do, Stephen. You are like a brother to me. And perhaps… Perhaps so much more.”
His eyes flickered away for a moment, before they resumed their steely gaze towards him. 
Stephen turned his head to the side, clenching his eyes shut and taking in ragged breaths as he braced himself for the inevitable pain. His mind swirled about in a million ways to think of an escape, but he knew there wasn't any counterspell to this, knew that hoping would only lead to nothing. 
Mordo sighed. 
"It was the only way I could think of that would be quick and painless, Stephen," he said, "So please, consider this a mercy."
Before his mind could process the words, he felt a hit over the side of his neck that made him let out a choked sound. Just as he was about to lose consciousness, there was a sudden, almost electrifying flash of blue that blasted somewhere from beside him to hit against Mordo's head, and the last thing he heard was a familiar, menacing voice that drawled in a way that had always made the hair on his nape bristle. 
There was only one thought that flitted through his head as he finally lost consciousness; Tony. 
*.~ ◇ ~.*
Mordo stumbled to the ground as something blasted against him, head whipping about as he quickly looked around for its source.
He heard heavy footsteps thump against the ground, and it took a while for him to regain his footing to face whoever – or whatever – it was. Once he adjusted his vision, he noticed there seemed to be a sharp blue glow emanating as the smoke dissipated away from the shadowy figure that was stepping towards him. Mordo wasted no time and automatically went on fighting stance, his defences up in case the man prepared another surprise attack against him. He looked to the side, finding Stephen's unconscious, prone body on the ground a few feet away. 
"You really thought it'd be that easy to get your hands on him, did you?" The low voice said to the air. 
"Who are you?" 
The smoke cleared out. A very light blue, almost white, sort of liquid danced about to then solidify into an armour, its helmet forming around a grinning face. 
"C'mon. Everybody knows me," he said, a toothy smile on display but no emotions found in his eyes, his arms spread out. The smile dropped suddenly, and the next words were spoken in a way that could send shivers down anyone's spine: "Now back off. He's not yours." 
Mordo's eyes flicked hastily to Stephen's body, back to the man, trying to think of a quick way out. 
"Tony Stark," Mordo frowned, "I should have known Stephen had gained… unexpected allies. I didn't know he was so desperate." 
There were no possible ways to escape this, he thought, and begrudgingly decided to face him. Mordo conjured a band that whipped through the air and towards the man, but failed to have any intended effect as Stark flew up to avoid it. He conjured a couple of more blasts, which were easily avoided as Stark twirled about with little 'Woah!'s and an 'Oh! Almost got me!', occasionally forming a shield around him but ultimately left unscathed at each attack, as his laughter rang in Mordo's ears. Mordo continued to grunt at each conjured attack, getting irritated by the second. At some point, the laughter ended with a nonchalant sigh.
"Okay, it's getting boring now," he said, "My turn." 
He thrusts out his repulsors, whining a short warning before an electric flash of blue striked right ahead to send Mordo flying backwards before he could think of a way to dodge it. And then he blasted another, and another, slowly floating down to the ground as he did so, playfully experimenting different positions on each blast, humming a tune meanwhile. When he was satisfied, he took his time to step ever so slowly towards Mordo's body, which was lying on its side. He turned him over to lay on his back by nudging his side with a foot. Tony stared down at him, and then tilted his head to the side, huffed, and let a menacing smile slowly form on his lips. When Mordo tried to lean up and land a punch on his face, quite successfully, he clicked his tongue, wiped the blood trickling down the slight cut on his face, huffed again, and then carded a hand through his hair. He kicked the man then, straight in the stomach, and repeated so just a couple times. Just enough so that moving any muscle would hurt. And then he pressed his foot down over the sorcerer's chest, delighting in the pained wheeze and the cough that sent blood splattering about. He pressed his foot harder down, twisting it just so that he could hear another one of Mordo's wet, ragged cough, and made a sound that was intended as a delighted giggle but came out sounding like a huff as he leaned down to whisper: "Now let that be a lesson for you to never touch what's mine ever again." 
He gave the body a last kick, turning around just as Mordo's body rolled helplessly on the ground. 
"Well, that was easy," he huffed, dusting his hands off, and turned to look at Stephen's still unconscious body. "Now to claim my lovely prize…" 
The smile returned, but this time, something glinted in his eyes. 
*.~ ◇ ~.*
When Stephen came to, it was to the sight of bright, blue lights assaulting his eyes and vague, muffled sounds of what sounded like whirring machines filtering through his ears. His eyes shut closed against the onslaught of light almost on its own accord, and he quickly regretted shaking his head as it did nothing to lessen the pounding in his temples – if anything, it grew much worse. 
Gently, he fluttered his eyes back open, squinting as he adjusted to the lighting. He looked down on himself, noting the wrapped up and bandaged wounds over his body and the absence of his robes. 
“Ah, my sleeping beauty has finally awoken.” Stephen barely suppressed a flinch at the voice. “How was your sleep, sweetheart?”  
He tried to make out the blurry figure walking over to him – even though he already had a solid guess from the voice he had heard – and when the shifting blur of the man finally came to a focus, he lifted himself by the elbows. 
"T–" he tried to croak out, and then coughed when he realised his throat was dry as a desert. 
Tony sauntered over, grabbed a cup of water from a nearby bedside table, and gently lifted it to his lips, making a gesture with his head to urge Stephen to drink. Stephen stared at the cup, glared up at the engineer, and then snatched the cup with his own trembling fingers. If Tony saw the shaking in his hands and the way he tried desperately to look casual as the water splashed onto his fingers (and if anything, was failing to), he didn’t say anything. 
He did, however, huff out in amusement.  
Stephen downed the rest of the cup, and then placed it carefully upon the table Tony had taken it from. He felt the bed dip as the engineer sat beside him, and resisted the urge to scoot over and distance himself from the man. 
A calloused hand sneaked its way to a loose strand of hair on his face, tucking it over behind his ear in unsolicited gentleness. The same fingers – again, ever so gently – gripped his chin, leaning his head down to face the man. Tony traced a thumb over the cut on his lip, and Stephen tried not to bodily shiver. 
The smirk he earned, coupled with the intent stare of the man's steely blue eyes on his own, told him he had probably failed to do so. 
Tony’s eyes were a sharp blue, and now that Stephen was looking directly at it, he noticed there seemed to be something in it he couldn’t quite put his finger on. There was something buried in them, something sinister and twisted and wrong in a way that made him feel unsettled. 
"You cut your lip…" Tony mumbled, "Does it hurt, sweetheart?" 
"Stop calling me that," he spat out. 
"I can call my sweetheart whatever I want," was his response, followed with a nonchalant shrug. "Now, answer my question. Does it hurt?" 
"Not if you stop touching it like that." 
Tony hummed. 
"He hurt you…" Tony said, a sudden sternness in his voice, a sudden shift in his expression, a silent burning in his eyes. The grip on his chin tightened, and Stephen had to stifle a wince. Tony's face gentled at that, thumb moving to rub (not) soothingly over his jaw in apology. 
"What did you do to Mordo?" Stephen asked. If and whenever Tony was involved, nothing really ended well. Mordo was his business, after all – Tony had nothing to do with it. 
"Took care of him." was the only response he received. The hand gently made its way to card over his hair, pulling out his tie and settling over his nape. Tony pulled him forward, breath inching closer to each other.  "And now, I just need to take care of you." 
Stephen's breath stuttered as he exhaled. 
"Stop touching me." 
"But you aren't pushing me away."
"I still don't want you to." 
Tony smirked. 
"You can continue to deny yourself, sweetheart, but I know you want it." 
And that was the last straw for him. Stephen lifted his hand, tried to call upon his magic, but barely managed to create sparks before he realised the ever present tingle of magic in his fingers had faded. There was… something blocking his access to channel energy and conjure magic. What previously felt like a steady stream was now blocked by some sort of unbreakable dam. 
He inspected his hand, finding what seemed to be… a bracelet, of some sort. A quick check over his other hand confirmed that a matching one wrapped around his other wrist, effectively blocking him from channelling any of his magic. 
This wasn't any worse than Mordo's spell, he thought, and a sour expression took its place upon his face. 
"Like it?" Tony asked, hands finally pulled away. "Made them just for you." 
Stephen grunted in frustration, and attempted to swing a punch towards the man, only to find it unable to move. 
A chain formed from his wrist from what seemed to be nanites that crawled its way to attach to the headboard, the other following suit. Stephen tried pulling himself forward, only to be pulled back harshly as the chain suddenly shortened itself. He struggled against the constraints, for only God knows how many times in how many occasions he had that day, and tried not to growl in frustration as Tony just chuckled at him. 
The hand snaked back towards his chest, rubbing back and forth in a way that made acid burn in the back of his throat.
"Look at you," he said, "I like it when you struggle. It’s cute. I like having you like this, baby,” Tony smoothed out Stephen’s hair again, fingers tracing the lines of his face and down his cheekbone, thumb tracing his lips as those blue eyes flickered down on it. “Now be a good boy and stay still." 
Before Stephen could protest, his words were quickly cut short as a sudden, heavy feeling clouded his head. 
"Shh, it's alright. That's it, darling. That's it," he heard Tony murmur, voice slowly morphing away. 
"Wh… 've you d…" his tongue felt heavy, his voice felt far away. His vision was blurring out at the edges, eyes drooping, and Tony's voice sounded muffled when he spoke. 
"It's okay, sweetheart, it's okay. Just go back to sleep for now. Go back to sleep.”
~
Stephen: Fuck off. Don't touch me. 
SIM: 
SIM: Denial is a river in South Africa. You love me
Stephen: I literally told you to fuck off???
Once again super sorry took a while to get back to you, prompter. My writer self is not The Best at the moment and needs some time to get back to my past writing rhythm. There's no guarantee I'll be as active as last time?
But I really do hope you enjoyed this. <3 Despite the whole… 'lowering Defender's capabilities and overpowering SIM for plot purposes' thing. I really couldn't think of another way to write it without it seeming like that. :P 
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quietlyimplode · 1 year
Text
leave everything but your bones behind
Tumblr media
Whumptober 2022: day 11 - self done first aid
Warnings: Dreykov being a creepy mf (alluding to touching)/fighting/vomiting/injury/the red room being shit
Word Count: 2.3k (gif not mine)
Summary: Natasha becomes unwell and only the Red Room can fix her. The choice is die or go back to the very place that made her.
A/N: I think this is one of my favourite chapters (the last bit at least - 50 points if you know what book it’s appropriated from). Also, a long one today. Dreykov is a awful mf.
Main Masterlist
Whumptober Masterlist
———-
She’s paired against Lena first. The lithe girl she once knew with kind eyes and a love of braiding hair, wears guns on her hips and widow bites on her arms.
In fact, as Natasha looks to the two others, she realises they do too.
She carries no weapons, and it’s clear what’s going to happen here, because for every weapon she sees there’s likely two more in hiding.
Sharp eyes now watch her, as the guard offers rules.
“Disarm at any cost. No death,” he clarifies.
Natasha now notices that there’s two way mirrors in this room, and instinctively knows they’re being watched.
If she tries to communicate with the others, they might be tortured. If she tries anything, they might be tortured.
But that’s not why she complies.
She wants to be defiant, even if it’s just to see what happens.
“Fight,” the command comes.
Lena hits her hard in the face, the impact on her cheek as she just manages to turn before it impacts to her nose.
Get the weapons, she knows, as Black Widow works to disarm Lena.
She grabs for the first gun, but Lena is too quick. She avoids it and elbows Natasha hard in the gut, making her lose her breath. She plays on it, making Lena come in closer.
Natasha realises she is not in this fight. It’s Lena versus the Black Widow and Lena is winning.
It’s like she’s a spectator as she grabs for the guns, switches the safety off and ejects all the bullets.
Using the butt of the gun, she hits Lena; though the other gun distracts her.
