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whumble-beeee · 4 months

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The First Day of the Rest of Your Life pt. 2

The (Un)Official Guide to Hero-Keeping

Cont'd from Part 1

CW: disabled whumpee, flashbacks (ptsd), past captivity references, tied up, knives, gun

* * * * * * * * [First impressions are extremely important when taking a hero hostage, whether you're nemeses who have fought countless times, or whether this is your first time formally meeting the hero. These first impressions will set the mood for the entirety of your and your captive's time together, so make sure to think long and hard about what initial impression you want to give off to the hero; do you want to be suave, cool, and calculating? Silly, coy, and unpredictable? Or maybe violent and dangerous, one not to be crossed or trifled with. The choice is up to you, you dastardly villain, you!

And if you're having trouble crafting a persona that will strike fear and invite obedience in the heart of your captive, just remember that above all else, you are the one in control. Have confidence in yourself and project that to your hostage, and the rest will follow suit!]

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All air left the room.

“I, a-ah–...” Stan couldn’t take his eyes off the blade cradled in the mercenary’s hand. His breath fell ragged as he forced his eyes away from the knife and into the gaze of the man holding it. And smiled. Hopefully, it didn’t look too much like a grimace. “I don’t like kni-ives…”

“Really…”

The mercenary slowly ambled up until he literally blocked out the light coming from the center of the room, and gently pushed the sharp end of the knife up under Stan’s chin.

The world went blurry for a moment as Stan tilted his chin up to accommodate, and the blade just went up with it, until Stan’s vision tunneled directly into the man’s eyes. He couldn't move.

He knew those eyes.

Staring down at him over the barrel of a revolver.

The bounty hunter glanced him up and down, before meeting his stupefied gaze again with an almost pitying grin. “This is gonna suck for you then.”

He whiffed the knife out and flipped it around in his hand as he circled behind the chair, barely nicking Stan’s chin with the razor-edge as it slid out from its place under his throat. The small sting of the cut was enough to bring the world crashing back to him.

Stan blinked. “Hey! Hey–... don’t do– Where– where, uh… Where are you going?”

“Behind you.”

“No– no shit, really?” he retorted, voice still embarrassingly shaky. The bounty hunter disappeared from his line of sight. “I meant– I mean what’re you–”

Stan gasped as the ropes tightened around his stomach.

“Hey, hey! Stop! what’re you doing?!”

He immediately balled up his fists and tried to thrash away unsuccessfully for what felt like the thousandth time since he woke up, all the while attempting to twist around enough to see what was going on behind him.

“Cálmate, chiquito.” The ropes vibrated lightly. “I'm just cuttin’ the ropes.”

Stan stopped dead in his tracks. “What? Why?”

The bounty hunter’s voice took on that playful lilt Stan was already getting tired of. “I mean, I was just gonna put you on a leash in the corner, so you can actually move around a bit, but if you want to stay tied to the chair for some ungodly amount of time…”

Stan’s mind completely skipped over the leash part. He had to get out of this chair. “No, no, I don’t!”

“Really? Not sure I’m convinced, you seemed super panicked just now–”

“I wasn’t panicking!”

“Nah? Then I’m sure you’ll stay just as calm when I do this…”

The bounty hunter snatched his hand and strained it up against the twine. Stan instinctively flinched.

“Hey, what–!”

A prick on the top of his hand. Stan froze. Another prick. His heart rate spiked. The cool metal of the knife broke the skin a third time, longer, deeper this time, gliding through the skin barrier, stinging. His vision tunneled. Cool metallic threads shot through the top of his mouth, and he could swear he could feel the blood rushing from his brain and pooling down, down, down.

“Stop, STOP, PLEASE!!” He tried to break free, wiggle away from the knife and kick out and fight back against the man who was holding him hostage and tormenting him for no reason other than his own sick pleasure, but everything was starting to go dark and fuzzy and everything felt so hot, he was sweating, he was burning, he needed to get out now–

Stan's chair suddenly lifted and the entire thing spun around and landed hard back onto the floor with a clatter, accompanied by a fearful yelp. The bounty hunter’s hand moved from the top of the chair to the scruff of Stan’s neck, forcing Stan forward as he planted his knee on the seat of the chair between Stan’s legs and leaned on the unused armrests of the chair. Their faces were only inches apart. Stan strained to lean away, but just like the last million times, there wasn’t anywhere he could go. He sucked in a stilted breath.

“Y’know,” the hunter whispered as if he were sharing a damning secret between just the two of them. “If you’re gonna be all hysterical about it, I could just leave you right here…”

Stan’s breath stuttered. The world was just the two of them. Focus on the now. Don’t pass out. “I– I kno-ow. Please don’t. Please.”

He pushed his little sister Chloe further behind his back and stood his ground. His sister pressed her face into his side.

He glared at those eyes before, snarled at them.

He felt dizzy, he couldn’t breathe, and more than anything he wanted to spit in the bounty hunter's face. He found that the best he could do was stare up at the bounty hunter with a stunned, blurry gaze as he tried to fight off the cotton that blanketed his mind.

“People get tied to the chair because they’re panicky and I don’t want them to hurt themselves, because they’re my responsibility. Like you were doing when you woke up. You were screaming and thrashing around, did you know that?”

“N-no…”

“I know you didn’t know.” His eyes dark brown eyes almost seemed to glitter red. Stan felt a visceral terror snaking up his gut for reasons he couldn’t explain. “That’s why you were tied to the chair. I’ll gladly keep you here if you keep struggling and being difficult, do you want that?”

The crackle of the walkie-talkie, the distorted voices.

“I think I found them.” The voice sealed his fate. “Uh… just– just one of them.”

The rope itched against his wrists. “No, pl-please don’t– Let me go.”

“I’m not sure I’m feeling so charitable anymore Stan, I gotta be honest. I think you should ask really nicely if you want me to untie you from this chair.”

He took a gasping breath, one he didn’t realize his body was screaming for. When had he stopped breathing? Where was he?

“Please un– uh, untie me from the chair”

The hunter nodded. “Alright, and?”

“I, uh... I would be so, so grateful?…” Stan tapered off with a squeak as his captor rolled his eyes at him and shook his head.

“No, no, look.” The hunter prompted. He squeezed the back of Stan’s neck. “You’re not going to…”

Why couldn’t he just pass out?

“I’m uh, I’m not going to… be panicky or, or difficult?…”

“Mhm, and?”

And?! He was already begging! What else did this guy want?!

Stan’s befuddlement must have shown on his face, because the hunter gave another hint with only the slightest annoyed groan: “What’re we gonna do instead?”

“Put me on a– a leash…” Stan felt his face burning red. He wanted to curl up into a little ball and rock himself until everything went away. He felt so small. He could never hide. “... in the corner…”

“And that’s a privilege because?”

“... you could just leave me in the chair. Captured.”

The hunter leaned back a bit and smiled. “There you go, you got there. Repeat it all back now.”

Stan squeezed his eyes shut and sucked in a shaky breath, and breathed out some of the clouds dimming his mind. He forced his eyes to focus.

“Please untie me from the chair, I won’t be panicky or difficult and I know it’s a– a privilege–” The words almost caught in his throat. “– to be on a le-leash in the corner instead. Because you could just leave me in the chair. If you wanted. And you’re not… I– I– um, thank you…”

The hunter’s hand slid up from the neck of his shaking captive and ruffled his hair.

“Yeah, that was good. Good job.”

Stan hated how much he relaxed at the praise. At how much effort it took to even jerk away from the petting.

Right up until the very large pocket knife entered his field of vision, heading straight for his stomach.

He screamed, wrenching his eyes shut and throwing himself as far back as possible, hoping he would just phase through the chair entirely and fall through the floor and be away from the horror show of agony that was sure to be his stomach now, away from this entire humiliating and hopeless situation, away from the flashbacks and the terror and the ropes and the captivity and the experiments and the pain–

Eventually, a realization broke through the frenzy that he wasn’t in screaming agony.

He wasn’t dying.

He was still here.

In fact, his restraints felt noticeably looser.

He tentatively opened his eyes to find a few of the ropes from his front now lay cleanly cut in his lap or hanging at his sides.

The bounty hunter chuckled into his hand, trying to hold it together. Then when he noticed his captive staring at him, he practically doubled over in a fit of laughter.

“Not gonna–” He had to look away, covering his mouth as a fit of giggles overtook his ability to speak. “Not gonna panic or be– be difficult, huh? No panic at all?”

