#dub con for ts

[wri0thesley]

a prize to be won - capitano x fem!reader (5.3k)

you are not there for the destruction of your home. but you are there for the aftermath, when you catch the eye of the captain.

cw: dark content. kidnapped 'spoils of war' reader, descriptions of a razed village and death of everyone reader knows. explicitly fem reader. dubious consent, alcohol. based on this post.

this was a commissioned work.

You have never seen so much destruction. 

You have never even thought you would see so much destruction, truth be told; the very idea of such things has never crossed your mind, when your village is ordinarily so calm and peaceful. You have loved your home fiercely and protectively your whole life - you have done everything asked of you, you have shared in the joys and the sorrows of your neighbours. Your home life is a humble one - your father a baker, your mother his assistant, your older brother set to inherit the bakery with the understanding you would work in it until the end of your life too - but it is not one you have ever maligned! 

You've felt, perhaps, a rumbling of discontent once or twice - the thought that out there, there might be something more than what you have always dreamed about - but it has always been quickly quashed when you've been called to work, or your father has smiled at you or your friends embraced you. This is a good life you lead, and you are happy to live it. 

Your village is supposed to be peaceful. 

Your village has stood for years and years; was here for your grandparents and their grandparents before them. There are people who say the great tree in the village square is a thousand years old or more, who'll tell stories about the settlement that sprung up beside it with a laugh about how it will probably stand for a thousand more--

And yet, in front of you is the heart-rending proof that this is not to be so. 

You feel yourself start to shake. 

You had only gone out for a few hours; to gather some flowers for the bakery's window, some herbs that grew in the woods that your father would turn into deliciously flavoured bread. You had expected to come home, as you have so many times before, to the exact same place that you had left. Who would expect anything else?

But before you--

You can hear shouting and screaming, the beat of boots on the ground. Great plumes of smoke rise up from the houses that you know just as well as your own, as fire devours thatch and wattle and everything else the walls are made from - your own home is on the other side of the village, and it makes your stomach twist and ache to think that it could be following the same fate. 

You do not understand. 

You drop the basket you're holding, your arms suddenly feeling far too weak to support even themselves, let alone your spoils. Your feet drag against grass as you numbly, desperately, try to make yourself approach the smouldering ruins of your home. Nobody has seen you, not yet - but as you walk, as the smoke stings at your eyes and your throat, you can begin to make out figures striding amongst the carnage. 

Big-booted, armoured and weapon-furnished figures, in helmets and furs, barking out orders in an accent you can only just place. 

The Fatui. 

But why here? Why now? Why your village? 

It would be foolish, you know, to go any further. A clever girl would turn tail and run and hide out amongst the forest and the wilderness until the threat has gone and then maybe return to her home to see what the damage that has been wrought is. Your family have always been proud of you for being that kind of clever girl, when you've found errors in the accounting or remembered some little detail or other your harum-scarum brother is too bright and bouncy to keep in his head. 

It is not clever of you to duck beneath the fence of the nearest home, to sidle into the garden, and to pick yourself a path behind the houses to try and stay out of sight. 

You cannot simply go into the wilderness, not fully knowing if perhaps within that cacophony of flame and noise and horrors your family may still be alive and frightened and able to be saved. You have never thought yourself a particularly brave person, but it turns out that when one is in dire straits a hidden well of courage may be tapped into, and that is how it feels as you work your way through the grassy back gardens, ducking behind hedges and trees and walls and begging all of the Archons you can think of for their aid in staying hidden. 

You hear screams, sometimes, and wet plunges and noises that are worse, and you cannot bear to think of what is happening to your friends and your neighbours. If they catch you, what will happen? Will they throw you to the fire? Will they plunge blades into the soft flesh of your body, will they tear you limb from limb, will you even have time to beg for your life before the rush of death is upon you? 

You try not to think about it. 

You're doing well, you think. You get closer and closer to the side of your village that your own home is on (you cannot go past the bakery - it is far too central, and has probably already been ransacked. You can only ask the Archons for their grace that your family was not inside of it when the Fatui squadron arrives). 

And why are the Fatui here anyway? Simply for the pleasure of murder and pain and suffering? There are no riches in this village - there is nobody important, nothing that ought to have dragged a whole army down onto you--

You slide yourself into a small alleyway between two houses. With the sun setting, you are more hidden - and you must cross the centre of the village in order to reach your own home. You cannot stay on this one side forever. The spot is sheltered in shadows, at least, and you will yourself to peer into the murk of the darkness to ascertain whether you can dart out without too much attention.

You hear a crunch of leaves underfoot and your heart flees into your throat. You stop dead where you are, but as the noise gets louder and louder, you realise you have been found. You will not reach your home before the Fatui reaches you. You will not get to give your father one more kiss, your brother one more whisper of how proud he makes you, and bury your face in the sweet powdery scent of your mother's apron for one last moment. 

He rounds the edge of the alley and stands there, an impressive figure caught in strands of moonlight, a visor down over his face, a cloak billowing around him. Trembling, you raise your chin to look your death straight in his face. 

When the figure speaks, his voice is low and dark and rasping. 

"Well," he says. "What do we have here?"

Everything about this man tells you that he is more than just some Fatui grunt. There is a certainty in the way he stands and surveys you, a craftsmanship to his armour that you have not seen in any of the other soldiers, a commanding tone to his voice than can only belong to a man who is used to issuing orders and even more used to those orders being followed to the letter. You are still trembling, and you do not lower your gaze. 

You wish you could tell if he was smiling, or if he was preparing to strike you down - but behind his armour, his face remains a mystery to you, no matter how badly you may wish to know. 

"Who are you?" He asks you, surprising you. You are expecting death, truth be told; the rest of your village, it seems, is burning around you. There is no reason to suspect you may be spared that fate. 

You tell him your name, still trying desperately to cling onto the bravery that has made you lift your chin and stand proudly instead of running away. Far better to die staring it down, you remind yourself, even as it feels that your insides are a snarl of knots begging you to run. You even tell him that your family owns a bakery in the village. Even, at the end, you find yourself asking this; 

"And who are you?" 

It is enough to surprise a laugh out of him - a strange noise, half low velvet and half wheeze, as if he is unaccustomed to making merriment. That helmet stays levelled at you, and you see a hint of blue fire behind the darkness where his eyes should be, and you get the distinct impression that you are being observed. Sized up. Considered. 

"I am the Captain," he says, eventually. He does not elaborate beyond that, but you do not need him to. 

Rumours do not often make it this far out, but the exploits of Il Capitano have certainly preceded him. You have heard tell that he is a monster of a man, that his men will kill you as soon as look at you, that he leaves a trail of ruined cities in his wake, let alone villages. If this is truly the Captain before you, then you are in even worse trouble than you anticipated, and any last-minute desperate hopes that your family may be alive vanish on the wind as you swallow back tears. 

He must be able to see the shake in your shoulders and the sway in your knees, but you do not let yourself show any more weakness than that. Your gaze stays steady, even as you feel a tear roll down the apple of your cheek. 

"Then I suppose I am going to die here," you say, your tone final. You swallow. You lift your chin even more, exposing the soft and vulnerable skin of your throat, hoping he will make it quick. You are all the more aware of your clothing now than you were before - the simple peasant dress, well-made but worn, the skirts and the aprons you had just a few hours earlier gathered herbs in. It feels like almost nothing, standing before Capitano in furs and silver and armour, but it is yours. And a peasant girl dies as a peasant girl lives. 

You prepare yourself for the swing of a sword, the gush of hot blood down your neck - but Capitano does not so much as place his hand upon his sword. He simply continues to look at you in that terribly interested way, as if you are a puzzle he desires to solve. 

"You would give your life to me so easily?" He asks you. "Give everything up, little flower, and die here?" 

"It is no more than everyone else in my village has done," you say, trying to be careful with your words. If you are too rude, perhaps he will drag you into the town square - perhaps he will make an example out of you, before his men. And though you are prepared and expecting to face your death, you would rather not make it even worse than it has to be. 

A figure appears at Capitano's side, and then another; two of his men, who immediately fall to their knees and do not pay you a whit of attention. 

"We're done here, My Lord," they say, in the voices of sycophants. "We have no useful information. No intel at all." 

Is that what they were looking for in your little humble village? Intel about what? Nobody here goes further than the next village over! What could they possibly know that would be of any use? 

"Very good," Capitano says, without turning his helmet from you. The two grunts laboriously pull themselves up from their knees, finally sneaking a glance at the peasant girl still standing, wondering what you must be doing here. Wondering if Capitano is about to kill you. "One more thing," he says - the men straighten to attention, waiting for whatever orders their leader is about to give. 

You think you hear the ghost of a smile in his voice. 

"I wish to take a souvenir," he says. "Bring this one back to camp and put her in my tent."

You are not fool enough to struggle against the Fatui who come to you, who take you by your arms - gentler than you'd expected - to march you on your way. You suppose they do not want to risk hurting you, when Capitano has expressed such an interest - but it rankles in the back of your throat that you are nothing more than a 'souvenir', some thing that can be taken and placed as and where the Captain pleases. 

But you are lucky to not have been killed where you stand. 

They march you out of your village, and you try not to look at the burnt-out husks that were once your neighbour's homes - you try not to let your eyes desperately seek out the shell that was once your family's bakery, or worse, your home. You keep your chin high and your lips pressed tight together, and all of the thoughts and feelings that are spooling around your head remain silently trapped within there. You do not think you would like anything you will hear from these soldier's mouths. 

The campground is more alive than you would expect - and it simply makes you feel worse. When they have meat aplenty, to roast on open fires, when they have fine furs to drape over their tents and books to read . . . why ransack your home? Why not just search for this so-called 'intel' and leave? But you cannot say this aloud. You bite your tongue. 