The fresh feeling of electrocution pounds through her body, even though the voltage seems lower.
Growling, she attacks Lena full force, anger at her concept of her widow bites being used on her, but her weakened body is no match for a widow at full strength.
Two quick kicks and elbow to her jaw, sends Natasha to her knees and Lena on top of her arm wrapped around her neck, the choke hold complete as she crushes Natasha’s windpipe.
The black widow taps out before she passes out, but Natasha knows if it was her in charge, she’d just pass out.
It would be kinder to herself.
Lena let’s go, pulled off by the guard who hands her a long knife.
“Mark your win,” the guard tells her.
Lena approaches her, holds Natasha’s chin steady and guides the knife down her face.
She feels it cut into the soft skin of her cheek the blood running down into her neck as she stares at the woman, who won’t make eye contact.
“Next,” the guard commands.
Max steps up, her dark eyes staring into Natasha’s as the blood tickles her neck.
“Fight.”
Max doesn’t attack, instead reaches for her gun, making Natasha lunge at her; disarming her and walking straight into her play.
Max drops the gun, and picks the knife, stabbing at Natasha catching her by surprise. It’s not a deep cut, but it does push through her uniform cutting into her skin.
Dancing away, Natasha backs up, feeling short against the other girls height.
She can do this, she can fight.
The thing is she’s deconditioned and not used to the brutality of hits that are raining down on her as she backs up arms up.
Catching one, she throws the larger girl, leveraging her momentum and weight against her. It’s unfortunate that Max trips her as she does it and it turns into grappling on the floor.
She doesn’t have a chance.
Max holds down her arms; arm across her neck as she sits on top of Natasha. Leaning in close, she whispers in Natasha’s ear.
Black spots appear in her vision.
“Traitor,” she hears as she gasps for breath.
The guard stops the fight, as Natasha coughs, her windpipe free of pressure.
Max is handed the knife.
“Mark your win,” the guard tells her.
This time, Max pushes Natasha down, she slices the knife across her thigh, cutting through the uniform and into her skin.
Natasha grimaces as she breathes through her teeth.
“Next,” says the guard.
Jace steps up.
“Fight.”
There’s a pause as Natasha remembers them being sixteen, her brown hair thick and tied back laying next each other, clasping hands and making a blood pact that they won’t kill each other.
She still feels the scar across her palm, even though it’s long healed.
Jace throws a half hearted punch and Natasha feigns a kick to her head, changing it to a back fist at the last minute. The connection is loud as the crack across her cheekbone resonates.
Anger plays across Jace’s face and she starts fighting for real, knife out, stabbing towards Natasha as she dodges and weaves.
Jace throws the knife, narrowly missing Natasha and then follows up with a kick and then back fist that connects hard making her see stars.
She falls back and the guard stops Jace from following up.
She gets handed the knife and Jace pulls Natasha’s hand from her body, slicing across her palm; face set in a hard line.
“Stand,” the guard tells them.
The black widow stands, blood sticky in her clenched palm, down her thigh and on her face.
Pain in all the hits, a fatigued body and the disconnected feeling from herself makes Natasha want to shrink back, go back into whatever cell they’re going to push her into.
The others have to come.
She’s not going to survive the wrath of Dreykov, the guards and the other widows.
It’s only a matter of time.
.
Alarms blare throughout the house as Tony rushes into the surveillance room. He finds Clint holding up the tablet.
“It’s no longer transmitting,” Jarvis tells them, and Clint nods.
Tony backtracks to where the last transmission was; typing furiously as Steve and Bruce appear at the door.
“It’s no longer transmitting,” he tells them, a map appearing on the screens.
They watch the footage, or at least what they can see of Natasha’s vitals, as they spike, her heart rate doubling, tripling; then nothing.
Clint makes a noise, a groan that stays in his throat.
“I think.. I think they electrocuted her..”
He leaves the thought hanging.
Tony pulls the satellite footage up.
“How long ago?” Steve asks.
“Since it stopped transmitting?”
Tony looks, “fifteen minutes.”
Clint’s already moving.
“Three hours,” he grumbles. “We are three hours away.”
“I knew I shouldn’t have left.”
Rushing to the quinjet, they all are silent in their thoughts, even as Tony swears, watching the overall satellite footage.
Steve pilots the plane.
Clint cleans his guns, making sure they’re loaded, and pulls his bow from the armory. The arrows he pulls makes Bruce frown.
“You think it’ll be needed?”
Clint’s face is dark. A look Bruce is sure he hasn’t seen before.
“Yes.”
He doesn’t elaborate.
Tony is in his full Ironman suit.
Bruce sits hands clasped tight, body curling in on itself.
“Update,” Clint orders.
Tony stares at the footage.
“Not change in it out of the facility, there doesn’t seem to be any movement.”
Clint nods.
He sits next to Bruce, adopting his posture of hands clasped, breath slowing even though his anger is hot.
With thirty minutes to go, Tony growls at the screen.
“No, don’t you fucking dare.”
There’s cars streaming out, Clint standing next to him, watching; knowing Natasha is in one of them.
“Can you track them?” he asks.
Tony nods.
There’s drones that appear from his suit and he sends them out, six drones for six cars.
“Will they get there in time?” Clint asks as the drones fly away.
Huffing, Tony nods.
“I hope so,” he says quietly. “I was going to leave them in Georgia but I didn’t want to leave any evidence we were there. Ross is a bastard and any stepping out, he’s threatened…”
Tony stops.
“You don’t need to worry about that.”
Clint thinks he knows. Tony holds more knowledge on the world than all of them. They don’t ask, and he doesn’t tell.
Tony tells Steve to cloak the jet as they cross the border into Russia, and he looks for a place to land it.
Koban is small, and Clint is worried that they’re going to meet resistance; and civilians. He doesn’t put it last Dreykov to do anything in self protection.
He’s thankful for the cover of darkness as they get off the plane, he motions for Tony to give them aerial view of everything.
They needn’t have worried though.
The place is deserted.
.
They take Natasha back to medical. March her back, even though she can’t do anything.
It’s clear they’re in Russia, the Cold War feel permeating through the halls.
Jace is on her right, Max on her left and Lena ahead.
It seems as though they are her handlers.
She wishes she could talk, but they said no talking, she wishes she could fight, but the cuts on her hand, face and thigh, prove she’s no match for the widows, even if she could.
Natasha wants more than anything to be left alone.
The doctors tell her exactly what to do, then they cuff her to the bed. They inject her with god knows what, and she feels herself falling, just as it did when Dreykov injected her the first time.
She’s still conscious but everything is delayed. They draw blood, they attach electrodes to her and monitor vital signs.
If she falls asleep, she can escape the trauma of them acting on a body that’s not hers, but then she wouldn’t know what they’re doing.
It’s a catch 22 where she can’t win.
.
They dump her in a cell to herself.
Jace stands watch and she’s thankful that it’s her; out of anyone.
There’s a single bang on the door.
It used to mean someone’s coming.
Apparently it still does.
Dreykov enters her room, Jace still stands tall, eyes forward as he enters.
“Lay down Natasha,” he tells her.
She does.
She hates herself.
He sits on the bed next to her and smiles, a snarl underneath.
“Look how well the Nanites are working, you’ve taken a beating so well,” he laughs, “well three beatings. The way Jace hit you, you’d think she hates you.”
He pushes his hand into the cut that’s deep on her thigh. She winces, unable to stop it playing across her face.
“Does it hurt? Does this hurt?” he asks squeezing.
His hand lingers as he pushes her hair away from her face.
“You look so pretty with all your bruises, but they’ll be gone tomorrow; we’ll just have to do it again.”
Dreykov stands.
“Maybe next time, we will have more fun with you, hmm?”
He takes a small washcloth from his pocket and throws it on her.
“You’ve taken this punishment so well, but this is only the beginning,” he announces.
“You think your friends will find us, but they’ll never find us here.”
There’s another smile.
“Patch yourself up,” he nods.
“You’ll need it for tomorrow.”
.
Natasha vomits in the toilet. The cell has a sink, a toilet and a bed.
She does as he says and wipes herself down. Gets rid of the dried blood and scrubs hard at the place she can still feel his hand on her thigh and face.
She’s trying desperately to hold it together but little by little she can feel herself withdrawing, let the black widow take over.
She knows what that means though, remembers how hard it was to claw her way back the last time.
It all hurts so much, not only in her body but in her soul.
It feels like it’s being broken bit by bit and the people that helped her to put it back together won’t be so lucky this time.
She won’t be so lucky.
Even if they find her.
How can she be whole after this?
She’s drifting,
Jace opens the door, and Natasha vomits once more, then stands, half dressed to face her.
“I hate you,” Jace opens.
“You left us and they… they got meaner, more brutal afterwards.”
She takes a step towards Natasha, the glint of a dagger in her hand, Natasha watches warily.
“But I never forgot you, and I wanted the best for you. Even as they tortured us, even as they asked if we were going to defect too.”
There’s a break in her voice.
“We hold onto what we can here. They’ll inject you daily. It’s chemical. It will take over your brain. It means you have to follow everything they say, whatever they say. They say jump, you jump until they say stop. They say strip, you do. They say kill, you have no choice. They say fight, and you hit your friend.”
She opens her hand and Natasha sees the scar on her palm. For it to still be there, for it to be scarred, she knows Jace must have cut into her hand nightly. It’s something she would have done too to stay present in herself.
“I think I loved you,” she says offering the dagger.
Natasha takes it, feeling emotions that she can’t deal with.
“I know I loved you,” she whispers back.
“I’m sorry.”
And she means it.
Jace shakes her head and adjusts her gun.
“Only use it on the widows, you won’t be able to on Dreykov or any of the guards. If they come for you, you can protect yourself.”
It’s an obvious warning. They’re gunning for you. No one is coming to save you.
Natasha nods in thanks.
Jace pulls her in for a quick hug.
Kisses the top of her head.
“Salaam Natalia.”
“Salaam Jace.”
A whisper and a prayer.
.
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itsmeblackcat · 1 year
Note
[contd]
“Aww pretty kitty. I’m so excited, really, I should have done this a long time ago. No more complaining, no more swearing. Just that adorable hissing you do.”
I come close and pat your head, before heading out of the basement.
“When you’re feeling a bit better, come upstairs, I’m gonna make dinner. Mashed potatoes and gravy, because you probably won’t want to eat anything that’s not soft for a day or so.”
I don't come upstairs for another few hours.
The second you're gone, I go back to my cell. Wearily I curl up in the small bed in the corner, enveloping myself with the blanket up to my head.
Under the cover of darkness, the floodgates break open as tears start streaming down my face. It's not long before wails escape my chest, their silence only reminding me of why I'm upset in the first place.
When I finally do come upstairs, my eyes are still red and puffy. I pulled the blanket off the bed and have it draped around my shoulders as I put myself into a corner of the couch.
[ @struggling-bloody-artist ]
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whumping-in-the-dark · 7 months
Text
Chapter 3: Very Soon
Ingredients: creepy whumper, intimate whumper, non con touching, alluded future non con, stress position
Throughout the rest of the ride, Matt could think of nothing but the abuse the man was sure to rain upon him. Even outdoors, he had already been stripped half-naked. Would he even be allowed to wear clothes indoors?
No. Don't think like that. The fucking law isn't dead yet. Just one complaint and the man would be arrested by the police, right? Just one. It's not like he's being taken to another country or something. Maybe someone would come for a casual visit, discover his bullshit and report him?
"Mhm. We're almost home, little rabbit." Finding the remote in the glove compartment, the man opened the garage door as if it was his own fucking house and casually parked the car inside, before closing it of course.
"Right." He mumbled as he got out of the car.
Matt held his breath, waiting for the moment he'd throw open the backseat door and grin down at him-- which he did.
"Getting impatient now, are we?" The man raised a brow at his glare, chuckling to himself. "Aw. Sorry to keep you waiting, love."
