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jinx-xxed · 15 days ago

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Silver Chains

☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆ .。.:*

A/N; I’ve already watched Sinners 4 times and became obsessed so I fear it’s necessary for me to write a fic for Remmick at least once 🤕 this is my first time writing vampires and blood like this so please forgive me if it sucks 🙏 also if I’ve written anything in relation to the movie incorrectly please tell me so I can fix it! I have some other ideas brewing that I might write as well so I hope you enjoy :P!

Summary; A hunt gone awry leaves you caught by vampire hunters with the threat of the sun looming over you.

Content; NSFW 18+, AFAB reader, vampire reader, vampirism, vampire hunters, blood and injury, death, feral behavior, you almost die, protective/possessive Remmick, very dependent relationship, bloodsucking, blood eating as kink, a lot of drool, he comes with it what can I say, feeding off Remmick, putting those claws and teeth to good use, eating out, fingering, piv sex, multiple orgasms, little bit of aftercare, soft Remmick

Wc; 7.2k

☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆ .。.:*

The stench of blood assaults your nose.

It’s not the tantalizing, mouth-watering scent of someone else’s, no, it’s your own. It smells all sorts of wrong, impure and old with decay only to a thing like you.

Your blood runs down your skin in rivulets, staining it a deep, shiny red. Droplets fling from your body as you thrash and jerk against the heavy, silver chains that bind you to a thick and sturdy tree. The pain of the bark digging into your back is nothing compared to the agony of the chains burning your flesh away, steam rising from your injuries like you’d been placed on burning coals. It makes you wild, desperate to get away but with nowhere to go.

There’s no chance of you escaping the chains that sit against your neck, arms, waist, and legs in sets of two, even despite your struggling and the way you try to launch yourself from the tree with the slight leeway you have with your feet. Your unnerving eyes gleam in the moonlight, wide and frantic with fear, your bloodstained, jagged teeth showing in your open mouth. You feel as far from human as you possibly could be, snarling like an animal and chained just like one too.

The men watching you seem to think the same thing.

There’s five of them, two sit on their horses while the other three steadily pace the small clearing they have you in. God damn vampire hunters, armed to the teeth with everything they need to kill the likes of you. Silver bullets, silver chains, garlic and holy water, wooden stakes on their belts. It’s like they’re surrounded by a bubble of protection that you can’t penetrate, that’ll hurt you if they get too close—which isn’t that far off.

You curse yourself over and over. You and Remmick made damn sure to stay away from Choctaw land and yet here you are, caught and beaten. This is a new type of hunter, one you’d never had the misfortune of coming across before. They hunt in the dead of night, they enjoy watching you thrash and suffer, and their methods are cruel, meant to draw out your punishment.

You’ve never heard or seen a lick of them prior to tonight when you’d been ambushed and chased through the woods.

A gunshot had pierced your shoulder, one that brought more pain than your typical lead bullet. It had left you stumbling with a choked yell, steam rising from the hole in your shoulder blade. Then you’d heard the rustling in the underbrush, the hoots and hollers of men with a different kind of bloodlust than what you’re used to. Oh you’d ran, you’d ran as fast as your legs could carry you through the rough terrain of the forest, clearing fallen logs and scraping your bare arms on branches and thorns.

They’d caught you with another bullet to your thigh and a rope around your legs, pulling snug as soon as you tried to take another step and sending you thudding onto the hard ground. They’d wrapped you in silver soon after, seemingly experts on how to maneuver around you to avoid your snapping teeth and deadly nails. The first touch of the silver made your skin bubble and burn, a scream tearing out of your throat against your will. They’d dragged you crying for you don’t know how long behind their horses, all the way to the edge of the forest that overlooks a field that’s flat for as far as the eye can see.

You don’t know where they came from, they’re clearly unrelated to any other group or tribe of hunters, instead being just a gaggle of men who have dedicated their lives to eradicating yours. The history of your kind isn’t widely known, isn’t readily available to the public, so in your pain-addled brain you still wonder where they heard your tales, still wonder what else you might have to worry about if the knowledge is growing.

Your head thumps back, your breath coming ragged through your lungs. You shut your eyes tight for just a moment, trying to force away any more tears and clear your head. You haven’t felt pain like this in a long, long time, especially because Remmick has always been there to keep an eye on you, to keep you out of harms way. But not this time, not when you strayed too far and got too distracted to be vigilant about your surroundings. You’d been stupid and you know that, so part of you thinks you deserve this.

“Just stake me and be done.” You groan, ultimately defeated as the silver chains bite through your skin to the bone. It’s not like you want to die necessarily, you just want to be released from your own agony. You hate the way they’re toying with you, watching like wolves as you writhe and bleed.

One man shakes his head, his face shadowed by the cowboy hat he wears. “Nah, we like to watch y’all burn.” He looks to his watch and then up at the sky. “Ain’t gon’ be much longer now.”

You can’t help looking as well, your eyes finding the ever lightening night sky. The stars have been chased away, the moon laying itself to rest on the other side of the earth. You can feel the threat of the sun as the air steadily warms, as time tick, tick, ticks away. If you had to guess, you have about thirty minutes left at most before yellow rays peak over the horizon line.

You force a swallow down your torn throat, your breathing stutters as panic kicks up in your chest. You figure seeing the sun in your final moments won’t be the worst thing, it has been seven years after all, but nobody wants to be burned alive. You don’t want to feel your skin cook and be engulfed by flames, you don’t want your last memory to be pain. Tears fall down your bloodstained cheeks without you realizing, dripping to the forest floor as your head hangs.

Then there’s a rustle in the trees beyond that makes your attention snap back up. That’s when you sense it, when the tiny hairs on the back of your neck rise. It’s like a blanket of eerie quiet was laid over the clearing, quieting any crickets or frogs or birds and leaving just the whispers of an old wind through the trees. There’s a flash of red, the familiar smell of ancient blood and earth hitting your nostrils. It’s an instant comfort.

Your own reaction has caused the hunters to become alert, clutching their guns a little tighter and looking into the trees. They don’t even realize what’s happening before the screams start.

The first man goes down—the first is always the easiest. The horses startle in turn, rearing up with loud, shrill whinnies that make the men on their backs shout. One falls off his beast while the other gets dragged from the saddle with a yell. The horses shake their heads and shriek before crashing into the forest, leaving their riders behind to get their throats torn open.

You could sob in relief at seeing Remmick, his claws extended and his fangs bared. He looks feral, his hair wild and his eyes wide and gleaming bright red. Blood coats his chin and his neck, staining the collar of his button up as he rips into his victims as messily as he pleases. The two men left got enough of their senses to try and fire their guns, to use the weapons they so carefully prepared. One wields a wooden stake and runs at Remmick who grabs the man’s wrists to prevent the stake from being buried into his heart.

They grapple briefly before the man is being slammed onto the ground with a terrifying ease, something within his body cracking. Claws are raked across his neck in a quick slash, urgency spurred by the cock of a gun, the sound of the shot being fired making you flinch as it rings through the clearing. It misses its target by just a hair and it’s unable to reload fast enough to prevent Remmick from jumping on the final hunter. The man goes down with a choked scream and you hear the familiar sounds of flesh being devoured and blood being drained. There’s only a sickly silence that follows.

All of the spilled blood has thick strings of drool dripping from the corners of your mouth, your hunger flaring up from the lack of food you’d gotten tonight and the exhaustion of struggling against the hunters. You lean forward instinctively, desperate for a taste, before the silver chains binding your body remind you of where you are. You jolt back with a whimper, pain biting into you tenfold.

Remmick’s head snaps up, those sinister red eyes finding you as the bloodlust and blind rage fades, as he seems to remember you. He’s up in an instant, hurrying over and flinching away with a snarl when he realizes what’s wrapped around your body. “Shit.” He spits angrily, doing it again when he looks to the horizon and sees the slow infiltration of the oranges and yellows of morning into the purples and blues of night. Ten minutes left.

“Rem- Remmick- please, please get me out- it hurts, Remmick, please.” You beg, your babbling words warbling with pain and emotion. You don’t want to be left behind, not again, not by him. It’d hurt more than the searing kiss of the sun.

“I ain’t leavin’ you, darlin’.” He says with finality through gritted teeth, even as every instinctual thing inside him whispers to leave you here to die, to save himself and let you be engulfed in the flames of your mistake. He circles behind you, taking a deep breath before beginning to tug at the chains, hissing as they burn the calloused skin on his hands. Despite the pain, they steadily come undone, dropping to the ground around you so you can finally take in a gasping breath.

“I told you to stay with me, didn’t I? Would it kill ya to listen for once?” Remmick snaps as he undoes the last of the chains around your legs, leaving you to stumble forward. You’re charred and covered in wounds, but now your body can finally begin to regenerate. You look a mess and you feel like one too, tears stinging the corners of your eyes as you struggle just to stay standing.

Before you can even get out an apology, he’s grabbing your wrist and tugging you with him. His own blood smears on your skin, the smell threatening to cloud your mind. “C’mon, or else we’ll both be fried.” His tone is low and angry and focused, telling you to save whatever you need to say for later.

You eagerly follow him, doing your best to keep up as you both run to outrace the rising warmth of morning. Panic hangs heavy around you, knowing how quickly those final minutes tick by, feeling the heat licking at your heels. Your skin threatens to begin sizzling again, sweat gleaming on your forms.

But by the grace of some cursed god, it turns out the hunters had dragged you not too far from where you and Remmick have made your home in a tiny little house hidden in the trees. It’s temporary, of course, and you’ll no doubt be moving again after tonight, but in the moment it’s like finding a blessed sanctuary in the midst of damnation. You both fly up the porch steps and burst into your home just as the sun clears the horizon line, its beams filtering through the trees while you slam the door in its face.

You fall to your knees instantly, panting and heaving like a dog as your deep injuries throb and ooze. Your whole body is shaking, weak from a pain and hunger you haven’t experienced before. You can feel the ache in your teeth, the drool that still runs down your chin despite how many times you’ve wiped it away.

Remmick is less fazed, simply shrugging off his sweat and blood soaked button up and tossing it aside, his suspenders falling loose around his hips and leaving him in his once white tank. The thin gold chain around his neck glints in the dim lighting, a twin to the gold band on his ring finger. He’s cut it close enough times in his long past that he’s familiar with the sensation of the sun at his back, but he’s been more careful with you. He makes sure to have you both fed and back with time to spare, but everything seemed to go wrong tonight. Though, he supposes the scare was probably good for you. Teach you not to wander off again.

He looks idly at his hands, at the blisters that are already beginning to fade. He’s always healed pretty fast, while you on the other hand aren’t as fortunate. The scent of your blood fills his nose, fills the room of the house. You’re both lucky his hunger was satiated earlier, otherwise he’d be on you like a leech. Even after he turned you, your blood stayed just as mouthwatering, just as delicious to something twisted inside of him. It proved to him that you were something different, something he’d been searching for without really knowing it.

“Are you upset with me?” You sniffle, quite pathetic really. But it’s been a long while since you’ve felt this much shame and embarrassment, and your body doesn’t quite know what to do with it besides force it out through tears.

Remmick stands in silence with his thoughts for a moment more before he sighs, defeated. “I ain’t angry with ya, sugar. Just worried, is all.” He turns, his steps marked by the too-soft thud of boots against hardwood. You see the toes of his shoes in your vision, but you still can’t make yourself lift your head, to look at him—so he does it for you. He crouches down, taking your face in his hand, making you meet his eyes. “Fuck, darlin’, they almost killed you.”

You can see the concern etched onto his eternally young face, the memory of seeing you chained in silver and presented like a sacrifice to the morning sun. You can’t even begin to understand the fear he’d felt; hearing all the commotion far off in the woods, hearing your screams and hoping he ran fast enough to reach you. He could smell the way your blood poured from your body, the way it burned under your confines. He’d sensed your terror too, your emotions sitting just behind his own like a second pair, locked together by a bond too ancient to be understood. You’d called out to him without your voice and he answered without a second thought.

Oh, how he’d raged seeing you against that tree, begging your captors for a quick death. Your face was covered in tears and blood, you’d looked to the horizon with a mixture of acceptance and panic, something he’s seen plenty of times before. He never should have let it happen, should have known to keep you closer, should have known you were still too young into this and got too excited over fresh meat. Hell, he didn’t even know how you managed to sneak off but he’d looked away for one damn minute and then you were gone. He’d been a fool to trust that you’d come back before a gunshot rang through the forest.

Killing those men was one of the easier things he’s done. Remmick barely even registered their deaths, the only thought in his mind being eliminating any threats to you and getting some food out of it as well. Their wards and stakes and silver bullets did nothing to deter him, they were weak and weightless—the opposite of the other hunters he’s come across, the ones with real strength. No, those men were new and ultimately inexperienced, and yet still stupidly dangerous.

He’d worry about them later. They’re dead and gone while you’re still bleeding and sniffling in front of him.

You lean into his touch like a cat, desperate for comfort. “Yer starvin’, ain’t ‘cha?” He murmurs, running his thumb along your cheek. He can see it clear as day in your gleaming eyes, the drool that won’t stop, and the way your wounds are refusing to close because you don’t have enough sustenance. You nod sadly, your head bowed while tears of frustration burn behind your eyelids. Remmick is quick to wipe them away. “Shh, don’t cry, sugar. You’ll be alright. You got food right here.”

You look at him with confusion before seeing the way he’s presented his thick forearm to you, underside up. Your eyes widen and you almost jump immediately at the opportunity, your teeth aching painfully and hunger howling within you. He nods his head towards his arm. “Go on, darlin’. You know I wouldn’t let ya go hungry.”

You sit up, acting on autopilot as you grip his arm in both of your hands, your drool dripping onto his skin before your teeth sink in. Blood immediately comes to the surface of the puncture wounds, and you take every drop you’re offered. The iron-sweet tang on your tongue instantly brings out your hunger tenfold, your fangs digging even deeper into the soft skin. Remmick makes a low noise, something between a groan and a grunt, watching with satisfaction as you take from him.

It’s rare when he lets you do this. Typically there’s enough food for the both of you, enough to keep you happily satiated until the next time that primordial hunger comes knocking. But sometimes there’s nights when the hunt fails, nights like tonight when the need to feast is bad enough to kill you if it’s left too long, when you need to rely on your last resort. However, no matter what, Remmick will never let his lady go hungry.

The age of Remmick’s blood blooms in your mouth, rich with an aftertaste of ancient iron and old, hidden stories. Only people like you would know how much you can learn from someone’s blood, from the life force of their body. The whispers of the lives they led running along your tongue as you feast, the emotions they held within hopes and dreams. It’s fascinating, and it was something Remmick was eager to show you when you were first turned, teaching you the crimson stained wonders of being what he is.

You relish the feeling of his blood flowing through you, working to heal the wounds littering your body. His other hand rests firmly on the back of your neck, his fingers occasionally squeezing and letting you feel the pricks of his claws that have begun to slide from their sheaths. He keeps you there, encouraging you to take and take and take.

You eventually pull back, twisting out of his hold on you and releasing his bloody arm with a pop. Your breath comes as pants through your open mouth, blood staining your lips and teeth, the gleam having returned to your eyes. Your bites have always been cleaner than Remmick’s, less gruesome and destructive, leaving his forearm with tiny wounds that will heal quickly. The sight of red beading from them still makes you salivate but it’s easier to reel yourself in now, dragging your hunger back by a leash around its neck to keep it from going rabid. It allows your fangs and claws to be more willing to retract, your mind no longer running in restless, desperate circles around the concept of food.

You notice the way Remmick has been looking at you, full of some type of reverence mixed with relief, you think. Relief at the fact you’re not a sniveling, bleeding mess on the floor anymore, your usual shine quickly coming back. Your wounds have stitched themselves back together, bone no longer showing and just the outermost layers still being torn and burnt. It makes you feel like you can breathe again, every movement free of the horrible agony.

“C’mere.” Remmick says, voice dropping a few levels as he continues staring at your blood stained mouth. He pulls you in before you even have the chance to sit up properly, your lips meeting in a clash of tongues and teeth. He groans when he tastes his own blood on you, practically taking it from you with the way he licks you. You gasp against him as he fully invades your space, your back hitting the wooden door so that there’s nowhere else to go, his body effectively caging you in. His hands easily roam over your form, knowing every inch and detail with the precision of a man who’s explored them a hundred times before.

Hands come to rest on your waist and before you know it, you’re being hoisted up with a startled noise that Remmick quickly swallows with a kiss. His muscled biceps flex as he easily holds you against him, your legs coming to wrap around his hips and your hands gripping at his shoulders for purchase. You’re carried upstairs with a newfound urgency, Remmick kicking open the bedroom door and roughly laying you onto the soft sheets of a bed that used to belong to somebody else—before you two took over, of course.

Blood, sweat, and dirt immediately stain the covers beneath you, smearing across the fabric as you move. It’s nothing new, this happens just about every time you return from an exhilarating hunt. You both barely ever have the foresight to wash off first before climbing into bed together. Remmick follows after you, your hands resting on either side of his face to draw him in, never wanting to be apart for too long. His fingers pull at the shirt that was tucked into your pants that are too big on you, the ones you always wear on a hunt that are now ruined by the burn marks of silver chains.

His touch is always just on the side of too cold, a consequence of being undead, the same one that you suffer from. It’s something you were quick to grow used to, along with the way his temperature fluctuates depending on how much fresh blood he has coursing through him. His ring bites like ice beneath your shirt as he eases it up and over your body, tossing it somewhere into a corner to be picked up later.

“Mm, Remmick..” you mumble, your hands coming up to run through his short black hair, his bangs plastered to his forehead with sweat. His bloody chain dangles from his sternum, hanging just above you like a taunt.

“I know, sugar.” He responds, feeling the way your legs rub together beneath him, your body quivering with anticipation. His kisses trail from your lips to your jaw, then to your neck, past the spot where he bit you all those years ago. He licks away stains of the dried blood remaining from your sealed injuries, groaning like an animal at the taste that leaves him drooling.

Saliva smears across your skin on his way down your body, stopping briefly at your breasts. He takes a nipple into his mouth, swirling it against his tongue and teasing it between his thankfully normal teeth as you arch into him, little breathy moans and gasps tumbling out of you. He envelops the other breast in his calloused hand, squeezing and rolling the soft flesh between his fingers. “So beautiful… so good fer me, sugar.” He murmurs against you, his nose nudging at the space between your breasts where more blood has dried. It doesn’t take long for him to clean it off.

He makes quick work of your pants, undoing the buttons deftly and lifting your hips to tug them free. His hands run along your thighs lovingly, goosebumps rising in his wake. He straightens, red eyes roving over your now exposed body with appreciation. Drool beads at the corners of his lips, steadily building and running down his chin while you smile at him.

“Pretty thing, all fer me.” Remmick says it like a confirmation and a vow, even though he needs none. There’s nothing that could separate you two besides a stake through the heart or the sun’s warmth. You gave yourself to him completely the day you let him bite you, let him take your life and forge it into something new, something unholy and damned.

“All yours.” You agree, stretching your arms above your head like a cat. You give him a sly grin. “Now stop teasing.”

His eyebrows shoot up, a deep chuckle leaving him, even as he hooks his fingers beneath your underwear and tugs it off. “Always impatient, huh?”

You hum as he kneels, his strong arms coming up to wrap around your thighs and settle them nicely on his wide shoulders. “I just know how good you feel. Can’t a girl be excited?”

Remmick smirks, huffing a laugh. “Shoot, I don’t see why not.”

His breath fans across your cunt, already wet and glistening with your arousal. The red in his eyes smolders like coals, burning brighter with his desire as he looks at you like you’re his next meal. He leans in, that first connection acting like lightning shooting through you, your body arching and mouth falling open. His tongue licks between your folds, collecting your slick and dragging it up to your clit where he toys with the bud, circling it with little flicks and pecks while you moan above him.

Remmick sucks your clit into his mouth, the rest of you immediately responding in turn as you jolt from the pleasure. He knows how to play you like his banjo, how to keep you easy and pliant while he works you to climax. He knows your body like it’s his own, the bond you share allowing him to hold a presence within you, to tell your emotions and thoughts. Most of all, he knows how you like to be licked, his tongue dipping into your hole as your noises raise a pitch.

“Remmick.. fuck-“ You moan, hands coming down to run through his hair, tugging after a particularly harsh kiss to your clit. He groans into your pussy, the sound reverberating through you as he swallows down your arousal with an eagerness he doesn’t even display during feedings. His drool makes your cunt shine, mixing with your slick to the point you don’t know where he ends and you begin.

He practically buries himself into your cunt, licking and kissing and taking whatever you have to offer. His hands are like vices on your thighs, the unmistakable tips of his claws occasionally pricking your skin as they again slide from their nail beds with his excitement. You can feel the way pleasure courses through you, tightening your muscles and creating a familiar knot in your lower abdomen that will steadily build until it’s ready to come loose. It won’t be long with the way Remmick eats you like he hasn’t had a meal in years.

His nose nudges at your clit, his tongue circling your hole before slipping inside, collecting the wetness you continually drip for him. You whine loudly, pulling harder at the black strands of his hair, your thighs attempting to clench around his head. “Shit- feels so good Rem, fuck-“ You curse, falling back against the pillows, chest heaving.

You writhe under his ministrations, his hands having to move up to your hips just to keep you still, his biceps flexing against your legs. He knows how close you are so he ramps it up, licking from your center to your clit and drawing it into his mouth, his brows furrowed in concentration. Your moans and whimpers are music to his ears, listening to the way you call his name with a breathy gasp as he makes you cum.

It crashes over you like a wave, that knot coming undone and pleasure wracking your body. Remmick drinks it all, not letting a single drop of it go to waste as his eyes burn red. He’s quick to slip a hand between your legs, two fingers sinking into the plush heat of your pussy, his claws sheathed just for now. He pumps them in and out while you ride through your orgasm, scissoring your gummy walls to stretch you even further. He doesn’t let up, even as you grab at him to try and get him off, the attention bordering on overstimulation. He continues to kiss at your clit all the while, his fingers and his mouth bringing you straight into another orgasm that has you seeing white.

Every nerve in your body feels like it’s on fire, overly sensitive and leaving your legs twitching. Remmick licks you clean with as much care and diligence a man like him can muster, his fanged teeth occasionally scraping against you and making you shudder. His fingers slip out of your warmth covered in your cum, your walls fluttering and aching at the emptiness that you know won’t last long.

He finally releases your thighs, letting them fall from his shoulders as he lifts himself from between your legs. The lower half of his face is covered in a shiny mixture of drool, cum, and blood, making him look all sorts of a mess. You couldn’t care less, knowing that no matter what he does, it’s going to be a little messy—and you love that about him.

He slowly makes his way back up your body, kissing from your clavicle to your ribs, to your breasts, and then up the column of your neck before at last reaching your lips. You’re eager to kiss him, hands tugging at his shoulders to pull him in, keeping him as close as possible. You taste yourself on his tongue, along with a familiar iron tang that has your hunger flaring again. You pull away only to lick along his chin, eagerly collecting the bloody mixture until there’s none left. Your fangs released without you even realizing.

