#fucking glove puppet
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blurry sketchy puppets in a lime. line. limelight line
#having so much fun w/ these two In My Brain#peppy showman & her bodyguard horse#*unofficial bodyguard#they're platonic soulmates tho. thats important ive discovered#she's a bit of an arsonist. he's killed before and will do so again with no remorse. neither of them reach 4' in height#scribble garnish#forced idiots <3#oc#original character#puppet oc#NOT WELCOME HOME. I AM HOLDING A LOADED SHOTGUN. THEY ARE NOT WH OCS#im still wishy washy on their relative sizes#i think sundown is too big...#also still wishy washy on her outfit's colors#maybe... blue gloves/boots & red tassels? idk!#anyway the correct song to put to this image would be the travel montage music from the first ice age#fuck what song was that#send me on my way I Think!
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mattson being like i want to fuck your wife so i wont make her us ceo. but i will make you us ceo because you put the baby in the baby lady (and also because tom is a shit-gobbling dick-sucking empty suit). likeeeeeeee. there's so much here and im not normal about any of it
#honestly? call me a guy who has only seen rgu BUT#tom's arc in this episode is very similar imho to what touga wanted in ep 36. the barren sceptre of it all the entitlement of Man#the posession of the woman. MY woman. who the devil you make the deal with would never give real power to bc shes a woman#he just wants to fuck her. god. god. im NORMAL. I AM NORMAL ABOUT THINGS#mattson lifting tom up the 'we're men' of it all but ultimately hes just a glove puppet that mattson is going to shove his hand up like !!!#ive connected the dots. ive connected them#succession spoilers#succession#shut up daisy
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I don't go here but the way the puppets in Don't Hug Me I'm Scared are built and operated gets henson puppets better than anything that tries to parody the muppets/sesame street and it all comes down to the fact that they are all different to each other
#theyre not all rod puppets with a primary colour skin tone and circle noses and whole pinpong eyes#the duck guy is a bird and has the glove hands. the red guy is a whole guy in a costume#its good puppetry and i may be too much of a wimp to watch it but fuck do i respect the puppets
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Me: *does stretches and PT exercises*
Those body parts the next day: what the FUCK did u do to me. I am NEVER going to recover from this
#i did wrist streches yesterday and now i gotta use my compression gloves again 🙃🙃🙃#fucking hell man#do my hip PT i can barely walk#do wrist streches now i gotta be left handed for the day#i cannot win in this beyond cursed meat puppet!!!!!#it's like living in a goddamn abandoned amusement park!!!!#looks coool but cant do shit or itll break down immediately i hate it here
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youtube
so excited by this!!
#this is like the sr equivalent of the fatui funeral trailer. like bitching cool look at villains with lotsa monologueing#the stellaron hunters have always been too ''clearly doing the right thing'' to be our fatui but these guys seem like they suck <3<3<3#the big hat lady (Constance) is so. uh. hahah. whew#hoyo finally made a woman i'm like instantly attracted to i genuinely thought they couldn't do it#shes beautiful. shes evil. shes got a devil tail. she isn't dressed like a party city sexy catgirl or whatever. shes tasteful!! very hot#(and shes got those ff dragon girl horns god. preinstalled handles)#everyone else is genuinely cool as well. duke inferno is obvious just the coolest.#the punk rock girlie with the chains is pretty just not my type in particular#the puppet girl!! like. shes tempting me i just love the huge ghost driving a little puppet thing its awesome#Akash(the guy)... i will need to see more of.#like. if they'd released him earlier i might've been more excited but.#his clothes look a lot like atventurine and gallaghers. i though he WAS gallagher when i first watched it#(i didn't spell ANY of those names right but i don't feel like fixing it)#and like. his bit. his gimmick if you will is... he's got a cello? he hasn't really shown his charms point yet#like everyone else is a demon a punkrock lady in chains a giant fucking ghost driving a cute little puppet a guy on fire#and he's a guy in shades. with a cello. he's not quite serving at everyone else's level yet.#i willl say his outfit has a lot of bat themeing. like on the gloves and the cape parts look like bat wings. so maybe he'll be a vampire!#i can't resist a guy covered in blood so. if he feels like taking advantage of that weakness of mine i wouldn't complain.#game: honkai sr#post: misc
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Reader and ghost fake dating for a mission with a twist.It’s a masquerade ball so Ghost wears a fancy little mask instead of his usual skull. Reader gets worked up seeing him in a tux with his hair and part of his face out so they ditch their mics and abandon the mission to go fuck in a bathroom. Just a thought… 🤭🤭
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Master of Puppets
Simon "Ghost" Riley x fem!reader
[“Master of Puppets” by Metallica]
[18+]
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• summary - you and ghost getting all dressed up for a ball ends in you and ghost fucking in the bathroom lol.
• rating - 18+
• wordcount - 3.6k
• warnings - fem!reader, unprotected piv, semi-public sex, handjobs idk, ghost is a little possessive of his sergeant, strong language
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ok you requested this while my requests were closed and usually i just delete them BUT you're lucky i'm horny for this idea
i'm imagining him in a peaky blinders style three-piece suit and i'm going insane why do i do this to myself
You weren't a stranger to the "fake dating" type of mission. You had done it with Gaz just a few months prior to infiltrate enemy operations at a charity event in Dubai.
So, when that exact type of mission came around again, you were prepared for what it would take.
"Playing boyfriend-girlfriend again, Garrick?" You quipped at Gaz a few minutes before Price's usual briefing.
He smiled, but shook his head. "Not me, sarge."
You made a face of confusion, before Gaz threw his thumb over his shoulder, pointing directly at Ghost. Ghost raised his head from the files he had been reading.
"Seriously?" You gaped, surprised.
Ghost shook his head slowly, muttering out a sarcastic comment, "Dial down the excitement, sergeant."
Now, you stood in the bathroom of your hotel room, smoothing your hands down the fabric of your dress, admiring yourself. It was an absolutely stunning dress that clung to you in all the right ways. Designer label, too, leaving you wondering how the hell Price got his hands on it. Probably Laswell.
There was a light knock on your door before it opened, and you walked into the bedroom so you could slip your heels on. Soap and Price entered, dressed impeccably in suits. You stood at the foot of the bed as they walked in, and you admired them with a big smile.
"You two look very handsome." You said.
"Thank you," Price said, adjusting his tie. "You look absolutely radiant, sarge."
You laughed, sitting on the edge of the bed so you could fasten your heels to your feet, as well as strap your handgun to the strap around your upper thigh.
Soap gaped at you, eyes raking down the entirety of your body while you exposed a leg, tightening the holster around it.
"You're smokin', lass," he said, shock edging his words. "Ghost won't be able to focus."
You rolled your eyes, sliding your gun into place before standing up, settling your dress over top of it, trying your best to make the imprint not obvious.
The three of you left the hotel ten minutes later. A black SUV with tinted windows waited outside, and Soap opened the door for you. Price grabbed hold of your arm before you slid inside, leaning close to your ear.
"Remember, you and Ghost are there to get intel. You don't engage with any of the targets, understood? Soap and I will be nearby if you run into any trouble."
"Understood." You nodded, before clambering into the black SUV. Soap mouthed good luck to you before he turned away, just as Ghost walked slowly down the steps, Gaz a few metres behind.
Your eyes widened. He looked fucking good.
A black three piece suit, complete with the waistcoat and everything. He wasn't wearing gloves, exposing large, strong hands with prominent veins and silver rings around his fingers. What shocked you the most, however, was the silver mask covering most of the top half of his face. It shined in the light of the hotel entrance. As he neared the car, you could see his lips, his jawline, his chin, scars littering the flesh.
You pressed your thighs together.
Price said something to Ghost, and then Soap did as well. Finally, Ghost looked into the car where you waited patiently, and you watched as his lips parted in what could be best described as a small gasp.
"Sergeant..." He trailed off, taking in your dress, your face, your body, you.
"Lieutenant," you nodded at him. "You look nice. Very dapper."
He grunted deeply, sliding into the seat next to you. His body radiated heat that you could feel. He smelt good, too. You bit your lip as his strong thigh pressed against yours.
With a final few good lucks from the boys, the car was pulling away from the hotel and heading for the venue. You and Ghost didn't exchange much conversation, but as you looked out the window, you felt the heat of his gaze on you. You turned your head, catching his bright eyes following the curves of your dress.
You ignored the flip in your stomach at the weight of desire in his eyes. "Like what you see?" You joked, and his eyes snapped up to look at you.
He cleared his throat, looking anywhere but you, before he fished something out of his jacket pocket. He held it out to you, still not quite meeting your eyes. It was a silver mask, much like his, but a bit smaller, with finer details carved around the edges. It was really pretty.
"It's a masquerade ball, so I figured you'd need this." Ghost grumbled, retracting his hands straight away as you took the mask from him.
"Matching?" You smiled.
"I figured... I mean— it was Soap's idea, so if you don't want... you don't, you know—"
"I love it, sir, I do," you said softly, and he sighed deeply through his nose. You then angled your body away from him, pressing the mask to your face with the ribbons dangling either side. "Do you mind tying it for me?"
Ghost said nothing, but took hold of the two ribbons and brought them to the back of your head. He carefully tied a bow, keeping your mask secure against your face. You could feel the soft rhythm of his breathing against your back, and the warmth of his bare hands near the base of your neck.
"Done?" You asked, looking at yourself in the windows reflection.
Ghost swallowed thickly, ignoring something stirring deep within the pit of his stomach. "Yeah."
•º•
You felt somewhat confident walking into the event with Ghost on your arm. All eyes turned towards the handsomely dressed man, clearly well-built beneath the suit and obviously attractive beneath the silver mask. He captured this attention like a natural, which you couldn't come to grips with. He was so calm, collected. You felt as though you were going to burst into tears at any moment.
But you didn't. You wouldn't. Not with the way Ghost circled an arm around your lower back, a hand pressed hot above your arse. Not with the way he kept you pressed to your side, his towering frame shielding you from at least one line of prying eyes.
But, you felt eyes on you too. Eyes on the pretty girl next to the man with the silver mask. They admired you from close and afar, watching the way your dress dipped around your body, and the way your silver mask glittered under the light of the crystal chandeliers.
"Alright, sarge?" Ghost whispered, thumb rubbing circles on your lower back.
"Yep," you squeaked out, the movement of his hand making your body grow hot. "You good?"
"Mhm." He hummed, already surveying the room.