Stan sputtered, ears red. How could he be laughing? “I– I– you– didn’t…! I– AUGH!”

His yell echoed through the room. He wanted to scream at the man, or at least run for the door now that he was technically free. But lashing out would get him nowhere, not here, not now.

He gave up on trying to speak and instead seethed while he worked at shaking off the rest of the ropes.

About half the tendril twisting around his stomach were still intact, so it took much more struggling than his dignity would have preferred to squirm out. He even tried to use his good knee to help nudge the ropes aside, since his wrists were still securely tied behind the back of the chair and useless. That didn’t really help.

But he managed, same as always.

“It's really not that funny.” Stan deadpanned as he finished working on the bindings and carefully lifted his bound wrists above the back lip of the chair.

The bounty hunter still hadn’t finished his giggle fit.

“Y'know, you're– you're really good at the whole, uh, submissive thing,” the mercenary snickered. “Suits you.”

A heavy ball knotted in the pit of his stomach. “What.”

“I mean, as soon as I got up in your face, you just stopped dead in your tracks and immediately got all cute and scared and agreeable.”

Stan clenched his teeth. He should cut through the twine tying his wrists right now and strangle this guy with how horrible–...

Wait… Did the mercenary even know Stan could still use his powers without his cane? He mentioned earlier that it was a shame Stan couldn’t use his powers without it, but he could.

Not very well. But it was better than nothing.

“I wouldn't have done that,” he growled. “If you hadn't decided it'd be fun to fuck with me and set off my fight or flight!”

“That wasn't fight or flight, bud, that was fawn.” The mercenary gave a condescending tilt of the head before holding his hands up in mock surrender.

“I’m just saying you'll probably do just fine as a prisoner. It is gonna be the rest of your life, all the better that it suits you well.”

“I don't–! It doesn't suit me, I-I'm not–” The bounty hunter nodded at him with false interest, patiently waiting for him to go on. Stan cried out in rage.

“Whatever! You're abusing your power over me for no reason!”

A pause. Both men stopped breathing for just a moment.

The mercenary’s gaze suddenly turned barely narrower and icy cold.

“I'm abusing my power?” He stepped forward, barely out of arms reach and absolutely towering over his captive.

“I could show you a real abuse of power, chiquito.”

Stan shot up to his feet with a loud stomp to finally match the mercenary. He was still a solid foot shorter than the man, but it still got the point across.

He hoped.

The movement also served another purpose: he’d slammed his feet down hard enough to feel the reverberations throughout his body, just hard enough to create enough force to transfer up through his fingers into a very small point. A point just fine enough to slice through the bindings of his wrists.

He was finally, finally unbound.

He still held his arms behind his back.

“How dare you.”

The mercenary hummed in surprise, curious where this outburst would lead. He nodded for Stan to go on.

As if Stan needed his permission to go on. He took a step forward, and the man actually stepped back in turn.

“I don't know who you think you are, but if you can think you can just hold me captive like this and talk to me like this and expect me not to fight back, you’ve got an entire ‘nother thing coming!” Stan yelled.

“I’m not gonna just sit back and let you mess with me because you think it’s funny! I’m not going to sit there and let you do whatever you want to me, and I’m not going to let you, or whoever you work for, or anyone else for that matter, keep me captive for the rest of my life! Not gonna happen! I’m going to escape, and then I’ll find you and everyone you work for, and make every single one of you wish you had never been born. Got that?”

And for a moment, everything was still.

Stan’s labored breathing echoed throughout the room. He’d backed up the mercenary several steps in his tirade, much to the screeching protests of his bad knee. More surprisingly, the mercenary no longer looked down on him with that condescending smile.

Instead, his eyes quickly shot up and down Stan’s body, before meeting Stan’s scowling gaze with his own challenging stare.

Right before he took one more step back and slid his hands comfortably into his pockets.

“Well, if you’re going to try to run, now would probably be the best time.”

Stan gawked at the man. Then shook his head out. He must have been hearing things.

“What?”

“You said you were going to escape, yeah? You’re not gonna let me hold you captive, you’re gonna escape and take revenge?”

Stan had to suppress the urge to go back on his own words. “Yes.”

“Well, I’m about to put a manacle on your ankle and you'll be chained to the corner over there,” he nodded over his shoulder, to the corner of the room farthest away from the door.

“You’re more or less free right now. Now would be the best time. You wanna try your luck?”

“But– you– you’re standing right here! You could just reach out and grab me!”

“That’s how it’ll always be, runt.”

A chill bolted from his head all the way down his spine.

“Uh…” his voice shook again. He hadn’t prepared for this. What was the endgame here? “Aren’t you gonna be mad?”

“Oh, I’ll be furious.” His dark eyes glittered the smallest sparkles of crimson, a light smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

“And when I catch you and bring you back, you’ll have to deal with the consequences of that. Can’t say it’ll be pretty either. So you gonna try your luck, or nah?”

Stan turned to look at the door. Then back to the mercenary. His heart pounded against his ribcage, and he could already feel the quick in and out of his breaths making his brain feel buzzy and light.

He looked to the door again. How far could he even get without his cane? Certainly not as far as someone who didn’t have a dud for a knee.

He looked to the mercenary. Could he even fight him off with such limited use of his magic? Did it even matter that he had already cut his wrists free?

His eyes shifted once more to the holster on the man’s belt. What about that? Was he willing to risk a gunshot wound in an escape attempt that had almost no chance of working?

The cold metal barrel of the gun bit into his windpipe.

He never felt so frozen before.

A rough hand grabbed him, shoved him forward.

He screamed for help.

No one came.

His jaw clenched so hard it may as well have shattered. His eyes burned. He just wanted to go home.

“No.”

The hunter raised his eyebrow. “Come again?”

“I ca-an’t–” his voice cracked. He wished he could hide the way his chest heaved and his face contorted to try and hold back the tears. He wished he could hug himself as some sort of self-comfort. But he kept his hands firmly clasped behind his back. “I can’t.”

The mercenary nodded lightly with a small hum. At least that stupid grin hadn’t made a reappearance.

“All right then, come here. You uh, need help walking?”

He turned around to walk to the corner of the room, motioning for Stan to follow.

Stan didn’t follow.

He ran.

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Taglist: @flowersarefreetherapy

#whump #whump writing #hero whump #defiant whumpee #kidnapping whump #heroes and villains #captivity whump #(un)official guide #angst #referenced captivity #sorry this took so long to get out #trying to figure out a good set schedule #had a blast writing this tho #theres so much lore im trying not to dump rn #also the bounty hunter does have a name #im trying so hard to get to the part where its revealed so i can actually use the dang thing lmao

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eruden-writes · 11 months

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Scent Match - Part 8 (Augustine + Amber)

Summary: When Amber Dyer decided to attend a Creator Con, she never expected to run into Of Wolf and Blood lycan heartthrob, Augustine Prime.

But, there he was, stooping over her table, asking to buy the unflattering drawing of his character. Valuing integrity over taking money from a celebrity and running (though she was sorely tempted,) Amber finishes the sketch and delivers it to Augustine.

However, he continues to doggedly pursue her and entwine their lives.

All because of her scent.

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Quietly, the two headed to Augustine’s bedroom. Amber noted he hadn’t even bothered to turn off any lights, but that could have been excitement making him careless. If he even wanted her, she thought. Glancing sidelong at the man, he seemed rather calm. As if this occurrence wasn’t actually some long desired outcome.

In reality, elated prickles danced along his back and through his skin. It was only thanks to years of acting that Augustine didn’t grab Amber and drag her back into the bedroom. He actively fought his imagination as other images of tossing her directly onto his bed, climbing over her, letting his mouth taste her threatened to break his cool exterior.

As they made it into his room, Augustine barely kept from looking back at Amber to see how her watchful eyes took in the area as he turned on the light. The elegant navy blue and heather grey decor wasn’t really his own taste. It was meant to be pleasing and lush, while equally being easy to clean between guests.

The colorations were the last thing on Amber’s mind, however. No amount of preparation could have steeled her against a hotel bedroom. It was so surreal. Another full wall of windows that led to another balcony. Curtains open, overlooking the city skyline and the streets below as the night sky spilled overhead. As she walked further in, her shoes sunk into the soft carpet. Thicker than even what she had at home.