“Yer still hungry.” He says it as a statement rather than a question, seeing the blatant craving in your dazed eyes, feeling it within himself as if it was his own. You’ve tried to subdue it all this time, not wanting to take more than you’re allowed, but it still makes your stomach clench, your teeth ache. Your body is too weak to resist the pangs, still too busy patching up whatever damage can’t be seen externally. Remmick coos at you, “c’mon, s’okay. You don’t have to hide it from me.”

You begin to protest, your more human sensibility allowing guilt to take charge. “You already gave me-“

He shakes his head, silencing you. “Sugar, ya won’t last long if yer starvin’. I think I ate enough for the both of us anyhow.” You think back to all those dead hunters in that clearing, their bodies strewn along the forest floor and their blood splattered on the grass like paint. You can still smell their foreign iron-laced scents on Remmick, and it only serves to make you crave more. Drool falls down your chin, and he just smiles knowingly. His head tilts, the skin on his neck becoming taut as he bares it to you. “C’mon now.”

There’s a singular moment of hesitation, where you look into those red gleaming eyes of his for a type of confirmation, and all you find is that he’s just watching you expectantly. Well, if a meal’s going to be served to you on a silver platter like this, you’d do good to take it.

Your jaw goes slack, your teeth sharp and ready, before your body lunges up to latch onto his neck. As the first drops hit your tongue, he grunts, his form falling over yours while he wraps an arm swiftly around your waist so you can both fall back onto the bed. His other hand slams down next to your head while his blood fills your mouth and you gulp it down like there won’t be a tomorrow.

Being fed on is always jarring for Remmick, his body still not used to it after the centuries of him being the only one to feast. His neck is so much different than his arm, he realizes, something dangerous being set off within him this time as a result. But it turns out he’d do just about anything for you, so he makes himself ease into the sensation, even as his claws dig into the bedsheets and his fanged teeth grind together hard enough to shatter, the primal part of him fearing that, for once, he’s being preyed on.

“That’s it, sugar.” He says with a husky laugh. “Shit.”

Past the initial shock, it’s easy for the pain to shift into pleasure. It is quite erotic, really, the way he can feel his own blood coursing through your body. The little noises you make while you feed on him, the trickles of blood mixing with spit on your chin, your strength returning all because of him. It fills him with a twisted sense of pride, knowing that he’s the one satiating that bone deep hunger, knowing his blood is mixing with yours and becoming one inside you. “Take it all, darlin’, suck me dry.” He groans, the tips of his claws making little pinpricks in your sides as he holds onto you.

It’s almost involuntary, the way his hips rut against you, his cock straining in his pants and demanding attention. It has his hands fumbling between your bodies, eager to undo the thick buckle of his belt with a clink, the buttons of his trousers following after. You nearly choke on his blood when you feel his shaft rubbing between your folds, coating himself in the mixture of your cum and his drool. He does a few slow, experimental thrusts, not sinking in just yet but simply feeling you instead. It has you groaning against his neck, your teeth digging in deeper and greedily drinking at the ambrosia that is Remmick’s blood while he pants above you.

You release him with a sharp gasp when the head of his cock catches your entrance, at last pressing in with slippery ease. His moan is throaty and guttural, a shiver running through him at the way your walls draw him in, enveloping him in plush warmth. He sheathes himself completely and he stays with his hips flush to yours for just a moment, allowing himself to enjoy the initial pleasure. It amazes you how he never gets tired of it, even after his centuries of being alive and his years of fucking you.

You pull him back down with hands on either side of his face, encouraging him to kiss you. He does, of course, his mouth enveloping yours just as he begins to thrust, drawing almost completely from your cunt before slamming back in. His tongue roves over yours, licking away any remnants of his blood and swallowing down your moans. He pulls away with his chest heaving, a sharp groan falling from his open mouth, fangs on full display just beneath his lips.

There’s a sudden wetness against your collarbones that makes you jolt, looking down to see blood from Remmick’s neck splattered along your skin. The wound you’d bitten into him is still bleeding, droplets coming loose with his thrusts and the way he’s bent over you. He smirks, lifting two fingers and drawing them over the bite marks, collecting the blood smeared there. “Clean up yer mess, sugar.” He tells you between breathy pants, bringing his fingers to your mouth.

You take them eagerly, swirling the pads against your tongue, licking off every bit of blood and enjoying the earthly, metal taste. He watches you in awe, his eyes burning bright red in the dim lighting, full of adoration and reverence and desire. Your spit coats his fingers generously, leaving them shiny when you let go with a wet smack. He buries his head into the side of your neck with a disbelieving chuckle that quickly morphs into a moan, his hot breath fanning across your skin as your hands clutch at his bloodied white tank.

You use the opportunity to mouth at the bite on his throat like an animal, like a cat grooming its mate. You whine suddenly when he hits that spot at the top of your core, the one that has you keening and pleasure sparking like lightning beneath your skin. “Fu-fuck, Remmick-“ You mewl, claws digging into the expanse of his back, even through the tank. He growls appreciatively at the pain, at the red, angry lines undoubtedly rising along his skin and beading with blood.

Remmick nips hungrily at your neck, his hands digging harshly into your sides. He’s practically laid over top of you while he thrusts his cock deep into your throbbing pussy, keeping you as close as possible. There’s something possessive and raw about it, about the way he breathes you in, clutching at you desperately, biting you as if to prove you’re there.

“Ain’t never lettin’ you out of my sight again. Nearly fuckin’ lost ya.” He snarls with a groan, his claws digging in a little deeper at the memories of what happened just hours prior. Though your body no longer holds proof of it, he won’t forget anytime soon. He’ll chain you to him if he has to, just to make sure you’re safe.

“I- I know- I’m sorry-“ You say, moans stuttering with the way his hips slam into you, fueled by his declaration and the feral desires that howl a constant song within him. It’s not often that Remmick reveals any kind of vulnerability to you, instead letting you guess at it based on what you can gather from the bond you share. But it seems the very real idea of you bound in silver and burning brought it out of him, even if only a little.

You’re both nearing release, the pleasure burning in your core while his movements grow choppy and uneven. The noises he makes change, becoming breathy at the edges as his brows furrow, his nose nudging at your jaw. “Rem- Remmick- shit-“ You whine, feeling the way you’re so close to tumbling off the edge.

“I got ‘cha, sugar.” He says, voice rumbling right next to your ear. One hand comes between you, his calloused fingers finding your clit and swirling it in hurried circles, your mouth falling open and your eyes pinching shut as your muscles tense. His response is near instant, his free hand pinching your chin like a reminder, “nuh-uh, look at me, darlin’.”

You have no choice but to oblige him, meeting his gaze through tear stained lashes. You learned quickly how obsessed he is with seeing your face, seeing your eyes. No matter what position you’re in, he’ll make sure he can still see you or else you’ll find yourself flipped around to rectify it. You think he does it as a way to ground himself, a near impossible feat in an immortal body that’s hundreds of years old. You let him use you as an anchor, keeping him tethered here with you, two lonely souls finding company in one another.

It feels like all the breath gets knocked from your lungs as your third orgasm overtakes you. You whimper and whine and moan Remmick’s name, your hands scrabbling at him desperately. The way your cunt spasms around him makes him quick to follow after you with a loud curse, his cum hot as it paints your walls white, filling you to the brim with him. He rides out his high, emptying every last drop into you with small jerks of his hips and soft words, encouraging you to take it all.

“Fuck, sugar, yer somethin’ else.” Remmick pants, muscled chest heaving, straightening just a little to look at you in your fucked-out state. Hair wild, skin flushed, looking almost human if it weren’t for the unholy gleam in your eyes. There’s sticky trails of blood and spit all along your forms, remnants of both the hunt and your copulation. It’s made a further mess of the sheets below you, but quite frankly, you’re too tired to care.

He slowly pulls out with a groan, cum dribbling from your abused hole with his cock no longer there to keep you plugged full. You wince at the feeling, your energy spent and your body rightfully exhausted. As much as Remmick would love to keep you ruined with the reminders of what he did to you, he knows how you hate sleeping while sticky—and he needs you to be able to rest. He gently pries himself from you, even as you continuously try to wrap your arms around him again. “I’ll be right back, darlin’.” He promises, finally getting free despite your grumbling.

He gets a washcloth from the bathroom, wetting it with warm water before returning. Your arms are open for him, welcoming him back into your embrace so you can feel him against you, so you can feel complete. He holds you like something precious, cleans you like you’re made of delicate glass. He wipes the blood off with no issue, his appetite blissfully satiated for now, and he’s gentle between your legs, this routine so familiar that he could do it with his eyes closed. You go limp from his touch, your body pliant beneath him. He kisses you more than once, unable to help himself when you bask so nicely in the afterglow.

When he’s finished, Remmick tosses the cloth absently into a corner somewhere, followed by his bloody tank that joins his button up on the floor to be washed later. He then settles into a non-soiled part of the bed, sitting back against the headboard and easily pulling you on top of him. You simply follow wherever his hands want you to go, more than happy to relax in his lap with your head pressed to his bare chest and his thick arms enveloping you. His scent floods your nose—sweat, iron, dirt, and old leather, making you hum appreciatively.

“My sweet girl,” Remmick murmurs against your hair, his hand running along your back in soothing lines. He pulls one of the spare quilts free and wraps it around you and you nestle into its comfort, the heavy material soft against your bare skin. You nuzzle against Remmick, too tired to resist fully giving in to those base desires for warmth and safety, knowing he’ll give you exactly that. There’s a kiss pressed to your forehead. “Rest. Y’need it.”

“You’ll still be here?” You mumble, barely able to muster a sentence, eyes already beginning to shut. Sometimes there’s days when you need that extra confirmation, his promise that he won’t leave you behind, that he’ll still be waiting for you by the time you wake up. You feel his grip on you tighten, just for a moment.

“‘Course I will, sugar. I ain’t ever leavin’.”

☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆ .。.:*

Tags; @vesnaragast

#finally finished this wahoo!!!#I like his arms a lot I hope that shows #he’s taken over unfortunately #need that little weirdo #remmick #sinners remmick #remmick x reader #remmick smut #vampire fanfic

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gingybimby · 2 months ago

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Collateral Damage of Dragons

Synopsis: Sylus is still a dragon, but keeps tight control on his form. It's only when you lose all inhibitions while ovulating that he matches your energy.

Notes/Warnings: explicit shameless nsfw (MDNI), sylus x afab!reader, no use of Y/N, they're feral and break things, breeding, established relationship, you know he's not human but not much else, explicit consent and safe word established, predator/prey tones

This took too long to write. Barely proofread. Might cross-post to AO3 later. HAPPY BIRTHDAY SYLUS- I've been saving for the birthday memory.

wc: 3.1k

Tag List: @browneyedgirl22 @cherryredstarz

You were possessed. At least, that’s what it felt like rushing into the N109 Zone on your bike, the heavy vibrations making the ache between your legs unbearable. You’d only gotten off work just before racing over into lawless land because you couldn’t bother to wait. It was bad enough Xavier had been hovering, like he could tell your panties were soaked even after spending forty-five minutes wrapping up some paperwork from some wanderer encounters. You adored your sleepy coworker, but there was only one man on your mind all day making you ache.

Driving right into the underground garage where Sylus liked to keep all his various motorcycles was second nature to you these days ever since you and Sylus became rather serious about your relationship. You still liked to dance around each other in your methods of sharing indirect affection, but the dance held an electric zeal to it now. It was a good thing you both liked a little danger.

When you slipped into the base, you were on a hunt. Luckily, the twins seemed to be absent. It saved everyone from some awkwardness and trouble. Your boyfriend was proving to be rather elusive. He wasn’t in the boxing ring, his favorite music room, his bedroom, or the main armory. You made it back to the large common room that had an open kitchen and island with a quiet huff when finally a presence appeared at your back.

Your neck was brushed with a strong nose and curious lips that sent fire right to your aching pussy. Large, strong hands settled on your hips as the deep voice of Sylus practically purred into your ear after tugging your earlobe between his teeth momentarily.

“Looks like a little kitten brought herself to me in heat.”

You spun on Sylus, pointing an accusatory finger in his face until he tried to bite it. Your glare was fueled with playful annoyance.

“You-! You know exactly what time of the month it is and you were deliberately hiding from me.” You accused even as your boyfriend dragged you closer to press your bodies together.

“Hm.. guilty as charged. Fuck I could smell you the moment you walked in, kitten.” Sylus buried his face in your neck once more to breathe in deeply like he needed your scent to survive. A soft growl reverberated in his throat.

You couldn’t stop the shiver that licked up your spine, leaning your head to the side for him. It was the faintest whimper from your lips that had him lightly biting into your neck, his grip tightening for a fraction of a second before relaxing in what you knew to be an exercise of restraint. That simply wouldn’t do.

Ever since you learned Sylus wasn’t exactly… human, you’ve been wanting to see more of that wild part of him that he always kept careful control over. You learned quickly that your scent drives him crazy, so you intentionally didn’t put any artificial smells on your skin today.

Oh you knew exactly what you were doing. You intentionally denied yourself the littlest pleasure as the peak of your ovulation hit just so you could truly let loose with Sylus. You even already put in for tomorrow off. It was all for this. You wondered if he suspected anything.

Planting a firm hand on his chest, you pushed Sylus away with blushing cheeks, knowing your panties were ruined and that he could smell that. It was such an unexpected turn on. Sylus didn’t look at all upset at being pushed away save for the tiniest frown as his eyes danced over your face.

“Down boy…” You laughed lightly. “You go sit over there for thirty seconds. I get to have a head start since you decided to hide from me. You better not hold back. I have my safeword: Pomegranate.”

You swore you saw Sylus’s dilate more than they ever have before at your quiet words. It was so embarrassing at first, having open and honest conversations over something like sex, but Sylus always stressed the importance of it and now it made things like what you were about to do utterly thrilling knowing you’re safe with him.

You’ve never seen Sylus drop onto a couch so quickly, his eyes burning holes into you. The red gaze never once left your direction and followed you as you neared the doorway to the hallway. You looked over your shoulder at him, kicking off your boots one by one.

“Start counting… Now!” With a final shout you broke into a sprint, heart already racing and giggles flying from you without your say.

During your run, you started discarding things. First it was your holsters for your pistols. Then your socks. Your pants and shirt took the longest, but as you let your ruined panties hit the bare floor, you felt the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end and quickly ran off again, now only left in your bra.

You slid into the long hallway that would eventually lead to his bedroom and felt that sensation again- that you were being watched by a predator. You didn’t even make it halfway down the hall before a heavy mass was shoving you into a wall chest first. A hand landed above your head and there your dark red panties were twisted in his grip. A long drag of Sylus’s tongue up the back of your neck and the rough pressing of his hips into your ass had you gasping out his name, reaching back with one arm to bury your hand in his silver hair.

“I caught you.” Came his low growl.

An irreverent hand slipped between your legs to drag through your dripping folds. He pauses to circle two fingers into your swollen clit for several moments. Pressing yourself back against his cock, you didn’t hold back your noises as he drew them from you.

“My pretty girl… so ready for me… You put so much effort into trying to drive me wild, huh? You want me to breed your pretty pussy so badly, kitten?”

The filth that came from his lips was just what you wanted as you forced him back a step with a harsh elbow, caught by his hand wrapped in your panties of course. Spinning, you dragged him up against you by the waistband of his pants.

“Why are these still on?” You grumbled before his lips crashed into yours in a wild flurry of kisses that was an obscene connection of tongue, lips, and panting breaths.

You only have a brief second to latch onto his shoulders as he drags your legs up around his waist. He only walks you both a small distance before he settles you on a table just meant to display some of his “shiny things” as you call them. Items of exorbitant value that he likes because of one reason or another. You try to be careful to not knock anything over, almost mentioning it to him to be careful, but he was kneeling between your legs.

You were given no warning as his lips closed over your clit for him to suck on and felt two fingers spread your folds to expose your aching hole clenching around nothing. Sylus groaned into your heat, pulling back only briefly to drown you in praise.

“You taste so good- I can’t get enough.”

You felt the cold tingling sensation of his evol as it wrapped around one of your calves to drag it over his shoulder as he buried his face into you once more. He slipped two fingers into you instead of starting with one like he usually did and it sent your back arching and snapping a hand down to his hair.

“Fuck!” You whined out, feeling his fingers slowly thrust into you at an easy pace. It was when he pulled lightly on your clit with his teeth and teased his tongue along the hood of your clit that made your arm snap out across the table. You were desperate for something to hold onto, but instead you sent a gorgeous piece of kintsugi flying to the ground, shattering immediately on impact.

The sharp sound made you jump, apologies starting to tumble off your kiss-swollen lips, but Sylus didn’t so much as shift from his position of worship between your legs. He only curled his fingers up to rub that delectable spongy spot in you that made you see stars and felt his grin when you sobbed out his name. It was right there, that delicious edge promising a most wondrous fall that had you bucking your hips into his mouth.

“Sylus! Please! S-so close. Wanna cum…” You cried.

Part of you knew he was going to pull away, but it still didn’t stop your despairing gasps that melted into frustrated growling and huffs.

Sylus rising from between your legs was a sight you’ll never tire of as his tongue worked over his fingers to collect every drop of your essence. Your slick covered the lower half of his face and that only made the denial of your orgasm all the more painful. The way he was watching you, you knew he was giving you a moment to put a stop to things if you truly wanted. Shaking your head, you sat up just so you could tear open his buttoned shirt. You glared at him when he only gave you an amused quirk of his eyebrow.

“Such a hissy kitten… You should know by now that you’re not allowed to cum tonight unless my cock is buried in you and filling you with my seed.”

Your glare became more of a pout at his purred words, a fresh wave of need hitting you like a freight train. Gods you wanted that so badly. You needed that.

“Then stop talking and take me to bed, or do you not want me to have your baby.” As you spoke you wrapped your legs around him to pull his hips into you and felt his throbbing bulge get soaked with your dripping need.

Sylus’s groan made your toes curl before he was sweeping you up in his arms and stumbling towards his room even as you desperately ground your pussy against his confined cock. His fingers sinking into the flesh of your ass almost felt sharp when he finally kicked his bedroom door in. He was too focused on biting bruises into your neck to even spare a moment of his attention to the fact that he kicked his poor door hard enough to break off one of the hinges.

When Sylus finally threw you down onto his bed you looked up at him with a cheeky smile, rolling over onto your stomach and raising your hips with a little wiggle. It earned you a hard slap as Sylus spanked you while getting rid of what remained of his shirt and his soiled pants. You let out a sharp yelp that eased into a whiny moan as heat radiated from where his palm landed on your ass.

The coolness of his evol was on your skin again as your bra was tugged free and a pillow being moved to support your hips. Then it concentrated on your wrists as your arms were pulled taut in front of you, pinned.

“Is this okay, kitten?” Sylus’s voice was a comforting roughness that always left you putty in his hands. You started to nod before verbally responding instead.

“H..haah… yes. I need you inside, Sy… I need it so badly.”

You wanted to push back into him when you felt his cock throb against you. You were still so high strung from your denied orgasm, the cusp just lingering beyond your reach. Couple that with how horny you’ve been practically all week, having waited for this day in particular, you were at your wits end.

While discussion of kids has floated around, you two haven’t tried to exactly plan for any of it. If it happens, it happens was the mentality you both were okay with, but that didn’t mean you wouldn’t try to tip the odds in your favor. It most certainly wasn’t because one of your coworkers on maternity recently stopped by with her new baby and something gripped at you so desperately you’ve been thinking about it non-stop since.

“Don’t worry Sweetie, I’ll take care of you.” Sylus’s words were an oath and you knew he’d deliver.

One of his hands massaged the cheek he slapped moments ago while his other guided him to your dripping heat only for him to sink in right to the hilt immediately. Normally it took a little time for you to relax properly. His breathless laughter was at your neck as he leaned over you, brushing your hair away so he could trail kisses along your spine.

“You really weren’t kidding… you’ve never taken me so eagerly before, baby.”

You sobbed out in utter bliss as his cock filled out every inch of you just as you’ve been needing, but even this felt like it needed more and he was already huge to begin with! His little bits of teasing didn’t even get a real response from you beyond you trying to bounce yourself against his hips.

Sylus didn’t need to be told twice to get moving, working both of you up to a brutal pace that had your entire being singing with pleasure. His cock hit you in all the right ways, reaching deep enough to tease your empty womb. Your evol-bound hands twisted into the bedding as each noise was forced from your lungs.

“More… Feels so good Sy… Want more…” You babbled, unable to see the slight emergence of black scales along his skin.

He’s never had a lapse of control over his form since long before he even jumped to this time from the Deepspace tunnel, but you right now- the way you cried for him, the scent of your fertile womb at its peak, knowing you’ve been struck by a wave of baby fever from a coworker… It made this beastly side of him rear its ugly head. The need to pin you down with his teeth and tail, to claim you as his mate properly with a vicious bite, to fill you completely and knot you to make sure his seed catches. Oh, you ruined him in all the best ways.

He knew his teeth were already sharper with how his jaw ached to clamp down on your neck and uncontrollable drool pooled in his mouth. His nails wanted to become familiar claws, but he refused to lose the sensation of feeling your skin with the sensitivity fingers offered. Your pleading for more was going to be his undoing. He could already feel a knot forming at the base of his cock and from the way you suddenly bit into the bedding with a sob, the rest of it changed too. Firm ridges and all.

“Oh gods… yessss! Sylus!” You were so lost in your pleasure you hardly paid attention to the differences other than it felt so good. Feeling drool hit your shoulder, you instinctively dropped your head the opposite way.

“Bite me.” You commanded between tearful mewls. “I’m so close-”

The noise Sylus made definitely sounded more beastial than man, but where he worried you might get scared, you just cried his name again, begging him to cum in you as you hit your peak. Sylus was growling when he slammed his hips into you, bullying his knot into your tight hole just as he clamped his teeth down on the junction between your neck and shoulder.

You were crying, overwhelmed completely between the pain and pleasure. The way he rolled his hips with every steady pulse as he filled you dragged you through the remnants of your orgasm. Something deep inside you was immensely satisfied, feeling so full of your lover.

You vaguely heard Sylus swear and your neck ache, but everything was fading out fast with sweet sleep dragged you under with a siren’s song.

“Love you… Sylus…” You mumbled before drifting off fully.

—

When you woke up your entire body was sore, but your pussy ached the most. You could smell Sylus on your pillow and hummed in contentment while stretching out as a lazy cat would. You nearly drifted back to sleep when tender fingers brushed your hair from your face and a low voice called your name.

You blearily pried one eye open, barely peeking out from your blanket you had pulled up right under your chin. Red eyes filled your vision and a tender hand crept past your blanket defenses to cup your chin.

“Hey Sweetie… Are you alright?” Sylus looked so concerned, his hair a wild mess as if he’d been running his hands through it constantly.

