#sprinting and running and barking and growling

[dovenskin]

could you maybe writing something for pete like you did for jerry? like… cosplaying a character he likes for his birthday gift? sorry i just love this little horror geek so much

⋆

pete dinunzio ノ

cw : smut, dubcon , power play , horror roleplay , knife kink , blood , biting , rough sex , chasing,

an : i did make reader a female just for the final girl aspect, hope that’s okay!!

✦ Title: Hunted

© dovenskin

The moon hung low and heavy behind tangled branches, casting silver shards of light across the forest floor. The air smelled of damp earth and pine—sharp, clean, and thick with the tension of anticipation. You could feel it in your bones before you even saw him.

A silhouette stepped from the shadows, masked but unmistakable—Pete DiNunzio, your personal nightmare come to life. His dark eyes glinted with cruel amusement beneath the crooked hockey mask. Clutched in his hand was the gleam of a real knife, its blade catching the moonlight as if eager to carve into you.

Your breath hitched as you adjusted the tattered remnants of your costume—the battered “Final Girl,” an icon of every horror flick you’d obsessively rewatched for hours. The torn flannel tied around your waist, the ripped denim shorts, and the bloodied white tank top barely clinging to your skin. Weeks of planning this night, this roleplay. Tonight was his birthday.

You sprinted forward, your boots pounding against the forest floor, leaves snapping beneath your steps. Behind you, Pete’s footsteps matched yours—methodical, relentless. The thrill of being hunted coursed through your veins, fiery and intoxicating.

Branches scraped your skin as you darted left and right, adrenaline sharpening your senses. But even in this chase, there was trust—a silent understanding between you two. This wasn’t just a game. It was a dance on the razor’s edge.

Suddenly, a heavy hand closed around your wrist. You yelped, spinning to face him, your pulse pounding in your ears. Pete’s dark eyes locked onto yours, wild and hungry beneath the mask.

“Gotcha.”

He pressed you back against a sturdy pine, the rough bark scratching your arms through the thin fabric of your shirt. The knife’s cold edge traced slow, deliberate lines across your collarbone, sending shivers of electric anticipation down your spine.

His breath was hot against your ear as he whispered, “You’ve got nowhere left to run, baby. Time to pay for all that teasing.”

You swallowed hard, your pulse racing, and nodded once—your permission sealed with a quick, tense breath.

Without hesitation, Pete slid the blade under the strap of your tank top, cutting it free with an expert flick. The fabric slipped down your body, revealing skin flushed by the night air and your rapid heartbeat.

Snick. The fabric split, your bra falling loose and catching at your elbows. The cool air kissed your nipples.

His eyes darkened with desire as the knife found the waistband of your shorts, the cold steel sliding beneath the fabric. He traced a slow, sharp line, slicing clean through the material, and you gasped as the shorts fell away, leaving you exposed beneath the moonlight.

“Perfect,” he growled, his voice thick with lust and hunger

Then, with a sudden motion, the blade grazed your upper thigh—a shallow cut that stung sharply, a drop of ruby-red blood blossoming on your skin.

Pete’s breath hitched, his voice low and rough as he groaned, “Fuck, look at you… bleeding for me.”

He bent down, lips brushing the warm skin as he licked the blood away, marking you as his prey. His teeth sank briefly into your neck, and you trembled under the fierce, possessive kiss.

“You’re mine tonight,” he whispered fiercely.

His hands gripped your hips, pulling you flush against him as his fingers trailed fire across your skin. You pressed your body into his, lost in the wild rhythm of predator and prey.

The knife clattered to the ground unnoticed as Pete’s mouth found yours—hungry, demanding, and utterly consuming. His tongue tangled with yours, rough and teasing, while his hands explored every curve, every inch of you.

When he finally pulled back, his eyes were dark pools of lust as he positioned himself between your thighs. His cock was hard, throbbing against your damp skin.

“Ready to finish what we started?” he growled.

You nodded, breathless and desperate.

Pete fell to his knees like a starving man and licked a stripe up your thigh, teeth grazing skin. His mouth met your center with a groan, and your hand flew to his hair, gripping tight. He ate you out sloppy—groaning into you like it was his last meal, fingers digging into your ass to pull you closer.

“Fuck—Pete—”

“Shut up and take it,” he muttered between licks. “God, you taste so good.”

Your knees buckled. He kept going until you were gasping, thighs shaking, hips rolling helplessly against his mouth.

When he finally stood, mouth wet and chin shiny, his cock was already out, thick and hard and twitching against his stomach.

He grunted, lifted your leg around his waist, and slammed into you hard enough to knock the air from your lungs. The bark scraped your back. Your nails dug into his shoulders. Pete was relentless—thrusting fast, deep, like he had something to prove.

“You were made for this,” he growled, fucking into you like he wanted to rearrange your guts. “Made to be ruined.”

Your hands clawed at his shoulders, nails digging into taut muscle as he drove into you with relentless power. Every movement was sharp and unforgiving, the world narrowing to the heat of his body against yours.

Your breath hitched as waves of pleasure and pain crashed over you—every thrust sending shivers through your core.

The rough bark bit your back. The sweat on his chest slicked your breasts. And when you finally came, it was with your head tossed back and his hand clamped over your mouth so no one heard you scream.

He came with a broken grunt seconds after, shuddering hard, forehead buried in your neck. His hips stuttered, spilling into you with a rawness that sent another wave of heat crashing through your core.

For a long moment, the two of you stood tangled against the tree, the only sounds the rustling of leaves and your ragged breathing.

Then Pete leaned back just enough to kiss your neck, murmuring, “Happy fucking birthday to me.”

[napsfor-technoblade]

Treebark

WHERE

[arcsin27]

Fear of dogs gang? 🤘🥺

We ask your questions so you don’t have to! Submit your questions to have them posted anonymously as polls.

[iydiamartinx]

RED HANDED

Pairing: Damian Wayne x Reader

divider by: @cafekitsune word count: 1.2k synopsis: Damian sneaks you into the manor, only to get caught red handed.

Wayne Manor was supposed to be empty.

That’s what Damian had told you when he pulled you through the back gate, hand clasped tightly in yours, voice low and insistent as he muttered about stealth and nosy family members and “don’t touch that, it’s a pressure sensor.” He’d checked the security logs himself—Bruce was at a board meeting, Alfred out running errands, and the others all scattered across the city on patrol or “adult things,” as Damian called them with no small amount of disdain.

So he brought you home. Quietly. Secretly.

To his room.

The moment the door shut behind you, his shoulders dropped that ever-present tension. His fingers found your wrist, then your waist, tugging you gently toward the bed. No words, just that look he gave you—sharp eyes softening, mouth twitching at the corners in something dangerously close to a smile.

You were the only one who ever got that version of him.

Now the two of you were curled up beneath the covers, the storm outside tapping against the windows while his arm wrapped snug around your waist. Damian’s head rested near yours, nose brushing your temple every so often, breath slow and steady.

“I could get used to this,” you murmured, tracing lazy circles along his chest.

“You will,” he replied, voice quiet and certain. “Once I find a way to keep you here without the others ruining everything.”

You giggled, tipping your head up to meet the small, rare curve of his mouth—the almost-smile he only gave you.

And then the bedroom door slammed open.

“Dami, I need to borrow—OH MY GOD!”

Both of you shot upright like you’d been struck by lightning.

Dick Grayson stood frozen in the doorway, eyes wide as dinner plates, mouth agape in sheer, appalled disbelief. His finger jerked upward, trembling like it couldn’t decide whether to point at Damian, you, or the fact that you were clearly in his bed.

“What the hell, Grayson?!” Damian snapped, scrambling to hide your presence by throwing the blanket over you as you shrieked in surprise and ducked under it. But the damage had already been done.

“You have a GIRL in your BED?!” Dick shouted, scandalized.

Damian looked moments away from lunging across the room. “I swear to Ra, if you say one more word I will end your bloodline—”

But it was too late. The yelling had summoned the wolves.

Heavy footsteps pounded up the stairs.

“What the hell’s going on?” Jason’s voice barked from the hall, followed by a clatter of someone sprinting.

“Did someone die?” That was Tim, out of breath and still chewing toast as he skidded into view.

And then, like the final nail in the coffin, Bruce appeared.

He was dressed for work—pressed suit, tie knotted perfectly, not a single strand of hair out of place—but the look on his face was nothing short of bewildered. He stood in the hallway, staring into the room like he wasn’t quite sure what he’d walked in on, and very much wished he hadn’t.

There was a silence. A very loud, very awkward silence as everyone took in the scene.

“Damian has a girlfriend?” Tim whispered like he’d uncovered an ancient secret.

Jason blinked at you, then back at Damian. “Wait. She’s real?”

Another blink. Then a wild grin. “She’s real!” He turned and punched Dick in the arm. “You owe me twenty bucks.”

“I do not—!”

“You bet she was imaginary!”

“Because she was supposed to be imaginary! He’s fifteen!”

“Seventeen,” Damian growled, practically vibrating with fury under the blanket. “And if any of you take another step into this room, I swear on every god you hold dear, I will bring out my katana.”

But of course, the damage was done.

Slowly, cautiously, you peeked out from beneath the blanket. Your cheeks were burning, your hair a mess, and your heart pounding loud enough to echo in your ears.

Four sets of eyes landed on you.

Jason gave a slow, impressed nod. “Hey there. I’m the hot brother.”

“I swear to—”

Damian made a strangled sound of protest, but before he could lunge across the room, Tim raised a hand with a sheepish half-wave.

“I’m the smart one,” he offered helpfully. “Sorry about… all this.”

“And I,” Dick declared proudly, hands on his hips, “am the fun one. Also the reason you’re all about to get grounded. You’re welcome.”

“OUT!” Damian barked.

That’s when Bruce finally spoke up. “Enough,” he said, calm and quiet— almost immediately it made all three older brothers freeze.

Jason blinked. “We were just—”

“Out,” Bruce repeated, this time with the faintest arch of his brow. 

One by one, the boys started backing up like scolded dogs.

Jason grumbled something under his breath and turned.

Tim gave you a quick, apologetic smile and shuffled after him.

Dick lingered the longest, flashing you a grin and a salute. “Still think it’s adorable.”

“Out,” Bruce said again, firmer this time.

With that all three filed out with varying degrees of grumbling and smirking.

Bruce remained in the room for a moment longer. His eyes shifted from you—still half-curled beneath the blanket—to his son, who sat stiff-backed beside you, his jaw tight with embarrassment and defiance.

“I expect a proper introduction at dinner,” Bruce said coolly, turning on his heel. “Six sharp.”

Damian exhaled like it physically pained him. “Yes, Father.”

Bruce nodded once, then turned and left, the door clicking shut behind him.

Damian exhaled sharply through his nose, the breath full of fire and exasperation. He muttered a string of curses in Arabic—low, venom-laced, and fast enough to blur into one hissed syllable—as he collapsed back into the pillows with a dramatic thud. One arm flung over his eyes like he was shielding himself from the humiliation still clinging to the air.

You lay beside him, the warmth of his body still lingering beneath the tangled sheets, a laugh bubbling in your throat despite your best efforts to suppress it.

“Well,” you murmured, voice edged with amusement, “at least they didn’t bring a camera.”

He made a sound—something between a groan and a growl. “You underestimate them. There will be photos. There will be memes. Grayson will narrate the whole scene on the family group chat by noon. I am already doomed.”

You leaned over and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek, the curve of your mouth brushing the flushed skin just beneath his eye. “Guess I better dress nice for dinner, then.”

Another groan, this one muffled by the pillow he dragged down over his face.

But then, without warning, his arm slid around your waist and pulled you in—close, possessive. Like he wasn’t ready to let you go, even if the rest of the world now knew you existed.

“Remind me to kill them later,” he muttered, voice gruff but reluctant.

You laughed and burrowed into the crook of his arm, cheek pressed to his collarbone. “I don’t know… I kind of liked seeing flustered Damian. Might be my favorite version yet.”

He peeked down at you then, dragging the pillow just far enough to reveal a glare that lacked its usual bite. “You’re lucky I like you.”

You tilted your head and gave him a grin, utterly unrepentant, before brushing another kiss to his cheek.

“Yeah,” you said, voice soft and smug. “I know.”

[skywalkerslvt]

Cramped—Logan Howlett

❥Pairing: Logan Howlett x AFAB!Reader (no pronouns other than 'you' mentioned)

❥Summary: While on the run from enemies, Logan and reader find a temporary hideout; a cramped supply closet. Things ensue...

❥CW: 18+, smut, forced proximity, minor dry humping, fingering, unprotected p in v (wrap it before you tap it hoes), 2.2k words

❥a/n: god I'm such a fucking slut for this man. Hope u enjoy reading this highkey cliché fic as much as I enjoyed writing it (I had way too much fun writing this it's concerning) NOT PROOFREAD!!

The plan had seemed foolproof—until it wasn’t. What was meant to be a quiet infiltration erupted into gunfire and chaos, forcing you and Logan to improvise on the fly. You sprinted through the labyrinth of hallways, the sound of pounding footsteps and barked orders hot on your heels. Just when your lungs felt like they'd burst, Logan's hand shot out, gripping your arm and pulling you into a narrow doorway. Before you could react, he dragged you into a cramped, pitch-black closet, slamming the door behind you. His chest was flush against your back, one hand swiftly covering your mouth to stifle your gasps while the other was wrapped around your waist. The heat of his body pressed into you as his breath tickled your ear. "Quiet," he whispered, voice low and rough. "We can't outrun them. We're hiding here until they pass." The tight space, the sound of your heart pounding in your ears, and the intensity of his presence made it impossible to focus on anything else.

You could feel Logan's chest rising and falling against your back, the heat of his breath on your neck sending shivers down your spine despite the tension in the air. "Quiet, huh?" you muttered under your breath, shifting slightly against his hold. "This was your idea, remember? Charging headfirst into a whole squad of armed men?"

Logan’s grip tightened on your arm, his voice a low growl in your ear. “I didn’t hear you coming up with any better plans. Unless you count running in circles while getting shot at as a strategy.”

You rolled your eyes, even though you knew he couldn’t see it. “Maybe if you’d actually listened to me for once, we wouldn’t be hiding in a damn closet right now.”

Logan huffed, his breath warm against your ear. “Yeah, well, maybe if you weren’t so damn stubborn, we wouldn’t be in this mess in the first place.” 

You opened your mouth to retort, but the sudden closeness of his body, the feel of his rough hand that had moved from your mouth to your collarbone, and his hot breath fanning against your neck stopped you short. The tension between you had always been there, simmering under the surface, but now, in this cramped, dark space, it felt like it might just boil over.

Blinking, you regained your composure. “Well, I-” you began, but were quickly cut off by his hand covering your mouth again, your words muffled against his flesh. 

“Someone's coming,” he breathed, his grip on you tightening as you were pulled impossibly closer against his body. Sure enough, footsteps sounded outside the door a few moments later. 

As the footsteps halted right outside the door, the tension between you and Logan grew almost unbearable. Your heart pounded wildly, not just from fear, but from the electric charge that seemed to crackle in the air between your bodies. Logan's chest pressed firmly against your back, his hand still covering your mouth. The warmth of his breath fanned against your neck, sending shivers down your spine despite the danger lurking just beyond the door.

You were hyper-aware of every point of contact–his solid body behind you, the rough texture of his hand on your skin, the way his breath hitched slightly as the person outside hesitated, listening.

Your senses were on overdrive, each second stretching out as your body reacted to Logan's closeness in ways you couldn't control.

It was wrong, wildly inappropriate given the situation, but the feel of his hard chest against your back, his arm wrapped tightly around your waist, was doing things to you that you'd never admit out loud. You shifted slightly, trying to ease the tension in your muscles, but the movement only made things worse–or better, depending on how you looked at it.

Your slight wiggle caused your hips to brush against his in the confined space, and Logan's grip on you tightened, a low, almost imperceptible groan escaping him. The sound sent a thrill straight to your core, your breath catching in your throat as you realized what you'd just done. You could feel the hard length of him pressing against you, his "predicament" unmistakable in the dark, cramped closet.

Logan's fingers flexed against your waist, his breath coming faster, rougher against your ear. He didn't pull away, didn't loosen his grip, and for a moment, you were both frozen, caught in the tension of the moment, the thin line between danger and desire.

Your pulse raced, and the temptation to grind back against him, to push things just a little further, was almost overwhelming. The footsteps outside were retreating, but neither of you moved, the charged silence between you heavy with unspoken need.

Logan sighed, his head thrown back against the wall in shame. He cleared his throat, his grip on your waist loosening slightly. “Listen…I-” he cut himself off with a groan as you pushed your ass back against crotch, your desire for him pushing your fear of getting caught to the side. 

“Shh. Just–just shut up,” you whispered, eyes squeezing closed as you leaned your head back against his shoulder. 

Logan's breath hitched at the unexpected pressure, his body reacting instinctively to the friction. His hand tightened on your waist, pulling you even closer as he groaned low in your ear, his restraint slipping. You could feel the heat of him through his pants, hard and insistent against you, the tension between you igniting like a spark to dry tinder.

"Fuck, you're really playing with fire," Logan rasped, his voice strained, teetering between warning and desire.