Before you know it, you are brought to the biggest tent of all. It stands tall and royal-blue, imposing and regal in the insignias and crests embroidered upon it. The two Fatui guards push you inside, and you hear the sound of something zipping, and see their shadows take guard outside to make sure you make no attempt at running. 

As if you would. 

You would not get a hair's-breadth from the tent before you found yourself shot or stabbed or grabbed or worse, and all the more painful they will make it when they realise you are running from their leader. You bring a hand up to smooth over your hair, noting ruefully that in your morning activities foraging and your attempts to sneak around, you are dusty and dirty and out of place. The tent is a strangely clean place, for all of the bloodshed that its occupant must regularly indulge in. 

You take a moment to peek around it. There are those fine, expensive furs - there are bottles of wine and alcohol stacked together, a makeshift desk scattered with papers and quills and ink, a bedroll far bigger than any you've ever seen festooned with pillows and blankets and more of those same white pelts. It is only a tent, only designed to be brought from place to place, somewhere to sleep at night and nothing more - and yet within it, there is more luxury than you would have ever seen in your humble cottage home. 

Voices from outside. 

A low rumble that you now recognise as the Captain makes you stand up, stock-still and straight, from the books you were crouching to read the spines of. You press your hands into fists at your side and wait for the flaps of the tent to open and for the Captain to come in, to kill you or worse, all fury and blood and desire. 

It does not happen like that. 

Il Capitano does enter the tent, and you notice that he dismisses the two grunts standing guard outside with an order ending '. . . and bring it back here'. You wonder what it is they are to bring back - something to dispose of your body, perhaps? But he does not rush at you. In fact, he strips his sword from his side to rest it in a rack by the entrance of the tent, and then he stands there, regarding you once more. 

The silence stretches between the two of you like a thing that can be seen, a shroud of fear on your side and amusement on his. Finally, you break: 

"Are you going to kill me now?" You ask him, hating the tremble of your voice. It is difficult to get a read on whatever it is he is thinking, with the mask covering his face, but he tilts his head to the side. 

"I would not have brought you here to kill you, little flower," he says. "What do you think I wish to do?" 

"I . . ." You swallow. There are hundreds of possibilities running through your head, and you do not like a single one of them. "I don't know." 

"I'm not going to hurt you," he says, after a pause, your fear shimmering in the air. "I would not have wasted my time."

"Why not?" That one falls from your lips before you can deadfall it, and your shoulders draw in, all fear. You shouldn't be questioning why he doesn't wish to rip you limb from limb! You should be grateful to still have all of your internal organs on the right side of your body! But . . . you are nothing special, and you do not understand what it is that has saved you thus far. 

Capitano crosses the room instead of answering you, and one of his gauntlet-clawed fingers tilts up your chin instead, to look down at you with that inscrutable blue-fire gaze behind the mask he wears. 

"You didn't run," he says to you, after a moment. "You didn't scream. You're terribly sweet to look at. You trembled and shook like a leaf, all big wide deer-eyes - and yet you stood firm and strong and brave. Why do you think I had you brought back to my tent, little doe?"

You are saved from answering the question by the tent opening - and those two Fatui grunts from earlier enter, hauling between them what looks like a large tin bath. One of them goes to a corner and begins to poke and prod at a fire, and then they place it before the fire and bow respectfully at Capitano. A creeping tendril of dread strokes down your spine as you look at it, and Capitano calls out a thanks as they leave. 

He turns back to you. 

"You're filthy," he tells you, and that gauntleted hand strokes over your cheek now, and further down, until it rests against the bare skin of your collarbone. "Will you undress for me and let me bathe you, or do I have to unclothe you myself?" 

Oh. Oh. 

"I--" You fumble, the truth crashing about you like a tidal wave. Your hands flutter helplessly. But there is no escape, is there? And if you wish to keep your life-- "I can undress myself," you say, swallowing back more protestations and begging. You strip off your apron, and move to the buttons of your blouse - through it all, Capitano's eyes remain hidden by his mask, just a flash of blue fire. But you know he is looking at you. You know he is watching, as your skirt falls to the ground, and then your chemise, and then you are standing bare and shivering in his tent. 

"Beautiful," he says, after a moment. "And you'll be all the more beautiful once clean. In the bath, please, little flower."

You give one last lingering look to your pile of clothes - the last remnant of your home life - and hope he will not have them destroyed, before you cross the short distance to the tub before the fire. You lower yourself into it gingerly, expecting it to be either boiling hot or freezing cold - but as you dip a toe in, you find that the temperature is perfect. It soothes the aches and bruises you have from your adventures today, and you can't stop the soft sigh of pleasure that falls from your lips as you fold yourself into it. You hear Capitano let out a low chuckle - and then he is kneeling beside you. 

You notice he has shed his gauntlets, now - but he still wears dark gloves beneath them, and he seems not to care if they get wet as he reaches forward to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. 

"I shan't hurt you," he reminds you, in that low voice like the churning of an ocean. "Submit to me. Let me take care of you." 

It is a strange thing to hear after everything he has done, but you are at his merch, so all you do is give him a stiff little nod. You wonder if he smiles at your acquiescence beneath the helmet, even as he reaches to a small shelf beside the fire and pulls out a collection of jars and bottles and washcloths and sponges, in colours and shapes and sizes that feels like an excess to you. 

He pours something sweet-smelling and floral into the bath water, uses one hand to swish it through so that the sweet scent will permeate your body, and it seems it flows up from the surface of the water in almost-visible swirling curlicues.

(At home you are used to bathing in a similar tin bath, but there is one washcloth for each of you, a communal bar of soap, and the thought of anything so luxurious as bath oils or your own shampoo would get you a scolding for the waste of money. You have never wanted for such things - you are content with your life - but the thought that Capitano would use them, on you, a lowly peasant girl--)

The first thing he does is reach into the water, to swell the sponge - and your breath catches as he leans closer, and then the sponge is slowly working over your body, to clean the dirt and the dust of the day from your skin. You feel like you cannot breathe at his closeness - and you expect him to take advantage, to use this as a way to touch you more--

But he does not. You find it rather strange how his body does not seem to kick off any heat, but he is so close as he leans to work at a particularly stubborn grass stain on your shoulder that you cannot give it more than a single moment's thought. 

The way he cleans you is almost worshipful - ritualistic, slow and careful and thorough. Your breath shakes in your chest, as he reaches the curve of your breast. And though he does indeed clean it, though the sponge does indeed brush over your nipple and make it pebble and harden, he does not linger any longer than he needs to in order to ensure your cleanliness. 

Even when he switches to a washcloth and he dips it between your thighs - he notices, from the brief tense of his shoulders, that you react to the sensation - he does not push further. 

"Your hair, now," he intones, and he moves to kneel behind you - and with those same fingers that washed you like he was a postulant in a church, he works through the tangles, smooths and cleans it, until it lays about your shoulders in clean wet strands. 

You think this is to be it, but Capitano is not yet done in this strange pampering - he reaches for other things, for other bottles full of ointments and lotions and potions, and he works those, too, into your skin where it is red or bruising. You can do nothing but stay there in the tin bath, as he calmly continues. 

"You will want for nothing, now," he tells you, as he dabs something sweet smelling on your collar bones, behind your ears - you think this is perfume oil, though you've never been able to afford it. "I will take care of you, little flower. You will be my most prized of all." 

Your hair, as he works more floral oil through it. And then he is standing, taking your arms to help you up - your knees feel strangely weak, like they will buckle beneath you. You have never felt quite so clean, even after baths at home. Flour always seemed to linger in the cracks of your palms, dough beneath your nails. But you feel as if you move in a cloud of fresh-scented air, as Capitano's massive bulk lifts you from the bath as easily as if you were a doll and wraps a fluffy towel about your body, thicker and more luxurious than the scratchy old ones that you have - had - at home. 

You feel strange. Warm and hot and wanted, and fearful at the same time of what Capitano will want from you now he has cleaned you. You can feel a strange stirring between your thighs - an awareness of your body that you are not used to. You have never given much thought to the men of your village. You have always thought one day you would marry, of course . . . but no men have ever caught your attention. 

And though Capitano is your kidnapper, though he has lain waste to everything you have ever known - he is broad and mysterious and far more gentle than you would have expected, and him being the first one to touch you in such a way has ignited a fire within you that you do not know how to quell. 

"Come over to the bed, little lamb," he says to you - and like a lamb, docile and obedient, you follow him. 

This must be it, you think. This is when he will shove you onto his bedroll and have his way with you, wanting as only a man can, using you as nothing more than a receptacle - and then you can once more hate him, and these strange feelings whirling in your stomach will finally abate, and life will put itself back on an axis you understand. 

It is still not as you expect. You should not have thought anything would be, in this strange new existence you have found yourself in.

Instead, he cups your cheek and murmurs against your ear; 

"Are you hungry? Thirsty?"

You realise you have not eaten all day, and you feel your cheeks heat as you give him a nod. It still feels frightening to let him know of your weaknesses - but as you say it, he produces a tray laden with breads and cheeses, and places it upon the bed between you. You go to take a slice, but Capitano stops you - and then he is hand-feeding you, as delicately and with as much care as he had washed you. 

It's delicious. You are used to freshly baked bread, as a baker's daughter, but the soft sweetness in your mouth is something else - you are almost glad that he's feeding you himself, for after the day you have had you are hungry, and you are not sure you wouldn't shame yourself falling upon it like a wolf. 

"Pace yourself," Capitano says, and though you cannot see his face there is a smile in his voice. "There is more where it came from. You will not want for anything, my sweet flower. Not ever again." 

He decides when you have had enough - your stomach comfortably full, as he moves the tray and takes it across the room for some lowly other Fatui member, you're sure, to clean up. You feel that fear again, as he moves towards you, and you realise the wide bedroll you are on is draped all over with furs and cushions, and you are still in nothing more than the towel he wrapped you in after bathing you. 