—Okay, you two. Try and get as much information out of these rich-listers as you can—, Price's voice filtered in through your earpiece. —I would say don't draw attention to yourselves, but it seems it's a bit late for that. You're probably the youngest, most attractive pair in that room tonight—.
"Aw, cap, you flatter us." You joked, snagging two flutes of champagne from the tray of a passing waitress.
—Just don't get distracted—. Price grumbled, before his voice was gone from your ear.
You held a glass of champagne out for Ghost, who just stared at it. You were already raising yours to your lips, drinking the bubbling liquid in small sips. Finally, he took it from you, but didn't drink.
"Shouldn't be drinking on the job." He said gruffly as you finished your drink, placing the empty glass on a nearby table.
"Says who?" You question, taking the second flute from him since he obviously wasn't going to drink it.
"Says me."
"Pfft, you're not the boss of me." You quipped, downing the second glass of champagne. It was mostly to steel your nerves— which were on fire with anxiety.
He rolled his eyes. "I am the boss of you."
"Oh yeah."
•º•
An hour or so went by and you found yourself sat at the bar. It was a pretty place, decked out in gold and glittering crystal lights. You'd spent the past hour gathering as much information about your rich-list targets as you could, with said information being filtered back through your ear-piece, directly back to Gaz in the hotel room.
Ghost had vanished to investigate further, leaving you alone at the bar, a small glass of water in your hand. You'd thrown back a few flutes of champagne and you realised that water was probably your best bet for the rest of the night.
"What's a pretty lady like you sitting here without company?" Came a voice behind you, and you rolled your eyes.
What a cringe line. Embarrassing.
You plastered a polite smile across your face as a man took the barstool beside you, a simple black mask over his features.
"My company's just gone outside for a smoke." You lied naturally, smile not breaking.
"And he's left you all alone?"
"Mhm, but I'm perfectly fine being by myself," you said. "But it was nice to meet you." You finished with the hopes that he'd take the fucking hint and leave.
He didn't take the hint.
"Well, at least let me by you a drink." He offered.
You shook your head. "I'm fine, thank you."
He took that surprisingly well, but his stare was lingering and uncomfortable as it travelled down the length of your body. You felt goosebumps ripple across your exposed flesh, a grimace threatening to overtake your practised smile.
"You look stunning, by the way," he said. "Absolutely beautiful. Are you sure I can't buy you a drink?"
You sighed. "The drinks are free and, no thank you."
"Are you sure—?"
You felt Ghost's presence before he even spoke.
You felt the looming warmth press to your back, the tower of mass that overshadowed your frame. You couldn't help but lean back a bit, his chest and upper abdomen pressing firmly along your spine. Then, a built arm draped over your shoulders, wrapping just above your tits and pulling you closer against him.
"Can I help you?" Ghost asked, voice even, accent thick.
The man had to crane his head to look up at Ghost. "Just keeping the pretty lady company."
Ghost grunted. "I suggest you move on. Keep someone else company, why don't you."
The man swallowed nervously. "I didn't—"
"Go." Ghost ordered simply, and the man was scurrying away before you could even blink.
You looked up at Ghost, top of your head leaning against his chest. "Thanks." You muttered, waiting for him to let go of you.
He didn't. His hand and arm held you closer, his eyes dragging down your face and your body. His other hand came to rest on your jaw, his thumb trailing along the bone. Then it swiped upwards, along your cheek before pressing to your lips, smearing the shimmering gloss.
You were frozen.
"Ghost—?"
"You're the prettiest woman in this fucking room, you know that?" He muttered lowly, thumb skirting along the seam of your lips.
You didn't answer, just stared up at him. His rings were cold against the side of your face.
The moment was thick with tension, and heat pooled in your belly. You felt his chest rise and fall, a bit quicker than it did in the car ride to the event. His pupils were blown, too, between the slots in the mask, and he ran the point of his tongue across his bottom lip.
—Aww, how romantic—, Soap's voice burst in your ear, and both you and Ghost jolted.
"Fucking hell, Johnny," Ghost cursed, grip on your face tighter. "I'm turning this fucking mic off. I'm sick of hearing your voice."
Soap laughed. —You wouldn't dare—
Ghost switched his ear-piece off, before closing his fingers around yours too. He switched it off, and Soap's voice died in your ear.
You gasped. "Ghost—"
He hauled you off of the seat while you were mid-sentence, planting you on your feet with your chest now pressed to his.
"Follow me." He growled.
You could feel his cock hardening in his suit trousers.
•º•
Ghost locked the door of the bathroom behind you, before he was slamming you against it, hiking your legs around his waist. His mouth smashed to yours, and you gasped, barely having enough time to respond before his tongue was surging inwards.
The kiss choked you, full of emotion. Ghost's large frame towering over you, caging you to the door. One of his hands gripped your thigh, keeping your body pinned between his and the door. His other hand gripped the underside of your jaw, angling your face so he could press deeper into the kiss.
The material of the silver masks you were both wearing bumped together with each desperate movement of your mouths. You were able to respond now; winding your arms around his shoulders, delving one hand into his hair, pulling his face closer to yours. Ghost groaned into the kiss as you tugged at the roots of his hair, and he pulled away to look down at you.
"Such a tease," he muttered, before dragging his lips across your jaw and down your neck. "Wearing this pretty dress, too."
His lips found the strap on your shoulder, teeth skimming the material before he was kissing along your collarbone. You angled your face upwards so he could suck along the soft expanse of your throat. He still gripped your jaw firmly as he did so, and he moved your head himself when he wanted to nip at the sensitive skin below your ear.
"Fucking stunning," he said, breathless, before he was stepping back to get a better look at you. You squirmed under his gaze, drawing your thighs together as your core gained a heartbeat. You whined, and he chuckled lowly, dropping your leg off of his waist. "So pretty."
"Simon..." You pleaded, his real name slipping past your lips before you could stop yourself. Your body was simmering hot with arousal, your core aching just by the way Ghost was looking at you.
Not to mention how fucking good he looked in that suit.
Clearly, you were having much the same effect on him.
He huffed deeply, unbuttoning his trousers, his hard cock imprinted through the material. You swallowed as you watched his trousers drop slightly as he pulled his cock out of his boxers, eyes raking up and down your body. And you weren't even showing anything yet.
"Acting like a Victorian man," you couldn't help but joke. "Seeing a sliver of shoulder and a bit of ankle's got you worked up?"
You laughed lightly, seeing Ghost roll his eyes behind the mask. He grunted, the closest thing to a verbal reply, as he gripped his cock and moved closer to you. Your breath hitched as he closed the gap, kissing you hard.
His cock pressed to your abdomen, warm and hard through the expensive material of your dress. You whined softly against Ghost's tongue, moving a hand to enclose around his length also.
Ghost choked on a low moan, pulling out of the kiss to rest his forehead against yours. The both of you staying like that, eyes directed down between your bodies as you gripped his cock, hand right beside his own.
You used the beads of pre-cum pearling at his slit to ease your movements, fisting a hand up and down, making Ghost grumble deep in his chest. Foreheads still pressed together, you both watched as you jerked him off. His hand remained tight at the base, unmoving despite your best efforts to encourage him.
The bathroom was filled with his soft noises; noises that ignited the fire in your belly further, your core throbbing, soaking your underwear. You hummed softly at him, some kind of a whine, as you pumped him faster, feeling him twitch in your hand.
He groaned and grunted softly, his breaths deep and laboured. His cock twitched with each of your movements, drops of pre rolling in a steady pattern along a vein. You collected them in the grooves of your palm, your movements sliding, sending soft, wet clicking sounds into the bathroom as well.
It felt like Ghost was entranced with the way he was looking at your hand moving along his cock. So when he felt his orgasm creeping up the back of his spine, he internally cursed.
He grabbed your wrist and pried your hand from his cock with a hiss, screwing his eyes closed as the feeling of release seeping away. He'd just edged himself, and he didn't even fucking mean too.
"Fuck, gotta be inside you," he muttered, kissing your forehead as he changed positions. "Not gonna last like this."
He hoisted you up, wrapping your legs around him. You helped him wriggle the material of your dress around your waist, and he hummed in satisfaction. You braced one hand around his broad shoulders, the other on the door at your side for stability.
"Fucking hell..." Ghost ran a finger up your slit over your underwear. The material was damp with your arousal, and the feeling of his finger made you squirm in his hold.
"Simon, please—"
"Absolutely soaked..." He wasn't really listening to you. He was too busy playing with the material of your underwear, rubbing up your folds and feeling the way your arousal soaked through.
You quickly moved your hand from the door and fisted a handful of his hair, urging his head to look up. He grunted, gritting his teeth as he finally looked you dead in the eye while you tugged at his hair.
"Simon." You said, commanding as much of his attention as you could.
He licked his lips. "Hm?"
"Fuck me."
"Christ," he whispered, the hand stroking you through your underwear hooking beneath the material. He simply pulled it to the side, exposing your wet cunt. His pupils dilated. "Fucking Christ."
"Don't bring Christ into this." You joked again, and Ghost grunted deeply in response, giving you no warning before he was easing his cock into you.
You spluttered around a moan as his cock filled you abruptly, your hands moving to grip Ghost's shoulders tightly. Your head fell forward, resting against his chest, and you moaned loudly.
His cock nudged that spot inside you that had your cunt fluttering around him, making him groan. He grit his teeth to restrict most of the noises, but he couldn't help himself. Not with the way your cunt was squeezing his cock, all wet and warm and tight.
"Come on, sergeant, come on," Ghost whispered, moving his hips back and slamming into you again. He began to build pace and rhythm with each one of his thrusts. "Let me hear those pretty noises. Come on."
You moaned again, high and breathy as the head of his cock punched the air out of your fucking lungs. He fucked you against the door, the wet sounds of your arousal spurring his movements further.
"Simon, gotta be quiet. Someone m-might hear— ah, fuck—" You bit down on your bottom lip to stifle the moans being torn from your throat by the way Ghost was fucking you.
"Let them hear," he whispered in your ear. "Let them hear how good I make you feel, eh? Let them hear how good you are at taking my cock."
Your head fell backwards against the wooden door, eyes rolling as a string of whimpers were pulled from your lips. Ghost rutted into you, grunting softly as he did, listening to the sounds from your mouth and your cunt. He held your hips, keeping you pinned to the door and unable to move so he could slam deeper and deeper inside you.
You arousal was pooling around his cock with each thrust, now dripping down the insides of your thighs. You could faintly feel your underwear in the crease of your thigh, pushed haphazardly out of the way to make room for Ghost. But you didn't care— you were too focused on the huge fucking cock that was inside you right now.