But he didn't push you away. Instead, his fingers dug into your hip, his chest pressed so tightly against your back that you could feel the rapid beat of his heart matching your own.

The weight of your mutual attraction was heavy in the cramped space, the unspoken desire that had been simmering beneath the surface now threatening to consume you both. You could sense the hesitation in Logan's movements, the conflict between wanting to push you away and the undeniable need that had taken hold of him.

"Yeah, well," you breathed, your own voice shaky with both fear and excitement, "maybe I like the heat."

You felt Logan's lips brush against the shell of your ear, his fingers now trailing your waistband, his hot breath fanning across your skin as his resolve finally broke. “Tell me you don't want this. Tell me to stop,” he muttered, but the way his body pressed into yours, hard and unyielding, told you he wasn't planning on stopping anytime soon.

You shook your head, breathing out a soft “no,” and that was all Logan needed to hear. His hand made its way down the front of your pants, fingers rubbing slow circles on your clothed clit as he sloppily kissed and bit at your neck. 

A small, breathless moan escaped your lips, the sound muffled by the thick air in the cramped closet. Logan's reaction was immediate–his hand left your waistband and clamped over your mouth again, his lips now brushing against your ear as he whispered harshly, "You need to keep quiet, darlin. Or we'll both get caught, and this won't end the way either of us wants."

The combination of his roughened voice and the intoxicating closeness sent a shiver down your spine. The feel of his body so intimately pressed against yours, his hand possessively over your mouth, only fueled the fire building inside you. But the very real danger just outside the door added a sharp edge to your desire.

Logan's hand lingered on your mouth, as if he wasn't sure whether you'd manage to hold back the sounds threatening to spill from you, the tension in his grip telling you he was barely holding on himself. His hips pressed into yours, the heat between your bodies growing more intense by the second, and all you could think about was how badly you wanted him, consequences be damned.

Logan's fingers hovered at the waistband of your pants, his resolve hanging by a thread. You could feel his hesitation, the way his chest heaved against your back as if he were trying to convince himself to stop. But when your hips shifted back, pressing firmly against him, it shattered any remaining restraint.

His hand slipped beneath the fabric of your pants, his rough fingers sliding past your underwear and finding your slick heat. A choked sound rumbled in his chest as his fingers began to move, slow and deliberate, tracing soft circles that sent jolts of pleasure through your body. He pressed his lips against your neck, muffling his own groans as he worked you over, the rhythm of his fingers steadily increasing in pace.

You bit your lip hard, trying to keep quiet, but each twist of his fingers made it harder and harder to hold back the whimpers threatening to escape.

Logan's other hand remained firmly over your mouth, his breath ragged in your ear. He was losing control, his fingers moving faster, deeper, curling inside you with a hunger that matched your own.

"Fuck," he growled softly, the curse slipping past his lips as he felt you tightening around him, your body responding eagerly to his touch. He couldn't take it anymore. The sound of your muffled moans, the way you writhed against him–it was driving him insane.

Without warning, he withdrew his fingers, earning a frustrated whimper from you. But before you could protest, he spun you around, pressing your back against the rough wall of the closet. His eyes were dark, filled with a raw, unbridled need as he captured your lips in a bruising kiss, his hand already working at the buttons of your pants.

You broke the kiss just long enough to gasp for air, your hands fumbling with the buckle of his belt, desperate to feel him inside you. Logan groaned into your mouth, the sound low and primal, as he shoved your pants down just enough to give him access.

He pressed you harder against the wall, lifting one of your legs to wrap around his waist as he freed himself from the confines of his pants. The feel of him, hot and hard against your thigh, made your head spin, and when he finally thrust into you, the sensation was overwhelming–an exquisite mix of pleasure and pain.

Logan's grip on your waist tightened, his forehead resting against yours as he began to move, each thrust rough and urgent, his hips slamming into yours with a rhythm that was desperate, almost frantic. You clung to him, your fingers digging into his shoulders as he drove into you, his breath hot and ragged against your ear.

"Fuck... you feel so good," he groaned, his voice barely a whisper, but the raw emotion behind it sent a thrill through your entire body. The tension between you, the weeks of pent-up frustration and unspoken desire, all came pouring out in the way he fucked you–hard, fast, and with a reckless abandon that left you breathless.

Every thrust pushed you closer to the edge, your moans growing louder despite your best efforts to stay quiet. Logan's hand quickly covered your mouth again, his other arm wrapped tightly around your waist to keep you steady as he pounded into you. "Quiet," he rasped, though the quiver in his voice betrayed his own struggle to keep silent. "Can't let them hear how badly you want this. How badly you want me."

The filthy words pushed you over the edge. Your body tightened around him, pleasure crashing through you in waves, and Logan groaned loudly against your ear as he followed you over the edge, his hips stuttering as he spilled inside you.

For a moment, the world outside the closet ceased to exist, leaving only the sound of your ragged breaths and the aftershocks of your release. Logan kept his forehead pressed against yours, his chest heaving as he tried to regain control.

Finally, he pulled back slightly, his hand still resting on your waist as he looked into your eyes, the intensity in his gaze softened by the shared experience. "You alright?" he asked, his voice low and hoarse.

You nodded, still catching your breath, the weight of what just happened slowly sinking in. But there was no time to dwell on it–footsteps sounded in the distance, reminding you both that the danger was far from over.

Logan adjusted your clothes quickly, his hands surprisingly gentle despite what had just transpired. "We gotta move," he whispered, his tone back to business, though the lingering heat in his eyes told you that what had just happened was far from forgotten.

With one last, lingering look, Logan cracked the door open, peering out to make sure the coast was clear. Then, with a silent nod, he took your hand, leading you out of the closet and back into the chaos that awaited.

[cupidsworstcrime]

Knight!John Price x Princess!reader

inspo - honestly shameless , i wanted this

werewolf smut werewolf smut

contains chasing to fuck , monster fucking , cnc (if you squint) & knotting

The moonlight slashes through the dense treeline like a blade, silver and cold and watching.

Sir John Price, noble knight captain and sworn protector of your kingdom’s bloodline, stumbles against a tree, his breathing ragged, uneven. His armored gauntlet splits against bark as claws push through, twisting bone and sinew. His growl isn’t human anymore.

You shouldn't be watching.

But gods, you are.

“My lady,” he rasps, voice strangled and wet with the growl curling in his throat. “Run.”

You don’t. Can’t. Your eyes are locked on the way his jaw cracks open, lengthening, sharpening, his teeth catching the moonlight. His armor creaks and groans under the pressure of his expanding body, the beast beneath the steel.

He snarls, turning away from you, fangs bared to the forest, to anything that might distract him from the scent of you.

“I said run,” he growls again, lower this time, desperate, trembling. “I won’t be able to stop. If you stay—if I catch your scent again—I’ll take you.”

There’s a flash in his eyes. Hunger.

Your heart slams in your chest. You take a step back.

His ears twitch.

“I need you to run,” he groans, clawed hand gripping his chest, as though he could anchor the man inside a body that’s no longer his. “Please, princess. You need to run.”

You whisper his name.

His eyes snap to you. Glowing. Predatory. Wicked.

Another heartbeat, and you’re sprinting through the trees.

Behind you, metal crashes to the ground, followed by a guttural howl that shatters the stillness. The kind of sound that promises teeth on your throat and hands gripping your hips.

You don’t dare look back.

Because if he catches you—

—no knight in the world could save you from what he’s about to become.

And he will catch you.

Of course he will.

You're fast—gods, you're fast—but you're not him. Not with your skirts bunched in your fists, breath burning your throat, heart thundering like war drums in your chest.

The woods blur, and still you run.

But you feel it when he gets close.

The heat of him. The thudding weight of paws behind you, impossibly silent for how large he must be now. The low growl that slips into the wind and curls around your spine like a hand.

And then—

You're gone from the ground.

A cry tears from your throat as you're swept off your feet, tackled into the moss with shocking gentleness for something that had sounded like a monster moments ago. You're caged beneath him—bigger now, broader, his skin half-shifted, half-wolf, glowing eyes staring down at you as his claws press into the earth on either side of your head.

He pants above you, chest heaving, sweat and fur and musk curling thick in the air. Drool drips from his snarl onto your cheek.

"You should've run faster," he growls, voice rougher now, lined with hunger, with need.

"Y-you caught me..." you whisper, breathless, trembling beneath the weight of him.

He leans down, nuzzles his nose to your throat, a low, rumbling growl vibrating through your skin.

"You wanted me to."

And gods help you—

—you did.

There's no pretending anymore—not for him.

Not with the way he snarls low against your throat, like he's trying to taste your pulse before he even sinks his teeth in. Not with the way his claws dig into the dirt, holding himself back by a thread, trembling from the effort. He's not even fully shifted—can't be, not with how badly he wants to feel you with his hands, not paws. Not with how badly he wants your skin on his, not fur.

He’s not gentle. Not after all that. Not after the chase.

He ruts against you, desperate, grinding hard through the layers between you, shuddering when you squirm—when you press your hands against his chest, not to push him away, but to pull him closer.

"Tell me no," he growls, but his hips say something else entirely—rolling down slow, then slamming forward hard enough to make you gasp.

You whimper something—maybe “stop,” maybe “don’t,”—but your legs are already spreading, traitorous, trembling, welcoming.

Your nails bite into his arms. You turn your face like you don't want this—but your body arches into him, not away.

"Don't lie to me," he snarls, voice shaking with the strain of holding back. His fangs are bared, but his mouth is at your ear, and you whimper when his breath hits your skin. "You're mine, princess. Say it."

You don't. Not with words. But your hips tilt, just enough, just right.

He growls like something unholy.

You love this. Even when you act like you don’t. Even when you cry and whine and call him a monster.

Because you're the one who's still clinging to him.

You're the one who's dripping before he even claims you.

He’s got you flat beneath him, skirts shoved up around your waist, your thighs trembling against his sides. His hands are huge, rough from years of sword and steel, and now they’re claiming every inch of you like you’re a battlefield he owns. One stays planted on your hip, the other cradling your jaw, thumb dragging over your lip like he's daring you to bite.

"You're gonna scream for me, sweet thing," he mutters, voice rough and ragged, half-man, half-creature. "Not because you're scared—because you're mine."

He starts slow, grinding against your slick heat through your ruined underthings, just to feel the tremble, the way your breath catches. Then he pulls away—and spits in his hand, like a brute, slicking himself up before dragging the head of his cock along your folds.

Not pushing in. Not yet. Just teasing.

“You’re gonna remember this, princess. Every. Fuckin'. Inch.”

And when he does finally sink into you?

He’s ruthless. Long, hard thrusts that force breathy gasps out of your throat. No soft kisses. No gentle words. Just the slap of skin, the growl in his chest, and the slick wet sounds of him fucking you like he was meant to.

He uses one hand to pin both your wrists above your head, the other sliding down between your thighs—finding your clit with practiced fingers.

And when he hits just the right spot, when you squirm and cry out and your walls clench tight around him, he leans down, growling into your mouth:

“There she is. There’s my good girl. Scream for your captain.”

And god, you do. You scream his name like it’s the only thing you know.

Which, by the time he’s done with you, it just might be.

"What would the king think? Seeing his little princess be such a whore?"

He’s not asking—he’s taking, like his body’s driven by instinct and the only thing it wants is you.

His hands are everywhere—gripping your hips tight enough to bruise, dragging you down onto his cock with a growl that rumbles through his chest. You’ll feel him for days, the deep ache between your legs, the ghost of his fingerprints on your skin. When you cry out, he smirks, and his hand slides up your throat, thumb pressed gently beneath your jaw, just enough pressure to remind you who’s in control.

“Look at you,” he rasps, hips snapping into yours so hard that you swore the earth would split beneath you. “Takin’ it so well. So desperate for your captain’s cock, aren’t you?”

You nod, gasping, but it’s not enough for him.

“Say it. Say you want me to ruin you.”

And when you do—when you whimper out that you want him to break you—he fucks you for real. One hand on your throat, the other gripping your thigh and pressing your knees back, folding you open for him.

“You’re mine,” he snarls into your ear. “Say it again. Say it while I breed you full.”

And you do, because how can you not? When he’s buried so deep, when every thrust punches the air from your lungs, when your entire body is his—yeah, it’s rough, claiming, filthy. And you love it. Even if you act like you don’t. Even if you cry a little. Even if you’re already begging him not to stop.

He doesn’t just want to make you scream, sweetheart. He wants to make you remember.

When it happens—when the last shred of control slips and the shift fully takes him—it’s violent. Bones crack, skin tears, fur bursts across his body like wildfire. His snarl becomes a growl, low and guttural, vibrating through your chest as you lay beneath him. His eyes glow gold now, no trace of the man you once knew… but gods, he’s still inside there. Still watching you. Still wanting you.

And he doesn’t stop.

He’s bigger now. Stronger. His claws scrape the ground on either side of your head, holding himself over you, caging you in like prey. His muzzle brushes your throat, and you feel the heat of his breath, the tension in his jaw as he fights not to bite—not yet. Not until he’s claimed you properly.

His thrusts are deeper, more forceful, hips snapping into you with inhuman power. You cry out, nails digging into whatever part of him you can reach, but he just growls in approval. The slick, obscene sounds of him inside you echo louder now, more primal, more filthy. Every motion screams mine.

“You should’ve run faster,” he huffs, voice distorted and monstrous but still his. “Would’ve probably gotten away.”

But he doesn’t regret that you didn’t. Not one bit.

Because now? He can knot you. Fill you. Mark you inside and out until there’s no question who you belong to.

And when you sob his name—when your body breaks open for him again and again—he howls, the sound shaking the trees, the sky, you.

You're his. Forever now. And he’s going to make damn sure everyone knows it.

At first, you think he’s done. His pace slows, almost tender for a fleeting second as he pants above you, still trembling with the aftershock of the shift. But then—then—you feel it. That slow, thick swell at the base of him starting to press insistently against you.

He growls when your body tries to resist it, claws digging into the earth beside your head as he forces himself deeper. You cry out, overwhelmed, stretched too wide, and he groans—deep, guttural—as the knot pops inside. Locked. Stuffed. Filled.

“Shhh,” he rumbles, voice animal-thick, muzzle nudging at your cheek, “s’alright. You’ll take it. Gonna keep it all in, yeah?”

The stretch, the burn, the way your walls flutter helplessly around him—it’s too much, too perfect. He can feel everything, and so can you. That throbbing knot pulsing against your insides, his release locked deep where it’s meant to stay.

No escaping now. Not for hours.

You whimper his name, and his voice rumbles with satisfaction: “Good girl. That’s it. Take my knot, princess. Take every bloody drop.”

And you do. You have to.

tagging my favorite sicko - @goatgoesmbe

[fidesvirtusobsession]

𝔄 𝔐𝔦𝔩𝔩𝔦𝔬𝔫 𝔇𝔯𝔢𝔞𝔪𝔰

Yandere Emperor x afab concubines reader

Description: Plucked from the streets and forced into the Emperor’s harem, Yn refuses to bow to fate. She fights, schemes, and searches for any opportunity to escape the palace’s suffocating grip. But as she navigates the treacherous world of politics, power, and whispered conspiracies, she catches the attention of Emperor Zhéyàn—a man as ruthless as he is unreadable. In a palace where survival is an art, will she be able to reclaim her freedom—or will she find herself woven into the empire’s fate?

The sound of her bare feet slapping against the cobblestones was the only thing Yn could hear as she sprinted through the twisting alleys. Her breath came in sharp gasps, heart hammering in her chest. The city, usually bustling with life and noise, felt suffocating now. Too many corners. Too many eyes watching.

She knew these streets. Knew every crack in the stone, every loose board she could slip under, every shadow deep enough to swallow her whole. But none of it mattered when they were already closing in.

It had been a mistake—staying too long near the merchant stalls, laughing with the baker’s daughter, standing in the sun where her face could be seen. She hadn't noticed the house master watching from the silk shop across the street. A man with gold-threaded robes and a calculating gaze, one who judged worth with a glance. And in that moment, he'd decided: Pretty enough.

"That one," he'd told his guards, voice cold and certain. "The Emperor’s harem has room for another."

And just like that, her fate was sealed.

Yn had been running ever since, slipping through side streets, dodging hands that reached for her. Her legs burned, her lungs screamed for air, but she didn’t stop. Couldn’t stop. She knew what happened to girls taken behind those gilded walls. They became ornaments. Playthings. Forgotten names and silent mouths.

"Get back here, girl!" a guard barked from behind, heavy boots pounding the ground. "Don’t make this harder!"

Harder? It was already impossible. She could hear the jangle of armor, the sharp whistle one man gave to signal the others. They were surrounding her, closing the trap like wolves circling prey.

She ducked into a narrow alley, heart pounding in her ears, only to skid to a halt. Another guard stood at the end, smirking, arms crossed as if he'd been waiting. Of course they knew her routes. The streets she called home were nothing compared to the reach of palace dogs.

Desperation clawed at her throat. She spun around, ready to risk another path, when a hand snatched her wrist. Rough. Unforgiving.

"Let go!" she snarled, twisting and kicking, but her strength was nothing against the iron grip of someone trained for this.