Her eyes gleaned over the bed, noting its size, but anxiety had her turning her attention elsewhere. A full-sized dresser with a large mirror sat near a plump cushy chair. With doors cracked open, Amber also noticed a walk-in closet and an en suite bathroom. There was evidence of Augustine’s stay, as well. Previously worn clothes, a pile of business cards on the bedside table, a book beneath the lamp, an empty soda bottle. Not exactly a mess, but certainly not pristine.

“Should I add a little zhuzh to the show?” Augustine winked as Amber turned a curious look to him. She realized she hadn't even noticed his clothing earlier. Augustine had already slid off his suit jacket, draping it atop the dresser, leaving his button-up and trousers on. for the moment. His hands were poised at the neck of his shirt, fingering the buttons teasingly.

Briefly, Amber Wondered exactly how he thought to zhuzh up his strip show. Probably with theatrics and gyration.

“Only if you want me laughing the entire time.” At Augustine’s curious sound, Amber elaborated with a helpless shrug, “I’ve had partners in the past try to sexily strip for me. It just makes me giggle. I don't know.”

“Well, thank you for telling me and saving my ego.” Augustine chuckled and gave a nod as he pulled his shirt up and over his head. Like the jacket, he laid it atop the dresser and kicked off his shoes and socks. All the while, he felt Amber’s eyes watching him, waiting for the last articles of clothing to drop. He could antagonize her a little, he knew. If he waited to divest himself of his trousers, he could force her to ask or initiate the last bit of stripping.

“Don’t make me regret being nice," she mumbled, shooting him a warning look while trying not to stare as he disrobed. But it was hard not to. The contours and planes of his body drew the eye, making Amber think of all those masterfully chiseled statues in art museums. Her hand raised, but stopped short of touching him. “So, I should just touch you?”

“Yep, however and wherever you want. I’m pretty sturdy.” He thumped himself on his bare chest in demonstration. “Just, with you touching me, some things might, ah, rise to attention. Y’know?”

Amber raised a hand again, but it paused as she tilted her gaze back to his face. "Are you seriously okay with this?”

“Most definitely. I want you to want to marry me, so anything that’ll ease your worries is something I want to do.” Augustine gave a nod, exemplifying his own agreement to the circumstances. When his nodding paused, his expression turned curious. “Although, I’m kinda surprised you jumped to this instead of dates.”

Amber remained silent. She didn’t actually believe he’d want to go on any dates, if she was being honest. Amber was still fairly certain once the weekend was over, that was it. Sure, Augustine had given her his contact information and she’d even spoken to his manager, but once they were apart, that was it. It would be so easy for him to pretend it never happened.

“You can still back out of this at any time, Mr. Prime,” she answered softly as she reached out and brushed her palm gingerly down his chest.

His body heat bled from him, through Amber’s hand, and up her arm. From the edge of her vision, she watched Augustine tense and saw how his gaze intensely followed her hand as it skimmed down his torso. Absentminded, her fingers followed the edge of his chest hair, down over his abdomen. “And I know so many people would jump at the chance to marry you. Hell, so many would jump at getting you into bed.”

Before Augustine could ask her where she was going, Amber finished softly, “So I just… I don’t know why I have so much trouble with the thought.”

“What?” He still couldn’t follow her words or reasoning. Especially with her fingers touching him so lightly. Part of him wanted to grasp her by the wrist and press her palm flush to his chest, just to feel more of her.

“Other people can just jump into bed with strangers without thinking about it. It’s so easy for them. I guess I’m kinda using this as an opportunity to figure out what's-" Wrong with me. "-different about me."

Something in her scent turned sour, Sad. He didn't like that. He really didn’t like that if he was related to the cause.

Before he could even consider if it'd be a good move, Augustine carefully caught Amber by her wrist. When she turned a questioning look to him, his other hand gently cupped the side of her face. "I like the way you are, Amber. Don't push yourself if you don't want to."

The moment was getting too tender. This was supposed to be dirty and quick. Amber had been fully prepared to be rejected or even coolly let go after they did whatever she had the nerve to do. She wasn't prepared for this. The warm expression in his eyes, his palm softly on her cheek, her own heart traitorously thrumming.

“You’re surprisingly hairy." Amber dragged her attention from him, cheeks burning. She needed a distraction from the moment. “I thought Follywood types waxed everything.”

Augustine let his hand slip from her cheek as she turned her face subtly away. He shook off his disappointment with a shrug and a half-laugh, “Hard to wax when you’re prone to growing patches of hair or fur when excited.”

Amber hummed noncommittally, not ready to address his admission at being excited. “How was the charity date?”

“It was fine. A married couple won me.” He watched Amber as she fiddled with his trouser button and zipper. With her face turned away from his line of sight, she obviously cuy trying to gain some emotional distance. Or maybe she was embarrassed with how red her cheeks had grown.

Taking her time with fasteners, if only to disguise her trembling fingers, Amber continued, “What were they like?”

“Nice enough. One of them, Asher, owns a bookstore in Portland and their spouse, Trin, does IT for some big company. We chatted about the series, both books and the show, and they tried to get information about the new season from me.” Augustine let the words amble over his lips as he watched Amber. She succeeded in loosening his trousers, letting them fall.

Her refusal to look at him shifted away from shame and toward attentive curiosity. The outline of his dick beneath the fabric of his boxer briefs teased at her thoughts. With as tightly his excitement strained at the material, she didn’t need much imagination to figure out his girth and length. However, she still couldn’t bring herself to touch him there. No, her hands dawdled at his thighs, teasing the wisps of hair - slowly becoming thicker - that dotted his legs.

Frustrated with the lack of touch and the lack of Amber looking at him, Augustine narrowed his eyes, deciding to prod at her. “They were both pretty flirty too.”

Without thinking, Amber firmly palmed at his erection as she rolled her eyes. “I’m not going to get jealous.”

He couldn't stop the roguish grin that split his lips, hips rising to meet her palm. “Obviously. You’re the one here with your hand on my dick and not them.”

Both the heat and hardness in her hand brought a flush to Amber’s face. She couldn’t very well pull away, though. Especially not with his damned smug grin on his face.

Forcing her actions to be fluid and smooth, she kneaded at him through the fabric. “Why didn’t you end the night with them? Sounds like they’d have been down for it.”

Though firmer, her touch still wasn’t enough for him. The craving for more scraped along his insides. He barely stopped himself from grinding against her touch, silently begging for more. “They weren’t you, Amber.”

“You say that so easily, but I guess you’ve probably had tons of relationships and, like, bacchanal-level orgies, huh?” Amber found herself rolling her eyes, yet again, as her tone inched toward sarcastic. It was easier to grasp onto her image of him than admit his words had any effect on her.

Likewise, it was easier just to let her hands move than to think about what she was doing. Unthinking instincts guided her actions. Her thumbs hooked into the waistband of his boxer briefs, yanking them down. His cock bounced out eagerly, bobbing under her gaze. Veins strained under the skin, complexion dark and ruddy compared to the rest of him.

On a conscious-level, Amber absolutely ignored her curious thought of his taste or how her mouth watered in preparation. Even as she knelt before him, hands braced on his hips, her cognitive dissonance kept her mouth running. “Missing out on a potential threesome isn't such a bummer for you.”

“Mhmn…” Sharp excitement sliced through Augustine as Amber lowered to her knees, her breath ghosting over his member with the closer proximity. Involuntarily, his cock flexed, an ache burning for more attention.

“Oh my gods, you have.” Finally, she turned her gaze to his face again. She’d see how full his beard had grown, how thick the hair on his chest and arms had become in such a short amount of time.

Something in his stomach flipped, seeing surprise and a hint of curiosity swimming in her eyes. Excitement lurched further as she - seemingly absentmindedly - dragged her parted lips against the side of his shaft, her hand stroking the neglected side.

“There’s been some.” He shrugged, throat tightening as he silently choked down a groan. Despite his restraint, his body was too tempted by the heat of her mouth and leaned toward her. He wanted to do more. So. Much. More. “They’re not my favorite thing. They’re pretty smelly with all those sweaty bodies.”

She could imagine Augustine, an obnoxious enrobed Dionysus-Adonis hybrid with a crowd of people flocking to him as he lazily drank a decanter of wine with a smug grin. Heat flared down Amber imagining the sight. Suddenly, she also realized what exactly her mouth was doing as his dick throbbed against her lips.

Masking her shame, Amber pulled away from Augustine, sitting back on her heels. Craning her neck to look up at him, once more very aware of their size difference, she clamped down on her fluttering heart.