You couldn't help the whines and soft moans that left your mouth. Your body was burning up, stomach drawing tight as your impending orgasm grew more intense with each rut of Ghost's cock.
"Simon..." You moaned, and Ghost had to compose himself so he didn't come right then and there. You sounded so good, so fucking pretty moaning his name like that.
"Yeah, baby? Feel's good?" He murmured against your skin as he kissed along your jaw. "You wanna come?"
You nodded, fingernails scratching down his shoulders. You whimpered desperately, legs quivering in his hold.
"Let go, pretty girl. Come 'round my cock... that's it."
You came with a loud moan of his name, and he slammed his mouth to yours to swallow it whole. Your cunt spasmed around his cock as he fucked you roughly through your orgasm, heat blooming across your skin. He pulled his face away from yours, lips brushing as he panted, chasing his own high.
"F-fuck," he whispered, releasing inside you, followed by a carnal groan into the curve of your neck. He filled you, hot and thick, and the sensations of it flooding your womb made you close your eyes. He didn't pull out for a while. He just held you to the door, breathing deeply. "Alright, sergeant?"
"Yeah... fine..." You breathed. "We should, um, probably get back to the mission."
"Give me a minute." He groaned, still deep inside you, making you laugh.
•º•
When you did finally leave the bathroom, you made yourself look as presentable as you could before you left a couple of minutes after Ghost. You shoved your ear-piece back into your ear and turned it on. Immediately, you were greeted by Soap's voice.
—Good bathroom break, sarge?—
"Shut up, Soap."
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lazy writing sorry i'm tired lol
#captainfern#captainfernsalutes#call of duty#call of duty mw2#fem reader#ghost call of duty#ghost smut#simon ghost riley smut#simon riley#simon riley x you#simon ghost riley#ghost x f!reader#ghost x reader#ghost cod#call of duty smut#captain'smetallica
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more rapist-simon riley THOTS™️ are plaguing me tonight... :3
tw/cw: rape/non-con, intoxication, kidnapping, torture, recording, smut. dead dove: do not eat. MDNI 18+
; kidnapper-simon who finds a sick form of pleasure in torturing you.
it's beyond sickening. any normal and moral person would be disturbed and mortified by simon's desires for control. he's in dire need of having power over someone, to control them like a puppet on strings, putting on a show for the corrupted, debauched men watching.
you went out drinking with your friends, having a little too much to drink, and stumbling out of the bar drunkenly. you're too intoxicated to notice the sound of footsteps flowing behind you, and by the time you realise it, it's all too late before you're captured by a masked man, a balaclava covering his face.
you're awoken to the excruciating and extreme sensation between your soft thighs. your eyes are half-lidded with exhaustion, and the drugs are still having their side effects. simon gazes down at you through the balaclava, the sight of his eyes through the mask intimidating you. he's threatening, and his large and strong build leaves you shaken up as you finally come to the realisation of what's happening. you watch as he slides and fucks his swollen, bulbous cock into your raw and bloody pussy, crimson and ruby smeared across your soft thighs.
you thrash at the burning agony—how merciless simon is with you. the sight of him leaves you whimpering, his black t-shirt sticking to his sweaty, burly body and his eyes piercing through the mask, gazing into yours as you squirm and wriggle, attempting to free yourself. your attempts are laughable; you're bound to a metal table in his basement, cuffs around your wrists holding you down and restraining you. it doesn't matter how loudly you scream and wail; your attempts at freeing and escaping are fruitless. they are used as motivation and encouragement for simon to be harsher on you, with the hope that you'll listen and obey his demands.
he curses you out through breathless grunts and deep growls for screaming and weeping so loudly, his gloved hands pushing your thighs down against the table, fucking your puffy, pretty cunt ‘til it's coated in his pearly creaminess, mixed with the redness of your blood. he shows you no mercy, not sparing you from anything. he's unforgiving, as he uses you for his only gratification and delectation, for profit and gain.
you're a slave to simon, like a puppet on strings, he controls everything you do. he doesn't view you as human, as you're not equal to him. you belong on the ground underneath the dining table, eating whatever scraps simon offers you.
soon enough, you'll finally come to terms with the fact that this is your life now, obeying his every order as he records you for the disgusting men and women watching and getting off to your pain.
#orla speaks#tw: non con#tw: dubcon#tw: intoxication#tw kidnapping#dead dove do not eat#dead dove fic#i have written something similar before :P#simon riley#simon ghost riley#ghost simon riley#mw2 ghost#ghost cod#call of duty ghost#simon riley smut#simon riley imagine#simon riley x reader#simon ghost riley x reader#ghost imagine
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Cleo was tired. The first few weeks on a new server always were. They were back at their starter base after a long walk to find some mangrove trees. Their starter base wasn’t much yet, but they could appreciate its simplicity as they collapsed on the only chair they owned. As soon as their butt hit the chair, though, there was a knocking sound on her front door.
“Hey, Cleo? Sorry to bother you so late.” Joe could be heard over his knocks.
Cleo stumped over to the door and opened it. “Joe, I- oh no, what happened?”
Joe looked up at them sadly, holding stuffing in his hands. He had a few arrows sticking out of his blue skin, and a slash in his stomach, where the stuffing was leaking from.
“I was caving, and I may have run into a skeleton spawner… and a stalagmite.” Joe replied sadly. “But with this new puppet body, I don’t know how to heal myself.”
“Oh Joe.” Cleo chuckled in sympathy. “I think you and I need to stop hanging out- we’re too alike.”
“What do you mean?” Joe asked, still clearly upset.
“You need stitches like I do to my own skin. Come in, I’ll show you how to do it.”
Cleo had the puppet of a man sit on the only chair, still cradling his stuffing, and went to get her scissors and industrial-grade string.
“Right, arrows out first.” Cleo told him, setting down her equipment. “You just hold onto that stuffing… wait, would those be your organs, technically?”
Joe looked down at the white fluff. “I guess so, yeah.”
“That’s so gross, I love it.” Cleo said, and reached for an arrow lodged in Joe’s shoulder. “Okay, ready? I’m gonna pull it out in three, two, one.” they tugged the arrow out, and looked for any signs of distress on Joe’s face.
“Oh, that didn’t hurt at all!” Joe said, a little more cheerfully. “Now that I’m thinking about it, none of my wounds hurt, it’s just the emotional part that got me.”
“You make being a puppet sound more and more appealing.” Cleo grumbled, pulling the other arrows out in rapid succession. “Alright, let’s deal with this stomach wound- did you bellyflop onto a spike? How on earth did you do this, Joe?”
“Yeah, that’s it, really.” Joe said sheepishly. “Wait, don’t you need gloves or other sanitation methods to do major surgery?” He continued as Cleo reached for his stuffing.
“You’re a fucking puppet, Joe, if an arrow does nothing to you, germs shouldn't either.” Cleo replied, giving him a withering look.
“You’re right! Okay, let’s stuff away!”
Joe and Cleo stuffed the stuffing (or guts, depended on how you looked at it) back into Joe. Cleo carefully sewed him back up, showing him how it was done as she did. In no time at all, Joe was all put together again.
“Okay, here’s your own scissors and string, so you should be set to go now.” Cleo said, handing her extra supplies over to the puppet.
“Oh, thank you for stuffing me full of the good stuff, Cleo!” Joe beamed.
“Good lord, don’t tell people I’ve been stuffing you full of the good stuff, Joe, or we won’t hear the end of it.” Cleo sighed, but waved Joe off nonetheless.
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kinks (?) with them
fem!reader, rest under cut
childe
his favourite position is to have your legs pinned up against your chest, your hands restrained over your head. it's what they call a mating press, and they're right.
he can feel the little hearts jumping out from you each time he hits deep, because you moan so good every time he hits that special gummy spot and kisses open your cervix.
"beg for it," he teases, keeping a steady pace that has you reeling but not enough for you to cum.
"mmh, ajax, please..." he slows, and you whine in complaint. "i love it when you cum inside, f-fill me up, please..."
"such a cute little cum slut," he murmurs, pressing a hand against your stomach so he can feel his length going all the way up inside you.
he picks up the pace as a reward, earning himself a sweet moan in return. your pussy swallow his dick so well, leaving your own cum all over his length, squeezing and milking him so good.
finally, childe tires of the games, speeding up, thrusting hard, and your moans escalate to cries of pleasure, your back arching, boobs bouncing, your hips coming up to meet him with every thrust.
"cumming, cumming, inside my baby, filling you up, taking all my cum, yeah, baby?" childe babbles, his words trailing off into a loud whine. he shoves his tip right into the entrance of your cervix, his cum spilling into you, sending you over the edge.
he cums so hard, hips shuddering into yours, over and over again until it begins to drip out of you in globules.
aventurine
you're his pretty little doll, one that he likes to buy expensive clothes and accessories for. but sometimes accessories aren't enough when he gets jealous - he wants to mark you with bruises, paint you white, cover you with his scent for the few species who can smell it.
aventurine makes a sound that's nearly a growl, burying his face in your neck and biting. you whine his name, back arching in both pain and pleasure, but his hands keep your hips flush against his.
"aventurine," you gasp, when you feel his teeth nearly break skin.
he licks the spot, blowing air over it to soothe the pain slightly. "serves you right for letting that man talk to you," he mutters, sounding distinctly sulky.
he starts grinding, pressing into your sweet spot in a way that has any teasing words on your tongue melt into a wordless moan. and once stars start prickling at the edges of your vision, threatening to burst into an orgasm, he switches to rapid thrusts, hitting deep and hard.
now you're not sure who's louder - your gasps and whimpers, clawing at his bare skin, or aventurine, pupils blown, moaning out your name each time he bottoms out.
"gonna- gonna cum, gonna paint you all over, mmmh, baby-" his pleasured words break off into a rich, lucious moan, his warmth vanishing from inside you suddenly and spilling out over your stomach, syrupy and smelling like him.
he rests his forehead against yours, breathing hard and admiring his handiwork.
"you're so pretty," he purrs, breathless. "if only everyone could see you like this..."
blade
luxury to blade - are red ropes made from only the softest material so they don't chafe at your skin when he fucks you.
and he does, hard, relishing the way you squirm and gasp underneath him, whenever he hits your g-spot, scoops your arousal into his mouth with gloved fingers, makes you cum over and over again with no signs of stopping.
his deft craftsman's hands bind you up in his red string, tying your arms behind your back, going over the parts where you're most sensitive. you shiver, though he hasn't done anything yet. just a tug from those long fingers and you'd be a puppet dancing to his tune.
he kneels over you, gaze roving intensely over your body. you feel so hot wherever he looks over and squirm, trying to relieve some of the heat between your thighs.