The guard yanked her forward, face impassive. "You should be grateful," he muttered, almost bored. "The palace will feed you. Dress you in silk. You’ll live better than you ever did here."

Yn spat at his feet. "I'd rather starve in the streets."

The streets blurred past in a rush of dust and panic. Yn thrashed in the iron grip of the palace guards, bare feet scraping against the rough stone as they dragged her away from the life she knew. Her heart pounded in her ears, drowning out the muttered curses of the men hauling her toward the looming palace gates.

The slap came fast, sharp enough to make her ears ring. She tasted blood, but it only fueled the fire burning inside her chest. She thrashed, bit, kicked, but they were too many, too practiced. She was dragged, half-limp, through the streets she'd once run freely.

Onlookers turned away. No one interfered. Why would they? It wasn’t the first time a pretty girl had been plucked from the gutter for a higher purpose.

"Hold still, you little—!" one growled, tightening his grip on her wrist.

Yn’s answer was swift—a sharp twist and a vicious bite to the soft flesh of his hand. The guard yelped, jerking back, and she used the moment to kick at the other’s shin, adrenaline making her wild.

“Stupid girl!” The second guard stumbled, nearly dropping her. “You think this fight matters? You’re palace property now.”

“Like hell I am!” she spat, kicking again, heels digging into the ground as they pulled her forward. “You’ll have to kill me before I sit pretty in silk for some spoiled bastard!”

The third guard, older and wearier, only sighed. “They always fight,” he muttered. “Doesn’t change a damn thing.”

The palace walls loomed closer, golden in the dying light. Beautiful, cold, inescapable. A gilded cage. She’d heard the whispers from girls who’d been taken before. Once you passed through those gates, you were no longer a person. Just another flower in the Emperor's garden, waiting to wither.

She didn’t care. She couldn’t care. If she stopped fighting, if she let them take her into that gilded prison, she’d never see freedom again. Her fists lashed out, nails clawing at skin, voice raw from screaming as people on the streets turned away. No one interfered. No one ever interfered.

They reached the palace gates too soon. Tall, imposing, decorated with gold filigree that caught the dying light like fire. A beautiful lie.

The last thing she saw before the gates closed behind her was the sky turning crimson—like the universe itself was bleeding for her.

The guards didn’t slow. One yanked her forward by the waist, throwing her over his shoulder like a sack of rice. She kicked and punched, but his armor dulled the blows.

“Let me go, damn you!” Yn snarled, beating her fists against his back. “I’m not something you can claim!”

The sun hung low over the palace, casting golden light through the lattice windows of the grand hall. Incense curled lazily in the air, failing to mask the bitterness of court politics. Zhéyàn, the Emperor, sat on his throne, sharp golden eyes half-lidded in boredom as the steward droned on.

“…and with the new batch of girls brought in from the outer provinces, Your Majesty, I’m certain you’ll find one to your liking,” the steward said, her tone practiced and smooth. “The ministers continue to whisper about heirs. A distraction might ease the pressure.”

Zhéyàn didn’t react, swirling the tea in his porcelain cup. He’d heard it all before. The officials, the nobles, even the servants—they all spoke of duty, legacy, and heirs. As though a womb could settle an empire.

The steward, an older woman with silver threaded through her dark hair, pressed on. “I selected them personally—educated, graceful, untouched by the corruption of the city. A few from the countryside, some from merchant families. The house master is already preparing them—”

A scream cut through the air, followed by the unmistakable thud of bodies hitting the ground.

“Let me go, you bastards!”

The hall fell silent. Zhéyàn’s gaze flicked up, suddenly alert.

The steward paled. “What in the heavens—”

Another shout echoed through the open courtyard outside the hall, followed by a string of curses sharp enough to make the gathered officials exchange uneasy glances.

“Get off me! I’m not some prize to be bought and sold!”

The heavy wooden doors burst open, and two guards stumbled inside, struggling to restrain a young woman. Dirty, disheveled, and wild-eyed, she kicked and twisted with the kind of ferocity born from desperation.

One guard grunted as she drove her elbow into his ribs. “Hold her down, damn it!”

Zhéyàn leaned forward, intrigued despite himself.

The steward, flustered, hurried to explain. “Ah—this one, Your Majesty, was a last-minute acquisition. The house master saw her in the market and deemed her… suitable.”

“Suitable?” Zhéyàn echoed, watching as the girl—no, the woman—bit down on the arm of the second guard hard enough to draw blood.

The steward winced. “She was… less than compliant. But her looks—once cleaned up, of course—”

“Let. Me. GO!”

Zhéyàn didn’t move. He simply watched.

The tiger at his side, Huāng Xie, lifted its massive head, golden eyes narrowing as it observed the commotion with lazy interest.

Finally, Zhéyàn spoke, his voice calm but cutting through the chaos like a blade.

“Enough.”

The room froze. The guards halted mid-step, one holding Yn by her upper arm, the other wiping blood from his lip.

Yn, breathless and trembling with adrenaline, snapped her gaze toward the throne.

Zhéyàn met her glare without flinching. Beneath the dirt and fury, she was striking—not just in appearance but in spirit. The concubine house broke most women before they even reached the palace gates. This one? She was still fighting.

“How charming,” he drawled, resting his chin on one hand. “The steward brings me flowers, and yet one arrives with thorns.”

The steward bowed hastily. “Your Majesty, I assure you, she’ll be trained into proper decorum. This behavior is—”

“Expected,” Zhéyàn interrupted, eyes never leaving Yn’s face. “A caged bird always beats its wings before it realizes the bars won’t break.”

Yn’s lip curled. “I’m not a bird. And I won’t stay in your damned cage.”

A sharp intake of breath swept through the hall. No one spoke to the Emperor like that.

Zhéyàn smiled, slow and deliberate. “Is that so?”

He rose from his seat, robes whispering against the polished floor as he descended the steps of the dais. The guards stiffened but didn’t move as their Emperor approached. Huāng Xie padded silently behind him, tail flicking.

Standing before Yn, Zhéyàn studied her like one might examine a curious artifact.

“Tell me, street rat,” he murmured, voice low enough for only her to hear. “Do you know how many women have stood where you are now? Cleaned, polished, and presented like lacquered dolls?”

Yn’s breath hitched, but she refused to look away.

“They all came in with dreams of escape,” Zhéyàn continued, fingers brushing Huāng Xie’s fur as the tiger prowled closer. “Most realized too late that freedom in this palace is an illusion.”

Huāng Xie paused beside Yn, nose twitching as he sniffed at her dirt-streaked clothes.

The steward wrung her hands. “Your Majesty, if you’d prefer, we can return her to the house master and—”

“No.” Zhéyàn’s golden eyes gleamed. “Keep her.”

The words landed like stones in the hush that followed.

“Train her, clean her, dress her in silk if you must.” He tilted his head, smile sharpening. “But don’t break her. I find her far more interesting when she bites.”

With that, he turned and ascended the steps once more, Huāng Xie brushing past Yn’s side as if in silent approval.

The guards hesitated, waiting for further orders.

Zhéyàn waved a dismissive hand. “Take her away. Make sure she doesn’t destroy half the palace before nightfall.”

Yn, still catching her breath, clenched her jaw as the guards moved to drag her off again.

But this time, she didn’t scream.

She simply stared after the Emperor, defiance burning in her eyes like an ember refusing to die.

As she was pulled from the hall, the steward muttered under her breath.

“May the gods have mercy. That girl is going to be nothing but trouble.”

Zhéyàn heard—and smiled.

“Perhaps,” he murmured, settling back into his throne. “But what’s a kingdom without a little rebellion?”

The hall buzzed with uneasy murmurs as the guards dragged Yn away, her defiant glare lingering like smoke in the air. The steward, still pale from the scene, hurriedly bowed before Zhéyàn, her forehead nearly touching the polished floor.

“Your Majesty,” she began, voice tight with strained composure, “I deeply apologize for the disturbance. I had no idea the girl would be so… unruly.”

Zhéyàn, reclining in his seat once more, waved a hand lazily. His golden eyes glinted with something closer to amusement than anger.

The steward swallowed hard, choosing her words carefully. “Rest assured, I will personally speak to the girl. She’s clearly frightened and unaware of her place. Given time, I’m certain she can be… molded into something more fitting for the palace.”

Zhéyàn hummed thoughtfully, fingers tapping against the armrest of his throne. “Do you intend to break her spirit entirely, Steward? That would be rather dull.”

The steward’s eyes widened. “N-no, Your Majesty. I only meant to ensure she understands the reality of her situation. I will calm her down, speak sense to her. The last thing we need is for her defiance to spread among the other girls.”

Zhéyàn leaned forward, golden gaze sharpening. “See that you don’t mistake control for obedience. I don’t want another lifeless doll paraded before me.”

Huāng Xie, the tiger, stretched languidly at the foot of the dais, golden eyes half-lidded as he rumbled in satisfaction.

The steward bowed deeper. “Of course, Your Majesty. I will handle the matter personally.”

Zhéyàn leaned back once more, the smile curling at the edge of his lips betraying his amusement.

“Good,” he murmured. “Do try. I look forward to seeing how long it takes for her to slip through your fingers “

The walls of the concubine house closed around Yn like a silk-covered cage—beautiful, suffocating, and inescapable. She stumbled into the courtyard, wrists raw from the ropes they'd only just cut loose. Her clothes, once practical and sturdy for street life, were torn and stained with dirt from her struggle. Stray strands of hair clung to her sweaty face, and her chest heaved with exhausted defiance.

“Move.”

The guard shoved her forward, and Yn barely caught herself, stumbling onto the pristine stone pathway. Around her, silk-clad women paused in their embroidery and quiet gossip, eyes narrowing in assessment. Some whispered behind delicate fans. Others looked away, uninterested.

Her heart pounded in her chest, panic rising like bile in her throat. Her arms were aching from the tight grip of the guards, but she refused to show any weakness. She wasn’t going to submit. Not to them. Not to the Emperor. Not to this life.

One of the guards, the one who had been the most vocal in dragging her here, chuckled cruelly. “I can’t wait to see how long it takes for her to turn sweet and obedient. You’ll break, eventually,” he said with a nasty grin, his eyes roaming over her dirtied clothes and disheveled hair.

Yn’s chest tightened, the insult cutting deeper than she expected. Something inside her snapped—her resolve hardened, her pride surging up through the anger burning in her veins.

Before any of the guards could react, Yn swung her fist. It was a wild, desperate motion, one driven by instinct and fury. She aimed for the man’s jaw, hoping for even a hint of satisfaction.

But her aim was off. The force of her punch collided with his face, but the impact wasn’t as satisfying as she’d hoped. Her fist instead struck his nose, the sickening crunch of bone splitting the air. The guard staggered back, his face bleeding, but Yn barely noticed. Her hands throbbed with a sharp, searing pain, and she let out a cry of frustration, clutching at her wrist.

“I told you to stop!” one of the guards shouted, seizing her by the arm. “You’ll pay for that!”

The two others closed in on her, eyes full of fury.

But before they could lay hands on her again, two figures stepped into the room. Lian, with her practiced grace, and Mei, her gaze hardened but filled with a quiet understanding. Lian took one look at the guards, her gaze icy.

“Enough,” she said firmly, voice carrying an authority that immediately made the guards hesitate. She glanced at Yn’s broken hand, then back at the guards with a disappointed sigh. “You’ve done enough. This is not how we handle matters here.”

Mei stepped forward, placing a gentle hand on Yn’s bruised wrist. “Let me see,” she said softly, her voice soothing as she began to assess the damage. “You were too rash. You should’ve waited for a better moment.”

Yn gritted her teeth, pain coursing through her, but she didn’t pull away. Mei was always gentle with her, unlike the others. She tried to resist, but the tears threatened to well up in her eyes as her hand was carefully tended to.

Lian crossed her arms, her gaze coolly sweeping over the guards. “If you think a woman’s spirit can be broken with pain, you’re sorely mistaken. If you want obedience, try kindness. If you can manage that, maybe we’ll see how it goes.”

The guards looked between each other, unsure of how to respond to the unexpected reprimand. Lian turned to Yn with a small, reassuring smile. “Let’s get you cleaned up,” she said, her tone softening just a bit. “You need rest. Let the guards handle the rest of their mess.”

Mei gave Yn a sympathetic look, guiding her gently towards the back of the house to tend to her injuries while Lian kept her calm, her presence acting as a shield against the rest of the chaos around them.

Yn’s hand still throbbed, but in the midst of the pain, there was a small, flickering feeling—one that she hadn’t had in a long time. Maybe, just maybe, she wasn’t entirely alone in this.

Yn stood in the center of the bathhouse, the steam swirling around her like a suffocating fog. She felt exposed, her skin raw and dirty from the streets. She had been yanked from her life, torn away from everything she knew, and now she stood here—alone. The thought of being forced into this bath, cleaned like some animal, ignited a bitterness in her chest.

She stood in her old, tattered clothes, a far cry from the lavish silk robes the other concubines wore. Her body was tired, covered in grime and the wear of the harsh life she had fought to survive. The humiliation of this situation hit her hard, like a weight pressing down on her chest, suffocating her resolve.

“Don’t be shy,” Lian’s voice cut through her thoughts. Yn looked up to find the older girl standing at the doorway, her expression kind, but laced with an understanding that Yn couldn’t quite grasp.

Mei was behind her, arms crossed, leaning against the wall with an expression that seemed to hide a great deal beneath her calm exterior. The steward watched from the side, her face unreadable, but there was a certain coldness in her gaze.

Yn remained still, the bitterness building, but Lian stepped closer. “Let us help you. You’re not alone here.”

There was no escape. Yn knew that now. Her only choice was to play along, to endure, at least until she found a way out. The water, warm and inviting, seemed almost like a mockery. She didn’t deserve it. She didn’t deserve any of this.

But Lian’s voice softened, “You need this. Let us clean you.”

Yn didn’t respond immediately. She didn’t want their help, but she didn’t want to fight them, either. Slowly, reluctantly, she stepped into the bath, the warm water surrounding her as she lowered herself in. It felt like the water was mocking her, lapping against her skin with the same cold indifference the world had shown her. She closed her eyes, letting the warmth seep into her aching muscles, but it did little to ease the tension in her chest.

Lian motioned for the attendants, who poured water over Yn’s head, their hands gentle as they washed away the dirt that clung to her skin. Mei observed from the corner, quiet but watchful, her eyes never straying too far from Yn, as if waiting for her to break.

The scent of soap and oils filled the air, and for a brief moment, Yn was transported back to simpler times. Times when she’d bathed in the quiet comfort of her own home, away from all this. But now, those memories were just that—memories.

“I know it’s hard,” Lian said, her voice gentle as she helped Yn scrub the dirt away. “But you’ll get used to it. We all do.”

Yn didn’t respond, her eyes trained on the water beneath her, unable to meet their gaze. She didn’t belong here. She wasn’t like the others. She didn’t want to be here.

Once the bath was finished, Lian helped Yn out of the water, her touch surprisingly gentle as she wrapped a towel around her. The heat of the water had relaxed her body, but her mind was still sharp, still defiant. She hadn’t let them break her, not yet.

“You should get dressed,” Lian said, offering her a robe made of soft, pale silk that contrasted sharply with the dirty, torn clothes she had been wearing.

Yn hesitated, glancing down at the fine fabric. She didn’t want to wear this. She didn’t want to be treated like this. But Lian’s steady gaze held hers, and with a resigned sigh, Yn slipped into the robe. It was soft, luxurious even, but it felt wrong on her body. She didn’t deserve this. She was just another girl in this palace, another face in a sea of beautiful, obedient women.

Lian smiled, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “It’ll be alright. We’re all in this together.”

Yn didn’t speak, just nodded quietly. She didn’t trust Lian’s words, not yet. But for now, she would play along. For now, she will survive. She had no other choice.

The steward watched silently, her eyes lingering on Yn for a moment longer before he turned to Lian and Mei. “Get her settled in,” she said, her tone flat.

Lian nodded and motioned for Yn to follow her. As they left the bathhouse, the scent of oils and soaps clung to Yn, and she couldn’t shake the feeling that she had lost more than just her freedom.

But as they walked down the hall, she kept her head high, unwilling to let anyone see the tears that threatened to break free. She would endure this, but she wouldn’t let it break her.

Not yet.

Lian led Yn through the quiet halls of the concubine quarters, the soft sound of their footsteps echoing off the polished floors. The other girls—Mei and a few others—followed behind them in silence, casting glances at Yn every so often. Despite the warm gestures and kind words, Yn could feel their eyes on her, like they were trying to gauge whether she would fit in with them, or whether she would break under the pressure of palace life.

Finally, Lian stopped in front of a simple wooden door, its frame carved with intricate patterns, though it lacked the ornate grandeur of other rooms in the palace. She opened it with a soft click and motioned for Yn to enter.

"This is your room," Lian said, her voice soft but warm, like she was offering something precious. "It’s simple, but it’s yours for as long as you’re here. You can decorate it as you like, and it will be a place of your own."

Yn stepped inside, her gaze immediately scanning the room. It was larger than any space she had ever had for herself, yet it felt almost too empty. A bed with white silks, a small table near the window, and a wardrobe on one side. In the corner, a display shelf for any gifts or tokens given to her—perhaps by the Emperor, perhaps by other guests.

