#Beta x Reader

[kokofromwattpad]

Dearest tutor

Plot: Star student of the Royal Academy has been sent to tutor the only Prince of the Imperial Royal family of Lilabett Corona. They then somehow enrapture the interest of the prince and his elder sister, the Crown Princess.

Cw: Crown princess! Female! Yandere x Tutor! Gn! Reader x prince! Yandere, mentions of torture, mentions of cult(briefly), blood, yandere tendencies.

A/N: Holy fucking shit it's finally out, I'm sososo excited.

Word count: 5.3k

The student stood outside the gate of the Imperial palace with sweat streaking down the side of their face from the harsh blaze of the sun. They had textbooks held under their armpit, tightly to their right side as their left had awkwardly tried to fix the hair that had begun to fall into their sightline.

[Name][Lastname] was an extraordinary person when it came to academics. They excelled in any subject they were put in and always came out on the very top of the board when the exam results had been revealed.

But they were born with common blood flowing through their veins. Their father was a poor baker and their mother was a school teacher for the orphans by the local children's home. Because their mother had always prided herself with the fact that she believed that knowledge was a better virtue than beauty, their mother would make [Name] read and memorise any textbooks she could get her hands on.

While [Name] considered it good luck that they were able to enrol in the royal academy and had gotten a full scholarship, they were petrified when they found a neatly folded envelope on their dorm bed with a wax seal baring the Imperial family's coat of arms.

The summarised version of the letter read that the imperial advisor acknowledged their extreme academic prowess and wanted them to visit the imperial palace to tutor the empire's only prince in the few subjects he had been recently struggling with in his own classes.

Terrified out if their mind, [Name] agreed in the most cursive calligraphy they could muster with their violently shaking hand.

And now, every Monday, Wednesday and Friday, the young student will have to spend their afternoon tutoring a bratty prince. Honestly, they were shaking in their boots from the mere thought of having to interact with royalty.

A cough abruptly interrupted the student's thoughts and made them shoot their head up in surprise. A tall man with long midnight black hair stood on the other side of the twisting gate. He looked to be in his late 30s, with a face and aura that screamed 'strict' and 'do not get me mad'. His dark hair was swept up to a waterfall like pony tail at the back of his head. He wore thin lensed glasses that seemed to be nearly falling off the tip of his nose. Hie eyes however were a lovely soft sage colour.

The man placed his right hand above his heart and bowed only his head at the young student. "Good evening mx.[Lastname]. My name is Von Alaric-Holloway. It is the Koinig family's honor to have you tutor your young master." he greeted. His voice was as smooth as his hair. The student nodded at his words. "The honour is all mine Mr.Alaric-Holloway." they said back, not trusting their voice to say anything else without stuttering, or falling over their own words.

Von nodded his head at the guards, giving them the silent order to open the sill closed gates.

The gates swept open as swift as the wind, letting the advisor and the student stand in front of each other face-to-face. Von nodded his head again at the student, signaling them to follow him as he pushed his falling glasses back up the bridge of his nose. He walked gracefully, with both of his hands held tightly behind his back and his head raised high in pride. The student trailed after him, struggling to keep up with his pace.

"The young master is about two years younger than you are, so he is around your age. The empress hopes that you and her grandson will become good friends with each other." Von said in quick voice, not giving [Name] the chance to actually process the words he was saying.

The student nearly nodded their head at his words and kept their head down. Every guard or maid that the pair walked past, bowed their head down, and gave sympathetic looks towards the two. Obviously, [Name] was going to notice by the third or fourth time that they had done this.

"Mr.Alaric-Holloway, why is everyone giving us such pitiful looks?" they asked the him.

Von cocked his eyes towards the sound of [Name]'s question. "I suppose it is because of the rumour that the young master is a troubled child." Von pushed his falling glasses back up the bridge of his nose. [Name] nodded at his words and continued to follow his pace down marble walkway.

Finally the two came to a grandiose staircase with gold linings that supposedly lead to the prince's study.

A young girl stood at the very top of the stairwell.

She looked around a year younger than [Name], so possibly 17 years old. She was short but not too short. She had long golden, nearly glowing blonde hair that was tied into a flattering bun to the back of her head. She wasn't wearing any makeup, which was odd for a noble to do. Her eyelashes were blonde as well. She was also wearing what seemed to be a military training uniform. [Name] noted to themself that this woman looked like a sinister fairy. The only reason she seemed sinister was from the deep red eyes that was embedded into her sockets and the very real and very sharp sword being held in a leather scabbard attached to her left hip.

"Von, may I ask who this commoner is, who is trespassing into my home?" she quipped at the advisor.

Von kneeled on his right knee with his right hand covering his heart again. His face had a thin layer of sweat covering it as he stared intensely at the ground.

"Crown princess, Frieda. The commoner behind me is prince Beta's new tutor. They are here to assist the prince in a few academy subjects that he is having trouble grasping." Von answered in a wavering version of usual tone of voice.

'Wait... what did he say? Crown princess...?' thought [Name] as they stared blankly at the blonde woman.

'SHIT!'

Once they're sense of self preservation finally returned to them, [Name] fell to their knees and buried their head into the cold flooring.

The Crown princess stayed silent at the student's sudden movements. She gracefully walked down the flight of stairs, and stood infornt of [Name]'s bowing head.

"Please raise your heads you two." she commanded in a gentle but firm voice.

[Name] raised their head, only to see that the princess was kneeling infront of them. She held the student's jaw in her right hand and lifted it higher. She turned their head left and right, checking both sides of their face.

She then got back on both of her feet and looked down to the student with a grin. "Take good care of my little brother, alright?"

The student was stunned into silence, but quickly shook their head in agreement. Satisfied with their answer, the princess strieded away, down a seperate hallway from the pair and disappeared from their line of sight.

Von let out a what sounded to be a strangled out sigh of relief. He then whipped his head to look at [Name] with an odd look to his face. He then got up and helped the student back to their own feet, while their feet wobbled from how scared they were from the encounter.

Surely the prince couldn't be that bad if that was the CROWN princess?

He wasn't as bad as they had originally thought.

[Name] had introduced themself to the Sixteen year old prince of the empire, with no response.

He looked nearly identical to the Crown princess. Same glowing gold hair, same deep red hair. His skin wasn't tanned, rather it was a pale white colour, showing how little time he spent outside, the complete opposite of his sister.

The prince was quiet, scarily so. Whenever he was finished answering an exercise, he would look ominously at the young student until they noticed and would mark it for him and then explain how he got whichever answers wrong.

"Do you understand Prince Beta?" [Name] would ask.

The prince would then just nod at their words and write down his corrections next to his wrong answers.

The main sound that echoed throughout the study was the grandfather clock that stood in the corner, signaling the end and beginning of every second. [Name] almost every ten minutes would quickly whip their eyes towards the clock, checking to see when they could leave and run back to their dormitory back on school campus.

Once the Prince was finished with his exercises, he pulled out a thick, leatherback book from a drawer in his office desk. The lettering on the front read in gold cursive 'The rise and fall of cults.'

'Holy fucking shit. This brats' into cults' thought the student.

Instead of feeling an impending sense of neverending doom, they almost squeeled in absolute delight.

[Name][Lastname] was a true crime junkie.

Every murder mystery case, every cult, they knew all about it. The reasons as for the murders, the childhoods of the cult leaders. They. Knew. Everything.

The student cautiously stalked closer to the Prince, like how naive prey checks to see if it's predator is asleep. The Prince lifted his head from the inside of his book to look at the person coming closer and closer to him.

The student asked prudently, "Prince Beta, are you a fan of true crime?"

His eyes almost immediately grew a light in them that was not there before. His cheeks tinged a bit with pink as he looked curiously at the young student. "Are you?" he asked back.

Quickly, the student nodded their head aggressively, agreeing with the prince's question.

A smile stretched onto the boy's face almost immediately. "You are?! You don't think it's an odd interest?!" he screamed out.

[Name] nodded again with an even larger smile on their face. "Yes of course! I find true crime ever so fascinating! I'm even studying to go into criminology when I graduate!"

The Prince's eyes nearly sparkled like a small child's. He immediately got up from his chair and ran up to the young student. He wrapped his fingers around [Name]'s hands and brought them up in a clasp.

He then burst out in exclamation, "You, as of now, are my best friend!"

Being the new best friend of the only Prince of the Empire came with a lot of responsibilities. He now follows the commoner student around the academy grounds like a lost puppy. People had begun to whisper about how [Name] had cast some sort of spell on the prince to make him lighten up so much.

Because of his much more friendly nature, a lot of people had begun to approach him, hoping to become as close to the prince as [Name] did, but all he would do is wrap his arms around [Name]'s left arm and drag them away as he ranted away about a new cultist book he got his hands on a couple days ago.

At the end of the school day, [Name] went back to their dorm room to rest until dinnertime. They did not have to tutor Prince Beta that day since it was a Thursday, so [Name] was able to catch up on their loss of sleep.

They fell onto their creaky bed and groaned from the ache they felt in their bones. The young student shoved their head into the sunken-in pillow and nearly fell asleep.

Suddenly, a loud knock echoed throughout the small bedroom. [Name] groaned loudly again and got up to answer the person outside the door. The student opened their dorm door to be met with a maid in her early thirties. "Mail." she stated and then gently handed the student a neat envelope. That was unusual. Usually, the maids would shove their mail, tear it up, they would even spit on their mail. They did all of this just because the student was a commoner.

The maid walks away from the open doorway, leaving [Name] alone with their thoughts. They closed the door and stalked back to their small, wobbly desk.

The envelope was sealed with a ruby red seal, bearing the seal of the Imperial family. [Name] fingered the envelope open and took the letter out with soft fingers. The letter was written by the Crown princess, written in curly and swirly handwriting. It was an invitation to a small tea party with a couple of other noble ladies who were friends with the Crown princess.

[Name] wrote in simple print lettering a thanks and acceptance to the invitation. They licked and sealed it closed. The student then left to go to the on campus post office to send it to the Crown princess.

The student then went back to their dorm to go and try to fall asleep again.

[Name] stood outside the large glass greenhouse in the back garden of the Imperial palace. Abruptly, a young maid opened the door of the greenhouse to let the student enter.

"Welcome Mx.[Lastname]. The Crown princess has been waiting eagerly for you. Please follow me." greeted the maid as she bowed shallowly. [Name] nodded as well in greeting and followed behind the maid as quickly as they could.

The maid lead the young student through different sections of flowers ranging in shapes, sizes, and colour. What specifically caught [Name]'s attention was a small patch of pink Azaleas. 'How lovely.' thought [Name]

After a little bit more walking, the maid had lead the young student to an elevated seating area, where several tables and chairs were sprawled about.

The Crown princess sat at a table right in the middle. She was wearing a lovely red dress, with a cascading skirt that swept below her ankles. It had puffed out, see through red sleeves thst reached up too her knuckles. Her hair was tied up in a pretty up-do hairstyle, leaving little bit of hair hanging on her shoulders. Overall, she exuded an air of elegance and superiority.

Crown princess Frieda noticed that [Name] was standing on her left side, making her sweep her head in her direction. A small smile graced her face as she welcomed the student, "Good morning Mx.[Lastname], a pleasure to see you once again."

Frieda then stood up, showing her velvet red heels with a large diamond studded into the front of it. The princess pulled out the empty chair that was next to her, and gestured for them to sit down next to her. Understanding her intention, [Name] sluggishly walked up to the princess and sat down in the seat she wanted them to sit in.

The Crown princess sat back down in her original chair and sipped on her tea. Slowly, [Name] reached out and took a cookie from the large platter of baked goods. A maid came to the student's side and poured some tea into their cup as they nibbled on the sweet treat.

"So Mx.[Lastname], you are the commoner who attends the royal academy, correct?" quipped a young daughter of unnamed Baron. She placed her teacup back down in the saucer and with a smile, rested her smiling face on her intertwined fingers.

The student looked up from their cookie with a confused expression painted on their face. Recovering quickly from their confusion, they answered in shaky voice, "Indeed. I am able to attended the Royal Academy due to a scholarship I was gifted on my 16th birthday."

The baron's daughter giggled and whispered something into the woman's ear right next to her. The commoner looked down embarrassingly into their lap, wondering what they had said to warrant such a reaction from the other woman.

The Crown princess was sitting at the head of the table, her head held high, making everyone aware of her presence. The tutor sat on the seat on Frieda's left side, which definitely caused some stares from the other attendees. Definitely wasn't a good look for the poor tutor.

Frieda coughed into her clenched fist and looked at Alicia with a blank look on her face. "The honourable Alicia Crusainia. Please mind your manners towards my guest. Don't forget your place here."

Alicia's face became a bright, hot tomato red and looked down at her lap, similarly to the young student. "Mx. [Lastname]. Lift your head."

Almost under a spell, [Name] lifted their head from their lap and looked at the Crown princess in awe. Frieda was looking at [Name] with an odd looking face with her eyebrow raised. It was a mix of boredom and curiosity.

"You are my honored guest. My little brother treasures you quite a lot, therefore, so must I." She stated as if it was a well known fact.

"Yes, your royal highness." They said in a calm and deft tone.

Freida nodded her head, making her golden curls bounce. She then turned and took another sip of her tea.

"So, [Name]! How was the tea party with my sister?" questioned Beta during one of his and the student's tutoring sessions.

The student looked at Beta with a confused look on their face. "It was alright, nothing special happened." They answer the prince.

Looking confused, Beta's head knocked to the side. "Really? Because from what I heard, my sister ripped some Baron's daughter a new one for making fun of you!"

'Making fun of me? Was that what she was doing?' [Name] thought to themselves.

"It seems that you were unaware. Maybe I could ask my sister to invite you to balls more often so that you can get better at catching on to these things!" Beta suggests with a large smile on his face, proud of his brilliant idea.

"No no no no no! I could barely handle a simple tea party! No way I'll be able to survive a ball where I have to dance!" [Name] panicked.

The prince pouted at their words, disappointed in their answer. He slumps over his desk and makes his head fall into the crook of his arms. His blonde hair fell over his arms, looking like a veil over his arms.

"Mhm.... I mean.... if you can convince your sister, and I don't have to dance... then I'll agree." [Name] softly said, scratching the back of their neck in nervousness.

Beta's head immediately shot up and with an absolutely large smile, he nodded aggressively convincing the student that he may be half bobble head.

"Then you will come to my birthday ball, right?"

[Name] answered, "Of course your majesty."

The student then sat down across from the young prince with their textbook and continued on with their lesson.

After the lesson was completed, [Name] was walking steadily through the velvet covered floors of the castle's hallways. The student placed their hands on the back of their neck and rubbed tough circles into the nape of their neck, relaxing their muscles after two and a half hours of being on the tip of their toes. Even though Prince Beta had claimed them as their best friend, [Name] still stayed on guard around him, just incase he was the type to have extreme mood swings.

[Name] groaned in pleasure as they passed through another hallway of the residential wing of the Imperial castle.

"Mx.[Lastname], have you finally finished your lesson with my brother?" a voice asked behind the student.

The student whipped their head around and caught the eyes of the young Crown Princess.

The Crown Princess was wearing a light cream colored dress with many flowy layers that what [Name] assumed was to let wind in more easily to cool the princess down.

"Your Royal Highness, you are correct. I have just finished mine and the prince's tutoring session." answered the student with a cautious look on their face.

Frieda giggled maturely at the look of [Name]'s wary expression. "Have no worry Mx.[Lastname], I don't bite." she joked.

They nodded at the Princess's words.

"Then why don't you join me in my office for some tea? I'd like to discuss something of importance with you." she proposed.

The student nodded, making the princess walk past their side and leading them towards the direction of her office. The pair walked past several paintings of similar blonde haired individuals, who the student assumed was members of the Imperial family who had unfortunately passed.

The two came to two large wood doors that lead to Frieda's office. One of the guards who were standing on duty, opened the doors for the pair to let them in.

[Name] realised that the Crown princess' favourite colour was a red and gold. Many of the furniture was lined with a deep velvet including the long curtains with gold linings and stitches. The only things that were not those two colours were the floor, her desk and her book shelves that lined every wall of the office.

In the middle of the room were two overstuffed couches with a coffee table in the middle, most likely to hold meetings such as the one the student and princess were about to have.

"Tell Isabella to prepare some tea for my guest and I. Also tell her to bring some of the new pastries we received from the Levan kingdom." The princess ordered one of the knight, making him turn is tail and gallop to where [Name] guessed was where the maid was.

"Please Mx.[Lastname], take a seat." Frieda says while gesturing to the couch.

With unprecedented caution, they shift over to the sofa and sit down and nearly sink in due to cushiness. The princess giggle from their distress as they tried to sit up in the embracing seat.

A maid enters the office with a cart being pushed by her. Ontop was a large teapot and two teacups with saucers. On the level below it was a tower of pastries which [Name] recognised from it's appearance at the tea party from the day before.

The maid sets the teacups and saucers down in front of the pair and quickly prepares the tea and pastries. She then curtsys to the Crown princess, bows her head at the young student, turns on her heel and leaves.

Frieda languidly picks the teacup up and takes a long sip of the steaming hot tea. While [Name] is wandering how the princess is not reacting to the pain of the most definitely hot beverage, Frieda speaks up, "I have asked you to come here with me today because I would like to apologise to you."

She places the teacup down in it's saucer and looks and [Name] with a sympathetic look on her face. "What the honorable Alicia Crusainia did at my tea party was extremely rude and uncaring. She simply has no idea how tough one's life can be."

[Name] stunded in silence. Why was the Crown princess apologising to a commoner like them? Not wanting to deny the princess' words, the student looked down into the light brown of their tea and said, "It's alright. Honestly speaking, I didn't even understand what she had said, so I didn't feel anything."

Frieda looks surprised at their words. "But aren't you the top student at the Royal Academy? How could you not know?" She questioned.

They look embarrassed as they quickly answer, "I am just book smart! And I honestly have a lot of trouble applying my knowledge in real-life situations. I read a royal etiquette book before I left for the palace, but it honestly didn't come in very handy..." they muttered off.

The Crown princess' face morphed into a look of conviction. "Then, after school every day when you don't have to tutor Beta, you will spend it with me, and I will teach you everything you need to know about social cues, etiquette, conversations, everything!" the princess says in a voice that screamed determined.

Nearly jumping out of their chair, [Name] tries to plead that the princess did not need to go out of her way to teach a commoner. The princess merely ignored them and gently ordered them to eat the prepared pastries.

Now the young student's weekly schedule would consist of every Monday, Wednesday and Friday being spent tutoring Beta, and every Tuesday, Thursday, Saturday and Sunday being tutored by the Crown princess. They would almost always leave the palace absolutely drained of their energy, a mere husk of their former self as they rode the carriage baring the Imperial coat of arms back to the dorm houses on the school campus.

The days were feeling longer and longer as Beta's birthday ball's date came closer and closer. The blonde prince would chat with the young student about anything and everything that came to his mind. The friendship between the two of them had become even stronger than before for no particular rhyme or reason. Beta would lug behind them during school hours, despite not being in the same year, and would frighten off the little amount of friends that the student would have had before the prince.

Soon enough, Beta's birthday ball came up.

A formal invitation had already been sent to them, written personally by the spry prince himself in loopy lettering.

The student got dressed in the most formal clothes they had on hand. Sure it was a bit tattered and a few small holes were sprinkled on the ends, but it would be fine as long as no one looked at them! And besides, they're a commoner! They are probably just going to sit in the corner of the hall and only get up to get more food and drinks.

With that plan in mind, the student climbed carefully into the imperial branded carriage once again and rode off to the party.

Soon enough, the young student arrived at the Imperial palace. They stumbled out of the carriage and brisket walked into the large building, not wanting to be noticed by the announcer so that they could hide away as best as can from the nobles attending the ball that night.

They had finally reached the banquet hall, entering and hiding away from plain sight from the noblesmen and women.

"Now then! Announcing the entrance of Crown Princess Frieda Köinig and Prince Beta Köinig!" announced a high ranking servant from the top of the large staircase in the middle of the banquet hall.

The entire hall was decked to the nines with red, gold and white. The diamonds hanging from the chandelier were burning even more brighter than what the young student assumed was usual. Long banquet tables were lined with finger foods of all varieties.

A servant walked up to the scholar and offered them a tall flute of champagne. Gingerly, they took the glass off the tray, making the servant walk away, and taking a few sips and proceeding to nearly lurch it out from the taste. Okay, they are definitely not a fan of champagne, duley noted.

In that moment, the Crown Princess and the prince entered through the doors at the top of the stairs. Beta held his elder sister's hand in his as he lead her down the stairs. All of the noblemen and women stared in awe of the siblings.

Beta was wearing a lovely white suit with light red and blue jewels sprinkled all of the jacket. He wore blue cufflinks and large rubies were studded into the edges of his collar. This was a big upgrade from the white tunic and black pants he wore during their tutoring sessions, or the navy blue military styled uniform they wear at the academy.

Frieda looked stunning as usual. She was wearing a new cream coloured ball gown, embedded with small diamonds across the fabric. Elbow length gloves covered her arms and gold sleeper rings were slid up her fingers, making them glimmer in the chandelier light. A floral styled tiara sat on top of her head, the same coloured diamonds were set in it as well.