“Mhm… It was amazing.” You started to push the blankets down to reach out for him when you realized he already had you in a fresh set of one of your favorite jammies.

“Why aren’t you cuddling me?” You pouted.

“You, my dearest, are a menace.” He drawled out slowly, a visible relief melting into his body and eyes before he dragged a hand through his hair. You narrowed your eyes slightly.

“Were you worried about me?” You questioned, starting to sit up before he shook his head and crawled into bed with you. He dragged you on top of him like you usually preferred and he started playing with a bit of your hair.

“I lost myself a little.” He admitted quietly, meeting your eyes with genuine remorse. “I hurt you because I wasn’t-” “Did I say pomegranate?” You interrupted him, tilting your head slightly.

“No, but-”

“But nothing. I didn’t say it. I wanted all of you. Even the nonhuman-y bits. Those are starting to become my favorite.” You grinned, cheeks going the slightest bit red as the memories started coming back.

“I trust you. You trust me, right?” You reached to run a finger along his upper lip.

“I do.” He responded without hesitation. “I just… losing any level of control for me is-”

“You don’t have to explain. I know.” Your finger traced up his nose and along his brow. “You’re Sylus. My Sylus. And I’ll always love every part of you- good, bad, and wild.” You sat up slightly on his lap, dancing two fingers up his chest while humming. “And if you ever decide you want me to see all of you, I’ll savor every bit of it. Because it’s you.”

Sylus snatched your hand in his, lacing your fingers together with a quiet laugh, his eyes shining with love and face just the slightest bit red. He dragged your hands close so he could kiss the back of yours.

“I love you.” He breathed your name with reverence along with his declaration of love. It’s hardly the first time you’ve heard him like this, but it still made your heart skip a beat. You snuggled into his chest, letting your hands rest together completely entwined.

“I love you too.”

#love and deepspace #love and deepspace sylus #love and deepspace sylus smut #sylus #sylus x reader #sylus x you #romance #established relationship #qin che #sylus love and deepspace #lnds sylus #sylus x fem reader #dragon sylus #sylus birthday

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simonbrain · 8 months ago

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i love writing simon with soft weepy readers that fix him but he needs a bitch that will kill him. i feel it in my soul. yeah you love him, he knows. but what method will you use to end his life? a knife? a gun? a fucking fork? much to think about birdie.

maybe he swoons when you give a detailed description of how you're going to castrate him with a blunt butter knife. "is tha' righ'?" when you grumble something about how you're going to smother him in his sleep because he finished the ice cream. his hand slips down to cup your pussy when you whine about him messing up the washing again and how you're going to wring his neck, still spreading your legs anyway.

he's not threatened in the slightest. you remind him of a feral little kitty who just needs a good punishment, then you bare your teeth a little less and you're threatening to piss in his breakfast or something freaky like that.

#it's a love language #i will kill you = i love you #he needs someone who will match his freak! (me)#ghost #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #rainwrites 𐙚

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lesservillain · 1 year ago

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alpha!steddie x omega!reader Part Two. summary: after some disappointing news, you start to question your role in this whole situation. also lots of sex cw: SMUT. omegaverse and everything that comes with it. lots of cum, "public sex", mmf, dvp, breeding kink, free use, eddie wears a muzzle, feral eddie an: sorry this took so long! enjoy a lot of must to make up for it.

“Well, she’s not pregnant.”

Steve folds in his chair, face landing in the palms of his hands as he audibly sighs. Eddie shifts next to you in his seat, his knee landing on top of your thigh as he crosses his legs. You chance a look up him. His expression seems fairly neutral, not that he should really be surprised by the news anyway.

After a long two week waiting period, you’d spent the last 4 days waking up and taking a test. You’d wait the allotted time and then, with shaking hands, you’d flip the testing strip over, only to find it negative once again. Every time you’d tell yourself that it was just too early and that you’d try again tomorrow.

Any minuscule change you’d notice in your body had you wanting to rush back into the bathroom again just to check. A little nausea, slight pain in your breasts. Was that an implantation cramp? You didn’t even know what an implantation cramp was until you’d read over the book on pregnancy Steve picked up for you on his way home the week after your cycle. The two of you took turns reading it, discussing whatever contents the book went over during dinner while Eddie did his best to understand what you were talking about.

So when you finally broke it to them earlier this morning that you’d been testing negative, Steve called the doctor right away to get you in as soon as possible. Even if he was trying to hide it, you could still see the sadness in his eyes. His disappointment continued to hang in the air of the small four walled room of the fertility clinic.

“I’m sorry to deliver bad news, but I wouldn’t fret too much.” The doctor who was assisting the three of you in this arrangement was a small, older omega woman. She’d been assisting couples since before you were born and you were able to tell by your first appointment with her that she really knew her stuff.

“Even normal alpha and omega couples can take more that one try to conceive. And the three of you have several factors against you.” She looks at each of you.

“None of you are bonded for starters.” She flips through some paperwork on her clipboard, eyes scanning the page as she talks. “I know that you all are choosing a more…traditional method rather than doing any kind of insemination.”

Steve lift his head from his hands, “There’s no way our insurance would have covered any of it if we--”

“I know, Mr.Harrington. Let me finish.” The doctor says with a slow nod.

“Sorry,” Steve says, shrinking back a bit.

“I’m not here to judge, and, honestly, you’re better off doing what you’re doing. But, I just have some questions I want to ask, to make sure that you’re not doing anything that may make this take longer than necessary. Is that alright?”

Steve nods, and when the doctor looks to you and Eddie over her glasses, you both nod as well.

“Good. Now, are both of you taking part in this process or just one of you?”

“Both.” Steve and Eddie say simultaneously. The doctor nods, “Okay, and are both of you knotting at the completion of intercourse?”

Heat rises to your cheeks at the question. You know it’s part of the process, but talking about your sex practices with another person makes you want to disappear into the wall behind you.

“Yeah, I have been,” Eddie responds, almost gloating thought you’re not sure if he’s aware of it in his tone. “Almost every time.”

“Really?” The doctor raises an eyebrow at him before shifting her gaze over to Steve. “And you?”

Steve shifts, visibly uncomfortable. “I did once.”

The doctor looks at him for a moment before writing something down on her clipboard.

“Well,” she starts, “I understand knotting can be a different experience for each alpha. Usually it’s harder for an alpha to prevent one rather than having troubles achieving one…”

Steve leans forward, waving his hands dismissively. “That’s not--Jesus, I’m not having a problem with knotting. I’m just not…I’m not letting it latch. I’m…I’m pulling out.”

The doctor gives Steve a “what the fuck” look, and you can hear Eddie trying to contain a giggle under his breath.

“Mr.Harrington, I don’t really understand how you think that’s going to help your situation.: The doctor sighs, “But, it only takes one sperm to impregnate an egg, and it seems Mr.Munson is more than willing to make up for your reluctance.”

Steve rolls his eyes, sitting back in the chair with a huff. You place a hand on his leg as a reassuring gesture. He looks down at you, still clearly upset. But after a moment, a small smile tugs on his lips, and his hand comes down to rest on top of yours.

You barely register the way Eddie’s body moves closer to yours when the doctor addresses you directly. You sit up straight, giving her your undivided attention as she asks you a series of questions about your heat cycles and if you’re taking your vitamins. She writes several notes on her clipboard, giving small nods and hums of acknowledgment as you talk.

“Good, good. Everything sounds like they are going as they should. I suspect that your body most likely just needed some time to adjust to being off of your heat suppressants. Sometimes it can take a month or two for an omega to be fully fertile again. But once they body is back in it’s natural state, omegas tend to get pregnant almost immediately.”

Steve’s hand squeezed yours lightly.

“One to two months?” Eddie asked, eyes narrowed as he looked at the older woman.

“Yes? Is that a problem?”

“It’s not necessarily a problem,” he starts, leaning forward a bit in his seat, his hand resting on your knee. “But, what if we go another cycle and end up in this same situation next month?”

Steve looks at Eddie for the first time since you all arrived. You’re pretty sure they’d been talking about you not being pregnant while you were getting ready for the appointment. They seemed oddly distant since you came down and found them not talking to each other in the kitchen.

“Well, there are some things we can do to try an increase your odds for her next cycle. Tell me, when are the two of you due to go into rut?”

“I should have one in about 3 weeks, but Eddie’s not due for a month and a half.”

“I see. And you’re due for another heat here in the next week, correct?”

You nod, “Tuesday or Wednesday is what I’m predicting.”

The doctor hums, then pushes herself on her stool to the little counter top on the other side of the room. She grabs a pad and pen from a drawer and starts writing, tearing the top one off and writing again on the next. Once she tears the second slip, she wheels back over to the three of you, handing Steve and Eddie each a prescription slip with their names on it.

“These are prescriptions for inducers. Go get them filled today, but don’t take them until Monday. They take about 24 hours to kick in, so by Tuesday evening both of you should be in full rut. If you need notes for work let me know and I can write them for you.”

“They have drugs that do that?” Eddie asks, looking at Steve.

Steve shakes his head. “Wait a minute. I get why you’re giving us these, but…doesn’t it seem unsafe for us both to be rutting around her. Especially if she’s going to be in heat?”

The doctor eyes Steve. “Depends on what you’re worried about happening? She’s not your mate so you’re not competing over her. Sure, you’ll be more ‘feral’ for lack of a better word, but the two of you will still know who the other is. Unless you’ve already had issues…”

Steve looks at Eddie with a knowing look, making him curl in on himself a bit bashfully. “I guess you could say we’ve run into some unexpected road bumps.” The doctor looks at all three of you with a suspicious look before shaking her head.

“Okay,” she says with exasperation, taking her glasses off and tucking them in her pocket. “So what exactly are you worried about? Fighting? Trying to mark her? Self control issues?” Steve and Eddie nod in unison and the doctor sighs once more, muttering something about alphas under her breath.

“If you’re worried about fighting,” she says, counting with her fingers,” I would suggest staying in separate parts of the house. Designate times between the two of you to be with her and try to keep interactions with all three of you to a minimum.” A second finger. “If you’re worried about marking her…well there’s always mouth guards like athletes wear. Or you could always get a muzzle. I think ones from the pet store would be the most reliable.”

The mental image of Eddie and Steve in a muzzle made you feel a type of way that you didn’t want to explore in this doctors office right now, so you tuck that into your mind for later.

“And if you’re worried about self control…well, that’s something the three of you will have to figure out on your own. Maybe buy a leash at the pet store as well.” The doctor rises from her chair, barely standing much taller as she shakes all of your hands.

“Hopefully when I see all three of you again we will be having a different discussion. Until then, if you have any questions, try and contact one of my nurses instead.”

“I’m not wearing a damn muzzle, Eddie.”

Steve stands with his arms crossed at the end of the aisle as you and Eddie look at the different size dog muzzles. Eddie crouches down, holding his hair back as you place the different sizes and shapes over his face to find one that he finds comfortable.

“How about this one?” You ask, placing one of the small rubber pieces over his mouth. Eddie looks at you for a moment, then pretends to lunge at you like a rabid dog, making you jump back in surprise. “Jesus Christ, Eddie!” You shout at him, followed by a fit of giggles. He puts and arm around your shoulder and pulls you into him as he laughs.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he apologizes, “Try it again, please.”

Without warning you push the muzzle against his face and snap it shut behind his head. He looks at you with surprise, leaving you to step back to get a better look.

“What do you think, Steve?” You glance over your shoulder to find a very amused Steve eyeing his husband with a raised brow.

“I think it looks great,” he says with a sarcastic lit. “Maybe you should wear it all the time.”

“Awe, don’t be like that, Stevie,” Eddie says with a look of innocence. “How am I gonna suck you off if I have this thing on all the time?” Steve falters for a moment, but regains his composure quickly.

“I think I can manage.” Steve’s gaze lands on you for a barely there moment. One that you wouldn’t have noticed if you weren’t already looking at him.

“Are you sure you don’t want one of these? Ya know you can get a little grumpy during your ruts?”

Steve tenses. “That’s because…” A hand runs through Steve’s hair. “Nevermind. You guys finish up here. I’m gonna run next door and check on our meds.” Without another word Steve is out the door. Eddie shakes his head before reaching behind it to unbuckle the muzzle.

“Eddie?” You look up at him with sad eyes. He’s at your side in an instant, hands on your shoulders as he looks at you with concern.

“What’s wrong, sweetheart?”

“Is Steve…are…are you guys mad at me?”

Eddie reels back as if you’ve asked the most offensive question he’s ever heard.

“What? W—of course not! Why do you think that?”

“I mean, I’m not pregnant, so that would be one reason…”

Eddie steps to the side, wrapping an arm around your shoulders and pulling you in for a side hug. His embrace melts away at your anxiousness. He’s warm against you, soothing, even through your layers of clothes.

“We’re not mad at you about that, okay?” He shakes your arm lightly, urging you to look up at him. “Obviously we knew that it might not work on the first try. Did we want it to? Sure. But that doesn’t mean we’d be upset or blame you for it.”

“But Steve…” you bite your lower lip, “he just seems so…off today.” Eddie sighs, letting arm fall from your shoulder and back to his side.

“Steve’s just…he’s a little overwhelmed with work right now. So much happened at his job the last week we took off to, well, you know. I guess someone made an error in some documentation or something and he’s been playing catch up ever since.”

You frown. You had no idea that Steve was going through so much burden at work. He must be a master at not bringing his work issues home with him, always coming through the door with a smile on his face. Him and Eddie seemed to be fine, too. And, despite your worry of it begin awkward after finally sleeping together, you all got along like everything was fine. “Wow, I-I didn’t know.”

“It’s okay, he didn’t want to have you fussing over him about it. He’s probably more worried about having to take another week off than you not being pregnant.”

You nod. Something about Steve not telling you about him being so stressed makes your heart ache. A little voice in your mind is telling you to go find him and comfort him. A little voice that you’ve been noticing ever since you moved in with Steve and Eddie.

It’s almost like you can sense their distress, but it seems to be stronger with Eddie than with Steve. Though, Eddie does wear his heart on his sleeve and likes it when you dote on him, especially when he comes home with a new cut or bruise and you insist on treating it. If you try and bring anything up with Steve, he just brushes it off and changes the subject.

“Hey, we gotta pay for this!”

Eddie’s voice pulls you from your mind. At some point you had grabbed Eddie’s hand and started to leave the pet store, him stopping you just at the threshold.

“What? Oh, yeah. Sorry.”

“You guys are still in here?”

You snap around to find Steve right in front of you, a plastic bag in on hand as he holds the door open with the other.

“We’re about to check out,” Eddie says, pulling you towards the line. But you can’t keep your eyes off of Steve. Every stress line on his face becomes painfully obvious to you and all you want to do is smooth them out for him. You guess this is why he didn’t want to tell you. But when had you become someone who gets so upset by things like this?

“Shit.”

Steve shifts uncomfortably in his seat, as the three of you pull up to the house.

“What’s wrong?” You ask from the back seat, leading around to try and see what Steve was worried about.

“Did you tell me Robin was coming over and I forgot?” Eddie asks Steve, nodding towards an unfamiliar car in the driveway. Stave nods, running a hand down his face.

“I told her we would go out with her and Vicki for drinks when they were back in town. I guess I’ve been so preoccupied that I forgot that was today.”

“Okay…well that shouldn’t be a problem…” Eddie says slowly, pulling up next to the car and putting it in park. “But with the way you’re talking, you’re making it sound like it’s a problem.”

Steve huffs out a frustrated sigh, his head rolling to the side to look at Eddie.

“I haven’t…They don’t know about…” Steve’s gestures back to you. Eddie’s eyes go wide, mouth dropping open in shock.

“You didn’t tell them about…Wait, do they even know we were doing any of this?” Eddie’s hands move wildly as he talks.

“I told them we had been talking more about kids, but I didn’t tell them exactly how we were intending on having them.”

“Jesus Christ,” Eddie huffs, rolling his eyes. “So we have to walk in there and say ‘oh, hey guys, nice to see you. By the way, this is the girl we’re fucking so we can have a baby.’”

You tried really hard to keep it in, but a snort escapes you and catched both men’s attention. They both look back at you as you cover your mouth with your hand, waving the other defensively.

“I’m sorry,” you say through giggles. “It’s not funny, but I can’t believe you guys didn’t tell your friends. We’re you just going to hide me in my room for 9 months or something?”

“No, no!” Both of them start talking over each other and it only makes you laugh more.

After you reassure them that you didn’t actually think they were going to hide you away, the three of you came up with a quick game plan on how to explain things to Robin and Vicki. It was funny to see the two of them nervous to enter their own home. You could feel the nerves rolling off of both of them as they stepped inside.

You caught a glimpse of Robin, who you’d seen in pictures around the house, sitting at the island. Her eyes were on the TV, mindlessly scooping chips into your home made salsa before she noticed you all come in.

“There you guys are!” Robin scoots off of her seat and comes bounding towards Steve and Eddie, wrapping her arms around the both of them. You couldn’t smell her, but you could tell she was an alpha by the way she carried herself. Tall, with piercing eyes and a sureness about her that told you she could go toe to toe with someone if they messed with her. She was beautiful enough that she could be a model if she wanted to; someone who belonged on a magazine cover.

A smaller, mousier girl rounded the corner. Her curious eyes met yours instantly, and you quickly clocked her as a fellow omega. “Hey guys, who’s you’re friend?”

Robin takes a step back and peers around Steve until her eyes meet yours as well. “Woah, I didn’t even see you there.”

“It’s okay,” you say. You introduce yourself, and look over to Eddie and Steve to take care of the rest.

“Um, Bobbie, Vicki, we, uh…” Steve starts out confident but falters as he starts to overthink everything.

“This is our surrogate!” Eddie accidentally shouts, startling you and Vicki. Robin’s jaw practically hits the floor, eyes darting back and fourth between the two men before landing on you.

“Wait, so you’re pregnant? Who’s is it? Did you guys do like a russian roulette thing or did they like mix your swimmers together and shoot them up her--”

“Robin!” Steve steps forward with his hands up, clearly distressed as Eddie practically keels over with how hard he’s laughing.

“Hi, I’m Vicki.” Her voice pulls you from the commotion in front of you. You take her soft hand in yours and give her a small smile.

“Nice to meet you. I’ve heard a lot about you guys since I’ve been here.”

“Oh? Do-do you live here?” Her head tilts with confusion. You nod, your confirmation somehow catching Robin’s attention.

“Wait, she lives here?”

“Yes, she lives here,” Steve says, backing up to address the room. He gestures to you, “And she’s not pregnant. We just got back from the doctor to confirm it.”

“Awe,” Robin pouts, “I’m sorry. I just heard surrogate and assumed she was already pregnant.”

“Yeah, well, hopefully that’ll change here soon.”

“That’s so exciting though!” Vicki claps her hands together excitedly. “A little baby Steve or Eddie running around here.”

“Oh, god,” Robin laughs, “Which reminds me that you didn’t answer my question. How are you doing the dad thing?”

“Maybe we should go sit in the living room, then we can give you all the juicy details,” Eddie says, opening his arms to herd everyone into the other room.

“I’m sorry, what?”

“Robin--”

“No, sorry, that was a rhetorical what.”

Robin and Vicki sit across from the couch you’re sharing with Steve and Eddie, who just explained to them the basics of your arrangement. Vicki, though confused at times, seemed to be doing her best to understand the dynamic of your situation. Robin, however, listened the whole time with an open mouth smile as if she’s not heard a better story in her life.

“I’m just…I don’t know. Like obviously I’m happy for you guys. Do,” She looks at you with wiggly brows as she says “do”, “whatever works for you.” She pauses for a moment to look up at the ceiling before looking back down. “Can I ask you a question though?”

“Robin,” Steve growls, and you feel both boys subtly move closer to you.

“Guys, it’s okay. Seriously.” You scoot util you’re sitting on the edge of the couch, leaning away from them. “Ask away.”

“Thank you,” Robin says, shooting Steve and Eddie a look. “I’m just curious about what you’re getting out of this. Sure, they’re taking care of you now, and they’ll take care of you until the baby is born. Then they get the baby and live happily ever after…But what about you? Like, you’re just going to go through something super traumatic and beautiful…and then you’re going to leave?”

You’re taken aback a bit by the question. It was all lined out in the contract that you’d give birth and then your role would be complete. What else was there to do? You’d hope that they’d maybe let you recover a bit before finding your own place, but they weren’t obligated to.

But the more you think about it, the more you actually hate the idea of not being around them.

“She’s going to stay here with us until she feels comfortable enough on her own.” Eddie speaks up after a tense silence took over the room.

“I get that, but, like, are you guys going to stay in contact? Is she going to stick around and play nanny to her own kid?”

“Robin.” Steve stands up abruptly, throwing everyone off guard. “I need to talk to you in private. Please.”

“Steve, I’m sorry. I’m just trying to look out for all of you--”

“Please.” You feel yourself shutter as the air in the room shifts. You feel Eddie flinch, and Robin’s jaw snaps shut. She stands up without another word and the two of them head out the back door, leaving you to feel awkward with Eddie and Vicki.

“So,” Vicki finally says after a moment, “How’s the shop going Eddie?”

The two of them talk like old friends, doing their best to add you into the conversation so you feel included. At some point, Eddie put his arm around your shoulders on the back of the couch, his knee resting on top of your leg like it had earlier at the doctor’s office.

“Nothing alcoholic for you I’m guessing?” Robin leans into you so you can hear her over the loud music of the bar.

“I mean, I’m not pregnant, so it’s okay, right?”

She shrugs at you, “I guess you better ask the dingus’s if it’s okay.”

Steve and Eddie stood a few feet away talking to each other about something you couldn’t hear. Hopping down from your seat, you walk over to them, their conversation coming to an end as soon as you get close enough.

“Everything okay?” You shout.

“Yeah, fine,” Eddie says in a clipped tone, turning his body completely away from Steve to face you. “You okay, sweetheart?”

“Robin wants to know if it’s okay if I have a drink. I know I’m not pregnant but I figured I’d ask.” Steve looks at Eddie, then at you, frustration written all over his face.

“As long as it’s not going to affect your heat,” Steve shrugs before walking away. Eddie scoffs and rolls his eyes, throwing his hands up in defeat.

“I feel like I’m missing something,” you say to him.

“It’s nothing. Why don’t we get you a drink, huh?” Eddie takes your hand and walks with you back to the bar side. “Oh, and be careful around Vicki. She might not look it, but that girl will drink anyone under the table.”

“Noted,” you chuckle.

The four of you do a round of shots after Robin insisted, your face pinching at the after taste of the tequila. Eddie laughs and takes your hand, bringing the lime in it to your mouth to suck on. You take it and are relieved to have the palette cleanser on your tongue.

“Wow, you took that like a champ!” Vicki shouts. She’s clearly a social drunk, opening up more now that she has a little something in her system. Robin, however, shifts from her seat suddenly, a concerned look on her face.