But none of it mattered. It was just a gilded cage.

Her eyes flicked to the small window near the bed, where the moonlight leaked through the curtains, casting a pale glow on the room. She felt the weight of it—this was not freedom. This was confinement dressed in silk.

Her fingers lightly traced the wood of the table as her mind worked, already scheming and planning. She knew this palace better than most, and she had spent enough time observing the guards, the routines of the servants, and the flow of life here to start putting the pieces together.

Lian and Mei stood by the door, watching her, though they said nothing for the moment. There was a tension in the air—an understanding between them that Yn wouldn’t be here long if she had her way. But for now, they would let her have her space.

"It's... not as grand as some of the other rooms," Lian said, as if trying to reassure her. "But it’s comfortable, and the Emperor will likely send gifts for you in time."

Yn's eyes flicked toward the shelf where such gifts would be placed. Jewelry, perhaps, or other trinkets. Things she didn’t want. Things she couldn’t care less for. She had no use for any of it, not while she was stuck in this gilded cage.

“Thank you,” Yn said quietly, her voice low but polite enough to mask the bitterness curling in her chest. She made a point not to look at Lian or the others, though she could feel their eyes still on her, watching her every move.

"You should rest," Mei said after a long silence, her voice soft. "Tomorrow will be a busy day, getting to know everyone and the routines here."

Yn didn’t respond. She wasn’t tired. Not yet. But she knew there was little use in resisting for now. She had to wait for the right moment.

“I will,” Yn finally said, taking a deep breath and glancing around the room again. Her gaze lingered on the small window. If she could find a way out, she would.

Lian stepped forward and gently set a folded robe on the bed. "You’ll need this for tomorrow. Something simple for when you meet with the others. The Emperor prefers it when we look... presentable."

Yn picked up the robe, eyeing it for a moment before tossing it aside carelessly. "I don’t need it," she muttered under her breath.

Lian didn't seem to take offense. She just nodded, a soft understanding in her eyes. "It’s your choice, but the Emperor will expect certain things from you. You’ll learn what they are soon enough."

Yn nodded without speaking, already mentally mapping out her next move. She’d have to be clever, patient, wait for the guards to grow lax in their vigilance. The layout of the palace was already ingrained in her memory, and she knew where the hidden passages and servant tunnels were. She could slip out unnoticed. It wasn’t a matter of if—it was a matter of when.

Mei and Lian lingered for a moment, both silently observing Yn, before Mei spoke, her voice calm. “We’ll leave you for now. But if you need anything... anything at all, let us know.”

Yn gave a small, almost imperceptible nod as they exited, the door clicking shut behind them. The room was silent now, save for the faint hum of the palace at night.

She moved to the window again, pressing her palm to the cool glass, her eyes scanning the courtyard below. Beyond the walls of the palace, there was freedom, and one day, she would reach it. She would escape.

Her fingers curled into a fist, the determination within her solidifying. She had been brought here against her will, but she would not let this be the end of her story. Not now. Not ever.

She turned away from the window, her eyes flicking over the room one last time, before she sank down onto the bed. Tomorrow, she will play the part. But tonight—tonight she would dream of escape.

Yn sat on the edge of the pristine silk-covered bed, her damp hair falling in loose strands around her face. The soft fabric of the robe Lian had given her felt foreign against her skin, far too delicate compared to the worn clothes she’d lived in before. The room was quiet, save for the faint rustle of the curtains as a cool breeze slipped through the slightly ajar window.

Her gaze drifted to that window, moonlight pooling on the floor beneath it. It was small, but not impossible. If she could hoist herself up and slip through, she might land quietly in the courtyard below. The guards rotated shifts around midnight—she’d seen it often enough when sneaking near the palace walls for scraps. If she timed it right, she could be gone before anyone even noticed she was missing.

But the walls. The palace walls were tall and smooth, built to keep people like her out… or in. Her brows furrowed as she leaned back, palms pressing into the plush bedding. Maybe if she could slip into the servant tunnels? They ran like veins through the palace, and the kitchen staff were up before dawn. If she could blend in, steal some plain clothes—

Her thoughts were interrupted by a soft creak from the hallway. Instinctively, her body tensed, ready to fight, to run. But the sound faded, leaving only the weight of silence behind.

With a frustrated sigh, Yn dragged her knees to her chest, wrapping her arms around them. She hated this. The softness. The stillness. It wasn’t hers. She belonged out there, under the stars, with dirt under her nails and freedom in her lungs—not locked away like a doll on display.

Her eyes flicked to the empty shelf meant for gifts. The thought made her stomach turn. She didn’t want silks or jewels. She wanted the streets, the thrill of running barefoot down alleys, the warmth of the sun on her face as she bartered for fruit at the market.

She glanced at the door. Locked, of course. They weren’t stupid.

Her head tipped back against the carved headboard, and she closed her eyes, mind still racing with plans. The window. The tunnels. The guard rotations. There had to be a way.

The moon climbed higher, casting pale light across her face as exhaustion finally began to creep in. Her thoughts slowed, tangled with dreams of scaling walls and slipping past watchful eyes.

Tomorrow. She’d find a way tomorrow.

Sleep claimed her quietly, the last thing on her mind not fear, but defiance.

The morning sun filtered through the paper screens, casting soft golden patterns across the floor. Yn stirred awake, momentarily disoriented by the softness beneath her. The bed. The silk. The scent of jasmine lingering in the air. Reality crashed down like a wave, and her muscles tensed as she sat up, heart pounding.

Still here.

Before she could plan her next move, a knock sounded at the door, sharp and precise.

"Lady Yn," Lian’s voice called from the other side. "It’s time to rise. We have much to do today."

The door slid open before Yn could answer, and Lian, ever poised and graceful, stepped inside, followed by Mei, who offered a gentler smile. Both were dressed impeccably in pale, flowing robes, their hair twisted into intricate buns adorned with delicate pins.

Yn, by contrast, still wore the robe they’d forced on her the night before. Wrinkled now, slightly askew, but no less suffocating.

"I’m not interested," Yn muttered, swinging her legs over the side of the bed. "Go play palace doll without me."

Lian’s smile didn’t waver, but her eyes sharpened. "You’ll find that disinterest is a luxury you can’t afford here."

Mei stepped forward, her tone softer. "We’re not your enemies, Yn. If you don’t learn the rules, you'll suffer for it. We’ve seen it happen."

Yn met her gaze, reading the sincerity there. Mei looked tired, older than her youthful face should allow, like someone who’d long since accepted her cage but still pitied the new birds thrown into it.

With a reluctant sigh, Yn stood. "Fine. Show me the circus."

The day began in the dressing hall. Rows of concubines, some chatting quietly, others silently enduring the hands of servants as they were preened and polished like ornaments. Lian led Yn to a quieter corner, where a maid waited with brushes and fabrics.

"You’ll be expected to look presentable at all times," Lian explained, arms crossed as she observed the maid combing through Yn's hair. "Even if the Emperor doesn’t call for you, palace officials, visiting nobles—they all watch. A single misstep can cost you everything."

Yn snorted. "Good. Maybe if I mess up enough, they’ll throw me out."

Mei winced. "It’s not exile you’ll face if you offend the wrong person."

The weight of that warning settled like a stone in Yn’s stomach.

After dressing—simple robes, thankfully, nothing too elaborate for a first day—they moved to the outer gardens. Other concubines strolled along stone paths, laughing behind delicate fans, their faces masks of practiced ease. Servants flitted about, tending to blooms and fetching refreshments.

Lian gestured subtly as they walked. "Morning hours are for leisure. Reading, embroidery, music—anything that shows refinement. If you can’t sing, learn. If you can’t play the qin, pretend you’re trying."

Yn eyed a group of women giggling under a willow tree. "And if I’d rather climb that tree?"

Mei actually laughed, earning a sharp look from Lian. "Then you’ll be gossip fodder for weeks. And you’ll stand out. Which is dangerous."

The weight of their words pressed down harder with each passing minute. Meals were formal, conversation measured. Etiquette lessons filled the afternoon—how to bow, how to walk, how to smile without baring teeth.

The soft patter of footsteps faded as Lian and Mei left Yn’s room, their gentle reminders of "Stay out of trouble" and "Don’t wander too far" lingering in the air.

With a quiet huff, she stood, slipping into the simple shoes left by the door. The palace stretched far beyond the concubine quarters, and boredom was a dangerous motivator. If they were going to keep her here, she might as well learn its weaknesses.

The palace was alive with movement, a world within a world. Yn walked slowly through its winding corridors, her bare feet brushing against the cool stone. The scent of incense and fresh jasmine drifted through the air, mixing with the faint aroma of ink and parchment from the nearby study halls.

She had been left alone for the rest of the day—an unusual mercy. Or perhaps an oversight. Either way, she intended to make use of it.

Her eyes flickered over the passing figures, each one a piece of the empire’s grand design.

A group of servants hurried past, carrying trays of steaming food and silken fabrics, their eyes kept low, their movements practiced and precise. She noticed how they barely spoke, only communicating in glances and nods. Their silence was not born from discipline, but from fear. Mistakes in the palace were costly.

Not far from them, a young boy, no older than six, clung to his nurse’s robes. A noble’s child, judging by the embroidered silk of his tunic. His round face was scrunched in frustration, small hands tugging at the woman’s sleeve.

"I don’t want to study!" he whined.

"Hush, young master," the nurse scolded, casting a nervous glance at the guards nearby. "Your father will hear of this."

Yn watched as the boy sulked but followed, disappearing behind a carved wooden screen. A child of power—one already learning that in this palace, obedience meant survival.

She turned a corner and nearly walked into a pair of diplomats, their conversation sharp and clipped. They wore the colors of rival regions, their voices laced with careful politeness.

"The Emperor’s patience is not infinite," one murmured.

"Neither is his rule," the other countered, though more softly.

Yn kept walking, pretending not to hear. Politics were not her concern. Escape was.

Ahead, a line of imperial guards stood at attention, their polished armor gleaming in the morning light. They were like statues, barely breathing, eyes forward, unreadable. She had fought against these men only days ago—biting, kicking, drawing blood. Now they barely acknowledged her presence.

Except for one.

A guard slightly older than the rest exhaled sharply when he saw her, as if already exhausted. His grip on his spear tightened.

She gave him a slow, mocking smile. Yes, poor man, I am still here.

Beyond the guards, the world opened up into a sprawling courtyard. Flowers bloomed in careful, deliberate patterns, a beauty too precise to be natural. Stone paths wove between koi ponds and carved gazebos, a paradise designed for those who would never leave.

Like me, she thought bitterly.

And yet, even within this gilded prison, there were cracks in the design. Routes the architects had not accounted for. Shadows where the watchful eyes of the palace did not linger.

Yn strolled forward, fingers brushing the soft petals of a peony, gaze flickering towards the high walls beyond.

She was learning. Observing.

Soon, she would find her way out.

The hallways were eerily empty. Most concubines were busy with their scheduled activities—embroidering flowers they'd never wear, practicing music for ears that rarely listened. Servants flitted by, their gazes sliding off her like she was just another ornament.

Yn moved quietly, brushing past the polished wooden pillars and delicate silk curtains that separated one lavish section from the next. Her eyes darted, not for beauty but for opportunity.

A cracked window. A loose panel. A hallway too dimly lit for prying eyes.

There has to be a way out.

But her thoughts were interrupted by a soft chattering sound—tiny, insistent meows.

Curious, Yn followed the noise, slipping past a side entrance that led to one of the quieter palace gardens. It was less manicured than the grand courtyards, more wild and forgotten. That explained the strays.

Three cats lounged under the shade of a crooked plum tree. One, a scruffy ginger with torn ears, stretched lazily. Another, sleek and black, watched her warily from a distance. But the third—a small gray tabby with bright, mischievous eyes—trotted right up to her, tail high.

Yn knelt, hand outstretched. "Well, aren’t you brave?"

The tabby sniffed her fingers before nudging its head against her palm, purring loudly.

A flash of green caught her eye. Close to the edge of the garden, half-hidden among the weeds, catnip grew wild and untamed. She grinned.

"Of course. That’s why you're so friendly."

Yn plucked a few sprigs and rubbed them between her fingers, letting the scent bloom. Within moments, the ginger stray perked up, sauntering over with a curious rumble. Even the black cat crept closer, cautious but intrigued.

Before long, she was surrounded. Cats flopped beside her, rolling and purring, content under her gentle touch.

For the first time since being dragged into this gilded prison, Yn felt something other than anger or exhaustion.

Peace.

Soft fur under her fingers. The sun warming her back. No guards. No silk-clad concubines whispering behind fans. Just her and these little survivors, thriving in the cracks of the palace's perfection.

A tabby paw batted at her sleeve, and she laughed quietly.

"Guess we’re all strays here, huh?"

But as the sun dipped lower, shadows stretching long across the ground, reality crept back in. She couldn’t stay here forever.

With a reluctant sigh, Yn stood, brushing dust from her robe. The cats blinked up at her, content and drowsy.

"Don't get too comfortable," she murmured, gaze drifting toward the high walls in the distance. "Next time, I’m not coming back."

And with that, she slipped away, the scent of catnip still clinging to her fingertips.

The sun hung lazily in the sky as Yn wandered further than she should have. The palace grounds were vast, and after her morning spent with the strays, she’d pocketed a few sprigs of catnip—just in case. Not like she had much else to entertain herself with.

The courtyard near the emperor’s private quarters was quieter than the rest. Too quiet. It should’ve been her first warning.

Her second came when the stray she'd been trailing—a scrawny thing with patchy fur—bolted like its tail was on fire.

Yn barely had time to register the low rumble vibrating through the air before a flash of white and black fur cut across her path.

A tiger.

Not just any tiger—Huāng Xie, the emperor’s infamous beast.

For a moment, time froze. The tiger, muscles coiled, stood at the top of the stone steps leading to the courtyard. Its golden eyes locked onto her.

Her foot caught on an uneven tile, and she went down hard, palms scraping against the ground.

The catnip.

The crushed leaves tumbled from her pocket, releasing their sharp, minty scent into the air.

The palace guards stationed nearby froze, hands flying to their weapons. One servant shrieked and darted behind a pillar.

"She's dead," someone whispered.

Even the concubines watching from the shaded walkway stood wide-eyed, fans forgotten in their trembling hands.

Yn didn’t move. Heart pounding in her ears, she slowly lifted her gaze to the tiger, now prowling toward her, each step deliberate and soundless.

Well, she thought grimly, at least it won’t be boredom that kills me.

Huāng Xie paused a breath away from her sprawled form, nose twitching.

Then, to everyone’s horror, the massive predator leaned down—

—and purred.

Deep, rumbling, content. Like thunder softened by silk.

The tiger’s wide head bumped against her shoulder, almost knocking her flat again. Yn barely had time to blink before it flopped down beside her, tail flicking lazily.

It wanted belly rubs.

The silence was deafening.

From the balcony above, Zhéyàn stood, arms crossed, golden eyes sharp with disbelief—and, if one looked closely enough, amusement.

One of the guards finally found his voice. "Is… is it broken?"

Another guard hissed, "Shut up! Do you want it to remember it's a tiger?!"

Yn, thoroughly stunned, stared at the giant feline now rolling half onto its back, head resting comfortably on her lap. The crushed catnip lay scattered around her like an offering.

"You're not very good at being a tiger, you know," she muttered, hesitantly scratching behind its ears.

Huāng Xie purred louder, tail thumping against the stone.

Zhéyàn, still watching from above, chuckled under his breath. Interesting.

He turned to the steward beside him, whose face had gone pale.

The emperor ordered, lips curling into a lazy smile. "I’d like to meet the woman who tamed my tiger."

Yn, oblivious to the new attention, sighed and pushed at Huāng Xie’s massive head.

"Get off me, you overgrown house cat. I'm trying to escape here."

Tags: @yourhornysister

[ros3mari3]

Stolen Light

Bucky x hurt! reader

The hum of the fluorescent lights overhead was the only sound in the otherwise silent lab. You leaned over the workbench, brows furrowed in concentration as your fingers traced the strange etchings on the alien weapon’s surface. Tony had asked for your expertise, but even you weren’t sure what you were dealing with yet. The metal pulsed faintly beneath your touch, as if it were alive.

You exhaled, rubbing at your tired eyes. It was well past midnight, and you knew Bucky would be worried. He always was when you worked late. You smiled at the thought—your grumpy soldier turned soft for you. He was the only one who could pull you away from your work with just a look, the only one who could convince you to rest.

Just as you reached for your communicator to send him a quick message, the lights flickered. A deep, guttural growl echoed through the lab, freezing you in place. The air turned thick, heavy with the presence of something unnatural.

Slowly, you turned.

A towering figure loomed in the doorway, eyes glowing a sickly yellow. The weapon vibrated violently beneath your hand, reacting to its true owner.

“Oh, shit.”

Before you could move, the alien lunged.

The compound shook with the force of the blast.

Bucky was in the common room with Steve and Sam when the alarms blared, a cold dread seizing his chest. He didn’t need to be told where the explosion had come from—he already knew.