The siblings came to the end of the staircase and gracefully smiled at the crowd. Frieda and Beta were quickly surrounded by the stuffy noblemen and women. [Name] stood aside and stayed out of sight of the siblings.

Beta leaned into Frieda's ear and whispered something to her. His words made the princess look around, almost frantically. The curls in her hair bounce from the movement of her head. Frieda quickly caught the eyes of the commoner, making a graceful smile spread onto her face. She tapped Beta's upper arm and pointed into [Name]'s direction, whispering something into his ear. All of this happened while the said student was slowly sipping on their champagne and gazing outside the stained coloured window.

Frieda and Beta walked past all the noble people, making them gasp and quiet down immediately. "[Name]! You're really here!" announced Beta as he unhooked his sister's hand from his arm.

Frieda smiled in happiness from the sight of Beta speaking animatingly with his tutor. "I am quite glad to see you here Mx.[Lastname]. I hope that you have so far been having a good time."

[Name] nodded at the Princess's words with a chuckle. "I have. No need to worry your royal majesty." Frieda nodded at their words and let her younger brother control the way the current conversation is going.

The cusp of the birthday ball was on it's way. Everyone was jovial and talkative. Frieda had left [Name] and Beta to themselves to that she could converse with the other invitees. Beta stuck to [Name]'s side like usual.

The duo had moved closer to the end of the hall, nearer to the food lined banquet table.

Suddenly, a loud trumpet sounded through the hall, bringing attention to a well dressed servant standing at the end of the staircase. Frieda stood in the middle of the staircase, her dress flowed down the stairs like a flowing river.

Frieda with a calming smile, announced, "I would like to present my gift to my little brother. He and I had a long discussion together about what would be the best present for his birthday. And I would like to present to you all what I had come up with. But first, I would like [Name] [Lastname] to come near the front."

[Name] stood in fear from the sound of their name leaving the princess' lips.

'Shitshitshitshitshitshit.' thought [Name] while they cautiously approached the front of the thick crowd of loudly dressed nobles. When the commoner finally reached the front of the crowd, they stood there, shifting there weight from foot to foot, shivering under the eyes of the Crown princess.

Soon enough, the princess signals at someone from behind her to do something. The large doors open up and a young woman comes tumbling out. An imperial guard grabs what little left of her brown, wet hair and roughly shoves her down the stairs. She stops rolling conveniently infront of [Name]'s feet, dirtying it with blood from a large gash on her right cheek.

Frieda climbs down the stairs and grabs the girl's hair and forces her head up to look into [Name]'s terrified eyes.

"Do you remember this girl Beta?" questioned the Crown princess, looking at her younger brother who was standing right next to his tutor. Beta looked down in awe at the beaten and bruised girl kneeling infront of him and [Name]. He then leaps from his tutor's side and falls into his sister's embrace. "Thank you thank you thank you! Oh, I love this present so so much!"

The young student stared at the bloodied girl with a look of terror in their eyes. This girl looked so oddly familiar. As if they had seen her before.

"Who is this girl, may I ask your royal majesty?" asked the tutor, not looking away from the nearly catatonic girl.

"This, my dear, is the honorable Alicia Crusainia, the one who had made fun of you at my tea party two months ago." answered the princess in a matter of factly tone of voice.

'Holy fucking shit she's fucking crazy!'

Beta made a nearly inaudible squeeling noise of happiness and quickly when back to [Name]'s side. "Now I get to take care of her properly for making fun of you! Aren't you so excited!?"

A thick sheet of sweat covered [Name]'s face as they stared down at their bloodied shoes. Frieda took notice of this action and nearly flung herself to [Name]'s side when she saw the blood on their shoes.

Frieda stomped on Alicia's head making her lower her head for the commoner.

"Now then, let's discuss our future from this time onward. How about we begin with giving you a proper title and moving you into the palace with my little brother and I"

Posted on: 30 August 2024 23:46

[thefreakydeaky]

You're No Good Masterlist

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Part 6

Part 7

Part 8 - Ending

[nickeverdeen]

Horizon Forbidden West masterlist

Match-up:

Nothing yet

Preferences:

Horizon Forbidden West characters reacting to you flinching during an argument

Aloy

Imagine:

Nothing yet

Hcs:

Nothing yet

Smut:

Nothing yet

Alphabet:

Nothing yet

Varl

Imagine:

Nothing yet

Hcs:

Nothing yet

Smut:

Nothing yet

Alphabet:

Nothing yet

Elisabeth Sobeck

Imagine:

Nothing yet

Hcs:

Nothing yet

Smut:

Nothing yet

Alphabet:

Nothing yet

Sylens

Imagine:

Nothing yet

Hcs:

Nothing yet

Alphabet:

Nothing yet

Beta

Imagine:

Nothing yet

Hcs:

Nothing yet

Smut:

Nothing yet

Alphabet:

Nothing yet

Erend

Imagine:

Nothing yet

Hcs:

Nothing yet

Smut:

Nothing yet

Alphabet:

Nothing yet

Petra

Imagine:

Nothing yet

Hcs:

Nothing yet

Smut:

Nothing yet

Alphabet:

Nothing yet

Tilda

Imagine:

Nothing yet

Hcs:

Nothing yet

Alphabet:

Nothing yet

Alva

Imagine:

Nothing yet

Hcs:

Nothing yet

Smut:

Nothing yet

Alphabet:

Nothing yet

[candyfloss5000]

Being Zo and Varl's child headcanons

A/n: SPOILERS FOR HORIZON FORBIDDEN WEST

Zo is the best mother in the world.

She teaches you how to respect Earth and all of its living organisms, she also tells what to fight for (your home, friends, innocent lives etc.)

Zo spends less of her time at "The Base" and in Plainsong after the Zeniths are defeated so she can focus more on you

Oh and you're 100% babysat by Aloy, Beta, Alva, Erend, Kotallo and Sona

Because of Aloy, Beta, Alva, Erend and Kotalla babysitting you since you were a toddler, calling them you're aunts and uncles has become a second nature to you.

Oh my god my poor baby Sona when she first met you :,(

My girl was in tears when she first saw you because of how much you resembled Varl when he was a baby

Zo first introduces you to "The Base" when you're thirteen she also gives you you're own Focus then aswell because she thinks your a responsible young person and deserve to know the knowledge of your ancestors

Aloy definitely teaches you how to hunt (with Zo's permission of course) whether it's the wildlife or machines. Moments when you use your Focus to identify machines weakspots with Aloy's guidance, make her realise how much you reminder her of her younger self and how much she reminds herself of Rost.

Beta does what she does with everyone else - she explains the knowledge of the Old Ones to you in simple terms to get you to comprehend it

Alva teaches you about all sorts of information from data cores whether its agriculture or astrology or hydrophysics just anything she finds fascinating or thinks you'll find fascinating

Erend is a big father figure to you. Aside from Aloy he was one of your father's dearest friends. Erend tells you stories of your father, how loyal he was to his friends, how selfless. Not a day goes by when he doesn't tell you how proud Varl would be of her

Kotalla doesn't visually show affection, as he shows it in different ways. To you his form of affection is teaching you how to be a warrior and teaching you how to perfect everything he's taught you. You might not visibly see it, but Kotalla does adore you and would fight for you anywhere, anyday

Sona takes you East for months at a time to show you where Varl grew up - the Nora, the Carja and the Oseram lands. She teaches you their cultures, beliefs and history.

Growing up without a father was rough for you. Yes, you had more than you could ask for, but there still is that one piece that's missing from your life. You're family has picked up on this, by how you zone out sometimes or go through periods of silence. Aloy found a slight coping mechanism for you because she uses the mechanism herself. Whenever you feel detached or conflicted you can activate a hologram of your father with your Focus to talk to. Aloy does this with a hologram of Rost and it helps her get through her long journeys.

Oh and don't think for one second that your family of warriors won't be there for you.

You've got an important arena trial? Auntie Alva is cheering you along all the way no matter what.

Bullies at school? Uncle Kotalla will send them a death stare that could stop their small pathetic hearts.

Kidnapped by bandits? Don't panic, your badass grandmother Sona will destroy them and come to your aid.

Threatened to be an Outcast by The Chorus because you're part Nora? Sit back and watch mother Zo talk some godamn sense into them.

Questioned on your intelligence? Auntie Beta will argue agaisnt them and pull up your progress on your knowledge of the Old Ones with her focus to prove them wrong

Allies turn on you? Uncle Erend won't hesitant to smash them apart with his hammer.

Mocked for being fatherless? Aunt Aloy will convince you to challenge them in the arena so you can beat their ass.

Got a lead on something big? They're with you all the way.

[yesimilkdamilkman]

girlies we need to bring beta fics back, that big sexy man is lacking the in the fic department!!

[yanderenightmare]

TW: slight nsfw, omegaverse

gn reader

The big, strong Alpha who is super needy and clingy with his omega mate. Utterly infatuated by you—ecstatic you finally agreed to be his. Every day is a new honeymoon, wrapping you in his big arms and lifting you off your feet, squishing you tender. Telling you you’re gorgeous, nearly getting teary-eyed when gushing over how cute and bite-sized you are, even when you’ve got sleepy eyes and bedhead, wearing what you slept in—his oversized shirt.

He just can’t handle how baby you are.

Your mating mark has only just healed—the skin thin and tender, scarring nicely into a perfect print of teeth that are unmistakably his. And still, he wants to mark you anew every single day.

You’re trying to read. Lying on the couch with a book perched atop the mass of your giant Alpha boyfriend, who has you draped under him like a thick blanket. Your chin rests on the meaty muscle of his shoulder, peaking over the blade and his broad back to the book you struggle to hold open, arms only barely reaching around his waist in the position—it’s a little straining, but it’s the best you could ask for as you have no chance telling him to get off without him looking up at you, big puppy dogs eyes on the verge of tears.

His face rests in the grove of your neck, licking and sucking the healed bite he’d left there a couple of months ago. Grazing it with his teeth, he gives it a few lingering nibbles that cause a slight sting.

“Hey, you,” you warn, like an owner calling the name of their pet when they’re doing something they know they’re not supposed to. His movement stills, teeth resting in half a bite. “The doctor said to leave it alone.”

He hums and goes back to sucking again, only tenderly kissing it.

You continue reading, but it becomes impossible as his back raises. The link of your arms breaks, not long enough to sustain the stretch, and your book pays the price, lost in the struggle and falling to a close on the floor.

You sigh with a blank stare at the ceiling above, thinking—this is hopeless.

Meanwhile, he continues unbothered, mouthing along your artery up to your ear. You shy away from the tickle, and he moves on to your cheek.

“Hey—”

He eats the protest from your lips, replacing it with his tongue. You don’t push him away—it would only make him whine, so you indulge him. He growls softly as you open your mouth for him.

His hands squeeze your waist impatiently, slipping beneath the band of your boxer shorts and immediately grabbing both handfuls of your ass—lifting you and slotting himself between your thighs. The bulge is enough to make you moan.

“Geez…” you mumble once your lips part, speaking thickly with breaths “It’s like a never-ending rut with you.”

His voice is even worse off. “I can’t help it. You’re just so pretty.” A continuous whimper laces each syllable, all but feeding you the words, unable to keep his lips off you. “I need you so bad it hurts.”

Beneath the whining, there’s a rumble in his chest. You feel it as you put your hands on his chest, a low running growl pushed down and kept there as he does all in his power to hold back.

You cup his big jaw with both your hands, looking at his miserable face with a sigh, “What am I supposed to do with you?” You look him square in the eye with strictness. His hands all but quake, giving you the silent look of pleading, begging for your mercy.

You end up sighing again, this time in defeat. 

“Okay, big boy. Fine. Once more before bed. But you better go easy—I wanna be able to walk tomorrow—”

He kisses your pout and moves downwards, smearing sloppy pecks down your chest, chanting, “Thank you, thank you—”  and pulling your shorts with him as he goes.

♡ BNHA – Deku, Shoto, Denki, Kirishima, Hawks, Natsuo, stupid soft Bakugou ♡ JJK – Gojo, Yuji, Geto, Yuuta, Choso ♡ HQ – Bokuto, Miya twins, Kageyama, Kuro ♡ CSM – Denji ♡ AOT – Eren, Armin ♡ DS – Zenitsu, Tanjiro

♡ FEM x M INSERT masterlist ♡ GN x M INSERT masterlist

[soaps-mohawk]

Cherry Red, Crimson Blood

Chapter 35: Threads

Summary: Pack bonds are made up of delicate threads, small fibers webbing together the dynamics and relationships that make up each individual pack. The omega stands in the middle, holding the pieces together, keeping the pack from crumbling by clinging to those threads like a strongman holds pillars up with chains.

Pairings: Poly 141 x reader

Word Count: 11,740 words

Warnings: Alpha/Beta/Omega dynamics, Alternate Universe, angst, descriptions of physical pain, brief description of drowning, medical stuff, panic, crying, panic attacks, nightmares, PTSD, very heavy emotions, alcohol and brief mention of alcoholism, language, fighting (not physically), Kyle being the best boy, aftermath of trauma, brief mentions of the events of the previous chapter, guilt and shame, angst, and finally some comfort after the hurt (but not quite what you'd expect)

A/N: So I may have been slightly wrong, the angst isn't over, but it's not quite as intense as it has been. There are little tidbits of comfort in this one, though it's not like "okay it's over, let me wrap you in this blanket and everything is fine and happy now". It's...you'll see. If you're waiting for the fine and happy comfort then...you might want to wait a few chapters still. The comfort will come on slowly, but it has officially started.

MASTERLIST | <- Previous | Next ->

Screaming. 

Someone is screaming. 

It hurts your ears, high-pitched and ringing. Your hands cover them, but even that can’t block out the sound. 

It’s ringing in your own head. 

Your body hurts, every joint and muscle aching and throbbing. They’ve been locked in place too long, frozen in one position, a safe position. Safety. That’s what you’re seeking, that’s what you’re trying to find. That’s why you’re here. 

This isn’t a safe space anymore. 

The walls are crumbling, the darkness is fading. There’s light seeping in, threatening to pull you out, make you face whatever is waiting on the other side. It’s not a comforting light, it’s bright and piercing and threatening. You don’t want to leave the darkness. You don’t want to face the light. You want to stay there, stay frozen, stay safe. 

Your throat burns, raw and painful with every breath. 

It’s you. 

You’re screaming. 

Hands are flying, mouth open in a scream. It’s a horrible sound, grating and feral sounding. Your body twists and turns as they try to hold you down. No restraints. You’ll just hurt yourself more. 

Blood is flying, splattering on the gurney, the floor, the walls. Yours or someone else’s? It’s hard to tell. 

Simon. 

“Simon!” 

He snaps out of his daze, his eyes darting up to look at Dr. Keller across the gurney. Her hand is around his wrist, your elbow knocking against his forearm as you try to fight whatever it is you think you’re seeing. Maybe you’re seeing nothing at all. 

“I know.” Dr. Keller’s voice is soft despite the chaos of the moment. Her gaze is firm but comforting. She knows. “I need you to hold her still. She’s going to hurt herself further if she can’t calm down.” 

She’s going to hurt someone else too. 

The monitors are beeping and screaming. They managed to get a blood pressure cuff around your arm before you snapped out of the daze he’d put you in and started fighting. You’re like a wild animal, cornered and fighting for your life again with a renewed vigor. Renewed for now. If you don’t calm down again, something will give out. 

There won’t be any coming back from that. 

“Don’t be afraid if you hurt her.” Dr. Keller says, squeezing his wrist. “Bones can be fixed.” 

He catches your wrists in his hand, pinning them down against your chest. He uses his weight to his advantage, pushing his arm into you as he leans down so you’re face to face. You let out another scream, fighting against him but he has you beat. He’s bigger, stronger, calmer. 

“Look at me.” He says, his alpha rumbling low in his chest. It has even the beta nurses stopping in their tracks to look at him. The only one unaffected is Dr. Keller as she uses this moment to her advantage. 

You stop fighting him, breathing in heavy gasps as you stare right up into his eyes. Wild and untamed, pupils dilated in your aggressive state. Dilated out of aggression or dilated out of fear? Perhaps both. Beads of sweat slide down your face, your body hot under his. It mixes with the blood on your skin, blood from your own injuries and from the Shadows you killed. Your cheek is bruised, discolored from broken blood vessels. Your left eye will swell shut soon. He needs to get you calm before then. 

It’s almost cute, the way you bare your teeth up at him. He might have thought it cute in a different setting, if your life wasn’t dangling over a ledge right now. A low growl rumbles in your chest, a warning that has his own hackles raising. He bares his teeth back, an answering growl, deeper and angrier, rumbles in his own chest. The nurses take a step back. Even Dr. Keller pauses at the sound. 

Yet, despite the threat in his growl, it doesn’t deter you one bit. Your knee drives into his side, making him grunt from the impact, but he doesn’t let up. You’re fighting him again, trying to wiggle your way out of his hold. If he pushes any harder, he might break a rib. You’re going to break something if you don’t stop. 

You’re too far gone to recognize anything but fear and danger. You’re only going to fight, only going to attack anything you perceive as a threat. You won’t even recognise him. He has to get you to calm down before you have a heart attack. He considers getting one of the nurses to bring Johnny in, but there’s no guarantee that will work. You’ll just perceive him as another threat, another danger. More people in the room will only make you more aggressive...make your omega more aggressive. 

He’s not dealing with you. He’s dealing with your omega in her raw form, the animal deep underneath forced out of her hiding place. Whoever said omegas are weak never had to face one in this state. 

He stares down at you as you fight and scream, battering his side with your knees but he can hardly feel the pain. His arm is still throbbing where you bit him, but he can hardly see the blood streaked on his skin. 

He has to save you. 

He can’t let all of this go to waste. 

They’ll never recover if they lose you now. 

He moves almost seamlessly, time seeming to slow as he lets you go. He unclips his vest and rips it over his head in one movement, uncaring as it hits the floor with a heavy thud. You lunge up at him but he’s ready, catching you before your lower body can leave the gurney. It’s a risk. A huge risk, but it’s all he can think of doing. It’s hardly the worst place to be if things go wrong, if this fails. If he does fail, at least he’ll know he tried. 

He pushes his mask up to his chin, pressing your face right into his neck. 

Your nose pushes against his scent gland as he cups the back of your head, holding you there. He projects his scent as strong as he can, hoping it can reach some deep part of your mind, some glimmer of you that’s left in there. 

If this goes wrong, you’ll rip out skin and veins with your teeth. He’ll bleed out on the floor before they can even get him on a gurney. 

He wraps his other arm around you, holding you as still as he can. Tears prick his eyes as he holds you, shoving away the beeping machines, the panic still thrumming inside of him. Scruffing you was only round one of this fight. He should have held it longer, should have been brave enough to do it a second time. 

He can still feel it, your neck in his hand, the way you gave in so easily. You had no choice, he gave you none. It was necessary, it was vital that he did it. You wouldn’t have made it this far if he hadn’t. 

He should do it again. It would be easy, just slip his hand down and squeeze and you’ll be gone, lost in your head again and under his control. Maybe then he’d get you to calm down, get you out of this state and free from the danger looming closer and closer. 

Heart attack, stroke, organ failure. 

Why couldn’t Price be the one to go after you? Why couldn’t it be Price standing here making this decision. 

“I’m sorry.” He whispers before slipping his hand down, wrapping it around the back of your neck again. 

Pain. 

You’re in pain. 

You try to fade away again, try to push yourself back into the darkness to avoid the pain, but you can’t. 

There’s no escaping it. 

Your body hurts, every joint and muscle throbbing. Fire licks at your very cells, burning hot through your veins, scorching your skin. Safety. You want safety again. You want to retreat back into yourself, back into the comfort only the darkness can offer you. 

Nowhere is safe anymore. 

Tears are rolling down your cheeks, the light pressing closer and closer. It’s somewhere above you, shining down in offending shades of white. You can see it behind your eyelids no matter how hard you try to squeeze them together. There’s no escaping this light. There’s no retreating back into safety. There’s no safety anymore. 

You’re underwater, slowly rising to the surface. There’s sounds around you, muffled and dampened by the water. You need to breathe, you need to inhale precious oxygen but you can’t get to the surface fast enough. Lungs burning, your fingers claw at the water but you can’t reach it, you can’t swim fast enough. 

Your hands curl into soft fabric as you cough, choking on imaginary water. There’s warmth surrounding you, pressed in on all sides. You’re leaning against something, something hard and solid and warm. The sounds are louder now, mixing into a convoluted cocktail of constant noise. You hate it. 

Pain ripples through your throat as you let out a groan, the sound catching and cracking on the rough edges of your vocal chords. Another choked sound leaves your lips, pain rippling through your very nerves. The skin on your face is burning, simmering ashes being fanned by every tear sliding down your cheeks. 

You’re crying. 

There’s a deep sound coming from under you. It’s vibrating against your body, your pulsing ears focusing on that sound. It’s familiar. You’ve heard it before, somewhere back in the recesses of your mind. 

Your mind. 