“I’m gonna go find Steve,” she says with a slight slur. When she takes a sideways step, Vicki follows after her, making sure she stays standing on her quest to find Steve.

“I don’t know why they’re looking for him,” Eddie shakes his head, taking a sip of his beer. “I was just out there to check on him.”

Eddie had been periodically going out to bring Steve drinks for the last hour and a half. Apparently he ran into a old friend from high school and they’d been shooting the shit the whole time. Eddie told this to Robin, too, but the more she drank the more concerned she became.

“She’s a good friend.” You say, looking up at him with a sideways smile.

“Yeah, she is. Funny as hell, can’t handle her alcohol at all.”

“I guess so,” you giggle. You play with the straw in your glass while Eddie finishes off his beer, setting it down on the bar before wiping his mouth with his hand.

“You know, I used to play shows here,” he says, looking down at you with lidded eyes.

“Oh, really?” You knew Eddie played guitar. He has a whole room dedicated to music and his guitars on the opposite end of the house. You haven’t gotten to see him play, but you sometimes here the low strumming coming from the room on his days off.

“Yep, me and my old band. We’d play for, like, 20 drunk guys on Tuesdays. It was fun.” There’s a nostalgic gleam in his eyes as he recalls fond memories from his younger years.

“I’m guessing you’ve gotten a lot of action here, too,” you say, nudging his arm with your elbow. He barks back a laugh, shaking his head.

“God, I wished I had. Believe it or not, I was a total loser back in the day.”

“What? Really? No one was throwing themselves at the guitar player?”

“No, unfortunately I wasn’t any of the 20 drunk guys type,” he said with a sarcastic lit.

“Damn, I would have been,” you say, taking a sip of your drink. “That was totally my type back then. Still is I guess.” The alcohol in your system starts to take over, lowering your inhibitions and bringing out the chatty side of you.

“My ex was a bassist for this suuuuper shitty band. Don’t know how they managed it, but they toured with a couple other bands, opening for them and whatever. Anyway, I went on the road with him because I didn’t trust him. Shouldn’t have even bothered quitting my job and leaving my hometown just to make sure he stayed faithful, because he ended up fucking soul bonding with our fucking waitress at a Denny’s in Michigan.”

“Soul bonding?”

You look up at Eddie, his brows pinched in confusion. “Yeah, you’ve never heard of it?” He shakes his head. “It’s like, when you see someone for the first time and you instantly become bonded to them. Like permanent marking without the bite.”

“Woah,” Eddie’s eyes go wide, “I didn’t know that was even possible.”

“I don’t think it happens super often, but apparently it had to happen to my ex right in front of my face.”

“How do you even know? Like that you’re bonded to someone?”

“All I know for alphas is that they can’t get it up for other omegas, only the one that they’re bonded to. For omegas you can get super sick if you try to have sex with another alpha. I think you can drop, too. You also, like, really feel attached to that person, even if you don’t know anything about them and already have a girlfriend.”

“Wow, that’s crazy,” Eddie says, visibly astonished.

“I guess,” you mumble. Eddie finally catches on to your disgruntlement after the shock wears off. He puts his arm around your waist and pulls your side flush with his.

“Well, that’s his loss. Stupid bond or fate or whatever it is. And I know it still feels shitty, but I feel like…it was a good thing. Because if you had stayed with that chump then we wouldn’t be here now, right?”

“Yeah, I suppose so.” You didn’t really think much into the meaning of Eddie’s words. Especially not when he asked if you wanted to go with him to get some fresh air while he smoked.

The cool air hitting your face felt so refreshing compared to the heat from the packed bar. There weren’t many people out on this back patio, most of the noise coming from the front smoking area.

“Want one?” Eddie asks, offering you a cigarette from his pack.

“Nah, I’m good.”

“Suit yourself.”

You don’t know what it is, but the way Eddie uses his teeth to pull a cigarette out of its box makes you feel a type of way. You’re sure it’s from the alcohol, but you also couldn’t deny that he was attractive anyway. He was rough, tatted, smelled amazing. But he was also gentle, caring and attentive. In another reality, maybe the two of you could have been meant for each other.

“Take a picture, sweetheart,” Eddie teases. You had been staring at him and he caught you. But, at the moment, you couldn’t find it in yourself to care.

“Not as good as the real thing,” you say matter of factly.

“Hmmm, got me there.” The smoke bellows from his lips as he talks, being swept away with the wind. The chill cuts through for you, making you visibly shake.

“Come’er,” Eddie says, opening his arms for you to embrace him again. You rush into him, your face colliding with the material of his chore jacket. It smells faintly of the grease from his work, but mostly of his natural scent that you gladly let invade your sinuses. He wraps his arms around you, letting his lips land on the crown of your head. The heat of his body instantly warms you up and you feel…at home.

“Eddie.” You move your face from his chest, looking up at him as his face is mere inches from yours. He barely gives you a second to think before his lips are crashing into yours. The feeling of fireworks erupting in your mind has you gasping It’s like nothing you’ve ever felt in a kiss before. You stand in shock, not fully processing what’s happening until you feel him pulling away.

“Are you okay?” His eyes shift between yours, looking for an answer to his question before you can speak it.

“Eddie…you kissed me…”

“Yeah…and?” He says it so passively, as if he doesn’t have a whole husband standing on the other side of the building.

“But--But, Steve-- I--I don’t--”

“Didn’t you say free game in the contract?”

You’re suddenly very aware of how very hard Eddie is as he’s pressed up against you and it sends an ache straight to your core. You did say that you’d be willing and available any time that Steve or Eddie wanted you…

You look up at Eddie through your lashes and nod. The devilish grin on Eddie’s face gives you the chills. And when he kisses you again, it melts those chills away, stoking the flame building up inside you.

Shuffling feet and slamming doors, Eddie pins you against the door of the men’s restroom door. Your lips move feverishly against each others, fighting for dominance in your drunken stupor that you would have given into easily otherwise.

Eddie fumbled with his belt until it finally came undone, wasting no time to get his pants and boxers down just enough to free his hard cock and heavy balls. You mimick his actions, undoing your jeans and pushing them down with your panties in one quick motion, letting them pool at your ankles.

He pulls away from you, a line of spit that connects your lips to his red, kiss bitten ones. His eyes are glassy as he looks you up and down, giving you that predatory glare that you’d became accustomed to from your previous times together.

Suddenly, he’s spinning you around until your facing the bathroom door, leaving stickers and old posters to fill your vision. One of Eddie’s rough hands lands on your hip, pulling on you until your bent at just the right angle while the other grabs his hard cock to rub between your legs. He collects your wetness on his cock, and you gasp when you feel the head catch on your clit.

“Mmm, fuck.” The alcohol on his breath hits your nose as Eddie leans forward, his hand is braced against the door next to your head and pressing you into the cold metal. You feel his hard, broad chest against your back, one of his strong arms wrapping around your waist tightly.

Not a moment later you feel him breech your entrance. The stretch takes your breath away, feeling so different when you’re not under the haze of your heat. He stutters as he works you open for him, doing his best to restrain himself from just pushing all the way into you. A high pitch whine escapes your lips when his head hits that sweet spot.

“Right there, baby girl?” Eddie huffs in your ear, repeating the same movement with a sharp thrust.

“Yes!” You cry out at the sensation, nodding your head vigorously.

“Shit, you’re so fucking tight,” he says, nosing his way into the crook of your neck leaving sloppy kisses into your skin as he starts to thrust into you over and over.

His cold hand sends shivers through you as it snakes it’s way under your shirt, pushing under your bra to grab and fondle your tits. He pinches and rolls your nipple between his fingers, the feeling sending shocks straight to your core. It all feels like too much already, but when his other hand travels down between your legs, you feel like your legs might buckle under you.

Your vision goes white as you come undone, pussy clenching around Eddie’s cock as he fucks you through it. He groans as you squeeze his cock, panting against your ear as his pace starts to pick up. His arm around your waist is putting in work to hold you up as you come back to reality, your legs feeling like jelly from how hard you came.

“Fuck, I wanted to do this all night,” Eddie babbles breathlessly. “Wanted to bend you over the kitchen counter when you came downstairs. Who are you all dolled up for, huh?”

You had gone the extra mile getting ready to go out tonight. It was totally because you wanted to look nice, and nothing at all to do with Steve and Eddie. You totally weren’t trying to get their attention with your low cut top and vanilla perfume.

At least, that’s what you were telling yourself.

“N-no one,” you squeak out between thrusts. Eddie huffs out a laugh, his forehead resting against your shoulder for a brief moment before pulling away from you. His hands hold you up by the hips, keeping you in place as he plows into you.

“No one, huh? You’re just dressed up for anyone and everyone to look at you? Hoping you might catch someone’s attention out here?”

“Maybe,” you say. It was meant to be teasing. You weren’t really sure why he was so concerned about people looking at you to begin with.

But Eddie didn’t like that answer.

“Sounds like I need to remind you who you belong to,” Eddie says with a low growl. And when you thought his pace couldn’t get any more relentless, he started to fuck into you with purpose, barely pulling out before pushing back in. He angles himself to hit that spot inside of you again, sending you hurtling towards another orgasm at lightening speed.

“Fuck, Eddie!”

“That’s right, say my name, sweetheart.”

You chant his name like a prayer until he answers. Your orgasm hit’s you like truck, leaving you speechless as you cum harder than you ever have outside of your heat. Eddie follows right after you, pushing himself flush as he cums deep inside of you, filling you with his hot seed.

“Goooooooood damn,” he groans, keeling over you with full body shutters. More grunts and moans pour from him as he stills, giving you the chance to start to come down as the overstimulation stops.

Just as you feel your post orgasm clarity kick in, you notice a familiar swelling feeling starting to grow inside of you.

“Woah, woah, hold on!” You straighten yourself, pulling away from Eddie as quickly as you can before his knot fully locks inside of you. Turning around, you watch as the base of his cock swells into a ring of muscle around his shaft.

“Ahhhhh, shit,” Eddie says, grabbing his knot and shaft with his hands, taking his bottom lip between his teeth with a pained expression.

“I’m so sorry, Eddie,” you say with genuine concern. You’ve heard about how sensitive a knotted alpha’s cock can be when an omega’s body can’t keep it covered. Apparently any little bit of friction is torture, like sandpaper to an exposed nerve.

“Fuck, why did you pull away?”

A sudden thunderous knock has the both of you jumping. The both of you adjust your clothing back to place, Eddie tucking his still hard cock into the waistband of his jeans, before opening the door.

Fully prepared to do a walk of shame past a stranger out of this bar’s men’s bathroom, your blood go cold when you find yourself face to face with Steve. He looks straight at you, an anger in his eyes that you’d never seen before.

“Oh, hey, babe,” Eddie stutters out, clearly more worried about his own problem rather than being caught by his husband fucking another person in a bathroom. Steve doesn’t even look up at Eddie, his beautiful Hazel eyes locked on you.

“Both of you, go get in the car,” Steve finally says after what feels like an eternity. “We’re leaving.”

“Okay,” Eddie nods. He walks up behind you, grabbing onto your shoulders to walk you forward, when Steve grabs his hands and pushed them off of you. Eddie’s caught of guard by Steve’s actions, pure shock all over his face.

“What’s you’re problem?” He questions his husband. Steve wordlessly grabs you, pulling you out of Eddie’s way until you’re fully by his side.

“We’ll talk about it when we get home,” Steve grits through his teeth. Eddie looks at Steve, the tension between them thick enough that you could cut it with a butter knife.

“Fine,” Eddie finally says, storming off and leaving you with Steve.

“Are you okay?” Steve’s voice was softer now. You dared to look up at him, his brows pinched with worry as he seemed to be looking you over.

“Y-yeah, I’m fine Steve.”

“Did he cum inside you?”

The question has you reeling back. You didn’t know what to say. Obviously he knew the two of you fucked, but the queston didn’t seem to come from a place of anger. Rather, he seemed to be genuinely concerned if Eddie had finished inside of you.

“Y-yes?” You shift in place, as if acknowledging it suddenly made you hyper aware of the sticky feeling between your legs.

Steve sighed, his hands running through his hair in frustration.

“I’m sorry. He gets handsy when he’s drunk. I don’t know why he didn’t just come to me.” Steve moves closer to you, his arms positioned as if he was going to wrap them around you. But, he suddenly backs away with an almost anguished look.

“Steve, I’m so-”

“No,” he cuts you off. “Don’t apologize, this isn’t your fault.”

You’re honestly not really sure what Steve is upset about at this point. Maybe there was something that him and Eddie discussed outside of your arrangement that you didn’t know about? It was probably too much to bring up tonight, but you would definitely need to sit down and talk with them about boundaries first thing tomorrow.

The drive home was anything but quiet. You were almost afraid to get in the car since Steve had been drinking, too, but he assured you he wouldn’t put you or Eddie in danger if he felt he couldn’t drive. Steve drove home white knuckling the steering wheel as Eddie lets out little whimpers and moans from his seat.

You thought his knot would have gone down by now, but his inebriated state and the pressure of the seatbelt across his lap was making him miserable. You felt awful for having to leave him in that state, watching him subtly buck against the strap to feel any sort of friction. But the idea of being locked to him when Steve found the two of you was like a scenario from your nightmares after how upset he was earlier.

When Steve pulled into the driveway, Eddie sighed in relief, unbuckling his seatbelt with lightening speed and hopping out of the car as soon as it stopped moving. Just as Eddie was about to open the front door, Steve stepped out of the car and called for him to wait. Eddie looked back with distress, waiting and watching as Steve rounded the car to let you out.

“I want the both of you upstairs as soon as we get inside, waiting for me on the bed, without touching each other until I get there. Do you both understand?”

Steve’s scent penetrates your nose, putting you in a submissive haze that has you nodding without question. You walk to the door, Eddie’s eyes on you as you push past him into the house and up the stairs.

You sat quietly on the edge of Eddie and Steve’s bed. After a few minutes Eddie pushes through the bedroom door, a prominent wet spot visible on his tee shirt where his precum had been dribbling out from the constant stimulation. He didn’t say anything to you, instead he sat next to you on the bed, just far enough away that you wouldn’t be touching each other. A whimper escapes his lips when his jeans drag down his still hard cock, the outline of it visible as it presses against his shirt.

“Did I get you in trouble?” Your voice comes out barely above a whisper. You keep your eyes on the carpet between your feet, not having the courage to look at Eddie in the face.

Eddie huffs out a choked laugh, his curls bouncing in your peripherals.

“I got myself in trouble,” Eddie’s voice has a sultry lit to it, “But…the punishments are always worth it.”

Before you could really process what his words might mean, Steve pushes open the bedroom door, causing you to jump where you sat. The look on his face was unreadable, which made you feel more uneasy than if he was wearing his anger in his features.

You take the opportunity to look up at Eddie. His eyes were locked on Steve, a shit eating grin on his face as he looks his upset husband up and down. When you follow his line of sight, you see Steve’s cock is straining in his jeans.

“Undress. Now.” Steve commands, looking at you as if to see how you’d react. Eddie begins to pull his shirt over his head, putting his tattooed skin on display for you and Steve to admire.

When you realize that you’re not about to get a lecture, you waste no time in joining Eddie. You strip your clothes piece by piece, trying to keep up with how quickly Eddie is discarding his own. Once you’re down to your panties, Steve stops you before you can yank them down.

“Slowly,” he demands. His features hard as his eyes watch the way you slide your lacy panties down your thighs at a leisurely pace. You advert your gaze from his, focusing on removing your last article of clothing in a way that pleases Steve.

As you pull the material down, you watch as a string of Eddie cum stretches, stuck on the crotch of your panties from where it had leaked out of you. It finally breaks as the panties reach your knees, the sticky spend clinging to the side of your leg.

Eddie curses under his breath, his vocalization snapping Steve out of whatever trance he was in.

“Clean it up.”

Eddie looks up at Steve confused. Steve repeats himself, a thick finger pointing to your leg where the cum was sticking uncomfortably to your skin. You look back and forth between them, unsure of what you should be doing.

When Eddie doesn’t move, Steve sighs, and grabs his hand, leading him over to you. He instructs Eddie to get on his knees, which he does without question, his big, brown eyes on Steve as he waits for further instruction.

“Ugh, do I have to walk you through it?” Steve asks with annoyance. But he doesn’t give Eddie the chance to answer before he’s grabbing the back of his head and guiding it between your legs.

“You made this mess Eddie. Clean. It. Up.”

Eddie’s tongue making contact with your skin startled you, making you instinctively jerk back. The bed behind you keeps you from moving very far, Eddie’s tongue chasing you as you move. You watch in awe as Eddie laps up his own cum from your skin, his blown out pupils looking up at you as moving higher and higher up your leg.

Just as Eddie’s about to reach the apex between your legs, Steve pulls him back by his hair. Eddie’s eyes roll back as he lets out a low grown from the force. He smiles up at Steve, whose expression is back to being stony and unreadable.

Steve says your name, making you stiffen at the sudden attention.

“I want you on your back, head down here,” he says, pointing to the foot of the bed. You wait for a moment for any further instruction, but Steve only punctuates his demand with a sharp, “Now.”

You do as instructed, your head at the foot of the bed and your feet almost to their pillows. Steve tuts, motioning you to move further down the bed until your head is hanging off the edge slightly. After he hums in approval, he directs his attention back to Eddie, whose cock jumps in excitement when his husband looks down at him.

“Don’t get too excited,” Steve says, tugging at Eddie’s hair again.

“Kinda hard not to when you do that, big boy,” Eddie breathes out, his toothy smile on display. Steve sucks in a sharp breath before letting go of his grip on Eddie’s hair. He points towards the head of the bed where your feet lay.

“I want you to get yourself nice and comfortable between her legs,” Steve nods towards you, “because I want you to use your tongue to get every last drop of your cum out of her pussy.” Eddie’s eyes light up, but Steve continues on. “Ah, ah, let me finish. This isn’t a reward. I don’t want you to touch her with anything other than your mouth. No. Hands. And you’re not going to touch yourself either. Do you understand?”

If Steve’s stipulations were meant to upset Eddie, he surely didn’t succeed as Eddie still nodded with as much enthusiasm as he could muster. When Steve gave him the go ahead, Eddie sprang up from where he was on the floor and up onto the bed. The mattress dipped and shook as he crawled over your body, using his hands to part your legs so he could make himself comfortable there. You let out a giggle at his animated movements, his hands rubbing together before settling his face an inch away from your pussy.

“I do want to apologize in advance,” he says, looking as if he’s talking to your pussy instead of you. “I’m a big fan. Never been so close to one of you in person before, though. But I’ll do my best.”

You gasp as Eddie presses his face into your heat, his tongue darting out to lap between your folds. He’s sloppy with his movements as his tongue explores every inch of your pussy. When he gets to you clit, your body jumps from the sensation and you see his eyes light up at your reaction. He repeats his movement again and again, giving you pressing kitten licks that send jolts throughout your body with each one.

A hand lands on your cheek, wrapping around your chin until it has your lips puckering in its grip. Steve tilts your head back to look at him, but all you see is his thick cock hovering over your face, blocking Steve from your view.

“Open up, sweet girl,” Steve coos at you, his thumb tapping against your cheek. You open your mouth without protest. “Mmm, such a good girl,” he says, grabbing his cock and tapping the head on your tongue. His precum lands on your tongue and you moan at the taste.

Eddie’s tongue suddenly breaches your hole, the muscle digging deep inside of you as he laps away at the cum he left inside of you at the bar. Steve takes advantage of your gasp, pushing himself inside of your wet mouth, just enough to not trigger any gag reflex you might have.

Between Eddie’s tongue and Steve’s cock, you feel borderline dizzy at the push and pull sensation of being between them. Steve’s large, alpha cock stretches your mouth to its limits while Eddie’s inexperienced tongue works over you, testing to see what makes you tick until he’s got you bucking against his face.

When Eddie gets his tongue as deep as he can possibly reach it, his nose presses into your clit roughly, moving in a way that has you suddenly seeing stars. Your thighs clamp around him, locking his head in place as you soak him with your slick. Steve lets out a groan as you moan around his cock, his hand suddenly on your throat as he stills himself.

You brace yourself the best you can to take his cum, but he pulls out of you completely instead.

“Fuck, move!” He shouts, motioning for Eddie to leave his spot between your legs. Eddie pries himself from your thighs and scrambles to get out of Steve’s way.

“C-can I--” Eddie stutters in a pussy drunk state, grabbing his cock in his hands and pumping the almost purple tip slowly.

“Do whatever you want,” Steve says between gritted teeth, positioning himself on his knees before guiding his cock towards your entrance. Eddie rounds the bed, taking over where Steve left, positioning himself over your. You open your mouth for him and he chuckles, pushing his cock past your lips as far as you’ll let him go. He whines again, beginning to fuck your mouth while his knot presses into your nose with every other thrust. You can’t quite take the whole thing, so you wrap a hand around it for extra stimulation.

At the same time, the head of Steve’s cock pushes inside of you, slipping in without much resistance after all of Eddie’s efforts to work you open tonight. He slides himself inside of you until he’s fully inside before he begins to rock into you with sharp thrusts.

When you gag hard after a particularly hard thrust from Steve, Eddie stops his movements and lets the momentum of your body do all the work. You feel Eddie lean forward over you. From the angle you’re in, all you can see is Eddie’s balls swinging in front of your face, but you can hear the smacking sounds of Steve and Eddie kissing over your body as they fuck you. It hits you hard how you’re being used as nothing more than a toy for their pleasure, the realization sending you full throttle towards another orgasm.

“Shit,” you hear Steve hiss. And not even a moment later, you feel him push his cock as far inside of you as possible, his hot spend filling up your spasming walls as you continue to cum hard on his cock.

“Oh my god--” Eddie huffs, trying to pull his cock from your mouth. But you keep a firm grip, letting his seed hit your tongue and roll down your throat, swallowing over and over with every spurt.

After a synchronous moment of ecstasy, clarity begins to seep into each of you. Steve pulls out of you with a gasp, grabbing you by the legs and pulling you down until your head is back onto the bed, effectively pulling Eddie mostly out of your mouth. Eddie stumbles back the rest of the way, crouching down until he’s back on his knees, his head landing next to yours on the bed.

Steve leans over your, cupping your face in his hands and bringing your attention to him.

“Are you okay?” His concern is apparent in his pinched brows and shifting eyes. You smile up at him, leaning into his large palms and kissing a freckle there. He lets out a sigh of relief, pulling away from you to sit back on his haunches.

Eddie shifts next to you, his tattooed arms folding around your neck as he presses his cheek into yours.

“Did so good for us, sweetheart,” he coos in your ear, his lips pressing into your temple. You turn to face him, and he kisses you again, his lips pressing into yours softly. You can’t help but smile with how sweet it is.

But the kiss is broken as your suddenly pulled forward. Steve pulls your body into him, his arms wrapping around you protectively. He’s glaring down at Eddie, whose only response is a knowing look and a raised eyebrow.