"A drink," he says, and it is not a request. He brings a bottle of wine and one glass over to you, and you watch as he pours the viscous red liquid into the glass, so like the colour of blood that you have to dampen the fear that goes coursing through your veins. He must notice that you have tensed, for he softens his words as he says; "It will make you relax. It will make this easier. I have no desire to hurt you, little lamb." 

So you let him wrap one of his strong, big hands around the back of your head, cradling you as gently as one would cradle a lover. You let him lift the glass to your lips and tilt it, until the red wine - sweet and thick and cloying - slips down your throat as easily as silk. You have drank before, but never something so rich, never something so expensive - never with a man like Capitano beside you. 

"There," he murmurs against your ear, cradling you, holding you, his body still cold but firm and strong behind you. "Another sip. Good. Good girl." You swallow what he gives you, and in time - as you're laid there for him, as you're held and coddled and treated as precious glass - you feel that familiar sensation. 

A warmth that spreads to your toes and makes you feel as though you're floating on air - a soft kind of airiness, as if the things that are happening around you are not truly real. Capitano does not lean down to kiss you, but you understand why he has carefully gotten you just drunk enough to feel light and expectant when he peels your towel away and tosses it aside, leaving you utterly bared before him on his bed. 

"Beautiful," he murmurs, and this time he does let his hands learn the shape of you. This is no quick attempt to clean you - he is not intending gentlemanly cleaning now. This is a desire to hold you and touch you--

And yet he still does not wrest control from you, as you had feared he might. 

"I have promised," he murmurs, "that I would not hurt you." The curve of his palm, taking hold of the heavy weight of your breast - your nipple gently tugged between thumb and forefinger, just enough so that your back arches involuntarily and a soft whine escapes your mouth that makes him sigh. "I do not break my agreements, little flower. You are safe."

You ought not to feel safe. You ought to be terrified - you ought to be wondering if, when he has had his fill of your body, he will toss you aside. You ought to be wondering how much of this is a lie. But Capitano's hands are stroking over your waist, your hips, the softness of your thighs. When he urges you to spread them, you cannot help but do so. 

"Exquisite," he breathes, as he uses his thumbs to spread open your sex, the coolness of the air hitting it and making you fight back the squirming. You do not want him to touch you. You want him to touch you more than you've ever wanted anything before. 

"Lovely," he murmurs, when he leans down and presses his helmet up just enough for a mouth - strangely cold, again, a tongue harder and longer than you're expecting - to wrap around your nipple, for teeth to graze the sensitive skin and your body to go on high alert that he will bite and eat you alive the way that fairy stories and rumours of the Fatui have said that they so enjoy doing. 

"Perfect," he murmurs, when he brings his thumb to your mouth and you - terrified and brave, afraid and yielding, unsure and battling with your own conscience - open your lips to let him slide the tip of it past your lips, to rest there. 

And when he moves, when he covers you, when you feel the stiffness of something impossibly hard and big pressing against your inner thigh, he murmurs;

"Will you be good for me, little lamb? Will you be my spoils?" 

Your throat is dry when you answer him; the only answer you can really give. An answer that gives up your personhood, that reduces you to nothing more than a prize to be won - but an answer that wins you, at least, your life. 

"Yes, My Lord. Yes."

[needleanddead]

In their 40s, graying, and a pathetic stalker?

WOOF WOOF AWOOGA WOOF HOOOOWLLL AWOOGA WOOF

Begging on hands and knees for more crumbs about them please

And wearing a tight black turtleneck under their medical coat, one of the very sluttiest things it is possible for anybody to wear. Important!

Sloane’s entire family are medical professionals. Their parents and siblings have all worked up to senior consultants and heads of hospitals; even though anaesthesiology is a perfectly valid and difficult career (and Sloane is certainly not badly paid by any means), they’re a bit of a family disappointment. They were pushed really hard growing up, so never had time to make friends or properly integrate with their peers. Studying was their entire life, and now their job is their entire life. As a result, they’re incredibly awkward and still struggle a bit with imposter syndrome - having their darling to “take care of” (in quotations, naturally) makes them feel like they’re more of a success.

Their ‘type’ includes: workaholics, anxious people, anyone who they think needs a break. If they’re sweet and polite to Sloane if they interact (if they can!), that’s a bonus, because they deal with very rude people as a medical professional and they’re also used to people not being nice!

They work mostly in the emergency room, but due to staff shortages and their specialised skills, they also work sometimes in more routine surgeries and also do some private freelance work. (They have worked under Constance’s father! They’re quite fond of her and go out of their way to check Constance is doing alright - they’re totally drawn in by her proper young lady act.)

As I said, they’re definitely a stalker type and they’re very likely to fall for a patient, though they’ve fallen for coffee shop workers or shop assistants and coworkers too. They have a lot of access to sensitive medical records (and by extension addresses and contact info), so watch out!

Packages left on doorsteps with gifts, phone calls with heavy breathing down the line, windows cracked open . . . Sloane sometimes reads like they’re working through the stalker handbook. But they mean well, honest!

Whilst mostly non-violent, they’re not entirely above hurting their darlings in order to take care of them. They prefer to keep them drugged and delirious (forced cuddling, somnophilia and needleplay are the usual orders of the day with them), but if their darling is combative or has a lower tolerance . . . Well.

[iqxatlantic]

" so do i look . . . like him ? "

ft. itoshi rin . itoshi sae . gn! reader . implied afab! reader . ooc! rin (?) . ooc! sae (?) . idk what tgis is . AGED UP! characters . established relationships . ex! sae . sibling rivalry . ur hot ong . ass plot . i cant do ts . smut ig . drabble . idk this is messy . unreliable narrator .

cw: somewhat dub/non-con

wc: 0.3k

synopsis : after breaking up with the prodigy, sae itoshi you realized that you've longed his brother a little bit more... problem was rin itoshi resembled his older brother waaay too much. the way the night went confirmed that, yeah. despite their rivalry they're quite similar.

one thing you've noticed after you broke up with sae was that... you liked his younger brother a lot more... the both of you were the same age, etc. etc.

your biggest problem was that, rin resembled so much of sae you began questioning if you were dating rin because he was rin or if he resembled sae :c

the gaze, actions, the way they talked. you went crazy. shit wasn't adding up anymore. you felt almost a sense of guilt. you genuinely prayed at night that you loved rin because he was rin. it felt wrong.

was it all false? was it just you trying to cover up what you've lost from sae? you were baffled, showered in thoughts that would constantly feel disgraceful and disloyal. you felt depicted as an unfaithful person.

dating their brother to get over them? or to receive some attention or love your former partner never gave you? lowkey, can't blame you.

so, that night when rin invited you over — you were a little (ahem, quite) confused when he tied a blindfold, covering your eyes (idk how it works t-t)

a calloused, big n warm hand led you to the bedroom, those same hands pushing you onto the soft cushion. hey, those hands feel familiar..

and then, you felt someone tugging at your pants. the moment you opened your mouth to let out a cry, it was quickly switched to a moan as you felt a tongue prodding at your entrance.

"sa- no.. rin.?" you'd mutter out. rin wasn't stupid, he knew you were tryna moan out sae's name instead LMFAO. and you weren't wrong — it was in fact sae lapping away at your hole :3

that night, the two brothers made sure you'd never get over them. their teamwork is crazy when they try.

— ©iqxatlantic / isaisliterallyhim, 2025

a/n: hi.. i fear this was a really half-assed drabble but stay with me.. lowkeyu this wouldve been better as angst but i genuinely couldn't produce enough ideas so i just BAYUM did this yay i sometimes forget i genuinely have responsibilities and i'm no longer allowed to dilly dally all over the place... i swaer ill redeem myself soon let me slide pretties.. </3 oh ya, why am i always so overstimmed.. ;-; also why is it always the eng teachers who r so so fine...

[goodnessgraves]

Hi lovie!! 🎀

Just remembered something deep in my head and thought you'd like it :D So either Graves or Price coughcoughbothcoughcough with this one, but imagining telling the Shadows or the rest of the 141 that their dick is small and you can't even feel it as a joke. Everybody's laughing and it becomes an ongoing joke for a while.

Until they drag you aside and leave you with a limp, and a zipped lip about their small dick. Sorry if this is an awkward little ask, I haven't sent asks like this in a while, please forgive me :')

Love your work bb and make sure you eat food you like, drink plenty of fluids and take/apply any medication you take!!

YOUR MIND OH GOD.

F!Reader x John Price and Phillip Graves

Slight dub-con, MMF!Threesome, DomDomSub, degradation

Oh god, they hated that attitude of yours. Acting all big and bad, running your mouth and poking your pretty little head into places where it shouldn’t be.

“Limp dick ass bitch,” you chide.

“Maybe you should take some viagra, hopefully it’ll give you some stamina, can’t even keep up with me in training.”

Your captain and temporary commander come in at the wrong time, mid discussion. Your words go straight to their brains.

Graves, (ever a dog with a bone) calls you into his office with Price to have a meeting about your ‘language’ and ‘behavior’.

“Sweetheart, we’ve talked about this.” Graves is glaring at you, a faux look of anger and disappointment on his face.

“Your behavior is just…”

His lips quirk up.

“It’s shocking, doll.”

Price, your captain, quickly chimes in, taking steps closer to your chair before he’s leaning over it, his face inches from yours.

“We are very disappointed in you.”

He sighs, giving you a look of patronizing sympathy as he reaches up to grab your face, forcing you to lock eyes with him.

“Y’know, we need to discipline you somehow, don’t we, Commander Graves?”

He looks over his shoulder and over at Graves, a wicked smile on the commander’s face.

“Naughty thing you are. You just need us to put you in your place, hm?”

There’s nothing to do but nod.

“Smart girl.” Graves chuckles, slowly walking up behind the chair you’re sitting in, him and price caging you in.