It’s there. You can feel it beginning to take shape, thoughts beginning to form out of the fractured darkness. You’re not in your mind anymore, your mind is in you. You’re a being inside of a body, a body wracked with pain. The urge to retreat back is strong, but you can’t. That part of you has been closed off, sealed away by the light. 

Fingers and toes twitch, tingling and throbbing with the cold despite the fire blazing its way through your veins. It is cold, your hand pulling at the softness you’re clinging to. The low vibration begins again, rumbling through you, igniting something in the back of your mind. 

You know it. It’s familiar. 

Something tingles in the back of your mind, starting to come to life. Despite the agony there’s something in there, something warm and comforting. There’s no name for it, no thought flashing through the swirling mass of neurons slowly taking shape. It’s soft and warm and whispering to you. 

Wake up. 

Wake up. 

Wake up! 

Your eyes open before you can stop them. You’re immediately blinded, eyes throbbing from the bright white light above you, a high pitched whine leaving your lips. It rattles through your throat, broken and squeaking through your shredded trachea. You clench your eyes shut again, wincing away from the intrusive light, the movement sending a bolt of pain through your body like an electric shock. You let out another garbled sound, your fist tugging on the fabric it’s clenching. 

“I know, I’m sorry sweetie.” A voice says, the light disappearing before another takes its place, softer and lighter and less painful. 

Your eyes crack open again, still throbbing despite the light being removed. Your entire body is throbbing, pulsing like an exposed nerve. You feel like an exposed nerve, weak and vulnerable. It triggers something deep in your brain, the light starting to dim. Something is rising, something is coming. You want to lay back, let it take over, let it take control. You want to sink into the darkness again. The darkness is safe, the darkness is secure. 

The beeping is getting louder. Beeping, that’s what that sound is. There’s something beeping. It’s getting faster and faster. You’re starting to go numb, the tingling in your fingers and toes fading away. It’s not so cold anymore, the ache in your limbs fading into oblivion. You’re fading into oblivion. 

“Oi! None of that.” 

You’re awake. You let out a disgruntled sound as the warmth and comfort leaves you, deserting you in favor of retreating into the recesses of your mind again. A shiver runs down your spine, your very skin tingling with pinpricks of pain as it goes. 

“Open your eyes again for me, love.” 

Your body moves before you can tell it not to, your eyes fluttering open again. You’re squinting despite the bright light being gone. Any light is too much, your mind seeking out the comforting darkness once more. 

Darkness makes you vulnerable. 

In the dark, you’re blind to things that may be hiding there. 

No. 

No more darkness. 

You want the light. 

Scents flood your brain as your eyes fully open, slamming into you like a wave. It’s too much, nearly choking you again as you try to register everything. The burning scent of sterilizer, the soft scent of clean linens, the harsh scent of chemicals. There’s a soft scent mixing in with the others, something easing the turmoil in your mind just slightly. Above all else, though, is the intense smell of leather and something soft and fresh. It overpowers almost all of them, standing out distinctly. It makes your nose throb, something tickling in the back of your mind. You’re afraid of the scent, yet...there’s something else. Something...familiar. 

“Back with us yet?” The sound rumbles under you again. 

“Nearly there.” Another voice says. “Heart rate is coming down again. Still feverish, though.” 

You’re suddenly aware of your body again, the pains, the aches, the burning, the cold. You’re trembling, your skin prickling from how cold it is. You try to press forward against the warmth in front of you, but the movement has pain slashing through your very cells. Another pathetic whine tears through your throat, every movement sending stabbing pain through your very being. 

“C...C-Cold.” You manage to croak out, the word forming clumsily on your tongue. It feels heavy, like you’re relearning how to speak. 

“I know.” The softer voice says, something dragging across your skin. “We’re trying our best.” 

Something moves against your back, dragging against your skin. Whatever it is, it’s warm, but it’s rough. You push into it, something telling you to get closer, to wrap yourself in it and let it suffocate you. Somehow it’s comforting to you, somehow it’s familiar. 

Slowly thoughts and sensations begin to return to you, your mind dragging itself from the depths it had sunk into. 

It was purposeful. 

You did it to save yourself. 

You’re shaking for a different reason now, suddenly aware of the parts of your body that ache the most. Your shoulder, your cheek, your throat, your wrists. There’s a deep chill that has settled in your bones, sinking past the fever and the pain, past the memories beginning to resurface, past the hopelessness and the anger and the fear. 

“Simon?” You croak out, the name burning its way through your dry throat. You desperately want something to drink, anything to ease the burning desert in your mouth. 

“It’s me, love.” The sound rumbles under you again. 

Leather. Eucalyptus. Warmth. Alpha. 

You groan, trying to shift closer but the tensing of your muscles has pain screaming through your body. A shuddering breath leaves your lips, your body tensing until it passes. 

“Try not to move too much.” The other voice says, a hand coming to rest on your arm. You’re still clutching Simon’s sweatshirt in your hand like it’s the only thing keeping you tethered to this earthly plane. 

It might be. 

“Dr. Keller?” You croak out, recognizing that voice. 

“I’m here too sweetie.” She says somewhere behind you. “Take it easy, you’ve had a rough go of it.” 

She’s not wrong. 

The memories are coming back slowly, each one playing through your head like an episode of some fucked up television show. Except, it isn’t a television show. It’s your life. 

You hate it. 

“John?” You ask, trying to get your tongue to work, but you desperately need water. 

“Probably yelling at every person who crosses his path.” Simon says. “He was blazing a path to hell and back earlier trying to get ahold of anyone he could yell at involved in this.” He rubs your back. “He’ll be here as soon as he’s calmed down. Kyle and Johnny are working overtime trying to help restrain him.” 

You'll always be a second thought. 

“You?” You ask, unable to form the whole question you want to ask. Why are you here and not with your pack? 

He's quiet for a moment. “We got here before John and Kyle did.” His hand stills against your back, palm pressing below your shoulder blades. “You wouldn't let anyone close to you. The doc said it's normal, coming out of that state. I had to help keep you calm so you could get patched up. Then you wouldn't let me leave.” 

Your fingers ache from how hard they're gripping his sweatshirt. He stayed. He's the one here with you, not your alpha. 

You let out a groan, the pain starting to intensify. There’s a throbbing in your calf, and a deep ache starting to pulse in your joints. You’re almost glad for it, the turmoil in your mind starting to twist and fog your thoughts pushed aside in favor of the pain screaming at the forefront of your brain. 

“Time for more pain medicine.” Dr. Keller says somewhere behind you. “You’ll probably get sleepy, but rest is what you need right now.” 

You let out another groan, pressing your face back against Simon’s chest. Despite the pain in your body, there’s an even deeper ache in your chest. It’s not a physical one. Your alpha isn’t here. He’s left you again, abandoned you in favor of something else, something he deems more important. 

Tears are brimming in your eyes as they slip closed, the exhaustion and the drowsiness from the pain medicine taking over. 

It’s not quite so cold when you wake up next. It’s brighter in the room, the light not quite so artificial as it had been the first time. There’s no body against yours, no warmth seeping into your skin or scent in your nose. Your fingers twitch, almost like they want to seek it out again. 

You’re alone. 

You let out a quiet breath, your brows furrowing. Your shoulder aches, throbbing in time with the beep of the heart monitor. It hurts less to move as you shift your arm to itch the other. It’s horribly itchy, but your fingers meet gauze instead. 

Right. Phil had cut you there. Not very deep, but still deep enough to hurt. Just another injury to add to the list. 

You try to lift your arm but burning pain shoots through your shoulder. You wince, letting out a quiet moan of pain as you drop it back into the bed. You breathe as the pain shoots through you, swirling through your veins before it begins to settle. 

“You shouldn’t try to move too much.” A voice cuts through the silence. 

Your head whips to the side, your arm shooting out to grip the side rail as pain burns through your body like lava. It seeps slowly from your left shoulder down to your toes and into your very hair follicles. You let out another groan of pain, your eyes squeezing closed as you wait for it to pass. 

“Sorry.” The voice says softly. “I suppose that didn’t help any.” 

You open your eyes, still breathing heavily as the pain begins to fade. Your hand is still wrapped around the side rail as you stare at John. He’s seated next to the bed, his elbows on his knees as he stares at you. He looks tired, eyes puffy with dark circles around them. He’s in a simple green shirt and cargo pants, yet he’s not quite as put together as he normally is. His hair is sticking up in different directions, his beard scruffier than normal. There’s a faint pink line of what was probably once a cut on his cheek. 

It’s the first time you’ve seen him in weeks. 

You should be happy. 

You should be ecstatic. 

You should be relieved. 

Yet, all you can feel is pain and anger and betrayal. 

“There’s nothing I can say that will make this better.” He says, his voice rougher than usual, even after returning from a deployment. His eyes shine with emotion. You hate it. “There’s nothing I can say that will undo what happened.” He runs a hand over his mouth, letting out a breath through his nose. “This shouldn’t have happened in the first place. We should have known better, we should have questioned it.” He shakes his head. “We put too much trust in those above us, and we were all fooled.” 

Tears blur your eyes as you stare at him. He’s not just talking about Shepherd and the initiative. He’s talking about you too. 

“I regret it more than any decision I’ve ever made. I’ll regret it for the rest of my life,” He continues. “You put your trust in me, and I failed you. I let this happen to you because I got too caught up thinking about the greater good of the pack and I ignored what was right in front of me. You’re here because of me, because of the decisions I made. I had one job, and now you’re paying for my failure.” 

He pauses for a moment, tears shining in his own eyes. You should feel surprise, sympathy, something. All you can feel is hatred. He doesn’t deserve to cry over you. He doesn’t deserve this chance to try and explain himself to you, to try and give excuses for his actions. He made his choice. He made it very clear where his loyalties lie, where they’ve always been, where that line was laid before he even claimed you. It was never about you. Nothing was ever about you. It was always the initiative, and then when the initiative turned out to be false, it was about the ‘greater good’. You should have been the greater good. You should have been their focus. Instead they all betrayed you. 

They betrayed you in the end. 

“I made a bad call.” He continues on. “I shouldn’t have left you there. I shouldn’t have made that decision. It never would have played out how I thought it would in my head at that moment. Now you’re here, like this, because I made a stupid mistake.” 

He stares at you for a long moment, as if he’s waiting for you to say something, as if you  should have something to say in response. He’s waiting for an acceptance to his half-assed apology, as if his words can somehow undo the pain, the burning in your wrists, the throbbing in your shoulder, the agony every time you simply move a limb. As if his half-assed apology can somehow undo the weeks of depression and anguish and the worry and the fear. As if his half-assed apology can make up for the way they all cut you off, treating you like a traitor before abandoning you. As if his half-assed apology can undo the hours and hours of torment and pain the man you once thought of as a family friend unleashed on you all because of them. 

The hatred burns almost as hot as the lava in your veins, so hot you’re surprised the tear that slides down your cheek doesn’t start steaming. Your heart rate is picking up again, the monitor beeping with the sound of the anger simmering inside of you. The blood pressure cuff squeezes around your arm, a grunt of pain cracking in your throat. 

“Yeah,” You say, your voice hardly more than a whisper. You turn your head away from him, wincing as an electric shock of pain jolts through you from the motion. You drop your hand from the side rail before he can touch you, tucking your arm back under the rough blanket. “You did.” 

You have nothing more to say to him. 

John enters the room solemnly, the silence nearly palpable as they all wait in anticipation. They’re all looking at him, waiting patiently for their captain, their alpha, to speak. They always look to him, they always rely on him, they always trust him and now look where he’s led them. So rarely does he make the wrong decision, so rarely does he lead them astray. 

What happened this time? 

Why did he so easily turn them away from you? Why did he so easily turn his back on you? 

What words are there to say? He knew his words would do little to calm the raging storm inside of you, the hurt and the pain and the betrayal they put you through all because of him. 

The rejection still hurts, but it should. They all rejected you as soon as they left you behind. 

It’s only a fraction of the pain you must be feeling. 

“How is she?” Kyle asks, breaking the tense silence. 

“Upset.” He sighs, sinking down in a chair. 

“Fuckin’ sure she is.” Johnny snaps, anger radiating off of him in steaming waves. He’s been on edge, they all have, since the four of them were reunited. He had been there, stuck in the hall as you screamed and fought. He thought the worst when your screams cut off until he was finally updated by one of the nurses leaving the room. “Of course she doesnae want to see any of us! We just fucking left her, just like that, and it was your fuckin’ fault!” 

Simon grabs his beta before he can throw a fist at John, holding him back. Johnny lets out a string of curses none of them understand, fighting against his alpha. Simon holds him tightly, the image of your bloody form fighting against him still at the forefront of his mind. He grips Johnny tightly, muscles straining. Johnny is bigger. Johnny is stronger. 

He has half a mind to let him go. 

John doesn’t move, doesn’t even flinch as Johnny yells and rages. He’d welcome a good beating right now. He could use some physical pain to distract from the ache in his chest. 

“Calm down,” Kyle says, getting in Johnny’s face. “I said calm down!” Kyle yells, Johnny stilling for a moment. It’s not often Kyle raises his voice at one of them. “We’re not doing any good being upset with each other. We all made mistakes over these last few weeks, especially these past few days. None of us are guilt free in this. We all have our omega’s blood on our hands. Fighting amongst ourselves will only fray the bonds more than they already have been.” 

Johnny deflates with a sigh, standing there in Simon’s arms for a moment. Kyle is right. They all can feel it, the way their bonds are fraying. Their pack is resting on a dangerous ledge, tipping back and forth with every strong emotion, every argument, every sour feeling. They’re all holding onto that bond, trying to pull it back to keep it from falling into the abyss. As angry as they are with each other, just one of them letting go will be the end of the pack. 

“There’s nothing we can do to change what happened.” John says, looking up at the other three. “Kyle’s right. I led us all in the wrong direction, but we can’t go back and change it. We can’t undo what happened to us, we can’t undo what we did, we can’t undo what we...” He lets out a breath. “What I let happen to our omega.” 

“She won’t trust us again.” Simon says, his hands still shaking as he releases Johnny. They haven’t stopped shaking since he scruffed you a second time. 

“She won’t.” John affirms, no matter how badly it hurts him. “She won’t forgive us either. The best we can do is to give her what she needs, what she wants. Right now that’s space. Dr. Keller will keep us updated as things develop.” He pushes himself up to stand, looking at each member of his team, of his pack. They all share the same guilty look on their faces, they all hold the same anger at themselves deep inside. “This may be the hardest mission we’ve ever had. No matter what we feel...none of that matters anymore. What matters is keeping our pack together. What matters is that we keep those bonds from fraying. We lose ourselves, we lose everything.” 

“Still sore?”

You nod, wincing as it sends a bolt of pain through your body. 

“I know.” Dr. Keller says, adjusting the ice pack on your shoulder. “Hurts like a bitch, but luckily it won’t cause any lasting damage.” 

You blink at Dr. Keller, staring at her for a beat. You don’t think you’ve ever heard her curse before. You’re not sure she was ever capable of it. 

“What? I use swear words. Sometimes.” She says, almost like she can read your thoughts. “Sometimes expletives fit the moment better than any flouncy, sophisticated words do. This feels like the proper situation to use some.” She lets out a sigh. “Your shoulder will be the worst of the pain, at least physically. The mental pain...well, that’s not something I can treat with pain medicine. Shouldn’t, would be the proper wording there.” 

Some people do use it to numb the pain. 

“We all made a lot of bad decisions these last few days. Your support system, those you were supposed to be able to trust, failed you.” She stares down at you, emotion shining in her eyes. It’s a mirror of John’s own stare when he’d looked at you, but this time there’s no anger burning inside of you. Dr. Keller didn’t betray you. Dr. Keller will mean her apology, because you know that’s what’s coming. “I know you’ve probably heard this a lot over the last few hours, but I am sorry too. I shouldn’t have left you alone like that. I shouldn’t have fallen for that phone call...I should have been there.” 

You stare up at her, tears pooling in your eyes. If she had stayed, things would have been worse. It was almost better she left you. You can’t lose her. You need her now more than you ever did. 

Tears streak a flaming path down your face, a choked sob tearing its way through your trachea up through your lips. It burns your throat, no amount of water you’ve had in the last few hours has been able to ease the ache that’s taken up permanent residence there. 

Graves choked you. It’s the bruising from his hand squeezing your windpipe making you ache. Your voice may never recover, may never go back to normal. Crying hurts, hurts more than just your mind, your chest. It hurts your whole body, yet you can’t stop. 

“I know, I know.” She says, petting your hair as you sob. “I’m not going anywhere this time. We’ll get through this, okay? It’ll be a long road, but you won’t be walking it alone. You’ve got me, and you’ve got your pack.” 

Your gaze hardens at the mention of your pack, the sob in your throat coming out almost as an angry grunt. The thought of them makes your chest ache, the pain of their betrayal burning hot in you. “I don’t want them.” You whisper. 

“I don’t blame you.” Dr. Keller says, leaning against the side rail of your bed. “They let you down. The betrayed your trust in a lot of ways. They made you feel abandoned, and then abandoned you when you needed them most, even if they thought they were doing the right thing at the time. You have every right to be angry at them, upset with them. They hurt you in the worst way they could.” She pulls the blanket higher over you, tucking you in. “You’ve gone through a lot these last few days. Some very traumatic events, on top of being injured and your body going through extreme stress. You’re exhausted in every way you can be. Rest first. Worry about everything else later. Doctor’s orders.” 

“I did it to myself.” You say before she can walk away. 

She turns back to look at you. “What?” 

“I made myself distress.” You say. “I made my omega come out.” 

“That was very brave of you.” She says, giving you a soft smile. “Sometimes we have to take drastic measures even knowing the risks. You did what you had to in the moment and I think it was the right choice. You didn’t know what was going to happen, what was happening. Things worked out and you’re still here. That’s all that matters.” 

You think about her words for a moment. You did make it out. The fact you’re here means someone found you, someone saved you. Someone scruffed you. 

“It was Simon, wasn’t it?” You ask, even though you already know the answer to that. 

You wouldn’t let him leave. 

“You’ll have to ask him for the whole story, but yes. He’s the one that rescued you.” She adjusts the blanket around you again. “Get some rest.” She moves the call button closer. “I’m on the other end of that button if you need me.” 

You stare up at the ceiling after she leaves, counting the tiles above you. It looks like every other ceiling you’ve ever seen in a doctor's office or clinic or hospital. It’s not all that different from the ceiling in the med center on base. 

Base. 

You don’t ever want to see that place again. You don’t want to step foot in the barracks, you don’t even want to think about the clinical sterility of the buildings and the cold comfortless spaces meant for nothing more than to serve their purpose. Just like you. You served your purpose. You proved their point, even if it was never the true point of the initiative. Packs will get stronger with an omega, but it will come at the detriment of that omega. 

The job always comes first. 

There was a time you thought perhaps it wouldn’t. Maybe they could put it all behind them  and put themselves first, put you first. Then they proved they can’t. They won’t even put you first when you’re at the threat of being tortured. You were hurt because they wouldn’t put you first. You are hurt because they wouldn’t put you first. 

You don’t care about them. You don’t care about their excuses. You don’t care about the bonds or the claims or the emotions. 

You’d be happy if they left you here. Just a few days ago you were panicking about them leaving you, about them deciding you weren’t enough and abandoning you. 

Now you wish they would. 

“Has she said anything?” 

“Not much.” He sighs. “She won’t see any of us. I can hardly blame her.” 

“You made a choice, John.” Kate says, hands wrapped around her cup of coffee. “Choices have consequences.” 

“You were right. Then again, you usually are.” He sips at his tea. Bitter without milk, but then again, he’d prefer a glass of whiskey right now over tea. “I don’t know how to fix this.” 

“I don’t think you can.” Kate takes a sip of her coffee. “She’s going to decide when she wants you to fix this, if she wants you to fix it.” 

John lets out a sigh. “We’re her pack, it’s our job-” 

“You’ve failed at your job.” Kate says, her gaze hardening as she stares at him. “You’re good at being a soldier, you’re good at being a leader, you’re good at saving the world, but that’s not your only job. You have a responsibility to take care of your omega, and you failed. You made your choice, and you turned your back on her. She’s not a soldier, John. She’s never been tortured, she’s never been left for dead, she’s never taken a life before and here she’s been through all of that in the span of two days. You made a choice, John. You made a choice knowing damn well what the consequences would be.” 

He sits in silence, staring at Kate. It’s not often she gets mad at him, the frustration evident on her face. It’s a mirror of the anger and disappointment on the faces of his packmates. They’re all feeling the weight of his decision, of his mistakes. They’re all feeling the weight of their rapidly fraying bonds. 

“You have a choice to make now, John.” She stares at him pointedly. “You pick up the pieces from this, you all take the time to recover and heal. Then what? Things aren’t as simple as we thought they were, John. None of us knew what was going to happen. We were all so focused on the potential benefits that we all overlooked just how much of a detriment this would be. Your omega hasn’t had a choice in anything in her entire life. Every decision has been made for her, whether or not she wanted it. She has had no say in any of this. She’s been nothing more than a variable in an experiment, a statistic, a number, a list of pros and cons. She’s been reduced down to nothing more than an object.” 