“Do you not want Eddie to kiss me?” Your voice pulls Steve’s attention. He hates how you’re looking at him, wide glassy eyes full of unwarranted concern.

“It--it’s not that,” Steve says, “it’s just…”

“Steve wants to kiss you too, but he thinks you don’t want to.”

“Eddie--” Steve shouts, scoffing at his husband.

“Steve, you can kiss me.” Steve tenses, his grip on you tightening. “I think it would be silly to say you can’t kiss me after letting you guys put your dicks in my mouth.”

Eddie barks out a laugh. He climbs up on the bed and positions himself behind you, wrapping an arm around you and pressing another kiss to your cheek.

“Come on, Stevie. How can you say no to this face?”

Steve’s eyes dart between yours and Eddie’s, the gears turning in his head to the point you were waiting to see steam come from his ears. He sucks in a breath and you’re certain that he’s going to say no.

But, he brings a hand to your face, holding it in place as his lips meet yours. They’re soft, quite the contrast to Eddie’s rough, winter chapped lips. The fireworks feeling goes off in your mind again. You wanted to blame it on the alcohol with Eddie, but you’re too sober now to convince yourself.

Steve deepens the kiss, his lips moving against yours in a way that has your stomach flipping. You couldn’t help but keep comparing it to Eddie’s. Where Eddie’s kiss was one of desire, Steve’s feels greedy. The way he hold your head in place, it feels like he wants to consume you.

“Okay, okay,” Eddie says, wrapping his arms around you in an attempt to separate you and Steve. “I’m gonna get hard again watching the two of you make out like that. So either we get ready for bed or I’m dinging the bell for round two.”

A second round didn’t sound too bad in theory, but the way your body felt like a bag of sand as soon as Eddie mentioned getting ready for bed had you voluntarily slinking off of their bed and onto shaky legs. Steve and Eddie stayed close behind, the three of you squeezing into their walk in shower and taking turns grooming each other.

The days following up to the start of your heat were…mostly normal. Steve was busier with work as he tried to get everything in order before taking another week off. He spent a lot of time in his office, only coming out to get his plate and take it back behind the closed door. Though, he did add you to his pecking order, mindlessly kissing your temple and then Eddie’s as he read over reports or whatever kept him preoccupied.

But where Steve was absent, Eddie was the opposite. Spending most of his free time with you while his husband was busy, Eddie followed you like a lost puppy. You kept him busy, though, having him help you prep for the three of you to all be cycling together. He helped you prep meals that would be easy to reheat, clean the house, and safety proof their bedroom, along with various other tasks that you could think of.

The day before your heat came, your body let you know by making you insatiably hungry and extremely exhausted. Steve and Eddie took their inducers when they noticed the changes, getting you settled for the day before the two of them would inevitably pass out as the drugs took effect, the tell tale sign of an alpha going into rut being their extended sleep period the hours leading up to the cycle.

As your body slowly started to slip into your heat, you felt yourself wanting to slip into Steve and Eddie’s room more and more. But as long as you still had some sense, you told yourself that you’d be spending the next week with them in their most feral state and to just enjoy the little time to yourself that you had.

But as you lay in your bed trying to sleep, all you could think about was what the outcome of this week was going to be. It would take a miracle for you to not get pregnant by one of them by the end of it all. You’d be lying if it didn’t scare you a little bit. After all of the things you’ve read in the pregnancy books Steve’s gotten for you, there’s no way that you wouldn’t be at least a little on edge.

The end is what was starting to scare you the most. Specifically how you would feel after the baby is born. Robin’s words from the other day playing back over and over in your head.

Even with the naturally nurturing disposition of your second gender, you hadn’t really considered yourself someone who wanted to be a mother. That was partly why you thought you’d be a good match for this gig. But you’d read that even betas go through hormonal changes that omegas go through when they become pregnant and give birth that bonds you with your baby.

You’d thought about bringing these concerns up with Steve and Eddie, but you decided that you didn’t want to stress them out. There was a contract saying you wouldn’t have any parental rights anyway, so it’s not like you had much choice on the matter at this point.

The sound of slamming and clanking woke you up from your sleep. Your body was hot, your tongue stuck to the roof of your very dry mouth. Your mind was in a haze, the smell of alpha pheromones in the air was so thick that it was becoming impossible to think of anything beyond your primal instincts.

Rolling out of bed, you follow the sounds down the stairs and into the kitchen. The mixed pheromones were so strong that you were gushing slick before you could even see the two of them.

The kitchen was a mess. Licked clean plates scattered all about the counter tops. You had a thought coming to your mind about hoping you prepped enough food, but it was quickly forgotten when you were suddenly pushed back against the wall behind you.

The room spun with how fast you were moved. The sudden close proximity with your alphas had your knees buckling under you. Strong arms hold you up as got tongues lap at your skin. There’s a bit of growling between them, but your needy whines keep refocusing them on you.

Opening your eyes after a moment, you look at the two men before you. Goosebumps trail over your skin as you take in their feral forms. Everything about them is enhanced; they’re taller, bigger, having to hunch down for their mouths to connect with your skin.

With almost empty looks in their eyes besides their almost completely blown out pupils, they remain locked on you as if you’d disappear if they looked away for even a moment. They man handled your clothes off you right in the middle of the kitchen, leaving you fully exposed to them in a matter of seconds.

Without warning your being lifted off the ground and whisked away, back up the stairs and into the master bedroom. Your body lands softly on the bed, with Steve joining you first. His hot skin burned into you as your chests collide, the weight of his body pinning you down. Eddie took the opportunity to fully undress while you and Steve distracted each other.

With all the heat and movement, you felt your slick starting to leak from between your legs. As soon as the first drop hit the bedsheets between you, Eddie and Steve stilled in their tracks. You felt a pang of fear as the air became thick with mixed alpha scents.

Eddie lunged towards you, but Steve was on the defense, covering you with his body as Eddie got closer. The bed shook as Eddie tried to pry Steve away from you. It got worse when Steve let go of you, and the two started going at it, wrestling each other on the bed next to you. You panicked, cloudy head unsure of what to do in the moment.

After a beat, your instincts kicked in. Climbing on all fours, you began calling out to them. Your mewling got their attention off of each other long enough for them to see you presenting yourself to them.

They pushed at each other as the crawled closer to you, a hand from each landing on either side of you as if they were making sure you would stay in place. You didn’t have much time to brace yourself as their tongues began to open you up, the two of them lapping at the slick just as soon as it was leaving your hole. And when it wasn’t enough, their tongues breach your entrance at the same time, fighting each other for who would get to go in deeper.

“Fuck,” you hear Eddie huff, and the bed starts to shift around behind you. Steve’s large hands take over, grabbing at your ass and spreading you apart more for him. His thick tongue is able to fully extend inside of you, darting in and out as he attempts to lick you clean. It feels insane, especially as his scruffy chin presses into your clit.

Suddenly, your first orgasm hits you like a brick wall, coating Steve’s face as he drank you up. It didn’t last long, however, because Steve’s face was quickly pulled away from you, most likely by Eddie by the sound of Steve’s reaction.

As quick as Steve’s face was pulled away though, the tip of Eddie’s cock was being pressed against you. Wasting no time, he slid in with ease, giving you no time to adjust before bottoming out. You gasped at how full you felt with the way the head of his cock was pressing into your cervix with how big he had gotten. All the ache you felt from your heat was washed away with the feeling of your alpha’s cock inside of you.

Eddie leaned forward, pressing all his weight into you. You thought he was going to get right to pounding into you, but instead he started moved with a hard hitting grinding motion. As if every thrust was purposeful, punctuated.

His arms were wrapped around you as he fucked you, keeping you under him in a primal way. Humping away, his movements eventually became more rapid and sloppy. It was truly animalistic. His grunting and snarling against your skin reminded you of a feral dog growling at someone trying to take his food.

When you felt something else prodding at your entrance you understood his reaction. You turned your head to get a better look and out of your peripherals you could see Steve from behind Eddie. Eddie started to slow, but it felt forced given the way he was whining in your ear.

When Eddie pulled all the way out of you, leaving just the tip at your entrance, you felt Steve’s tip position itself just underneath Eddie’s. A gush of slick spilled from you at the anticipation. You were happy with just one of your alpha’s cocks in you, but getting to feel them both again had you calling out for them.

The two of them started pushing into you, stretching you open like nothing you’ve ever felt before as their large cocks made home inside of your generous pussy. The feeling of being so full had your eyes rolling back, and you came instantly as the both of them bottomed out.

Eddie’s body shuddered against you, and Steve’s low groan let you know that they two of them were enjoying this just as much as you. Eddie began moving again, not liking that he had been made to stop in the first place. Steve followed after, moving in tandem with Eddie so that you were constantly being filled by at least one of their cocks at all times.

With every passing thrust you felt your brain become more and more like goo. You could only think of two words over and over in your head. Two words that fully expressed how you were feeling.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

You repeated the sentiment over and over, slightly muffled by the bedsheets your face was being pressed against. And you truly were thankful. You’d never felt so loved and cared for in your entire life that you felt being so connected with your two alphas in this moment.

Steve started to pick up his pace, and the stimulation had you cumming again. “Holy fuck, that’s tight,” Eddie grits between his teeth, mouth pressed against the back of your neck.

Everything became way too much very quickly. The constant state of pleasure had you cumming back to back without much of a break in between. At some point, you must have passed out because you woke up to the sound of arguing at the foot of the bed.

Opening your eyes, you see Steve has Eddie pinned down on the bed, their cocks brushing against each other as Steve straddles Eddie to keep him down. Eddie had his muzzle on, and it makes you wonder what happened while you were passed out.

“Wh-whats going on?” You manage to get out, shifting to move towards them.

They stop their fighting, looking at you with wide eyes.

“Are you okay?” Steve asks, breath picking up suddenly.

“Yeah,” you say with a nod, kneeling next to the two of them. The closer you get, the emptier you feel without the two of them inside you. “Miss my alphas.”

“Neither of you came,” you say, noticing the lack of cum inside you.

“You passed out,” Steve says, giving Eddie a pointed look. When you look at Eddie, you see that he’s actively fighting against Steve’s hold on him. He looked almost crazed, eyes locked on you. Dominant alphas are usually able to control themselves better during their ruts, but regressive alphas can be a little harder to handle, especially around an omega in heat.

“It’s okay, Steve,” you reassure. “I always want to help my alphas.”

You place a hand on Steve’s where he’s holding down Eddie’s arm.

“I don’t know,” Steve says wearily. “I think we need to reconsider--”

“Steve.” You say his name firmly. Hazel eyes shift has he looks between yours. With a heavy sigh his grip begins to relax against Eddie’s.

And no sooner does Eddie use all of his strength to send Steve flying half way across the room.

Moving with a lightening speed, Eddie is on top of you in a flash. It’s almost frightening, but you can’t contain your excited giggles as Eddie sloppily attempts to mount you again. You hold his face in your hands, and he stops in place, wide brown eyes looking at you as if waiting for your next command.

“Let Steve up here, first, okay?” You ask him. He nods, his hungry eyes not moving from yours, even as you peck his lips.

Patting the bed, you motion for Steve to rejoin you. The bed dips, shaking as Steve makes his way to the two of you.

“Let me get behind you,” he says, placing a hand on your back to push you forward. Eddie moves with you, maintaining eye contact even as Steve maneuvers his way behind you. Only when you position yourself to sit on Steve’s cock does Eddie have a reaction, a low growl coming from his throat. You shush him, stroking his cheek soothingly.

“It’s okay, Eddie,” you coo, his name coming out as a moan as you lower yourself onto Steve’s hard cock. The feeling has your eyes rolling back again, making you lose the eye contact with Eddie.

In an instant, he’s pushing you back until your laying against Steve’s chest.

“Eddie, take it easy,” Steve hisses, trying to shift his position for Eddie to have better access to your pussy as well. His hand snakes around you and grabs onto Eddie’s cock making him gasp. He begins to thrust into Steve’s palm, moaning and huffing at the feeling of friction.

Steve probably would have been content letting Eddie get off like this, but you were being just as whiny watching them. So Steve pulled out just enough and guided Eddie to your pussy once again. It took a couple tries, but he was able to get him in, and Eddie immediately began fucking into you with wreckless abandon.

The movement got Steve worked up pretty quickly, following with Eddie’s pace to fuck into you again. Eddie hovered above you, practically drooling in his muzzle as his body moved on its own in and out of you. It turned you on to no end to see him so fucked out over you in this state.

After a few moments, Eddie’s hand flew up above your head. His body stilled, cock twitching inside of you as you felt him about to cum. Steve was right behind him, both of their cocks deep inside of you as they began to cum. Warmth filled you, and at the same time their knots began to swell, effectively plugging you to take their seed.

It felt like an eternity before they both stopped cumming, Eddie landing on top of you still trembling in the aftershocks. Steve was breathing heavily beneath you, arms wrapped around you tight as he finally started to calm down, too.

The three of you lay like that for a minute, before Steve makes the decision to shift the three of you on your sides.

“Ow,” Eddie says, sounding more lucid than he has since you woke up.

“Sorry, I couldn’t breath with the both of you on top of me.”

The position was awkward, but more so for the two boys than you. You think their discomfort led to their knots going down at a quicker pace, because as soon as they could they were separated from you. Eddie was out like a light, snoozing as soon as his head his the pillows.

Steve still held you tight, breathing in your scent. His lips touched the base of your neck, leaving a small kiss there.

“Does it hurt?” He asks.

“Does what hurt?” You ask, unsure of what he’s referring to.

“Your neck, here.” He touches where his lips were.

“No? Should it?”

Steve is quiet for a moment.

“Do…you not feel any different…?”

“Not any different than I do during my heats,” you say, unsure of where he’s going with this line of questioning.

Silence again. Steve says your name.

“Eddie…Eddie marked you. Or, he tried to…”

Your blood ran cold. When did he do that? It had to have been when you passed out. You’d definitely remember something like that happening.

“Steve--I--”

“It’s okay,” he shushes you. “I…I don’t think it worked…” Steve lets out a sigh. “I don’t think he could mark you now anyway…”

“What do you mean?” You turn to look at Steve, a look of forlorn all over his face.

“Lets not talk about it right now.” His words become breathy, and you can feel him rubbing his scent on your skin. His hips move against you, and you can feel his hardness against you.

After a few touches and some maneuvering Steve is back inside you once again. You’re trying not to be so loud that you wake Eddie, but Steve’s cock feels so good inside you. He’s working at an angle that has you gripping the sheets with white knuckles.

When he brings his big hands around you to rub at your bud you can’t stop yourself from crying out his name.

“That’s right, baby girl,” he huffs, still moving inside you. His grip around your chest gets tighter, pulling your back against his chest even more. “Tell me who’s fucking you right now. Who is it, baby?”

“You, Steve,” you moan. His demanding tone has you clenching around him even harder. It felt so right to be with him like this, but part of you was missing Eddie, too. It was tempting to wake him up to get him going again. But, you wanted to have your special time with Steve while you could.

“Such a good omega for me, aren’t you?” His words are slurred drunk on the feeling of your pussy hugging his cock so tight. “You’re going to be so perfect with my baby inside you.”

His words continue to make you dizzy. That’s all you want, isn’t it? To get pregnant with Steve and Eddie’s babies and live happily ever after with them. You want to be a good omega wife for them, you’d make them so happy wouldn’t you.

Steve’s movements become sloppy until he’s plunging himself as deep inside of you as he can go. His knot swells again as he fills you up for a second time; the second of countless more times you hope.

You remember that you’ll be spending the next 5-7 days being passed back and fourth between your two alphas and it makes you so happy you can’t help but tear up.

“Hey, whats wrong?” Steve says, snapping out of his trance as soon as he hears your sniffles.

“Nothing’s wrong, Stevie.” You chuckle, wiping the tears from your eyes. “I’m just…really happy to be here is all.”

Steve melts at your words, burying himself in the crook of your neck. He inhales deeply, his hot breath fanning your skin as he presses kisses against it.

“I’m glad to hear that,” Steve whispers just loud enough for you to hear. “He is, too,” he says, nodding towards Eddie’s still sleeping form. “He talks about you all the time. But I’m sure he’d say the same thing about me.”

“You guys talk about me that much?”

“Hmmm, probably more than two married men should.”

Your heart skips a beat. The heat of everything was lowering yours and Steve’s inhibitions. Would he ever tell you this if the two of you weren’t intoxicated on your own hormones?

There’s a comforting silence between the two of you. Eventually you drifted off to sleep again in Steve’s arms, his body heat keeping you warm while you slept.

You’re not sure what time it was when you felt your body being moved. You were being carried bridal style, and by scent alone you were able to tell it was Eddie. The soft click of a door closing had you opening your eyes, eyes adjusting to the low light from the sunsetting outside coming from the windows in the hall.

When you looked up at Eddie, he had taken his muzzle off, but still had a feral look in his eyes. Eyes that were darting around as he took you down the hall and into his music room.

You’d never been in it before. Not that you’d been explicitly told not to, but because Eddie told you that he liked to tend to it himself, so you chose not to enter out of respect. So when you found yourself inside, you couldn’t help but let yourself explore the room.

It was definitely very Eddie; walls painted red, band posters covering the wall, as well as a few frames with records in them. There was quite a collection of guitars and speakers that took up the rest of the wall space.

Besides a desk with a computer, there was a small couch that also furnished the room. Eddie made a bee line for it once he closed the door behind him. He placed you down delicately and lowered himself to his knees. His eyes were locked between your legs, tongue darting out to lick at his lips as if he was a starved animal and you were his next meal.

“Eddie,” you say in a breathy tone. His eyes dart up, looking at you expectantly. “What do you want, Eddie?”

“You. I want you.” His hands land on your knees, rubbing up and down your thighs sensually. The roughness of his fingers gives you goosebumps down your legs.

“Please,” he begs, eyes flickering back and forth between yours and between your legs. Your breath hitches and you nod, slowly parting your legs for him.

As soon as you’ve made yourself open for him, Eddie dives right in, feverishly devouring your sore, puffy pussy. You’re so sensitive already, but Eddie takes your gasps and moans as a good sign and keeps going.

Eddie’s large, tattooed arms wrap around your legs and pull you closer to the edge of the couch as you begin to shake. His mouth is attached to your pussy, drinking you up as you cum hard. Eddie makes an almost pained noise, his own body shaking against the couch after a few moments.

You look down, and the combination of how he looks with the sudden strong alpha smell in the room tells you that he just came. It only turned you on more when you realized it had to have been untouched, given his arms had been snug around your thighs this whole time.

“Awe, Eddie,” you coo, “Did you cum from eating me out?”

Eddie looks up at you pitifully, nodding with shame.

“I-I’m sorry,” he pouts, as if you’re going to scold him.

“It’s okay, Eddie.” You cup his face in your hands. “You just really like eating pussy, and that’s okay.”

“Your pussy,” he corrects. “Yours. It’s the only one I’ve ever had.”

That fact heats up your body head to toe. You’ve been Eddie’s first everything when it came to him being with an omega. It made you feel so special to be able to give him something he’s never had before.

You shove Eddie down onto the plush carpet of the room, his eyes going wide as you climb on top of him. His leaky, still hard cock jumps in your hand as you pump it a few times. Eddie’s big eyes watch as you line him up with you, only for his head to fly back as you sink down onto his length.

“Holy fuck,” he groans, hands running over his face as you being to move, bouncing and grinding on his cock.

“Wanna be good for you, Alpha.” The words come out broken as you bounce up and down, hands digging into his tattooed chest when you start to pick up the pace.

Eddie’s hands fly to your hips, and you think he’s going to stop you. Instead, he uses all his alpha strength to hold you up, adjusting his footing so he can drill upwards into you. It just about takes your breath away, your brain turning to mush as he fucks into you wildly.

He starts to say something under his breath that your brain can’t comprehend. It takes a few moments for you to get yourself together enough to register whatever prayer he’s repeating over and over.

“Get pregnant, get pregnant, get pregnant--”

His words send you over the edge, making you cum hard enough on his cock that your vision turns white, your body going limp in his grasp. He takes advantage of your pliant status, letting your upper half rest on his chest as he wraps his arms around you.

A few more wild thrusts later and Eddie is almost howling as he starts to cum inside you. His knot swells faster than ever to lock you in place on him. His hips move weakly, still chasing the high until he finally stills, letting your weight rest fully on top of him.

The timer goes off in the kitchen downstairs, pulling you from your solo concert of Queen’s greatest hits that you had playing from one of Eddie’s speakers. You set the scrub brush you were using to clean the carpets down before running down the stairs to check on dinner.

The house had been cycle free for a full 24 hours, so Steve and Eddie had gone back to work this morning. With an empty house, you had taken the opportunity to do a deep clean of every square inch of the house. You tried not to think about how you’d spent the last 6 days being fucked on every imaginable surface in this house as you swept, scrubbed, and rinsed everything in sight.

It also gave you a lot of time to think. To over analyze small thing Eddie or Steve said about you during your cycles that felt like there might be feelings budding between the three of you.

Part of you wishes that it could be true, that there might be something growing of you within their hearts.

But it also scares the shit out of you.

There’s no way you were about to be a homewrecker. The last thing you wanted was to think that there was a mutual bond with you and the boys, only to find out that it’s one sided. Or that only one of them feels something for you, leaving the other to feel betrayed and hate you. And it would kill you if either one of them hated you.

You shook your head in an attempt to rid you of your thoughts. The only reason this was happening was because of a contract. If you hadn’t answered that newspaper ad, you wouldn’t even be thinking these delusional thoughts. You’d probably be heading back home with your tail between your legs, begging your parents to let you move back in with them.

There was no way that was going to happen. You just needed to get pregnant and you’d be set for a little while longer.

The sound of the front door opening grabbed your attention. You set the casserole on the stove top and smoothed out our apron, waiting for Eddie to make his entrance.

“Hey there, sweet thang,” he greeted, hanging his keys on their hook and pulling his hair out of it’s ponytail. He still had a dark smudge on his cheek that he didn’t fully clean off before he left work. And when he took off his jacket his arms were put on full display for your eyes to take in.

Damn, were you feeling some residual from your heat?

“Hi, Eds,” you finally muster to say, turning your attention to pulling the plates out of the cabinet.

“Smells good in here,” Eddie says, grabbing the plates before you could, leaning down to kiss your lips. It lasted for a solid few seconds before he pulled away, carrying the plates to the table.

You stood in shock. That obviously wasn’t your first kiss, but it was the first one that felt so…domestic. The first that wasn’t attached to sex. You knew Eddie had been bold with you, even while Steve was around at times, but he’d never kissed you like that, where you ended up with butterflies in your stomach.

The front door opened again, but you were so engrossed in thought you didn’t really register it.

“Hi babe,” you hear from beside you. Eddie greets Steve at the doorway to the kitchen, barely giving him the chance to set his keys on the hook before kissing him deeply. Deep enough it almost made you dizzy.