Matt squirmed as the man grabbed his ankle, rocking his vision as he dragged him out of the car. A muffled wince escaped his mouth as his head hit the concrete floor.
"Oh yeah?" The man let go. "I'm doing all the work, yet you have the nerve to complain, hm? How about you walk yourself then?" Matt would like that, yes. "Or should I say... crawl?"
Matt's stomach recoiled.
"That's right, mhm." The man leaned down to pat his hair, then smirked as he jerked away from the touch. "Unless... you'd rather I carry you inside? Would you like that, little rabbit."
Matt simply stared at him, wide-eyed. How low could this man go?
Grabbing a fistful of his brown hair, he pulled his face up close. "I'm sure you can give me a simple yes and no answer. Do you want to crawl the way inside?" His tone was low and measured-- deadly even. His eyes had suddenly lost all their mirth, instead being reduced to sharp slits.
Matt quickly shook his head as best as he could, heart ready to jump out of his chest.
As if he weighed nothing, the man pulled him up with a jerk and threw him over his shoulder.
Matt squeezed his eyes shut as the man began to walk, the ground swaying beneath him. Pitched forward at the hips, he felt like a child, waiting for punishment. With every breath he was forced to inhale the man's strong cologne. At least there was enough of a height difference that Matt's head didn't reach anywhere below the waist.
"Look at how sweet you are right now, darling." The man's playful tone had returned. Matt didn't know whether to be relieved or further upset. "Do you like me carrying you? Like this?" The hand on his legs slowly moved up, cupping his ass.
Matt whimpered.
"You don't want me to do that?"
Matt whimpered again, hoping it'd get the message across. No. Absolutely not.
The man chuckled, squeezing his ass now. "You've got such a pretty body, little rabbit. I'd love to explore it. Wouldn't you let me do that?"
Matt whined, squirming in his grasp.
"No?"
No. Nononononononono. No.
"Hmm... Fair enough." The man's hand moved lower, finally settling back on the back of his thighs. Matt was grateful he still had his pants on.
"You know..." The man stopped walking and, almost gently, laid Matthew down on the couch. As the couch dipped next to his head, Matt dared to open his eyes. "...one day..." The man stroked his hair, running his fingers through the locks, swiping them away from his face. "...you'll beg me to fuck you." And just like that Matt's near calm was ruined. "You will. I just know it."
Matt jerked his head away, uncaring that it made himself nearly slide on to the floor, if not for the man dragging him back up by the hair.
"I'm being nice to you, my little rabbit." The man continued as he went back to stroking his hair. "What I'm saying is that I won't fuck you without your consent."
Matt's guts twisted. Lies. He could already tell he was lying. Yet, the words provided a shred of comfort. He won't be getting raped right now. He still had time to steel himself. To run away.
"Alright." The man stood up abruptly. "I have to freshen up now-- explore our new house too, yes. I'll be back in a bit, hm? You won't miss me, right?"
Matt only frowned up at him. Why the fuck would he be missed?
"Aw. I know you will." The man smiled, reaching for the length of chains laid down unnoticed by Matt on the coffee take earlier. "Got these from the garage. I saw so many other wonderful tools there too. We could play around with them someday, yes?"
No. Matt watched helplessly as the man coiled the chains around his ankles, binding them together. No matter which furniture the man would tie him to, he was sure he could pull it all the way outside... right? All hope of that too, however, dropped from his chest when the man turned him down to his chest and grabbed his hands. Bowing his back, he bound his wrists and ankles together, before padlocking the chains.
Flipping him back up, the man grinned down at him. "You look so pretty like this already. If only I'd take that remaining clothing off of you and have you spread your legs for me." The man licked his lips and Matt felt himself slipping away... into hopelessness and despair. "That day will come though. Don't you worry. It will come very very soon."
With that, the man walked off to the door on the right, leaving Matt trembling in a cold sweat, a steady flow of tears dampening his hair.
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a-crumb-of-whump · 2 years
Note
tw // noncon
since you said you take noncon requests, i'd like to tie ollie down to a bed and use coco as a dildo.
THIS IS NEXT LEVEL CRUEL /lh
Content: Non-con, restraints, dehumanisation, begging, multiple whumpees, immortal whumpee, tiny whumpee, winged whumpee, humiliation.
Ollie knows where you're going with this the moment you tie him down on his stomach and rip his clothes off, piece by piece. He thrashes and screams at you to let him go, looking back as best he can at what you're going.
"P-please no," Coco whispers from inside your hand. It has tears running freely down Its face, staining Its cheeks as it watches you cover it in lubrication. "Ollie..."
You hear both Ollie and Coco let out a cry as you slowly push the fairy inside him. It has a piece of string around Its body to keep Its wings flat against Its back, and that only adds to the pain as you push it until all you can see is Its bare feet. Its struggling only causes Ollie to clench more, sending it slightly deeper.
"You are sick!" Ollie cries, desperately pulling on the rope holding him down. "Take it out! Take it out! Please!"
Instead, you start to slowly slide it in and out, occasionally ordering it to grow a little once he starts to get used to the feeling. It is so painful and so humiliating for the both of them.
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envy-of-the-apple · 2 months
Text
Dark!Naga!Gojo Satoru x reader x Dark!Naga!Geto Suguru
Top of the Food Chain
I've always wanted to continue my naga!mha fic but considering i dont write for deku+co anymore, i decided to move my au a couple fandoms over:D 1.8k wc
Part two
(Warnings: animal deaths, blood, obsession, dark content, slight gun threat but not rlly, polyamory, gender ambigious!reader) 
████████████████████████████████████████████
Despite being here for nearly a week, you still don't think Satoru understood how delicate you are. 
He's overbearing, in that sense. Constantly poking and prodding and squeezing until your lungs give and you're forced to squeak. You can't blame him for not understanding. He's an animal, after all. Inhuman. Despite his skin and hair, the scales coating his tail give away just how different he is. He was probably born fighting, kicking, and screeching his way through the foliage, hunting, chewing, and biting. 
He's not like you when all you knew when you were younger was coddling and softness. You can see it in his scars, and bruises, and marks. 
Luckily, for you, Suguru had an inkling that you weren't made for sharp claws. 
It's not a fight, you can tell when they're fighting, it's more like a warning? A minor disagreement. Suguru hisses at the other naga, scrunching up his face, showing his teeth. Satoru is quick to respond, but a little more playful. Fortunately for you, the black-haired male seems to win the argument. Satoru's coils loosen around you. Air stops fighting its way to get into your lungs. 
You finally go lax in his hold. Satoru seems to enjoy that, dipping his head to bury his face into the base of his neck. The first few times he did that, you were afraid he was trying to bite off your jugular. Now, you think it's just another way he can soak up your body heat. 
Maybe you've been here for longer than a week. At this point, you couldn't really tell. Hope that you'd be found was starting to slowly fizzle away. The explosion had been massive. The ship had sunk in a matter of minutes. With a disaster that huge, you doubt anyone would still be looking for survivors. Especially on an uncharted island, where myth had turned into reality. 
 Satoru had been the one you'd woken up to. Washed ashore, barely conscious. You were half-certain he was planning on eating you with the way he held your leg, watching your muscles bend and turn. In his defense, he must have thought you were dead. Your shrill scream quickly convinced him otherwise. 
It was barely a fight. More or less, a pathetic kidnapping as he grabbed your body, slinging it over his shoulder. You've never remembered screaming and crying so loudly before, convinced you were about to be eaten. Suguru probably heard you before he saw you. 
Satoru's mate was a little less impressed with you. Back then, they didn't bother learning your tongue, speaking in hisses and snarls, unaware of your misery. Suguru's frown was glued on his face, but the naga never let you run away, always keeping a hand or a tail on you at all times. It was a rough first day; you didn't know they weren't interested in eating you until they tried to feed you. 
Things were much different back then Nowadays, they are a lot more considerate of yourself and your soft body. You think you've come to an understanding with these strange creatures. 
Suguru was the nicest out of the two. In that, you mean the least rough. Compared to his counterpart, he's a bit smaller, but that's not saying there's any real difference. If it comes down to it, you are more than certain he'd be able to kill you off as quickly as his mate. You thought he hated you, at first. Now, you think he has a hard time showing blatant affection. His touches typically come in the dead of night, when you're barely conscious. A clawed finger gently raking over your soft skin. Large hands sculpting your face. 
Satoru's eyes were the first thing you noticed about him. Glittering like blue sapphires. You had a feeling they weren't just for show. Time and time again he's proven that he can see better than Suguru could. He smiles a lot more, but you're starting to wonder if that expression translates across species. He can speak your tongue slightly better than Suguru could. It most likely has to do with his insistence on staying with you. The more time you spend with him, the more you have to say 'No' 'Don't touch there' 'Stop'. 
In the rare times you manage to escape their hold, you like watching them interact with each other. They often sunbathe for hours, lazing around hot rocks to soak in the heat. They like touching each other. Sometimes it's aggressive, like when Satoru chomps on Suguru's neck and you're suddenly much more aware of how careful he is with you. Other times it's: soft, unintentional, meaningless. Languid cuddling when you are finally able to braid Suguru's hair. 
At this point, you've surmised they won't eat you. At least, not for the moment. You don't exactly know what they think of you. Do they have the concept of pets in their worldview? Maybe that's the closest thing you can place yourself as, at least in their eyes. They must think you're helpless. To them, you have no claws, no fangs, no venom. They probably don't know you come from a species that's hunted others to extinction and currently burning down the planet. You must be the first time they've ever seen your kind, stripped away from your weapons, when you're the least dangerous. 
"You should be more scared of me, you know," you once whispered to Suguru in the dead of night.
He was dozing off, blearily keeping his eyes open to stare at your moving lips. There was a grunt behind you, and Satoru tightened his arms across your waist. Greedy for affection, even in his sleep.
"Humans are terrifying," you said, reaching out to touch, "top of the food chain."
Suguru had smiled at that. You found yourself smiling back.
"You're lucky I didn't have a gun on me. You probably don't even know what that is." It's dark humor to press two fingers into his forehead. Your way of coping maybe.
Or perhaps your actions prove that humans will always desire to be violent, no matter how perilous their fight may be.
"Bang." He leans into your touch, unafraid. Oblivious to the threat that you are.
You're guessing Satoru only let you go because of the food Suguru brought.
You're able to feel the ground again as he glides over to Suguru having just come back from a successful hunt. The carcass of the largest deer you've ever seen is slung across his back. The smell of blood already makes you nauseous. 
You think Suguru had been the most panicked when you refused to eat, clicking and cooing while he tried to force-feed you the bloody leg of a bear. Back then, your communication was even worse than it was now. You were smeared in crimson by the time he relented. Practically dripping in it. 
Now, Suguru knows you have different tastes than them. You're not a big fan of raw. The fish and the handful of berries are more than enough to sate you as you gather the items he's given in your hands. 
"Thank you," you say. You reach out, touching his face with warm fingers. He purrs into your touch. You smile. It's the least gratitude you can give him. After all, he's not asking for much. If they hadn't found you, you would have been dead long ago, or at least, significantly less weaker. It's the least you can do. 
For a moment, you delude yourself into thinking they were your pets. It'd certainly be easy too. They have little to no regard for personal boundaries, much like dogs. They're more animalistic than they are human. 
It's funny to think of these monsters as lovable pets.
"Thank you," Suguru repeats. You giggle. It's not like they actually understand you. It's simple mimicry. Like talking to a parrot. 
"Thank you!" Satoru chirps, never one to be left out. He pushes his mate out of the way, eager for your pets as well. Suguru hisses, but doesn't argue. You've learned they like to be scratched right there on the bottoms of their chins. 
Suguru's less obvious, but Satoru has no desire to pretend. He melts into you, practically slumping his weight into your weak hold. It's a little adorable actually. You give a little laugh. He seems even more pleased at that. 