John winces at her words, the weight on his shoulders growing heavier and heavier. He’s treated you as nothing more than an object, even if not directly. Leaving you so easily, yelling at you when you made an innocent mistake, letting you be tortured because he couldn’t get his head out of his own arse. 

“We all know she’s more than that. Far more than that. But she will never have any say in anything, unless you let her. Outside of your pack, she has nothing. In your pack? She should have the loudest voice.” Kate leans her arms on the table, shifting closer to him. “Right now she has no voice because you’ve proven where your loyalties lie, and they’re not with her. You have one more decision to make, John. Do you keep standing where you are, put the job first and wear your omega down until she’s nothing but an empty shell? Or, do you take this chance while you have it and finally put her first?” 

Kate pushes herself up to stand, grabbing her cup of coffee. John’s not used to feeling small. He’s used to being in charge, being the captain, being in control. People look to him, they listen to him, he’s the one everyone turns to when things go to shit to lead them out. 

He’s not even capable of doing that anymore. 

“Your life as you knew it ended as soon as she was placed in your pack. It’s up to you to decide how it continues.” Kate leaves with those heavy parting words, the door clicking shut behind her. 

John stares down at his cup of tea, the cup half full, or perhaps half empty depending on how one looks at it. It feels more than half empty now, spilling slowly through some microscopic hole in the side. It’ll only be so long before that hole will widen, worn down by the weak paper the cup is made of, the liquid eating away at the cup until there’s nothing but a puddle of tea on the table, slowly rolling towards the edge to dip onto the floor. 

That microscopic hole started as soon as they left you alone for the first time, and none of them were aware enough to even notice it. 

That hole is a gaping wound now. The contents inside turned acidic as soon as he cut you off in his disappointment, as soon as he started digging into the belly of the initiative. That acid has been eating away slowly at the fragile bonds that were in place. Fragile. They really were. No matter how strong they all thought those bonds were growing to be, they were built with fear and anxiety and uncertainty. Uncertainty of the future and what it may hold, anxiety towards a new pack and an entirely new shift in lifestyle, and fear of one day losing a pack member. 

Bonds built upon such frailty can hold no weight should one piece fall. 

How strong can bonds really be when you live with that knowledge, that constant fear that someone could die at any time? Someone in the pack, someone you’ve bonded with, someone you’ve grown a relationship with, might leave and never return because of the risks of their job. How strong can those bonds be? Was that the point of the experiments all along, the 141 and the initiative? Testing the limits a pack could be pushed to, testing if bonds could be formed in such a high stress environment and if so, how strong they’d be? What limits would they have gone to, to test that theory? Would they have gone to the point of sacrificing one of them to test those theories, had the truth not come out when it did? One wrong decision, one wrong step in the field and everything can crumble. Would they have gone to that length to test just how a bonded pack would react, if they could still function after everything? 

The sacrifice was you. 

Kate is right. You’re not part of their world. You’re not a soldier, you haven’t been conditioned to live with that fear, you can’t be conditioned to live with that fear. You shouldn’t have to be conditioned to live with that fear. You had no choice in this. None of it. From the moment you presented, nothing in your life would be yours. From the moment you presented, you would never make a choice for yourself again. 

The sacrifice was you. 

And he played right into their hands. 

The cup is blurring as he stares at it, his eyes blinking rapidly. 

They say an omega is the balance that holds a pack together. It’s a delicate bond, a single thread coiled around the structure of the pack. Wear that thread down until it snaps and everything crumbles. How long have you been fraying? How long have you been silently screaming for help, desperately trying to hold the pieces of the pack together like a strongman holds two pillars up by chains? You never had chains, you’ve been holding everything together with sewing thread, fighting desperately to keep the pieces from crumbling at the risk of being torn in half. 

How long have you been silently screaming? 

It’s all his fault. He’s been wearing you down, he’s been fraying that bond fiber by fiber. He’s been standing there watching you fight to hold the pack together while screaming at him to help, screaming at him to take one of those threads and hold at least half of the weight for you. 

That’s what he’s supposed to do. 

The threads have snapped. You were torn in half by the weight and those threads are gone. They’re crumbling, the bonds coming undone, unraveling minute by minute, second by second. They’re losing each other because they lost you. 

He covers his face with his hands, not even bothering to try and silence his sobs. 

Something has pulled you from the sweet arms of sleep. 

It’s dark in the room, the only light coming from the one behind the bed. The curtains are drawn over the window, keeping you hidden from the darkness outside the window. It’s late, or at least you think it is. You can’t quite see the clock in the darkness with your one good eye. It’s fuzzy in the darkness, too far away for you to truly find where the hands lie. 

Shadows fill the corners of the room, oppressive and claustrophobic. The longer you stare, the bigger they seem to grow as if they might suck the light right out of the room and swallow you in darkness. The longer you stare, the more it seems like there’s something there, something hidden in the darkness. 

Something is staring at you from the shadows. There’s eyes on you, your skin prickling from the uncomfortable feeling of being watched. The more you stare into the darkness, the more the shadows begin to take shape, forming monstrous beasts just being held at bay by the light. 

“Hi, darlin’.” 

No. No, no, no, no. 

“Miss me? It’s been a long time.” 

You shake your head, your heart monitor starting to beep rapidly as your heart pounds in your chest. “N-No.” 

Phil sits forward in the chair in the corner, his face coming into the light. It is him, blonde hair, blue eyes, that disarming grin on his face. He can’t be here...unless he escaped before your pack could catch him. Did they manage to catch him? You don’t know. You hadn’t even thought to ask about Phil or his whereabouts. No one informed you either. 

“No? You didn’t miss me?” He tilts his head, his eyes shining with faux hurt and disappointment. “That’s not very nice of you to say. I thought your father taught you your manners. Have you forgotten them in the time you’ve been away.” He tsks, shaking his head. “Those boys have been letting you get lazy.” 

Your breathing is picking up, panic starting to fill you as you stare at him. It’s impossible. He shouldn’t be here. He can’t be here. He couldn’t have just walked onto base and walked into the medical center, could he? Corporal McKinney fooled everyone for months and drove right off base with you in his car and no one said anything. How much would the guards at the front entrance of the base take as a bribe to let him in? 

Why isn’t your pack outside your door? Why would they let him in? 

They had to have put out a warning. Someone should have put Phil’s face everywhere, sent out a message, something. 

He lets out a sigh, pushing himself to stand. “I guess I’ll have to teach you some manners myself.” 

The glint of metal catches your eye, the icepick catching the light as he steps closer. 

“No, no,” You shake your head, your fingers scrambling for the call button.

Not again. Please, not again. 

Your fingers close around the call button, your thumb pushing it over and over and over again. Someone has to hear it. 

He lifts the ice pick, reaching out for you...

You’re being shaken. A scream tears from your lips as you struggle, trying to get away from whoever is holding you. Your body is alight with pain but you wait for more, for the ice pick to drive into your scent gland again, open the wound and light your body on fire once more. You expect it to come down again and again, filling your body with holes so you bleed out on the floor. 

Where is your pack?

“Easy, easy. You’re alright.” 

You know that voice. 

You’re sobbing, your brain slowly beginning to come back into consciousness. You had been asleep. You were dreaming. The light is on in the room, the harsh fluorescent a welcome presence for once. The shadows are gone, dissipated by the bright light overhead. Phil is gone, wiped away with the rest of the shadows. 

He’s nowhere to be seen because he wasn’t there in the first place. 

It was just a dream. It was just a nightmare. 

There’s a hand on yours, gently easing your fingers from the call button. You’re still trying to press it, your thumb moving almost automatically. You started pressing it in your sleep. 

“You’re okay. Breathe for me.” 

It’s Dr. Keller’s voice. It’s her arms wrapped around you, trying to stop you from moving as much. Your body is screaming in pain, but the panic flooding your body makes you almost numb to it. The pain in your chest is screaming with every rapid inhale, tightening and tightening the more until your fingers and toes start to go numb. 

“Deep breaths.” Dr. Keller says, her own breaths slow as she holds you. “In and out.” 

The inhale catches, the air shuddering into your lungs before you hold it, trying to force your body to calm down, just like the two of you practiced so many times. The heart monitor is beeping rapidly, another thing that must have translated in your state between wakefulness and sleep when Phil had shown up. Your heart is beating rapidly, thudding in your chest almost violently. It’s been through a lot these last few days. You wouldn’t be surprised if it just gave out suddenly. 

“Phil.” You gasp out, still trying to slow your breathing. “Phil was here.” 

“It was just a nightmare.” Dr. Keller says calmly, keeping her arms wrapped around you. “No one has come in or out of this room besides me. The guard outside won’t let anyone else in.” 

Guard. There’s someone outside the door. Your pack? No. She would have said so.

Where is your pack?

Phil was never here. It was just a nightmare. 

The last two thoughts repeat over and over in your head like a mantra as you start to cry, sobs wracking your body. You hate it, the fear, the terror, the anguish you felt as he lifted that ice pick, ready to stab you with it. 

“I hate it.” You croak out, voicing your thoughts for the first time in a few hours. 

“I know.” Dr. Keller says. “It’s normal to have nightmares after a traumatic event.” She adjusts her hold on you, tucking you against her chest. “It’s your brain trying to process what happened, trying to work its way through the trauma of the last few days. It’s cruel, but it’s a necessary part of healing.” 

Healing. 

Are you healing? Can you heal after everything? The pain is intense, not just outside but inside as well. The hurt, the anger, the fear, the anxiety, the panic, the depression, the rage, the betrayal. It’s too much. It’s so much all at once. You hate it. You hate that this happened in the first place. You hate that you have to go through this, have to heal, have to live through more nightmares. 

You hate your pack. That’s why they’re not here. 

For all you know they’ve left you. For all you know they’re on a plane back to the UK. 

Why would they want a broken, angry omega?

“I just want to be okay.” You sob, face pressed against her shoulder. 

“I know.” She says, cradling the back of your head, keeping you tight in her arms. “I'm so sorry this happened to you. I know words can't change that it happened, words can't make it all better, but we'll get you to where you're as okay as you can be again. I promise you I’ll do everything I can to get you there.” She leans her chin on the top of your head, squeezing you against her chest. “We'll get there, no matter how long it takes.” 

How long will it take? How long will your pain and suffering drag on for? Your body will heal eventually, but will your mind? Are you going to be this way for the rest of your life? Will you ever know peace again? But...have you ever really known peace? Your home growing up certainly wasn’t peaceful. Your presentation wasn’t peaceful, and neither was life at the institute. Being chosen by the FBI for this initiative that never existed in the first place certainly wasn’t peaceful. Despite how happy you became with your pack, even that life wasn’t peaceful. What little peace you thought you had was upended in the blink of an eye. 

How easily everything crumbled. 

Will it be possible to put it all back together again? 

Do you want to put it back together again? 

Alcohol is easy to find in a place like this. Soldiers gravitate towards whatever crutch they can find to erase the nightmares they live in. It numbs the pain and the brain and keeps one sane, or at least that’s what his father used to say. 

Of course his father would drink himself into a stupor every Friday night, and he’d wake Saturday morning still in his chair with a full breakfast waiting for him. 

Much like his father, John has lost track of how many times he’s filled his glass. 

It’s been a long time since he’s gotten this drunk. He shook that habit after a shameful morning over ten years ago. He’d just gotten back from a bad deployment, one that gets labeled as a “mission gone wrong.” It failed under his command. He lost a lot of lives, not just his fellow soldiers. He’d drunk himself past a stupor and woke up passed out in a bush covered in vomit outside the gate with a rather angry CO over him. 

He shook the habit after that, easing himself to just a glass every so often on those days he needs to take the edge off, on those days he needs to numb the aches. 

Then Kyle came along. Kyle, his sweet beta with his ethical moral compass. His sweet beta who deserved a better life than what he was pulled into. Dutiful, loyal, principled. A good soldier, but a better man than John could ever be. He could fall into Kyle, bury himself under those soft touches, the soothing whispers, the comfort Kyle could offer him. The screaming in his head became less and less as he allowed Kyle to do what he was meant to do at his core. 

Comfort. 

Then you came along. 

He found himself turning to the liquid medicine less and less because he could bury himself in you. He had an omega, he had someone he could lean on, someone who understood without having to be told. The bond between alpha and omega is something so sacred and special, something to be cherished. 

And he threw it all away. 

He downs another glass, staring at the almost empty bottle. It had been sealed when he got it, brand new and fresh. He can feel it, the fogginess of alcohol clouding his brain. The world is swirling, melting together. He can’t feel much of anything anymore, yet that pain lingers deep in his chest. 

The bond. 

It’s like an open wound, gaping and pulsing. Eventually it’ll slow, eventually it’ll give out. That bond will be cut and everything will crumble. 

It’s all his fault. 

He ended things, he ended the pack, he ended the bond, he ended you. 

Would Graves have killed you? Would Shepherd have given those orders if they pushed onward, if they caught up to him? Graves would have done it slowly, taken his time, reveled in it. They would have gotten a video of it, hours long as you were tortured to death, zoomed in on your face as the life left your eyes. 

The thought makes his stomach churn. He wants to vomit at the mental picture of you laying there, covered in blood, those lifeless eyes staring at him. Eyes that once shone with life and happiness. Despite everything you had been happy. Despite everything that spark inside you was never extinguished. A fiery little thing that would give what they gave right back to them. 

Now you’re not even smoldering. 

You’ve been reduced to ashes, and it’s all his fault. It’s all his doing. 

He skips the glass this time, drinking straight from the bottle.

“Have you seen John recently?” Kyle asks, standing in the doorway to their temporary living quarters. It’s a single room with two bunk beds. Far too tight of a space for their quickly souring dynamics. 

“No, not recently.” Johnny says, lifting his head up from his pillow. He’s been crying again. “You, LT?”

LT. They argued earlier...more like yelled in each others’ faces until they had to be separated at the risk of things getting physical. Kyle’s not even sure what they had been arguing about in the first place. Probably something miniscule and unimportant. Everything seems to be setting them off like grenades. Pull the pin and watch them explode. They’re all on edge, all of them feeling the distance growing wider and wider despite their best efforts to stop it. 

“No.” Simon says simply, staring up at the bottom of the bunk over him. He’s flat on his back, hands folded on his stomach. He looks like a corpse, might have been mistaken for one if it hadn’t been for the slow rise and fall of his chest. He’s still in his mask. He hasn’t taken it off since he arrived in the field. 

It’s late, but none of them can sleep. None of them have been able to get much sleep since they arrived nearly two days ago. Weeks without good, decent sleep wears on the brain too. 

“If he comes back here, text me.” Kyle says before closing the door, resuming his search for their missing captain. 

John has been beating himself up for nearly two days now. Kyle’s never seen his captain quite so distraught and lost. He’s blaming himself, which in all fairness, he should be doing. It is his fault. Kyle will be the first to point blame in this situation, but none of them are truly blameless. None of them questioned it, none of them even argued with him on that decision. They followed blindly as they were supposed to for the first time in a long time. They didn’t question their captain, their alpha, their leader. 

He hates himself for it. 

Why didn’t he question it? Why didn’t he argue? Why didn’t he voice his opinion, fight back against that decision? He trusted his alpha when he shouldn’t have, and you paid for it. 

He’s glad he didn’t have to see you. He’s glad he didn’t have to face down the state Johnny and Simon found you in. He’s glad he didn’t have to see what you looked like even after the blood had been cleaned off and the true horror was revealed. 

He hasn’t gone to see you at all. 

He’s not sure he could handle it. You won’t care either way from the sound of it. You’ve been reduced to a shell, silent and empty. You’ve barely said a word since this morning, instead just lying there and staring at the ceiling according to the doctor when she’d updated them this afternoon.

Your body will heal slowly, but your mind will remain a battleground. 

He leaves the barracks, looking up at the dark sky. It’s clear tonight. He’d probably see the stars if there wasn’t constant light pollution around the base. What do the stars look like here? He’s stared up at the stars constantly in the last few weeks in places there was little light pollution. His only comfort about being away from you so long was the knowledge that you were under the same sky. Be it day or night, the stars were overhead. You wouldn’t be able to see them either way, but they were shining for you too. 

Now you’re both under the same stars, but you’re both still so far away.

He lets out a sigh, lowering his gaze. He has a job to do, a captain to find. 

“Where are you John?” He breathes, looking in all directions, trying to decide which way to go next. He had stopped in at the med center already, but he wasn’t there. No one had seen him, even the doctor. He’s searched everywhere he could think to search, but his captain is nowhere to be found. 

John will kill him if he requests a base-wide search. 

He walks around the side of the barracks, hoping maybe he’ll run into John coming back this way. Usually he wouldn’t bother searching for him, but with his mind how it has been, Kyle can’t help but be worried. Even with the bonds fraying between them, he still has that instinctual need to make sure his alpha is okay. Instincts can’t be ignored. No matter how much bonds between packs fray, instincts will always remain the same. 

That’s why he still feels that urge to go and see you. 

John will kill him if he requests a base-wide search. 

He knows how self-destructive John can be despite how composed he makes himself appear. He’s only seen his alpha in that state once, and he has a feeling he’s about to a second time. 

He leans against the wall with a sigh when he reaches the other side of the barracks. Nothing. No sign of him. No texts from Johnny or Simon either. He’d asked Dr. Keller to let him know if he shows up in the med center too, but there’s been nothing. No word. No signs. 

Maybe he should just give up looking. John will find his way back to the barracks eventually. Or he won’t. 

That could be tomorrow’s problem. A distraction, a mission, something to give them purpose and force them to unite again. 

Find their missing captain. Find their missing alpha.

He turns back around to follow the sidewalk back to the front of the barracks when he hears shuffling footsteps dragging on the concrete. He turns, squinting into the darkness between lamps as a figure stumbles through the shadows, muttering under its breath. He knows that voice, he knows that figure. 

John. 

John stumbles forward, nearly falling but Kyle reaches out, catching him. His mind is racing, silently checking for any blood, any sign of injury, but there’s nothing. 

Maybe everything is finally getting to him. Maybe his body has finally been pushed to the limit and it’s giving out. He’s having a medical emergency. 

“Easy, sir.” He says, trying to calm his panic as he fights to keep John upright despite John’s body wanting to fall the rest of the way onto the ground. Kyle takes a breath in, catching the sour scent of alcohol wafting off his captain. 

Not a medical emergency, then. 

He sought out some liquid comfort instead. 

The thought makes Kyle’s chest twinge still. 

“’S all over.” John slurs, his weight getting heavier and heavier. “Everything is over.” He turns his head, blinking slowly. “Kyle?” 

“It’s me, sir. I’ve got you.” He slings John’s arm over his shoulders, making his weight easier to hold. 

“Kyle.” He slurs again, the two syllables blurring together. “Too good to me, Kyle.” John pulls his arm free, stumbling forward. 

Kyle just manages to lessen his fall onto the concrete, making sure John doesn’t smack the back of his head at least. He’ll have some scrapes and bruises tomorrow, though. Right now he probably can’t even feel it. If he was responsible, he’d take John to the med center, let him sleep off the alcohol on the safety of a gurney, but that would probably just cause more problems for everyone. 

John would be pissed when he woke up. 

He lets out a sigh as he stands there, staring down at his captain. John’s on his back, eyes up and focused on the sky, hiccuping every so often. He’s never seen his captain quite this drunk before, though he has heard stories of when John was younger. 

“I’ve killed her.” John mumbles. “I’ve killed all of us.” 

Kyle drops to a knee beside John. “You haven’t killed anyone.” 

“She’s fading away. Soon she’ll be gone.” He murmurs. “We’ll go too.” John pushes himself up to sit. “It’s all over. Everything is over.” 

Kyle grips John’s arms before he can fall back again, holding him in place. “Nothing is over yet, sir. We can still do something. It’ll just take time.” 

John turns to look at him, his eyes hazy and far away. “Kyle.” John says his name softly, reaching out to brush his fingers across Kyle’s cheek. “Pretty boy.” He slumps against Kyle’s chest, his weight nearly making both of them topple over. “Too good to me, Kyle.” 

“I care about you a lot, sir.” Kyle says, rubbing his back. “More than I think you realize.” He murmurs the last bit more to himself than anything. Not that John will likely remember any of this in the morning. “We should get you in bed. We’ve got a long day tomorrow.” 

They do. They have to decide what to do next. 

“Come on.” He says, hauling John to his feet carefully. John lets him, letting Kyle wrap his arm around his shoulders. 

It’s slow going, Kyle half dragging John back to the barracks. He’s quiet at least, only the occasional scuffle of his footsteps as he stumbles breaking the quiet night. He gets John back to their room fairly easily, easing him into the other bottom bunk across from Simon. The room is still and silent aside from the occasional sniffle from one of the top bunks. 

He grabs the blanket from his own bunk, draping it across John instead. Maybe in his drunk state, the scent will bring him some comfort, help ease that ache inside of him.

He’s hoping John’s scent will do the same for him. 

“It’ll be alright, sir.” He says, making sure his captain is comfortable. He stands up, staring down at his Captain. “Everything will be fine.” 

He’s not sure who he’s trying to convince. 

John stares down into his tea as they sit around a table. His head is throbbing, pulsing heavily behind his eyes. It’s his own damn fault, going out and getting drunk like that. He hasn’t done it in years, yet he couldn’t stand the pain gnawing away at his chest. Alcohol hadn’t fixed it. It’s still there, still pulsing away. The alcohol had only numbed it at least for a few hours, and if anything, it made it worse. 