"behave," he says sharply, and reaches out to tug on one of the strings. you yelp, back arching as they rub over your nipples.
he gives you some stimulation in this way, watching you whine and struggle, but it's not enough. and blade is nothing if not impatient for you.
he pulls on another rope and it nudges against your clit. your legs go taut, moaning in both relief and pleasure.
blade chuckles, continuing to move the rope back and forth across your nub, now soaked with your slick. the other hand spreads your inner lips gently, almost reverently, and he slides two fingers in.
you're so sensitive it's almost unbearable, cool, rough fabrics digging into your skin everywhere over your body. each time you move the ropes rub over your nipples, sending sparks of desperation up your spine, but it's just not enough.
"close," you wail. "so close, blade, please..."
"shh," he says, but you can hear the smile in his voice. "soon."
he takes his time, scissoring his fingers open and shut, and you can feel that you're in for a long night.
#hsr x reader smut#hsr x reader#x reader smut#honkai star rail#star rail#childe smut#childe#childe genshin impact#childe tartaglia ajax#aventurine smut#aventurine#blade smut#blade#blade hsr#hsr blade
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Imagine Yandere Dottore x puppet like reader 🤭
i got carried away (again) im sorry lmaogsnfs(ɾ⚈▿⚈)ɹ this isnt as yandere as u would expect it to be for a dottore post bc i love me some good slow burn and character development but its fine its still dottore
⸝⸝⸝⸝⸝⸝
cw: dottore tinkers with reader's inner stuff (literally), he gets weird about it
includes: gn!reader, dottore, pantalone and dottore's clones mentionned for like a second
wc: 1,5k
You and Dottore had a simple routine; once a week, he would fix you up from whatever had happened to your body and mechanical system from adventuring in the past seven days and, in exchange, you would let him look and poke around your intricate mechanisms so he could learn more about machines and artificial life in Teyvat. He was, first and foremost, a scholar after all.
However, he’s been getting a little more handsy and has seemed almost... worried the last two times you came back from your trips.
...Worried in his own way, of course.
The doctor wasn’t afraid to make you uncomfortable and, when he found a particularly harmful anomaly in your body, he could be even more insufferable. Nothing that you couldn’t handle- being mostly made up of elemental energy and cables gave you a pretty resistant body- so his change in attitude only irritated you more than it hurt. His hands, usually covered by surgical gloves, would lack the latex material to move aside your plates, leaving fingerprints all over the sides and corners. You voiced your annoyance with his behavior but, in normal Il Dottore fashion, he simply disregarded your complaints.
Today was no exception; you had just come back from a trip in Liyue, exploring the depths of the Chasm and underground mines, and came back to his lab covered in that gross, dark goo. You weren’t experiencing any side effects from the substance thankfully, still, the doctor argued that there had to be something wrong somewhere. The dirt stuck to your clothes and had no intentions of coming off when you rubbed at it (you considered bugging the Regrator to pay for a new outfit because there was no way you were going to lose your hard-earned mora just because a hilichurl decided to fling a handful of that filthy mud at you), but that was the extent of your problems. You kept insisting to the doctor that you were fine, that you just needed a good, long, scalding hot shower to scrape the dirt off of your artificial skin, but he just wouldn’t let it go.
You had taken off your overcoat, the extra layer being in the way of his handiwork and had tossed it somewhere on his desk in petty revenge. He paid no mind to the small mess you made of his workspace, his attention purely on you- or rather, his attention purely on a stubborn stain on the bottom of your neck, trickling down to your collarbone, stopping right before your inner layer of clothes. Right where that damn hilichurl had struck you.
“Do I need to send a segment with you every time you go out or will you stop putting yourself in situations where you get all fucked up and have to crawl back to me?” he grumbles dramatically under his breath, loudly enough for you to hear. Purposely.
With your head thrown back, tilted away from him to allow him the space to open up your neck panel to clean your inside system from the goo that had seeped through the cracks, you can do nothing but groan in annoyance, done with his passive aggressive comments demeaning your competency.
“You keep saying that, but I doubt you or your clones would be able to keep up with me. All you ever do is stay holed up in your lab. How would a hermit possibly be of help to me?” you huff, staring up at the ceiling.
Suddenly, you feel your hand clench and twitch repeatedly and you wince in discomfort. Glancing down, you see Dottore’s unamused and irritated gaze boring into you as he pinches the wire in your mechanism responsible for hand movement, a silent threat for you to tone down your attitude.
“What? It’s true!” you double down stubbornly, smacking his fingers away from you with your free hand. He scoffs, irritated, but doesn’t respond. He had better things to do than to prove himself to you, anyways. While he sulks, you bring your (previously twitching) hand up to the light, rolling your wrist and wriggling your fingers to make sure he didn’t damage anything.
“Next time I’ll just ask one of your clones to patch me up if you’re so pissed that I come see you when I get back from my trips,” you scoff, placing both hands flat on the vivisection table you were sitting on, leaning on them as you look at him with a raised brow. You can feel the tension radiating off of him, his jaw clenching as he straightens his back, looking (glaring) back at you.
“Don't,” he says simply, taking a step towards you and bringing his hands back up to your throat to finish the job he had started earlier- getting rid of that pesky mud.
You feel the atmosphere shift as clear as day. You may not be human, but you were pretty in-tune with emotions and how they worked; which was why you were even more confused as to why the Harbinger was acting this way. Tilting your head back to let him do what he was doing just a few minutes ago, you break the tense silence.
“Then stop being on my case,” you huff, closing your eyes to let him do what he had to do. You hear him hum in response and hold back the urge to scoff at him and his childish antics.
Dottore diligently and silently cleans the crevices of your neck and throat, nimble fingers fixing damaged wires and placing things back where they should be so everything is in order once more. With his usual mask absent, his face was impossibly close to your throat, almost inside of your puppet body as he studied how you worked. Instead of blood flowing through veins and creating a pulse, you had electro energy flowing through you, mimicking the veins you lacked. When you inhaled, a weak wave of energy would flow up the left side of your body, and when you exhaled it would go back down, and rinse and repeat. Dottore watched the process, pensive, while you stared at nothing, bored out of your mind.
“Are you done yet?” you ask quietly, legs itching to hop off the metal table. Dottore stays quiet for longer than usual, lost in thought.
In a flash, he puts his entire hand beneath your chest from the opening in your neck. His fingers brush something rubber-y in texture, digging deeper between your chest plate and the mess of cables mimicking a spine. You make a garbled noise of surprise, roughly pulled out of your thoughts and yank his hand out, face flushed with embarrassment and something akin to fury (but not quite).
“What the fuck was that?!” you hiss, hand still holding his wrist firmly. Dottore watches the way his hand prickles with electro as it fades in the air, his eyebrows furrowed and expression indecipherable. Crimson eyes flicker back up to meet yours. You can't help the shudder that passes through your body, swallowing a lump in your throat nervously from the intensity of his gaze.
“I wonder how your body would react if you were injected with hydro energy,” he murmurs to himself, still staring right at you. “Would you let me find out?” he asks, voice slightly louder than before.
“Would you let me do more than just observe your inner machinery?” he asks. The Harbinger takes a step forward.
“Would you let me toy with you?”
Dottore, now staring down at your sat figure, carried an aura you couldn’t decipher. With his body blocking the overhead lighting, it almost looked like his hair was reflecting the buzzing fluorescent lights of his lab, icy hair surrounding his head like a gentle halo. You feel your mouth get dry, rendered unable to respond.
“Only come to me. I’ll learn how your body works, inside and out. No one is to see you like this,” he whispers, face eerily still. “Not even my segments. I’ll behead them in front of you if need be.”
Dottore held his face mere inches away from yours, his ragged breath tickling your cheeks as it made the stray strands of hair flutter. Your eyes never left his, not even when he brought one hand up to your face, sliding across your cheek to tangle itself into your hair while his other hand glid across the cables inside your chest cavity in uncharacteristic fondness. Though his fingers were gentle and soft, his eyes didn’t betray the flicker of something sinful.
“Would you like that? To be able to study their innards,” he says in a sickly-sweet tone. You study his face; his eyes, usually swimming with irritation and contempt, held a hint of something akin to devotion.
“Let me study yours. Let me pull you apart completely and then put you back together. I’m not satisfied with simply looking anymore,” he hisses, eyes widening. “I want to mark you from the inside. So let me.”
You couldn’t find the will to protest.
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Puppeteer’s Marionette
Based on a dream I had of a hunter!Matthias lol it just an idea i wanted to write idk
Rated Mature | Warnings: Matty kinda mean (affectionate), reader is from modern times
Wires, rods, hooks, puppets. Performance gloves, replacement parts, and tools to paint the puppet.
Matthias has shown you plenty of times how he works to create a puppet, often he is surprised you can sit there for hours watching him— Then again, anything dealing with him, you tend to hyperfocus on. Weirdo, he would say but never mean it… Gentle sweet you who falls asleep a few hours into watching him work, sharing the same space as him is often enough for you.
Thinking of him while looking at the poster on the wall of this theater, The Puppet With No Strings: Louis!
Or you think that is what it says… You cannot read French.
The theater map is big like Golden Cave, with three levels, and two exits and no one has seen the dungeon. You currently are in the front where the exit is after getting lost. The closest cipher is upstairs but the hunter is up there with Mind’s Eye.
… She is the last survivor with you… Only two ciphers were completed but again no clue where the dungeon is.
The hunter has been flawless in taking out the survivors, trapping them before downing each one. Magician and Acrobat both got caught only two out of five ciphers in.
Witness the Fantastical Louis, this poster is in English.
You stand there reading the walls covered with posters, a hand touching the paper with Louis’ face… The smile is designed to look friendly and entertaining.
“Yup, still scary.” Shaking your head as you finish sightseeing to go find the dungeon upstairs after Mind’s Eye used the walkie-talkie to ping the hunter is nearby downstairs in the theater section. If she gets chaired, that is it. Upstairs the theater balcony and equipment rooms.
More posters of Louis but there are other posters of Louis.
No dungeon so far.
When you go to the balcony, you see the hunter on the stage— Finally, you see it fully rather than an outline.