They're fun to be around, but this can't last. You belong with other humans, far far away from this island. So far, you hadn't seen any boats in the horizon, but you hope one would come by soon. A plane would be even better. Close enough to give you hope. Maybe if you built a big enough fire, it'd reach someone eye. 
Hopefully, in just a few weeks, these creatures will be a very cherished memory. 
You frown when Satoru reaches over to grasp at your food, the meat specifically. You glare, moving away from his hold. He titters in clear disappointment. You hate seeing him sad but you already have so few food sources. It's best to conserve whatever you get. 
"No," you pointedly tell him, "It's mine. Mine." 
His frown deepens, and he opens his jaws to let his fangs pop out. 
"Mine," you repeat. 
He leans back, huffing. You laugh because you know his expression is more out of frustration than any actual anger. Again, animals. You pet his head in apology, before turning away. You'd have to start a tiny fire to start cooking. Raw fish is edible, but it's hardly desirable. 
A hand grabs yours, clawed, the grip is tight around your frail skin. When you look back, Satoru is staring at you. Eyes wide. Eager. 
"Mine," he says, but it's more like he's testing the word. Tasting it on his lips. 
You scoff, unamused. "That's my arm. Not yours." 
Satoru smiles. Sharp teeth. You suddenly remember he's a carnivore. 
He's slow when he draws you in, practically dragging you into his arms. You're used to his spontaneous hugs, tight and suffocating. You can't fight him off, so you typically wait until Suguru has enough of his behavior and drags him off you. 
"Mine," Satoru repeats. Alarm bells ring in your head but it's easy to brush them off. It's mimicry. They can't understand. It's like talking to a parrot. 
You feel the weight of the other naga at your back. His arms wrap around your waist, pushing you against Satoru's chest. You stiffen when Suguru's fangs lightly graze up your neck. Never quite punctures, but is terrifyingly close.
"Mine," Suguru says into your skin. 
You laugh again, but it comes out less hesitant. More airy. Amid their hold, a sudden thought comes to you.
If you weren't at the top of the food chain anymore, then who was?
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susiequaz12 · 2 years
Text
Marlowe the Immortal- Vampire AU Part 4
Part 4 of the Vampire AU for poor Marlowe. The masterlist for all their stories is here.  Part 1. Part 2. Part 3.
CW: Immortal whumpee, nonbinary whumpee, vampire whumper, defiant whumpee, intimate whumper, multiple whumpers, drugged whumpee, noncon nudity, noncon touching, blood mention. 
- - -
Solomon was excited. He couldn’t wait to see everyone’s reactions- to see how they’d praise him when they discovered he’d found the perfect human. He’d deposited Lo outside the door to the main meeting room and untied all their restraints. They wouldn’t be needing any for a while. 
He walked into the room to find the other eleven vampires sitting around the long, rectangular wooden table. There was an empty seat at the head for him and he felt the stares as he walked to stand at his place. 
“Why are we here Sol, what’s the surprise.” Darian stated. He was seated at the opposite end, the unspoken leader of their camp. 
“God, please let it be some food. I’m tired of this pig shit.” 
“Shut up Roland.” Darian waved his hand across the table, motioning for Solomon to continue. 
Sol nodded, taking a deep breath, finding the best way to state this. 
“I did find food. In fact, I’ve found sort of, an end to our food shortage for good.”
“And how did you find this endless supply of blood? It couldn’t have been a simple task.” Darian stated.
“I tracked it for weeks. It finally let it’s guard down, so I was able to capture it. There should be enough for you all to get your fill, and then some.” Sol stated.
“Well, go get whatever ‘it’ is then, Solomon.” 
“Yes sir.” He nodded. 
Sol stepped out of the room with a sigh, finding Lo in a heap on the floor, drooling, almost exactly how he’d left them. He scooped the human up, eyes rolling around in their head as their arms went limp. They were so drugged up with vampire venom, it was a surprise the human was still conscious. 
There was complete silence as he entered the room. And then Roland spoke, rising slowly from his chair. 
“That’s just a human Solomon. How are twelve of us supposed to share one, pathetically small human?” 
So many pairs of eyes bore into the naked body in Solomon’s arms. So many pairs of hungry fangs drooled over the blood beneath the flushed skin. Sol couldn’t help but smile as they were all waiting for him. All eagerly anticipating this answer.
“This human can’t die.” 
- - -
There were too many bright lights. 
Lo could barely keep their eyes open as it was, but everything was so harsh- the sounds of muffled voices, the smell of the room, the feeling of rough hands holding them tight. 
They were moving. Someone was carrying them, laying them down on their back. 
The surface was hard- it was tough, wooden- they thought. Their fingertips lazily felt the grains beneath them, brushing over the cool surface as their body seemed to sink deeper and deeper. It was as if they were falling, but there was nowhere to go. 
They pulled back to reality as someone was touching them- a hand tangled in their hair. Lo’s eyes barely made out Solomon’s face above theirs, dark eyes seeming to stare into their soul. After focusing their vision they made out two simple words mouthed from the vampires lips. 
Be good. 
And then there was a sharp pain. 
They wanted to wince- to cry out but their body wouldn’t listen.
Someone’s hands were on them, gripping Lo’s skin in a tight fist. They could see countless figures all blurring in front of their vision. There was a presence near Lo’s head, and they realized, all too late- that the pain was a pair of fangs digging into their neck. Another pair quickly found their way into Lo’s other shoulder, and then their arms were grabbed and nearly pulled apart. 
Too many hands gripped into their skin- too many fangs piercing. One on their neck, the other on their shoulder, near the collarbone. There was a set of fangs on each elbow, one on each wrist, and a matching set of hands holding Lo tight, digging nails and raking bruises into their delicate skin. 
They felt their body flinch uncontrollably as a cold hand settled on their stomach, a pair of fangs digging into their hip. Another crawled up their ribcage, fangs nearly hitting the bone and Lo tried to whine. 
They couldn’t even count the rest of the fangs on their thigh, the ankle- they barely registered as their leg was grabbed and twisted, sharp pains in the back of their knee and further up their leg. 
Tears were streaming down their face- the pain was immense and their body felt like it was on fire, but there was nothing they could do. 
Even if they hadn’t been drowned in vampire venom, there were too many hands, too many iron grips and sharp fangs holding them so tightly in place- in whatever way the vampires wanted. 
They couldn’t move. They could barely register their breaths deep in their chest as their mouth hung open- trying to make room for more air. They could feel the tears streaming down their face, their sweat sticky against their skin. 
There wasn’t even enough air to scream. Anytime they tried, a pair of fangs would dig in deeper to cut off their breath, lips pressed tight against the skin as they drew as much blood as possible. 
Lo felt themselves fading slowly. Somehow their limbs grew heavier against the dark wood. They took some comfort in knowing it wouldn’t last much longer. 
But then what? 
Would they wait until the body was full of blood once more, and continue with their feast? How many times would Lo have to die in order for twelve vampires to get their fill of Lo’s blood?
Lo’s tear-filled eyes darted up as a hand carded through their hair. It was partially comforting- mostly possessive, and they could make out Solomon, they recognized the touch and the hot breath against their neck from where they were feeding. 
One of the vampires laughed as Lo’s muscles tensed when a hand gripped hard between their legs. They couldn’t flinch- couldn’t pull away or beg in protest as they were groped.
There was so much venom in their system that they could do no more than whimper from the back of their throat. The hand stayed there as another pushed their leg up further, and they felt fingers curving around the delicate skin, a pair of fangs searching for a spot to pierce. 
The vampire’s breath was hot and heavy against the back of their thigh and their fangs landed on the soft curve of Lo’s backside, piercing into the sensitive skin as the hand continued to grip them tightly. 
Lo wanted nothing more than to cry out and shove all of the vampires away. Their neck arched backwards against the table, but it couldn’t move far. A scream was lodged tight in their throat as they were groped and punctured, their body nothing more than a sack of blood to be devoured. 
Finally- after what felt like too long- they began fading. Black spots dotted their vision, and breaths came shorter and fewer in between.
Lo was always scared for what came next, but with the release of death came nothing but peace, if not for at least a moment. It was familiar, it was comfortable. That nothingness of existence, the floating in between of neither here nor there. It was like a home to Lo. 
The last thing they felt was each pair of fangs leaving their skin as the blood supply ran dry. 
The vampires wiped their mouths, licked clean the remaining drops of blood, and watched as the life faded from Lo’s body.
“Well shit, I thought you said it couldn’t die.” Roland stated, wiping his drool away from his face. 
“It can’t stay dead, I guess I should say.” Sol replied. He glanced at the human lying below him. Lo had gone incredibly pale, eyes rolled back in their head, arms spread out by their sides, legs flopped over and limp. He knew this was cruel, letting twelve vampires feed on one human all at the same time. Sol knew how tiring, and draining just one regular feeding could be, let alone twelve with the collective goal of sucking you dry. 
But as Sol himself had fed, his instincts had taken over. He did his best to ignore the rest of the vampires- their touches, their gulps of blood, and ignored the shaking and trembling of the figure as he held the human’s head in his grasp. 
But now, Lo finally looked at peace. They finally looked calm, and safe, despite all of the red, angry puncture wounds that were slowly beginning to fade. 
“How long is it going to take, Solomon?” Darian asked. 
“I’m not sure. But it should wake up. Look- the marks are already fading.” 
Sol was right, the dozens of tiny puncture holes were closing up, color already forming back into the human’s face and down their chest and limbs. 
“I don’t know if it’s the starvation, or something’s special about it- but that’s the best damn human I’ve ever tasted.” One of the vampires piped up. 
“No, I agree. Something about it just makes me want more- I could go for seconds.” Another stated.
“I think twelve all at once might��ve been a little too much. It doesn’t give us all a chance to take as much as we want.” Sol said.
“Well then what do you propose?” Darian leaned forward over the other end of the table, his eyes scanned up and down the body in front of them as if he could feed on looks alone. 
“Two at a time?” Sol suggested. “I should at least take it to get some water, to recover and get it’s blood supply up faster, and then we pair up and take turns getting as much as we want.”
The vampires hummed in agreement, glancing around the room to find their partner to take their turn with the human. 
“That’s a great idea Solomon.” Darian stated. “Take it and fix it up however it needs, and then be back in, fifteen minutes?” 
“Oh, I can’t wait fifteen minutes!” Roland whined. 
“Just for that Roland you can go last.” 
“Well shit.” 
Solomon nodded and slid the lifeless body off of the table. It was freezing cold, but slowly, as he carried Lo back to their little storage room, he could feel their skin begin to warm in his arms. 
- - -
Taglist: @imagination1reality0 @whumpsday @thecyrulik @no-terms-and-conditions-apply
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sapphireginger · 1 year
Link
Title: Thrett Taeken
Pairings: Brileo (Brett Talbot + Stiles Stilinski + Theo Raeken)
Fandom: Teen Wolf
Word Count: 4,581
AO3 Link
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Brief Sexual Non-Con Homophobia/Homophobia Slurs
Square Filled: "Did anyone ever tell you how pathetic you are?”
Written For: @anyfandomangstbingo
Summary:
Two guys are in love with their oblivious best friend. What will it take for him to see that he has them and could have them completely??
Stiles picks at his curly fries barely looking up when his roommate and his best friend drop into the booth with him. Theo sits next to him and Brett sits across from him. They know why Stiles is there at the diner looking like he looks. His chocolate curls are disheveled and he looks like he hasn't slept but in spite of those things he looks beautiful.
His long sleeved red shirt accentuates his muscles and with the sleeves rolled up, his forearms are alluring. His eyes flicker from Brett to Theo and then he gives them a small smile. They always come when he needs them most. Especially when he has been stood up. Again.
"You know..." Theo starts. "...if you were mine I'd hold your hand and show you off to everyone. I'd tell anyone who would listen just how amazing you are. I'd never make you hide what we are."
Brett hums in agreement. "Mhm. If you were mine I'd take you out every night and then bring you back for cuddles. I'd treat you like a King and never let you doubt your worth."