“Kate left this morning back to DC.” He says, glancing up at the other three members of his team. “They're still working on cleanup and helping Alex and Farah track Shepherd. I spoke with Dr. Keller this morning. We’ll be able to fly out soon.” 

The words hang heavy in the air. He hadn’t mentioned you at all, but he’s not sure he could without breaking down. You are improving slowly, Christine had said, giving him a sympathetic look as he squinted in the harsh fluorescents. She knew. She could tell just by looking at him. She’s that good at her job. 

He’s glad they have her. He’s glad you have her.  

“Where are we going tae go?” Johnny asks. 

“We can’t go back to base.” Simon says. 

“You’re right. Going back to base is too risky.” John says. “Shepherd could have eyes there already. And with her mind where it is...” Taking you back would be too much too soon, even without the risk. One of their own had already betrayed them once. They can’t trust anyone anymore. “We need somewhere secluded and quiet. Somewhere no one will know we’re going where we can lay low for a while.” Both out of necessity for their safety, but also for your sake. 

It falls silent between them. Shepherd knows all of their possible safehouses, all of the places they mind go to stay hidden. Those only they know off the record are hard to get to, requiring miles of hiking. You wouldn't be up for that even without the physical injuries, and they doubt you'd let one of them carry you. If they had to get out quickly...

“My parents have a place,” Kyle says, glancing up at them from his own cup of tea. “Out in Cornwall. A cottage near the cliffs. It’s quiet, secluded. No one knows about it but us. Tourist season is over too. There won't be many out there poking around this time of year.” Anyone wandering around out there that close would be suspicious.

“It’s a good option.” Johnny shrugs. 

“It’s our only option.” Simon says. 

“It’s exactly what we need.” Kyle says. “Trying to rent this time of year will only draw attention, and we can't trust we won't be ratted out. Shepherd likely still has allies. We were betrayed by one of our own before.” Kyle says. 

“You're sure no one else knows about it?” John asks, looking at his beta. 

“Just my parents and my siblings. They wouldn’t ask any questions if I told them it was being used.” Kyle shrugs. “It might be our best option.”

John looks around at them. It is their best option for now. He knows Kyle's family is just like the rest of theirs. They know they can't know and they won't ask questions. 

“We had a conversation once, months ago.” John says. “She told me she wanted to live next to the sea someday. She wants to be close enough that she can smell it and see it.” 

He pauses thinking back months ago after Simon left, after you were so affected by his absence. That conversation when you asked if he’d ever leave for you, when he told you if your life was ever in danger because of them he’d leave in a heartbeat. He’s made a liar out of himself. He broke his promise, so many promises, made not just to you. Not just to the pack. 

He glances at the other three, fighting back the lump in his throat, the endless threat of tears that has been rising like the tide and threatening to drown him at any moment. He’s made his decision, he’s made up his mind. 

You have to come first. 

His priorities have changed. There’s no initiative to follow, no orders to be given out. Kate was right. This is their moment to change things, this is his moment to change things. His pack will follow. Despite everything, they’ll trust him to make the right decision. They won’t hesitate to challenge him anymore, but there’s still that deeply ingrained trust in their alpha and captain. 

The alpha comes first. 

No, the omega comes first. 

He takes a sip of his tea, bitter without any milk, but it’ll do. “She wanted to be close to the sea.” He looks back up at the other three having made his decision. “Taking her there might just be what she needs.” 

NEXT ->

To be notified about new chapters, please follow HERE and turn on notifications

[titania-sleeps]

Submissive Omega Yandere x Alpha Reader

hi guys it's tmr and i was able to cut down some of the words! i left out the full ver of his first heat and your first rut so that'll be a dif post

idk if i should go fully into omegaverse stuff and just give reader a dick regardless of gender (cause apparently female alphas have retractable dicks) so i'm avoiding that for now

edit: more works featuring Adonis: Adonis Rides You, First Heat

warning: nsfw, dom reader, omegaverse (heats, ruts, yknow), minors DNI pls

• Adonis and you have been fuck buddies for three years now. At first, it was out of necessity; you were both teenagers with raging hormones, and being an omega and alpha respectively meant that the two of you had a difficult time taking care of your needs on your own.

• Adonis was surprised when you proposed the idea to him in your third year of high school. The two of you were good friends by then, and you probably knew of his plight. However, his heart raced nonetheless and he wondered if you secretly had a crush on him. He wouldn't have minded if you did, since you were his type! Sadly, you made it clear to him that you weren't interested in him as a romantic partner, only as a sexual partner.

• Adonis didn't let that deter him, however. He couldn't deny that he felt a little disappointed, but he didn't think too much of it at that time. As long as he didn't fall in love with you, everything would be alright.

• Adonis fucked up. Two months into your friends w/ benefit situation with him, he'd already caught feelings. Whenever he was around you, his pulse would increase and his senses would go into overdrive. Even when the two of you weren't fucking like rabbits, his hole was dripping for you.

• Adonis cursed at himself every time he went on a date with you. (They were dates because he considered it so and he would take no other opinions.) It was especially terrible when you went shopping with him. He couldn't help himself but think about you fucking him senseless in the changing rooms. Just the thought of it alone had him squeezing his thighs, his breaths heavy.

• Adonis tried to hide it from you, but you easily noticed his rose scent growing stronger. You would pull him to the side and ask him gently if he was in heat. The worst part was that he wasn't. He was simply always like this around you.

• Adonis loved that you never asked any further questions. You would quickly take him home and tell him to strip. And strip he gladly did. He didn't have the time to prepare himself for you, but you didn't need it. In a matter of seconds, your tongue was in his hole, thrusting in and out. Your hand rubbed his rock-hard member, sliding easily with his slick. During those nights, he would cum quickly and sleep deeply, arms wrapped around your waist tightly. He would not let you leave him.

• Adonis didn't understand how you were so nonchalant. He felt silly being the only one so affected by the intimacy the two of you were supposedly sharing. He assumed that you would've bitten him already, but you were so resilient.

• Adonis tried to ignore it, and he did a really good job at doing so! Well, for about a week. He just didn't get it; he was perfect for you and you were perfect for him. Your scent intoxicated him, and he was sure that his scent affected you the same way. So why didn't you want him more?

• Adonis spent the next year grappling with his situation. It only got worse over time; just a small whiff of your scent drove his instincts insane. He needed to be bred by you, for you to mark him. He needed you to claim him, to destroy his being and rebuild him from scratch.

• Adonis had his first official heat in the middle of the day at school that same year. It came out of nowhere, and the arousal he felt was far greater than anything he'd ever experienced in the past.

• Adonis didn't bother hiding it. You were talking to your friends, but he interrupted and dragged you away by the arm, his face flushed. You were concerned, as you always were, but his eyes were clouded in need. He pushed you into the janitor's closet, locking the door behind you.

• Adonis stuck onto you in the closet, trembling. Sweat trickled down his neck, glistening against his skin. His scent was stronger than it had ever been; no longer just roses but now with a hint of lemon.

• Adonis whined, grinding against your leg. His pants were already soaking wet, the sticky liquid coating your leg. You sighed; you knew were going to miss class for the rest of the day.

• Adonis clung to you for the rest of the school year, nearly attached to your hip. You had lunch with him every day, you walked him home every day, and even your weekends were spent with him. He was so happy that you were giving him so much attention!

• Adonis suffered greatly during your last year of high school. He was so close to confessing to you, but he didn't want to lose what he already had with you. But you were glowing, your demeanor so confident and charismatic. He could see the other omegas turning their heads whenever they walked past the two of you.

• Adonis knew that if he didn't act quick, another omega would try and seduce you. He couldn't stand the thought of that, especially since he laid his eyes on you first. He would be your first and only mate. No one else.

• Adonis's heart dropped when he witnessed a small female omega confess to you under a cherry blossom tree the day of your graduation. He was planning to do that. That was supposed to be you and him.

• Adonis didn't bother trying to think when he intercepted her confession. He grabbed your arm, pressing his chest against it.

"Who is this, darling?" he had asked. The shock and hurt on her face were worth every ounce of courage it took for him to do that. She ran away, sobbing, and he was left with you and a sense of pride. No one was going to come between you and him.

• Adonis was scolded by you afterward, but he didn't care. You were his alpha, his fated mate. You didn't need any other omegas. That night, you treated him roughly, your body pressed heavily against his and your teeth baring at him.

• Adonis grinned. You were going to bite him! Surely, this was where you would finally, finally bite him. Hurry, show him what bad boys get. Show him that naughty boys get bitten, claimed against their will, and used like toys.

• Adonis was disappointed when you left the morning after, no bite marks on his body. He was being so good for you, so why didn't you claim him? Did you have someone else? Did he have to resort to murder just so you'd look solely at him?

• Adonis swore to himself that this year would be the year you bite him. This year would be your final year as fuck buddies. Next year, you two will already be mates. And if there's one thing you need to know about Adonis, it is that he mates for life.

something in me wanted to name him adonis casanova bc that would've been really funny but he's just adonis. for now.

next adonis fic is gonna be his first heat (in detail) and then maybe your first rut (also in detail),,,

-> masterlist

[hurlingdown]

TRICKLE — TOP MALE READER X TRAFALGAR LAW

synopsis. you wake up to your horny, needy, pregnant mate in bed. he doesn't care if you're barely awake — he wants this cock and he will have it forcibly if he has to. wc. 1.7k

tags. cockslut omega! law, alpha! reader. pregnant sex, lactation kink, squirting, breeding kink, stomach bulge, mating, knotting, crying, bit of somnophilia, law has a pussy, vaginal sex, wet and messy asf!

“Hnngh, mn, y/n-ya…” 

You can barely register the dense weight settling low on your hips as you slowly blink yourself awake—choking on a moan as the sweet scent of riled-up omega immediately permeates your senses. 

Law doesn’t seem to notice that you’re awake. He’s biting his lip, struggling to stifle his noises, one hand rubbing his clit as he rides you slow and meaningful, the other hand pressed over the bulge on his belly. It’s not nearly enough to sate him, and he whines, sobbing out a profanity when a particular grind forces the tip of your cock against his sweet spot. 

“F-fuck, y/n-ya…! Hnn, please, wake up already…” 

You take a few moments to appreciate the beauty that is your mate—tummy swollen and plump with his fourth month, tears rolling down his flushed cheeks in frustrated pleasure, holding back the noises that he so desperately wants to make. What did you even do in your past life to deserve him? 

He lets out a yelp as you grip his waist, cunt clenching in surprise as he gushes all over your cock. “H-hi,” he whispers, biting back a smile. 

“Hi,” you whisper back. You’re barely awake, but it’s warm, and so fucking tight, the sting of heat and want in the air already making you heady with desire. You buck your hips and he struggles to grab onto your shoulders, shuddering. 

“C’mon, alpha, fuck me already,” he whines. “Don’t you wanna make your mate feel good?” 

“Yeah, but, Law, you—” 

“Don’t care,” he groans, leaning back so that your cock slides out from his pussy, slick and cum dripping out. He plugs two fingers in and spreads them, whining, showing you how good he felt just from riding you. Rubs his folds against you, smearing creamy white all over your length. “I want it, come on.” 

“Okay, okay.” You gently push him down onto the mattress so that you’re the one on top, but he hurries to roll over so that he’s settling on his chest and elbows, hips lifted and thighs spread to present his leaking cunt to you. Tilts his head to bare his neck to you, wanting to mate already. 

You growl, leaning down to graze your teeth on the exposed mating bite, pride temporarily surging through you because he chose you. Let you mark him up, put a baby inside him. Out of all the alphas in the world, you. That was enough to send a croon rumbling through your chest, before your mate pushes his hips against you with an impatient whine. 

“H-hurry—wanna, wanna be full of you already.” 

Knees caging his thighs to mount him properly, you pulled him closer while rutting forward, your length sliding against his wet cunt one, two times, before it finally catches on the third. You heave in a breath as you push inside him, the slide dirty and messy with the squelch of so much fucking slick. Law shudders and whines as you pull back to thrust into him again, desperately clawing at the sheets. “Faster,” he begs, arching his back to cant his hips at you, trying his best to be a good omega. “I can take it.” 

“You sure?” 

Law swears he’s going to fucking kill you, slice off your dick, and use it like his personal toy. But all protests get cut off when you grip his hips tight, slamming into him just the way he likes it. He starts to babble incoherently, whining and drooling all over the sheets as you grab the back of his neck for leverage, forcing his face into the mattress. 

“Oh g-god,” he whimpers, a strange sensation pulling at his chest. He fights the urge to roll his eyes to the back of his head, letting out an embarrassingly loud whine when one of your hands starts to knead his belly, muttering into his ear about how plump and beautiful he looked, so full of your spawn. “So good, y/n-ya, don’t stop, please, please—” 

Fuck it, one pup wasn’t enough. You were going to breed him full of your babies. By the time you were done with him, his tummy would be so tight and full with love and sin that he was going to have trouble even standing up. You would carry him around, then, showcase your product to the world. Your mate, and the pups you bred inside him. 

“Y/n-ya!” 

Law cries out in frustration as you hook an arm under his thigh to flip him over, the action making your cock slip out from his hole. Wrecked and confused, he mindlessly tries to push himself back onto your cock, letting out a sob when nothing happened. He sniffles, tears streaming down his face, mumbling something about how mean you were, how he was so close to coming. 

“Sorry,” you murmur, lining yourself up to fill his pussy again, and he lets out a hiccuping moan, pouting as he pulls you down for a compensating kiss. You grin, tilting your head to deepen the kiss, hot and wet and messy. He hoops his arms around your neck as you begin to build rhythm again, the loud thwop of your hips against his making him whine. 

Two thumbs find their way on his tits, rubbing and rolling the buds—but there’s an unexpected wetness there that almost makes you pause. “Law,” you pant out, shuddering. There’s no way. “Law, you’re—” 

“Yeah, f-found out yesterday,” he moans, struggling to form words. “Wanted to tell you, but—”

He grabs your hands, rubbing his chest against them, encouraging you to play with his nipples—they’re swollen and beading milk, a delicious creamy colour, and you want to do nothing more but just latch on and suck. 

“Do it,” he says, whining. “Feels good when it, ah, when it comes out.” 

You lean down, making sure to lick up the spilt drops before finally wrapping your lips around one and sucking hard, and he cries out, wanting more. It’s sweet and rich, the liquid thick and heavy on your tongue, and you guzzle it up greedily, making a mess. You start kneading his other pec with your palm, squeezing and fondling, trying to pump out more for when you’re done with this one. 

He’s all yours until the pups are born. 

You unlatch with a wet smack, licking your lips before moving on to the next pec, giving it a little pinch just to see it drool. 

It’s too much, too good. 

Law doesn’t think he has ever been this wet before. He’s crying again, the side of his face is stained with drool, his chest is leaking uncontrollably, and slick dribbles out from his stuffed pussy in small spurts, pooling on the sheets below. He spreads his thighs wider, whines a little, wants his alpha to pay attention to both his chest and cunt. 

You take the hint, gripping his waist before starting to roughly thrust him back onto your cock, and he wails out, overwhelmed. 

“I’m gunna,” he sobs, “gunna cum.” 

“Yeah, please,” you mutter, feeling your knot start to swell. Your hands go back to gently kneading his stomach, and Law keens, the intimate gesture sending jolts of pleasure through him. “Gonna take real good care of you and our pups, gonna be the best father ever.” 

Something like warmth and need soaks through his chest, and he hiccups, dragging you down for a messy kiss. He’s leaking again and he knows it, milk dripping down his chest in unison as his arousal peaks. You break the kiss to lick him up, sneaking a hand down to rub at his clit at the same time, making him shudder and clench with overstimulation. 

“T-too much,” he gasps, desperate whines slipping from kiss-bitten lips as his eyes fall lidded, lost in a world of pleasure. “Please, alpha, I’m so so close—” 

“I got you, baby,” you whisper into his ear, pushing until the blunt head of your cock bumps against his cervix. “I got you, so do it, come on my cock.” 

He suddenly arches off the bed with a shout as his orgasm slams into him and empties everything in a series of mere seconds, crying out some poor semblance of your name. His cunt feels tight, so unbearably full, like he’s bursting at the seams—and before he knows it, he’s squirting all over your cock, crying and making a mess. 

“F-fuuuuck,” he sobs, shuddering as you continue to knotfuck him meanly for a few more thrusts, burying yourself to the hilt and finally letting it catch. Your cock’s still dribbling cum but then he starts writhing around, so you pinch his clit and he ends up squirting a second time. He wails desperately, his body twitching and trembling as the liquid gushes out from around your knot, dribbling down his legs and onto the soaked mattress. 

“So full,” he babbles incoherently, rubbing over the bulge of his stomach. “Y’can’t, can’t knock me up a second time…” 

You bite down a smile as your mate lectures you on how a second litter of pups would make his life so difficult if the first was already this troublesome, almost drunk on the afterglow. It was something you had gotten used to ever since he had gotten pregnant and excessively hormonal, especially during and after sex. 

You didn’t mind it. Not when he looked so adorable, cheeks flushed and a pout forming on his lips, not understanding why you were smiling at him. 

“It’s nothing.” You lean down to kiss him softly, placing your hands over his. “You okay?” 

“Mhmm.” Despite his previous words, he wraps his legs around your waist, tugging you close so that your knot’s forced in deeper, wanting to keep your cum inside him. He sighs, pleased. “Are you?” 

“Yeah.” You grin, lacing your fingers together, over the swell of life that is his, and yours. You’ve never felt better.  masterlist! # could be considered a sequel to this; i tried to write about the womb tat but then i lost focus and it became this

[dolibeauti]

nsfw mdni

LOSER ! tomura shigaraki hates your guts (or so he says). but you always roll your eyes when he says it because you know he’s lying

you know he’s lying because when he begs you to give him a blowjob under his desk when he plays his silly games, his moans leave behind little ‘fuck, i love you’s which makes you more giddy to suck him dry. and when you try to confront him about it, he scoffs and forces your head to his crotch once more.

LOSER ! tomura shigaraki loves wearing DESPICABLE (me) shirts that make you squeal in embarrassment. like you ever seen someone wearing those gosh awful hentai shirts? i hope you haven’t but he lounges around in them at home and occasionally risks it and wear it under his baggy hoodie in public.

you know what also makes you squeal? when he forces you to cockwarm him when he’s on a call with his friends while playing multiplayer horror games. he isn’t immune to a little scare so he flinches every once in a while that forces you to jerk on his cock. his mic is right beside your head so you have to cover your mouth with a hand to stop from making a noise. don’t worry, though, he always fucks you real good if you stay silent.

LOSER ! tomura shigaraki makes you play the MOST horrifying games he can get his hands on. i’m talking ones that make you let out a blood-curdling scream.

he also asks you to watch porn with him (≧◡≦)! the type of videos he watches aren’t like crazy but they aren’t much tame either. (ex. choking kink, probs bdsm, etc.) AND LIKE I SAIDD he loves hands. especially his so he loves choking you while watching (´▽`). ++++ quirk au… he scares you - in a hot way.

LOSER ! tomura shigaraki honestly does nothing all day. he’s on his ass in baggy clothing watching tv, on his phone, or playing a game!

but he’s lowkey a sex addict so his “most productive” thing he does is | 1. eating your cunt. he eats it like there no tomorrow but he’s lazy and sloppy and he may or may not unintentionally edge you until you’re a mess and your soul is sucked out. | 2. watch tv while you give him a hand job. he loves seeing and feeling your hand squeeze his length, simple as that!

LOSER ! tomura shigaraki hates to admit it but he loves you in so many different ways.

of course, he loves you! but he also loves plunging his fat dick into your cunt until you’re screaming. absolutely drilling it into you with no end. but he also loves using you up to your sexual limits.

[thesolarangel]

Source of pleasure

1.094 words · Rating: Explicit +18 · Halsin x Astarion x reader · AO3

Tags: threesome, unprotected P in V! (remember: wrap it before you tap it!), coming inside, creampie, dirty talk, chubby reader, they/them pronouns for gnc-reader, laughing while fucking, polyamory

(Oh noo, the filthy smut I imagined in my head turned into ✨love making✨as soon as I was writing it down… Whoopsie)

________

“You’re doing amazing, darling.”

Astarion purred, grazing his lips down your neck and sucking into the soft flesh. He was seated behind you on the bed, his chest against your back, whispering sultry things into your ear. His hands were now on your plump tits, kneading them, teasing your nipples mercilessly, making you moan unrestrained. 

Halsin was kneeling in front of you, two fingers working you open, his thumb pressing lightly on your sensitive clit. The druid presented such a gorgeous sight before you, all big and broad and a beautiful hairy chest to die for. His hard cock stood proudly between his legs. The bulbous pink head and thick shaft making your mouth water, you wanted him inside so badly.

“Look how big he is, how he's throbbing for you.” Astarion’s low voice was sending shivers down your spine. 