It’s not long before you’re laying back on the desk, fully nude. A cock in your pussy and one in your mouth, not making a peep as they punish you for your behavior.

“Who’s got a small cock, lovie? Hmmm??” He grunts, balls deep in your cunt, there’s nothing you can say, your mouth stuffed with Graves heavy and fat cock.

“Yeah, ‘ts what I thought, dumb slag.”

“Go easy on ‘er, cap. She ain’t got the brains to understand you ain’t bein’ nice. She’s a stupid mutt.”

The room is full of their groans and pants, the slapping of skin, and your muffled moans.

In no time you’re set out of the office, your belt half undone and your hair a mess, limping and coughing.

Guess it pays off to be a mouthy asshole.

[lazy4honey]

Orc x Elf 01

Contains: third person perspective, teasing, language barrier, sorta enemies to lovers, a little reversion of stereotypes, somewhere between consensual and dub-con, NSFW

Additional reading: Orc Prologue, Elf Prologue

This turned out longer than I wanted (again) and has more plot than I wanted (again), and it also took longer to write than I anticipated because of - hold your horses - loincloth research. Tsk.

Dim yellow magical gems illuminated the interior of the wooden cave. They cast soft shadows across the young orc’s rugged face, making his grayish green skin appear a little warmer. Looking at his neat grey robes, silk-like braided hair and brown eyes misty with tears, it was obvious that the chieftain had spoiled and pampered his son until he was soft like a little duckling.

It made the evaluating look in the silver-haired elf’s green eyes appear a little less cold. 

After all, he hadn’t thought, or dreamt, or even joked about the existence of an orc that looked so… squishy. 

The pristine white leaf armor rustled quietly as the elf approached his bed. He saw the young orc struggle to retreat on the bed stacked with deep red beast furs, the soft vines binding his hands and feet chafing against his skin. 

The tall and slender elf took off his white gloves, carelessly throwing them to the side, and reached for the vines.

The young orc struggled. He couldn’t get rid of the elf’s grasp, couldn’t resist his terrifying strength as he pulled him closer, and coming face to face with him, he couldn’t hold back anymore and cried.

Seeing his father be executed and hearing his kin’s angry curses and pained shouts in the dungeon had already scared him. Now, unable to resist and forced to do who knows what, something in him broke.

The elf stiffened.

…Had his face scared him? That shouldn’t be. Although his entire body was covered in scars and half of his left ear was bitten off by a beast, he still looked quite good. In his view, the orcs he’d encountered during the war, including the chieftain, looked much more terrifying than him, almost deformed through years of battle. 

But… maybe… this unusually small orc just two heads taller than him was too pampered?

He hesitated for a moment, then sat down on the bed and reached out to wipe away his tears.

The young orc’s eyes widened and he hiccuped.

They were both stunned.

Then the elf chuckled, and the young orc blushed a deep green.

The atmosphere between them relaxed a little, so the elf tapped the orc’s chest.

“Reseda.”

The young orc’s breath stuttered.

Pronounced by the elf, with the accent of his mellifluous language, his name sounded like a warm embrace, making his heart pound.

Then the eld tapped his own chest, “Tsavorite.”

Reseda didn’t quite understand, tilting his head, so the elf tapped him again.

“Reseda.”

He nodded.

The elf tapped himself again, “Tsavorite.”

Reseda blinked, hesitantly baring his teeth. After a moment, he pointed at himself, “Reseda.” Then he pointed at the elf, clumsily pronouncing what he assumed to be the other’s name, “Tsavorite.”

Tsavorite nodded and patted Reseda’s head. The young orc’s hair was amazingly smooth, making him rub it a few more times before he finally untied the vines around his wrists and ankles.

Reseda breathed a sigh of relief, yet to his shock, the elf didn’t stop there.

His graceful, scarred hands reached for his belt. Despite the young orc’s resistance, he maintained a vice grip and removed Reseda’s robes in a few swift motions, leaving him with nothing but his leather breechcloth.

He turned a few shades darker green as Tsavorite examined him.

Apart from the scratches from the thorny vines the young orc had been bound with when he was captured, he only had a few small scars that one ordinarily got from playing as a child. He wasn’t that hairy either, his skin surprisingly smooth, and even after spending three days in the dungeon, he smelled good.

Considering he was his reward and he could do with him whatever he wanted, Tsavorite became a little bolder. He held the motionless young orc and leaned in to sniff his neck, taking in his sweet ambrosial scent.

Reseda had already turned into a statue when the elf started touching him. The touch of his calloused hands tingled on his skin and made him feel hot all over, a little like when he sat too close to the tribe’s bonfire in winter, but not quite. Then the elf came so close his heart pounded, the fruity fragrance making him feel lightheaded, and when his breath swept over his collarbone and neck, Reseda gasped as his dick suddenly twitched.

Tsavorite’s eyes flicked up to his face and saw his complexion turn even darker as he turned his head away. When looking down, he saw the breechcloth bulging slightly.

Following some kind of twisted desire, the elf put his hand onto the young orc’s crotch and squeezed tightly.

Reseda moaned, both shocked and aroused. He wanted to grab the offending hand and fling the elf off, but he knew he was just a captive who’d no one would care about even if he was played to death. That was just how it was after a war. Conversely, if he hurt the elf, he might end up even worse than dead, so he held back.

As a result, Tsavorite saw the young orc who’d just calmed down moments ago once again on the verge of tears.

…the watery sheen made the russet brown eyes shimmer in an almost heartbreakingly beautiful manner.

Tsavorite’s brows shot up in surprise. Had he really just thought that an orc was beautiful? No way, right? But looking at him… and considering that…

The elf’s green eyes darkened.

He grabbed Reseda’s shoulders and gently but firmly pressed the young orc double his width down into the deep red fur. His right hand trailed down, lightly brushing his fingers over his collarbone and further over his strong pectoral, circling around the dark green nipple and feeling the heartbeat quickening in the undulating chest beneath his palm as he tried to keep calm.

Tsavorite pinched the orc’s nipple and felt it immediately harden between his fingers, making him rub it a little and eliciting a small whimper from Reseda. Then he continued moving down to his abdomen, stroking the soft meat and pressing to feel the tight muscles beneath. 

Reseda’s muscles tensed when the elf’s hands reached his v-line, resting just above the belt that was straining to hold his breechcloth in place.

He bit his tongue and watched Tsavorite’s hand draw closer to his hard cock, the shameful mixture of dread and excitement almost suffocating him.

It was at this moment the elf’s face come close.

Reseda reflexively closed his eyes, not wanting to see what happened next.

But what came instead was shockingly gentle.

Tsavorite gave him a kiss on the forehead.

The young orc hesitantly opened his eyes and immediately saw the rich green of Tsavorite’s irises, the dark pupils mirroring the image of his shyly scrunched up face.

It was embarrassing.

He blinked and a tear trickled down his cheek.

Tsavorite leaned in again, his warm breath making Reseda squint. Then he kissed the corner of his eye and licked the tear away, making the orc’s breath hitch. 

“Reseda.”

Reseda sniffled and looked at him.

Tsavorite opened his mouth to comfort him, but then he frowned. For various reasons, he’d never learned the orc language, and he knew that the orcs disdained languages other than their own. Now, was it worth it to try soothe or learn that crass language for the son of an enemy he’d executed with his own hands? 

He was a war hero, the blood that had flowed due to him could form entire rivers. Whatever kindness or mercy he’d once protected in the softest place of his heart, he had long crushed with his own hands.

So why was he hesitating?

Why couldn’t he just treat Reseda as a toy?

Meanwhile, being stared at like this by the cold yet violently beautiful elf, Reseda was still hard. In fact, this kind of intense stare was turning him on more than his gentle touches…

Seeing him frown, Reseda’s heart thumped, the rapidly pumping blood making him feel dizzy and his dick pulse.

“Ts-tsavo…”

Tsavorite’s thoughts returned to the present. He saw the young orc blushing with his brows faintly furrowed and mouth opened slightly, his low tusks poking at his upper lip.

Then he felt Reseda slowly raise his hands.

The orcs’s big warm palms cupped his face, his fingers grazing at the half bitten off ear, and he exerted some force to make the elf lower his head, all very gently.

Their lips touched, a caress as light as a dragonfly skimming over water.

For a moment, time froze.

This shy yet bold move seemed to ignite something in Tsavorite’s chest, instantly filling his entire body with a raging heat and setting his mind on fire.

His hands placed on the young orc’s shoulder and abdomen clenched and his slender fingers painfully dug into his flesh, making Reseda groan as the elf tightly pressed their mouths together. Following his instincts, Tsavorite extended his tongue into Reseda’s mouth and entangled his meaty tongue.

Reseda closed his eyes and clumsily pushed against the elf’s tongue in an effort to cooperate with him.

Then Tsavorite sucked. 

A tingling sensation shot from the root of his tongue down his spine and into his cock, making it twitch and the tip leak some precum, a throaty moan released into the elf’s mouth.

Amidst the wet smacking of their lips and tongues, Tsavorite’s hand resting on Reseda’s abdomen moved again. His fingers followed the muscular v-line into the orc’s leathern breechcloth and buried themselves in the curly pubic hair, the occasional rough pull eliciting sweet moans and causing his dick to throb with desire.

Carried away by pleasure, Reseda threaded his fingers through the elf’s long, silver-gray hair. 

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been hugged, the last time he’d been so close to someone. Although his father pampered him, he also expected a lot of him, letting him play around very little and eyeing everyone who approached him with such criticism that eventually, no one dared approach Reseda anymore. The loneliness ate a hole into him.

When the war started and there was a chance to make friendships, the orc’s his age only talked about how they would hunt, maim, torture, or defile the beautiful elves. Their words were crude and distasteful to the point it was nauseating, even worse than what Reseda had firsthand witnessed being done to the tributes in their tribe.