Arms not fully attached to the body, transparent, fingers moving the way you have seen Matthias move his went doing puppetry, wooden designed. The hunter is tall, as to be expected for most except Robbie, they are wearing those showmen-type outfits though parts of them look burned… The most unsettling part is the parts that look like puppet attachments connected to key parts of the body… They specifically left the side of the body…
You are no Orpheus but in this case, the writing's on the wall who you are up against.
There are few in the manor with hunter counterparts, all of them a twisted funhouse mirror of them, a reminder of possibilities and the follies, yet Hastur once told you it can also be a way to face one's demons (he used a human term for you to understand).
You doubt the Baron cares about helping anyone process their trauma via being chased down by it…
“Helena watch out!” Shouting from above as one of the wooden ghostly hands moves and throws what seems to be glowing green wires. She barely avoids them but now the creature turns its gaze to you.
“Shit, shit, shit.” Running away when it starts moving, switching targets.
It will take a minute for the hunter to get up here unless it has teleport… Which it fucking does as the second you leave the balcony, the monster is there at a cipher on that same floor.
There it stands gazing down at you… Quiet. You can clearly see the parts that are human and the parts that are puppet. It is as if Matthias is using Louis to cover his scars or flaws.
“(Name).” The silence is broken by his voice that sounds off… Two-toned like Nightmare's voice. He steps forward and you step back. “You should run.” You see in his puppet hand is a pair of scissors.
“Matthias…” Standing there, “You look like a mini-boss from Bloodborne.”
Silence. Silence. Eyes narrow.
“I am trying to kill you and you're making jokes!?” Yelling at you, “Now is not the time to be joking!” Running at you thus making you run away.
You are the better kiter between Mind's Eye and yourself, you hope at least you can pull a three cipher kite as there are only three left. You ping Focus on decoding and are given a response of a cipher percentage ping.
Though you cracked a joke, one you know he does not understand, when you looked upon Puppeteer’s counterpart; you wonder if this is everything he despises in this creature, part puppet, part man, all wrong.
Two ciphers left. You need to shift the chase to downstairs where there is more room.
She went into the basement as two ciphers were down there and you survived jumping down from the balcony to the lower half of the theater audience section.
The Puppeteer threw something though before you landed and you feel and see wires tighten around your arms and legs.
Shit. You try moving but something is stopping you keeping you in place. The only thing you can move is your head which you turn to look around to see where the hunter went. He vaulted and his movement was slow enough that whatever he did to you lasted only a few seconds.
In this game, every second counts. Despite the delay, he still was able to strike you causing you now to kite wounded.
One cipher left. The percentage is five. Well if you go down it won't be too bad, you tried given the circumstances.
Your heart is racing, you swallow down your fear, you have to keep going! The backstage gives you better opportunities to try to palette stun or block. The only problem is Puppeteer can put wires to hinder you and do that weird trick.
Tight spaces, lots of things to throw at him— Which you did— And two ways out if you can make it.
The percentage is twenty-six, damn being wounded is slowing down the speed!
You need to buy time… Well… At least this is with Matthias.
He is behind you when he corners you, there you stand looking at him, wires closing off any way out without you getting caught. Both staring at one another.
“What is the plan now?”
“Not sure,” Shrugging, “Thought we could stand here staring at each other longingly.”
An eye roll, “No.”
“I could kiss you.”
“(Name)—”
“You should know I like kissing you a lot.” Point that out to him, “Come here!” Winking as you move forward only to realize you cannot move… “Oh, come on, Matty.” He hates that nickname. You see the thin strings wrapped around your arms and feel it squeeze around your neck, nothing painful just frim.
“You should learn to pay attention to the hands, not my face.”
That is true… The last cipher is at sixty percent… He can chair or bleed you out to go after the other survivor to get a complete win. Dropping your head in defeat.
His puppet hands’ fingers dance for a second making you lift your arms above your head, slightly bending them so it will not be too uncomfortable.
“You should have run for the dungeon,” Scolding you, “Running me around was stupid of you,” He leaned down, his gloved hand grabbing your chin and tilting your head up, “For once you had to be selfish,” Annoyed, “…You are always running towards me even when it could hurt you.” Sad as he examines your face, “(Name).” Saying your name mournfully.
Hastur says counterparts are far more in touch with the emotions of those they are the counter of, most are negative. Fool’s Gold's lack of morals, Nightmare's isolationism, Smiley’s obsessiveness, and Evil Reptilian's lack of restraint.
This counterpart seems… Sad? Still scary but with you he just seems sad.
“Matthias.” You try to move your arms wishing to comfort him but hiss in pain when the strings cut into your arms for trying to move against his wishes.
“Don't.” Turning your face to the left and right, “For once don’t try to chase me.”
You frown as he lets go of your face, again you try moving even as it hurts as you try breaking free. He releases you and for a moment you think you can reach out but then— Your body goes stiff, arms at your side as you stand up straight with no control of your limbs.
“Stop trying to reach for something not here.” Rolling his eyes as the extra pair of hands are the ones controlling the strings connected to you, “...” Raising an eyebrow at the way you are not looking at him while your lips are pressed together. “Seriously!?” Snapping at you.
“Sorry.” The loss of anatomical control and his stern tone with you is kinda hot.
“Tsk,” Clicking his tongue, “Do you do this with other hunters?” You shake your head at the question, “Would explain why it takes so long for you to return to the manor.”
You are shaking a bit not in anger but because you like it when he is a bit mean to you.
“How wet are you if I check?” Click of shifting wood makes your body stand with open legs, “(Name).” Accusing.
“This isn't fair.”
“I know.”
#idv#identity v x reader#idv x reader#identity v#identity v x you#idv puppeteer#reader insert#matthias czernin#puppeteer x you#puppeteer x reader#matthias czernin x reader#matthias czernin x you#idv x you
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Intoxicating Fear (VI)
Part one here…
Continued from here…
*~*~*~*~*
Kit’s body ached everywhere. It hurt to sleep if you could even call it that. Every time Kit turned over or moved his head, or adjusted the pillow he was in pain.
The dull aching everywhere nearly blinded Kit to the fact that he was in a bed. Lying down. Unrestrained. With a pillow!
Which meant that he wasn’t with Ambrose.
Had he… had he woken up when he was supposed to be doing Ambrose’s bidding, because this wasn’t a foreign bed this was Kit’s bed. He knew because he could feel the springs in his old mattress digging into his ribs.
The same mattress Superhero had told Kit to get rid of, but Kit just couldn’t part ways, and Kit’s pillow was perfect for him, not too firm but hard enough to support his creaking neck.
Kit was at home!
Ambrose fucked up, Kit could call Superhero right now, tell him exactly what’s going on and what Ambrose did, he could catch Ambrose!
Kit was halfway out of the bed as this thought crossed his mind, a giddy feeling numbing the bruises, cuts and trauma his muscles had endured with the fucking cattle prod—
His electricity.
Kit wasn’t wearing the rubber gloves. Or rubber anything for that matter!
Kit fell out of bed, his leg not quite carrying his weight, but it didn’t matter.
Kit sat on the floor, licking his lips in anticipation as he brought his hand in front of his face and with bated breath… clicked his fingers.
Blue sparks cackled around Kit’s hand like a glove, and it was like Kit was being revived. The relief it felt to see the bright electric blue, to hear the soft buzz of power, to feel the electric currents in the air.
Kit let the power wash over them. He clicked his fingers in his other hand and let the sparks fly from his fist down his arms up to his elbows and from there he just let it rip.
It got to Kit’s shoulders, to his chest, he could feel his hair stand on end from the currents but none of it fazed them. Not one bit. Kit could feel the power thrumming behind his eyes, and he knew he were same colour as his electricity and for a while Kit just sat there completely engulfed in the wash of his power.
It felt like relieving a muscle that had been stuck in one spot for too long and was cramping, or, cracking his back, or, stretching his shoulders in the morning.
Kit’s electricity reinvigorated him with the energy surging through him just because he could.
He was his own conduit.
His own person.
His own mind, not Ambrose’s puppet, he was 100% Kit right now, because Ambrose fucked up with his twisted compulsion. Kit almost cried with joy.
Kit let his electricity dim and got to his feet with a renewed fire to find Superhero and tell him everything… but first… Kit needed a shower, he needed to feel the warm water pound on his back and relax the rest of his aching muscles.
Kit looked to his bedside table and saw his phone plugged in and charging. Ambrose really did make sure Kit was living a normal life when he wasn’t conscious…
Kit didn’t want to open the phone; he didn’t want to read the text messages he didn’t send. And yet Kit’s feet padded over to his table and picked up the phone. The screen lit up. Kit’s heart dropped as his eyes stared down at the date and time.
He wanted to be sick.
It wasn’t days he was with Ambrose; it wasn’t weeks, it was a month and a half since the docks.
A month and a half of Kit’s lost time… where all he remembered was Ambrose and his cruelty. A month and a half of nobody realising that Kit wasn’t in fact Kit, but Ambrose’s vassal.
Kit swallowed the lump in his throat and put in his pin. The same pin it had always been, at least Ambrose didn’t have the foresight to change that.
Instead of going to his messages and torturing himself further, Kit went to his Spotify and clicked into his shower playlist.
How long had it been since he heard music?
A month and a half, a snide voice told them in the back of his head, but Kit ignored it and just let the music wash over them.
Oh yeah, he was going to be singing this at the top of his lungs in the shower.
Kit grabbed a towel, some underwear and made sure to lock the bathroom door just in case. When the hot water hit his back, he let out a long sigh of relief. His shoulders were so tense after Ambrose had made him dangle in chains for who knows how long? The water seemed to get under Kit’s skin and unwind every knot and ache in his muscles leaving him feeling refreshed and calm.
The smell of Kit’s soap and shampoo made him relax even further. It felt as if nothing had happened to him in the last six weeks and that he was just going about his daily routine of waking up, showering, going to work tell Superhero he was tortured.
Kit’s stomach growled the second after he had turned the shower off and he smiled to himself. How normal a feeling it was to be hungry. How entirely mundane, that Kit’s body’s nerves were telling him to eat. Reminding him to do it.
God when was the last time he had tasted food for himself?
Kit got hungrier just thinking about it. He dried himself and dressed as quickly as possible. He stopped the music on his phone, towelling his hair dry, not too bothered with how he looked as he descended into the kitchen, ravenous with hunger.
The smell of bacon made his mouth all but water and it wasn’t until he saw Ambrose that he realised he shouldn’t have smelled bacon to begin with. Ambrose saw Kit too and grinned at him, smirk wicked sharp.