Halsin watched your face closely for any sign of discomfort, he wanted to make absolutely sure that you were ready for him. You moaned, encouraged by Astarion’s words and eager for Halsin to finally give you what you wanted most…  

Astarion wasn’t unaffected by all of this. You felt his hardness against your lower back. He was straining against his pants. You tried to turn around to get your hands on him, you didn’t want him to be left out, but he stopped you mid way.

“Ah-ah-ah, this is just for you, darling”, he pulled you snug against his chest and continued kissing your neck. “Let us take care of you, hmm?”

Halsin bent down to cup your cheek with his other hand. He captured your mouth in a gentle kiss, grazing over your lips in languid motions. He was always so careful with you as if you’d break under his big hands. You felt so small with him hovering over you.

You loved the way he made love to you. You always felt so secure and protected with him. But right now with Astarion teasing you, finding your sensitive spots and Halsin’s big fingers exploring the depths of your warm, wet cunt, you were close to your limit.

“Please, Halsin…” you whined impatiently. 

“Don’t make them wait any longer”, Astarion chimed in while roaming his hands over your round belly and your alluring tits. 

Halsin smiled, “I hear you.” He stole another heated kiss and then he positioned the head of his cock at your entrance, making you gasp. “Don’t worry, you’ll get what you desire, sweetheart.”

Fetching and opening the small vial of lubricant, he let a few drops dribble onto your vulva, smearing it into your cunt with the head of his cock. 

You and Astarion both made a lewd noise in unison while watching. Astarion’s hands wandered downwards and spread your labia open to watch Halsin nudge his cock inside. Cautiously, he fed you inch for inch of his hard length, making you gasp at the stretch.

Once Halsin was seated inside you, Astarion spoke up once again, voice heavy with lust. “You take him so well, every inch of him…”

”By the oak father, you feel incredible", Halsin agreed with a low grunt that went straight to your swelling cunt. He caressed your thighs and the soft flesh at your waist as he waited for you to get accustomed to his thick shaft.

“Do you feel generously stuffed, darling? Does he fill you up nicely?” Astarion purred close to your ear while he watched.

“Yes… “ You moaned in response. You closed your eyes and threw your head back onto Astarion’s shoulder.

Halsin bent down to pull Astarion into a filthy kiss. Astarion made a surprised yelp that turned into a needy whimper as Halsin devoured his lips hungrily.

He smirked when he broke the kiss, gazing deeply into Astarion’s eyes. “Let’s make sure they’ll never forget this.”

Astarion stared at him and you could feel his erection growing harder against your back. He adored the druid as much as you did and you felt it. “Sounds like a plan”, he whispered seductively.

Halsin grabbed your waist and started fucking you with slow, languid thrusts while Astarion had one hand on your breast and one on your clit, massaging it just the way you liked it.

Halsin looked gorgeous above you. His tanned skin was glistening with sweat, his stomach flexed as he plowed into you, making your tummy and your tits jiggle with every thrust. 

Being loved by these two beautiful creatures was like something out of a wonderful dream. Watching Halsin’s adoring expression while he was fucking you, feeling Astarion’s gentle, experienced touch on your hot skin, all of it made your heart race and you couldn’t get enough. You whined desperately as Halsin picked up the pace.

“Fuuuuck…” Halsin grunted.

“Listen, darling, you reduced our handsome druid to profanities, well done!” Astarion chuckled.

You let out a hoarse laugh, but Halsin’s hard thrusts stifled your laughter. You watched his length disappear inside you over and over again, while listening to the lewd sounds and moans that filled the room. 

Halsin pounded into you mercilessly, Astarion rubbed your clit harder and suddenly your orgasm hit you with such brutal force and you cried out when deep hot pleasure washed over you and through your body for several seconds. 

“Sweetheart, I’m close, where–” Halsin began, unable to finish his sentence, trying so hard to hold it in.

Astarion noticed you were distracted from your orgasm. “Do you want him to come inside you, baby, hmm?” He asked while he was fondling your tits and grinding against your back, chasing his own release. 

“Yes, please…” You whimpered. 

Halsin was panting above you and with a few more erratic thrusts, he spilled his big load inside you. At the same time, you felt Astarion’s trembling motions coming to a halt as he burst in his pants with a rough grunt.

You made a pleased hum when Halsin pulled out carefully and you watched his cum leaking out of you and onto the sheets.

After all three of you had cleaned up, you got back into bed, with you in the middle, Halsin spooning you from behind and Astarion on the other side, facing you. He gave you a quick kiss on the forehead and whispered sweetly: “Hmm, thank you, darling, that was wonderful.”

“My heart, you are so loved…” Halsin peppered your cheeks and your neck with little kisses while he snuggled his big body against yours.

“You make me so happy, both of you.” you murmured as you slowly drifted off to sleep, safe and warm between your two lovers.

______

MDNI divider by @cafekitsune here

tag list: not sure who to tag here, since it's my first fanfic for this fandom, so I'm just gonna tag the ones that agreed to be tagged in everything and some others who are in the fandom and read smut...

@starlady66 @fenharel-enaste @queenmeriadoc @elronds-pointy-ears @corrodedbisexual @lady-of-imladris @aiwe-the-little-bird

[moondirti]

𝐂𝐀𝐁𝐈𝐍 𝐅𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑, 𝐈𝐈 [18+]

familiar! ghost × witch! reader

you are a witch trapped at home by a devastating blizzard. ghost is the demon that answers your call. ( 2 of 3 /PREV )

DEAD DOVE. RATED E. HORROR EROTICA. 9K. – AO3 heed the warnings below and proceed at your own discretion.

warnings: NONCON. graphic depictions of gore. injury. cannibalism. blood licking. slaughtering + ingesting animals. violence. degradation. body horror. hypothermia. isolation. manipulation. corruption kink. religious imagery. dark!ghost. female reader. i know i said 2 parts total but now it's a 3er.

additional tags: groping. tit fondling. rough oral (male receiving). face-fucking. cum guzzling + eating. it’s all a little disgusting and not in the good way i fear.

𝐈𝐈.𝐈

The cottage is halfway buried under snow when you run out of firewood. 

It should come as no surprise, though you stare down your emptied closet like the ground opened up and swallowed your remaining reserve. Out of body, you fail to confront the cold reality that has already seeped into your walls, freezing the splintered wood of your floors, instead standing stock-still as your mind sharpens its critical edge. 

Only there is no one to direct your reproach to but yourself. Weeks ago, your rune casts had predicted a crippling whiteout, thus you set out to collect enough fuel to last you the season. Yet as night waxed on the third day of your efforts, and your hands started tearing bloody from splitting hardwood all on your own, that resolve debilitated rather quickly. Like sugar steeped in tea; your will to live was already in a decrepit state, and indeed, eagerly unravelled at the first sign of adversity. Suicidal, with hindsight. A passive play at death of which you were too fearful to try and seek for yourself. 

It did not seem like that at the time, of course. Rather, you justified the fatuous decision to stop (after cutting down a mere three trees) by concocting an estimate of how long it would be before you could venture out for more. Based on absolutely nothing but a desperation to curl back on your couch, sore but sheltered, you gave it one month. One month until the storm would abate. Of restlessness, fermenting in a prison you call home. To your distorted sense, four-hundred pieces of firewood seemed plenty enough to get you through it, despite admittedly lacking even a basic working knowledge of wood arithmetic.

Counting the days now, you’re almost tempted to laugh. Almost. The shroud of horror that newly accompanies death since Ghost’s lesson triumphs, after all. You are more terrified than you would have been a week ago. Still, you were not wrong – the firewood had lasted a month – only the weather does not seem to be looking up, and you’re trapped inside a quickly cooling cottage with no source of heat to get you to the thaw. The possibility of fatal hypothermia looms closer, more dangerous. Eerily relevant–

(Just a year ago, you watched a man die from the warmth of your ancestral home, face down in fresh snow outside the parlour room window. Your ageing mother had invited the pastor’s son over to help repair the stairs left unattended since your father’s death, and the man had called your fascination with the corpse morbid, nail between two teeth as he hammered down a wooden plank. 

No use starin’ at a dead man, lass. Not for a bonnie thin’ like you.

But you could not tear your eyes away from his mottled skin, the blue-black ends of his fingers. Even at his burial several days later, his face displayed the same, blank expression, perpetually cast by that winter’s frigid storm.) 

You imagine yourself passing in a similar vein. It will take longer, you think. You’ll be dying for weeks as your blood courses slower through you, iced by the winds that howl down your chimney. Protected, but not enough, by these walls you have been banished to live within. Unable to get even a glimpse of sunlight before shutting your eyes for the last time, the snow packed up to your windows effectively burying you without ceremony. A forgotten tomb. 

You wonder if Ghost would intervene, yet your speculation is brief. His words echo like he uttered them only moments ago. Fight or die. He has long established the volitional aspects of your relationship – he owes you nothing unless you ask, and if you do, then you would rather wish you were dead in lieu of what he asks for in return. No. He will merely watch as you take your last breath, satisfied that he was right, then scavenge your carcass for his next meal. Fated to wet his mouth like the picked off crow. A long-awaited feast.

Curling in on yourself, it is all you can do to bury yourself in clothes. Your vulnerability is often a fickle thing, you find, ebbing and flowing like seawater tides gradually gorging on their shore. There are periods you feel invincible; a being made of eternal magic, unmoved by the shifts in nature bid by time. Some sequoia, whose roots pierce deep into the earth and drink from freshwater wells unacquainted with human touch. A thing truly deserving of the title witch. 

Other times – these times being of increasing occurrence since the arrival of your familiar – you cannot help but to shrink back into a girl again. Raw and tender and emotionally volatile. Naked, sore lungs, as you’re pulled from your mother’s womb and forced to embrace the harsh cut of air. Ghost watches from his usual corner, a spectre practically pulsing with this voyeuristic game he likes to play. You know he’s figured out the predicament you’ve put yourself in, can feel yourself quailing at the discredit his judgement affords. The layers serve a dual purpose, then – for warmth, and to grant brief reprieve from his gaze on your shivering form. 

Three pairs of socks. A tunic, a fleece, a cardigan, and a coat. Skirts over your trousers. Gloves and a woollen hat. 

By the end, you have a hard time moving at all. Certainly not enough to cook, or to try tunnelling a way out of the window. No point in reading if you can’t practise your magic, either; so you mutter a quiet ignition spell over the charred firewood from last night, hoping it lasts even half as long, before collapsing on the couch and willing yourself to sleep. 

Only sleep does not come. 

Or, it might. Yet your mind is so occupied with your condition that it does not allow you to fully lose consciousness. You’re attuned to every particle around you, overstimulated in the worst sense, still subjected to an unsettling sequence of half-dreams. Brain flickering through pale mirages of dead crows, ice floes, of capsized rafts in arctic waters, their hulls resembling slabs of marbled meat. As you drown, you shout for help and pique at the sound of it echoing in real life, tangible enough that it shakes you awake. You nearly strangle yourself trying to wind your quilt tighter around your shoulders afterward, burying your nose in a pillow and cupping your cheeks with frigid hands. 

Eventually, time joins the distortion, and you have a hard time discerning whether it’s been hours or meagre minutes. The only indication is the way in which your body starts to ache with a pain so profound, it is as though you’ve been beaten. If you weren’t frustratingly cognizant of your surroundings the whole night, your first bet would have been to blame Ghost, or at least the threadbare couch you’ve been using as a bed erring too long now. Unfortunately, the true cause of your affliction is hard to misdiagnose; a violent, merciless shivering, your muscles made to tremble as if compelled to by electric shock. The teeth chattering kind – and it is exactly the rattle of ivory against ivory that serves as a makeshift timekeeper. 

Click. Click. Clickclick. Click. 

It must be two hours later when you bite your tongue and jolt completely awake from the pain, swathed in your quilt like the nesting doll that sat on your windowsill back home. Though the appendage bleeds, spreading metallic bitterness onto your teeth, you wonder for a brief moment whether you are alive at all. Foggy vision. Taut skin drawing lines down your cheeks from either corner of your eyes. When you squint, it tugs tighter, and you realise at one point you had started crying. It’s hard to tell without your nose hot and runny, or your lips swollen like overripe berries. Instead, you’re rendered to a shrivelled reflection of yourself, dried tear tracks setting the image in stone. The shadow looming above you seems to agree. 

“Not dead yet. But only just.”

You wish you could say his voice is any softer than standard. That the stars aligned, or that this is an ideal world where the antediluvian creature occupying your home has tapped into his small pool of pity. But he nudges your knee with all the detached amusement he prescribes to most things, like he can’t understand why you’re so easily affected by the cold. 

“Ghost?” 

“Almost exclusively.” He mocks.

The couch dips near your feet. You do not register why until he scoops an arm into your quilt, pulling you from warm refuge and onto his lap instead. It isn’t in you to fight, merely mewling like a feverish cat as you reach a hand out to the cushion where you once lay. Wiggling your fingers, kicking your heels. 

He swats your arm until it flops back to your side. 

“If only y’could see yourself like this. Bloody pathetic, pet.” 

“I’m c-cold.” 

“Not doin’ yourself any favours, then. This,” He tugs at the coat barely hugging your shoulders, stretched taut over your bulky layers. “off.” 

When you fail to listen, he takes the initiative for you, pulling it down your arms and towards some distant corner. You don’t miss it, necessarily – it hardly did anything to keep you warm – but you protest the loss as you would have done anything else; noisily, sniffing to suppress the fresh bout of tears spooling over your vision. 

“Think you exhausted every option, hm? All you can do is curl over and cry?” With his hands now at your cardigan, thumbs hooked under the lapel, you search his eyes for indication of what he intends to do. Ghost is difficult to appreciate even on the best of days, but now, without the handy glow of fire or direct stream of sunlight, he’s practically impossible. Like two mountains stood tall with no valley in between them, no line of logic exists that can explain his actuality. 

(And you’ve never been the logical type – there is no precise science to why goat fat and cumin work together to lure someone into love, or why you knew to stay away from the pastor who kept your mother company. Some things exist solely in magical proportions; limiting yourself to rational thought would be doing a great disservice to what they have to offer.

But confronting Ghost on a plane where he has the upper hand is a daunting task, so you stick to what rationale can place.) 

“What are you–you doing?” 

“Shut it.” He folds the cardigan around your hips, clasping a colossal palm onto the back of your neck. Though you’re used to being scruffed when he’s less than pleased with you, the purpose of this is far from dissatisfaction. You know it immediately. His skin, flesh, is warmer than anything you’ve felt in a long time. A quality of comfortable, penetrating heat that sinks into your nape and slowly works to defrost your marrow, your limbs, the icy film clinging to your brain. Your eyes roll shut almost instantaneously, body slumping forward to sink into his chest. Somewhere in the recesses of your mind, where the relief of warmth has not yet reached, you worry that he’ll push you off. 

He does not. 

Instead, his other hand slips under your fleece and tunic, smoothing over the knots of your spine to reach between your shoulder blades. There, his heat sinks to swathe your chest, and the weakly heart somehow managing to do its job, pumping blood that tickles your toes and fingertips. It drips down to your tummy too, where it weighs heavy like a tangible mass, and brings your pulse to the bud between your legs.

His touch there doesn’t last long; he pulls away only moments later, a tightness newly lifted off your sternum. One hand still kneads your nape, effectively keeping your face against his broad shoulder, but the other moves to collect your slack wrists together. It strikes you as unusual, sure, yet you’ve since surrendered your inhibitions for sake of survival. A cavewoman tradeoff. Your body purrs at the satisfaction of your baser instincts, happy to resort to this primitive state of impartiality, if only it means you’ll stay snug throughout the winter. 

Yes. If anyone were to ask you right then, you would have seen it as not only plausible but entirely necessary to stay like this for the months to come. Sated and secure and just a hint impassioned, content to doze off on the lap of your tormentor. Already halfway there, lashes fluttering as you battle complete oblivion. 

Only that isn’t what Ghost has in store, and he seems eager to break the illusion you hold in such high regard. 

He releases your neck, guiding you to sit upright upon his tree-trunk thighs. When you object by reaching for his hands again, you find that your own are securely fixed behind your back. Completely immobilised. 

Sensation slowly trickles back to you. Once numb, your skin now comes alive with frayed nerve endings, crackling, hair standing on its ends. What you find, alarmingly, is your place within a twisted example of the lesson Ghost has been attempting to teach. The lightness on your sternum not as metaphorical as you had assumed – rather, the bandages binding your breasts have been unwrapped to treacherously hitch your wrists together. The rough fabric excoriates the surface of your forearms. 

Your breathing accelerates. If you’d been freezing before, you’re thoroughly iced now. Shock races through your system and persecutes everything that lulled you into this position. Stupid, stupid, stu–

“Ghost.” You hiss. “Ghost. This is-isn’t funny.”

He doesn’t respond, rolling your top to reveal the soft stretch of your navel. It involuntarily retracts when he flits over your belly button, dodging the unwelcome spread of his fingers. Your body's way of protesting, for all you lean into his touch. Too tempting not to, really. Something in him burns; perhaps a furnace in place of his heart, or a piece of hell he takes with him wherever he goes. 

That primitive voice grows louder, whispering deceptively in your ear that it’s fine, let him touch you. So long as you stay warm. 

You shake your head as if to jerk the instinct off your crown. Lips pursed tight now, the hand on your belly slowly climbing up. Up. 

“Stop it. Stop this, I d-don’t want it.” 

“I know.” He says, pressing his thumb into your waist. It digs until it hits a rib, tenderising muscle. You’re a lamb on a spit, spun slowly, roasted over an open flame. How silly of you to lean into the burn. Short-sighted to decide that it’s better than the cruel press of winter. You’ll be eaten like this. 

“Then g-get the fuck off me!” You yelp, swaying on your haunches in a bid to knock yourself off his lap. Your arms are useless, but that does not mean you cannot fight. “I order you!”

That pulls a laugh from him. Or, what sounds like a laugh. As with everything, it’s his estimate of a human one, like the cicada mimics the bird; not as melodic, rather striking you with disgust so potent you feel your nausea reawakening. You might just hurl.

“And wha’ will I be granted in return? Nothin’ you have that’ll convince me to unhand you, pet.” Ghost rucks your tunic to your shoulders at last, exposing your bare breasts to bitter air. Though he gives them no time to pebble up, large paws enveloping both mounds and squeezing until your breath syphons from your lungs. “Haven’ seen a pair of tits in decades. Suppose you humans do have somethin’ going for you.” 

Your words startle in your throat. Nothing about it is pleasurable, nor does he intend for it to be. His fingers take your nipples; rolling, tugging, pinching. Nails dig crescent cuts into the darkened skin there, perhaps searching for blood. He certainly treats it as though blood is the aim, and you wonder whether you’re to be hung from your bust to drain onto his waiting tongue. Just as one might press olives, no care for their pulpy bodies but only the rich oil they produce. Grease to slick their pans, to moisten their mouths. 

You’ll be eaten like this.

“Stop, please.” 

“Wonder what y’would look like plump with milk. Nursing my litter, rounded out with another dozen.” He sucks his teeth, contemplative. “Body wouldn’t handle it, f’you ask me. Stronger women than you ‘ave tried.”

Have. It hurts to think about. Hurts more when the insult of his words truly resonates. Stronger women. That is to say you have been exiled for nothing. That with a year of solitude and occult practice, you are just as feeble as before. Is this why he ate your crow? To prove to you that he could? 

The tide pushes back out. In a great swell of loam and brine, your hatred crashes vengefully onshore. You muster all of it, dipping pails into the water and letting it weigh heavy on your shoulders. It is almost negligible, you find. You scarcely feel its burden when fuelled by a focused point to your antipathy. Your teeth stop chattering. You glare daggers. 

“Let me go.” 

Your final plea rolls over him like all the ones before it. “But you’re a witch, aren’t ya? Brew up a little elixir to pull yourself through the whelping. Maybe then you’ll realise how much you long to stay alive.” 

Your neck snaps back. Before you can think it through, you thrust your head towards his face. There’s a crunch, a dizzying moment of choked silence, then a hot burst of moisture down your face. For a naive moment, you think you must have struck gold. You imagine drawing back to find his mask sticky with blood, or tar, or whatever demons have thrumming through their veins. A raw testament to your resolve, if he should ever underestimate it again. 

But the mirage is as naive as your mother. Eventually the pain catches up to you. You realise the iron-tang at the back of your throat is not the dreg of satisfaction. The tears slipping past your lashes no longer wrought from misery. Everything, rather, an immediate response to the sore condition of your nose. Misshapen and swelling already.

Ghost hums. You hoped to see him grovelling in pain by now. The battered expectation somehow makes his condescension worse. 

“Good to see y’find your spirit,” His head tilts, bullying yours into remaining still, fingers knitted firmly in your hair. “but it’s misplaced.” 

Given his derision, you know not to rejoice when his other hand leaves your chest. Your shirt slumps lamely back over your figure as he lifts the edges of his mask, folding it over his mouth. In the dark, it’s difficult to map the nuances of his exposed jowls. There’s a pale curve there, a disfigured line here. Your sinuses twinge when your stare narrows, cutting through murk to place the shape of his lips. 

It’s futile. You have no way to jam the gaps; no way of knowing whether he’s all man, all demon, or a foul mix of the two. 