A flicker of disappointment passed his features at her sudden distance, but it quickly upended at her words. “Alright, I’m done with this form. It’s pretty basic. Shift.”

Giving an unimpressed wave of her hand, she waited for Augustine to comply or refuse.

The bright smile gave away his answer as he straightened from a slight slouch. “Yes, ma’am.”

Augustine didn’t even take a step back before focusing on the change. Amber watched as his hair thickened - creeping along his entire body in a ripple - into a pelt of fur the same color as Augustine’s regular hair color. The previously pointed ears grew larger, extending the curvature of his jaw until they angled near the crest of his head. His nose and jaw elongated, becoming something between a wolf’s snout and a human’s face. Similar growth happened to his feet and hands, she realized, as a toe claw nudged against her knee. She swallowed, dutifully trying to ignore the images that tickled her thoughts at the size of Augustine’s hands. He was certainly more canine than she’d seen of him in-person, so far.

She let herself glean over his entire body, though she did keep his dick in her peripheral. Already hard, his member appeared to grow larger, likely in proportion to his own everything getting bigger, and turned from ruddy to bright red. Even the head narrowed at the tip, flaring a little before the shaft to take a more arrowhead-esque appearance.

Again, stray thoughts bombarded Amber's head. How did he taste? How hot and solid would his cock feel on her tongue? Or better yet, inside her? Amber's insides clenched at the idea and she abruptly remembered she wore a dress thanks to imaginative 'easy access' scenarios blooming in her mind.

In this form, Amber’s scent became fuller-bodied in his nose, weighing down on his tongue. His very tastebuds buzzed. It made Augustine want to drag his tongue along every inch of Amber, taste her fully and completely.

"You're very large." She critically eyed Augustine, trying to determine just how much bigger he had grown. Though his fur made him appear larger than he was, she thought.

"Thank you."

It took Amber a beat to realize why Augustine sounded so delighted and smug. He thought she was talking about his cock! A blush seared over her face as she glared up at him. "That's not what I meant!"

Amber's glower only made Augustine's grin grow. "It's ok. I know I pack an … intimidating package."

She didn't know what prompted her retaliation. Maybe her curiosity just won out. Maybe she wanted to knock that smirk off Augustine's lips. Either way, Amber found her hand wrapping and the base of his cock, beneath the bulbous knot. With little preamble, she took him in her mouth. Under her tongue, Augustine tensed, surprised by the sudden tactic.

Closing her eyes, Amber focused on taking more and more of his dick with every bob of her head. She listened as his breathing hitched, heard how his clawed toes dug into the carpet, felt how his muscles twitched and tightened. She even thought she could feel a breeze from a wagging tail, but that may have been ham imagination.

Each reaction ignited a long forgotten feeling. Something she rarely felt herself. Smugness.

It wasn't until her lips met his pubus, thick fur tickling her nose, that Amber stilled and peered up at Augustine. Against her tongue, his member weighed heavy and hot. She held back a smile as his cock twitched excitedly when their eyes met.

"Fuck, Amber," Augustine gasped, gold eyes wide and wolf ears pricked forward. She had him entirely buried in her mouth, her throat. A challenging glint in her eyes as she stared up at him. Amber's expression and the very sight of her looking so confident made his heart pound. He had to focus to not let his tongue loll out of his maw in an obscene pant. "That's… You're impressive."

"Or maybe you're not as intimidating as you think," she returned after she eased off him, wearing a pointed expression. Amber forced herself to not stare at his now slickened, shiny red member still bobbling for her attention.

"Point made," he chuckled, now realizing how tight his hands balled into fists. It had been that or grabbing Amber by the head, threading clawed fingers through her hair as his hips worked against that talented mouth. Even just thinking it made his arousal jolt. He needed to find something else to grip onto lest he forget himself. "Can we move over to the bed?"

She shot a dubious look to the king-sized bed. He was about to assure her that it didn’t mean he had expectations, he just needed something to grab onto that wasn’t her head or hair or… well, her. Amber cut him off before he could even soothe her worries. "Alright, but there's no guarantee we'll fuck, got it? I'm getting comfortable with you. That's it."

Hypocrisy tilted through her mind, knowing full well her words clashed against the fact she had his dick in her mouth moments earlier. Whatever. Her boundaries could ebb and flow.

When Amber got to her feet, Augustine backed away to the bed, flopping back on his elbows once the back of his legs hit the mattress. As the bed creaked under his sudden weight, he offered up a grin to Amber. "I'm just happy with whatever you want to do."

Approaching him, Amber rolled her eyes at his words. A small part of her echoed how strange it was that she felt so comfortable around him, a veritable stranger. A different part of her - more curious to see how this all would end - focused more on exploring him again.

Ignoring Augustine’s splayed legs, Amber leaned over him with one hand going to the ruff of fur around his neck. As her hand sunk into the dense fur, she gave him an experimental scratch.

Unprepared for the new turn of events, a strangled sound left Augustine as Amber’s other hand drew to his ear. His eyes fluttered shut, leaning his ear into her touch. Heat churned inside him as his head nuzzled into her touch, an indecent whine leaving his throat.

The reaction tickled Amber’s senses. In that moment, her suspicions eased, seeing him openly tilting toward her attentions with a genuine need. It was still ridiculous, all the same. But it was genuine ridiculousness, she realized.

It was her amused snort that made Augustine’s eyes crack back open. His clawed fingers dug into the blanket beneath him as realization struck. In his efforts to get more touch on his ear, he had unwittingly bared his throat to her. A mark of extreme vulnerability among lycans. Though Augustine doubted that’s what held her attention.

No, Amber had her head tilted to the side and a considering smile on her lips. The warmth in her eyes nearly struck the air from Augustine’s lungs, having not been subjected to such a tender look from her before. He held his breath, too afraid to break whatever spell she had woven.

Something in Augustine’s expression shocked Amber out of her momentary affection. Painfully aware of the gentleness in the air, she tore her gaze from his face. She needed a distraction. As her attention fell, it caught onto his red arousal. That would be distraction enough.

Amber’s hands trailed down Augustine’s front, carding through the shorter fur that spread down his torso as she lowered herself to the floor between his legs. He was still under her touch, his eyes watching her hands travel further southward.

Then her caresses bypassed the one place he was most eager to feel her touch. Augustine only barely swallowed down a frustrated whine as her fingers worked through the thicker fur of his legs, down to his ankles before beginning to traverse back upward. The return trek, however, was remarkably slow. Slower than before.

“Amber, please, you’re torturing me,” Augustine groaned, head lolling backward. Heat throbbed between his legs, impatient and edging toward painful. All the while, her fingers continued to toy up his legs, fingers digging through the fur to scratch lightly against his skin.

“Am I?” Her tone was too amused to be completely innocent or unaware of what she was doing. Leaning closer to her dick, she puffed warm breaths over his shaft, but didn’t touch him yet.

Augustine gave an affirmative grunt, eyes glued to her.

Her lips quirked into a wry smile, tilting her eyes to Augustine, though she couldn’t see his face at the moment. “I did say this was about me getting comfortable, didn’t I?”

“I didn’t say I didn’t like it.” She’d probably shirk away with his next words, but he couldn’t help it. He watched her carefully, a lazy grin on his lips, as he said, “I like you feeling comfortable enough to torment me.”

Amber only gave a momentary pause. Barely a hiccup in her actions as she gathered up her nonchalance. Nosing along his furry thigh, she sighed, “Ah, so you’re a masochist.”

“Only if you want to be a sadis–” A sharp exhale interrupted Augustine’s retort. He groaned, curving forward as Amber’s mouth once more enveloped his cock.

Well, that was one way to silence him, Amber supposed as she slowly inched down his shaft. He tasted heady and salty on her tongue, the throb of his pulse taunted her. Her tongue writhed curved around the underside of his member, flexing against him. With every movement of her lips, every flex of her tongue, Augustine twitched or groaned. Such small movements evoking such grand displays of pleasure.

After one pass downward and back up, she lifted her mouth from him. Though she lingered close enough so her lips would tease his tip as she spoke. “I don’t want a partner that does everything I want. I’ve been in that position and it’s not fun.”

The look in Amber’s eyes was earnest and sincere and serious. Augustine found curiosity rousing in his thoughts, along with a dose of faint anger. Had she meant the unspoken meaning? That someone had forced her to be someone she wasn’t? Or was it just a life experience?