“(Y/N),” he breathed, already sprinting toward the lab.

The sight that greeted him made his stomach drop.

Shattered glass, overturned tables, and a gaping hole in the lab’s reinforced walls. But the worst part—the part that made his blood run ice cold—was the pool of blood staining the floor.

“No,” he whispered, voice strangled.

His hands shook as he crouched down, fingers brushing over the still-warm blood. Your blood. His vision blurred, heart hammering wildly in his chest.

Steve’s voice was distant, muffled, as he barked out orders. Sam was already scanning the security footage, but Bucky couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe.

She’s gone. They took her.

He’d let himself love you. Let himself believe he could have something good. And now—now he might have lost you.

The alien’s ship was located two hours later. It wasn’t soon enough.

Bucky had barely let the Quinjet land before he was leaping out, sprinting toward the structure where the signal led. The others barely kept up, but he didn’t care. He had to get to you.

They found you strapped to a metal slab, restraints biting into your wrists. Blood coated your torn shirt, fresh wounds marring your skin. You were barely conscious, eyes fluttering weakly as the alien loomed over you, preparing to strike again.

Bucky saw red.

The alien barely had time to react before Bucky was on him, metal fist colliding with bone with a sickening crunch. He didn’t stop—not when the creature roared in pain, not when Steve yelled for him to stand down.

It was only when he felt your weak fingers brush his own that he froze. Steve must have freed her when he had the chance.

“B-Bucky?” your voice was hoarse, barely a whisper. You were hunched over, on your knees.

His heart clenched painfully at how broken you sounded. He turned to you immediately, cradling your face with shaking hands. “I’m here, doll. I got you.”

You tried to smile, but it quickly turned into a wince. “Took you… long enough.”

Bucky let out a strangled laugh, pressing his forehead against yours. “You scared the hell outta me.”

Your fingers curled weakly around his wrist. “Didn’t mean to.”

His throat tightened. “You're never working on one of Tony's projects again. Ever.”

You hummed softly, eyes slipping shut. Bucky panicked, shaking you lightly. “Hey, no, stay with me. You hear me? We’re going home.”

He quickly scooped you up, letting your head rest on his shoulder. Bucky's heart ached at the sight, and he subconsciously pulled you closer to him, vowing to never let you out of his sight.

Back at the compound, it was hours before you woke up. Bucky never left your side, metal fingers intertwined with yours as he watched the steady rise and fall of your chest. Steve had tried to lighten to mood by joking that Bucky was far too overprotective, that he was too much like a lost puppy; but he quickly realised that Bucky was not paying attention, and he left.

When your eyes finally fluttered open, he exhaled deeply, relief washing over him like a tidal wave.

“Hey,” you croaked, voice still weak.

Bucky leaned in, brushing his lips over your knuckles. “Hey yourself.”

“You look like hell,” you teased weakly.

Bucky huffed a laugh, but his eyes were still clouded with worry. “You almost died.”

You squeezed his hand, offering a tired smile. “But I didn’t.”

His jaw clenched, emotions warring in his gaze. “I can’t lose you,” he admitted, voice barely above a whisper. “I won’t lose the only person I know I can trust, I know I can love.”

You tugged on his hand until he hesitantly leaned down, resting his forehead against yours. You sighed, reveling in the familiar warmth of him.

“You won’t,” you promised. “I’m right here.”

Bucky swallowed hard, pressing a lingering kiss to your forehead. “Yeah,” he murmured. “And I’m never letting you go.”

[demie90s]

If you would like, can you please do one where reader brings her goddaughter to practice and the team and geno just melt at how soft she is with kids? Btw I love love loveddd how protective she is of KK

(Loveeeeee thisss!!! Ima make the read have a rough day so they can really see how soft she is.)

ᴜᴄᴏɴɴ ᴡʙʙ x ꜰᴇᴍ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

Something to Come Home To

MASTERLIST | MORE

ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ:You never let the team see you break, no matter how heavy the day feels. But when your goddaughter shows up mid-practice, the whole gym watches you melt. Geno’s yelling stops. The girls go soft. And for once, you don’t hide how much you needed that hug.

ɢᴇɴʀᴇ:comfort, slice of life, soft!reader, team bonding, found family

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: emotional exhaustion, implied stress/burnout, crying (happy tears), soft Geno, teammate teasing (affectionate)

ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: ~0.7k

ᴠɪʙᴇ: stoic leader breaks for a baby girl, sneakers squeaking as she runs to her, the team realizing how deep her love runs, Geno’s heart growing three sizes that day

You were already behind when your alarm didn’t go off. It buzzed—once—then died, your phone screen completely black, battery long gone. You cursed, grabbed your bag, and sprinted across campus with dry lips and no charger, still trying to finish the last paragraph of your English paper in your head.

First class: missed. Second: made it—but barely. You threw your paper down on the desk just as your professor raised his eyebrow.

“You’re late. Again.”

You forced a smile. “I know, I’m sorry—”

“This paper better be perfect, then.”

He didn’t look at you when he said it. Just like he didn’t look when your elbow knocked your coffee over five minutes later and it bled straight across your assignment, soaking it through.

No backup copy. No time to fix it. You just stared at the mess, blinking, trying to will the tears not to come up through your throat.

You held it together.

After class, you tried to find your phone. Nowhere. Not in your bag. Not in your locker. Nowhere. Just silence and a dead battery and the weight of no way to call your ride or even check the time. You ran to the student center—closed for an event. No charger. No answers.

Lunch? Didn’t happen. You didn’t even notice until your stomach growled on the way to practice. And even then, all you could do was sip half a bottle of warm water from your bag and pray your body held on long enough to survive drills.

You walked into practice with your hoodie on and your jaw locked. And if Geno was in a mood, you didn’t care. Everyone’s allowed one bad day.

Except you.

“Let’s go, L/n!” Geno barked halfway through warmups. “Wake up! You look like you’re sleepwalking.”

You nodded, didn’t talk back. Just nodded and ran harder. Bit your tongue. Took it. You’d earned worse. This was nothing.

But every drill? He called your name. Every missed pass? Your fault. Every time your feet weren’t where he wanted them? He let you know.

“You think you’re above fundamentals now? You runnin’ on autopilot? Is that what we’re doing?”

“No, Coach.”

“Then focus. You’re better than this.”

You nodded again. Just like you did when you twisted your ankle slightly on the sidestep screen. It stung. But you kept moving.

You didn’t cry. You didn’t yell. You didn’t throw the ball. You just kept your voice even and stayed in line, and everyone else thought that meant you were fine.

Until that door opened.

Until she ran in—your goddaughter, barely five, wearing a pink tutu over her hoodie, sparkly light-up Crocs flashing with every bounce. Her curls were wild from the wind, and her little voice rang out across the gym:

“TeeTee!”

It wasn’t loud. But it hit like thunder.

You broke formation mid-drill. Your teammates paused, blinking, confused. You didn’t even say anything. You just ran.

Straight across the court. Shoes pounding the hardwood. Past the free-throw line, past the startled assistant coach, arms already out before you even dropped to your knees.

She launched into you and you caught her, like nothing else in the world mattered. And for a second—it didn’t.

You buried your face in her shoulder, arms tight around her tiny frame. Your whole body shook. Your breath hitched. And then?

You cried.

Not loud. Not sobbing. But the kind of silent crying that shakes your spine. That forces its way out when you’ve held too much in for too long.

The gym was dead quiet.

KK whispered, “Yo… she okay?”

Paige’s lips parted. “She’s never cried in front of us.”

Aaliyah crossed her arms, voice low. “That’s her godbaby. That’s why.”

Geno didn’t yell.

He just stood there, stunned, watching the player who never folded fold for a kid who clearly meant more than anyone realized.

You didn’t care who was watching.

“Mommy said you were having a bad day,” your goddaughter mumbled into your neck. “Are you okay now?”

You nodded into her curls. “I am now, baby.”

The rest of practice? It went on, sort of. You didn’t do much. Geno told you to stretch, sit if you needed. The girls handled the scrimmage. You sat with her in your lap, braiding the ends of her hair and letting her feed you fruit snacks out of her little unicorn bag.

After practice, the team gathered around—quiet at first, then playful.

“Wait,” KK grinned, crouching next to her. “This the infamous goddaughter?”

“Infamous?” Ice raised a brow. “She’s royalty now. Did you see the way she healed our starter with one hug?”

“She look like she ready to fight Geno if he raises his voice again,” Paige added, smirking.

“She’s my bodyguard,” you murmured, voice still hoarse.

Geno finally walked over, crouching with a rare softness in his tone. “What’s her name again?”

You wiped your face, cheeks pink. “Zaria.”

He nodded at her, tipping his head. “Thanks for saving my player, Zaria.”

She smiled wide, all baby teeth and dimple. “You’re welcome, Santa Claus.”

The whole team lost it.

You laughed for the first time all day. A real one.

[literaryvein-reblogs]

words for when your characters are ________

Eating

absorption, chew, contract, crunch, deplete, diet, dig in, dispatch, draft, exhaust, feast, finish, glut, gobble, gormandize, graze, guzzle, ingest, nibble, nosh, peck, polish off, prey on, quaff, sip, stuff, take, tear down, wolf, xerophagy

Moving

bob, careen, circulate, contort, curl, dandle, descend, dislocate, displace, drift, entwine, fidget, flourish, haul, loop, oscillate, paddle, pivot, pulsate/pulse, revolve, rock, rotate, skirt, topple, transport, tumble, twine, uproot, waft, waver, wheel, wield

Moving quickly

barge in/barge into, bolt, bustle, coast, dart, decamp, flash, flinch, flutter, gallop, glide, hurry, hustle, jiggle, make off, plunge, prance, rebound, ricochet, run, scamper, scramble, shake, shudder, skedaddle, skip, slide, slither, speed, sprint, storm, swerve, tear, twirl, wag, whiz, wobble, zip, zoom

Moving slowly

amble, creep, dalliance, decline, dilly-dally, hobble, knock about/knock around, laggard, linger, lumber, meander, plod, prowl, ramble, reel, saunter, slink/slither, sneak, steal, stroll, tarry, tramp, waddle, wander

Vocalizing

accent, bark, bellow, cackle, chant, chortle, clamor, cry, drone, giggle, growl, guffaw, harmonize, howl, laugh/laughter, locution, mumble, mutter, parrot, roar, shout, shut up, snap, snicker/snigger, squawk, stutter, voice, whimper, whistle, yammer, yowl

NOTE

The above are concepts classified according to subject and usage. It not only helps writers and thinkers to organize their ideas but leads them from those very ideas to the words that can best express them.

It was, in part, created to turn an idea into a specific word. By linking together the main entries that share similar concepts, the index makes possible creative semantic connections between words in our language, stimulating thought and broadening vocabulary. Writing Resources PDFs

Source ⚜ Writing Basics & Refreshers ⚜ On Vocabulary ⚜ Part 1

[xmpsrrr]

smolder

prohero bakugo x reader

summary: tension simmers between you and bakugo until it finally boils over into a night where restraint breaks, emotions run high, and whispered promises leave nothing but the memory of touch and trust in the aftermath.

A/N- 100 follower special hope u guys enjoy!!

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

The night was dark, the kind of velvet-black sky scattered with pinpricks of stars that always made you feel just a little bit small. But tonight, it wasn’t the sky that made you feel that way—it was the man walking a few paces ahead, his pace steady and sure, every step crackling with restrained power.

Katsuki Bakugo. Pro Hero Dynamight. A man with a name as explosive as his quirk, a reputation for destruction, and a sharp tongue that kept even his allies at bay. But you, for some reason you didn’t fully understand, had earned his respect. Or at least, his tolerance.

You had been partnered with him for six months now—a quiet but capable hero, assigned to balance out his volatile energy. Where he roared, you whispered. Where he charged in headfirst, you held back, calculating. Together, you made a good team, though no one else quite understood how it worked.

“Stay close,” Bakugo grunted, glancing back at you over his shoulder. His voice was low, rough, but not as sharp as it usually was.

“I always do,” you replied softly, falling into step beside him.

His crimson eyes flicked toward you, narrowed slightly, but he said nothing more. He didn’t have to. You’d both grown used to these silences, to the weight of unspoken words hanging between you like thick, summer air.

Tonight’s patrol was uneventful so far. A few minor disturbances here and there, nothing you couldn’t handle. But you felt it—the tension in Bakugo’s shoulders, the way his jaw clenched tighter than usual. Something was bothering him.

“Bakugo,” you said quietly as you both turned down a narrow alley, the city lights casting long shadows. “You’re wound up tonight. What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” he snapped, but then sighed. “Just… be careful. There’ve been reports of some underground shit brewing. I don’t want you getting caught in the crossfire.”

It was the closest thing to concern you’d ever heard from him. Your heart gave an unexpected flutter, and you fought to keep your face neutral.

“I’ll watch your back,” you said, and his lips twitched into something that might almost be called a smile.

The rest of the patrol passed in tense silence, until the crackle of his comm drew both your attention. A dispatch call—an ambush at a nearby warehouse. Without hesitation, Bakugo jerked his head in the direction of the location. “Let’s move.”

You both sprinted, the night air sharp in your lungs. The warehouse loomed ahead, dark and ominous. You could already sense something wrong, feel the tension thrumming in the air like a wire stretched too tight.

Inside, chaos erupted. A gang of low-level villains, but they were organized, more than you’d expected. You and Bakugo fought back-to-back, your quirks complementing each other perfectly. His explosions rocked the walls, your precise strikes neutralized threats one by one.

But then—someone slipped past. A masked figure lunged at you from the shadows, faster than you anticipated. Before you could react, Bakugo was there, his body slamming into the assailant, a feral snarl ripping from his throat. He blasted the villain away with a burst of force that left scorch marks on the concrete.

“You alright?!” he barked, grabbing your arm, eyes scanning you frantically. His hand was rough but steady, his grip strong but not painful.

“I’m fine,” you breathed, heart racing. But his proximity, the way his breath ghosted over your skin, made something in your chest ache.

Bakugo’s jaw worked for a moment, as if he were trying to force words out. Finally, he growled, “Next time, don’t hesitate to call for me. Got it?”

You nodded, breathless. “Got it.”

He let go of your arm slowly, his fingers brushing yours as he stepped back. The fight was over, but something had shifted between you—something neither of you were quite ready to name.

The city buzzed with life long after the warehouse incident, but the rush of adrenaline was still thick between you and Bakugo. The silence that fell during the drive back to headquarters wasn’t uncomfortable, but heavy—filled with things left unsaid.

You glanced over at him once, watching the tension ripple beneath his skin as he gripped the steering wheel. His sharp eyes stared ahead, jaw clenched like he was fighting off some invisible weight.

“I could have handled it,” you said softly, breaking the quiet.

His eyes flicked to you briefly, eyebrows knitting together. “Don’t bullshit me. You almost got hit. If I wasn’t there—”

You cut him off with a small shake of your head. “I know. I’m glad you were.”

For a moment, something like vulnerability softened his expression, and you saw the man behind the hero—the one who carried more than he let on.

“We’ve got to watch each other’s backs. That’s what partners do.”

You nodded, feeling your chest tighten. Partners. The word lingered in the air, heavier than you expected.

Later, at the hero dorms, the quiet hum of the city was a distant murmur through the windows. You found yourself pacing, replaying the night in your mind—how close things had come to tipping over, how Bakugo’s concern had burned hotter than his explosions.

A knock at your door startled you. You opened it to find Bakugo standing there, hands shoved deep in his pockets, the usual fiery edge softened just enough to be almost inviting.

“Needed to check if you’re really okay,” he said gruffly, avoiding your eyes.

You stepped aside, letting him in. “I’m fine. Thanks to you.”

His gaze finally met yours, intense and searching. “Don’t thank me. Just… don’t scare me like that again.”

There it was—the rare, raw honesty that caught your breath. You stepped closer, the space between you shrinking.

“Bakugo…”

He cut you off with a low, almost reluctant smile. “Don’t get the wrong idea. I’m not soft.”

But in the quiet of the room, beneath the city lights, the heat between you spoke louder than words ever could.

Days passed like a slow fuse burning down, each moment with Bakugo charged with an electric undercurrent you both pretended not to notice.

At training, he was as fierce as ever—explosions marking every strike, his body taut with controlled aggression. But in the rare pauses, his eyes would catch yours just a little longer than necessary, flickers of something softer hidden beneath the usual fire.

One evening, after a grueling session, you both found yourselves alone in the quiet gym. Sweat clung to your skin, and your muscles ached pleasantly, but the tension was thicker than the humidity.

Bakugo wiped his brow with the back of his hand and let out a sharp breath. “You’re tougher than I thought.”

You raised an eyebrow, a small smirk playing on your lips. “Is that a compliment?”

He scowled but the hint of a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Don’t push it.”

You stepped closer, the air between you crackling. “I’m just saying… you make me want to try harder.”

His eyes darkened, and for a moment, the explosive hero dropped away, leaving a man who wanted to close the gap between words and action.

“You’re annoying,” he muttered, voice low.

“And you’re impossible to read.”

Bakugo’s lips twitched, and then he was suddenly close enough that you could feel the heat radiating off him, smell the faint tang of smoke and something uniquely his.