They both smile at him and speak simultaneously. "We'd never stand you up like this."
Stiles feels his cheeks go hot and playfully rolls his eyes even as his stomach swoops. "You guys have each other."
The two guys quirk a brow at him. Brett is the one to reply. "We always have room for you."
It's comments like that which confuse Stiles. Both Brett and Theo make such comments all the time. He shrugs, deciding to wave it off as being anything other than teasing. "You're too much."
Brett and Theo grin. "Mhm. But we all know you can more than handle it," they say simultaneously before adding a wink.
Stiles feels butterflies swarming in his stomach and smiles, his eyes welling with tears. "You two are the best," he whispers.
"That's it! Movie night!" Theo exclaims. Brett nods as Theo continues. "You, me and Brett. Star Wars Movie Marathon. We'll have pizza, popcorn and soda. Topped off with cuddles under fluffy blankets."
Brett grins. "My place?" he asks, both him and Theo looking at Stiles.
Stiles wipes his face and nods, his heart swelling. "Sounds perfect."
The three of them get up and Stiles leaves money for the food before leaving with his best friends.
Once upon a time Stiles would've, if asked, said he didn't have a best friend, preferring to go it alone despite obviously being a social butterfly. Now though well he would answer that his best friends are Theo Raeken and Brett Talbot. Neither ask for more than Stiles was willing to give and never have any expectations.
Although Stiles can admit they are both hotter than the sun and when he's alone he will admit just to himself that he wishes they were serious about him.
🎶🤍•💗•🤍🎶
Stiles has been Brett's roommate since freshman year of college. They are now both in their senior year of college. Theo was in Stiles's literature class sophomore year and they clicked instantly. Then when Stiles invited Theo over to their off campus apartment to hang out he introduced Theo to his roommate Brett.
Now at that point while Stiles found them both extremely attractive and appealing, he hadn't seen himself dating either of them. Which was just as well since a couple months later Brett and Theo got together. Despite expecting to be a third wheel, Stiles never felt like one. They always include him in everything they do which Stiles is confused about. He wonders if they ever even have sex because as far as he had seen they don't.
Over the course of their first semester of junior year at the university, Stiles develops a crush on both of them and he feels really guilty about it. They are his best friends and here he is picturing more with both of them. Not to mention whenever the three of them do hang out the two guys make sure to pull Stiles between them and cuddle him. He doesn't complain but he does feel guilty about how much he wants it.
This is why he starts dating or well setting up dates only to be stood up every single time. The one time he actually goes on a date the guy disappears, leaving Stiles with the check. The guy had said they'd split it but it makes Stiles wince at how much it will cost him now that he has to pay it all.
After that he tries to only do dates at diners or at least more affordable places because why risk another walk out? If one day he finds his forever person then he'll go to a fancier restaurant. For now, he will gladly live off of curly fries and bacon cheeseburgers.
He has almost completely sworn off anymore dates many times but then he will see how happy Brett and Theo are together and just can't resist trying to find what they have for himself.
🎶🤍•💗•🤍🎶
Theo and Brett want to date Stiles, but he is oblivious to all of their attempts. They cuddle him, cook for him, take him to the movies, help him study, and many many more but it seems to go right over the amber eyed man's head every single time.
"The only other option is bluntness," Brett says around his toothbrush.
Theo sighs. "Maybe we should just kiss him one right after the other."
Brett rinses and spits before shaking his head. "He'd never forgive us or believe us."
"How can he be so oblivious to our advances?"
The two curl up in Brett's bed and Brett kisses Theo's temple. "It might be too good to be true in his mind. I know he has feelings for us but he probably needs more time or something."
Theo scoffs. "Or a more straightforward approach. We'll just say...Stiles we–"
"What's this about Stiles?" said man asks from the doorway.
Both guys immediately pull the duvet back and smile when Stiles dives in between them. Theo and Brett exchange a look over their friend's head as he dozes off. They'll figure this out. Stiles is worth it and more.
🎶🤍•💗•🤍🎶
Stiles doesn't know why he chose to take a political science class but it's not as bad as he thought it would be. Not to mention the eye candy. The guy of course would never be with someone like Stiles and he's also not as hot as Brett and Theo but a guy can admire a good looking man.
The class ends and Stiles starts packing up his things only to pause when movement in the corner of his eyes catches his attention. It's the guy he's been watching.
"So...Stiles right?"
"Y-Yeah. That's me. Did you need something?" he asks shyly.
"Name's Tanner. I noticed you seem to really know what you're talking about in this class and well I love a guy with a brain."
Stiles's cheeks twinge pink. "Thanks."
Tanner grins and Stiles feels his heart race at the smile. "You're welcome. So I was thinking..."
"Sounds dangerous," Stiles snarks and then flushes.
"It can be but I think you'll like what I was thinking," Tanner replies, not missing a beat.
"Oh? What were you thinking?"
"I was thinking we should go out."
Stiles's eyes widen slightly. "Out? Like a d-date?" he squeaks–a manly squeak–out.
Tanner chuckles and nods. "Yes. A date. You and me. There's a new club that opened up and it's got the best reviews. I think seeing you on the dance floor is just what the doctor ordered."
"We uh we barely know each other though," he points out feeling both nervous and slightly hopeful at the same time.
"Then this is the perfect opportunity to get to know each other better." He offers his number to Stiles and smirks. "Call me." He starts to walk away as Stiles holds the paper with his number almost reverently. "Oh and Stiles?"
"Huh?"
"Dress sexy. I mean I love the plaid but I want to see just what you have underneath."
Stiles's cheeks burn but he gathers his things and leaves the lecture hall. He's so focused on getting back to his apartment to tell his friends that he misses the snickering of Tanner's friends standing near the lecture hall door.
🎶🤍•💗•🤍🎶
"Brett! Theo! Guys!" he hollers as he hurries into their apartment.
Theo looks over from his place on the couch and Brett peeks out from the kitchen. Neither are wearing shirts, because of course they aren't. He shakes his head and starts bouncing on the balls of his feet. "I have a date."
The look they exchange isn't surprising but they do smile at him. Theo tilts his head. "Who is it with? Is he cute? Where is the date?"
Stiles grins his cheeks twinging pink. "His name is Tanner. He's gorgeous. It'll be at a new club." He bites his lip nervously. "He also told me to dress sexy."
Brett blinks and huffs. "You look good the way you are now. Why do guys insist on telling their dates how to dress?" He heads back into the kitchen with his jaw clenched. He doesn't want Stiles to go on a date. He wants him here with them.
Theo tells Stiles to go pick an outfit and then once he's out of ear shot Brett feels arms slip around his waist. "He wants us to go with him. He's nervous, baby. As his friends we need to be there for him. Plus, I don't like it any more than you do. If we're there we can intervene if the guy is a douchenozzle."
"He totally is."
"Maybe. Maybe not."
Brett huffs. "We'll see."
🎶🤍•💗•🤍🎶
Stiles calls Tanner and they set a date for that evening. He is a ball of nervous energy as he gets dressed. The outfit is perfect and definitely sexy. He chooses a neon pink G-string thong, silver metallic shorts, pastel rainbow converse and a black hooded mesh crop top. Then he applies mascara, eyeliner and some lip gloss to top off his look.
"Well? What do you think?" he asks his friends when he enters the living room.
The other guys gape at him, their pupils dilating. Theo is the first to recover. "You're absolutely so fucking sexy. Tanner is a lucky guy."
"Oh, shut up," Stiles says with a shy smile. "Is it really okay?" he asks, his eyes on Brett knowing he'll give it to him straight.
Brett remembers Theo's words from before and smiles as he nods. "He'll never know what hit him."
Stiles beams at his friends. "Perfect! Are you both ready to go?"
The two guys are dressed in black skinny jeans, black converse and Theo is in a lime green shirt with a black leather jacket over it while Brett is in a neon pink shirt with a white jacket over it.
"I was born ready," Theo says.
Stiles laughs and heads to the door. "Let's go get our party on!"
🎶🤍•💗•🤍🎶
The club isn't as packed as Stiles was expecting it to be, considering it's new and apparently five star reviewed. Tanner isn't easy to spot at first, so Stiles joins Brett and Theo for a little liquid courage. He startles when two hot hands grip his hips. "You look so fucking sexy," Tanner purrs in his ear.
Stiles swallows thickly as he blushes and leans into the contact. "Why don't you take me to the dance floor and show me just how sexy you think I am?" Thank fuck for liquid courage.
He lets himself be led away by Tanner oblivious to the way Brett tries to follow before Theo stops him.
"No Brett. Let him dance. We can't let how we feel ruin this for him."
"Fine," he snaps and downs two more shots. His eyes never leave their friend though. Theo doesn't blame him one bit. They are fiercely protective of Stiles and want the best for him. He's been hurt a lot.
🎶🤍•💗•🤍🎶
Stiles is addicted to the way Tanner grips his hips and the feeling of his hot breath on his neck. He lets his head fall back on the guy's shoulder as their hips grind together. His back is to Tanner's chest and it's perfect. Stiles has never felt more desired than he does right now.
He should have known it wouldn't last.
"Tell me something?" Tanner whispers in his ear as he nips at Stiles's ear lobe.
"What do you wanna know?" he asks with a moan.
Their bodies undulate with the beat of the music and Stiles lets his eyes flutter closed. Tanner's grip tightens pulling their bodies flush together as he whispers in Stiles's ear again. "Did anyone ever tell you how pathetic you are?"
Stiles's eyes snap open and he freezes. "W-What? I-I don't–"
"Sure, you do," Tanner taunts as he squeezes Stiles's hard cock through his shorts. "Your little cock is all hard because of me. You were gagging for cock. Everyone knows how pathetic you are and how no one ever actually goes on the dates they ask you out for." His hand gropes Stiles, smirking at the tears forming in the amber eyes.
"Let go of me please?"
"Awww. What's the matter baby? Isn't this what you wanted?" His hand slides up and into the waistband of Stiles's shorts, his fingers grasping the now flaccid cock. "Now you can't get it up huh? Poor pathetic pretty sissy boy."
Stiles tries to fight back the tears but can't and they stream down his face. "Just let me go. Stop touching me!" His voice rises and Tanner is about to make another comment when he's shoved away from Stiles by a guy that to be honest scares the shit out of him.
"He said no! He told you to let him go! Do you not know anything about fucking consent?!" Brett snarls as Theo wraps his arms around Stiles.
Tanner scoffs. "He's a fairy boy who no one wants to date. So, the least he can do is be a good fuck, right?" He looks at Stiles. "We were having fun weren't we pretty bo–" he cuts off, hollering as he clutches his face where blood starts gushing from his nose as Brett pulls his fist back.
Theo guides Stiles to the bathroom and has him hop on the counter. Brett joins them not even five minutes later. His heart shatters completely.
Tanner—the "poli sci" guy—is a fucking asshole and Stiles's mascara that had looked so beautiful on him is running down his cheeks. Theo gets a wet paper towel to clean up Stiles's face and then Brett reapplies the makeup.
"He's right. I am pathetic. I just want to be wanted. I want to be loved. I want what you guys have. I want to be desired. I don't think that's such a bad thing or too much to ask." He sniffles and fiddles with the hen of his shorts.
Brett wraps his arms around Stiles and the amber eyed man loves it. He loves hugs from both of them, but Brett's height makes him feel small yet safe and protected at the same time.
"I don't know how I got so lucky to have you guys as my friends."
Theo smiles softly. "We're the lucky ones."
Stiles snorts. "Your luck sucks then. I'm not that great."
"Lies," Brett replies with a soft smile.
They see Stiles wave off their words as being a joke to cheer him up.
Once Stiles double checks his makeup and outfit are okay, he heads back out with his friends promising to join him shortly. They look at each other determined and nod. It's time Stiles understood how they feel about him.