“Morning,” Ambrose drawled. He looked too strange in Kit’s kitchen, a towel over his shoulder and a spatula in his hand he used to turn the bacon over in the pan.
Kit’s hand shot out on instinct, but his electricity simmered from a glove of reassurance to nothing but pathetic sparks as Kit felt the icy sludge of Ambrose’s power creep into his mind.
“Come on, Kit, none of that now,” Ambrose said, clicking his tongue. “I let you sleep in and everything, made you breakfast. Tell me you’ll behave, and I won’t restrain you further.”
Kit bit the inside of his cheek, frozen where he stood. A part of him wanted to lash out and go mad and kill Ambrose where he stood, but another part, a bigger part of him was too scared of being restrained again. He was enjoying the limited freedom Ambrose was giving him, and until seeing the bastard Kit was happy.
God he was so stupid for thinking Ambrose would just let him go, or fuck up in his commands… Kit was such an idiot.
“Well?” Ambrose asked, cocking an eyebrow at Kit, interrupting Kit’s thoughts and reminding him that he hasn’t answered.
Kit’s shoulders sagged at the demoralisation of having to articulate his submission, but Kit could beat himself up about it later. Right now, he was starving, and he wanted to be able to eat unhindered.
“I’ll be good,” Kit said quietly, swallowing his pride.
Ambrose beamed at him like a proud parent and gestured for Kit to sit at his own table. “Good. Sit! Breakfast is almost ready.”
Kit sucked in a deep breath and crossed the room to his table, pulling out a chair, settling heavy into it. He was facing Ambrose as he worked in the kitchen, not daring to take his eyes off of him for a moment. His heart started beating a little faster in his chest as he felt the weight of his phone in his hand.
If he called Superhero right now… Superhero would know. He could come and find Ambrose. Catch him in the act.
“One egg or two?” Ambrose asked, smiling over his shoulder at Kit.
“Uhm, two please,” Kit replied, licking his lips.
“So polite, Kit. Of course. Two eggs coming up,” Ambrose said, turning back to the counter and grabbing two eggs. Kit glanced down at his phone and back at Ambrose quickly. Just in time too because Ambrose turned back to face Kit a fraction of a second later. “See how nice it is when we can be civil.”
Kit forced a smile, which came out more as a grimace, and nodded.
“Could this be the turning point for us, do you think?”
“Maybe,” Kit said, nodding again. “You never know.”
Ambrose smiled, satisfied, and turned back to the pan, cracking the eggs into it. Kit’s fingers moved quickly under the table as he heard the eggs hit the pan with a sizzle and a spit.
He found Superhero’s contact and hovered over it for a second, looking back at Ambrose to see him whistling by the stove and with a heavy swallow Kit pressed the call button and left it on the chair beside him, making sure the volume was down.
But it didn’t matter.
Because a couple seconds after Kit had put his phone down and looked up innocently at Ambrose, he heard the start of the song ‘bad moon rising’ playing by Creedence Clearwater Revival and his blood ran cold. Ice rushed through his veins, and he so very desperately wanted to cancel the call, but he couldn’t move. All he could do was watch as Ambrose reached into his back pocket and answer the call without so much as blinking.
“You know, Kit,” Ambrose said into the phone, his voice echoing because the phones were in the same room. “I really thought we could at least get through breakfast without you throwing a tantrum. Guess not.”
Kit was out of his chair before Ambrose finished the sentence, feet on the wood floor, sprinting, lunging for the front door. He was only two feet away when a piercing screeching sound echoed between his ears and Kit screamed, trying to force himself through it.
He was so close.
He had to power through it.
Then it got too loud. Unbearable and Kit’s leg went like jelly, his vision swimming, the world tilting until he was on the ground, curled up into a tight ball, eyes squeezed shut trying to push out the ringing in his ears. The screeching lessened, leaving a dull ache in its wake and Kit wanted to throw up as the world spun around him.
“Kit, Kit, Kit,” Ambrose chided, feigned disappointment but it sounded so far away. Kit vaguely heard his footsteps approach and knew he had to get away.
Kit turned onto his stomach and reached out to the door, swallowing the bile in his throat with his motion and pathetically half-dragged himself forward. He only got an inch before the heel of Ambrose’s boot slammed down onto the back of Kit’s hand and dug in.
Kit was a wreck. His mind both hazy and frantic, thoughts like bullets shooting through a foggy moor, his chest heaving with the effort of his screams and his pathetic attempts of escape. All Kit saw was Ambrose’s foot draw back before slamming into the side of Kit’s jaw a second later, flipping him onto his back. Ambrose didn’t release Kit’s hand, so Kit was staring at the ceiling, arm twisted above them awkwardly. He must have bit his cheek because the stench of iron overwhelmed his tastebuds as he glared weakly up at Ambrose, eyes still having trouble focusing.
“God, Kit. I will just never get bored of you. Of this. Look at you… so strong, so sure, so noble, and yet there isn’t a thing you can do to stop me.”
Kit pushed weakly at Ambrose’s boot with his free hand, just because he could and just because he didn’t want Ambrose to be right. Kit could do something, he could try and get away. Try and escape. Ambrose hadn’t taken any of the fight from Kit, he was going to defeat Ambrose, someday. Somehow.
He just needed to be patient and let Ambrose think there was nothing Kit could do to stop him…
Yeah.
Kit believed that, or he could, if he forced himself to try and completely disconnect from reality and ignored how well and truly fucked he was.
“Awh,” Ambrose cooed, lifting his leg and stomping it down on Kit’s chest instead of his hand. Kit’s eyes bulged and he wheezed, his body curling around Ambrose’s boot, trying in vain to push Ambrose off of him. It was no use. Ambrose leaned down over Kit, shifting more of his weight onto the leg on Kit’s chest, effectively pinning him to the ground like an ant under a giant’s boot.
“You’re so cute when you’re like this. Tired eyes wide with panic,” Ambrose said, digging his heel in further and grinning when Kit tightened his grip on Ambrose’s ankle and grit his teeth to prevent the scream from escaping his lungs. “The bags really do wonders to the character of your face. Truly, Kit. I must admit I’ll always be a little weak in the knees at the blood staining the inside of your lips when you gasp.”
“Why don’t you take a fucking picture?!” Kit hissed, spit flying from his mouth in anger, rage flaring ugly inside him. “And then leave me the fuck alone!”
Ambrose’s dark eyes smiled down at Kit like a cat’s alight with interest. He didn’t drop the eye contact for a second as he reached into his pocket and took his phone out, snapping a photo of Kit. Kit blinked at the flash, stunned for a moment. Bewildered Ambrose would actually take a picture.
“You’re right Kit. That was a great idea. I think I’ll make this my screensaver.”
“Motherfucker!” Kit howled. Something hideous that could only be described as vengeful wrath fuelling his body as he shot forward from the ground. For a moment Kit could revel in the shock on Ambrose’s face as he hooked his arms around Ambrose’s knee, driving his heels into the ground to push himself forward and flip Ambrose onto his back.
Kit got on top of him, taking every advantage as he saw it. He had a very short window of time where Ambrose’s brain would be trying to catch up with current events, Kit would know. Ambrose had him in a constant state of shock and fear, trying to claw at the situation and adjust but all too slowly.
Kit pinned Ambrose’s shoulders to the ground using his knees. He didn’t even reach for his power. Instead, he punched from the waist, letting out a half-shocked gasp when he felt his knuckles collide with Ambrose’s perfect cheekbone.
Was he dreaming?
No. Even if this was a dream, Kit didn’t care. He didn’t have time to dwell on things.
Act now, think later.
Ambrose struggled under Kit, but Kit laughed a little giddy as he sent his second punch straight for Ambrose’s throat. Ambrose gasped under him like a fish from water and it was a bit addicting seeing him choke on air. Seeing him being strangled for once, breath robbed of him by Kit, instead of the other way around.
Kit punched Ambrose’s temple, but he felt Ambrose’s familiar ice-cold touch slide down the muscles in his arm and slow the impact of it, so Ambrose wasn’t knocked out cold. Which was a pity, but it also meant Kit got to punch him again. This time Kit’s knuckles crunched against Ambrose’s nose.
If Ambrose was able to get a hold of his power for a moment to stop Kit’s punch that meant he needed to knock him out now.
At that thought Kit’s hand ignited like a match dropped to petrol his electricity crackling happily around his fingers, blue sparks flaring and turning almost red. Kit grinned down at Ambrose who’s struggles renewed tenfold. Kit dropped his hand to Ambrose’s face and stared mesmerised by the reflection of his power in Ambrose’s dark eyes, like fire glinting off marble. In the reflection Kit saw himself too and he recoiled in horror.
Ambrose grinned below Kit as Kit’s electricity dissipated with a weak whizzing sound. Seeing Ambrose’s grin, Kit’s arm moved before his mind did and this time his punch landed straight on Ambrose’s temple. Ambrose’s eyes rolled back, and he went limp under Kit, his head hitting the ground with a gentle thump.
Kit’s eyes blew wide, not wanting to move at first. His hand reached down and pulled Ambrose’s eyelid down and saw that he was actually unconscious. Then Kit was on his feet, running to the bathroom and slamming the light on.
He stopped in front of the mirror over the sink, and it was still there.
Kit stepped closer to the mirror, staring deep into the reflection that didn’t look like Kit. He was used to his eyes turning an electric blue when he used his power, but his eyes… the eyes reflected back at them were a violent scarlet, and not just his eyes. The veins under his eyes were the same garish, bright red mixed with a few of Kit’s familiar electric blue and a deep purple where the two colours collided.
Kit reached a shaky hand up to touch the veins and saw his hand still coated in the same mix of red and blue and purple. He clicked his fingers and electricity buzzed to life in his palm, his electric blue and Kit nearly sighed in relief.
Until the red sparks started flying again and shot out at the light in the bathroom. Kit flinched as glass shattered above him and fell like twinkling rain down onto the tiles with a clatter. When Kit looked back at the mirror those red eyes stared back hauntingly at him, and Kit swore for a moment that his eyes smiled like Ambrose’s.