“I’m not good at this—any of it,” he admitted, voice rough and honest. “But I’m damn good at knowing I want you.”

Your breath hitched, heart pounding in your ears. The slow burn was igniting, and neither of you could—or wanted to—put it out anymore.

For a long moment, you and Bakugo stood there, breath mingling in the thick silence. His confession—rough and edged with uncertainty—hung between you like the aftershocks of one of his blasts.

You were the first to move, a small step closer, so close your fingers brushed his. “Then why do you keep holding back?”

His jaw clenched, crimson eyes locked on yours, but his usual sharpness softened into something raw. “Because… if I give in, there’s no going back.”

Your heart thudded painfully in your chest. “And what if I don’t want you to hold back?”

The crack in his armor widened. His hand lifted hesitantly, fingers ghosting along your cheek before cupping your jaw with a tenderness you never thought Bakugo capable of.

“You’re driving me crazy,” he murmured, thumb brushing your lower lip.

“Good,” you whispered, leaning into his touch. “Because you’ve been in my head for months.”

With a low, rough groan, Bakugo finally closed the distance, his mouth capturing yours in a kiss that was as fierce as it was hesitant. His lips moved against yours with the urgency of someone who had waited too long, his hands framing your face like he was afraid you’d disappear.

The kiss deepened, and you felt the heat of him, the way he held himself back even now, trembling with restraint. When he pulled away, his breath was ragged, his forehead resting against yours.

“Not here,” he murmured, voice husky with need. “Not when I can’t do it right.”

You shivered, anticipation pooling low in your belly. “Then where?”

A dangerous smile tugged at his lips. “My place. Tomorrow. After the shift.”

You nodded, your pulse hammering. “Okay.”

As he stepped back, his hand lingered at your waist, his touch a silent promise of what was to come.

The next day passed with agonizing slowness. Every glance from Bakugo felt heavier, every brush of his hand against yours—accidental or not—sent sparks skittering across your skin. The air between you was thick with everything you hadn’t said, everything you were finally going to act on.

Your shift dragged until finally, mercifully, it ended. Bakugo was waiting at the exit, his usual scowl softened just enough to make your pulse jump.

“Ready?” he asked, voice low.

You nodded, your throat dry.

The walk to his apartment was quiet, but not awkward. There was a sense of purpose in each step, in the way he glanced at you from the corner of his eye, as if making sure you were still with him.

When he unlocked his door and stepped aside to let you in, you felt the shift immediately. His apartment was surprisingly clean, the faint scent of burnt caramel in the air from a candle burning low on the counter.

“I didn’t want it to be… rushed,” Bakugo said quietly, his voice gruff but sincere.

You turned to face him, heart pounding, and stepped closer until you were standing chest to chest. “I don’t want rushed, either.”

His breath caught, and for a moment, it felt like the world held its breath with you. Then, slowly, he reached out, brushing a strand of hair from your face, his fingertips lingering against your skin.

“Tell me to stop,” he murmured, his voice low and rough.

You shook your head, leaning in. “Don’t you dare.”

That was all it took. His mouth met yours in a kiss that was deeper than the first, a kiss that spoke of months of unspoken desire. His hands slid to your waist, pulling you flush against him as he devoured your lips with slow, deliberate care.

He pulled back just enough to speak against your mouth. “You’re so damn soft. You make me wanna be gentle. I’ve never wanted that before.”

The words sent a shiver down your spine. “Then be gentle. Show me.”

Bakugo’s groan was low and needy as he backed you toward his bedroom, his lips never leaving yours. His usual fire was there, but it was tempered by something sweeter, something more careful, like he was savoring every second of this build-up.

When the backs of your knees hit his bed, he paused, his forehead pressing against yours, his breath ragged. “I’m gonna take my time. Gonna make you feel so good, you won’t remember anyone else’s name but mine.”

Your pulse thrummed wildly. “Please, Katsuki…”

His eyes darkened at the sound of his name falling from your lips like a prayer, and then he was kissing you again, deeper, hotter, the slow burn finally tipping into something molten.

Bakugo’s hands were everywhere now—rough and calloused but moving with a gentleness that made you melt beneath his touch. His lips traced the line of your jaw, down your throat, leaving a trail of heated kisses that sent shivers through your entire body.

When he laid you back on the bed, his crimson eyes were dark, hungry, but still holding that softness that was reserved just for you. His hands followed, gliding along your sides, up beneath your shirt, fingertips dancing lightly against your skin as he eased the fabric over your head.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured, his voice thick with desire.

Your breath hitched, a flush creeping up your neck. “You’ve been holding back for too long,” you whispered.

He growled low in his throat, leaning down to nip at your collarbone. “Damn right I have. But not anymore.”

Bakugo’s lips found yours again, his kiss deeper, more demanding now as he pressed you into the mattress. His hands were steady as they slid over you, unfastening and removing your remaining clothes with care.

When he finally had you bare beneath him, he pulled back just enough to look at you—his eyes drinking you in with an intensity that made your breath catch. “So fucking perfect,” he rasped. “Mine.”

Your hands found the hem of his shirt, pushing it up and over his head, revealing the planes of muscle that flexed with every movement. You traced the scars and lines of his body, memorizing every inch as he shivered under your touch.

Bakugo groaned, his hips pressing against yours, the hardness of him undeniable. “Gonna make you feel so good,” he promised, voice low and rough. “Gonna have you saying my name over and over.”

Your hips arched into his, a needy sound escaping your lips. “Please, Katsuki…”

That was it—the final spark. He claimed your mouth again, his kiss hot and possessive, his hands everywhere at once—stroking, teasing, worshiping every inch of you. He took his time, lips mapping your skin, fingers coaxing gasps and moans from you until you were trembling beneath him.

When he finally slid inside you, it was with a slow, deliberate thrust that filled you perfectly. He groaned, forehead pressing to yours, his breath ragged. “Fuck… you feel so good,” he murmured.

You clung to him, nails digging into his shoulders as he moved with deep, rolling thrusts that sent sparks of pleasure through you. He was relentless yet tender, his mouth finding yours again, his words a mix of praise and need.

“That’s it, baby… so good for me… taking me so well…”

Your body tightened around him, your climax building with every stroke, every whispered word. Bakugo’s pace quickened, his control slipping as his own release loomed.

“Come for me,” he groaned against your ear, his voice breaking. “Wanna feel you fall apart around me…”

The pleasure crashed over you like a wave, your cry muffled against his shoulder as you came, shuddering in his arms. Bakugo followed moments later, his own groan torn from his chest as he buried himself deep inside you.

For a long time, the only sounds were your combined breaths, the soft rustle of sheets, the quiet hum of satisfaction that filled the room.

Bakugo pressed a kiss to your temple, his arms tightening around you as he whispered, “Told you I’d take my time.”

Bakugo’s weight settled gently beside you, his breathing slowly returning to normal. His arm slipped around your waist, pulling you close, the heat of his skin searing into yours in the best way possible.

For a long moment, you lay there together in silence, your heartbeats gradually syncing, the world outside fading into irrelevance. His head dipped, pressing a soft kiss to your hairline, a quiet rumble of satisfaction vibrating in his chest.

“Damn it,” he muttered under his breath, his voice rough but softened by an unfamiliar tenderness.

You blinked up at him, head resting against his shoulder. “What?”

His crimson eyes, still dark with the aftermath of desire, met yours. “Didn’t think I’d… feel like this. Didn’t think I’d care so much it’d scare me shitless.”

A soft smile tugged at your lips. “I scare you?”

“Tch.” His scoff was half-hearted, and he rolled onto his side to face you fully, his hand coming up to trace along your jaw, thumb brushing over your cheek. “You scare me because you make me wanna be better. Not just a better hero. A better man. I don’t wanna fuck this up.”

Your chest tightened, emotions catching you off guard. You reached up, fingers curling into his hair, drawing him down into a slow, lingering kiss.

“You’re not going to,” you whispered against his lips. “We’re in this together.”

His breath hitched, a rare vulnerability flashing across his face before he masked it with a crooked smirk. “Damn right we are.”

The two of you lay there for a while longer, limbs tangled, the world quiet around you. Eventually, Bakugo’s voice rumbled low against your skin. “You’re staying the night. Non-negotiable.”

You let out a soft laugh. “Wouldn’t dream of leaving.”

“Good.” He tucked you closer, his heartbeat a steady rhythm against your ear. “You’re mine now. And I’m yours.”

In the quiet that followed, you realized how right it felt—how natural it was to fit against him like this, to let your walls down completely. And when you finally drifted off to sleep, it was with a soft smile and the comforting weight of Bakugo’s arms around you, keeping you safe and warm.

Outside, the city lights shimmered like embers, and for the first time in a long while, you felt at peace—knowing the slow burn between you had finally ignited into something real.

[luvly-writer]

Aretia: Missions gone wrong

Xaden Riorson x Gamlyn! Reader

Masterlist

The mission had gone to hell.

The sky burned a bruised red above the shattered forest line, smoke rolling in waves that stung Y/n’s eyes as Tiamat veered hard, dodging the flames licking upward. Her hands burned from summoning light too much. The air reeked of scorched trees and blood, of magic spent and twisted into chaos.

But none of it mattered.

Because she couldn’t see Sgaeyl.

She couldn’t see him.

Her heart pounded against her ribs like it was trying to break free of her chest. She scanned the battlefield below, her voice sharp and panicked as she barked commands to Tiamat. “Search again! Take the left side. I don’t care if it’s clear—he’s not there.”

The emerald dragon let out a low growl of worry, matching her rider’s rising distress.

Y/n’s breathing was ragged now, bordering on hyperventilation as her mind raced through every possibility—He fell. He’s injured. Sgaeyl was hit. He’s not moving. He’s not—

“No,” she choked out loud, pressing a hand to her mouth as her vision blurred. “No, no, no.”

They landed hard near the edge of the treeline, her boots barely touching the dirt before she was off Tiamat’s back and sprinting into the fray. Smoke obscured everything—faces blurred past her, dragons circled overhead, screams of injured riders and the ring of steel still echoed.

She looked everywhere.

“XADEN!” she screamed.

“SGAEYL!”

Nothing.

She turned frantically, her hair whipping free of its braid, her pearl choker tight against her throat like it might choke the air from her lungs. Her charm bracelet clinked with her shaking hands, her fingers tugging at it like it might give her strength.

“Where is he—where is he—where is he—”

“Y/n!” Ridoc was suddenly in front of her, catching her by the elbows. “Hey—look at me.”

She tried to shove past him. “Let me go!”

“He’s not dead!” he said firmly, eyes wide. “You’d know it if he was. You’d know—”

“I didn't see anything!” she yelled, her voice cracking in a way that made everyone nearby freeze. “I don’t feel him. I always feel him and now—now I don't know.”

Ridoc’s face fell, horror flickering across his features as she turned again in a frenzy, scanning the chaos, running—limping slightly from a graze to her thigh she hadn’t even noticed.

Tears stung her eyes, slipping down her ash-covered cheeks as her panic spilled out like a dam bursting.

She felt Rhiannon’s hand brush her back. Violet murmured something about “Tairn is reaching Sgaeyl, he'll be fine,” but Y/n was spiraling. Spiraling with the image of his empty leathers, of Sgaeyl’s lifeless body, of her waking up tomorrow with a heart severed and nothing left.

And then—

“By the ridge!” someone called.

Her entire body froze.

She whipped around so fast she nearly stumbled.

And there he was.

Xaden stood in the distance, Sgaeyl beside him, one arm pressed to his ribs, his uniform darkened with blood and soot. He looked exhausted. Bruised. But whole. Alive.

The ground shifted beneath her feet as she ran.

She didn’t scream his name—didn’t make a sound—just ran.

Her braid had fallen, her ribbon flying behind her, her dragon’s roar echoing behind her like a war cry of joy. Tears blurred her vision, chest heaving with sobs she didn’t care to hide anymore.

He saw her coming and dropped everything—his blade, his pack, his composure.

When she finally reached him, she slammed into his chest with a force that made him stagger, and she gripped his jacket like if she let go, he might vanish into the smoke again.

“You’re here,” she breathed, again and again. “You’re here, you’re here, you’re here.”

“I’m here, love,” he rasped into her hair, voice raw. “I’m right here. Gods, Y/n—don’t cry, please—”

“I thought— I felt nothing,” she sobbed. “I felt nothing and I—”

“Shh, shh,” he whispered, cupping her face, kissing her cheeks, her eyelids, her mouth. “The wards—there was interference— I was trying to get back— I swear—”

“I couldn’t breathe.”

“You never have to be without me again.” His forehead pressed to hers, his thumb brushed away her tears. “You hear me? I will always come back to you.”

And there, in the middle of a field still burning from battle, Y/n finally inhaled her first full breath since the mission began.

Because she was in his arms.

And he was alive.

Later...

The infirmary was dim and hushed, lit only by the amber glow of dragonfire lanterns hanging from the beams. He sat on the edge of the cot, stripped of his jacket, tunic half undone, bandages wrapped around his ribs—burned, bruised, and still reeling.

And she hadn't moved more than a few feet from him since they’d returned.

Y/n paced at first. Silent, tense, like her body couldn’t believe he was still solid in front of her. Her hands shook even as she fetched water, even as she dabbed blood from the corner of his mouth and smoothed his hair back from his temple.

Now she sat beside him, one leg curled beneath her, fingers tracing slow, aimless patterns along the inside of his wrist like if she kept contact, he wouldn’t vanish.

She hadn’t spoken much.

She didn’t need to.

Xaden watched her with quiet reverence, feeling every tremble in her hand, every deep breath she took as if trying to anchor herself. Her charm bracelet clicked softly with each motion. Her choker was still fastened tightly around her neck, her lips slightly chapped from the wind, her eyes rimmed red but no longer frantic.

She was still in battle gear, blood and soot streaked across her collarbone, but she’d never looked more devastatingly beautiful to him.

Sgaeyl’s voice slid into his mind with a low, knowing rumble: She loves you more than air, boy. You're her safe place. Then, smugly: She looked like she might stab someone when she couldn’t find you. He almost smiled. Almost. She still hasn’t stopped watching you. And you love her back so loud it’s giving me a headache.

He bit back a chuckle.

Y/n’s fingers drifted up to his neck, brushing the cord where her seashell pendant hung. She’d given it to him a few months ago, from her hometown—a small white shell smoothed by tide and time, now worn from where his thumb had rubbed it endlessly in her absence.

“Still have it,” he murmured.

Her eyes flicked up to his. “Of course you do.”

She reached toward her own neck, tugging the black ribbon of her collar aside so the chain with a small emerald ring he’d given her—his fathers’s, now hers—was visible against her skin.

“I wore this every day you were gone,” she said softly. “Didn’t care if it was reckless. I needed something of you.”

His chest ached.

He cupped her cheek, his thumb gently brushing her skin. “You have all of me.”

She leaned into his touch, closing her eyes for a long moment. Then, in a whisper: “I couldn’t breathe without you.”

He moved closer, sliding his hand to the back of her neck. “I know, love. I felt it too.” His voice broke just slightly. “Seeing you run to me… I’ve never felt more alive.”

Her lips brushed his collarbone, the place that bore the bruises from the crash. She didn’t kiss him like she was trying to seduce him. She kissed him like she was trying to remind herself that he was there.

That he came back.

He watched her after, how her gaze scanned him again, just to be sure. How her hand slid to rest over his heart. And how her breathing only started to even out once his arms were around her.

Sgaeyl, ever smug, hummed: You are so thoroughly hers it’s embarrassing. And you like it. Xaden buried his face in Y/n’s curls and smiled into her hair. Yes. Gods help me, I love it.

She curled closer against him on the cot, and he let her stay.

Because for the first time since the mission, Y/n was breathing right.

And so was he.

A few nights later...

The room was still, the kind of silence only found deep in the hours before dawn. The only light came from the moon filtering through the sheer curtains, casting soft silver shadows across the stone walls and the large bed where they lay tangled beneath the blankets.

Xaden stirred first—not from a nightmare, but from hers.

At first, it was just the faint rustle of sheets. But then he felt it— Y/n's body twitching, her breathing sharp and shallow, her fingers curling into the blanket like she was bracing for impact. A soft whimper left her lips. Then another. Her brows furrowed, and she turned her face into the pillow, like she was trying to hide from whatever she was seeing.

“Y/n,” he murmured, instantly awake, his voice low and gravelly. He propped himself up on one arm, pressing his other hand gently to her shoulder.

She flinched.

“No,” she breathed, still trapped in the dream. “No, no, please—don’t fall—”

His heart clenched. “Y/n.” He leaned closer, brushing her hair back from her damp forehead. “Love, wake up. I’m here. You’re safe.”

But she twisted again, the sound that escaped her throat broken, desperate. A whisper of his name—not in comfort, but in terror.

That did it.

Xaden cupped her face, not forcefully, just enough to anchor her. “Y/n. I’m alive. Look at me, sweetheart. Please—look at me.”

Her eyes snapped open, glassy and unfocused. Her chest was rising and falling like she’d just sprinted miles. There were tears on her cheeks.

“Xaden?” Her voice cracked.