But the elves were the common enemy, so he wouldn’t like them either. He had thought about what it would be like to lie with an elven beauty, but in his imagination, he’d been the one dominating the thin being and making them cry out in pain… Not him taking the initiative to submit to a handsome elf.

After all, orcs were vicious savages who only knew how to plunder and destroy whenever they wanted something.

Now, the thrill of breaking a taboo, engaging in this exhilarating intimacy with someone he subconsciously rejected yet yearned for, brought him unprecedented stimulation, filling his soul with ecstasy.

He held Tsavorite’s slim waist and tightly pressed him against his naked chest as they kissed. The cool armor poked his skin, the hand clamping down on his shoulder hurt, and when that slender yet powerful hand suddenly grabbed his girthy, pulsing cock and clenched around it, his groan turned into a gasping moan. 

Reseda trembled and his toes curled, digging into the deep red fur beneath him as his dick gave one final twitch and his balls tightened before he violently came in his breechcloth. The abrupt release triggered one wave of pleasure after another, surging from his groin up his spine and into his limbs, numbing them. A breathless, lightheaded, moaning mess, Reseda felt his engorged dick straining against the breechcloth and filling it with his hot cum. It flowed down his veiny shaft and balls, pooling at his asshole and overflowing from the leathern breechcloth onto the deep red fur.

For a long time, he could only lie there and tremble. He’d never before felt such rapture upon ejaculating. 

As he panted, Tsavorite kissed away Reseda’s tears. Then he released the young orc’s gradually softening cock and brought his hand up, letting Reseda watch him lick the thick cum off his fingers, the white liquid staining his lips that were all swollen and red from kissing him the entire time.

With his ever frozen expression and silvern lashes lowered over his cold green eyes, this lewd action looked especially seductive.

It was this rousing image that brought Reseda to the realization that— he was truly an orc.

He was enthralled by the elf, he wanted him so much it made his heart ache, he wanted him to show a different expression because of him. All of Tsavorite’s beauty and coldness, his gentleness and violence—

Reseda wanted to possess, plunder and defile.

He wanted to obtain him.

[potatoplace]

🪷 Tato's Fic Idea List 🍃

Smutty

-- one shots

Goddess!Feyre x Worshipper!Reader

Cliffs Edge x Feyre x Reader

Re-Dead!Feyre x Reader (windwaker AU?)

Elain x Reader, dub-con, Elain bakes an aphrodisiac cake

Eris x Reader x Feysand

-- series

Freeuse Commune, Cult Leaders!Feysand x Reader, IC x Reader

Mob Bosses!Feysand x Reader

Backrooms Feysand x Reader , part 2

Alpha!HighKing/Queen Feysand x Omega!Reader, dub con af

Feyre x Reader at bible camp, Rhys corrupts them after they start dating

Feysand x Reader x Crimson Peak

Cute + Smutty

-- one shots

Feyre x Reader as Mer x Cristina after Cristina's not-wedding to Burke

-- series

College AU, Alpha!Feysand x Omega!Reader

Alpha!BatBoys x StepSister!Omega!Reader - modern AU

Cute

-- one shots

If I Didn't Have You - Alpha!Azriel x Shut-In!Omega!Reader (bottom half)

Nessian, Nesta does IVF and Cassian is down to be the baby's daddy

-- series

Love Letters (Az x Rhys's Sister?)

Girls Like Girls x Feyre x Reader

ACOSF rewrite (I think it's fluff?)

Feysand x The Princess Bride AU

You Belong With Me x Feysand x Reader - Childhood-High School AU

Nesta x It's Time To Go (ts song)

Angst

-- one shots

August, Feyre x Reader, summer romance cut short abruptly (maybe series)

I Bet You Think About Me (unspecified pairing 🤷‍♀️)

Is There Somewhere (Azriel x Reader, Azriel x Elain)

-- series

Azriel x Reader, toxic relationship w/ Rosie song titles

Azriel x Sick!Archeron!Reader, Modern AU, no happy ending

Murderous Romance (?)

-- one shots

-- series

Killing Boys - Elain x Reader

[mi-olaaa]

↳˗ˏˋ Fic guidelines..ˊˎ˗ ☆

What/Who I’ll write for- that kinda stuff/Etc..

☆ ⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩 .𖥔˚ ☆

↳˗ˏˋ What I’ll write..ˊˎ˗ ☆

This is what i’m comfortable with writing. Don’t like it? Don’t ask it.

Yes.

I accept requests concerning.. fluff! Angst, smut, really anything that’s not on my no list.. but if you’re unsure, ask.

No.

Pedophilia, Zoophilia, Drugs (that excludes weed- maybe shrooms), Substance Abuse- depends on how you ask. js ask.. idk, SMUT FOR MINORS. NO, extreme Gore, Cannibalism, Scat, or Watersports, Non-con/dub-con.

Rape- I will NOT have y’all asking me to write out rape scenes no ma’am 😐. Suicide.. in detail, but if you wanted to ask abt like some angst regarding it (like some grief maybe maybe).. Yeah. (Definitely there is more, I’ll likely add as I go y’all I’m trying to hurry ts up so I can get to writing)

☆ ⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩 .𖥔˚ ☆

↳˗ˏˋ Who I’ll write for..ˊˎ˗ ☆

I’ll write for any fandom mostly— but to name a few..

Jjk. ☆ ˊˎ˗

Spiderverse. ☆ ˊˎ˗

Aot.

Csm.

Mha.

One piece. ☆ ˊˎ˗

Baldur’s gate.

Marvel.

Dc. ☆ ˊˎ˗

Genshin. ☆ ˊˎ˗

Honkai.

Obey me. ☆ ˊˎ˗

Now of course you can ask for anything outside of these- idc.. these were really just to give you guys an idea of what to ask for pookie.

☆ ⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩 .𖥔˚ ☆

↳˗ˏˋ Asks/Requests.. ˊˎ˗ ☆

Y’all- all I ask is that you understand that I’m really just doing this for fun and because I literally have nothing better to doo 🫣 I’m sorry if I don’t see sum you ask for or it takes a little bit longer for something to be published! I might be busy sometimes or forgetful so… BUT ANYWAYS- DASSIT ✌🏾

[mikoobug]

mina | she/her| 19| |

contents: Fics + headcanons, nsfw and sfw , all charas are 18+

inbox : depends on what it is

okay so! i do write for all POC and body sizes so i’m not gonna write anything that says “he picked me up as if i weighed nothing” or “ he ran his fingers through my hair” or anything of that nature 😭.

i only write for anime’s that i’ve watched already so if you request something that i never watched before then i won’t answer.

age doesn’t matter on this page i don’t really care about the “MDNI” thing it doesn’t do anything but i will put warnings for things so you can scroll if you don’t want to read that certain thing.

i don’t really spell check or do word checks or anything i just write, i do write NSFW but i do have boundaries for things i do not write. if the character is under age they will have to be aged up.

i write GN x character (i’ll try my best not to mention anything about body’s) , fem reader x fem character, dom reader x sub character , fem reader x male character. but if you do not specify the gender in a request i will automatically put female reader. i do specify sexuality if asked. Such as bi!fem reader x male character and more. i mostly write for underrated characters, such as marc snuffy from blue lock and i will make a post of fandoms that i will write for!

i am currently working on a book called Hanako’s nightmare of fabrication i’ll write the first 5 chapters and post them all on the same day.

I will make separate post for different things such as rules and fandoms. hopefully you enjoy

(literally DIED typin ts out 😭😭)

[needleanddead]

"Lucas I..I know you want to do it tonight but I don't think it's really the right time for that... I just don't want to get blood on the sheets and I am really sore already"

"Aw, hey now, why are you tremblin' like that? Sweetheart, I ain't gonna hurt you. C'mon." He gently moves towards you, the way one might move towards a lamb they're afraid of spooking. His arms wrap around you and he presses a kiss to the top of your head. His voice is warm when he murmurs. "Look, I ain't gonna make you do anythin' that you don't wanna. I love you."

You feel yourself relax. Just one night, then, of safety and freedom and not pretending to like something you wish wasn't happening--

"'Sides, sweetheart. I can always just take care'a you tonight instead."

[lackspraise]

me, at the fandom:  it’s not edgy or cool or fun to write hella scaring non con / dub con with skip wescott and peter parker.  esp with new boy mcu parker.  just woof.  why.  

[dollwrites]

𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐞 𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐭 — 𝐫𝐮𝐢 𝐤𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐫𝐨

𝗰𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗻𝘁 𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀 ∣ smut ( minors dni ), this is a darker fic, dub con for a bit, drug use ( LSD ), voyeurism and exhibitionism, Tsukasa involvement, suggested Kaito x reader too, very small amount of RuiKasa, all characters featured are aged 18+

𝗶𝗺𝗽𝗼𝗿𝘁𝗮𝗻𝘁 ∣ i haven’t written in a while so i may be kind of rusty. do not repost or translate. please reblog && leave feedback. not proofread so there’s probably mistakes. thanks for reading <3

“Rui, something’s wrong —“

why was everything so loud? even the way he pants, his swollen lips parted and hovering inches from your face, the moans that slip free as hot air fans the apples of your cheeks in furious, little puffs— that shouldn’t have been audible over the blaring carnival music that washes around you, but you could hear every break in his breath. you could pick apart his vulgar whimpering, and you thought you might even be able to trace each note that lives within it with the tip of your finger, if only your wrists were not bound with what felt like silk ribboning, you would. due to his candy obsession, his warm breath usually tasted of sweets, but this time was different. the scent of sugar clinging to his tastebuds was so intense that you could taste it on your own.