🎶🤍•💗•🤍🎶
Stiles is taking a breather at one of the standing tables when the lights suddenly dim, and two silhouettes appear on stage. He glances around for his friends only to gape when those very friends are the ones onstage.
"Dirty Thoughts" by Chloe Adams starts playing and Stiles thinks it's perfect for the two of them.
I get dirty thoughts about you They get worse when I'm without you Does that mean that I'm going to hell? Or are you thinking them as well? Whoa
When I'm lonely All the corners of my mind start racing Things that should be kept in the basement Spend my time trying to erase them (erase them)
But when you hold me In the fantasy, it's so convincing I shouldn't think the things I'm thinking But now I've gone and let them sink in (ah)
The more that I push 'em away The more that you're stuck in my brain The more I mentally undress, I confess
As the song continues, realization slowly dawns on Stiles that they aren't singing to each other. They're singing to him.
It makes him self consciously adjust his outfit. The silver metallic booty shorts catch the neon lights as the spotlights spin. He scuffs his pastel rainbow converse against the floor and starts chewing on the strings of his black hooded mesh crop top. He's glad Brett and Theo touched up his makeup because people keep glancing at him.
As they continue singing they draw him up on stage and he's treated to the best sexy dance ever.
I get dirty thoughts about you They get worse when I'm without you Does that mean that I'm going to hell? Or are you thinking them as well? Whoa
I get dirty thoughts about you They're so strong that I'm about to Say them all to you out loud God can't save me now, whoa
I'm frustrated Do you really look good naked? And I know that it ain't that holy But Lord, I need this one night only
The more that I push 'em away The more that you're stuck in my brain The more I mentally undress, I confess
I get dirty thoughts about you They get worse when I'm without you Does that mean that I'm going to hell? Or are you thinking them as well? Whoa
He melts into their touch and lets his body move with theirs. It's so good. It feels so right. He feels desired. It's almost perfect. He just wishes he could have it all the time.
I get dirty thoughts (I get dirty) I get dirty thoughts (th-th-th-thoughts) I get dirty thoughts (I get dirty) I get dirty thoughts about you
I get dirty thoughts (I get dirty) I get dirty thoughts (th-th-th-thoughts) I get dirty thoughts (I get dirty) I get dirty thoughts about you
The audience is so into it, and they cheer loudly as the song comes to an end. As much as Brett and Theo want to kiss Stiles then and there, they don't. They will but not yet.
Tanner has been banned from the club now and the owner comped their drinks.
They leave not long after the song finishes and make their way home. None of them say anything, all lost in thought, especially Stiles.
When they get home, they all get changed out of their club clothes. Brett and Theo pull on black sweatpants but forgo shirts. Stiles on the other hand needs comfort right now.
So, he pulls on a blue pair of Theo's boxer briefs and a black hoodie belonging to Brett. The hoodie is down to Stiles's mid thigh making the short shorts seem non-existent. It does something to Brett and Theo, seeing Stiles in their clothes. They just have to kiss him. Still, they wait.
🎶🤍•💗•🤍🎶
Pizza is ordered along with a DoorDash delivery of curly fries which has Stiles doing a happy dance as he scarfs them down enthusiastically.
"You guys are the best!"
Brett grins, pleased that Stiles loves it so much. He glances at Theo who nods and then they each take a deep breath.
"Hey Stiles?" Theo starts.
Stiles glances up at the more serious tone. "Yeah?"
"There's something we need to tell you."
Brett offers a reassuring smile, knowing how quickly Stiles can jump to conclusions. "It's important but we want you to hear us out. Okay?"
Stiles lowers the box of curly fries to his lap and nods. "Okay. Are you kicking me out?"
"What?" Theo sputters. "No! Absolutely not!"
"Oh. Are you–Well you're not pregnant so you don't need my room for a nursery although if you did, I would totally move into the closet. Have you seen your closet?"
Brett blinks, his jaw dropping. "There's no baby, neither of us are pregnant nor will we ever be pregnant, and we'll never make you move out."
Stiles's brow furrows as his eyes narrow suspiciously. "Is this about Tanner?" he asks, his body tensing. "I didn't want it and I froze. I'm fine now. You don't have to worry about me. I have no intention of going on any more dates ever again."
"Ever?" Brett inquires softly. "What if you meet the right person?"
"There is no one right person," Stiles replies because it's true. In a perfect world he'd have the right people and those are the two people right in front of him.
Theo shakes his head. "It's not about the douchenozzle but we'll come back to him because you do need to talk about what happened."
Stiles pouts nibbling on a curly fry. "I know. So, can you tell me already? Wait! Did one of you contract a deadly virus and now we have to be quarantined for the rest of our lives?"
His friends look at him a bit exasperated even as their expressions are also fond. Brett sighs and pats the cushion between him and Theo. "Come here Stiles."
"It must be serious if I have to sit with you. Do you have cancer?" he asks even as he quickly and eagerly sits between them. It's his favorite place to be after all.
"No. Neither of us have cancer."
"Do I have cancer and you're trying to break it to me gently?"
Theo shakes his head. "No. You don't have cancer." He glances at Brett who is gripping his arms, so he doesn't latch onto Stiles yet. "Do you know what you do have though?"
Stiles tilts his head. "What?"
"You have us," Brett says, grasping the opening Theo gave him. "You have us. You've always had us, and you always will have us."
"Oooookay," Stiles replies, drawing the word out with a bemused expression on his face. "I should hope so. You're my best friends."
Theo grins. "We are but do you remember back when Brett and I got together, how you were worried you'd feel left out?"
Stiles nods. "Well yeah. It was scary to me."
"Did you ever feel left out?"
"No. Never. You guys always included me." He snorts. "Sometimes I felt almost like I was dating you guys which is completely ridiculous and would never happen. The only thing we were missing was kissing."
Brett smirks and gently takes Stiles's hand playing with his fingers. "Well if we kissed you now, would you feel like we were dating?"
Stiles frowns and snatches his hand away. "No. Because you're dating Theo. That would be cheating."
Theo takes Stiles's other hand making the amber eyed man glance at him. "Well, what if after he kissed you, I kissed you? Would you feel like we were dating then?"
"I-I–I don't know? What does–Why are you–I'm confused."
His nose scrunches up and the other two guys find it adorable. Brett takes a deep breath and meets Stiles's gaze. "We want to date you, Stiles. We want to be together. All three of us."
Stiles tilts his head as his heart pounds in his chest and his stomach swoops. "H-How would that work? Am I dreaming?"
"Count your fingers," Theo says, and Stiles does.
"1...2...3...4...5...6...7...8...9...10," he whispers. "There's ten. I'm not dreaming. Are you guys sure that you–"
Brett's hands gently cup Stiles's jaw as he smiles. "We're one hundred percent sure. We had hoped you would figure it out, but we realized that it was just not working. So, we decided it was time to be straightforward and blunt."
Stiles stares at him and then melts into his touch. "Are you sure?" he asks, swaying towards Brett so their lips are almost touching. "You won't change your mind, will you?"
"No. We want you as ours. Forever."
Their lips meet, Stiles soft and hesitant. Then he takes a leap of faith and eagerly kisses Brett with such enthusiasm Brett can't help smiling.
Stiles pulls back blushing furiously. Then he freezes and glances at Theo. "How does this work with three people?"
Theo moves closer as Brett guides Stiles closer, turning their bodies to face each other as Theo drapes himself against Stiles's back. "We'll show you if you'll let us."
Stiles searches their faces, turns his head back to catch Theo's lips in a heated kiss before pulling back and nodding. "Show me."
And show him they do.
🎶🤍•💗•🤍🎶
Nothing really changes except the knowledge that they're together. That and the kissing. There's so much kissing. Not that Stiles is complaining. He loves every minute of it. He feels special. He feels loved. He feels— "Hang on!" he says at dinner one night a few months after the club.
They're having spaghetti Bolognese that Brett made, and the two guys look at Stiles with their signature in sync eyebrow quirk.
"So, we've technically been dating for almost three years and the only reason I didn't fucking realize it was because we didn't kiss?"
"Well..." Brett trails off. "You were pretty oblivious."
Stiles scoffs. "So, you should've just kissed me. We could have been kissing this whole time."
Theo looks at their boyfriend, his eyes shining with amusement. "We could have."
The amber eyed man starts shoveling the food into his mouth and quickly polishes off his plate. "Okay. Hurry up and eat and meet me in the bedroom." He puts his dishes in the dishwasher after rinsing them.
"Why?" Brett asks.
Stiles smirks at them. "We have years of kisses and such to make up for." He walks backwards towards the bedroom his eyes full of want. Just as he reaches the hallway he turns away and strips off his hoodie—Theo's hoodie this time—and winks at them over his shoulder. "First one done gets first choice of where their cock goes."
By the time Brett enters the room ahead of Theo, Stiles is naked on the bed with his fingers buried in his hole. His cheeks are flushed, and his eyes glazed over as he rocks back into three fingers.
Brett and Theo moan as they strip, and Stiles looks at them coyly but smirking. "What are you waiting for? Show me who I belong to. Show me I'm yours and you're mine."
And show him they do.
🎶🤍•💗•🤍🎶
Afterwards they clean up and curl up bare beneath the covers together, Stiles in the middle. They kiss lazily for a while before they're too tired to keep kissing.
Stiles nuzzles his nose against Theo's throat as Brett curls against Stiles's back and kisses his neck. It makes Stiles feel safe and protected and—"I love you guys so much."
His heart pounds with nerves but he needn't have been worried because they immediately reply in their synced simultaneous way. "We love you too."
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Text
Harkula Whumptober Day 7 🔒✋🏻
Prongs Against the Lock
THE WAY YOU SHAKE AND SHIVER Shaking Hands | Seizures | Silent Panic Attack
Content: M, Mild NSFW, Non-Con Touching, Threats of Rape/Non-Con
Exerpt below the cut
Cold goosebumps raise in the nape of his neck and the icy fear bolts down his spine, nearly making him drop the lock pick, when he hears him speak behind his back. “And what do we have here?”
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nala2811 · 5 months
Text
The Stranger
Tumblr media
Paring: joel miller x f!reader
Rating: Explicit 18+ only.
Summary: You and a certain stranger are hurled away to somewhere else within the QZ, where you both are required to perform a very particular task…
Post outbreak. Takes place during TLOU 1.
Warnings: non con, reader and Joel don’t want it (at first), dub-con, smut, P in V, unprotected sex, cum, cumshot, big dick, orgasm, dirty talk, pet names, fingering, spanking (once), slapping (once), implied rape, voyeurism (including masturbation), smoking, hands tied (before and after act), vision obscured (before and after act), video recording, sex tape, fear, violence, shame, guilt, kidnap, age gap 20 + years. Joel is mid 50’s. I think I’ve covered everything? No use of Y/N.
Word count: 4.1k
A/N: A dirty one shot that has been living in my brain. What if you’re forced to, but you’re touch starved, and both enjoy it?
The small sack scratched against your face as it was ripped off your head. You gasped in the cooler air as you squinted, eyes adjusting to the dimly lit room.
The guards had told you nothing other than you need to be taken in for “questioning”. You had no idea what was going on, had always ensured you kept to yourself and tried to stay away from any trouble that you could foresee.
What you did know was obvious, you knew that the guards were hardly on the straight and narrow themselves, so you were terrified as they hurled you away.
They had laughed and mocked you as you begged for them to tell you what you had done wrong. Your pleas were then met with silence as they dragged you blindly through the QZ, stumbling, ties cutting cruelly into your wrists, to finally end up here.
You had no clue where “here” was.
On a quick glance you noted a singular yellow bulb that illuminated the seemingly empty room, save for a desk that had no chair, which sat isolated in the middle of the space. Taking in your surroundings you observed the room was small, damp, and windowless with old paint peeling from the bare walls.
Your wrists throbbed as your bindings were cut, and you caressed the sore skin there as you caught sight of another figure standing in corner of the space, they were then roughly manoeuvred into the centre of the room by another guard, and you saw that it was a man.