He was already pulling her into his arms, cradling her against his bare chest. “Right here,” he whispered into her hair. “I’ve got you. It’s over. I’m not going anywhere.”

She clung to him—like she needed the feel of his heartbeat to believe him. Her arms wrapped around his ribs, and she tucked her face into the crook of his neck, still trembling.

“I couldn’t find you,” she choked. “In the dream—I was there again. You were just gone.”

He didn’t say I’m fine or It was just a dream. He knew better. He remembered the panic in her eyes the moment she saw him alive. He remembered the scream she’d bitten down when she first landed, and how she hadn’t let him out of her sight since.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, voice raw. “I know it’s stupid—”

“Don’t,” he said firmly, tipping her chin so she had to meet his gaze. “It’s not stupid. You love me.”

That broke her again. Her face crumpled, and she buried it in his neck.

He kissed her temple, then the top of her head, and just held her. "You kept me breathing out there. I'm home because of you."

Minutes passed. The storm inside her began to quiet. Her grip eased slightly, but she stayed curled against him, his arms wrapped around her like armor.

“I’m here,” he whispered again, pressing a kiss just below her jaw. “You can sleep. I’ll keep watch.”

And she did—eventually, slowly, with her cheek over his heart and his hand tangled in her hair, whispering her name like a prayer until her breaths evened out and the nightmares finally let her rest.

The next few days were chaotic. Venin movement everywhere. People coming and going on patrols and missions trying to push them back and stay alert.

Then came another incident. They were supposed to just be patroling.

The clearing reeks of smoke and blood. The wind howls low, like it knows something is wrong.

Xaden's boots hit the ground hard as Sgaeyl lands. His eyes sweep the scorched battlefield—shattered rocks, a collapsed ridge, still-burning brush—but none of it matters.

Not when she’s not here.

“Y/n?” he calls out, already ripping off his riding harness, voice sharp and ragged. “Y/n!”

Nothing.

No answering voice. No flash of dark curls tied in green ribbon. No glow of her light signet or the shimmer of her pearl necklace. Nothing.

Just silence. And the burn of dread rising in his throat like acid.

Sgaeyl?

I don’t see her. I don’t see Tiamat. Her tone is strained—too restrained for the bond they share. She’s trying to stay calm for him.

But beneath that calm is worry. Sharp and biting.

“She was right behind us,” Xaden says out loud, turning to scan the skies, then the ground again. “She was right fucking behind us!”

“Maybe she landed somewhere else,” Sawyer says, approaching with his sword still slicked in blood. “There was a lot of chaos. The ridge—collapsed right after her dragon passed it.”

Rhiannon speaks, gently. “We’ll find her. We always do.”

But Xaden’s heart is already fracturing.

Because he remembers—he remembers—what it felt like when she thought he was gone. Her broken sobs, the way she ran to him like she couldn’t breathe without him. The way her hands had trembled when she held his face.

Now it’s his turn.

And gods, it’s worse than anything he’s ever known.

Ridoc’s voice, desperate, cuts through the air as he runs back toward him, wild-eyed. “Nothing. I checked the south ridge and the eastern ledge—there’s no trace of them.”

Her twin’s voice is cracked. Barely holding together. “I can’t see her—she’s hurt. I know it. I know it, Xaden.”

That breaks something in him. Fully.

Because if Ridoc can’t feel her… if Tiamat hasn’t responded…

He grips his sword so tightly his knuckles go white. “No. No, she’s alive. She has to be.”

He turns, pacing in a tight circle, his mind unraveling as panic claws up his spine. The bond with Sgaeyl pulses with worry and pain.

“I should’ve stayed with her—gods, I should’ve—”

There. Sgaeyl’s head jerks to the left, her tone urgent. There, Xaden. Look.

He turns.

A flicker of movement by the edge of the distant tree line. A shape limping. One set of wings folded tight.

Dark green scales shimmer.

Tiamat.

And there—slumped beside her, favoring one leg but walking—Y/n.

Her hair is half-fallen from its ribbon, her bracelet glinting dully in the sunlight. Blood streaks her temple, and her uniform is torn—but she’s alive. She’s alive.

Xaden doesn't think—he runs.

He shouts her name as his legs carry him faster than they ever have. His vision blurs. His lungs burn. His heart hammers so hard it nearly stops.

She looks up.

And the moment their eyes lock, she tries to break into a run too but can't— limping, highly pained.

They crash into each other in a bone-crushing, soul-healing embrace.

“Gods—” he breathes, pulling her into him, burying his face in her hair. “Y/n—”

She’s trembling. Sobbing. But laughing too, in that broken way that means she knows how close it was. “I’m here—I’m here—Xaden, I’m here—”

His hands are everywhere, gripping her waist, her face, her back—like he can’t believe she’s real.

“I thought—” he chokes, voice cracking. “I thought I lost you.”

She shakes her head into his neck. “Not a chance, Riorson. I promised you forever.”

And Sgaeyl, through their bond, hums with warmth—There she is. Safe.

And Xaden clutches her tighter.

Because now he understands.

Now he knows what it is to live in a world where she might be gone.

And he never wants to live there again.

The infirmary tent is quiet now. Lanterns glow low, casting soft golden light across Y/n’s cot as a medic finishes bandaging the gash on her thigh.

Xaden hasn’t moved from his spot beside her. Not once. Not when she winced. Not when she hissed in pain. Not even when Ridoc whispered something about giving them space—because he needs this space filled. With her. Breathing. Alive.

Y/n gives the medic a grateful nod before settling back against the pillow. Her hair is damp from sweat and streaked with dried blood, and her face is pale beneath the warm brown of her skin—but she’s alive. Gods, she’s alive.

“You’re staring,” she says softly, cracking the faintest smile.

“I nearly lost you,” he replies just as softly. His thumb brushes along the edge of the bandage on her arm. “I’m allowed to stare.”

She reaches out with her uninjured hand and curls her fingers into the hem of his jacket. Like she needs him anchored to her as badly as he needs to stay.

He doesn’t make her ask.

With gentle movements, he slips out of the chair and into the cot beside her. She makes room—immediate, instinctive. Their bodies slot together in the cramped space as if made to.

Y/n buries her face in his chest, drawing in a long breath. “You smell like fire and smoke,” she mumbles. “You always do after a fight.”

“I was trying to find you,” he whispers, his voice rough. “Tore through half the ridge before I even let myself feel the fear.”

She tilts her chin up, eyes shimmering. “Now you know what I felt… when it was you I couldn’t find.”

Xaden presses a kiss to her forehead. Then another, slower one to her temple. “I’m your boyfriend, Y/n. Of course I’d burn the world down just to find you.”

Her breath shudders.

Then she shifts, one leg draped over his, fingers slipping under his shirt to rest over his heart. Feeling it. Needing the beat of it.

“Don’t let go,” she whispers.

“Never.”

He wraps both arms around her, holding her close, his lips pressed to her hair. His eyes remain open long after hers flutter shut.

And when sleep finally takes him, it’s only because her heartbeat is against his chest.

Right where it belongs.

It’s only been two days since they found her—limping, bloodied, eyes wild with exhaustion—and yet Y/n is already pushing to be cleared for training and working.

“I said I’m fine,” she insists, trying to pull her arm free of Ridoc’s grip.

“You lost enough blood to fill a godsdamned tub, Y/n,” Ridoc snaps, not loosening his hold. “You're not setting a single foot outside this building.”

She glares at him. “You're being dramatic.”

“And you're being reckless,” Xaden adds from behind her, arms crossed, jaw tight.

Y/n whirls around. “Not you too.”

But the look he gives her stops her cold. It’s not stern. It’s not commanding. It’s… scared. The kind of quiet fear that lingers behind someone’s eyes even when everything is over. The kind of fear she saw in her own reflection days ago, when he had been the one missing.

“I couldn't breathe when I realized you weren’t on the ridge,” Xaden says quietly, voice rough. “I don’t think I have breathed properly since.”

She softens immediately. “Xaden…”

He steps closer, gently cupping her face. “So forgive me if I’m not ready to let you out of my sight.”

And behind her, Ridoc—arms still folded and eyes suspiciously glossy—mutters, “Same goes for me, and I don’t plan on sugarcoating you, so you know I’m serious.”

That earns a small laugh from Y/n, which seems to loosen the tension in the room just a little.

She looks between the two most important men in her life—her twin and her lover—and finally sighs in surrender.

“Fine. You can both keep your overprotective vigil.” She raises a brow. “But I am brushing my hair. Alone. And you’re not following me to the bathroom, Ridoc.”

“No promises,” he mutters, and Xaden barks out a short laugh.

She walks off, finally, leaving them both watching her go.

And even as she disappears around the corner, Ridoc mutters, “We’re gonna take shifts, right?”

Xaden doesn’t even blink. “Already planning the rotation.”

Days later...

It’s a quiet evening—too quiet for a war camp, too still for Ridoc’s liking.

Xaden had finally eased up on the protective hovering, reassured enough by Y/n ’s return and her slow recovery. But Ridoc… Ridoc hadn’t let go.

Y/n finds him sitting outside her quarters, knees pulled to his chest like he used to do when they were children and the thunder outside their window grew too loud.

She doesn’t say anything at first—just sits beside him, shoulder brushing his. He exhales shakily.

“I felt it,” he says after a moment, voice barely above a whisper. “When you were gone. It was like… everything in me cracked.”

She swallows thickly. “I know. I’m so sorry, Ro.”

He finally looks at her. And for once, there’s no teasing in his gaze. No mask. Just the raw ache of a twin who almost lost his other half.

“I need to be near you. Just for a bit.”

Y/n nods, wrapping an arm around his shoulder as he leans into her, head resting on hers. “As long as you need,” she whispers.

They sit like that, breathing in sync. No words. Just heartbeats and the sound of safety found again.

Later, Xaden peeks in to find Ridoc fast asleep on the couch in Y/n’s quarters, clinging to the edge of her blanket like he did as a boy. Y/n meets Xaden’s eyes and simply shrugs, lips tugging into a soft smile.

“He needed me,” she mouths.

And Xaden only nods, quietly grateful that the woman he loves is made of so much heart.

Taglist: @eepyfaerie @dreamdragonkadia @hiraethjules @nikfigueiredo @galaxystern08 @taleiaargenis @minidemont @poeticbookwormcat @eternallyrosyfire @shadowhuntyi @bubble300 @messageforthesmallestman @iheartshopping @lagrandeourse @readinf @barbreadsbooks @optimisticsoulstarfish @locatinginspo @lxnvmvrzx @im-a-weirdo-for-life

If you want to added to the taglist, leave a comment. <3

[animeficsworld]

First to the Finish Line

Suo Hayato x Reader

Summary: A bet. A race. A cocky Hayato and the one person he wants to lose to.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ .

The challenge was stupid.

 You knew it.

 He knew it.

And yet there you were, standing across from Suo Hayato on the cracked sidewalk outside the convenience store, grinning up at him while he narrowed his sharp red eye at you.

"You're serious?" he asked, one brow twitching.

 "As a heart attack," you said, clapping your hands. "First one to the abandoned train station wins. No shortcuts. No pushing. Loser has to do whatever the winner says. No whining."

Suo laughed, tossing his head back, wild hair gleaming in the late afternoon sun.

 "You really think you can beat me?"

 "I know I can beat you," you teased, tapping the tip of his nose lightly before darting back. "Come on, Suo. Afraid of a little competition?"

"Afraid?" he echoed, snorting. "I'm gonna lap you."

But behind the cocky grin, you caught the tiniest flicker of something else, excitement. Amusement. Maybe... fondness.

Your heart kicked against your ribs.

 This was crazy.

He was crazy.

 And you were crazy for how much you liked him.

"Alright, alright. On three," you said, bouncing on your toes. "One... two..."

He grinned.

 You grinned harder.

 And the second you shouted "Three!" you took off.

You ran like hell, sneakers slapping the pavement, lungs burning as the world blurred around you.

Suo caught up instantly.

 Showoff.

He stayed just a step ahead, turning to glance back at you with that stupid, infuriatingly handsome smirk. "Told ya, slowpoke."

"Oh, shut up!" you panted, pushing harder.

 He laughed and it shouldn't have made your heart flutter, but it did.

You turned the corner, dodging a startled old man walking his dog, and Suo barked a laugh as he vaulted over a low fence instead of running around it.

"Show-off!" you shouted again.

"You're just mad 'cause you can't do this!" he called back, leaping onto a rail, balancing for a second like a cat.

But he underestimated the worn-down wood.

 The rail wobbled.

 Suo cursed, arms pinwheeling.

 And you zoomed past him, blowing a kiss over your shoulder as you raced toward the train station.

"You little-!" he choked, sprinting after you.

By the time you reached the abandoned platform, you were gasping for air, sweat dripping down your spine, legs on fire.

 But you made it.

 You won.

Suo stumbled in a few seconds later, bending over with his hands on his knees, his chest heaving.

 You flopped down dramatically on the station steps, grinning like an idiot.

"I... win," you wheezed. "You... lose. You... owe me."

Suo glared at you. "You cheated."

"Did not!"

"You knew that rail was gonna wobble."

"Maybe," you said sweetly, "but you still fell for it."

He scowled but the corner of his mouth twitched.

 God, he was so bad at hiding when he was impressed.

"Alright, fine," he grunted, coming over to loom above you. "What's your wish, champ?"

You tilted your head, pretending to think. "Hmmm… I could make you buy me ramen for a week. Or clean my place. Or admit I'm faster than you-"

"Pick something already," he growled, cheeks suspiciously pink.

You bit your lip.

 Heart hammering.

 And then you stood up, brushing off your hands.

"I want a date," you said.

Suo blinked.

 "...What?"

"A date," you repeated, meeting his stunned gaze. "With you."

He stared at you like you'd just punched him in the gut.

Suo Hayato, the boy who feared nothing, was speechless.

You poked his chest lightly. "No whining. No arguing. Bet’s a bet."

His mouth opened.

Closed.

Opened again.

And then, slowly, a smirk stretched across his face, but it was softer this time. Shyer. A little breathless.

"You're lucky you're cute," he muttered, shoving his hands into his pockets.

"I'm very lucky," you said, grinning up at him. "You're gonna have so much fun losing tonight."

"Yeah," he said quietly, almost like he couldn't believe it.

"Yeah, I think I will."

Later that night, at a little hole-in-the-wall diner, Suo sat across from you, blushing furiously every time you caught him staring.

And for once, he didn't try to win.

He just let himself be happy.

With you.

The one person he wanted to lose to.

Forever, if he was lucky.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ .

[minkieater]

a whole new world

ateez ot8 x fem! reader | 2.4k

one morning, your step mother wakes you up by… being sold to ateez?!

“WAKE UP!”

you shot out of bed to the shrill voice screeching from at the bottom of your staircase. your step mother, nasty and cruel— god, what did she want this morning? it was every day now. wake up, do the dishes, clean the laundry, sweep the floor, dust her shelves, she was relentless…

when your dad passed away, she had turned into a completely different person. where she was once loving and amicable, she now showed her true colors, a true wench. the worst part? she didn’t treat your sisters that way— no, only you.

“DID YOU HEAR ME?” she screamed from the steps and you scrambled. you hopped out of your lousy excuse for a twin bed to stand on your half rotted hardwood floor, tying your hair up into a messy bun, pulling a hoodie from your floor over your head.

“i’m coming!” you yelled back, your voice slipping into customer service. you trot down the steps with bare feet, sleep still crusted in your eyes— just to be met with an audience.

at the bottom platform of your staircase, you blinked at the crowd. you glanced at your stepmom, then at your two sisters, then to the eight men standing in your living room.

they were all huge— well dressed, faces sculpted by god himself, they were smiling. your heart rate picked up, sweat prickling at your skin.

“wha—?” you questioned, then rubbed your eyes, the crust of sleep poking at your lashes.

“i have no use for you anymore,” your stepmom nearly growled, her perfect blonde hair curled around her face, anger clear on her face. “these guys want to buy you.”

“buy me?!” you yelped, eyes nearly bulging out of your head. “w-what do you mean buy me?!”

“i’m tired of your lousy, half-assed cleaning. you have no respect for anyone that lives here,” she barks, and your step sisters cackle from behind her, sounding wicked and conniving. she continues, “i’m tired of paying to feed you, i’m turning your bedroom into a workout room with the money they buy you with.”

you’ve never seen this woman work out a day in her life— three liposuction surgeries later. you can feel your eyes brim with tears, you don’t want to be sold off, even if your current family is nothing short of cruel.

“i-i,” you stutter, “i’ll be better!”

“i’m done,” she warns, effectively silencing you. “they already paid. go pack your shit.”

the tears fall, sliding hot down your cheeks, and you glance at the men in the living room. they wear warm smiles, but their presence is still intimidating. what did they want with you?! a twenty year old girl, still living at home… they could be criminals, or worse.

“now!”

with her last shriek you’re sprinting up your stairs, all of your belongings fitting into one duffel bag. you pull your dirty, ripped sneakers over your feet, going back downstairs with tears on your face that haven’t even dried yet.

the men were waiting on your lawn, all huddled together, talking to one another. your stepmom and stepsisters stood at the bottom of the steps, hands on their hips, waiting for you.