Augustine shelved the thought for the moment. Tonight was about her comfort, her exploration. Not him getting personal answers. If he had his way, there’d be time for that later. He reached for her hair, threading his clawed fingers through her hair gently. Imperceptibly, she leaned into the touch, only the slight pressure of her against his fingers any indication of her movement.

“I’m fine with being a masochist to your sadist, but–” A wolfishness stole across Augustine’s maw as his fingers tightened in her hair and he leaned over her. He gave a tug, experimental and light, enough to get his point across and was rewarded with a surprised, sinful little squeak from Amber. “Turnabout is fair play, Amber. Wouldn’t you agree?”

For a beat, she stared up at Augustine. His mouth full of sharp teeth and eyes that nearly glowed in the dark and razor claws, of which one set was currently lightly grazing her scalp. His slouch over her just made the size difference between them all the more prominent. Shameful excitement thrummed through Amber, burning hotter as his grin broadened toothily.

It was that grin that kicked Amber’s thoughts back into action.

“I suppose that’s true,” she replied airily, her lips still hovering close to his dick. Moving slowly, her hand drew to his knot, fingers coiling around the bulbous bit of anatomy. Augustine’s gaze slid from Amber’s face to her hand, air caught in his lungs. A thrill pulsed through him, throbbing against her touch. He completely forgot about his hold on her hair, fingers falling lax, as she shook him off.

“But I’m pretty sure I still have the upper hand,” Amber added, the corner of her lips tilting in a grin of her own. A bit of wryness crept into her voice as she asked, “Can I keep going now? Or are you going to interrupt me again?”

This was not the Amber he had met in Artist Alley. Her half-lidded gaze and that smile that made it clear she knew she was in control made that clear. Though he thoroughly enjoyed the shy Amber, he was curious to see where this one led. Augustine had a feeling this wasn’t a part of her she showed to just anyone. Or, hell, maybe it was something long-buried.

Either way, excitement crept up his spine, his tail wagging against the bed, as he nodded. “By all means, please continue.”

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

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darcymariaphoster · 7 months

Note

Top 3 fics of yours that you wish everyone would read—GO! Then remember to pass this on to at least 5 other people ❤️

Anything Goes Honestly, just a vibe. I still think about this one pretty often, ngl. I love how I wrote it, while I simultaneously wish it was still in progress so I could keep working on it. lol. It was just so fun.

Finding You I do love this one for just how soft and moody and sort of real it feels? I also love that it doesn't end up in a "happy ending" but a sort of soft, open-ended thing.

And this one is not Hetalia fandom, it's actually Sherlock, but it is one of my personal favorites still. A New Record. I put a lot of feeling into this one, and it was a challenge for me at the time.

#my shit #asks #my fic #thank you!#this was actually a little hard for me to decide #someone do it for me next time lol #sorry this took so long to get out

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betterlovers · 9 months

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hey handsome ;] I love song asks, let’s do this!!! I know it said oneee but I hope you’ll forgive me <3

6, 9, 17, and 23!!!

OKAY SO

6. Makes me feel like I could kill god

Flossie Dickie Bounce - Dance Gavin Dance

9. Is from an artist I just found

He's So Good - Trash Boat

17. Makes me want to fall in love

Can't Help Falling In Love - Elvis Presley (none of this TØP or INK version please)

23. Has interesting sounds that tickle my brain right

FUGUE by The Dillinger Escape Plan

#thank youuuu #sorry this took so long to get out #i was stumped on 6 and 9 tbh #ask #ask game

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mhaccunoval · 1 year

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Give us a rundown on your OCs for the OC asks- (Name, bio, visual reference if possible, the world around them, trivia)

assuming this is about dina and nadia— sold

— DINA —

legal name: farouk yousef abudullah

preferred name: dina mariam abudullah

pronouns: he/she

bio: egyptian american gender weird (AMAB) lesbian. affectionately called miss dyke by her daughter because he's a priss, a women lover, and was born in 1972-ish so was JUST barely old enough for late 80s / early 90s prides and dyke marches. she has a younger brother named ahmed who she's not really that close with (he's a bit... flaky and just kinda fucks around doing his own thing) but she's pretty close to her parents, who try to be supportive though they don't entirely understand the whole gender situation. was BRIEFLY a slut until she found nadia's mom (who still needs a name and story) and really fell for her, married her and everything. he always wanted to be a mom (very specifically a mom; there's always been a gender weird element, including wanting to be a mom) and managed to convince his wife to have one; nadia was born the day he turned 26 (so now that date is known as The Birthday). became a single mom within a few months (still fleshing out this bit but) because his wife's postpartum depression and commitment were too much, which dina respected and. she's been just fine raising nadia herself (with help from her parents of course). now it's him and nadia being sarcastic bastards to each other in the most loving way possible. oh and i nearly forgot about her bestie 'velma'

world around them: i still need to figure out a general geographical location but. for some reason thinking connecticut

visual reference / face claim: the best way i can describe it is. lesbian genre pedro pascal. like. This type shit

(beard and all. like she's probably on a low dose of estrogen but like. masculinity being big to her in saying her gender is butch)

——————————————————————————————————

— NADIA —

full name: nadia yasmine abudullah

pronouns: she/her (OCCASIONALLY they)

bio: nadia's egyptian from dina's side and tunisian from. thinking Marwa for dina's wife. she was born. i THINK i was thinking may for The Birthday. maybe may 15-ish. ANYWAY. born on dina's birthday to dina and. marwa left when nadia was only a few months old so she has no memory of her and only really finds out in her middle-to-late teens that it was a Serious relationship that she was born from (since dina's been around a BIT once nadia's gotten a bit older but he hasn't been super serious with anyone, in part because marwa leaving devastatingly broke his heart so he's a bit terrified of it happening again And in part because nadia's his whole world so who else does he need). she was born in 1998-ish so living her adolescence in the early 2000s / 2010s and enjoying being a little shit to her mom. she DOES have friends in school and online but she spends most of her time with her mom and grandparents, which is completely fine by her since she loves it.

world around them: i think if she and dina do live in connecticut they're probably uconn fans and uconn's main campus is in storrs so

visual reference / face claim: nico parker <3 and using These pictures specifically because they're cute And have dina & nadia energy <3

——————————————————————————————————

(for more information, my organizational doc: https://docs.google.com/document/d/1SzYnq2jsdSjBT_SEjoevtqvumJupMkQcFBC6AllWmTM/edit?usp=sharing)

#pant rambles #irises & amaryllises tag #cipher-fresh #sorry this took SO long to get out #i was waiting for a moment to use my computer. which took a while to get to.#then i took ages typing things up

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cottonconnielvr · 10 months

Note

Okay so, we’re obviously Connie’s very spoiled girlfriend

Reader had eyes on this really expensive bag that she’s been dying to have. She asked Plug!Connie and he has the audacity to tell us no, just to see how we’d react. Reader starts having a really nasty bratty attitude for a week and now daddy gotta set us straight 🫣

WARNINGS ✩ — squirting, smoking, sloppy messy blowjob, reader calls con daddy, reader is sensitive emotionally,rough sex, crying, handjob,overstimulation + just nasty stuff (may b a couple mistakes bc i didnt feel like re-reading imma do it later tho😭)

JEAN passed the blunt over to Connie, slightly shaking from coughing. Connie, who was sitting on Eren’s couch, shook his head as he scrolled through your ig story. “Swear this lil girl want me to fuck her shit up,” Connie mumbled as he hit the blunt.

Eren laughed from the floor, sitting in a bean bag. “What she do now?”

“She got a lil attitude with me because I told her not to let her fucking demon dog in the room anymore. So now she posting shit she know will make me mad” Connie passed his phone to Eren, letting him look at your story.

“You spoil that girl wayyy too much anyway,” Jean added.

“What you mean?” Connie asked with an attitude.

“She never listen to your ass because you say yes to everything she says. She literally gets whatever she wants from you.” Connie fights the urge to defend his spoiled princess but, Jean was making a point.

“I mean he did kinda do it to himself, not her” Eren passed the blunt to Jean.

“Bro you’re her bitch” Jean says in disbelief. “Shut yo long headed ass up. I am not her bitch” Connie defends himself, although a part of him agreed with Jean. Connie never really did put you in check unless it ended with angry sex. He was never super stern with, just letting you get by with everything.

But that was the way it was supposed to be. You were his spoiled little princess who always got what she wanted because she deserves it more than anyone.

“Just tell her no to see how she reacts”

Connie doesn’t give an answer, just contemplating on it.