You quickly assessed him. He was older, with greying hair and a beard. He looked vaguely familiar to you. You exchanged a confused look toward each other while looking around at the two guards in the room. The both of you quickly and desperately trying to figure out the situation, while one of men retreated backwards to the darker edge of the room, his gun pointed and ready.
The other guard who had freed your hands placed his weapon in its holster before lighting a cigarette, he took a long drag before exhaling the smoke into your faces, your eyes stung as he started to circle you both.
Trying to control your breathing, you chanced a nervous glance to the older man beside you, his jaw was set as he watched the guard take slow and calculated steps around you.
Leisurely he then raised the cigarette to his lips and took another drag before he spoke to you both.
“You two try anything and my friend over there pops one right between both your eyes, do y’hear me?” You nodded in a panic while the stranger beside you scowled silently at the man.
It happened too quickly for you to avoid it.
The guard’s slap had you stumbling back as your head hurled to the side. Ears ringing as tears lined your vision in response to the sharp and harsh pain. The stranger made a move towards him but stopped when he heard the click of the other guard’s gun.
“I asked you a question old man. If you ain’t gonna answer then she-“ he motioned towards you with his cigarette, “will suffer the consequences. Do. I. Make. Myself. Clear?”
You panted as you hand cupped your face, doing nothing to ease the sting. The man’s fists were tight against his sides while he glared, eyes black.
“Yes”. His voice was deep, accent southern.
“Thereeee you go, he does speak” the guard taunted. He motioned around the room then with the hand that held his cigarette, smoke billowing in the air. His tone was sarcastic when he spoke
“Not so bad here, huh? You’re both gonna do a little something for us… a little post-apocalyptic show. When it’s done, we’ll let you go…”
Your brows pulled together as you tried to comprehend the words the guard had said, he made a show of looking away then and you followed the guards eyeline. Your eyes had adjusted properly now, heart dropping when you saw it, resting on a small cabinet by a dirty wall that sat opposite you both.
A camera.
The small gasp that left you echoed around the room, causing the stranger to follow your gaze. While a lewd smirk appeared on the guard’s face as he crudely grabbed at the bulge that had now appeared under his uniform.
“No fucking way” the older man breathed.
“Ah, ah, ah, now, remember what I said” the guard discarded his cigarette on the floor as he held out his arms by his side “Look, we’re all adults here, let’s just get this over with”.
His eyes then locked onto the man next to you.
“If you won’t do it then one of us will have to take your place. Must warn you though, me or my buddy over there won’t be as kind as I imagine you would be”.
He spoke over his shoulder then addressing the other guard.
“Will we?”
“No, Sir” came the answer from the back.
Your eyes darted frantically between the stranger and your captor. No one moved.
The guard clicked his tongue, “Alright then” he breathed as his hand went to the zip of his pants.
You felt yourself pale as bile rose in the back of your throat.
“Fine!” the man next to you called out.
The guard sneered, amused. His feet then closed the distance to where you stood. Fingers biting painfully into your skin as he grabbed your arm and shoved you hard towards the older man, you tripped over your feet, falling into his solid frame as his hands caught you.
Tilting your chin up your eyes were met then with a sea of chocolate brown, peering anxiously down at you.
“Use the desk” the guard instructed as he walked away, tone matter of fact, like he was updating you both on the condition of the weather. He stood with the armed man as he leaned casually against the wall.
Both their eyes were set on you.
Disbelief washed through you as a fog descended on your senses. You couldn’t believe this was happening. You swayed on the spot as a wave of dizziness overtook you, your mouth was dry, breaths coming out harshly as you tried to calm down, the only thing holding you up was the set of strong hands on your biceps.
“Take it easy…breathe”. The stranger soothed as you tried to control yourself.
You took a few unsteady breathes.
“Listen…” he whispered, “I’m going to take them down, when I move you hit the floor, do you hear me?” his voice was barely audible but stern, the anger harsh on his face.
“Th- they’ll kill you, they both have guns.” Your eyes were wide with panic “how can we defend ourselves? I don’t even have a knife they searched me before I was taken here”.
The flare of his nostrils told you that he had received the same treatment.
“I’m still gonna try, they can’t jus-“
The bullet that hit the wall next to you was deafening in the small room. You screamed as the sound reverberated, ears ringing as you huddled into the frame of the man, while his arms instinctively wrapped around you.
“The next one won’t miss” you were both warned.
The hands that were on you tightened as your eyes met his, his expression had turned from angry to apologetic. Your face was blank while you comprehended that this was going to happen, that you hoped they were at least telling the truth and that they would let you go, you somehow doubted that.
Determination washed through you, you just wanted to get out of this alive.
Removing yourself from his embrace you slowly made your way towards the desk, your limbs were shaking so much your legs buckled under you as you reached it, you grabbed onto the edge as he rushed over to hold you steady.
You held up a hand “I’m good” you reassured him, unconvincingly, as you lifted yourself onto it.
“You also earn a bullet if we get bored” There was a chuckle from them both.
Heart hammering as the older man stood in front of you, you parted your legs to allow him to close the distance while you took a moment to observe him again. 
He really was handsome. His frame broad in his denim shirt, sleeves rolled up to expose his tanned and muscular forearms. Eyes bottomless, his neck was thick, jaw strong, his hair and beard a perfect balance between salt and pepper.
You held onto his strong shoulders feeling the broad muscles underneath as his hands slowly went to your waistband of your pants, using his frame to hoist yourself up as he eased them down over your legs, discarding them once removed. The surface of the desk was unforgiving under you, the cold raising goose bumps on your skin.
Survival mode took over your body now as you gripped the hem of your shirt and lifted, completely removing it, followed by your bra. Fighting against the urge to cover yourself, terrified that you both would be shot if you showed anymore resistance.
Resolve was etched onto his face now, a quiet and professional air in how he moved, his actions were measured and deliberate as he hooked his thumbs into the sides of your panties. He froze then as he locked eyes with yours, you nodded your permission, lifting yourself again while he removed them.
Seemingly needing a minute, he paused then in his actions, respectfully keeping his gaze away, looking over your shoulder. A notion that almost amused you, considering what he was about to do.
“Get a move on old man”.
“She’s not even fucking wet yet!” he growled, looking over his shoulder to where the guards stood.  
“She doesn’t need to be”. The other guard called out. You felt sick as they laughed again.
You shook his shoulders gently, bringing his attention back to you.
“Hey, it’s okay, let’s just get through this.”
His stare was intense as he looked at you.
“I’m sorry” he breathed; your lips tugged up as you offered a small smile to try to reassure him.
He heaved a deep sigh as he placed his hands on your thighs, they were rough but warm as they flexed there. He then traced light circles as his hand drew closer to your sex. Your teeth found your lip when the pad of his thumb pressed against your clit, swirling softly.
Mortification raced through you as a small moan escaped you. His jaw was set as he kept his eyes downcast while he worked your clit and you were thankful that he gave you that small mercy, you think you’d die on the spot if he looked at you right now. You felt so exposed as he worked your bundle of nerves, failing miserably at controlling the whimpers that escaped you.
Life and survival in the QZ distracted you from other needs. You hadn’t even realised how touch starved you were until now, instead you had always focused on living to see another miserable day, forgetting all about the need that was now being awakened again by this stranger.
His hand moved now so that his palm was pressed against your sensitive bud as he slid a thick finger inside you. Eyes meeting yours when a moan escaped you, and you somehow manged to not tear your eyes away, but in fact hold his gaze, your ever building arousal making you bold enough to maintain eye contact with him.
His eyes were dark as he watched you, each wave of pleasure that his expert fingers gave was evident on your features, you noticed that he seemed to absorb every moan, hungrily anticipate every twitch of your hips.
The bulge straining against his jeans was evidence of his own arousal.
With trembling fingers, you reached out. Unbuttoning his shirt, you slowly exposed his tanned skin and hard muscle. Fingers trailing against the low line of hair as you popped open the last button, feeling the loss of his fingers as he shrugged out of it.
Quickly returning them to your core he now entered two fingers into you while continuing to circle your clit with his thumb, wetting his lips as you involuntary leaned back on your hands giving him better access. Your hips took on a life of their own as you sought out more of his touch.
Silently you scolded yourself over your actions, but you couldn’t help it, couldn’t remember the last time you had felt this good, despite the circumstances. It had been less than a few minutes with this stranger and already you knew that you had never been in such expert and capable hands as you were now.  
Thick fingers drove into you deeper now while his other hand worked at unbuttoning his jeans as he freed his rock hard cock. Your pussy clenched around his fingers when you saw the size of him, his answering groan sent a fresh wave of arousal flooding from your core. 
The blood rushed from your face when you heard it, the unmistakable sound of a zip being lowered, then a rhythmic wet sound, followed by a moan. Your panicked eyes flashed over towards the edge of the room towards the guards.
He ducked then into your line of sight, bringing your focus back to him again.
“Hey, look at me, right here…jus’ me and you, okay?”
Your breath was heavy as you answered him.
“Okay” you echoed.
He grabbed your hips then to guide you to the edge of the desk, lining himself up at your entrance. One last silent look passed between you, then he was entering you.
“Fuck” the whispered curse fell from his lips in a rush as he held on fast to you. You whimpered as he stretched you, burying himself deep as he could go.
Harsh breathes escaped him when his hips were flush against yours, his frame towering over you, holding still. Wide eyed and panting, you were thankful for the moment he gave you as you adjusted to his size. After a moment you wrapped your legs around him to anchor yourself, as he started to pump his cock into your weeping cunt.
Ecstasy ripped through your entire being while you held onto his strong shoulders, his answering growl was loud, grip harsh, as he thrusted steadily into you. This man moved exactly the way you wanted him too; it was like he was reading your mind. Every movement, every alteration in his thrusts as he hit that sweet spot in you. Every. Single. Time.
All you could think about was the constant and delicious drag of his cock within your walls. You met his thrust with your own desperate ones. Your touched starved body sensitive to every roll of his hips, the warmth of his hands as he held you while he fucked himself into you again and again.
The pressure of his strong palm was heavy as he then guided you down so that you were laying vertically on the desk, you gripped the edges above your head for leverage. He was fucking you in earnest now, legs of the desk scrapping against the floor with his efforts. He equally seemed as lost in you as you were in him.
Drunk off the feel of your pussy he reached down to cup your breast in his large hand. You watched him hungrily as he thrusted into you, jaw slack, pupils blown, muscles in his neck taunt from exertion.
He looked fucking delicious.
You reflected that you had never been with anyone much older than yourself. The contrast was stark to your previous experiences. His expertise was apparent in every confident thrust, eyes constantly watching you, drinking in the sight of you spread open for him, your face flushed as he worked and responded to every reaction your body gave him.
“Been a while hey old timer? She feels good huh?” the voices from the back taunted again. Their moans were obvious in the small space, the muffled sound of the friction as they pleasured themselves, the discomfort was obvious on your face.
“I- I hate that they’re doing that” You whispered to the man inside you, eyes squinted shut to stop the tears.
“Shhh, pay no mind now. You feel that? You feel me here” he rasped as he removed his hand from your breast and took your smaller one in his, pressing down over where he was buried deep.
You gasped wide eyed as you felt him in your stomach, nodding erratically.
“Just focus on me”.
His hand then found your sensitive bud again and you cried out at the sensation, you were so sensitive.
“There you go sweetheart. That’s it”
The world fell away as his onslaught continued. Sounds were escaping you that you should’ve been embarrassed about, but you weren’t.
“You have any idea how fuckin’ good you look darlin’ ?” his whisper was so low that you doubted the guards even heard him.
His hungry eyes raked over you, from your hands still holding the edge of desk above your head, down towards the flush of your chest with your tits bouncing with every thrust, to your pussy stretched around his cock. You realised that you must have been a sight to behold.