Eddie and Steve were so in love it was almost disgusting in a cute way. If anyone deserved to have their own family it was them. Even when they two of them are deep in the trenches of their heat they would still make time for each other (which gave you a nice break from dealing with two alphas in rut).

“Jeez, Eddie, you act like I didn’t just see you this morning,” Steve chuckles, taking his coat off.

“I know,” he says with faux bashfulness. “I just missed my two favorite people a lot today.”

Steve looks at Eddie, then to you. For a moment you thought he was going to give you the normal distant routine and you mentally prepared yourself for it.

But after a blink, he sauntered over to the stove, stopping right in front of you. One hand landed on your hip, the other on your cheek. Your heart began to beat like a drum as he leaned in. And when his lips met yours, it felt like fireworks. Like you’d won some major award.

And then you were being crushed. Eddie’s arms took the two of you into a tight hug, almost lifting you both off of the ground. His laugh echoed the kitchens as Steve ordered him let you both go.

“Sorry, couldn’t help myself,” he says, pecking the both of you on the side of the head.

“Now, I don’t know about the two of you, but I’m starving.”

thanks for reading!

#steddie #alpha!steddie #steddie x reader #alpha!steddie x omega!reader #omegaverse #omegaverse au #eddie munson #steve harrington #steddie smut #alpha!steve harrington #alpha!eddie munson #steve harrington x reader #alpha!eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x reader

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xxsyluslittlecrowxx · 1 month ago

Text

𝐒𝐡𝐚𝐦𝐞. 𝐈 𝐋𝐢𝐤𝐞𝐝 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐁𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐔𝐧𝐝𝐨𝐧𝐞.

[ 𝐒𝐲𝐥𝐮𝐬 ]

𝐚/𝐧: This one’s for everyone currently buried under textbooks, neck-deep in citations, or screaming silently into a thesis draft. Whether you’re cramming for finals, editing your 30th footnote, or trying to remember the difference between APA and MLA at 3 a.m. —I see you. I am you.

Consider this my love letter to academic burnout, spiced up with a chaos, a lot of buttons, and one very bored Sylus.

May this story bring you a smile, a distraction, and maybe… some motivation to get back to work. Or at least to fantasize about getting “tutored” by your favorite grumpy 3d boyfriend.

You’ve got this. And if not? Well, at least you’ve got this fic.

𝐜𝐰/𝐭𝐰: This story contains adult content intended for mature audiences (18+). Includes: teasing, consensual power play, undressing kink, sexual tension, smut (obviously), suggestive language, and light dom/sub dynamics. Also: mentions of academic stress, mild frustration, and one very chaotic bird. (Also, I suck at the lore, so all the questions are just dribble drabble and have nothing to do with l&ds lore).

Please read responsibly.

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬: 7,382

𝐀𝐫𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐎𝐮𝐫 𝐎𝐰𝐧: [ Press here! ]

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐒 𝐖𝐄𝐑𝐄 closing in.

Not as dungeons do—with iron and echo and the grating metallic gnash of keys against locks—but in a subtler, crueler fashion. Here, the entrapment was warm. Familiar. Domestic. It wore the mask of kindness: chipped ceramic mugs bearing lukewarm tea, a book left open spine-up, the low hum of city life filtered through the curtains. It was, he thought, bitterly, the kind of imprisonment one almost volunteered for.

Sylus shifted again on the couch, then rose—slowly, deliberately. He moved not like a man, but a creature half-contained: sinew strung too tight, instincts dulled by idle time. Prowling—yes, that was the word. The motions of a predator caged not by walls, but affection.

He had commanded battlefields in tighter quarters than this. Led insurgencies in the silent dark of fractured worlds. Stared down death without blinking. But this?

This was unbearable.

There was paper everywhere. The scent of ink, bitter and raw. The over-steeped tang of her tea wafting from the sill. And her—hunched over the dining table, surrounded by her own chaos. Books exploded across the wood like shrapnel from a war of knowledge—highlighted, dog-eared, wounded by overuse. Her hands moved furiously, annotating with the kind of intensity one usually reserved for confessions or last rites.

She hadn’t looked at him in forty-three minutes.

Not even when Mephisto—loyal, treacherous Mephisto—had “accidentally” toppled a precarious stack of her notes onto the floor. The crow had croaked, sharp and affronted. She, unmoved, had murmured simply, “Leave it,” and kept writing as though she were inscribing scripture.

Sylus crouched by the fallen pages and began gathering them, slow as time itself. Paper sliding over paper, the sound soft but persistent. A quiet insistence. The sound of patience weaponized.

Nothing.

“You know,” he said at last, voice almost conversational as he let the next sheet fall with theatrical weight, “Onychinus has tortured men with less effective methods than this.”

She didn’t look up. “Then maybe you finally understand how I feel.”

Her words cut with a blade honed in silence.

He straightened, brushing non-existent dust from his palms. Intrigued, not offended. That was the curious thing. As if her indifference had teeth. As if her quiet dismissal coiled something feral within him.

“I could be out there right now,” he said as he sauntered toward the kitchen. “Negotiating with diplomats. Sabotaging governments. Killing someone, possibly.”

“You still could,” she replied without looking. “The door’s right there.”

The kettle clicked off. He didn’t move to pour. He liked it bitter. Liked the way it matched his mood—steeped too long, forgotten until it scalded.

Instead, he leaned back against the counter, arms crossed, gaze fixed on her. Watching. Hunting. She was composed chaos: pen tapping out some maddening rhythm, brows drawn, jaw clenching. Every movement spoke of war, though she waged hers with theory and thought.

And still—she had not looked at him.

He cleared his throat.

She sighed.

He straightened. A wolf catching scent.

“You’re not helping,” she muttered, chewing on the cap of her pen.

“I’m not trying to.”

“Then be useful. Take Mephisto out. He needs a flight. Or a target to harass.”

The mechanical crow preened, smug on her chair-back, as if understanding.

Sylus blinked. “I trained him to disarm men mid-air. You want me to reduce him to dog-walking?”

“I want silence,” she snapped. “Or help. But if I can’t have the first, I’ll settle for the second.”

That made him grin.

Slowly.

Oh.

Now she looked at him.

Tired. Wary. Resigned. That look of someone who knew too well what was coming. Who recognized the inevitability of chaos walking toward her in human shape. Sylus Qin did not sit idle for long. Stillness was not his nature. He was not built for peace. He was built for provocation.

He closed the distance in four lazy steps, and bracketed her in, hands on either side of her chair. She didn’t flinch. Didn’t even stop reading. But her breath caught—just once.

Subtle. But enough.

He leaned in, voice a purr against her temple. “Help, Kitten?”

The word coiled like silk around barbed wire. Too soft to be safe.

“You?” she said flatly, eyes on her page. “The last time you helped, you almost burned the kitchen down.”

“It was one fire.”

She glared.

He lifted a brow. “One small fire. Mephisto flew through it just fine.”

She turned to face him fully now, and he saw it—the red-rimmed eyes, the ink-smudged hands, the kind of fatigue that crept into the marrow. She was burning herself alive in pursuit of something. And he? He would always be drawn to the flame.

“You’re driving me insane,” she whispered.

“And you,” he murmured, “are torturing yourself. What was it for, again?”

She threw the pen down. “Advanced sociopolitical theory of pre-expansion territories.”

He blinked. Slowly.

“You made that up.”

“I wish I made that up.” She rubbed her eyes. “I have to explain economic reformation using early-Earth anarcho-Marxist models—without referencing planetary war casualties.”

Another beat of silence.

“And people wonder why we recruit so well,” he muttered. “We offer better hours.”

“And fewer footnotes.”

Mephisto let out a metallic klik, like a laugh.

Her next exhale was quieter. Not defeat. Not quite. Just surrender. Her head tilted back, neck bared, vulnerable in a way that made his mouth go dry.

“I hate this,” she said.

He tilted his head, predator’s smile returning. “Then let me help you.”

She narrowed her eyes. “No.”

“You haven’t heard my method.”

“I don’t want to.”

“It’s extremely effective.”

“It’ll be chaos.”

“All learning is chaos,” he said solemnly. “You just need the proper incentive.”

“You are not an incentive. You’re a hazard.”

He leaned in closer. Lowered his voice. “But you’re paying attention now.”

There it was.

The pause.

The breath between one kind of tension and another.

He smiled then, slow and unrepentant. The kind of smile that meant the trap had already closed, and she hadn’t noticed.

“What if,” he said, rounding the table, circling her like a thought that wouldn’t go away, “for every correct answer you give me… I unbutton a piece of clothing.”

She blinked. “What.”

He gestured vaguely between them. “Yours or mine. Dealer’s choice.”

“And if I get one wrong?”

He shrugged. “I button it back up. Accountability.”

She stared.

So did Mephisto—before flying out of the room with the exaggerated air of someone refusing to witness whatever unholy ritual this was becoming.

Sylus leaned close, whispering now, his voice a promise, or a sin.

“Come on, kitten. Let’s make studying… worth your while.”

She did not answer him.

Not with words. Not with refusal.

Her silence was not absence—it was decision. Deliberate. Weighted. The kind of stillness that bore within it the tension of a coiled spring, a loaded chamber, a whisper before the breaking glass.

Sylus moved behind her with a patience that belonged to no man, only beasts—those that waited at the edge of the forest, in shadows, where breath fogged and fangs gleamed. His chaos was measured now, honed into precision. He bent low, mouth grazing that place where her neck met her shoulder—the tender hinge of control and surrender. Her skin was warm. Braced. Awake.

He did not kiss her.

Not yet.

He let his breath trace along the line of her throat like a promise whispered in a confessional.

“You hate this part of studying,” he murmured, voice low enough to slip beneath her skin. “The memorization. The mechanical repetition. Regurgitating theories someone else named.”

Still, she did not move.

He kissed just below her ear, so softly it felt imagined. Not conquest—reverence.

“But your mind,” he continued, lips brushing against the shell of her ear, “was never meant to echo other men’s thoughts. It’s built for violence and vision. What you need is structure. A system. Consequence.”

He smiled against her—just a breath of amusement, curved and sharp.

“Positive reinforcement.”

The next kiss was lower, slower. And then—

A breath caught.

He felt it. Subtle. A tremor beneath her composure. As if some fragile thread had been plucked.

“As I said, for every correct answer,” he whispered, the tip of his nose trailing the slope of her collarbone, “I’ll unbutton something. Yours. Or mine. I’ll let you choose.”

Control, after all, was a language they both spoke fluently. One they rewrote every time they met.

She hummed.

A sound so soft, so unwillingly born, it knocked something loose in him. A single syllable without shape, yet it echoed like a secret.

She didn’t say yes.

She didn’t have to.

The stillness of her body, the tilt of her neck—she was unfolding. Silently. One breath at a time. And he was patient. He would take her apart gently, methodically, until her resistance was memory.

“And if you get it wrong,” he said, fingers grazing the narrow line of her waist, “I’ll button it back up. Slow. One. At. A. Time.”

That made her shift.

Slight, imperceptible to anyone who did not live inside her breath the way he did. Her head turned, a fraction—exposing more of her neck.

Invitation.

His mouth found the base of her throat. A kiss—open and present, not demanding. Not yet. It wasn’t claiming, it was a tether. A declaration: I am here. I see you. I want.

He inhaled.

Ink. Sleep-deprivation. That sharp, dry sting of caffeine clinging to the strands of her hair. But beneath it all—her. Whatever scent memory couldn’t place but the soul remembered.

She smelled like longing. Like ache. Like the reason he’d chosen to live.

His voice, when it returned, was rough. Frayed at the edges.

“You’ll start to want the wrong answers,” he murmured, lips brushing her pulse, “just to feel me undoing you again. And again.”

Her breath stuttred.

Another sound—barely more than a breath—but it gutted him. That sound, that wordless admission, echoed in his skull like the first crack of surrender.

Sylus smiled.

This—this was not domination. Not command. This was the sacred language of consent. The offering of power. The invitation to play.

He kissed her once more. Deeper now. Possessive. Just above the hollow of her collarbone, where blood surged and promises lived.

Then—

He pulled back.

Abrupt. Controlled.

“Question one,” he said, settling beside her, voice suddenly light, even amused—as if the last few minutes had not been a slow seduction of her will. “Define hegemonic decentralization in relation to resource-starved colonies pre-expansion.”

She blinked.

Disoriented. Thrown.

“What—?”

His smirk cut across his face like a blade. “Tick-tock, kitten.”

She stared at him.

Not in shock. Not in fear. No, those emotions were too simple for her. Her gaze was that of a woman observing a cliff’s edge—knowing full well she’d fall, and still, leaning closer. There was a long, slow blink of disbelief, the kind that implied she might—out of principle—launch her textbook at his head. But instead, she measured him, and something in her calculation said: I’ll play. Just long enough to see how far you’ll go.

“Hegemonic decentralization,” she said at last, her voice clipped, wound tightly around restraint, “is the process by which centralized imperial authorities delegate limited power to colonial administrations in an attempt to quell unrest—without, of course, surrendering real control.”

Sylus arched a brow.

Her tone was academic, yes—but her pulse betrayed her. He saw it leap at the base of her throat. Counted the rhythm, noted the way her breath cinched as if her body were bracing for the consequence of correctness.

“That’s correct,” he said, voice mild. Too mild. A weapon she didn’t yet know how to parry.

And then he moved.

Not toward her. But inward—stripping the first button from his own shirt with leisurely precision. His gaze never left hers. That unreadable half-smile hovered on his lips like smoke curling from a match not yet dropped.

“Start small,” he murmured. “Ease your way into winning.”

Her lips parted—just slightly. A protest unspoken. A grin suppressed. She said nothing.

Good girl. She knew how the game worked. She always did, in the end.

“Next question.” He leaned back, lounging like this was a corporate debrief rather than a study session layered with subtext and tension. “List three primary sociopolitical effects of the Altaris Collapse on fringe-planet diplomacy.”

She groaned. “You’re insane.”

“One point for each correct answer,” he said, examining his cuffs. “Three buttons on the line.”

Her eyes narrowed. Her mind was already spinning. He could see it in the angle of her shoulders, the way her pen tapped once—twice—against her thigh, the rhythm erratic but sharpening.

This was what he loved about her. Not submission. Not softness. But the focus. The unflinching, teeth-bared determination of a woman who had studied her enemies and refused to blink.

She inhaled.

“One,” she said. “Breakdown of interplanetary trade security. Two: refugee displacement leading to diplomatic strain among minor systems. Three: the elevation of pirate syndicates as recognized diplomatic actors.”

Sylus whistled, low and admiring. “Very, very good.”

This time, he reached for her.

She didn’t flinch when his fingers brushed the first button of her blouse. Didn’t pull away. Her breath held, suspended somewhere between resistance and anticipation. Her eyes fixed on his, unblinking.

The first button slid free.

Then the second.

The third—he took slower. His thumb traced the hollow of her sternum, where bone met breath. The fabric parted just enough to reveal the delicate strap of her bra. He saw the rise in her chest. The careful exhale through her nose.

“No objections, kitten?” he asked softly.

Her chin lifted. A quiet defiance. “I’m three for three,” she said. “I’m winning.”

His smile was a darker thing now. “For now.”

He leaned in again, brushing her hair off her shoulder like it was something sacred. His lips ghosted the shell of her ear.

“Define the Tenet Accord,” he whispered, “in a single sentence.”

She hesitated.

Not long. Just a heartbeat.

But it was enough.

He felt it: the delicate tilt in balance. The first falter.

“It was…” Her voice slowed. “The treaty between the TerraCore Senate and fringe-system delegates to standardize negotiation frameworks for interplanetary conflict.”

Sylus tilted his head, wolfish.

“It was,” he said—then, after a beat too long: “But it wasn’t signed. It was ratified by proxy. The original signatories were assassinated before they made it to the table.”

She stiffened. “That’s semantics.”

“That’s history,” he replied.

And with an infuriating patience, he reached forward—

—and rebuttoned one of the buttons he had just undone.

Slowly.

One hand guiding the shirt back into order, the other working the button through its loop with unbearable precision. His thumb brushed skin as he did. Not hurried. Not teasing. inevitable.

“Don’t cheat,” she said, voice rasping slightly at the edges.

“Don’t miss,” he answered.

Ah, there it was.

The pull in his gut. That hot, slow drag of anticipation. Tension braided between them like wire stretched to its limit. She was brilliant—sharp as a blade—and he intended to test every inch of her edge.

Not to see her break.

To see how long she’d hold.

“Next question,” he said, voice gone low again.

Her eyes sparked. “Bring it.”

He leaned closer.

“Name the three factions responsible for the Blockade,” he said, “and identify the primary tech used to enforce it.”

She swallowed.

Oh, yes. This one would cost her.

And Sylus could already taste the next button between his fingers.

Sylus watched her lips as she hesitated.

It was not ignorance that stalled her—no, she was brilliant, insufferably so. He knew she knew the answer. The hesitation wasn’t intellectual; it was strategic. She was thinking now—not of war or treaties, but of the game. Of the stakes. Of his gaze, heavy and deliberate, tracing the line of her collarbone. Of the way his shirt now hung open, two buttons loose, a sliver of skin visible like a secret offered on a dare.

Good.

He wanted her distracted.

“Orion Enclave,” she said at last. The words came slow, deliberate. “The Virid Coalition. And—”

She faltered.

He lifted an eyebrow, amused. “And?”

Her eyes flicked up, sharp. “And the Noxian Syndicate.”

A heartbeat passed.

He smiled—dangerously. “Mm. Almost.”

Her brow creased, suspicion blooming. “What?”

“It wasn’t the Noxians. It was the Virex Compact.” He leaned in, voice low, velvet over steel. “The Syndicate pulled out three days before the blockade was formalized. Political cowardice, masquerading as strategy.”

She exhaled sharply, jaw tight. “That’s a technicality.”

He tilted his head. “I don’t deal in technicalities. Or intentions. Only in outcomes.”

A pause. Then, darkly—

“Only in flesh.”

He reached for her—intending to reassert control, to remind her whose game this was—but she moved first.

Quick as a striking viper, her fingers shot up and caught the edge of his open shirt.

He froze.

Her hand was steady. Unbothered. She met his gaze with a calm so composed it felt like mockery dressed as elegance.

“Then you’re not the only one who gets to keep score,” she said, and with devastating grace, she slid one of his buttons back into place.

He blinked, as if something in the room had tilted.

“You’re penalizing me?” he asked, tone caught in the strange valley between disbelief and reluctant delight.

“You distracted me.”

“Kitten—”

“Your game,” she murmured, drawing closer, breath warm beneath his jaw. “Your rules. I just play smarter.”

And then she kissed him.

Not a plea. Not a reward. No, this was a tactical move. She kissed the curve of his neck with precision, then bit—not hard, not cruelly, just enough to fracture his breath mid-inhale.

His hand moved without thought, wrapping around her hip. The contact grounded him. Or maybe it unmoored him further. He couldn’t tell anymore.

He hated her.

No, that wasn’t it.

He loved her. Not the love of ballads or poets. Not the gentle, convenient kind. His love was ruinous. A reconfiguration of instinct. A madness that could be neither named nor cured. He would burn worlds for her, and worse—he would wait in silence while she studied, just to be near her gravity.

She knew. Of course she knew.

He caught her chin in his hand, tilting her face upward. Not quite a kiss. Not yet. It was a warning. Or a prayer.

“You’re cheating,” he murmured.

“I’m improvising.”

She pressed her lips just below his ear. Barely there. A ghost of touch. Then her teeth caught his earlobe with the kind of sinful slowness that could undo entire empires.

“I thought you liked clever girls,” she whispered.

A low sound rumbled in his throat—half laugh, half growl. “I do. But I like obedient ones more.”

She pulled back just enough to look at him, head tilted in mock innocence, eyes sharp enough to bleed. “Then maybe you should study harder,” she said, tone laced with mockery and seduction both. “You’re falling behind.”

And then—God help him—she unfastened one of his buttons.

Not in haste. Not for show. It was surgical. Deliberate. Her fingers brushed his chest, and even that barest touch left a heat behind. Not fire. Something slower. Smoldering.

He stared at her.

She smiled.

Not sweetly. This was the smile of a woman who had just toppled the first stronghold of a war campaign. She knew exactly what she was doing. And worse—she knew he’d let her.

“Next question,” she said, voice silk and daggers. “Unless you’re afraid to lose.”

Oh, fuck.

She was turning him into prey.

And he loved it.

His mouth twitched.

A flicker, barely visible, but in it lived a tempest. His gaze darkened—not with rage, not even with hunger, but with something stranger. A tension that stretched tight within him, like a wire pulled over flame. Every breath he drew seemed to sear him from the inside, burning with restraint, with ache, with the quiet, seething madness of a man undone not by war, not by betrayal, but by her.

She was the weapon. She always had been.

He leaned in.

His lips brushed the shell of her ear, and this time, his teeth followed—grazing, then catching. Not hard. Not yet. Just enough to make her breath falter. He felt her pulse beneath his mouth, fluttering wildly. That fragile, defiant rhythm—it was the closest thing to poetry Sylus believed in.

“Name,” he murmured, tongue tracing just behind her ear, voice low and serrated, “the first planetary system to reject TerraCore’s energy sanction and survive the embargo intact.”

She breathed out sharply—but her voice, when it came, was steady. Brilliant. Beautiful.

“Vallin. They diverted siphon-tunnels from unmonitored moons and contracted mercenary fleets to deliver raw materials directly.”

Sylus chuckled.

Low. Dangerous. Delighted.

“Such a clever little kitten.”

He reached between them, finding the last button of her blouse and—slowly, reverently—slipped it free.

The fabric parted like a confession. Her skin glowed, lit soft by the dim lamps, framed in lace and tension. She didn’t move to cover herself.

Good.

Modesty was fine. But shame? He loathed it. She had nothing to hide—and too much power in her stillness.

Before either could speak, his hands were at her waist. He lifted her—effortless, unhurried—and pulled her into his lap like it was the most natural movement in the world. Because it was.

She landed with a soft exhale, knees bracketing his hips, hair spilling down one side like flame. Her blouse hung loose. Her eyes, steady as a sniper’s, met his with a spark that made his blood sing.

“Cheating again,” she said.

He smirked. “Strategic positioning.”

He leaned in, mouth at her neck, and kissed—slow, open, deliberate. His tongue followed, then teeth, marking her with just enough pressure to feel like a threat wrapped in velvet. Her fingers curled into his shoulders. His name ghosted her throat without form.

And when he bit her again—lower, near her collarbone—she gasped.

Quiet. Breathless. Real.

He licked the spot afterward, soothing what he’d just claimed.

“Tell me to stop,” he said softly.

She didn’t.

Instead, she rolled her hips once—slow, deliberate. The friction between them made his breath catch against her skin. Heat surged low and sharp. Control teetered.

“Another question,” she whispered.

He groaned into her throat. A curse. A surrender. Fine.

She wanted to play?

He’d make the game bleed.