The one thing that glimmers with definition is the string of spit when he unlatches his jaw, long tongue striking like a wound-tight cobra. You would flinch if you could, eyes pruning shut, but his grip keeps you steady in place as he laves a forceful path up your chin. Tasting the metallic leak of blood, all the way up to its source. 

You see it coming. Still, you can’t help but scream when he works his tongue around your nose. Loosed bones shift under your skin, steadiness fractured, cartilage support dipping inwards against the assault. He groans, and in spite of your impaired sense of smell, you get a whiff of rot-hot breath. It must all be a terrible dream, you think. The hardened muscle pressing against your inner thighs, the viscous web of saliva stretched across your face. It’s cold and you’re sweaty, and everything about the past month – the past year – seems like it has been especially curated to torment you. You would wake from this any second.

He gathers the salty drips off your eyes, the blood, every grief coating your skin. Agony blinds you – so profound it takes shape, colour. You squirm in your binds, ragged shrieks ripping from your throat. 

It echoes even after he breaks away. If it weren’t for the sudden coolness of spit drying within your cupid’s bow, you would think he was still making a feast of you. 

“Tha’ got you to settle, hm?” 

You shake your head, exhausted. “You said–” 

“I said fight, or die.” He huffs. You let silence swathe your lips, pursing them as thin as you can manage without exacerbating your injury. “Yer fighting to die, pet.”

“I just want to be left alone.” 

“‘N’ what d’you think will come of that?” 

“It shouldn’t m-matter.” Your conviction sound hollow when spoken aloud. If he hears it, he uses it as an incentive to strip your top back over your chest. Like a hot wire pushed through your ribcage, his warm hands toast you from the outside in. It is in your best interest not to shiver in delight; though you are still dreadfully cold, and your injury makes it difficult to pigeonhole any alleviation to your pain. “You can’t-t-t defile me on the grounds of greater good.” 

Ghost laughs again. “Ain’ pretending this is for the greater good, pet. The world will thank me if one more witch freezes to ‘er death.” You’re yanked further up his lap. “I let you go, you’ve got four, five hours tops ‘till your heart fails. You wan’ to live?”

You shake your head, fervent tremors batting your pout. A nonanswer seems the only manner of resistance, now. “Not like this.” 

“Clever. Tha’ still tells me you do.” He pinches the knotted peaks of your breasts, twisting until you buck wretchedly onto his pelvis. “And I wan’ to spend my evenin’ playing with your tits. A fair compromise, then.” 

What sort of familiar makes the demands? You contemplate berating him out loud, lunging for the dirty insult to beat at his status like he did yours. With no room for taking the high ground, you will do anything so long as you can later say you bared your claws. So you do not wonder, for countless sleepless nights, if there was something more you should have done. You will be mean. You will go low. You will condemn him to a fate of eternal dissatisfaction, so that no matter how much he eats or kills or takes, he will always feel his stomach a gnawing pit. 

Though something tells you he will not succumb to scrutiny against his honour. There is no code for creatures like him, who floss their teeth with crow meat and pluck the nipples of girls who grant them shelter. Nothing to hold them to expect the conditions of their summons.

Perhaps that’s just it.

You stir. It feels much like magic, when an incantation rolls off the tongue just right and the air shifts to accommodate it. Your heart vibrates behind your sternum, power bloating your veins, ricocheting within your skin. If Ghost feels it, he doesn’t falter.

“Be sure, demon.” You rasp, drawing your intent taut in your chest like a bowstring. He hums but does not stop, kneading your flesh to conform to the creases and calluses of his hands. “Be sure that’s what you want. I could give in without further fuss and be like a docile rabbit on your lap. That way, you will have taken two things from me tonight.” 

The liquid of his eyes shifts quick. You catch its gleam in the little light, and it pleases you enough to deliver the rest of your covenant.  

“By the spell that brought you here, you are bound to do what I sacrifice for.” You pause a moment. “In exchange for the blood you have ingested off my face, you will dig this house out of the snow. And for my virtue, this one evening allowance of which you have already taken upon yourself, you will collect my firewood until the season clears.” 

Ghost makes an indiscernible noise from underneath. You can not tell if he is peeved or pleased, and the ambiguity shakes you. You expected some sort of acknowledgment or counter to your trick. Instead, he does not speak on it. No pitch or complaint, protest or taunt. 

He just sits there, pawing at your chest like a satiated dog. 

(And come morning, when your breasts are raw and tender to the touch, he tunnels the snow around your cottage and returns hours later with a hundred cedar logs for the kindling.)

𝐈𝐈.𝐈𝐈

She prefers him in the daylight

Sun floods her little home when it rises and keeps it bright until it sets. Whereas the dark plays tricks on mortal eyes, oil lamps flickering, casting shadows that always resemble something else. She likes training an eye on what he does in his usual corner; but come night, she can’t trust what she sees. Thus, her confidence strains. She flinches at every sound. Any movement will have her tucking deeper under her quilt. His empty-eyed stare glows more sinister, if anything is to be assumed by the way she will crack her grimoire open and mouth protective spells like prayers.

Perhaps she’s afraid she caused offence, that he mulls over a punishment to teach her not to make a fool of him again. Perhaps it plagues her that she cannot stop him if that is the case. He does not tell her that, already, the worst possible thing that can confront her has. Though of course she isn’t privy to it, it’s been a month since he decided against making a meal of her. Everything he does now is moderate in comparison. He’s being good. 

Good, yes. In the evenings, he will venture out to do her bidding. The timing grants her a few hours rest, then, and him an opportunity to hunt for his dinner. 

Good, because he waits until he’s a mile out to transform to his truer self. It is easier to strip trees of their branches and snap their spines when he stands over two metres tall. Not so easy to mend the fragile tolerance she’s gained for him, which is sure to shatter if she catches sight of his monstrosity. He eludes the possibility entirely, then. 

Good, because Ghost refrains from agitating her more than he already has. And his intention in doing so does not change that decency. 

That is to say, he hasn’t grown a heart. He does not care for the girl. But the passivity that necessitated his savagery has since come to pass. She’s grown claws. She fights for her say and punches through life with guile. Any more and he would be faulting her for it, like burning the meat he tumbled through mud to slaughter. It is down to him to take it off the roast, now, to revel in the succulent bite. He’s got her right where he wants her.  

With some brief tampering on his part – laying out the temptation like a breadcrumb trail into the woods – she broke her invisible vow not to ask him for anything. Has it not made her life that much simpler? Her hearth burns bright and warm everyday; she does not have to worry about keeping it lit for the remnants of winter. He picks cedar for its aroma, it's even char, and she would not have access to that if it weren’t for his ability to tackle the sturdy tree. All it took was her debauchment, the vitiating of character to match his. 

(And really, how debauched was it if she only endured his groping for one night?)

It isn’t too much to want, he thinks. 

She thinks so too. Or otherwise decides it's worth the risk. 

It is late into the evening and his dinner sits fresh in his belly, fire chewing away at the split logs he emptied into the pit earlier. The air is thick with cloying cedar and the mephitic scent of potion-brewing, his pet crouched over a bubbling pot. She has been at it for hours, the same nightly routine since she broke her nose. Tadpoles and feverfew and sage, chanterelle and wishbone and sand. Stirred, brought to a boil, thickened with spit. Then scooped out and smothered over her sore face. A modest poultice, turned cast, to help her mend correctly over weeks.

He wonders if she considered bothering him to heal her. He certainly can. But it appears as though she enjoys keeping her hands busy. Toiling through time, grinding away like water does the earth. In the aeons he’s been around, he’s seen mountains chipped away, rocks change shape, rivers bend over time – and it is always the same eternal petulance. Stubborn mediocrity built into something larger. Endurance over brute force. He doesn’t pretend to understand it, but he can recognise a reflection of it in her craft. 

But she is not eternal. Every mortal has their limits. 

Ghost sees the iron grow filigree in her eyes, calculations imprinting onto her resolve. When she stands and turns to him, he almost expects it. The past quarter hour has built up to this ambitious ask, whatever it may be, and he’s mapped every battle she’s held within herself over the course of it. She does not want like he does. It is only extraneous circumstance that would lead her to his service. 

“I started it later than I usually do.” She mumbles, lips twisting like maggots. The hollows under her eyes are prominent, both exhaustion and hunger trimming her down to a sorry state. “I need sleep, but this can’t be heated beyond a boil.”

His cock chubs up in his trousers, aching as an array of possibilities occur to him in that second. Would he split her cunt on his fingers? Would he make her set it down atop his tongue? Her skirt leaves much to the imagination, but he imagines it bright and faithful in his head. Darker on the outside than in, glazed with pellucid slick, and shrouded in a matting of hair. The thought alone funnels salivate to the underside of his tongue. 

He meets her eye, shoulders curving inward, poised to pounce. 

Then, her brow spasms, and the wolfish instinct unravels as fast as it materialises. 

No. He cannot push it too far, not when she asks for something so little. It took all her energy to come to him now. She will never consider it again if he exploits that beyond equal measure. 

So, Ghost stands, stalking over to the cauldron and his pet. He often forgets how small she is until she cranes her neck to look up at him, all owlish blinks and delicate fingers latticed together, anxious for his response. 

“I’ll wake you.” He says. The tension in her forehead ebbs immediately, eyelids sagging now that he confirmed her ingredients will not waste. Though she doesn’t move, and he makes her stand there until he determines on an appropriate return. 

Moments later, he wraps an arm around her. His hand finds the jut in her skirt, where it protrudes to lap over her arse, and squeezes around the fat of one cheek. Even with the layers separating them, she is supple like softened butter. She makes a sound like a trapped mouse, jumping to the balls of her feet. The noise doesn’t deter him; he holds it there until he’s satisfied his grip will bruise. 

“There we are.” When he releases her, she stumbles backwards to find her bearings against the cool press of the wall. Puts a safe distance between them. Yet her stunned silence is intoxicating, and he has to actively suppress the gluttonous urge for more. Nothing is sacred when he gets like this. “That’s us even, then.” 

She nods. It is a wonder she manages to sleep at all.

(Unfortunate that the potion to heal her broken nose steals stock from her kitchen shelves. Day by day, he’s watched her sacrifice her fungi and herbs to the cauldron, prioritising recovery over sustenance. Unfortunate that she is still unable to go out for more. The winter whips cruel and merciless winds for anyone who dares step out into its storm.

Unfortunate. But not moving enough. 

It is intentional silence on his part, then. For the day will come where she opens her cupboards to eat and finds them lined with dust.

And on that day, he will be there.) 

𝐈𝐈.𝐈𝐈𝐈

Ghost takes his meals outside. 

That is, when he comes back lugging a dead beast and a tree behind him. You’ll watch from the window as he places the latter to the side, sinking to his knees to feast on whatever he caught that day. It always varies: hares, owls, rodents. An elk if he’s lucky. Today, it is a fox. 

Your heart knots with pity, mourning for the mammal who cannot grieve itself. Eyes blank and jaw swung open. Its fur, which typically strikes as a vivid red, can only look dull when set by the blood it leaves in its trail, tangled in the entrails bursting from its belly. The demon never minds the hair, nor the carnage. He balances on his haunches and pulls his mask up, sinking his teeth into the softest parts of his spoils. 

Though no one holds you to the frosted glass – chanting look, you have to look – you insist on bearing witness. The gore never grows easier to behold; everytime, it is the same revulsion that stews nausea at the sight. But you sit and suffer it anyway. If anyone were to ask you why, you would be hard-pressed to find an answer. 

Perhaps it is to build a tolerance for nature’s brutality. Ghost’s lesson with your crow has carved an irreplicable torment within you, revealing the jeopardy you face should you continue down your meek path. Exposure therapy is good justification, then, when your personal improvement thus far has only wrought merit. Your magic begets greater effect. You feel your self-possession flourish your spirit. Even your familiar has staved off the trouble, and you can not ask for a greater success.  

But that does not capture the core of the matter. Perhaps that is to be found in him, instead.

Because when Ghost eats, his visage will fluctuate. You do not think it is something he’s mindful of. None of it looks intentional – he does not bid whetted talons or teeth, features that would aid him in gutting the fox. Rather, they appear like fish beneath a rippling brook. Swift, transient flashes of another form. 

He sucks down an intestine, and his burly legs stretch so the joints are equidistant. They snap backwards, digitigrade heels extending, before you blink and they’re human once more.

He laps at a puddle of blood, and his mask parts to reveal two ivory prongs that steadily grow from his head. They curl, winding around his temples as ram horns do, only to disappear as your arid eyes burn. 

He tears into cartilage, and his exposed skin flakes like charred wood. The liver; his torso extends and thins. The brain; his breath condenses to black ash, as yours would ghostly vapour in cold air. None of it permanent. All of it haunting. 

The first time you saw it, you chalked it up to phantasm. Lack of sleep, insufficient nutrition. Searching for monstrosity that would better connect to the horror unfurling before you. So you set out to observe. Incessantly. Again and again and again – validating what you saw, though you received confirmation upon the second instance long ago. Sure enough, each day he reveals different parts to a whole. Excrescent spines and lofty feet. Things that have been urging for a spot in the sun, pressing under his skin. 

It’s the nesting doll all over again. Little matryoshka faces, each opening to reveal a smaller version of itself within. If you are the innermost one, then Ghost is the sisyphean effort to close them over each other in descending order. Unfeasible. Too large to comfortably remain within his confines. The wood will eventually snap in your struggle, and all the painted pieces will scatter across the floor. 

(You remember him just then. Craggy charm and blue eyes. Crafty hand – the same to restore your mother’s staircase – whittling the doll when you suggested he couldn’t. He wore a cross no matter the day, a habit of his father’s doing, and the silver pendant would sway with the paring motion of his hands. Lustrous against tanned skin. No doubt forged by him, too.

He used to call you macabre. Though it was footling fun at the time, you can’t help but grasp at what he meant as you track the steaming slaughter outside.)

“Do you like it?”

Water rushes into a tin basin, its metallic clang a forceful, echoing percussion. The noise is insufferable, grating on your ears, but you would rather it than have Ghost tow the pungent smell of death into your home. With his back turned to you, he washes his hands and mouth of dinner’s remnants, faucet spitting frigid reserves into the kitchen sink. 

His head twists a fraction, pupils coasting to assess you in his peripheral. Small talk is not commonplace. In the weeks you have coexisted, you can count your conversations on both hands. They always seem to prefer the path of internal dissection instead, judgments flung at one another through glares and body language and not much else. 

“Be more specific.” He grunts, facing his task again. From your place on the couch, you can see the way he picks his nails for stubborn shreds of fat. 

“Fox.”

A sliver of pale skin, bared where his mask ends at his nape, twitches. “No.” 

“Why not?” 

“Ammonic. Greasy. Tough all ‘round. Slippery little fucks, too.” His voice is softer when he isn’t being caustic. Skipping over enunciations, the typical rumble in his chest quieted to a hum. “There are easier, more rewardin’ meals.” 

You imagine what he may be referring to. Of every creature on this earth, only one does not have the benefit of evasion. Predators are sheltered by hierarchical canopies, demons like Ghost so powerful that they do not have to watch their backs. Birds of prey have their wings, fish their slippery scales. Even deer – slender and pregnable – are granted fleet-footed instincts rivalled only by the Pantheon’s messenger himself. It is only you, human, that is condemned to spindling, slow inelegance. Perhaps it is why so many are intellectuals, worshipers, terrors – why you yourself are a witch, sapping nature for her wares of which you do not come by naturally. That is the way things turn. Assuming the offensive to offset one’s shortcomings.

And turn back again; your effort has only imperilled you further. There is a cannibal, a monster, a man inside of your home. And you beckoned him here. 

Even as the revelation occurs to you, you can’t stave your ambition. Of course you do not parley with Ghost for the sake of it. There is nothing this new knowledge grants. But since he left to do his day’s errands, your stomach has made its presence known. Opening up like an early grave, emptiness gnarled beneath a soil bed as with roots of a tombstone tree. Every moment, every word, you are reminded of its cavity. Too long, it says, you’ve ignored the pangs of hunger that seized this trench in an iron fist. Priorities, you would reply, as you surrendered food to brew your poultice. And so your nose is healed, great, but your shelves are empty and your head is faint. Hunger surplants the cold as your imminent killer.

“My mum taught me how to fix a good stew.” You begin, rolling your sticky tongue and tucking both hands beneath your bottom, cautious not to set this mousetrap off yourself. The pressure is grounding, at least; you match your breathing to the pulse you feel in your fingertips. “I trust it would be better than raw meat.”

A pause. Ghost’s spine straightens. Then, a panic. You’re thrown off your conviction when your chest flutters and you feel it in your brain. Where is that wily being? The woman who cheated her familiar into a season’s worth of labour? You feel as though you have regressed; screeching infant, lungs flaring with a rush of new air. You cannot face this, you think, but you’re already halfway out into the world. The sink squeaks off. 

You just pray your stomach doesn’t make noise in the new silence. 

“Is tha’ so?” He says, though does not turn to look at you just yet. 

“I could try.” The words bubble like bile in your throat. It is in your best interest to stay quiet. Say no more. He’s being ambiguous so you will reveal too much in turn. The game is transparent. You can see the water-worn rocks on the river bed, so clear it’s like they’re clasped between your hands instead. Yet– “If I had the ingredients for it, ‘course.” 

There. The lip of the cliff. How odd of you to see it only as you plummet towards a frothy scree. Ghost snaps, live lightning in heated air, or otherwise like the rocks that impale you on landing. In two strides, you’re cornered by a creature with scorn harrowing the space between its brows. You were stupid not to plan an escape route, stupid to arm yourself with nothing but flimsy subtlety. There was always the risk of it coming to this, you knew that. 

“You think y’can rummage for loopholes, hm?” He leers, eyes searing holes into yours. “A trick is only charmin’ on the first go, pet. More than once and y’start to stink of stale piss.” 

“I don’t–” 

He snatches your jaw, thumb and ring fingers digging an aching grip onto either side. Your protest warbles pathetically, dies, chokes you with its rot. It’s difficult, no– impossible to decipher what he's mad at. A small, fresh part of you actually hoped he’d see your cunning as artful. But it seems your station has come back to haunt you; another mortal whose brain cannot keep up with her heart. Even if one is in the right place, you will go about chasing it in the wrong direction. Artful is too shiny of a laurel, then. Trick, too, is being charitable 

“Do not play coy with me, girl. I do not take kindly to underhand deals.” Snarled right above you, spit spattering across your face. Your mandible squeaks, bone-deep pain flaring where he tightens the pressure around your face. Fox blood flavours his breath. There is a ringing in your head – shrill, like water in the tin sink. “If you need something from me, you will admit it and cope with the terms I have in turn.”

“I-I’m sorr-eeeee.” Your apology wheezes thin when he thrashes your head in place. It is either that or the relentless force on your jaw that tears a new world of pain down your neck. The tears are reactionary, then. Hot and foggy and not at all a sign of fear. “Ah- I’m sorry! I won’t– I didn’t mean to offend y-you.” 

“S’too fuckin’ late for that. You’ll follow through, before I take wha’ I want anyway.” He shakes his head. “Ask nicely for what y’need then, pet. Go on.” 

“Nothing! Nothing anymore, please. Jus’ let me go, Ghost.” Perhaps the universe disdains your insincerity, because in a hand dealt by its inexorable irony, your stomach buckles and purls a foul sound. Like it heard your words and protests the withdrawal, gurgling out loud to whoever will address it instead. 

And he does. He does. 

“You’re hungry, hm? That it?” He shoves your limp body onto the floor, dismissive of the pleas you now regulate to your feet, thrashed wildly to strike at his shin. Everything he does is callous, mean, agitated like the sulphur and magma that run thick beneath the earth’s crust. And though it is not your first encounter with a creature of that ilk – you have had your run-ins with over-excited men – the intentionality behind it has never been more flagrant. Ghost does it to hurt you. “Yeah, been neglecting you, haven’ I? Forgot pets couldn’ feed themselves.”  

“I’w scrounge somefing up mysef.” You struggle, speech impeded as he crushes your cheeks inwards. Pearl dust flakes your gums. 

“Should ‘ave thought of tha’ before. Even if I end up breakin’ every bone in that fine skull of yours, I won’t let up. Say it, then, you daft thing.” 

The scaling of your options is instantaneous. Even as your immediate conscious lags behind, activity lights the back of your head and cracks its way out of your mouth before you can catch it. It took weeks for your nose to heal, much less your skull. You’re consuming fuel quicker than you can replenish, running on a backlog of quick-burning fat. And all of it can be taken care of if you just give in, to what will likely only be a few hours of degradation. 

(Cavewoman. Primordial. Primitive impartiality, or survival of the fittest. The world has only come so far since then, and even within its concentrated civilizations, there is no aegis but for those who come up on top. You cannot expect your liberties to be met anywhere. That, you know too well.

But here, in this feral forest, at least you can use the violation to your benefit. At the very least, you will not be exiled, cast as witch for taboo of saying the greater word. 

You are already macerated on rock bottom. And at the barren abyss of all leasts, Ghost will not hang a cross pendant above you as he stomps it in.)

He must see the surrender wet your eyes, for the grip on your jaw lessens. 