Movement brought your attention back towards to the edge of the room, it was unmistakably obvious now that the guard’s efforts were faster and more erratic. They were close.
Before you knew what was happening your arms were unlocked from their hold and you were pulled up right until you were flush against him.
“Put your face in my neck, don’t look.” And you did.
Nuzzling your face deep as you breathed in his scent, basking in the heat radiating from his body while you burrowed into his soft skin.
Strong hands grabbed your ass then as he lifted you to meet every one of his thrusts. Your whole body was on fire, nails digging into his skin as you removed your face from his neck to look down at him impaling you over and over again. You felt his hand then push against your lower back, crying out as it changed the angle of his thrusts now to even deeper. 
“Right here? You need it deep baby?” his mouth was ghosting yours, you nodded as you bit your lip,
“Tell me”, he demanded.
A sob escaped instead when you tried to speak, every nerve felt like a live wire. His hand quickly came down to smack the top part of your ass, a reprimand for your silence.
“Yes!” you cried out “Need it so bad…I’ve never b-been fucked this d-deep before”.
He growled his approval as his fingers once again found your clit, feeling your pussy flutter instantly around his cock.
“Yeah? You gonna come around my cock darlin’ ?”
Yes God yes
“Keep looking down” you did as you were told.
The sight was too much as you watched him drive into you over and over while his fingers furiously continued to work your clit, your combined arousal coating you both and the desk underneath.
It was all too much, and you tipped over the edge, crying out. He watched you intently as you came hard around him.
“Yes, that’s it- that’s- oh-fuck!”
He pulled out of you suddenly, tugging harshly at his cock until thick, warm ropes shot over your lower belly and mound.
The cumshot
Both of you panted as you came down from your high, eyes trailing over the other. His sweat dampened hairline, your skin tinged pink where he had grabbed your breast, the crescent marks on his shoulders, both of you watching his glistening spend slowly drip down over your used pussy.
The sound of rustling bought both your attention back to the guards, one was tucking himself back into his pants, the other was wiping his hands with an old rag.
Spell broken as you both untangled yourselves from the other and began to awkwardly dress yourselves. Hastily he pulled up his jeans while quickly passing you your clothing, keeping his eyes low as you both dressed.
A rush of cooler air entered the space as the door suddenly opened and two other guards entered the room. Despite what you had both just done your cheeks flushed with the thought of them possibly hearing what had happened.
You and Joel were surrounded by them, your blood ran cold.
This is it, you thought.
There was silence as you both were grabbed, hands bound. Everything went black as they covered your head again.
All you could do was try to keep up as they dragged you. Your legs were weak, head spinning until you were then shoved into a car, engine roaring as you drove in silence for a few minutes until the car stopped still, idling for a moment.
Daring not to breathe, when you heard the sound of a knife flick, you nearly cried in relief when you felt your ties being cut, it was short lived when the cool blade was then pushed flush against your neck, you froze.
“Not gonna tell anyone about this are we?” a calm voice asked.
“No” you answered, sounding stronger than you felt.
“What about you?”
“No” you heard him reply through gritted teeth.
A beat passed and then you heard the door open, your hood was removed as you both were then shoved out of the vehicle, hurtling to the unforgiving and wet ground. You cried out as the impact stole breath from your lungs, the car then accelerated away, fading into the distance.
Gasping for breath you looked around; saw you had been dropped in the middle of the street, whoever else was around looked away quickly when they saw you both. Members of the QZ continued onwards to wherever they were going or turning their eyes away while they waited in line for their rations card.
Everyone kept to themselves in the QZ.
While you self-consciously straightened your clothing you directed your focus towards the man next to you. He was forcefully brushing down his clothes, a fresh graze on his cheek and torn shirt the result from his own impact with the concrete.
Silence lingered between you both while you observed each other. Desperation raced through you to get home, yet you were reluctant to leave him.
A turmoil whirled inside of you over what you had just experienced. You felt the shame, guilt, and humiliation. But what was buried under all of that was more prominent, something you would never admit, you felt satisfaction. A buzz in your limbs that felt like warm melted butter that flowed, your skin still burning from his touch.
He broke the silence first.
“Listen…we uh” he started, hand rubbing the back of his neck as he spoke, eyes darting quickly around “…s’for the best…if we don’t talk about this… to anyone”.
Guilt raced through you, you knew you both were not the first and wouldn’t be the last. But what could you do? Who would you tell?  The guards? Someone body else?
Nobody ever got involved when it came to the QZ guards. Beatings in the dark, public humiliation, unfair punishments, using food as a weapon, were all overlooked by everyone, lest they too were targeted for trying to speak up.
Solemnly you nodded your agreement.
You didn’t know what else to say to him.
“I’m…I’m just glad we made it out of there, and erm…thank you…for getting me through that”.
He was silent as he absorbed the double meaning of your words.
“Of course. I’ll see you around” he offered.
“Yeah…sure” you breathed.
He gave a light reassuring smile then, before slowly turning away, your heart hammered as you watched him leave.
Your stranger.
Your mind was in a daze as you made your way home, locking the door quickly behind you. Not that it would make much of a difference if a guard wanted to get access to you, but all the same, it helped you feel safe.
You sighed, as you striped off your clothing while you made your way to the bathroom.
You really needed a shower.
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diejager · 4 months
Note
may i ask what's your thoughts on yandere horangi but like specifically just him (Konig excluded pls and thank you 😂)
Yandere Horangi
Headcanon
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Pairing: Yan!Horangi x reader
Cw: yandere behaviour, possessive behaviour, DARKFIC, non-con touching, punishment, forced relationship, tell me if I missed anything. Wc: 694
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Horangi’s a cold and sarcastic guy, but Yan!Horangi has the added bonus of being mean and stupidly possessive.
Yan!Horangi could be laughing at something you did, be it a clumsy mistake or something he deemed ridiculous. He confronts you, glaring down at you with narrowed eyes filled with dark intent, something dangerous that has you shuddering, but you can’t talk back to him when he looks so menacing in his get up: mask pulled up to his nose, eyes gleaming under his red-rimmed glass, hood shrouding his face in darkness and his body exhuming death with his simple and minimalistic choice of clothes.
Yan!Horangi is cruel with his remarks, he demeans you, breaks you down for him to build up to something more profitable, more likeable to him. He prefers doing things hands-on, as he’s always done, moving you around as he deems fit, one hand on your shoulder, on your waist or the small of your back, anywhere he can touch you.
Yan!Horangi might be means and degrading, but it’s his way of showing KorTac who you belong to. As stated previously, he’s very physical, he isn’t shy of publicly touching you, manhandling you to his pleasure in front of his coworkers, uncaring of your enflamed and shamed flushed cheeks. He’s not bothered by how embarrassed and undignified you feel, you scratch and hiss, fight him whenever you can. He likes the fight, that feisty gleam in your eyes when you glare at him through your lashes and pouty lips, staring up at him with a subtle tremor.
Despite Yan!Horangi’s usual rough handling, he can be gentle, helpful and insightful. He might help you master or better understand a certain skill. If you have issues with a certain gun, he’d stand behind you, chest flushed to your back, hip to ass and him breathing down your neck. He takes training very personally, he expects you to commit to mind every word, every advice and every compliment, but he knows he’s demanding too much from you. He’s easy to understand, teaching with simple wording and visual cues to follow.
That, however, doesn’t stop Yan!Horangi from punishing you if you do something wrong, pulling you to his room to reprimand you for disappointing him. He has you kneeling before him, hands on your thighs, eyes downcast and lower lip pulled between your teeth. It’s a power play for him, to show you who’s in control in this self-proclaimed relationship he forced you into.
Yan!Horangi treats you as a pet behind closed doors, holding you on his lap, fingers carding through your hair and making you abide to his many rules. He’s finicky about it, easy to anger when you’re not doing things by his book. Although he has a few dozens, he only pushes for a few: don’t let other people touch you; don’t talk to anyone for too long; don’t spend too much time with someone who isn’t him, especially alone; don’t forget that you belong to him; and don’t forget to listen to his words. He’s especially hard on you to let people know that you’re his.
Yan!Horangi doesn’t want to be cared for, he has the money, the strength and the independence to live on his own, learning from his past gambling issues. He wants to care for you, that’s all he truly wants, to love and care for his little pet. Despite his wish to lock you up, to keep you to himself and deprive the world of your presence, he’s whimsically desperate, like a feline marking its possession, he likes when you smile, your crazed gleam when you return from a successful mission with him or another operator.
After all, Yan!Horangi is as in love with you sweet and submissive side, obediently listening to him after he pinned you to the ground, hissing at you, as he’s obsessed with your feral smirk, grinning as you cleave a man in half with a bloodthirsty gleam in your eyes, staring at him. You’re his pretty, pedigree cat, clean and posh, listening to him when he asked, yet bratty when you felt like it.
Taglist: @sae1kie @yeoldedumbslut @bvxygriimes @distracteddragoness @vxnilla-hxrddrugs @konigsblog @havoc973 @im-making-an-effort @daisychainsinknots @0alk0msan @danielle143 @dont-mind-me-just-existing-sadly @tuttifuckinfruttifriday @kaelysia
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tennessoui · 3 months
Text
thinking about a soulmate canon au where you find your soulmate via touch and the jedi order is a bit more pious and has a very respectful no touching culture that obi-wan absolutely abides by. meanwhile anakin is raised on tatooine before coming to the temple and he's really used to touch, and it drives him a little insane, that no one touches him casually in the temple but he learns to abide by it as well and follow his master's example
only for him to fall head over heels for padmé as soon as they touch in aotc and he thinks his reactions to her are due to them being soulmates so they get married because padmé doesn't really know what finding her soulmate feels like either, but anakin's touch and attention feels good (and maybe he unintentionally uses the Force to convince her) so they must be soulmates
meanwhile obi-wan saved his padawan's life when he was like sixteen and was knocked unconscious and tossed into an ocean or something so obi-wan gives him mouth to mouth to resuscitate him---and discovers instantly that they're soulmates....but anakin's out cold and doesn't feel it so obi-wan's left alone with the realization that he's some kind of monster, being the soulmate of a child and anakin can never ever ever know.
so canon happens as canon does but with obi-wan knowing and keeping this secret to himself and carefully making sure he never touches anakin while anakin gets all of his touches from his wife and obi-wan watches from afar knowing he can never tell anakin or anyone else
but palpatine works it out and definitely tells anakin once he's Fallen and killed his wife and also been barbecued (by his soulmate), which makes vader obsess with finding obi-wan (more than he is in canon)
and he finally captures him and has the acolytes chain him up in mustafar. vader visits and asks if obi-wan cut off his arms so he couldn't touch him and know, and it's obi-wan's worst fear and biggest regret that anakin finds out they're soulmates, but now he has no control over the situation. not as vader approaches, not as he takes off his helmet, not as vader leans close and brushes what remains of his lips against obi-wan's cheek
and it feels just as good and right and perfect as it did the first and only time they touched, except now obi-wan isn't sure who the monster is. maybe it's both of them
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itsmeblackcat · 1 year
Note
"Oh, aren't you precious?"
My hand hovered over your cheek. It wasn't often we found such spirited creatures in our stretch of the woods, and very few as alluring as you. You had already been overpowered and properly restrained in one of the empty storage cabins, your wrists secured with thick rope to a stray bit of piping, a bandana tied between your teeth- according to some of my friends, you had quite the mouth. I had a feeling I could change that soon enough. I found that anybody with a hard shell crumbled all the easier.
"If I take the gag off, are you going to be good?" I prompted, rubbing my cold thumb against your cheek, as if prompting you to attack, taunting you.
I pull away the second you make contact, glaring at you.
I'm not even sure how I got here, events leading up to now are a bit hazy. But your friends are certainly onto something. My mouth does a lot more than hiss some snarky comments. I mean, I'll definitely do that too, but that's all before I chomp a finger off.
My response to your question is an eyeroll, expression resting back into a glare immediately after.
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