*~*~*~*~*
Continued here
The Orphanage (plz lemme know if you want to be added or removed <;3) — @nameless-beanie @andithewhumper @annablogsposts @whatwhumpcomments @whumpasaurus101 @0eggdealer @rejectedbytheempty @princess-bubble-blossom @sleepy-pearl @n3rv0usn0v4 @whumpatize-me-captain
#writblr#hero villain writing#hero villain snippet#hero villain story#hero#villain#writing#orphan writing#whump writing#intoxicating fear#intoxicating fear part vi#IF VI#IF#Intoxicating fear series#scared hero x telepath villain#scared hero#terrified hero x telepath villain#cruel villain#sadistic villain#scared whumpee#sadistic whumper#cruel whumper#terrifying whumper#whump#whumpee#whumpblr#captive whumpee#defiant whumpee#defiant whumpee my beloved#orphan
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im sorry if someone has pointed these out already but i replayed p5t again and i am in absolute SHAMBLES with these new observations. i never actually post my thoughts here but i kinda need people to talk to about p5t IM AUTISTIC AND HYPERFIXATED. anyway onto the real post, sorry if this is unorganized and messy. im just really excited
i really wanna talk about the whole event that happens in the 3rd kingdom, on the rooftop.
soo.. when the school crashes and transforms.. it resembles a clock. a train station??? and. said clock is unmoving. what struck me is the time it was stuck on. 6:00pm, or 18:00, the exact time The Train Incident (tm) takes place, and the exact time eri was pushed onto the train tracks at the station.
i guess you could say, toshiro is stuck in the past, unable to move on and process his trauma. it's the extreme guilt of him losing his closest friend and how standing up and rebelling... just ended up in so many people hurt. he can't possibly live bearing the sin of that.
but here's when it gets more interesting... when shadow toshiro was threatening to kill erina, and when erina/eri inspired toshiro to take a stand, he throws joker's knife through the shadows hand, but more specifically, through the gloved hand, the one damaged from the train.
then with a really good sequence, toshiro runs as fast as he possibly can (i wonder how he did that actually) and with flashing memories of him failing to save eri in between, he manages to catch erina before she falls. and... he catches her with his damaged hand. the same hand that failed to save eri, saved erina.
remember the clock from the beginning? it STARTS MOVING AGAIN right after this.
this whole scene is genuinely such a beautiful and symbolistic way to show that toshiro finally found his resolve, and that despite all that trauma in the past, he's ready to change for the better and move again.
oh, and one more thing. toshiros mask only has one eye shown. the left one... the one that eri lost. they have ONE EYE EACH AAAAGHHH!! their souls really are connected.
what gets me more is that one of toshiros catchphrases in combat iirc is "witness OUR power as ONE" and it makes me go insane because he basically sees eri as his hero (here ill quote a futaba dialogue that hit me hard: "natsuhara's like the undefeated heroine in toshiro's life story, huh?") and she made him feel like he's more than just a puppet of his father. she inspired him to take a stand, and while this resulted badly, it led to his LITERAL SOUL subconsciously manifesting into a being heavily based on her (erina)
he just believes that eri/erina is a huge part of who he is. so "witness our power as one"
the fact he doesn't have a real PT outfit disappoints me a bit, but id like to think it's because eri taught him that he doesn't need to become all cool and change himself to rebel. he just needs to be himself. that's really it.
some extra things i have noticed:
-shadow toshiros 'weapon' is basically just bandages. i first thought this was a twisted more distorted version of the bandages eri gave toshiro when they first met (since shadow toshiro claims to despise eri)?? but someone in yt comments pointed out its probably made from eri's bandages after the incident. and i think that makes much more sense
-toshiro is the only persona user that has a persona opposite of his gender... that's kinda... 🏳️⚧️ if you ask me...heh (im trans)
-i know many know already but erinas character design is GENIUS . like ... the covered eye and the prosthetic leg?? referencing eri?? SO FUCKING WELL DONE. genuinely one of my fav character designs in persona
-not really an observation but remember the 'thank you instead of sorry' hideout talk where toshiro tells the gang about eri more?? when it was finished and toshiro said "natsuhara-senpai...um, thank you." IT TORE MY HEART STRINGS STOOOPPP
-idk im kinda unnormal about eritoshi. that's all
#persona 5 tactica#persona 5 tactica spoilers#p5t#p5t spoilers#toshiro kasukabe#p5t erina#eri natsuhara#thanks for reading all of this if u did :)#i love this game so much. seriously amazing#i migjt post more of things like this. maybe#eritoshi
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Death will never keep us apart.
Trafalgar Law x fem!reader
Note: established relationship, also... Slight... Angst?
"You can do it, (y/n)!" Bepo encouraged as he held her hand
It reassured her through deep pushes just to push their son out of her body.
"(Y/n)! One more, I promise this'll all be over soon!" Law said as he was the one aiding her.
"If fucking 47 hours in labour is 'soon', I'm fucked!" She yelled as she basically death gripped on Bepo's paw making the poor bear cry a little on the inside.
After all that, the baby was safely delivered.
She could could feel herself slowly getting weaker as she breathes I'm air.
"Hey..." Law called as he pulled of his gloves and his mask, "you did great..."
He kissed her forehead, "don't worry... They're taking care of the baby, cleaning him up and feeding him... Bepo, can you go and get the other bed ready?" Law said as he held her hand in which she weakly gripped unto.
The bear nodded and left, but not without taking a peak of the cute baby boy.
"Hey" he called, more sternly now, "are you alright?" He asked, worryingly as he checked her pulse.
Her pulse was gradually starting to get weaker, and weaker as she breathes heavily.
"(Y/n)..." He called, no response.
He called again, still no response until he felt the pulse suddenly disappear
"(Y/n)! No!" He yelled before holding unto her tight, "please...!"
...
"What... Where...?" (Y/n) muttered before looking around to a white void she found herself waking up at.
She remembers giving birth and...
"Am I..."
"Yes, you are dead." Someone with a smooth voice said behind her as she turned around to see an angel smiling down softly at her
"What... No. No! I can't!"
...
"(Y/n)! Please, please, please wake up!" Law begged as he did all procedures he can think of just to have her heart beat right back.
The crew held on to the now sleeping baby in their arms, afraid that if they handed him the baby... He'd lose himself.
....
"What do you mean? Your life has come to an end, is it not?" The angel smiles with its voice, "is it not enough rat you have successfully delivered a baby boy, changed his father's life for the better, and found a family...?"
"No. It's not enough. I grew up without a mother, I... Don't even know who my mother is... I don't want to come a time when... Even my own child doesn't know who I am. And Law... My husband... He... He lost so many... I promised him I'd stay by him until the end-"
"This is the end." The angel said, almost annoyingly, "your end, that is"
She frowned, "no. Bring me back. Now." She demanded, "my baby... My husband..." She grumbled, "I can't leave them. I don't want to leave them."
"But this is your fate, the fate that our creator has written for us..." The angel reasoned
"No. I do not accept this creator. I do not accept whatever fictional stories they're writing. I do NOT accept whatever they do. What, are we all just a doll to them??" She questioned
"That's not-"
"Shut. Up. We are not dolls, I am a mother and a wife. You are an angel. Not puppets and specially not dolls." She growled, "either you bring me back or you'll have to drag me kicking and screaming to the depths of hell"
"Angels don't go to hell..." The angel cried a bit before sighing deeply; "you know... When the creator said you'd be resisting... I didn't expect them to mean... This..."
"Well guess what, I won't be resisting if you bring me back. My husband is waiting for me, he cannot raise a child because he himself is an inner child... And it's my job to protect my children." She huffed
The angel just stared before sighing, "you seriously are a crazy woman... Most, if not all, the people that die come willingly... But you... You're different... I guess that's a mother's love... Huh?"
She just stomped her foot, "bring me back or I will seriously inflict irreversible damage to you and your piece of shit morals."
"Woah! No need to get so verbal...!" The angel gasped, "okay...! Okay...! I'll... I'll send you back..."
"That's what I thought."
"Gosh... The creator is so gonna scold me..."
...
"(Y/n), please...!" Law yelled as he kept giving her CPR
"Captain..." Shachi said, "I think it's.."
"No! She's not dead...! I know it!" He yelled before turnin to his crew, will visible hurt and anger in his eyes but tears kept spilling out, "get me a fucking blood bag instead! And make sure it's her blood type!"
"Y-yes sir...!" The crew nodded as Ikkaku held on to the sweet baby boy, unaware of what's happening around him.
He turned back to (y/n) only to slowly cup her cheeks with his hands, they were shivering... Trembling...
One would think a surgeon's hand would be steady and precise but...
His hands were shaking as he cupped her cheeks and desperately called out to her in almost a ragged whisper, "please... (Y/n)... Come back... I can't raise him alone... I can't raise our baby alone... I can't... I can't live without you... Please..." He begged while softly yet shakily kissing her in hopes that she wakes up, "... Please" his voice quivered.
He slowly starts to lose hope and accept her death, "please... Just... One more time... Please..." He cried.
The stoic and cold demeanour washed away by the fountains and rivers of his continuous tears.
Law kissed her lips, softly yet shakily before one of his hand hold hers in a tight grip, "please..." He muttered, "please wake up..."
A few moments later and he felt her hand twitch making him gasp and stand up straight, he could feel her hand grip his again as she tried her best to open her eyes only to close them back up from exhaustion.
One of his crew finally came back with a blood bag and law immediately hooked it to her, "(y/n)...!" He slowly smiled before she lifted a hand to his face.
Her hand missed when she tried to hold his face due to the haziness of her vision, "Law..."
"Rest up, my love..." He said before wiping away his tears, "and as soon as you wake up, you can see little Cora." He smiled before kissing her forehead
"Law... You bastard..." She laughed weakly, "I still don't appreciate the literal hours of my labour."
"I know... My love... I promise, I'll take good care of you and the baby forever. Just tell me what you need, I'll give them to you"
She smiled, "give me a kiss... Please?"
"Yes..." He smiled before kissing her.
...
She slowly woke up to the smell of isopropyl alcohol and anesthesia as it slowly wears off.
She ground before lifting a hand to rub her eyes open.
"Dear...! You're finally awake" he smiled brightly as he stood beside her bed and helped her sit up
"Ow... Ow..." She groaned, "is this fucking normal?" She frowned as he massaged her body
"Yes... It is."
"Dammit... I'm so not having another child." She huffed while crossing her arms
"Aww... But I want three children..." He pouts cutely making her huff
"Yeah yeah... Me too" she grumbled, "wait...! What happened to baby Cora?!"
"Shh... Here..." He smiled and motioned to a small hospital bed meant for babies beside him.
He slowly took the baby to his arms, supporting the places he knew needed to be supported and hands it over to her.
She gladly took the baby into her arms as he sleeps peacefully in a blanket Klione knitted for him.