“Ight”

“Isn’t she gorgeous baby just look” You practically shove your phone in Connie’s face. Connie looks at the pink purse. “I’ve been obsessing so bad and I neeedd it, please” Your glossy lips pout as you beg.

Connie furrowed his eyebrows, “Mhmm no I think you’re good.” You jerk your head back, trying to process that word, No.

You don’t have a great history with the word no.

“No y/n you can’t have this”

“No y/n you can’t have that”

Why would anyone deny you anything?

“What? Why! What did I do? Why not!?” You whined feeling the need to cry.

“You don’t exactly deserve it. You haven’t been good”Connie fought the urge to smile at you, such a crybaby. “What!? Baby I have what are you talking about?” You sat up, sitting on Connie’s lap.

“Your instagram stories, you keep going to parties I tell you not to go to. You needa get your act together” You gasped, offended that he was acting so nonchalant. He was basically telling you that he didn’t love you anymore.

“So until you fix your attitude then maybe, you can get it” Connie practically brushed you off and reached for his blunt. You sat there frozen for a minute, feeling betrayed and heartbroken.

“Okay Connie.” You said in a monotone voice before getting off of Connie and walking out of the room.

The rest of the week has been hell for Connie.

You had one of the worst attitudes ever, giving Connie silent treatment, short answers, and no sex.Were you trying to kill him?

In your point of view, you weren’t gonna stop until he apologized ( with an apology gift to go with ).

Connie walked in the house, hearing you blast “Me, Myself, and I” by Beyonce. Connie shook his head, obviously understanding the message.

“Baby!” Connie yelled from downstairs.

Meanwhile you sat at your vanity, fixing your hair. Connie opened the door to your beauty room, “You ain hear me calling you?” He asked while squinting his eyes at you. “I guess not.” Connie watched as you rolled your eyes.

Connie leaned on the door, poking his tongue against his cheek. “What’s yo problem?” He finally asked.

You stayed silent.

“I’m talking to you, Y/N.” Connie said sternly.

“Nothing Connie” You stood up, fully showcasing your tight outfit.

“ where you goin” Connie looked you up and down, ignoring his boner and licking his lips.

You were wearing a tight denim mini skirt with baby tee, showing your boobs practically poking out the top. “Just going out” You grabbed your purse which Connie recognized it as a new one.

You had to buy it yourself since no charges came from Connie’s card and you’ve been avoiding him like crazy. Connie knew you were really mad if you start paying for your own stuff. You walked passed him, purposely hitting him with your purse and a small oops leaving your mouth.

Connie just smiled to himself, shaking his head. You were gonna sleep really good tonight.

“What I tell you about walking away from me mama?” Connie followed you to the living room. You didn’t answer, walking to the front door.

You stood a little shocked as Connie sat on the couch. He got pretty comfortable, reaching for his phone out of his pocket.

Just as you reached for the lock, “Y/N come sit down with me”

Your legs practically went numb as you heard the tone in Connie’s voice. He sounded very very stern which meant he was not in the mood to be fucked with.

Your boldness melted away. Your head immediately went down, avoiding eye contact at all costs.

You sat in the loveseat across from Connie, messing with your fishnets. “I said come sit with me Y/N” You didn’t hesitate to move the second he said your name.

Yeah he was pissed.

You walked over to Connie, his hand grabbing yours as he pulls you on his lap. You land on Connie’s muscular thigh, his hand immediately going to your inner thigh.

His touch felt good, your attention now focused on the feeling. His tatted fingers massaging your inner thigh.

“What’s yo problem? Didn’t even care to ask me how my day was,” Connie looked up at you as you stayed silent. A pinch was sent to your inner thigh, making you jump.

“I don’t have a problem Connie. I was just trying to have fun”

“Why you lying to me Y/N” Connie grabbed your jaw, forcing you to look at him.

“You just made me upset and I-I just really wanted the bag” Connie’s thumb wiped against your bottom lip, smearing your lip gloss.

“Instead of acting like a brat you should’ve told me that you were upset. I thought we agreed to talk like adults whenever we feel upset with eachother, not do this petty ass silent treatment shit.”

“I’m sorry Con” Your voice small and quiet out of guiltiness.

“I don’t believe you ma” Connie leaned back on the couch, removing his hands from your body.

You whined, missing his touch after you ignored him for days. “I really am daddy”

Connie almost folded at the pet name, fighting the urge to pound you into the couch until your makeup comes off but that could wait. He wanted to make you beg a little longer.

“I don’t believe you. Gonna show me how sorry you are hm?” You quickly nodded, taking place between his spread legs. Your hands immediately went for the band of his sweatpants, tugging them down with eagerness. Connie lifted up his hips, letting you pull down his boxers as well. His cock springing up against his stomach ( his name ain’t connie springer for no reasonnnn)

Your tongue ran up his balls, going all the way up to the tip. “Fuck” Connie mumbled to himself, it’s felt like forever since you’ve gave him a blowjob.

You hollowed your cheeks as you took him down to the base. You flattened your tongue against the underside of his cock, feeling him stuff your throat.

Your hands rested on the floor besides your knees, stabling yourself as you tried to breathe through your nose.

You gagged once you felt Connie buck his hips upwards. Connie’s hands went to your head, keeping you in place.

Your nose was flush against his lower stomach. Connie thrusted up into your mouth, groaning to himself. The more he looked down at you, the angrier he got.

How dare you ignore him and keep this pretty little mouth away from him. You could feel your scalp become sore from the deadly grip Connie had on it.

The sloppy sound of your gags and the wetness of your mouth filled the living room. The scene was so nasty and filthy, your saliva leaking all around Connie’s cock and your mouth.

Your hands tapped at Connie’s thighs. Connie lifted your head up, letting you breathe. Strings of spit connected from your mouth to Connie’s cock, making him groan.

You panted, feeling your sticky lip gloss all over your mouth.

“Stick your tongue out” Connie slowly stroked himself. You stuck your tongue out. Connie slapped his dick around your tongue, making your saliva drip down to your boobs. Connie rubbed his dick all over your lips before bringing it down to your chest.

“F-fuck” Connie moaned deeply. Your eyes watered, feeling so humiliated and used.

“You sorry baby?” Connie asked, slapping your wet cheek. A tear ran down your cheek, running black with your mascara. “Y-yes” You whimpered. Your hands twisted up and down his cock.

“ Gonna b-be g..good for me hm?” You stuck your tongue out, looking up at Connie. You watched as Connie pushed out a glob of spit, it landing on your tongue. You swallowed, Connie slapping your cheek once again. “Look at me ma” Your eyes locked with Connie’s before he pushed your head down on his dick again, moving your head up and down. You moaned lightly, causing a vibration to run through connie’s cock. “Make me c-c..ah..cum” Connie hissed, feeling your take him so deep. Connie could feel his stomach tightening , toes curling, and thighs clenching. “F-fuck baby” Connie pulled out of your mouth, ribbons of white cum squirting in your face. Connie winced as he rubbed his cum into your face with his tip, smearing it all over your lips (since you like lip gloss so much)

Your mascara ran down your face, making you look an absolute mess. a beautiful mess

“f-fuckfuckfuck m’sorry! i-im sorry daddy, i’m s-s..i’m so sorry” Your muffled cries fell on deaf ears, Connie continuing his brutal thrusts. He was fucking you so so so hard.

It hurt so bad but felt so good. Your legs went numb rounds ago and your body was a mess, covered in your own fluids mixed with Connie’s.

Your mouth was open, sending your screams into the silk white pillow. Connie hovered above you, holding onto the headboard as he slammed his hips into you. “F-fuck cum again” Connie ordered you, reaching between your legs to rub your swollen clit.

“I-i can’t-” You gasped out, on the verge of passing out. You gripped onto the cold pillows, trying to pull yourself up and away from his torture. Connie took notice of this and wrapped his hand around your throat, pulling you back.

“You are.” You heard Connie sternly mutter.

You whined, your hand reaching behind you to push Connie away only for Connie to grab both of your hands. He pinned them down on the deep arch in your back, absolutely churning your insides.

“I-i..i promise pa- m’not go..gonna act up anymore” You cried out, loosing all of your body strength.

You body physically went numb altogether, a rush of pleasure washes over you. Your legs shook violently. You let out a scream that you were not aware of, clenching hard on Connie’s cock.

“S-shit” Connie looked down, seeing you wet up his lower body

(“they told me to stay out that water park😔” - future baby daddy connie with his five kids tackling him)

The pressure pushed Connie’s cock out of you, causing him to paint your ass with white ribbons.