“Nothing’s wrong, darling,” Rui assures with the shape of his mouth brushing over your countenance. he leaves a wildfire of sensation in the wake of his soft tiers, allowing them to dance over the tip of your nose and tease your mouth, that chased them. “Everything’s perfect.” your head had been swiveling, trying to look past the blinding, rainbow lights to try and decipher where you were. it didn’t look like Rui’s room anymore. in the center of the room, you were suspended in the air ( you only recently realized this when you dropped your head back and found yourself dangling helplessly, jostled in tandem with Rui’s fervent pounding into your guts ), but if you try to follow the slithering silks that coil around your arms and legs, you find they disappear into an abyss— there was no ceiling.

what were those silks connected to?

how were you being supported, exactly?

“Oh, you feel good…” he purrs, biting down on his lower lip hard, passing a sultry whine through his teeth as he savors how your body feels from the inside. “Yes, yes, yes…” he always got lost in you, reveling in how tight you clamped around him, and the way your recoiled in response to his pounding.

then, as your hazy eyeline scanned every inch of the environment, you spotted an audience. once again, however, beyond the chairs and silhouettes of their heads, you could see not a single detail. you knew they were there, because you could hear them. gasping, laughing, cheering.

this wasn’t happening.

you were going crazy.

“I think you gave me too much…” you mewl, curling your toes, but it did little to relieve the pressure Rui was forcing into your body. your head rolls, heavy on your shoulders, and you look back up at him. maybe if you focus on him, you thought, you could get control of yourself. but Rui didn’t even look like Rui. had he changed clothes? you’d most certainly have remembered if he’d met you at the door in a three piece suit and a black top hat balancing precariously askew on his head. it was as if he was part of this world you saw swirling around you, this wicked circus.

“F—fuck, Rui I’m seri— serious—“ you were groaning, though, panting with vulgar delight because it feels so good. Rui had always been a phenomenal lay, but it was always miles better when the two of you were tripping; it was like his fingertips were made of electricity, sending an unbelievable voltage of pure pleasure everywhere they touched.

and usually, Rui was good about measuring out each hit to make sure you could control your trip, but this time was different. at first, you’d looked at your dose and thought it wouldn’t be so bad. but everything got weird when his friend, Tsukasa pulled out his phone. “T—turn the lights on,” you beg, closing your eyes tight. “I—I need to come down.”

“Shh, shh, shh…” Rui croons, both, gloved fists wrapped around the ribbons that bind you. he used that leverage to pull you into his thrusts so he slammed home harder, smacking his hips into yours when he bottoms out, and you cry out loud, clenching your fists. “You’re missing all the lovely sounds,” he mewls, a cherry tint on his cheeks. his golden gaze had been blown out by pitch black pupils, so when you squint and try to meet his eyes, you’re sucked into the depth of his desire for you. you open your mouth to speak, to reiterate your point: you wanted this trip to be over, but his warm fingers clamp over your mouth, muffing your plea, and your eyes widen, “I want the others to hear how wet your sweet, little pussy is, too.”

the others?

for a moment, you’re perplexed. you could only remember that Tsukasa fellow. your eyes dart behind his left shoulder, and catch the two figures. Tsukasa and… someone else. a taller man, perhaps a year or two older than Rui. he has his hands clasped together in front of him, and his head cocked to one side. his features are surprisingly soft, as if the sound of your body squelching and your muffled whimpering is a beautiful symphony and he was listening intently.

you didn’t recognize him.

when had he shown up?

Tsukasa, on the other hand, was staring with big eyes and crimson cheeks, his eyeline jolting back and forth to the rhythm of Rui’s rocking hips, and you realize he must be watching his friend slide in and out with every thrust. he looks hungry.

“Rui, didn’t you promise Tsukasa something?” the other one asks, knowingly glancing to Rui, who doesn’t deny it. “So long as he brought your guest here?”

Rui snickers, glancing over his shoulder, and you do the same, staring at a very flustered Tsukasa. “Well, you certainly won’t be able to touch her from all the way over there.” you blink, bemused, and grip the silk restraints, arching your back— you want to bring Rui’s attention back to you so you can shake your head, give him a signal to let him know that this was not something you were agreeing to, but when he looks back to you, sees you shaking your head, he coos, “Ah, don’t worry! I’ll teach him how to play with you the way you like.”

everything happened way too fast.

from Tsukasa stumbling over, staring at your body with blown out pupils, grasping one finger of his glove in his teeth to pull it off as his other hand reaches for your breast. the black silk is warm when he gropes a handful of you, hard and needy.

“She’s soft, right?” Tsukasa is already nodding, agreeing with him before the question fully leaves his lips. Rui giggles, grasping his friend’s bare wrist once the glove is discarded and guiding his hand between your legs. “Wait until you feel her cunt. Her plushy, little clit is just like a moan button.”

in this moment, you hated that Rui knew exactly how to find it, because he pushed Tsukasa’s thumb against it, swiping skillfully to guide his clearly less experienced friend into the rhythm he knew would drive you crazy, resting his chin on Tsukasa’s shoulder to stare at you from behind his golden tendrils. Tsukasa’s eyes widened in awe as you whimpered into Rui’s glove, your eyelids slitting. the pad of Tsukasa’s thumb was rougher than Rui’s, and it scraped in just the right way to have you reeling.

“See?”

“Woah…” Tsukasa stared, rubbing harder. Rui can’t help but let out a strangled moan, because you were clamping down on him, throbbing.

“Keep doing it just like that,” he breathes heavily in Tsukasa’s ear, encouraging his friend, “She’s clenching like crazy… She likes it.”

you couldn’t even pretend he was wrong, either. your thighs were trembling in their binds, your eyelids fluttering, your head falling back. Rui allows it to, releasing your mouth and you expel a loud, flustered yowl, “F—ff—uck!” you no longer cared about coming down, or even minded that they hadn’t cared whether or not you consented to Tsukasa’s involvement, wanted him to touch you.

now, you didn’t want him to stop.

“M—more,” you whisper, back arching as you squirm, “more, more. C—close…”

Rui’s hand seeks out your throat instead, gripping it to hold you in place so he can plant his feet and drive himself into you in erratic, happy thrusts. he squeezes, crooning as his eyes threaten to close, too, but they remain, heavily lidded and hazy, on you. “Ah… Tsukasa, you’re going to make her cum!” Rui exclaims through heavy panting, “Don’t stop yet, she feels so tight!”

Tsukasa didn’t seem like he had even considered stopping. gritting his teeth, furrowing his brow, he leans over you more, desperate to watch your face contort in pleasure, while his fingers work furiously at the same, rapid-fire pace against your twitching clit. had you been sober, you might’ve even moaned and asked if he played the piano, what with how precise his fingering was, but you weren’t. not even close.

you gurgled and wheezed out pathetically adorable moans as Rui choked you harder, teasing your windpipe to experiment with how much pressure it took to make you sputter, as he fucked every, single lingering thought out of your head.

“Cum for me,” Tsukasa whimpered, needy, as he buried his face in your breasts to suck on them. he didn’t mind that he and his friend were in a game of Twister, entangling with one another in order to both touch you, but Rui didn’t either. he’d allowed Tsukasa to worm in between his body and yours, so long as he didn’t break the join at your sex, and Rui’s chin digs into Tsukasa’s shoulder. you can even see, blurry when you lift your head, his teeth sinking into Tsukasa’s neck every so often, as he allows a moan to vibrate against his flesh. they were both so close to you, both tethered to you. “Please cum hard for me!”

it made you dizzy.

“Cumming…” you croak, and Rui tightens his grip. he must be, too, spurred by how your walls milk him.

“Say my name,” Tsukasa begs, his strumming never once wading up, “say— say that it’s for me…”

“I— I’m cumming for you, Tsukasa!”

that was all that you could muster before you completely unravel into nonsensical babbling and yipping, and writhing. it feels good, so good you’re overloading, and your nails claw at the silks coiled around your wrists.

Rui follows right along behind you, releasing your throat to grasp himself and pull free from your depths so he can slot your folds around his girth as he cums, rubbing his cock between them, his release leaving your sex stickier, and smelling of him.

Tsukasa heard your soft, nearly coherent plea for him to ease up on your hyper sensitive nub, and he obeys, allowing his fingers to dip downwards and gather Rui’s release from between your nerherlips on the tips of his digits. he slides his first, two fingers inside of you, biting down on his lip to muffle a sordid moan when your walls spasm around the new intruders.

“Do you still want to come down?” Rui teases. he’s come around to squat down so he’s face to face with you, petting your hair back before peppering your temple with sugary kisses. you shake your head, weakly.

this world, whether it was a figment of your trip, conjured by too many drugs working overtime in your system, or it really did exist inside of Tsukasa’s cellphone like he claimed, had taken its toll on you, but you no longer cared.

you’d given into the euphoria, and you were enjoying it now.

Rui giggles, his mouth traveling south to kiss your cheek, and then the corner of your mouth, before you finally turn to catch his lips in a passionate lock. you can only hold it for a second before you need to catch your breath, and Rui’s tongue glides along your parted lips. “You want to ride it out? Be a tough, little cookie?”

you nod, smiling, cumdrunk and filled with too much pleasure to turn it down.

“She agreed, just like you said she would.” the mysterious man who’d been watching had moved closer, running svelte, gloved digits over your trembling ankle in butterfly caresses, and hummed, pensively.

Rui beams, nodding as he kisses your mouth, “Mm, I know my girl fairly well. Isn’t that right, darling?”

“More, please…” you whispered, softly, “I want to cum again…”

Rui chortles, and looks up at Tsukasa, still smitten with your sex, and, voice like a bell, croons, “Don’t worry, my little marionette. Tsukasa is going to have you now. And then, Kaito here, will do the same. You’ll be so fucked out by the time you come down, you’ll be a trembling, drooling mess.” Rui swoons at the thought, his smile wide and mischievous, but you mirror it with an entranced, lazy simper, nodding happily to each word. “And I promise, you’ll never want to leave from right here once you’ve taken all three of us.”