“Identify,” he said, voice thick with the ache of her weight in his lap, “the five standard tactics of passive resistance under the Treaty of the Undermoon Accords. No paraphrasing.”

Her breath stuttered.

Not from uncertainty.

But from the way his hands had slid to her thighs, thumbs brushing up under the hem of her skirt. Not quite touching, but close. So close. His fingers toyed with the edge of her stockings like a question with no right answer.

Still—she answered.

“One,” she said, “economic abstention. Two: subversive information dissemination. Three—” she broke off, gasping, as he traced his tongue up her neck, slow and steady “—civil inertia.”

He didn’t stop.

Neither did she.

“Four,” she breathed, “symbolic disobedience.”

He waited.

Her voice shook. But she held.

“Five. Nonviolent obstruction.”

Sylus froze.

Perfect.

Fuck.

The sound that escaped him was primal—a growl buried under a groan. He kissed her jaw, softer this time. Almost reverent. As if her intellect, her will, her spine—all of it demanded worship.

And then he moved again.

He took her blouse by the shoulders and slid it down. Off. The fabric fell behind her like water pooling in shadows. She sat bare above the waist now, save for lace and the kind of anticipation that turned air into lightning.

And still—still—her eyes stayed on him. Steady. Ready.

“Again,” she said.

God help him.

Pride swelled in his chest, hot and vast. So did hunger. And something worse—something holy.

She was everything he shouldn’t have.

Everything he would kill for.

And she was sitting in his lap like she knew it—and didn’t care.

He kissed her shoulder. Her collarbone. Down the line of her sternum.

Then: “Describe the flaws in the Thales Doctrine’s principle of linear progress, as it relates to—”

She rolled her hips hard.

A grind. Deliberate.

Sylus bit her back.

She rolled her hips again—harder now—grinding against the rigid line of him through his slacks, and Sylus felt it: the tremor racing up his spine like a live wire snapped loose, like godfire arcing beneath the skin. His jaw tightened, and the breath he drew was shallow, as if her movements had hollowed his lungs.

She shifted once more, and he knew—by the tilt of her hips, the sharpness in her breath, the glint in her eyes—she knew.

She wasn’t playing to win anymore.

She was playing to ruin him.

“The Thales Doctrine,” he growled into her throat, his mouth slick with need, dragging against her skin like a secret. “Linear progress. Flaws. Say it.”

Her voice trembled, breathless, but sharp with that ruthless clarity he craved.

“It assumes constant advancement,” she panted, “without accounting for systemic collapse, or ethical regression. Ignores the nonlinear nature of historic—”

He cut her off.

His hand slid between them, cupping the soft swell of her breast through the thin lace. She gasped, body arching into him instinctively—and that sound should have been reward enough.

But Sylus was far from finished.

With a practiced flick, he found the clasp behind her back.

Snap.

The bra loosened, a breath unbound.

She didn’t stop him.

Didn’t pretend to.

He dragged the straps down her shoulders, inch by inch, baring her like scripture revealed line by line. Her breath hitched. Her chest rose. But there was no shame in her stillness—only readiness.

“Correct,” he murmured against her skin.

And then—then—he took her into his mouth.

She arched with a sharp, helpless cry, every muscle pulled taut by the shock of sensation. Sylus groaned low against her, tongue circling, teeth grazing her nipple, then sucking deep and slow, savoring her like the answer to a question he hadn’t dared ask.

Her hands were in his hair now—pulling, grounding, praying.

She writhed just enough to undo him.

But she never told him to stop.

And God help him—he didn’t want to.

He shifted to her other breast, lavishing it with the same unrelenting attention, mouth hot, pace slow. With each flick of his tongue, another piece of her unraveled. Each moan he stole was a kind of confession. Each tremor a truth.

Her voice came, shaken but still brilliant: “Ask another.”

He laughed softly—dark, broken, hungry.

“Name,” he murmured, “the three sociopolitical structures that collapsed the Orion-Terra alliance.”

He felt her trying to pull her mind from the edge, to claw her way back to theory from the heat of him, from the way his hands had slid under her skirt, thumbs skimming the top of her stockings like questions written in tongues.

Her body pressed closer, chasing relief.

Still, she answered.

“Economic divergence,” she gasped. “Militarized… policy drift. And—”

Her rhythm stuttered.

He felt it. The sharp jolt of pleasure severing the thread of thought.

“And—” she whimpered, mouth open, trying.

Sylus waited.

She shook her head. “I—I don’t know.”

A thrill coiled inside him.

Finally.

Wrong.

He moved before thought could catch up.

Fast.

Predatory.

He stood in one fluid motion, hands locked at her waist, lifting her effortlessly before laying her down along the length of the couch. Her back hit the cushions, hair spilling like dark fire.

And Sylus followed.

He hovered above her, shirt half-undone, chest rising with restraint. His hair was wild now, his eyes lit from within—dark gold burning at the edges like a man on the brink of holy collapse.

He reached for her wrists.

Not forceful.

Not cruel.

But absolute.

He pinned them above her head, both hands caught in one of his, locking her like a weapon disarmed.

Her mouth parted.

But she didn’t flinch.

She offered herself up.

“Sylus—”

“Wrong answer,” he said, voice raw and guttural. “You lose that round, Kitten.”

Then he descended.

His mouth was on her again—neck, collarbone, chest—biting, kissing, claiming. His tongue dragged between her breasts, his teeth tracing ribs like a map carved in devotion. Each movement was slow, almost reverent—like prayer laced with sin.

She moaned, hips lifting, seeking friction, but he didn’t release her wrists.

Her breath caught.

“What…” she gasped, voice shredded, “what happens when I get the next one wrong?”

He kissed her sternum. Licked a line up the center of her throat. His voice cracked against her ear.

“Then I stop playing.”

A pause.

Then, darker:

“And I start devouring.”

Her breath came in short, fractured bursts—sharp at the edges, shallow in the center—each exhale caught between need and defiance. Her wrists remained pinned above her head, captured by his single hand, bound not in rope but in resolve. Beneath his mouth, her chest flushed pink with heat, the soft rise and fall of her ribcage trembling against the air, against his breath, against the weight of his threat still echoing in the silence.

Then I stop playing.

And I start devouring.

And she—

Gods. She had the audacity to raise a single eyebrow.

That expression—wry, knowing, infuriating—was like a match dropped on oil. Her lips parted, twitching upward at the corners, glittering with mischief despite the wreckage of her composure, despite the delicate shudder still coursing through her body.

“Are you…” she panted, her voice wreathed in the sharp smoke of amusement, “trying to motivate me into answering wrong, Sylus?”

His name on her tongue—dragged out like a challenge, tasted like sin—unraveled something in him. It uncoiled hot along his spine, a sharp sting of hunger and something else, something too primal to be named.

He smiled.

Not the kind that comforted. No—this was the smile of a wolf who knew the cage was already open, the prey already cornered, the end already inevitable.

“Maybe,” he said, voice heavy and slow, soaked in indulgence. “But I’d never rig the game, Kitten.”

And then—

He released her wrists.

Not as mercy. As strategy.

His freed hand moved lower, deliberate in its descent, fingers returning to the curve of her chest. He rolled a nipple between his fingers—just enough pressure to make her inhale, not out of pain, but awareness. A single moment of sensation sharpened to a blade’s edge.

Her eyes fluttered shut. Brief. Reflexive. A betrayal of her own will.

That was all it took.

Sylus leaned in, dragging his tongue along the column of her throat, tasting salt and heat, feeling her pulse leap against his mouth like it was trying to confess.

“You want to lose,” he whispered into her skin. “Don’t you?”

She inhaled sharply.

He didn’t stop. Didn’t ease.

“You want what happens when you get it wrong.”

His fingers tightened—just slightly. And she arched into him, helpless in the way only honest desire makes a person.

Her pride was fighting. Her need was winning.

He watched her war with herself, teeth sinking into her lower lip to silence the whimper clawing its way up her throat. She was trying not to give him the satisfaction. But satisfaction had never been the goal.

Submission, when freely given, was far more exquisite.

Her voice came at last—fragile but resolute.

“Ask me again.”

He didn’t move his hand. Didn’t break contact.

He leaned close to her ear, his voice rough, rich, brutal in its intimacy. “Another question?”

She nodded. A small gesture. But her whole body answered.

Sylus chuckled, low and dark, the sound curling between them like smoke under a locked door. His tongue flicked against her earlobe before he bit—sharper this time. Possessive. Branding.

“Alright then,” he murmured. “Let’s see how long you can pretend to care about answers.”

He let the silence stretch.

Not passive—but purposeful. The kind of silence that thickened the air, curled around the lungs, made every breath feel too loud, too revealing.

Her wrists lay above her head, abandoned, free. She could have moved. Could have claimed her autonomy in that moment.

She didn’t.

She wouldn’t.

There was something tragic and beautiful in that stillness. Her fingers twitched slightly, not in fear, but in restraint. Her body trembled beneath him—not with hesitation, but with memory: of his mouth, his hands, the words he had laced between her ribs like a confession only her body could translate.

Her eyes were half-lidded. Dazed, yes, but alert in that singular way he adored—watchful even in surrender. Her breath stuttered through parted lips, soft and uneven. Her chest rose and fell in time with his touch, as if her very breathing belonged to him now.

“Next question,” he said.

But his voice had changed—quieter now, rasped low with reverence and hunger, as if even language had grown heavy in his mouth.

And while he spoke, his hand moved.

Slowly. Sinfully.

He dragged his palm from her breast, down her side—charting her like a man committing sacred text to memory. His fingers skimmed the curve of her ribs, the flat of her abdomen, until the muscles there tightened beneath his touch like drawn bowstrings.

She held her breath.

Still, he kept going.

Down, tracing over the soft curve of her hip, gliding along the outer edge of her thigh until his knuckles met the top seam of her stockings. He paused there—just for a breath—then reversed course, sliding back up.

But this time, his hand disappeared beneath the hem of her skirt.

Up, slow and unyielding, along the inside of her thigh.

She gasped.

Not out of shock.

Out of need.

Still, he did not touch her where she needed him. Not yet. That would be too merciful.

Instead, his hand settled at the edge of her underwear—resting, warm and immovable, pressing lightly into the vulnerable curve of her hip. The contact was maddening in its stillness.

A promise made but not kept.

The room pulsed with tension, thick as incense. Her arousal hung in the air, visceral and electric, the silence between them now stretched so tight it was on the verge of snapping.

Sylus leaned in.

He didn’t kiss her. He brushed his lips along the shell of her cheek, then moved toward her ear—his voice a breath, a blade, a benediction.

“Name the founding member of the pre-rebellion diplomatic corps,” he whispered, “who defected and sold state secrets to the Altaris resistance.”

Her breath caught.

Of course it did.

It was a near-impossible question. Obscure. Buried in classified intel, footnoted in forgotten reports. A name she might have memorized once, maybe. But not like this.

Not with his fingers resting just shy of her core.

Not with her thighs twitching beneath his palm. Not with her body arched toward his hand like prayer seeking a god that would not yet answer.

She blinked up at him.

Her hips shifted—barely, but deliberately. A subtle tilt forward. A parting of her thighs.

Not a protest. An invitation.

And then—

Her voice. His name.

Barely above a whisper. “Sylus…”

He closed his eyes.

That sound—it wasn’t a plea.

It was confession.

It unmade him.

Something deep inside fractured, cracked open in the silence beneath her breath. She had said his name like it mattered. Like it was hers to say.

He turned his head toward her.

His lips brushed hers—just barely. Just enough to feel the heat of her want. But he didn’t kiss her. Not yet. Not until she broke for it.

He needed her wanting. Needing.

Starved.

Then—finally—his fingers moved.

Down.

Between her thighs.

Over the damp heat of her panties.

Still outside.

Still cruel.

Still withholding.

But just enough.

Just enough to make her breath hitch. Just enough to tear another quiet sound from her throat. Just enough for her to understand that he could destroy her without rushing.

Then, voice low, sharp, and undeniable:

“Answer.”

She trembled beneath him.

Lashes lowered, lips parted, her thighs twitching with the instinct to close—but his hand kept them open, unrelenting. The muscles in her legs clenched subtly, as if even her restraint begged for mercy. And he—he felt the heat of her through the lace. Damp. Pulsing. Wanting.

He still hadn’t touched her directly.

And still, she was already so close. Closer than she admitted. Closer than she dared believe.

His thumb dragged along the edge of her underwear—not teasing. Not playful. It was a warning. A promise. A line drawn with the quiet precision of a blade unsheathed.

He waited.

Letting the question he’d asked seep into her skin. Letting it settle in her bones. Letting it dissolve into the ache blooming steadily between her thighs.

And then—

She answered.

“D-Davien…” she gasped, voice thin, unraveling, “Davien Sol. He… defected after the siege of Lyssara Prime.”

The last syllable broke against her breath like a wave collapsing. Her hips bucked once, a silent plea made flesh. She didn’t beg.

She offered.

Sylus went still.

A moment. Just one.

Then the smile.

It curved across his mouth slowly, dark and warm and terribly pleased. His lips brushed her temple, breath hot against her hairline.

“Good girl.”

Then he touched her.

No more pretense. No more denial.

His fingers hooked around the lace and dragged it aside, baring her to the cool air, to his gaze, to everything he intended to do. There was no need for teasing now. Not after that answer. Not after the way she’d shattered her own voice just to please him.

She had earned it.

And he was out of patience.

He slid one finger inside her.

Deep. Slow. Intentional.

Her cry caught in her throat—beautiful, strangled, perfect—as her head fell back, spine arching off the couch like her body could no longer contain the feeling. Her hips lifted to meet him, to chase more, to beg without words.

He groaned, quiet and raw, his mouth still near her skin. The way she clenched around him—the way her warmth welcomed him in—it nearly undid him.

“Fuck,” he breathed, reverent, almost broken. “You’re soaked for me already, Kitten.”

Her hands had fallen, gripping the couch like it was the last thing keeping her tethered to this world. Her hips rolled against his hand in slow, desperate rhythm, her inner walls fluttering with every curl of his finger.

And Sylus watched.

Every flicker of her lashes. Every gasp caught in the hollow of her throat. Every unspoken plea she didn’t know how to voice.

“You’re a brilliant…—” he murmured, kissing the line of her jaw. “...sharp little thing, aren’t you? Getting that right with my fingers this close to wrecking you.”

She moaned—soft now, shaky—shivering not from cold, but from the unbearable weight of his praise. As if those words, from him, stripped her even more than his hands ever could.

He dragged his mouth down her throat, lips soft, unhurried. He began to move his hand faster—just slightly—his finger curling, again and again, pressing against the spot that made her body jolt like live wire.

His thumb came to rest above.

Still. Waiting.

Just the barest pressure. Not enough. But a threat of pleasure. A question.

Earn this.

He kissed along her collarbone, voice breaking apart at the edges now—gravel-thick, velvet-rough.

“You want another question?” he asked. “Or do you want to fall apart right here… on my fingers… like a good girl who can’t take the pressure anymore?”

She didn’t answer.

Instead—

Her moan slipped into the silence like silk falling against marble—quiet, decadent, irreversible. It was not a sound meant for this world, and yet it made his pulse thrum with a hunger too profound to name.

Sylus did not speak.

Not at first.

Instead, his hand moved again—fingers curling deep inside her, drawing a rhythm that was not frantic, not indulgent. It was measured. Focused. The precision of a scholar and the devotion of a sinner. Each thrust was slow, deliberate, angled to feel like worship disguised as anatomy.

She writhed beneath him.

Not in rebellion. In surrender.

Her hands no longer reached for anything—no longer clutched for control. They had fallen limp beside her, fingers brushing the cushions like driftwood. Her thighs trembled with every stroke, breath catching in her chest with the kind of fragile staccato that marked the brink between thought and oblivion.

“That’s it,” he murmured, lips grazing the curve of her throat. “Just like that, Kitten.”

She was unraveling in real time.

And he was watching.

Not as a voyeur.

As a believer.

“You’re taking me so well,” he whispered, voice catching. “So fucking tight. So wet.”

And then, with care that bordered on reverence, he slid in a second finger.

He didn’t rush it. He let her body take it. Let her open around him like petals in moonlight, trembling but ready. She was made for this—for his hand, his rhythm, his control.

And she let him.

His fingers filled her fully now, and still, he moved as though time bent for her. As if there were no world outside this moment, no clock ticking. Only the rise and fall of her chest, the trembling in her thighs, the sweat glossing her collarbones like holy water.

His lips moved lower—slow, lazy, unhurried.

He kissed her between her breasts. The skin there was warm. Damp. Fragile in a way that made him ache. She arched into the touch like it was a question she’d waited a lifetime to answer.

He took her nipple into his mouth, flicking his tongue once before sucking deep, slow, intent. She gasped—her hands gripping the couch again, her body bowing to meet him. Every inch of her chased him now.

“That’s it,” he murmured against her skin. “Let me feel you fall apart.”

And God, she was trying not to. She was clenching around his fingers, fighting the build, hips twitching with each careful curl of his touch. Her breath came ragged, broken at the seams.

And still—he didn’t rush.

He wanted her earned.

“Doing so well,” he said, lifting his head, kissing the center of her chest like a vow. “So damn good for me.”

Her thighs began to shake in earnest now. Tiny, tremulous aftershocks.

He pressed his thumb—finally—against the swollen heat of her clit.

Just pressure. No motion.

Her whole body jolted.

A sob of breath tore from her throat. Not pain. Release.

“Come for me,” he whispered, voice shredded with restraint. “Now. Let go. Let me feel it.”

And she did.

She shattered.

It wasn’t violent. It wasn’t loud.

It was holy.

Her body convulsed around his fingers, her back arching off the couch as her mouth opened in a silent cry. Her muscles rippled with the force of it—wave after wave of climax cresting over her. Her hands clutched at the air, at fabric, at memory. Her moans dissolved into broken gasps and soft, helpless sounds that made Sylus feel like he’d been cut open and filled with fire.

He didn’t stop.

Not yet.

He moved her through it—fingers curling, drawing out the final tremors, thumb flicking just enough to keep her perched on the edge of ruin until the fall was complete.

Only then did he still.

Only then did he breathe.

She lay beneath him, wrecked in the most exquisite way—skin flushed, chest heaving, body slick with sweat and surrender. Her blouse hung open like a forgotten pretense, her skirt bunched inelegantly at her hips, her panties still askew but somehow sacred.

She was not disheveled.

She was divine.

And he—God help him—he belonged to her.

Sylus withdrew his hand slowly. Reverently. As though he were leaving the sanctuary of a temple.

His fingers gleamed with her.

He lifted his hand. And without ceremony—without show—he brought it to his mouth.

He licked them clean.

One finger at a time.

Slow. Precise.

Not to claim power.

To taste truth.

His eyes fluttered shut. Just briefly. As if he were savoring something holy.

And when he looked again—

She was watching him. Barely.

Her eyelids were heavy, her breath still uneven, but her lips curved upward. Subtle. Sly. Triumphant.

There was pride in the wreckage. Of course there was.

He leaned down. Kissed her sternum.

Then just below her collarbone.

His hand settled on her waist—not possessive. Not dominant.

Grounding.

She blinked slowly, pupils still wide, dazed and brilliant all at once.

And then she whispered:

“Another question?”

Sylus let out a hoarse laugh.

He didn’t mean to.

It was stunned. Broken. Uncontrolled.

God help him.

He was in love.

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theocddiaries · 5 months ago

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Sonic: There's someone at school who's making Tails' life miserable. Shadow: What happened? Sonic: I don't know; he won't tell me. But he's more anxious than I've seen him in a long time. Can you take him to class today, please? Shadow: Why me??? Sonic: Because if I go, I'll lose it. You know me. I don't want to make it worse for him. Shadow: Yeah, you’re right. When that kid's involved, you can’t control yourself… Sonic: Exactly. So, you take him to school today? Shadow: But the kid hates me. Sonic: Please, Shads, it’s just dropping him off and leaving. It’s not that hard. --- Tails: I’m late for class. Shadow: …I know. I can read the time. Tails: Doesn’t look like it, because I’m late for class. Shadow [takes a slow breath]: Alright, I’m sorry, okay? Tails: At least you could write me an excuse. That’s what Sonic does. Shadow: Then you should’ve asked him before I had to drag you out of the house before we would be even more late. Principal: Well, look who’s late. Are you his brother? Tails: Ew, no. Shadow: No, no-- Principal: Honestly, I’m not surprised you’re denying it. Shadow: No, I'm no denying anything, he's really not-- Principal: I’d deny it too, seeing how the kid turned out. All he does is disrupt class and waste his classmates’ time. But what can you expect from a child who was basically feral until he was four? I imagine he’s driving you crazy at home too. [grabs Tails by the hand]: Off to class now-- Shadow [steps in front of them, blocking the way]: No, no. Excuse me, what did you just say about the kid? You know what, instead of going to class, why don’t we go see the principal and get their opinion on your teaching methods? Tails [whispers]: She is the principal. Shadow: Oh… Well, then I’ll say it to your face. Do you think it’s appropriate to insult your students? He’s just a kid. If your self-esteem is so low that you’re personally offended by him being smarter than you and everyone else in this dump of a building, then go to therapy. Don’t give him a complex. The reason we’re late is because you’ve got him so terrified and anxious that he barely wants to come here anymore. Got it? Shadow [grabs Tails by the hand and pulls him close, then picks him up]: And just so you know, if this kid wants to be an aerospace engineer, a mechanical physicist, or invent a whole new career, he’ll do it. Because my brother has the brains for that and more. [walks to the door]. Tails: You know what I want to be when I grow up??? Shadow: Of course I do; you talk about it all the time. Tails: And you called me your brother? Shadow: …Do you want to talk about that or go get some ice cream? Tails: Ice cream. [A while later, they return home] Sonic: Why are you back so early? Tails: Shadow got into it with the principal. Sonic: What? Shadow: I’ll explain later… If the school doesn’t call you to explain first. Sonic: What happened??? Tails: We left after Shadow told her off and left her speechless. It was awesome. [tugs on Sonic’s arm to bring him down to his level]: Can you date Shadow forever, please?? Shadow: That depends on how he takes the fact that I got you kicked out of school. Sonic: You got kicked out?? Tails: In his defense, we walked out. Sonic: Okay, um… Hey, why don’t you go check on the food in the kitchen, and you’ll tell me about it later? Tails [nods and leaves] Sonic [smirking]: So I’m the one who can’t keep it together when the kid’s involved? Shadow: …Shut up.

Part 1

#incorrect quotes #sonic the hedgehog #sth #sonic #shadow the hedgehog #sonadow #tails the fox #miles tails prower #tails and shadow #tails and sonic

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blackbirdsblackberries · 2 months ago

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I Hate The New Hero!

Chapter 10: Debating Villainy

Authors note: I'm so sorry I've been neglecting this blog!! I'm back now though!! The chapter is shorter than normal but I'll be posting more and more chapters over the next two weeks!!

The cold water of the shower stung but it's not like you could make it any warmer, your mother had used all of the apartment's hot water last night.