Connie took a moment to breathe before he moved from above you, your breathing was now steady and you laid flush into the bed.

Connie squinted his eyes, slowly turning your face. No way this girl is sleep right now I ain done

“Baby...Baby…..Baby” Connie shook your body, waking you up. You whined, going right back to that bratty attitude that Connie loved oh so much.

“Whattt” You were so exhausted, moving was not an option right now.

After a much needed bath, you fell right asleep with just a bra and panties on. You were knocked out, sleeping all the way until 12 pm.

You woke up to just you in the bed, your house ringing silence. (Marshmallow is at a doggy hotel getting groomed #materialgworl💅) Instead of waking up to Connie’s presence you woke up to a box with a note on top of it.

‘Had to leave early and handle some business with Ony, I’ll be back before you know it. Thank me later sexy’

You sat the note aside before taking the top off of the pink box, only to see the very purse the got you in this situation to begin with.

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houseofoddballs · 3 months

Text

Fuck it. Trauma bond Ghoap with a forgotten reader because all I can write is angst. Final word count is about 3,700, enjoy! Sorry about the lackluster ending and fair warning that Soap is a bit of a dick and fairly OOC.

Tw: Emptional neglect, light nsfw, mentions of torture. (Tell me if there are any more to add!)

You had never heard of trauma bonding, not before your 6'2 masked boyfriend brought back his Scottish best friend. Ghost was never one to be shy or sheepish, but the way that he bowed his head as he told you that he had fallen in love with Soap during their capture and torture, well, it broke your heart a bit. You thought that was going to be the end of it, that he was going to choose the mowhawked muscle over you (and you couldn't really blame him after the small tidbits about the incident you had heard) but then Ghost dropped to one knee and held your hands in his own as he looked you dead in the eyes and begged you not to make him choose, because he still loved you too. And how were you supposed to turn him down?

So, that's how you ended up living with two discharged military men. At first, things were a little rocky. You and Soap were getting along and getting to know each other after all. You weren't exactly dating Soap, but the threesomes made it hard to understand what exactly you were. Polygamy? It didn't matter, though, because Ghost was the one you loved. Ghost was the man who had stolen your heart and treated it like a golden retriever treats eggs. Gently, softly, sweetly. And you had done your best to do the same.

But Soap? Soap was... different. Where Simon was quiet and calm, Soap was loud and boisterous. Where Simon was introverted and kept to himself, Soap was ambiverted (at best) and loved social media. They were like night and day in a lot of ways, and it made your head spin. Another difference? Soap was SO *clingy*.

It was ok at first. Apparently, Simon and Soap had been captured for nearly a week and took turns watching each other get tortured. In the dead of night, when they got any reprieve, they spent that time whispering sweet words to each other just to keep them level-headed and alive. Trauma bonding. Ghost and Soap were bound to be connected at the hip for at least a bit. Right?

Well, 'just a bit' turned into months. Inseparable. You couldn't get five seconds alone with your boyfriend unless Soap was in the bathroom because he refused to do anything without Ghost.

That would have been OK if you didn't see how much it was wearing on your sweet Simon. Any time you got a minute alone together, he would gently hold your face and apologize to you. Murmur to you with his brows knit up about how exhausting Soap could be and how soothing your quiet company was.

He was burnt-out. No other way to put it. In the fleeting moments you got where you could hold Ghost and do things with him, he was simply exhausted and worn-out from Johnny clinging so tightly to him and making him a part of everything in his life. Simon was definitely an introvert, and hardly ever got time to recharge those batteries on touch and the like.

So what did you do? You gave him space. The time you got to spend alone was spent at a distance, small conversations about the things that interested Ghost, since Soap hardly ever talked about those. You had asked why Johnny was still here if he was really making Ghost so miserable, and all he had told you was that he couldn't leave Johnny, couldn't hurt him. So, you relented and just tried to be supportive. You could be happy like this.

Except you weren't. One can only live on table scraps for so long, but you were willing to try for Ghost, and even for Soap. So when Johnny told Simon that it was irritating how little alone time the two of them got because you were always hanging around and asked him to have a talk with you about it, what did he do? Well, he didn't defend you, that's for sure.

Groceries. How pathetic. Soap finally let you and Ghost get *Groceries* together, just the two of you, and your heart utterly soared. Just you and Simon, for possibly an hour. How long had it been since you could do this? How long had it been since you had even hugged or been hugged by your boyfriend? You had no idea.

But all of that went cold as you finished loading your haul into the trunk. Simon turned to you, dark eyes peeking out from behind his Skull balaclava that he only took off at home. He looked so tired, so exhausted.

"Listen, love... Johnny-..." You froze. Of course, you should have known better. No way Soap would let you and Ghost go somewhere together alone while he just sat at home scrolling through short clips on his phone. Of course, there was a condition, a caviot. But this was Simon, your Ghost, so you heard him out. "Johnny was wondering if you could... give us a bit more space. He feels like he doesn't get enough alone time with me. I'm sorry, love, I promise that I'll make it up to you."

If your heart hadn't sunk into your stomach, you would have had to resist the urge to laugh. Soap wasn't getting enough time with Ghost? The same Soap who had been draining every ounce of willpower out of Ghost until your strong-willed Simon was just complacent? The same Soap who drug Simon wherever he went and whined when you wanted to come with? The same Soap who had kicked you out of your shared room for reasons that you still don't know how he convinced Simon? And yet, he didn't get enough alone time with Simon.

You wanted to scream, to cry, to do or say anything to fight back. But one more look into Simon's weary, amber eyes shut down all of your complaints. He was slowly being worn down, and you didn't know what you could do to help. So, you just nodded.

The entire drive back was silent. At some point, you had reached over and gently held Simon's hand on the center console to let him know that you weren't mad, and he had let you. Your first physical contact with Simon in ages. You helped carry in and put away the groceries, acutely aware of Soaps eyes boring into and watching you for your next move, and then you simply retreated to your room. Alone.

That night, you had to listen as the two made love. Headboard banging against the wall, soft moans permeating through your headphones and into your ears, vibrations buzzing and echoing through the halls. You cred that night, just like so many other nights.

You were being forgotten, forced into invisibility in your own house.

And that's how so many months passed by. With you hiding away in your room and only coming out to eat or eagerly take Johnny's table scraps of Ghost's time. But Ghost hardly ever got any time to himself, so, sometimes you would just let him be and relax. Maybe it was simply time for you to move on.

That's when the texts came. Any time Johnny was gracious enough to give Ghost a moment of peace and you either didn't know or just let him relax, he would text you. "Johnny's still at work." "I miss you, love." "I'm on the couch." "Come see me?"

He was making you feel loved, needed even. Even though most of that time spent was him complaining about Soap, every time he would look at you with those soft brown heart melting eyes and thank you for being so understanding and supportive. He would tell you that he loved you so much and that you didn't know how much having you there kept him sane. And how could you leave him like that?

You wished that you had made Simon choose. Nearly five years of this neglect. Simon was so physically overstimulated by Johnny's constant need to be touching him, that something as small as resting your hand on his thigh made him irritable. Johnny would openly complain about you right in front of you, and Ghost would just sigh and let Johnny think he was having his way because it was better than fighting and dealing with Johnny being bitter and whiny.

It was fucking torture. Do you know what that's like? To be slowly isolated and forgotten in your own household? Yes, you do. Because Johnny has made sure of that. Are you going out too much? Johnny is complaining. Are you working too much? Johnny is complaining. You watch too many shows with them? Johnny is complaining. It was getting to the point where you only left your room to eat and when Simon texted you, period. Soap had insisted that with him and Ghost working civilian jobs, you should stay home to keep things tidy and make life a little easier. All it had taken was for Ghost to agree that that would make things easier for you to relent since your job wasn't the best anyway. But the pure isolation that you felt from only interacting with the two of them unless Johnny was gracious enough to let you come with them on an errand?

It was debilitating.

Finally, everything came to a head. "Hey Johnny, would you go to the corner store and pick up some soda?" "Would you come with?" "I would have bloody come with three hours ago right after work. Now I'm in my fuckin' pajamas. Not goin' anywhere like this." "Well, you know I dinnae like going right after work, Simon."

This was your opportunity, your chance. Soap was nose deep in some book he was reading and only half paying attention while you sat next to Simon on the couch, his feet propped up on your lap.