[scarletmanuka]

Meme: Top 10 AO3 works vs Personal Top 10

Rules: List your "top 10" (or up to 10 if you haven't written that many) fics ranked by kudos on AO3. Are you surprised by what's most popular to your readers? Then, under a cut, provide your ranking of your personal top 10 fics (with explanations if you want!), and then tag a few fellow writers!

@thisbluespirit tagged me a wee while ago but I was travelling and now I'm not. :-)

These are all The Sentinel except for the last which is Maiden Rose

Reverently and Discreetly

A Modern Kind of Guy

Bearing the Mark

The Children of Cascade

Restraint

Hell of a Town

Right Memory

Family Business

A Thin Strand of Winter

Fall Fly Laugh

The main thing I notice about the above is that they are almost all longfic, (or what counts for it in my world of Brevity is Good) and a good number of them are all notably tropey in a recognisable fan favourite way. (Restraint is short but is also light bondage porn, say no more!) I think of these, Family Business and A Thin Strand of Winter are among my personal favourites, although I'm definitely proud of the worldbuilding I did for my Children of Cascade stories.

A more personal top ten would go as follows, in no particular order:

Family Business and A Thin Strand of Winter as noted above

That Bloody Callan (Callan in case the title doesn't give it away, and a gen ficlet)

How Strange the Change (Maiden Rose. Oh look it's a ghost story and a death story!)

Walking the Maze (TS, brief Alex/Jim/Blair, what can I say? but also plot)

The Grand Tableau (TS, a misery-wallow non-con/dub-con death-fic extravaganza, so totally on brand. I'm actually quite proud of this because I wrote it to work out my feelings about my mother's Alzheimer decline and death but I think I balanced out the personal and actually making Jim and Blair themselves pretty well)

New Age Woo (TS, complete fluff and just fun. Plus it wrote itself)

Kings or Knaves (TS. And speaking of writing itself, 40k words of blackmail and angst and burglary in Regency England.)

Nobody Knows Me At Home Any More (The Professionals, actual plotting, and a story that ties in one theme that's also important in Family Business, namely the relationship between adult children and their parents, nothing personally of interest here, please move along, thanks so much.)

Her Flowers to Love (Sapphire and Steel, but not about them at all. My Eleanor back-story fic)

The main thing I notice here is that there's more short form fic, and more, well, death. I have my quirks, yes?

No pressure at all, but I tag @sullendragon, @dont-rain-on-my-barricade, and @afrogeekgoddess

[diamond-coral]

Play by the Rules

Steve x Reader, Tony x Reader, Implied Steve x Reader x Tony

Summary: Working for the powerful CEO, Tony Stark, was a nightmare. Especially when you have to deal with his new, and equally as powerful, partner; the CEO of S.H.I.E.L.D. Inc., Steve Rogers. You have a plan to leave it all behind, but Tony has his own plans for you.

This is my first writing for @ darkficsyouneveraskedfor and @ harper-emory-writes Dark Bingo challenge: crossing off the squares Blackmail and CEO AU. I’m nowhere near a bingo but I’m super excited that I’ve started !!

Warnings: 18+ only! NON-CON/DUB-CON(ORAL (M RECEIVING), INTERCOURSE, MENTION OF ANAL), BLACKMAIL, VOYEURISM, sexism in the workplace, swearing.

 “We’ll review the new contract with S.H.I.E.L.D. today during the meeting. I’ll need two printed copies of it as well as a printed copy of our current one with Asgard Corp.” Tony snaps his fingers in front of your face. “Y/n, are you even listening to me?”

You look up from your notepad. “Of course, Mr. Stark. Just taking notes.”

Tony scoffs. “Wasn’t half the reason I hired you your ability to retain information without wasting time by writing things down?Since when did you start taking notes?”

Since I became willing to do anything to not have to look at you and remember that you were balls deep in me just last week.

“I’d just like everything to go smoothly for this meeting. I understand it’s a big deal for the company and for you, sir.”

Tony studies your face. “Well in the spirit of dedication, I’ll need you to stay a couple hours extra.”

You try to avoid scrunching up your features at that. Although you had been looking forward to curling up on your couch when you got home, you would never dare counter your employer, so you just nod.

“Rogers will be here in an hour,” he continues. “I’m expecting you to greet him, so I’ll have an intern go out and get you an outfit.” 

“With all due respect, Mr. Stark, I believe the attire I’m currently wearing is satisfactory, is it not?”

Tony eyes your black blazer and pants paired with flats. “It’s not,” he states as he gets up from his chair across from you at your desk and fixes his tie. After pausing to consider your confused look, he elaborates. “You gotta show some more skin, sweetheart. It’s the only way a woman like you will be able to make it out here.”

Your mouth falls open as he turns and leaves you to process his offensive comment.

“Bastard,” you mumble.

You could run Stark Industries in your sleep. In fact, Tony had already appointed you head of three separate divisions as well as let you bring a few of your own original projects and ideas to life in the years you had been here. You saw your own potential and Tony had been generous enough to help you expand and experiment with it. A couple more years and you could leave Stark Industries behind to start your own company with the connections you’d already made.

Which is why you remained compliant with Tony’s every demand. No matter how much it hurt your pride (especially when a drunk hookup with him practically destroyed your pride), nothing would compare to the sweet victory of running Tony’s company into the dirt when you started your own. You did your own projections. Tony wasn’t short of enemies, and with their help and your own skill set, you’d make double the profits Tony did in half the time.

So you put up with the touches, grabs, and comments from Tony. He had such a large company to run that he barely noticed that the three divisions he absentmindedly handed to you were the most successful. You’d giggle and bat your eyelashes as long as Tony didn’t notice you practically undermining his company.

Play by the rules,

But be ferocious.

_________________________

Twenty minutes later you’re interrupted from your pile of paperwork by a soft knock.

“Come in!” you call out.

A boy with short brown hair lets himself in. You’d seen him around as Tony’s shadow.  

‘What was his name again? Patrick? Pietro? Pierre?’

“Oh, Peter! How can I help you”

“Hey, Ms. L/n, Tony asked me to bring this up to you.”

Peter holds up the clear dry-cleaning bag, and it takes all your effort not to grimace at the short black pencil skirt inside. Instead, you give him a tight-lipped smile.

“You can just leave it on that chair, thank you,” you say.

As Peter leaves you get up to inspect the clothing Tony so graciously provided for you, and you notice a note attached.

leave a couple buttons undone ;)  -TS

Scoffing, you throw the note in the trash as you pick up the clothes and lock your door.

You’d begrudgingly play a little eye candy knowing you’d get your revenge in a couple years.

But how much could this escalate in a couple of years? 

“Stop it,” you mutter to yourself while pulling on the black blazer.

Once you're finished changing, you receive an alert that Steve Rogers had checked into the building. 15 minutes early.

You hadn’t even met the fucker and you already hated him.

________________________________

“Mr. Rogers!” you greet the blonde in a painfully cheery voice. “You’re early!”

“Well, this is an important meeting, sweetheart,” he replies, and you cringe at the pet name, handing him a clipboard and pen.

“This is just a quick confidentiality contract, Mr. Stark would like you to sign,” you inform. “Basically just saying you agree not to share any contents of the meeting or contract to any outside parties until you and Mr Stark have solidified and confirmed all aspects of your partnership.”

“Ah so Stark is already confident he’ll get a partnership with my company?” Steve muses and scribbles his signature. He looks up, handing the clipboard and pen back to you, and you motion for him to follow you down the hall.

“So what’s your role here exactly?” Steve asks, following behind you. “Are you an intern, receptionist...maybe a call-girl?”

You don’t bother turning at his teasing remark, instead answering calmly. “I run the three most successful divisions here, Mr. Rogers.”

“Impressive,” he remarks, but it sounds more of a mock from him. “And Stark still keeps you as an assistant.”

Your brows furrow at that comment. “How do you know I’m an assistant? And why would you ask what I did here if you already knew?”

“Women like you are just so fun to rile up. Stark and I had a meeting earlier in the month, and he talked of you very fondly.”

Well that didn’t sit right with you. You coordinated all of Tony’s meetings and practically created his everyday work schedule. “Mr. Stark didn’t mention meeting you already.”

“We decided to go over all possibilities of this transaction. It wasn’t much.” Steve brushes your comment off as he enters the elevator with you.

The doors close and you feel trapped. Through the short conversation you’ve had with this man, you can already tell how calculating he is. Every word, every movement, has been intricately steered by him for his benefit. And you couldn’t even begin to explain how belittled his stature made you feel; sheer power barely contained by an expensive three piece suit. The dark blue made his blue eyes more piercing in comparison. Everything about him radiated dominance. And for a woman like you who was practically clawing her way up the corporate ladder, that was a problem.

“You coming?” Steve’s voice snapped you out of your thoughts. He stood by the open elevator doors, arm gesturing out for you to lead. “Time is money.”

“Well then you have plenty of it, don’t rush me,” you snap.

“Feisty,” he muses, lips turning upwards.

Steve follows behind you, and you can feel his gaze burning on your ass. You’re more than grateful when you reach Tony’s door, having to refrain from frantically knocking, trying to escape the stare of the man behind you.

“Enter,” a voice calls from behind the doors.

You push open the large door and stand to the side, allowing Steve to enter the room before you.

“Mr. Stark,” Steve greets, crossing the room to give Tony a firm handshake.

“Rogers.”

The men begin to talk business and you take that as your cue to leave, turning back towards the door.

“Y/n, have a seat,” Tony calls out to you. You glance back at him and beckons you over with two fingers.

“Um, Mr. Stark, there are no other chairs,” you stammer.

“Don’t worry, doll, I wouldn’t be a gentleman if I didn’t offer a lady a place to sit,” Steve declares. You expect him to get up, but he just spreads his legs a little wider and gestures to his lap.

Eyes flitting to Tony in panic, your employer just nods and gives you look of warning as if saying ‘don’t mess this up’.

You let out a breath and hesitantly make your way to Steve.

‘How much could this escalate?’