“took you long enough,” one of your sisters sneered, a smirk on her face.

“can’t wait to not have to see your stupid face anymore,” the other added, and the two erupted into a fit of ugly cackles.

“enough,” your stepmom cut in, and you mentally thanked her. this was too much to process at seven am. your stepmom turns to you, “don’t ever contact us again. after you walk out this door, our ties are cut, we are no longer family.”

you nod, still silent, tears free falling down to your chin. your stepmother all but pushes you out the front door, where all eight men turn to face you.

it was lethal— having all of their eyes on you at once, gazes fully focused on you, as if they could see through you. panic surges through you, but you can’t exactly turn around or run away. they bought you.

“don’t be scared,” the shortest out of the eight steps forward, his hand shooting out. you step backward and he frowns, “i’m hongjoong, i’m the captain.”

“captain?” you pop an eyebrow, body still half turned away from him, “captain of what?”

“oh, you don’t know us?” another guy says from behind him, glasses on his face, short black hair on his head. his nose was perfect. did they all have to be drop dead gorgeous? you fight to keep your guard up.

you weakly shake your head no. should you know them?

“we’re ATEEZ,” another one says, standing at the end of the line, a built man with short black hair and a jawline that could cut glass.

your eyebrows furrow further, “what the hell is an ATEEZ?”

all eight of them glance at one another before they break out in laughter. hongjoong steps forward, delicate fingers grabbing onto your bag, taking it from you and slinging it over his own shoulder. he gives you a warm smile and urges you to follow him, saying, “come on, let’s go.”

you follow behind him, climbing into their blacked out van, the vehicle doing nothing to help your nerves. they had a driver, some guy in all black, and it makes you feel a little better— why would eight guys who had a group title, a driver, a captain do something devious to you?

you sit in the backseat, knees together, hands in your lap. you keep your gaze focused on your lap until you could feel their eyes on you. you look up slowly, and they’re all bent in every direction to stare at you. your cheeks heat up, eyes darting from man to man, nerves returning tenfold. you’ve never had so much male attention before.

“are you excited?” one of the taller ones asks, he has big full lips, another one with a perfect nose, and brown shaggy hair falling across his forehead.

“excited? for what?” you ask quietly, your eyes still darting around the car. they all glance to one another and smile, leaving you confused and slightly creeped out. so you ask again, “am i just gonna be… cleaning for you and stuff?”

“after what that wretched woman put you through?” the captain, hongjoong, asks from the front seat. he shakes his head, “hell no.”

“then what-”

“she posted an ad on craigslist,” the other tall one cuts in from the row in front of you, his eyes soft, tight lipped smile warm. “i came across it and couldn’t help myself— how such a beautiful girl could be treated so poorly, i can’t understand…”

your cheeks burned. they think you’re… beautiful? no man has ever called you that before.

they argue amongst themselves about your stepmom as you pull into a long, winding driveway, where a mansion stood at the top, all white, greenery surrounding it, perfectly maintained. you paid the eight men no mind as your gaze hooks onto the house, feeling your eyes nearly bulge out of your head again. are they… rich?

“are you guys rich?!” the question falls from your lips before you could stop it. the car comes to a stop and you could barely pay attention to their replies as you haul out of the van, eyes still glued to the mansion. if you weren’t cleaning for them… what would you be doing?!

“if you think this is cool, wait until you see your room,” another one comes to your side, this one with neat brown hair, a strong build, a warm smile on his face, too. this was all starting to feel too good to be true.

hongjoong, with your bag still slung over his shoulder, walks ahead of you to the front door, using his hand to usher you to follow.

the inside of the mansion is pristine— white marble floors, cream walls, pillars stoon on either side of the main staircase that was in the center of the room. on either side of the staircase were two hallways, ones you assume would bring you to the kitchen, living room, whatever other rooms they have stacked in the huge house.

“should we go see your room first? or do you want a tour?” a taller one with long black hair laying around his cheeks asks, looking at you inquisitively.

“uh,” you stammer, “can i learn your names first?”

they all break out in laughter. hongjoong tells them all to introduce themselves, and they do— wooyoung was the first one to talk to you at your old house after hongjoong, the one with the nose, then san, who had the jawline and clean cut hair. mingi was the one who asked if you were excited, yunho was the one to call you beautiful— jongho just spoke to you outside, then seonghwa inside… yeosang was the only one who hasn't spoken to you yet. you waved at each other with burning cheeks and small smiles as he formally introduced himself.

you properly introduce yourself, then you can’t help but ask, “why… did you buy me?”

hongjoong steps forward, planting a hand on your shoulder. “like yunho said, we couldn’t just sit back and let her sell you to some creeps. especially knowing how she treated you… we want you to have a better life.”

tears well in your eyes, blurring your vision. you pull him into a hug, head falling to his shoulder, no doubt wetting the tee shirt he had on. “thank you,” you cry, voice hoarse with tears.

the other seven pile on the hug, crushing you just a little from the middle of it all, and the hug session turns into a pit of giggles and groans of pain from everyone being crushed.

“okay, tears over!” wooyoung yells as the hug breaks up, a wide smile on his face, dimples on display. “can we please show her her room?!”

the other seven usher you up the massive staircase, then up the second staircase to the left, pushing you down to the end of the hallway where they stand before a set of double doors.

“are you ready?” yunho asks with a wide smile, his hand on the doorknob. you nod and he pushes one door open, san pushing open the other door, and you’re met with a bedroom the size of the whole second floor of your old home.

the whole room is pink. pink walls, pink bedspread, pink furniture— like a unicorn threw up everywhere. you blink at the space…

mingi comes up to your side, a heavy hand on your shoulder, “so? what do you think?”

“it’s…” you take a short breath, “pink.”

“i told you we should’ve gone with a neutral color!” yeosang whisper-yells to hongjoong, and you can’t help the snort that leaves your lips.

“do you not like pink?” hongjoong asked, worried.

“we can paint,” seonghwa cuts in, “we’ll paint everything.”

“what’s your favorite color?” mingi asks, “i can have it ordered and delivered within the hour. we’ll have it repainted by tomorrow.”

“guys!” you raise your voice, looking at them all as they circle around you. “i love pink. it’s perfect.”

they all let out sighs of relief. “thank god,” yunho mutters, wiping fake sweat off his forehead. you can’t fight the snort that leaves your nose.

they usher you inside, showing you your new vanity, your king sized bed, your closet… your closet was massive, the size of your old room. clothes filled the space, different colors, different styles, it was like having a department store in your own home.

in your own home. it still doesn’t feel real.

“we all kinda bought stuff,” jongho says, “we all have different styles, so…”

you immediately grab a pair of ripped jeans, a band tee, and a flannel. you untie your hair from your messy bun, letting it fall in waves behind you. excitement courses through your veins.

“can you guys get out? so i can change?” you push your hair behind your ear, a shy look on your face. they all mumble oh and hurry and get out as the sentence leaves your lips, and you giggle as they leave your closet.

you quickly change, your new clothes somehow fitting you like a glove. it was weird, you rarely had new clothes, you felt clean. this was your life now.

you left your closet and they were nowhere to be found, so you went down the massive staircases, walking through one of the hallways, letting their shouts lead you to them. when you find them in what seems like a game room, they’re all playfully fighting, screams and laughs leaving their lips. you can’t help but smile.

when they finally notice your presence, they all stop. yeosang steps forward, a blush on his cheeks, “y/n… you look…”

“beautiful.” the other seven finished his sentence, everyone’s cheeks warm, staring at you with loving looks.

“we had an idea,” yunho cuts in, glancing at the other seven. “since were a sensational korean boy band, and we can't exactly have girlfriends…”

“we were wondering if you wanted to be our girlfriend,” hongjoong finishes, a shy look on his face.

“you’re a sensational korean boyband?!” you screech, eyes wide with shock.

“duh,” jongho says with a shrug, “how do you think we can afford all of this?”

you shrug, because that makes sense— when you process their question, you gasp. “you want me to be your girlfriend?!”

“if you want to be…” mingi says shyly.

“we’ll treat you right,” san adds, nodding.

“i- um-“ you stutter, glancing around the room, picking at your sleeve.

“only if you're comfortable,” seonghwa says, his voice hopeful. “when we all saw you…”

“we realized we love you,” wooyoung smiles, and your whole body goes hot.

“you love me?” you ask. you’ve never even had a man before them call you beautiful— and they love you? how can they love you?! you’re just a lowly maid…

“yes,” yeosang nods. “we do.”

“i-i love you guys too,” you stutter, but you mean it. in just a few short hours, these men have changed your life for the better.

they all cheer, crowding around you to hug you, and they yell that they all love you over and over. you giggle in the middle of it all, feeling better than you’ve felt in years. these men have already changed your life for the better, and you wouldn’t want it any other way…

HAPPY APRIL FOOLSSSSSS HAHAHAHAHAHA

[quarterlifekitty]

The screech I scrumpt at tramp!soap oh my god I’m unwellllll I love them I adore them they’re everything to me and I greatly appreciate you sharing your thoughts thank you :)

Can I ask and pls ignore me if you want about tramp!soap getting territorial? He’s perfectly happy to let other dogs from the neighborhood come around, even tries his luck at friendliness with price and nik once or twice, but when another stray starts sniffing around sweet innocent lady’s house? Practically glued himself to her side and sleeps in front of the doggy door. Maybe even sneaks along on a walk to the park with lady’s owners, jumping in right on time to keep her (and her owners by extension) safe? Sweet innocent little lady has never heard a growl like that but she’s not sure she disliked it and really how could her owners not start leaving out food and water for the stray who saved them

Keep scrumpting baby!!!

I’m gonna do a bit of twisting on this one, hope that’s ok!

I imagine your owners are a little protective over you, of course. You’re just a sensitive little girl to them, they got you when you were just a puppy! And your breed makes you smaller than street mutts like Soap. So when they notice him hanging around, they do try to chase him off, worried he’ll hurt you. They even think about calling the dog catcher, but ultimately decide against it.

Soap isn’t even a little discouraged. He’ll dig his way under any fence he has to if it means he gets to see his lady again!! Maybe he even calls you lassie. Because I’m unoriginal!!!

And maybe if you return his affections, you start sneaking out later in the evenings to see him. Your owners have gone to bed, and you go through your doggy door, prancing through the back yard to go to your little meeting place where you kiss, and cuddle, and talk about puppies.

But Soap isn’t there tonight. There’s another stray. One that growls. One that chases and nips at your heels until you’re backed into the corner of the little fenced in yard. By now the barking and yipping has woken up your owners, you see the bedroom light turn on.

It’s then that Soap makes it to you, having sprinted from a few houses down when he heard you so distressed. He growls and bares his teeth as he dives between you and the other stray, arching himself in as fierce a manner as he can manage. They tumble in a mass of fur and fangs and wild eyes, Soap managing to sink his teeth into the neck of the other stray as your owners come out of the back door, robes in hand with a flashlight.

The other stray bolts, looking worse for wear. You start tending to Soap— bitten up and bruised in his own right, his hackles starting to lower. You lick and soothe over the sore marks. It’s clear to your owners that the stray that they’d been trying to keep off of their property protected you. And it’s not like they can pretend it’s not the sweetest thing— seeing you curl up with him, nuzzling noses between your comforting little kisses.

He becomes a much more permanent resident in the back yard since they’ve stopped chasing him away. And he wants to stay closer in case that stray comes back. He stays in your doghouse (you’re too much of a good girl to ever really get sent there anyways) for a few weeks, your owners leaving out food and water for him. And you love being able to run outside and see him almost any time you want!!! Every time you get a treat, like a slice of ham or some jerky, you dash outside to share it with him.

Until one day, you coax him inside. He’s wary, and he’s right to be, because your owners are gonna wash the fuck outta him in the bath when he least expects it. But before that? They present him with a collar. A bit bigger and thicker than yours, a deep teal color dying the leather. A silver tag with the house address on it. A new bed— much too big for just you alone. And you take him to show him the fireplace— your favorite place in the whole world. His tail thumps against the carpet when he finally settles fully, in his first real home.

[obsessivevoidkitten]

The Deer's Prince(ss)

Male Deertaur Yandere x Feminized Male Wolf Hybrid Reader (CW: Noncon, feminization, misgendering, inhuman genitalia, breeding, fingering, overstimulation, reader fucked out of their mind, chasing, kidnapping, general yandere behavior) Word Count: 1.1k

You were sprinting through the forest, running from the prince who owned you.

Under normal circumstances, you would have been able to move a lot more stealthily and gracefully, but continued captivity had dulled your senses and abilities.

When the kingdom of the deertaurs finally won the decades long war against the wolf folk they demanded many things in the treaty to end the war.

One of the things they demanded was a princess to marry their son, marriage was a typical way to seal an agreement of peace.

But there was no princess, instead they took you. And Prince Inthil had made you into his princess. Treating you like a dainty flower instead of the proud wolf hybrid that you were! Going so far as to even dress you in frilly dresses and address as a girl… and bed you as one too…

Having had as much as you could handle you fled. You tore off the female clothing and ran naked into the woods. Treaty be damned, you didn’t deserve this!

But being pampered as a fragile little lady had made your footfalls heavy and clumsy, it may have been enough to outrun a human, but certainly not Prince Inthil. His deceptively lean body was fast and powerful, four legs carrying him like he was the wind itself.

Suddenly you felt a sharp yank on your arm. You shuddered as Inthil pulled you close, you had thought you were still a bit ahead of the deer man.

His creepy grin looked even more sinister under the light of the moon, his long blond hair softly glowing, and his eyes looking at you with twisted adoration and amusement.

If you had only been looking at his face you may have mistaken him for a beautiful woman. But his muscles, body hair on his human half, and antlers on his head proved otherwise.

“Hello my lady~ You mustn’t run off like that, it is far too dangerous for a little girly to be running around in the woods at night by herself! If you wanted a moonlit stroll, I would have accompanied you~”

You tried to wriggle out of his grasp but he was powerful. He lifted you up and pressed you against a tree.

“If my father knew my wife ran off like that it could start a war! Don’t worry princess, I won’t tell. After all, I am sure it just slipped your mind to ask me to come with you, RIGHT?!”

As he said that last word he roughly pulled you forward then slammed you back against the rough bark. It did not hurt much, but you gasped in surprised.

Prince Inthil took this opportunity and kissed you deeply. Hungrily. His tongue swirling around yours as it invaded your mouth.

You shivered. He finally broke the kiss, leaving you both panting for oxygen.

“Are you cold? You’re shaking so much. I know what will warm you up.”

He stroked your cheek tenderly, but you knew what that look and tone of voice meant.

You growled, baring your teeth as your tail bristled and your ears moved back, almost flat, against your head.

“Awe, I bet a nice breeding will help your sour mood too…”

There were no clothes for him to pull off of you this time. He laid you down on the cool forest floor. You started to move but he stomped a hoof on you with enough force for you to get the memo.

You did what was expected of you. Keeping your face down you arched your ass up.

“My bitch must be in heat to present her pussy so nicely for me~” He cooed in his sickeningly sweet voice.

You were sniffing as tears rolled down your face uncontrollably. You were a man and you didn’t want this, what had you ever done to anyone to deserve being forced to be a girl and raped constantly.

“Don’t cry my love. I always make love with you gently, I know how delicate you are~”

You didn’t care how gentle he was, it was still against your will and sometimes forced with a bit of pain. Like just now when he had stomped his hoof on you.

You could feel his slimy cock rubbing up against your hole, eager to slide into you, but he made himself resist the lure of your insides for a moment while he prepped you.

He did this by using the tip of his prick to massage your entrance, and lather it in precum.

Then he slowly, bit by bit, slid into your ass. He gasped as he entered you.

“G-gods princess , your cunt is amazing~”

You just fit him so well, it was like sliding into a warm glove made specifically for his 10in cock.

He was large and powerful, and like always he had to resist just pounding into you with reckless abandon. It took all his power not to.

But he had to make sure you were treated like the frail lady that you were, it wouldn’t do for him to harm a princess, it would be unthinkable.

So instead he savored it, and eventually his careful ministrations were met with your beautiful little whimpers and moans of pleasure.

You always tried to stifle them away from him, but you never managed to.

His cock was kissing your walls so tenderly, touching that spot inside you that he always seemed to find.

Prince Inthil managed to coax several orgasms out of you, making you pant and gasp with each thrust into your overstimulated body. You couldn’t help humping into your hand, desperately seeking another release as his balls finally emptied into you.

“You make such lovely sounds when we make love~”

He picked up your cum leaking body and held you close, you were so fucked out that you couldn’t do anything, your arms were like jelly from being in that pose for so long.

You muttered something incomprehensible and went limp as he put you over his shoulders. He chose to interpret the noises as a declaration of love.

“Awe, I love you too. I knew all you needed was a good breeding~”

The prince kissed the top of your head softly before smiling to himself. He just had the most wonderful idea. He’d quite like to hear those cute sounds of yours on the way home.

As he slowly hauled you back home he slid a couple fingers into your cum-lubed ass, eliciting more of those cute little gasps and moans, albeit tired and weaker ones, from your pretty mouth.

“Don’t worry darling, when we get back we can mate some more before I clean you up."