"I would go with you?" Simon's eyes flicked to you, a small smile pulling at his lips. "Yeah, love, that would be great. Mind makin' a list for me so I know what all we need to pick up?" A task. You loved when Simon gave you things to do, because whith those things to do was always some form of praise or appreciation upon completion. You ate it up whole and completely. "Of course, Si. I'll be ready by five tomorrow." "It's a date then, love."

And so, that's how you flitted around the house all day, straightening up and making a list of what you needed, absolutely giddy and buzzing wirh hopeless excitement. Soap got home early that day, which wasn't much of a shock, just made you retreat into your room early. Nothing new. Simon would text you when he was ready, right?

You sat by your phone eagerly with baited breath. 5:30. You guessed that work had kept Simon late again. It wasn't that big of a deal. But you sent him a text just to let him know that you hadn't forgotten about him. "I'm ready whenever you get off work, no rush. I love you."

5:30 turned to 6:00 and that's when you finally got the message. "I'm here." Short, sweet, to the point. That was Simon for you. You practically threw yourself off of your bed and ran to the garage with a large grin on your face. Even if it was as simple as groceries, you cherished every moment of time you got with Simon as if it were spending time with God himself. Because, in a way, Simon was your God. You looked up to him, depended on him, revered him, practically worshipped the ground he walked on; because he deserved it in your eyes.

Your grin fell at the sight before you. "Oh, hey Bonnie." Soap was hopping out of the passenger seat of Ghost's Jeep, going around to the trunk and popping it to pull out several grocery bags. Hurt, confusion, and betrayal all pooled together in your gut as you watched him take the bags inside all in one go. But, what about your list? Your phone felt heavier in your pocket as your stomach churned at the realization that to bring up the completion of the task would be pointless now.

"Hop in." Ghosts voice shook you from your haze, and you slowly took Soap's empty seat beside Ghost. Why? The question swam through your head in several versions and variations, like fish in a barrel, trying desperately to find the freedom to burst forth from your lips. But, you just couldn't ask, too afraid of the answer.

"Where do you want to go?" The question almost caught you off-guard. Where did you want to go? Did he mean Groceries? Were there some left? Or did he mean just in general? Was he offering to do something with you? "I um, I don't know." You admitted, eyes flicking between Simon and the road.

"...'M sorry love." He admitted with a sigh, shoulders sagging with the weight of the world placed upon them. "There was a bit of a mix-up, ya see? I got home and texted Johnny to ask if he would ask if you were coming-" Of course, the plan had been to bring Soap all along. That hurt a bit. "- and he told me 'no' so I thought he meant that you didn't want to come."

"I didn't get your message until we were already in the bloody market, and when I asked Johnny about it, he told me that he had told me that he didn't ask you. I felt so plum bad because I knew that you wanted to come with. 'M so sorry, love."

You were so close to losing it. Hot tears stung at your eyes, but you refused to let them fall when Simon was trying so hard, going so far as to take you for an extra drive just to make sure you had some time with him and felt loved.

"I already told Johnny, so he knows that I'm spending some time with you. Tried to throw a fit, but I shut him down." Simon sighed and ran a hand down his mask as he looked over at you while stopped at a red light. "It's ok, Simon, really. I'm just happy to spend this time together with you. That's all I can ask for. Even though you're tired after work and going for groceries, you're still taking the time to make it up to me even though it wasn't your fault. I really appreciate it."

Simon didn't pull away as you clasped his hand in your own, softly running your fingers over the back of his knuckles. He looked so grateful and relieved, as if so much pressure had just been released. He had been so worried about how you were going to take it, about if this small bit of time would be enough.

"Thank you, love. You have no idea how much I appreciate you and how-" Simon was cut off by a loud click and a light being turned on on his dashboard. "Bloody hell, check engine? I'm so sorry. It doesn't seem too big a deal, but I should probably check it out before it becomes an issue. Is that OK, love?"

What were you supposed to say? 'No!' 'For the first time in months, I get some time alone with you, and it's just 20 minutes in a car!?' 'I miss you' 'please don't!' You couldn't. Simon was tired enough as it was with Soap clinging to him. You simply felt dejected as you tried to smile and reassure him that it was ok and that you enjoyed your time together.

When you got home, Simon muttered about checking the engine tomorrow as he herded you inside, plopping down on the couch next to Soap. The sight made your heart hurt even more. You were ready to just head to your cold, lonely room to cry out your frustration when Simon piped up. "Hey, love, mind cooking up some chips for me? I'm bloody starving, and they sound wonderful."

How could you say no? Sitting in your kitchen waiting for the French fries to bake, you couldn't do it anymore. You sobbed quietly into your open palm as you clasped your hand over your mouth to quiet any noises. What were you supposed to do? Staying was only wearing you down and tearing you apart. You felt more like the ghost in this household, forgotten and lost. You were losing yourself, touch starved beyond belief and to the point of isolation where you were starting to sleep more than you were awake because it made the pain go away for a bit.

But leaving would be just as hard. You hadn't been employed for so long because the boys took care of you, which wasn't going to look good on a resume, and you had nowhere to go. But worst of all?

Worst of all was how you knew your leaving would affect Simon. Johnny was consuming all of him and leaving mere shreds, and the only time that Ghost got to indulge in his own interests was with you. But he just couldn’t bring himself to leave Johnny. You were his support system, his pillar.

You knew this, and yet, it still felt so unfair. Simon was everything to you. When you had been at your worst, he had held you and told you that you were beautiful. When he had been deployed for months at a time, you always texted him and told him how much you loved and missed him. He gave all of himself that he had to give to you before Soap came and statched that all away.

And you couldn't blame Simon for how badly the trauma had messed him up! He still had nightmares about that week. Being tortured and having to watch Soap get tortured as well. Sometimes, you would wake up in the middle of the night to one of them screaming and waking up on a picnic only for the other to softly murmur and reassure them that they were ok and alive. You couldn't do that, not for Simon, not like Soap could.

A sharp 'ding' cut off your thoughts as the oven beeped, signaling the end of the potato strings furnace treatment. You pulled them out of the oven and put them on a plate, heading to the bathroom to clean yourself up. The time for your little mental breakdown was up. Now you had to go take the fries to Simon like you weren't just bawling, like you were perfectly fine and happy, like you didn't want to scream and shout and beg for things to be different, to change. But that would be selfish of you to do, and Simon couldn't deal with you and Soap both being selfish.

God, you looked like shit. Bags were heavy under your puffy eyes, your nose was red and runny, your face all splochy from your crying, tear streaks running down your cheeks. This wouldn't do. You sighed as you splashed some cold water on your face and took a deep breath, trying desperately to distance yourself and disassociate from these awful feelings.

Once you were sure you looked fine once more, you towled your face off and grabbed the plate, plastering on your 'I'm fine' smile as you took the french fries to Ghost. The way he smiled so softly and gently at you made it all worth it, made you temporarily forget all of that pain. "Thank you, love. You're welcome to stay?"

"No, thank you, I think I'm going to try and catch up in some games. Thank you, though." Ghost didn't press any, didn't ask again. You wished he would ask again, would even try just a bit to make you feel like he loved you a shred as much as you revered him. But you had to remind yourself that you were getting greedy. He had just taken you for a car ride just the two of you, he had just stood up to Soap so you two could have a bit of time alone, he had just done exactly what you were asking him for. And yet you still wanted more.

The realization that you felt terrible for wanting the bare minimum amount of attention and affection for a relationship was just another reminder of how unhealthy this was for you.

"I love you." Simon said, his eyes so soft and sweet. "I love you too." You had to hold back tears as your smile grew a little bit, and you turned. You couldn't even wait until you made it back to your room to start crying. It wasn't fair. You did everything right, did everything Simon asked, and asked nothing in return, you loved him unconditionally with all of your heart and gave all of yourself to him; meanwhile Soap didn't even care enough to give Simon personal space when they were together because it made HIM feel better. And yet, Soap was the one who got all of Simon's time and love simply because it was easier for Simon to cave to his whims than put up with his bitching. You couldn't handle it anymore! Couldn't take it!

But what were you supposed to do? What could you do? Nothing. The only thing you could do was throw a fit, and that would just wear Simon even thinner and wouldn't accomplish anything because things would be the same again within a month.

And so, you did the only thing you could do. You fell asleep crying again, clutching your pillow to your chest, wishing desperately that Simon would finally come to his senses and put you first for once. But you didn't fool yourself into believing it.

Only shooting stars Grant wishes, and all of yours had been shot down.

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