The words from earlier rang in your head, but you brush them away and tentatively place yourself on one of his muscular thighs, angling yourself inward. You can’t hide how your face twists into a look of disdain as Steve’s arm snakes around, pulling you further up his leg so you’re back right up against his torso.

“Mr. Rogers I-” Your voice is nothing but a squeak before Tony interrupts you.

“As I was saying,” Tony interjected. “Your profits will grow exponentially if you add Stark Tech to your security services. Which is why I get 60%. I’m already doing you a favor by growing your profits.”

“I want 50/50. Stark Industries will gain consumers from S.H.I.E.L.D. We both get more buyers from the partnership, so I say it should be an even split.”

“Well we both know you’re not just getting the consumers, Rogers,” Tony spat. 

That has your attention fully invested in the conversation. What could Rogers possibly get from the company that Tony would be so mad about parting from? You look down at the contract on the desk in front of you and your heart stops cold.

“Mr. Stark, why is my name on this contract?” It was there. Under ‘assets acquired’, it was the last thing, as if added as a last moment bargain.

Tony just ignores you. “Steve, you’re taking the head of Stark-Touch Smartphones, my most profitable branch, you can’t just expect things to run as efficiently when she’s gone.”

“I’m taking her twice a week, I highly doubt that’ll make much of a dent in your operations,” Steve scoffs, and you tense up. “How about this. I get her for two weeks- straight- a month, and I’ll split it 45-55.”

“Mr. Stark, what’s going on?” Your voice quivers.

“Your boss here just agreed to sell you to me, as my...assistant,” he explains, hot breath fanning your ear. His free hand that’s not on your waist moves to grip your bare thigh up your skirt. “Two weeks a month, for every month, for as long as you work for him.”

“No!” you suddenly shout, wrenching your body from his grip to stand up. “I will take the comments, I will take the stares and the touches, but I will not be whored out like this. Mr. Stark, I quit.”

Stark just tsks and rises from his chair to stand in front of you. While shorter than Steve, it still feels like he towers over you with the demeanor he holds. “That’s just it, y/n...you see, you’re not gonna be quitting to start that new company of yours.”

Your eyes practically bulge out of your head as he mentions your future plans.

“Yeah, I know, you’re not as good at hiding as you thought. At least from Peter that is. Kid’s a whiz at the computer. Had him plant a bug on your home laptop and do a little sweep of your personal account. And I gotta hand it to you, the numbers you ran? Almost perfect. Every single projection and hypothesis you had would’ve gone through. You factored in almost everything. Almost. But you forgot one thing, sweetheart.” Tony’s hand flies up to grip your jaw and uses the momentum to throw you into the wall a few feet behind you. He’s back on you in an instant, seething, as the grip on your chin is bruising. “You forgot me, bitch. You forgot what would happen if you cross Tony fucking Stark. I’m the most powerful man in America. I can ruin your life with a snap of my fingers.”  Just as quickly as he was on you, Tony’s anger switches to calm, and in the blink of an eye, he’s off of you, casually smoothing his suit down. “Well more of a push of a button.”

Smirking, Tony reaches into his pocket to pull out his phone while you remain frozen in fear, glancing at Steve who just looks amused at the show in front of him. At the sound of Tony coughing to get your attention, you look back in front of you at the phone he’s now holding out. Black and white security footage is displayed on the screen, and the moment Tony presses play, you know what it is.

Your voice rings through the speaker, the moans, expletives, and begging coming out of your throat are clear as day as Tony fucks you over your desk.

“Harder, daddy!”

“Please, please, let me cum!”

Your eyes water. “Stop it,” you murmur, but the video keeps playing. “I said stop it! Please!”

Tony chuckles. “So now you understand what’s at stake here? One push of a button, one phone call to Peter, and this video will be up all over Time Square. Forget starting a company, you’ll be blackballed all over America from even being a receptionist.”

You’re defeated, your entire future crumbling before your eyes.

 “What do you want from me.”

“Well I think leaving me or the company is now obviously out of the picture, so for now, I want you to give Steve here a little trial of what he just bought from me.”

“Please...please no,” you croak, but Tony just holds up his phone and raises an eyebrow.

As you start to make your way toward the other man, Tony grabs your jaw once more. “Don’t half-ass it,” he grows in your ear before shoving you to Steve.

Eyes lowered, you stand in front of Steve and shrug your blazer off. “What would you like me to do...sir?”

“Suck me off.”

You’re barely able to breathe, sinking down to your nears, as tears begin to flow freely from your eyes.

“You’re so pretty when you cry doll,” Steve murmurs under his breath.

There is no dignity left in you as you unbuckle his belt and open his fly. The soft zip is deafening to your ears, and you reach in and pull out his hardening cock.

Shit. He wasn’t even fully hard and he was big. You’d be lying if you said that didn’t send a pang down to your core.

Giving him a few shy strokes, you then place your mouth over him, hollowing your cheeks as you lightly suckle at the tip. You pull back and take a deep breath. 

‘Don’t half-ass it’

You dive back in with renewed vigor, taking as much of him as you can and running your tongue across the underside of him. He’s hot and heavy in your mouth, and you find yourself pretending you were somewhere else with someone else, enjoying it. You let out a moan at his taste and Steve responds with his own groan, hand caressing your hair as you slightly speed up. His hand winds itself into your hair, and he begins thrusting his hips up into your mouth, extracting a whimper from you. Each buck of his hips turns harsher as his hand pushes down on your head to force his entire length down your throat, and at this point, you’re drooling onto his expensive slacks. He’s about to cum and you feel it; his thrusts becoming erratic and his entire body tensing, but before you can speed up and get this nightmare over with, he wrenches you off his dick and pulls you into a heated kiss, hands coming up to grope you all over.

You let out a startled squeal as both hands grasp your blouse and rip it down the middle, buttons flying everywhere, before he proceeds to do the same to the black lacy bra you're wearing.

“Ride me,” he commands.

All shame has left you at this point as you proceed to straddle him, your skirt now bunched up at your waist, and sink down on his length. The mewl that comes out of you is from how his girth is stretching you, and after what seems like eternity, you’re bottomed out and unable to move.

“Move,” he orders.

“I can’t,” you whine. “It-it’s too much.”

“Move.”

You let out another whimper as you slowly raise yourself a couple inches and sink back down, feeling every single vein on his cock brush against your walls. A few more attempts later, Steve grows impatient. A low growl is torn from his lips while he grabs your hips tight and slams you back down on his impossibly hard length.

You can barely hear the string of strangled screams and moans as he brutally thrusts into you, moving your body up and down and using you for his own pleasure. Every punishing plunge into your cunt punches the air from your lungs, and Steve’s groans are animalistic.

You glance over to the side to see Tony fisting his own dick, and the only thing that tears you away from staring at him is a particularly hard thrust from the man in the chair below you.

“Fuck, doll, your gripping me so tight,” Steve grunts.

The sound of skin slapping and the squelching of your now wet pussy is so overwhelming you don’t even register another set of hands on your waist.

“Bend her over more, Rogers. I wanna fuck her ass.”

[wri0thesley]

thinking about arranged marriages with rough men who remain rough . . . but they still get obsessed with you. they still would kill someone who looked at you wrong. they simply don’t know how to temper their roughness even with someone as lovely as you.

[needleanddead]

lucas is too nice. how do i get him to be competitive with me as his captive and in addition to that how do i get him to call me a brat and pin me down

"lucas is too nice" [the camera cuts to lucas splitting a camper's head in half with an axe. he hauls the body over his shoulder and whistles as he takes it towards his store room, where it will be carefully hacked into pieces and made into cuts of meat a little more palatable for cooking].

if you really want to be competitive, offer him a 'reward' if he wins whatever the competition that you concoct is. if it's you on the other end of it, he'll be very willing to pull out literally any tricks he can. if you want him to call you a brat and pin you down . . . tease him a little bit, and make it clear that you know you're teasing him. wear just his shirts, brushing the tops of your thighs. lean too close to him, press yourself against him - and pull back when he goes to take things further. eventually, he'll get very frustrated and he'll see it as his only option!

alternatively, if you want him to be even rougher than that . . . push your boundaries. this one's dangerous; better hope that lucas likes you a lot, because if he doesn't you might also end up in a freezer. but . . . do things you're not supposed to. open doors and stand in the fresh air, too close to running for him to be comfortable. try and get his weapons down from where they're mounted on the walls. push him a little when he starts clamming up, ask uncomfortable questions, until he has no choice but to remind you that you're supposed to be his sweet, obedient, loving little house spouse - and his only option there, of course, is to do it with brute force. you might end up with a broken wrist for your troubles. tread carefully!

[thegetoufather]

rules:

— this blog is 18+ — MINORS & AGELESS BLOGS DNI

— i do post the occasional sfw piece, minors (16+) can interact with that but not me, for my piece of mind

— feel free to invade my inbox with your thoughts! from horny to fluffy, twt links welcomed!

— i do not take requests, im sorry, it adds too much pressure that takes away from my creative process, thirsts are welcomed!

— what i do write: fluff, smut, fem dom, stepcest

— what i dont write: rape/non-con/dub-con, infantilization, pedophilia, watersports, scat, hybrids, beastiality, a/b/o, incest, yandere, things with eating disorders, etc— anything else is fair game

— all the characters i write for will be aged up to 20+

dni:

— you are racist, homophobic, transphobic, etc.

— you are a dc content witch hunter, i dont post dc but i have mutuals who do and i might repost their work, which will be tagged appropriately.

— hate the scooby doo live actions

— do not support the ereamanjean agenda

tags:

— aman.txt: daily thoughts

— $hitpost : self explanitory

— thir$ts : thirsts

— feelings : fluff

— vi$uals: twt pr0n

— the amanfia — moots tag, moots send an ask/dm if you want a nickname too!!

— tw. ….. : trigger tag format