To say your shower was quick would be an understatement. The cold water hitting your wounds hurt more than words can describe and upon getting out of the shower you are quick to dry off.

You hurry to get dressed. Glancing at the time you realize you have barely a minute left before you had to rush to school. You'll have to skip breakfast, dental hygiene and makeup for today - you could always ask someone for gum and make up a lame excuse regarding the wounds.

Grabbing your bag you quickly put your shoes on and run.

Running down the busy streets against the flow of people traffic was a difficult feat. You bumped into many - a business man, a woman in a tight black dress, a man with scars all over his face and a white streak.

Finally at the school gates you exhale a breath of relief, you wouldn't call it a sigh, it was more of a breathless groan.

Entering the busy hallways you head to the first class, Methods Math. The class is boring and you do okay at it, only actually in it because specialist was too hard and general was so easy it made you sleepy.

Sherri shares the class with you luckily. You managed to snag some gum from her. Luckily your friends know of your living situation so there wasn't much discussion around it from Sherri.

"Y'know, you could borrow my concealer if you want?" Sherri offers, you wish you could accept but instead you simply shake your head "We're different shades Sher.. Thanks though."

Sherri hums, furrowing her brows and returning to doodling in her book. You watch her before returning to writing down the equations on the board.

Class passes quickly and you head to Chemistry. Yippee.

Sitting down you ignore the way Tim stares at you before standing up and moving to sit at the desk next to you. You of course ignore him, you want nothing to do with that family - you never have.

"Hey."

You ignore him, opening you book.

"Hey!" He says, slightly louder.

You continue to ignore him until you feel his fingers move to the sleeve of your uniform and tug on it. You glance at him, unimpressed, tired.

He pauses, his brows furrowing and for once, he looks hesitant.

"Listen, I saw the video Dick took of the whole water bucket prank.. It wasn't cool." No shit Sherlock. Wow, what a detective! You muse to yourself angrily.

Tim holds out his phone "how about we exchange numbers? Start over?" You want to scoff. You don't have a phone, and even if you did you'd rather eat ten scorpions and live with your parents forever than even think about exchanging numbers with him.

"Don't have a phone." You simply reply, your voice void of any actual emotion. Tim huffs. "Dick said he bought you a new phone, don't lie." You sigh, fiddling with your pencil. "Parents took it. I don't remember which one."

Tim's silent for the rest of the class though you don't miss him look at you every now and again. The bell rings and you start to pack up before Tim speaks up. "You should probably cover those bruises with make-up. Sorry your parents did that though." With that he walks off.

Your grip on your bag grows tighter. You are one step away from becoming an evil villain, you swear!

Taglist:

@rissareader @delias-stuff @hogwarts9 @marsmabe @randomlyappearingartist @coralaura @nervousalpacalady @citrushalo @chericia @soriansick @v0idl1nq @scrumdidiliyumyum @kittykatcreatster @feral-childs-word @anon34570 @shycreatorreview @sunny-sp3lls @fluffypackofships @cynniee @yuyuzi-ling @coffeeaddictxd @starryperson @readermommy @niggrrooo @bunbunboysworld @yanrandom @fluffypackofchips @vanilliona @wizzerreblogs @cens0r3d

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socksual-innuendos · 1 month ago

Text

What are ghouls?

we just don't know....

Some ghoul biology headcanons and some review of the two different ghoulification methods (as supported and not by canon)

This was initially sparked by how I hate the implication of all ghouls being obligate addicts to prevent going feral (as seen from the show). However, given what we know of the themes of Fallout and some confirmations in both FO: Prime and FO4, I've decided there might be some interesting implications here, along with further looks into what makes ghoul go ghoul.

Please let me know what you think, I love this sort of meta talk.

Edit Log:

Edit 1 (4/25) - Spelling, phrasing, and additional Glowing One information made to "Biological Quirks" section in Radiation

So what are ghouls?

Well, a short description from what we see from the wiki/games/canon is that ghouls are those exposed to radiation that don't die of radiation poisoning and instead mutate. Exposure means vary from accidental exposure from the bombs/irradiated areas to outright deliberate exposures via experimentation, hopes for immortality, or simply listed as....."serum/drug".

The games have shown us that the process of ghouling isn't just novel to humans, nor is it just novel to humanoid shapes (see; Harold). However I am going to specifically cover humans and how they ghoulify.

There isn't a set reason on what exactly predisposes someone to ghouling vs dying, nor is there parameters on what makes them go feral. Risk factors, yes, but nothing set in absolute stone (aside from that inhalant withdrawal) This leaves room for the fun, and boy did I have fun writing this.

So lets start with the obvious;

There are two subsets of ghouls,

This is actually implied by canon and outright stated in the meta material. One set is directly radiation induced. These are the ones we are most familiar with.

The other is biochemically created, induced by drugs. These we have a few examples of, however with little to no explanation of....why is there a ghoul drug. More specifically, no direct reason is given for "Drug that turns you ghoul". I however have some ideas on how this came about.

In this post I will cover a few topics relating to ghoul qualities and how they vary between the two sub-types. These will be;

I. Modes of Creation: How We Go Ghoul and What This Implies II. Biological Quirks III. Ferals. What Are They, What Causes Them, And Why Aren't They Attacking Each Other IV. The Rotting vs Chem-Heads: Interpersonal Politics Within Non-Feral Ghoul Populations

I. Modes of Creation: How We Go Ghoul and What This Implies

Ghouls Created by Radiation Exposure:

So you've just survived the nuclear holocaust. What's next? Well, if the onset of radiation sickness is anything to go by, then not much....

Unless you're one of the lucky few who ghoulify.

But what causes one to ghoulify and another to succumb to the radiation? What exactly in the genes make one turn while another simply dies. The exact answer does not seem to exist, however we are shown in several cases that Pre-War was not afraid to experiment with radiation.

While in some instances these experimentation involved medications or chemicals (see: next section), there is mention of controlled exposures to radiation being something studied.

This experimentation can be seen through Vault-Tec Vaults (Vault 12) and implied in a few pre-war medical buildings/holotapes (Robco Buildings, the accounts of Control Subject Peters) and with outright accounts, such as Eddie Winters and Desmond Lockhart.

In short, while we don't precisely know if Pre-War knew that ghouls from radiation exposure were truly and properly immortal, or even considered them as a "successful" rabbit hole to pursue for immortality, we know that experiments to study the effects of radiation sickness were performed. In some cases, the exposure was to test for serums and medications that would hopefully prevent/reverse radiation sickness (And likely how we got Rad-X/RadAway. See: FO4s Control Patient Peter's Logs).

We do however see that irradiation is likely the most common mode for many of the ghouls of the wastelands. Pre-War ghouls that were not part of radiation exposure experiments were often times implied to be those not from areas directly in blast range and rather came into radiation exposure after they crawled out through the falled-out, baby (kill me). However, those directly in the blast that weren't vaporized are often implied to immediately be turned feral (Camp Searchlight, and other similarly directly hit areas), though sections such as Lonesome Road and certain in-game ghouls prove that some do not immediately turn feral.

These ghouls are described as experiencing radiation sickness that never got around to killing them before...it almost seeming to get better. They experience the GI upset, hemorrhaging, "illness" (fever), confusion, sloughing of necrotic tissues, and so on, before stabilizing into what we call ghouls. It is assumed that they eventually hit the "regenerative" stage of ghoulification after their bodies succumb to these symptoms. This may be evident due to radiation exposed ghouls having the intense healing potentials as ghouls, but never "gaining back" normal, non rotting appearance.

Ghouls Created by Biochemical Means:

We know through Hancock that there is an "experimental radiation drug" that can ghoulify people. We see something similar in FO:Prime, with Thaddeus taking a "healing serum" from the Chicken Fucker and how it looks (both in color and method of using) similar to that of the chem that The Ghoul uses/depends on. We are given both The Ghoul and one of his acquaintances (Ass Jerky) as direct examples of being dependent on this chem to prevent going feral.

According to the wiki, there are implications of two different types of chems that can cause a person to ghoul, directly quoted with "This does depend on the type of the drug"

While I am not too certain that these drugs differ all that much in how they cause ghouification, I have a theory about why the wiki needed to state multiple types of chems that ghoulify an individual.

Firstly that there is mention of experiments for immortality. I believe that this may be an "all roads", a converging of methods to one end, type scenario. Multiple drug types, one outcome. One or more of the major corporations was trying to unlock the secrets to immortality, however in this world that usually comes to the end of "ghoulifying" in some manner. I believe this is the drug-type that those like Hancock had found and used. This is the rarest of these types of drugs (as supported by canon) and also does not cause dependency of its users.

Secondly, I believe there are other handful of instances where some tried to create failed (or even prototype) Rad-X like medications (or even some kind of advanced form of Stimpaks) prior to the war as a "Keep this in your prep-kit" first-aid. This would be the direct medication (and in long post-war scenarios "Copy Cat" medication) that those like The Ghoul and ghouls in Fallout: Prime are dependent on. This would easily explain how some people, pre-war (such as Cooper Howard, as we know his personality pre-war) who may seem resistant to the idea of experimental or even promised immortality, would accidentally become a ghoul who is obligatorily stuck taking this medication. This being an assumed Rad-X/Immediate big wound healing-like drug would also allow for easy accidental (or deliberate) manufacturing post-war selling of it. Home brewed variations of a radiation resistant/Stimpak-like medication can sometimes have opposite effects, and this may be how some people "accidentally" become biochemically created ghouls.

We can however see that there is a market created for biochemical ghouls and their stabilizing medications as both F76 and FO: Prime show that these drugs are manufactured post-war and specifically for ghouls.

The wiki mentions that biochemically created ghouls retain their appearances longer than radiation created ghouls, however ultimately they begin their own process of becoming what we know more traditionally as ghouls. We can see this illustrated with Thaddeus from the show.

Now let's move on to how they differ as ghouls;

II. Biological Quirks

Ghouls are defined by a few qualities;

Extended lifespan (functionally immortal), enhanced healing factors, immunity to disease, radiation perks, nourishment requirements, and issues with sterility/reproduction.

We will dive into each of these topics and discuss that while both ghouls may share these qualities, there may be some variance into the extent or modes of how these qualities present.

Extended Lifespan:

We have come to understand and observe that ghouls will live, functionally, forever, unless killed. This point is fairly straight forward, however going feral is an ever present fear amongst both irradiated ghouls and biochemical ghouls. While we will explore ferals later on in this post, we will note that this can be seen as its own form of "death" within certain ghoul communities.

Enhanced Healing Factors:

We are both shown and told that ghouls have incredible healing abilities. While they cannot regrow limbs, it is shown that they can reattach missing body parts so long as one is available to graft.

We will get into nourishment needs in its own section, however I believe that the healing factors also extend here. Ghouls can sustain themselves longer without food or water due to some work of their healing factors, however this creates a strain on the body that makes injury recuperation dampen slightly.

However, while ghouls tend to be able to regenerate from bodily injury with ease, we can see some examples of preexisting conditions not being healed (a directly given example is Hugo Stolz in F76, who remains blind even after ghoulification). This may be explained with the same reason as to why ghoul skin is necrotic and does not seem to heal itself. My personal justification is that anything that happens prior to a ghoul "stabilizing" is almost always permanent.

Another thing to note is how this regeneration is an imperfect process. This may be best illustrated with how biochemical ghouls have a slower "ghouling" of their appearance. It is mentioned that "accumulating damage will change the ghoul's appearance over time". This implies that sometimes healing from an injury is not done perfectly or appropriately. This could also explain why some ghouls have different disfigurements or gain degenerative conditions such as arthritis, loss of vision, or hearing.

Immunity To Disease:

We know that ghouls have an amazing ability to regenerate, however it is not gone into detail about how they are "unaffected by most common diseases". I personally believe there is some nuance to this between irradiated ghouls and biochemical ghouls.

Irradiated ghouls no longer have an immune system. This was something destroyed and not gotten back (much like how areas of skin will slough off and not regen). However, due to their body's base radiation retention there are very few ailments that can actually infect an irradiated ghoul to being symptomatic. Their bodies are generally inhospitable to outside invading organisms.

Biochemical ghouls on the other hand retain some of their immune system and have a lesser resistance to disease than an irradiated ghoul. However they have a better resistance than an unmutated human to diseases.

Both ghoul types rely on their bolstered resistance to disease and their healing factors to protect against diseases as most medications do not work on them, or at least have a lessened overall efficacy. Again this goes off the logic from the wikia that a ghoul's healing factors provide some dampening effects to chems. Also through this logic, poisons tend to also need to be administered in much higher doses for a ghoul to even feel the effects of it.

While most medications do not tend to effect ghouls or only work at higher dosages, there is a special interaction they have with Rad-X and RadAway. We will explore this in the next section.

Radiation; Resistance To And Effects Of:

Ghouls are especially known for their resistance to radiation. This is a quality that is as associated with them as the potential of going feral is. However, I believer there are some key differences between the ghoul types and their interactions with radiation.

Irradiated ghouls stand to gain the most from radiation, for obvious reasons. While traveling through the warm glowing fields of areas still emitting high levels of radiation is a perk in and of itself, they also stand to gain some physical benefits from this as well.

With the example of the Marked Men, it is shown that ghouls can subsist off radiation alone. I also believe this bolsters their base healing factors. Toss a bag of meat pulped ghoul into a nuclear waste spill and he'll join you for dinner in a few hours. They may also experience boosts in mood and endurance.

Irradiated ghouls are canonically mentioned to also hold onto their radiation exposure, where some even become glowing ones. I do think that a ghoul must have moments of "recharge" to remain glowing ones, as over time radiation decays off the body. While the short term doesn't seem to be effected by this, for beings who can live hundreds of years, some can see fluctuations of internal radiation retention.

There is also mentioned for glowing ones being somewhat eccentric. With this idea I say continued radiation exposure and retention can produce almost a high or destortive effect to cognitive function if left unchecked.

Almost comically, while ghouls have no direct use for RadAway, they can use it to drop this retained radiation. This however is dangerous for Irradiated ghouls...

There is however mentions that radiation exposure can be a risk factor of feralization. We will go into further detail later on, however I will slightly touch on this now.

Concentrated blasts of radiation can be dangerous for both ghoul types, however high radiation exposure over time is more a risk factor for biochemical ghouls going feral than irradiated ghouls. On the other hand, irradiated ghouls using RadAway would put them at a higher risk for going feral. Thankfully this later issue is not something most irradiated ghouls need to consider. Most documented RadAway use in ghouls is for retained radiation regulation for those choosing to stay within human colonies.

Nourishment Requirements:

The wiki seems to be pretty inconsistent with this, so I take this as an invite to shoehorn my theories in. The wiki says that ghouls do need to feed and water themselves to stay alive, however we are given a few instances where this is heavily not the case.

Outright, we are given exceptions to the rule with Coffin Willy, Woody, Billy Peabody (fridge kid), and The Ghoul, all of whom had scenarios of being deprived of food and water and survived for extended periods (and most egregiously is Billy, who was trapped in a fridge starving and thirsty for over 200 years).

This is justified however by them being in "a hibernation like state", however other examples are also the Marked Men, who are said to be sustained off radiation alone. These ghouls are shown to be in an active and alert state. Raul Tejada himself mentions baking in the sun for several days, and while unmoving, had to trek three days back to civilization afterwards. We may see other examples of this through dialogue implications where ghouls may be deprived of food and water needs for durations that would kill a regular human.

I believe however that this can be dangerous for ghouls, especially given our next discussion of feralization.

It is worth noting that the wikia says ghouls have lost their sense of taste. While this may be a common phenomenon, we see it may not necessarily hold true for all ghouls due to comments from ghoul companions regarding flavor preferences. (See: Raul's sweet tooth)

Sterility/Reproduction:

While it is broadly understood that ghouls cannot reproduce, the wiki does not dive into much more detail here. I, however, propose that while radiation as a whole is detrimental to the reproductive system, coupled with the regenerative effects of ghouls, there are some...unfortunate outliers within this topic.

In regards to spermatogenesis, sperm count is at a constant low. Assuming there is anything produced, it is almost always malformed in someway.

In regards to ovum, almost all remaining eggs within the ovaries are considered mutated and non-viable. While menstruation is not unheard of in ghouls, it is more likely to occur in biochemical ghouls. However, all cycles are highly abnormal with next to no regularity. Ghouls will eventually hit a 'menopause' and 'post menopausal' state, however this is not conventional in timeline as with humans.

While viability of either gamete is near non-existent, this doesn't prove absence of fertilization. Most common cases of fertilization is that between human egg cells and ghoul sperm cells. While this often ends with miscarriage in the blastocyst stage, implantation has happened in even rarer cases. Intervention is usually needed as this often is ectopic or produces continual hemorrhage. In even rarer cases, these can produce teratoma type "pregnancies".

Very rarely does a ghoul egg cell get fertilized. It is almost undocumented and it is believed this is due to every instance of fertilization is miscarried before or soon after implantation.

Within the realm of sexual disease, there is few directly infectious agents to worry about between ghouls. However, for ghouls with human partners it is encouraged to use barrier-type protection or other means to limit radiation exposure. Necrotic tissue is also a concern, especially when exposed to mucosa membranes. Exposure of irradiated semen to these membranes is also another large concern for human partners. Condoms are highly encouraged, with rad-checks and use of RadAway being another measure to facilitate healthy measures for these relations.

III. Ferals. What Are They, What Causes Them, And Why Aren't They Attacking Each Other

So let's talk ferals. Aside from the rotting flesh smell and appearance, the threat of going feral is among one of the biggest factors that non mutants use for ostracizing ghouls, and one of the biggest internal threats that ghouls face.

While we understand what causes feralization and know risk factors, what precisely triggers one to turn feral while another doesn't is about as well understood as what makes some go ghoul in the first place.

Feralization is described as a degenerative process of the mind and, in late stages, the body.

In this section we will cover a few things;

1.) Risk factors and how they fluctuate between ghoul sub-types. 2.) Behaviors of ferals 3.) Inter-community treatment of ferals

Risk Factors: What Are They And How They Differ Between Ghoul Subtypes:

We are of the understanding that ghouls can turn feral when experiencing certain physical or mental stressors. These stressors are reported as follows;

Social Isolation Poor Mental State/Intense Emotional Stressors Exposure to Intense Radiation Genetic Factors

While the above are wiki provided risk factors, I have included some of my own accepted risk factors below;

Intense Physical Stressors Extended Periods of Fasting/Dehydration Sudden Decrease in Retained Radiation Substance Withdrawal

First we will address the risk factors that effect both sub-types and discuss how these can pose higher or lower threats based upon the specific biology of said ghouls.

Social isolation, poor mental state/intense emotional stressors, genetic factors, substance withdrawal, intense physical stressors, and extended periods of dehydration/starvation are all things that can trigger feralization in ghouls, however the threshold for such will vary among the individuals.

For irradiated ghouls, exposure to intense radiation is unlikely to be a trigger for feralization unless it is a direct, concentrated blast of radiation. However if there is a sudden decrease in their retained radiation, such as if RadAway is used in high enough doses, then feralization is a much higher concern.

Irradiated ghouls have somewhat of an advantage against starvation/dehydration, as being in areas with a higher ambient radiation can mitigate the ill effects of not eating/drinking.

Biochemical ghouls, however, struggle more with going longer periods of time without sustenance. They are also more vulnerable to continued exposure to high doses of radiation. While it is unfair to include their serum under substance withdrawal, it is also their main means to prevent feralization. However both ghoul types are vulnerable to withdrawal causing them to turn.

Behaviors of Ferals:

It is well known that feral ghouls are a dangerous type, however it is also well known that they do not seem to attack each other nor other ghouls.

If feralization is a degradation of higher cognitive function, how is it then that most feral ghouls know when they are in like company? This is not so well understood, however it has been observed that appearance does play a role but is not a sure fire way to pass through a horde of feral ghouls. One theory I have is that ferals are drawn to radiation and by extension can feel it off other ghoulified beings. This keeps them in a calmer, more contented state. Surprisingly, super mutants seem to also bypass the ire of feral ghouls. The precise reason for this is less understood, however FEV may have some play here. It is known that ferals have heightened senses, perhaps even FEV created mutants have a specific smell that does not trigger a hunt response in feral populations.

In regards to their dangerous behaviors, ferals seem to be driven by hyper aggression and hunger. I will take liberties and a page from the lobotomite handbook, as well as reference how some extensive cognitive degeneration causes hyper sexuality/aggression in some.

However, the less observed side to ferals is one more human. While they never truly seem to know what they are doing, some ghoul colonies that tend their feral population note domestic-like behaviors such as; attempting to clean, cook, perform yard work, tend dolls, or perform duties and adhere to schedules relating to those they had prior to turning feral. Some have even reported that certain ferals "remember" actions such as smoking and will perform this in rudimentary fashion.

Inter-Community Treatment of Ferals:

So now that we know more about feral ghouls, how do they fit into the world? While most of us know them as residing in city ruins, content to stay hidden away from the harshness of the burning sun and light, some have found home amongst ghoul societies.

While non-feral ghouls within mixed colonies may hold less compassionate views of their feral brethren, certain ghoul societies dedicate care and inclusion of ferals into their society. Their exclusion may even be seen as betrayal, and they are as valued and protected as much as any non-feral member.

IV. The Rotting vs Chem-Heads: Interpersonal Politics Within Non-Feral Ghoul Populations

While most people view ghouls as ghouls, and acceptance of them can vary from being seen as equals, to indifference, to outright hostility, the nuance between irradiated ghouls and biochemical ghouls is almost entirely understood exclusively within ghoul populations (or with those that study them).

Unsurprisingly, this has caused some conflicts. While feralization is something that is an assumed inevitable end for all ghouls, the more immediate threat of turning plagues most biochemical ghouls near constantly. This has given some irradiated ghouls a complex that biochemical ghouls are the poster child for why most non-mutant societies fear unprompted feralization.

On the other end, biochemical ghouls will often criticize their irradiated brethren for their appearance and smell being a determining factor for why most people do not welcome ghouls into most spaces.

There is also the discussion of who has suffered more, with irradiated ghouls often citing their endurance of radiation sickness and often continued effects while biochemical ghouls often quote their substance dependency as a constant struggle.

V. In Conclusion:

So surely with all that we have learned so far we understand that there is much more complexity to ghouls than initially thought. I hope you enjoyed my compilation of ideas and stuff I got off the wiki/from gameplay as much as I enjoyed writing it.

If you have any ideas or compilations for ghouls, feel free to drop them in the replies! I look forward to reading them and perhaps even working on another post regarding ghoul social and cultural structures!

#john hancock #fo4 #raul tejada #fnv #cooper howard #fo3 #f76 #foprime #ghouls ghouls ghouls #headcanon post #fallout 4 #fallout 3 #fallout new vegas #fallout prime #fallout 76 #fallout ghouls #fall out.....boys?#charon fo3 #im just spamming tags now but i deserve it after this write up

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