“I am hungry.” You cry, finally, lashes fluttering shut so as to guard your tears. “I am hungry. This winter has dashed my garden and I do not know how to hunt. The cushions jab into my ribs when I sleep. I feel as though my stomach will consume me from the inside out, and I’m desperate. I am desperate, and I am so, so hungry. And I am asking for your help. Please.” 

If there was any part of you that still believed he would choose pity, it is muffled and killed. You hear the scratch of fabric as he undoes his pants. Final, failing. Rustled hand behind confines, stench of musk stiffening the air. For a few seconds, you opt to remain blissfully ignorant – keep your eyes closed and imagine that the presence before your face is something different. A purifying flame, tender cut of meat, a smiling face before things fell downhill. It all sounds too good to be true, and they are. Sooner or later, you tell yourself, you have to face the misery. 

So, you force yourself to behold it before he takes that upon himself. 

His cock is heavy. Fat and oversized, length not having suffered for its breadth. Ruddy where the head peaks from an uncut tip, hard already, but bowed under the weight of itself. If you had anything to expel, you would’ve done so by now. A thicket of hair fledges his groyne – a shade of dark that pales his scarred skin in comparison – and it reeks of sweat and miasma. 

He taps it on your cheek, prespend sticky and warm. You flinch as though you have been beaten. 

“Just one thing af’er the other with you, pet. Think this’ll give y’something to fix yourself on.” 

“I don’t– I’ve never–” His thumb hooks over your bottom teeth, prying your trap as wide as it can go. Drool slicks the cracked hinges of your lips. “Don’ know how.”

“Not what I’m lookin’ for.” He purrs, cruel humour gracing his tone. Somehow, it is not a reassurance as much as it is a snub. “Jus’ keep your teeth out of the way.” Humiliation washes your neck and ears, rush of blood like white river rapids behind your ears. It is the final swatch, trumpet to armageddon, before your ruin. You suck in a breath and bring your mouth to him.

Ghost meets you halfway, treating the crown of your head as an anchor to thrust forward. Immediately, you let slip his only rule, teeth snapping reflexively at the intrusion. You expect to be backhanded, have your hair ripped from your scalp in relation, or worse. It is a relief, then, when the only force you receive is a knock against your jaw. The rapping shakes your cotton-lined skull, snaps you out of your stupefaction, and you slack all muscles to accommodate his demand.

The mass feeding down your throat vibrates, an appreciative hum coursing through his body. “There you are, little jezebel. Look a’ you takin’ my cock so well.” 

You make no effort to glide your tongue along his veins. To make this pleasurable for him beyond what he takes for himself. True to his word, your familiar does not punish you for it. He knots his hands around your head and fucks your face, careless, cock rearranging the anatomy of your neck as it bludgeons a straight path down. You sway, ragdoll with the motions, knees rubbing abrasively across the floor as he slides you back and forth over it. 

Hypoxia spots your vision, lungs clenching furiously at the obstructed flow of oxygen. You would fasten it all shut, close yourself off from the world, but your eyes bulge a little at the edges, stagnant blood keeping them arid and open. It’s hard to dissociate. Hard to pretend that the steel-wool friction at the tip of your nose, the pendulum-consistent slaps on your chin, are not his pubic hair and balls searing unmistakable marks on your skin. And your series of gags are sloppy, lewd out in the confined air of your home. How could they be anything but damnation? There is no deluding the Maker. 

(No matter how fervently he tried. Marry me, proposed down on both knees. It’ll set this whole fankle right. We’ll hold hands an’ seek penance at the kirk before th’ceremony. My pa will officiate. Yer ma will be thrilled.)

Snot bubbles from your nose, cheeks slick with tears and wayward spit. When he batters forward, it amalgamates in the soft palate beneath your spasming tongue. When he draws out, he takes it with him, viscous strings of saliva bridging the gap. It streams down to your neck, glosses your lips, webs your lashes together. You feel buried beneath its stifling coat, set down into your grave at last. Maggots worm their way into the soft matter of your brain, eat away at the tissue until there’s nothing left but suffocation. Death. Throttling void. 

Your hands flail out, seeking an end to it, but all you find is Ghost.

He slows down once he nears his end. 

The bruising pace he set stutters, balls tightening against your submental. It catches you off guard because, for the past ten minutes, you accustomed yourself to the patterns of his push and pull. For every plunge, there is a retreat, where you will greedily feast on fresh air before being choked back down on his cock. It is a break of tide, an opportunity to paddle your way above water to clear sea-salt from your hollows. A bay to hold onto so you do not drown.

Until now; his forearms twitch and you’re kept in place, forehead squashed onto his mons. You panic, hold on your breath breaking. The heady scent of sweat sweeps over you, laced with the tart products of your mouth – saliva and blood from where your canine pierced your cheek. Prespend, too. The undiluted stink of him. Hair tickles your lips. Your cunt flares, sudden, slickening the chafe of your thighs, but the unwelcome arousal does nothing for you. 

He holds your head down and spurts his load into your gullet. 

There is no room to swallow. It goes in the wrong direction, then – upward – and out your nose. You squeeze your eyes shut, disgusted scream gargling around his throbbing appendage. Distress bloats your head, temples feverish and sweating, nails digging deep impressions into your palms. It’s futile. Useless. Nothing thwarts him but the last dregs of semen spitting out onto your tonsils, pumping himself dry until finally, finally–

Ghost pulls out. You collapse onto the carpet and hack up cum until your throat bleeds. 

The silence afterwards is mortifying, tension palpable enough to writhe up against. Drained, you’ve since pressed your cheek into the puddle of filth, urging pearlescent spend to seep into the fibres below. It'll be a nightmare to clean later, you process slowly. Perhaps you’ll use the bleach, and take the same sponge to your lips.

The monster above you tuts at the display, crouching to your level when you exhibit no interest in rising to his.  

“C’mon, sweet. Wouldn’t want to waste your dinner now.” 

But you’re too weak to lift your head. So Ghost gathers your hair, puppeteering – in a manner rather gentle for your assailant – until you can lap his essence off the floor. 

It tastes like raw venison. You snivel your thanks, and imagine it is exactly that.

i do not have a taglist. to be alerted when i update, please follow @moondirti-archive and turn on post notifs.

[thefreakydeaky]

You're No Good (Part 2)

Negan x Reader

Various TWD Characters x Reader

Modern AU

Summary: Your husband came up with a way to keep you away from trouble but trouble just won't stay away from you.

Warnings: In this house we say Fuck. there's a little angst in this part. la croix smut. there is a hint of smut.

That evening as you made dinner, the instant messaging app dinged. You picked up your phone to see a response from your ex.

- Hey, I've been doing fine. The families alright except we lost Mimma and Pappa two years ago. We should go get a drink together and really catch up, when you've got time. There's a fancypants bar at that new hotel downtown. You were always into that sort of thing. Let me know.-

You smirked.

Fancypants bar

It was a very Him phrase to use. It sounded fun to day drink and hang out for a while.

-I'm sorry to hear that. My condolences to you and your family. I would like to catch up. What day are you off?-

And just like that it was set in motion. You pushed the stir fry around the pan. You heard the garage door opening and took off your apron.

Negan called out to you as he came inside. You turned off the stove and went to him.

The tall handsome man put his arms around you encircling you in his embrace. You leaned up and pressed your lips to his in a quick peck. He laughed. Then ducked his head and kissed you properly. His lips molded to yours. You stayed connected for a moment. He slowly pulled away.

"What you makin'?" Negan asked following you to the kitchen.

"Oh, just stir fry." You told him.

He took out a couple of plates and set them on the counter. You began to serve your dinner as he got a beer and a soda from the fridge.

"How was your day?" He took a seat at the table.

You picked up the plates and then set them down. You got utensils and brought them to the table.

"It was alright." You thought for a moment to tell him you had run into Rick Grimes, but you decided against it. "Nothing interesting. I bought a new dress."

"That's nice." He took a bite of his food.

"So, I don't want you to think I'm upset with you, because I'm not, but-"

His eyebrows raised. He looked mildly concerned.

"Another one called me today.” You kept your tone even.

“Who called you?” He asked not understanding.

“Someone you’ve …seen or someone you’re seeing.” You tried again.

He winced.

“We had talked about you using face recognition to lock your phone, remember?" You imparted with forced calm.

"Shit. Baby, I'm sorry. I hate to do it. It's such an inconvenience, but you're right. If it's the only way to prevent this from happening I'll get it done."

You nodded.

"Thank you."

He took your hand in his and kissed your knuckles. Your text message app chimed. You ignored it in favor of eating dinner with the man you loved.

••••••••••••

On a bright and sunny Saturday, You and Negan drove to one of the biggest parks in the city. It was beautiful, green and teaming with vegitation. The big elm trees offered a lot of shade and the lake at the center made the weather, that bordered on too hot, more bearable.

There were tables set up and booths with carnival games. An Axe throwing area was set up off to the side. There was an area being used to set up the catering that had been ordered as well.

Hand in hand you let Negan lead you up to his boss. He introduced you (again) to Mr. Philip Blake, a man of average height and unremarkable features. He acted pleasant enough.

You shook hands and made a comment about how nice it all was. Mr. Blake called his wife and daughter over and you greeted them as well. They were in matching floral printed shorts and pink polo shirts. You found it cute and smiled at the little girl.

"Well, there's plenty to do around here. You have to sign a waver for the axe throwing, but it's safe enough." Mr. Blake commented.

"We'll try it out." Negan replied.

The men nodded cordially at one another and you parted ways.

"What would you like to do?" Negan asked you as you stopped by different booths to check them out.

"Mm...what about the ring toss?"

Negan smirked at you.

"You sure about that?"

You nodded.

When it was your turn at the game, you were handed three rings each. You watched Negan go first. He missed the first one but landed the last two.

"Good job, My love." You kissed his cheek.

"Can't wait to see you try it." He teased.

You played at glaring at him.

You turned the first ring in your hand and hooked your hand as though you were throwing a frisbee. You moved your wrist sharply. It whizzed past the bottles and hit the tarp behind them.

The corner of Negan's mouth twitched. You shook your head.

You tried the same move again, this time you tried not to move so tightly. The ring landed upright in between the bottles

You made a sound of disappointment.

Negan chuckled.

"Last one, You've got this." He encouraged despite his amusement.

The last ring you held between both your hands and tossed into the air. The red plastic bounced against the bottles and tumbled to the floor.

You pouted.

Negan laughed lightly. He pulled you into his side, his arm around you lower back.

"It's okay, Baby. Throwing was never your thing."

"Yeah, yeah." You pretended to be mad about it. In truth, your lack of agility didn't bother you, you just liked to see Negan smile.

You moved on to a booth where you would throw darts at balloons. Negan gestured toward the stuffed animals.

"I'll win you one." He boasted, throwing you a wink.

You scoffed at him.

"Sure you will."

He threw the first of five darts and immediately hit a green balloon. The next two darts popped two more balloons in a row. With the the fourth one he struck the board between two rows and both balloons popped.

You clapped, grinning at the absurdly joyful look on his face. He got ready to throw the fifth dart.

You jumped at the feeling of a hand on your shoulder and turned, missing Negan's throw.

"What are you doing here?" The torso you found yourself looking at was all that was eye level for you, you had to crane your neck to see the man talking to you.

"Be?" Your eyes widened.

You would not have imagined you would run into him here, the man you met in a motel room twice a month. Memories flashed through your mind, the giant of a man with his hands tied together, laying naked under you as you rode his long cock. Memories of teasing him and edging him until he was on the verge of tears. Making him cum so hard that he whined as he reached orgasm. Then again, was it any wonder that you wouldn't know? He was very strict about keeping the details of your lives private. You didn't even know his real name. He told you to call him 'Beta'.

His brows were curled down in upset.

"You shouldn't be here." Beta insisted.

"I, uhm, someone I know works for-"

"I don't care! She'll see you!" He said in a hushed but urgent tone.

"Just ignore me. She will only know if you give it away." You huffed pushing his hand away from your shoulder.

Beta grabbed onto your forearm and started pulling you away.

"Hey!" You hissed. "Let go of me!"

The giant of a man ignored you still tugging you along behind him. You looked around frantically for your husband.

"Excuse me. You wanna get your fucking hands off my wife?" Negan cut in coming to stand between you.

Beta seemed startled by Negan's sudden presence. He let go of your arm.

"Oh, uh, your wife? My bad." He stuttered, looking from you to Negan and back. He didn't seem to be intimidated by Negan. Rather, his eyes kept darting toward the seating area somewhere behind you. "My bad." He repeated and walked away.

Once Beta was a good distance away, Negan turned and picked something up off the ground. Still feeling anxious and freaked out by what had happened, you watched as he came to you and deposited a rainbow colored bear into your arms the size of a small dog.

"Are you alright?" He sounded annoyed, but there was concern under it.

You nodded. You stared at the stuffed animal mutely for a minute.

"You should be more careful who you choose." He sniffed. "It sucks for me to have to meet them."

When you looked up, Negan was no longer standing in front of you. You caught sight of him going back toward the tables where some of his coworkers were sitting. You wiped away the tears that were welling in your eyes and started heading to the booth that was giving out lemonade.

[nickeverdeen]

Horizon Forbidden West characters reacting to you flinching during an argument

Aloy (wlw if romantic)

The moment Aloy sees you flinch, her entire demeanor softens, and the fight drains out of her

She would immediately apologize, hating that she made you feel unsafe or uncomfortable around her

Aloy would likely close the distance between you, gently touching your arm or face to reassure you that she’s not a threat

After the incident, she’d spend time reflecting on her actions and would probably be overly cautious in future arguments

She would sit down with you to discuss what just happened and make sure you know she never meant to hurt you emotionally

“Hey… I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you”

Varl

Varl would be stunned, his eyes widening as he realizes the impact of his words or actions

He’d instantly soften his voice, stepping closer but moving slowly to avoid making you more uncomfortable

Varl would sincerely apologize, his voice full of regret

His protective instincts would kick in, and he’d be more careful in future discussions, making sure never to raise his voice

He’d likely pull you into a tight, comforting hug, wanting to show you through his actions that you’re safe with him

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to - are you okay?”

Elisabeth Sobeck (wlw if romantic)

Elisabeth’s expression would immediately shift from frustration to regret, realizing she’s caused you to flinch

She’d quickly apologize, her voice trembling slightly, as she’s not used to feeling so vulnerable. "I’m sorry. That was not my intention."

Elisabeth would want to discuss what led to the flinch, understanding that your relationship should be built on trust and safety

She would reassure you that she would never intentionally hurt you, emotionally or otherwise

Elisabeth would be visibly affected, realizing how much she cares about you and how deeply she values your comfort and trust.

“I’m sorry, that wasn’t my intention”

Sylens

Sylens would pause, the sharpness in his eyes dulling as he processes your reaction

He wouldn’t apologize directly but would immediately lower his tone and distance himself from the intensity he had before

Internally, he’d be frustrated with himself, though he might not show it outwardly

He would try to address the situation logically, asking what made you flinch and how to prevent it in the future

Despite his often cold demeanor, he’d find a way to show that he cares, perhaps by offering a solution to the argument in a calm manner

“Calm down, y/n, it’s not like I’m gonna hurt you”

Beta

Beta would likely tear up, the flinch triggering her own fears and insecurities

She’d immediately apologize, possibly stumbling over her words as she tries to reassure you that she didn’t mean to frighten you

Beta would likely start blaming herself, thinking she’s messed up and hurt you

If she feels safe enough, she’d reach out to hold your hand or touch your shoulder, needing the physical connection to reassure both you and herself

In the future, Beta would be extremely cautious during any disagreements, afraid of accidentally scaring you again

“Oh no, I didn’t mean to–I’m so sorry”

Erend

Erend would be visibly shocked, the guilt hitting him immediately

He’d drop whatever argument you were having and rush to your side, desperate to comfort you

Makes sure you know that he’d never hurt you

He’d likely pull you into a bear hug, wanting to physically reassure you of his feelings

Erend would make a promise to be more careful with his words and actions in the future, valuing your trust above all

"Whoa, hey, no, I’m sorry. I’d never hurt you, you know that, right?"

Petra

Petra’s expression would immediately soften, her voice losing all its previous edge

She’d apologize without hesitation, feeling a pang of guilt for making you flinch

She might reach out to gently take your hand or touch your face, offering a calming gesture to reassure you

Petra would want to discuss what happened, making sure you’re both on the same page and that there are no lingering fears

She’d be more mindful in future arguments, ensuring she never raises her voice or says something that might scare you

“Hey, sorry, that’s not what I wanted”

Tilda (wlw if romantic)

Tilda would be surprised at first, not expecting you to flinch

Her concern would be masked under a composed exterior

She would immediately dial back her intensity, speaking in a much softer tone

Despite her often cold demeanor, she’d apologize, perhaps more out of obligation but still with a hint of genuine concern

Tilda would reassure you that you have nothing to fear from her, though her way of doing so might be more intellectual than emotional

"I didn’t intend to make you uncomfortable."

Alva (wlw if romantic)

Alva’s eyes would widen with concern, and she’d immediately stop whatever she was saying

Her voice would be soft and filled with remorse when she apologizes

She’d likely reach out to you, gently touching your arm or hand, seeking to comfort you physically as well as verbally

Alva would offer soothing words, reassuring you that you’re safe with her and that she never meant to hurt you

From that moment on, she’d be more conscious of her tone and actions during disagreements, ensuring that she maintains a caring and understanding approach

"I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you like that."

[shankss-magnificent-ass]

Imagine helping Crocodile discover a new way to use his devil fruit

Before the cross guild's morning meeting

You: [watching Crocodile repeatedly thumbing the spark wheel of his sputtering lighter, attempting to light up a cigar] I have a question.

Crocodile: [cocks an eyebrow over at you for your audacity, lips still stubbornly clasped around the cigar]

You: Using your sand, how fast can you get your sand particles to move?

Crocodile: [uses his hand to show you he can move them faster than your eye can see]

Mihawk: [stops reading the newspaper to look up at you]

Buggy, the one who invited you: [looking nervously between you and Crocodile]

You: can you do that while compressing the particles?

Crocodile: [shrugs]

Mihawk: [mildly suspicious of you] Why?

You: [looks between the three men, to realize you might have fucked up, so you start back-pedaling] Oh, no, uh, I just figured if he compressed his sand while trying to circulate it rapidly, the friction would create enough kinetic energy to produce heat that was hot enough to light his cigar. I wasn't, like, meaning to offend.

Crocodile: [lifts his finger in front of him and tries what you just said, and gets it to glow red with heat]

Buggy: UHH?

Mihawk: ( = _ =)?

Crocodile: [lifts his cigar to the glowing whirl of sand pulls off the cigar, and chuckles, swirling smoke escaping his nostrils] Oh this will bring so many more possibilities to me.

Buggy: great, nice going jackass, now he's even more powerful.

You: You probably could use it to cook someone.

Crocodile: excuse me?

Mihawk: shut up, little bird, stop giving him ideas.

Crocodile: [Cages you against the couch with his arms and leans in close] Keep talking, I want to know what fucked up thing is floating around in that little head of yours.

You: [pulls away from him and averts your gaze]

Crocodile: [uses his hook to pull your chin towards him to make you look at him] Look at me when I'm talking to you.

Mihawk: [sighs loudly and leans back in his chair] Leave them alone, Crocodile.

Crocodile: [ignores them] tell me

You: if you have enough sand to encase someone, you could cook them alive.

Buggy: That's kind of scary, kid.

Mihawk: [runs his hand over his face] What the fuck.

Crocodile: [laughs and ruffles your hair after he processes your words] I like this kid, good job Buggy for finding this one.

List of Up-and-coming works || Master list || Twitter| Kofi || Patreon

[therabbitthatpostthings]

“Kento.”

“Yes?”

“We should get married.”

He was too out of it to really process what you were insinuating, especially at a time like this. He carefully shifted to look up at you. You let him rest in your lap as you tried to stop the bleeding. You had wrapped what was left of your jacket around his wounds. Carefully he spoke, “Why would we get married right now?”

“That’s been your dream right? A happy marriage. A family? Now’s a great time to consider it.” You stated. Kento felt like he was being sold something instead of a proper proposal.

“I know I’m not marriage material but I’ve admired you for years now so I wanted to say it.” That boldness you had suddenly faded as you idly traced shapes into his shoulder.

Kento reached to grab your hand and intertwine it with his. His other free arm caressed your cheek gently, “I couldn’t ask for anyone more perfect than you.”

A loud rumble shook the station as little bits of dust and debris spindled from the ceiling. Kento watched the worry and fear wash over you. “Hey, come lay here with me. Let’s plan the wedding.”

You laid against his non-bandaged side and he pulled you in closer. “Where do you want to go?”

“Let’s have a beach wedding.” You smiled cuddling up to him. “In Malaysia.”

You both stared up at the ceiling, knowing it would eventually collapsed. Even if it didn’t, you’d both probably bleed out. Nanami smiled, “I’ll get us a nice house on the beaches for the honeymoon.”

“Only the best from my husband.” You joked as another impact sent a deep rumble through the train station.

“I’ll buy you a proper ring.” He gently caressed your knuckles. He could feel the cold, slow, teardrops land on his shoulder. He pulled you in closer.

“Let’s rest now love.”