"Oh... Law..." She smiled as she stared at the literal "copy, paste" of law and his child, "I'm upset how he looks so much like you and yet I'm the one who almost died"
"Come now..." He muttered and hugged her waist, "I'm sure he has your traits." He smiled before kissing her shoulder, "and... Thank you"
"For what?" She looked at him with a small smile
"For staying... I thought you were gonna die, too..." He mumbled
"Law..." She smiled before kissing his cheek, "fun fact, I grilled that angel right open as he tried dragging me off to the afterlife"
Law laughed softly, "so... Even death won't keep us apart, no?" He smiled.
"I guess it is..." She chuckled, "also... It hurts like literal hell, law... Can I have at least some pain meds??"
Law chuckled before nodding, "but you can take them later after eating..." He kissed her forehead, "I love you so much..."
"I love you more..." She smiled and kissed him.
He smiled before kissing back.
#random#night thoughts#trafalgar law#law x reader#trafalgar law x reader#law x y/n#one piece#trafalgar d law x reader#trafalgar d water law#trafalgar law x y/n#trafalgar d law#trafalgar one piece#trafalgar law smut#one piece law#law x you#op law#op.law
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For the ask game, what about edging, dollification, collars with Albedo, Diluc, and Heizou?
warnings nsfw
hmm, edging and collars work for basically anyone, lets start with dollification. i'm leaving albedo out of this bc it feels both the most obvious and also bc he has his unhealthy hang ups on being an artificial creation which i wouldn't want to touch. now, both diluc and heizou would be fun, but in completely different ways.
like, if u told heizou "hey baby, today you'll be my pretty little doll," he'd be SO excited. he's into roleplay in general, loves feeling helpless and completely in your power, loves being manhandled and things being done to him, would adore to be dressed up and pampered and showed off as your pretty treasure. the problem is that he can't keep still for longer than 5 minutes or his hyperactive ass will die. so it wouldn't be so much dollification, as "enthusiastic heizou vibrating at high velocities for few minutes, trying to not move before breaking into giggles, whimpers and writhing." like he'd still be fun, just not very on theme.
now, diluc tho, that'd be a complicated case, i'm almost tempted to actually write it out. is he straightforwardly into this at first? no, but diluc is so repressed, he doesn't know shit about what he wants until it punches him in the face. he'll be open to try bc you asked, but dismissive like he doesn't even see the point. though passivity will be secretly appealing to him bc he's awkward and always anxious about doing something wrong or being too wooden and weird, so the fact that there's basically nothing for him to fuck is comforting. he'll see this as a challenge, bc diluc sees everything as a challenge, but it has clearly defined rules and expectation by which he can judge his performance, so that works well for him.
the thing is that diluc is already on several layers of dissociation, he sees his body as this kind of meat puppet, a tool to do things with, sometimes useful, sometimes inconvenient. so forcing him to ground himself in the sensations, in his body by focusing on it, being hyper-aware of positioning and movements might be very good for him, while also providing him safe space to realize he enjoys things without the psychological struggle to allow himself it first, bc it's not his decision, it's you playing with him as with literal doll.
so like, dressing him up in a pretty dress, positioning him carefully in front of the mirror, so he has to see himself, scars and all, being treated like a fragile and precious thing. leaving him for some pauses so he has to stew in this view, going back to make adjustments, touch him almost casually, nonchalantly, pretending not to notice that he's getting riled up, bright blush, cock getting harder. moving him to more and more provocative positions, until he's half undone, playing gently with his hair, while the sweet shame and desire and softness melt through his barriers, until it turns from a challenge to maintain stillness to actually relaxing and letting go of control, so when you fuck him, he's pliant, tension finally gone, trusting and open with his body.
collars - heizou would be into it, but i've already wrtten a fic with leashplay for him, and the social aspects of collars are kinda lost with him, bc like. he's just like THAT anyway. he's already wearing a choker, shirt with the sides cut off, his gloves are a combo of red ties and fishnet. he can show up to work wearing bedazzled "Master's little cumslut <3" collar and no one would blink an eye, except kujou sara who'd yell at him for dishonoring the tenryuo commission and he'd be like show me where in the regulations it says i can't be a cumslut, no i dont care about the spirit of the law, show me the exact paragraphs. so like it'd be fun, but i feel like it also derails the prompt lmao
albedo tho is that kind of introverted clingy where he won't be actively pestering you for attention, but he will drop anything if you ask him to spend time with you for as long as possible, and will be unashamedly open about it. he's also pretty direct about showing preferences to ppl he likes in public and in companies, as we've seen in few events now. so i think he'd actually be into collars unironically, as the symbol of belonging and being connected even when not together, an open unspoken secret that he's yours. he'd have very tasteful narrow leather collar, dyed darkest blue to match the darks of his outfit, with the golden ring in the center framing the gold diamond mark on his throat. like, it passes quite easily for fashion accessory for most ppl, for these in the know its like - is this ring for what i think it is??? or is this his artistic shit to accent the skin mark?? and like since albedo can be quite a mischievous smug troll, he can catch the confusion and press on it with absolute poker face, until the person is embarrassed that they were even assuming it, and then he'd drop a banger of double entendre that suggests, but doesn't confirm anything, again with innocent poker face. albedo would have a lot of fun with it
but also, the imagery of his "imperfection" framed, left open, just for you. the clasp of the leash, when closed, touching the gold diamond. silent acknowledgment of his nature and acceptance of it, the triple secret meaning of vulnerability under the already existing layer of suggestiveness. him sitting at your feet, surrounded by papers and drawings for his research, working as usual, but content to be close, glowing softly when he feels your fingers gently run through his hair from time to time, reaching up both eagerly and obediently when you tug up his leash. much to play with a little prince.
edging - heizou is so fun to tease <3 put him into your lap, hold him close, take your time. he's sensitive, responsive, eager, he'll squirm, whine, whimper, beg shamelessly, tease, cling to you, try to catch your hands if you don't tie him up, but get back to behaving if you scold him, pout, writhe helplessly, arc, moan, never shutting up for a second, regressing into some incoherent sweet and horny nonsense in the end. mwah best kitten.
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Gold and Green AU | Repost #20
Beneath A Golden (2023)
CW: explicit NSFW, noncon, dubcon, whumper to whumpee, brainwashing, fuck machine, bottoming for the first time
It was beneath a Golden to beg.
But it was also beneath a Golden to be stripped down to nothing, completely bare save for the glowing red ring around his neck.
It was certainly beneath a Golden to be forced into his own Reformation machine. Forced by the ring puppeteering him to move his limbs into position, all for Mavik's sick pleasure. As he sat down, metal clamps locked his limbs into place with a series of sharp clicks, sealing the Golden's fate.
The seat was thrust forward, forcing him to be on his hands and knees, spreading his legs apart. Shame burned under his skin, and something close to fear made his chest tighten, his breath escaping him in short, shallow bursts. Not because he did not know what would happen; Cassius Helven knew exactly what would happen.
"That's a pretty sight," Mavik drawled, their footsteps creeping up behind him. Cassius jolted when a gloved hand smacked his ass, nearly biting his tongue to keep quiet. "You know, as much as I'd love to have such a long, nice-looking cock in my ass, I just love breaking in the Goldens. Always so tight and sensitive."
Cassius heard a switch flip, and the machine turned on.
Greens were raised to give pleasure, and Golds were raised to take and inflict pain. They became hardened with combat, desensitized to fear, fortified by the bonds of kinship they shared. As a Golden, the most superior of Golds, Cassius was used to pain, and could lose a limb in battle without batting an eye. He was used to pleasure as well, from the wet mouths and tight holes of Greens who lived to service him, of his beloved True Green who was taken from him.
This kind of pleasure was unknown to him.
The metal plate that his bare chest was pressed up against started buzzing, creating pleasant vibrations that made Cassius shudder as his nipples hardened. Rather than spear him open, a thin, lubricated rod breached his opening, barely causing any discomfort as it slid deeper inside, save for the disgust clawing at Cassius' throat.
His cock was left hanging between his spread legs, untouched and ignored. But it began to swell against his will when the rod reached his prostate, and Cassius nearly gasped when it started buzzing. He clenched his jaw as it pressed down and started massaging the bundle of nerves, his body twitching as a white-hot sensation shot through his veins, spreading under his flushed skin, making his toes curl and his breath catch.
It felt so good.
"Ooh, that's good," Mavik said, as if reading his mind. They stepped out from behind him to stand in front of him, forcing Cassius to be at eye level with their clothed erection.
It did not stay clothed for long.
The ring forced his mouth to open. He fought against it, trying to use the burning pain in his jaw as a distraction from the heat coiling in his abdomen. But it was a losing battle, and once his lips were pried apart, Mavik cupped his cheek with a condescending smile and thrust their cock inside.
Cassius gagged. But unless he wanted to choke, he had to hollow his cheeks and accept the intrusion, relaxing his throat and blinking harshly to keep his eyes from tearing up.
Crying, like everything else right now, was beneath a Golden.
Mavik sighed blissfully, slowly thrusting in and out until the Golden could take all of them in, their balls touching his chin. "I may need the ring to control you now," they said, tangling their hand in his silky white hair, "but I will not need it forever, little Golden."
Cassius refused to believe that. Mavik would always need the ring, because Cassius would never subject himself to this willingly. He would never submit like the Greens that he brought here for this exact purpose, strapped into the same machines to be taught a lesson. To be reminded of their place.
His place was above a mistake like Mavik. His place was back with Logan, without Derek Bornachi to interfere. Eventually, he would find his way back to it.
Eventually.
---
Mavik looked pleased. Cassius took pride in that; to please his Master was his only purpose in life, now that he was no longer burdened by the responsibilities of being a Golden.
It was a wonderful thing, really. Cassius used to wonder how Master got Golds and Goldens to grovel at their feet and assumed that they just went insane in the Elos ring. But now he knew. They did not lose their sanity; they simply found their freedom.
It was a wonderful thing, really, to not have to decide anything. To have Master decide what you felt, and what you thought, and what you did. How long had it been? How much time had passed where he was just a body to warm Master's bed, a toy for Master's pleasure, a hole for Master and Master's chosen ones to fuck? How long had his mind been melting from pleasure, from praise, from being rewarded just for being an enjoyable fuck? Cassius had no idea, but really, did it matter? Of course not. All that mattered was Master's pleasure.
Master's pleasure was his pleasure.
How long had it been since he last fought back? Gods, he didn't know. He hated to think about it. Hated to think about all of the infuriating times he got so close to escape, only to find out Mavik was toying with him the whole time. All of the times where he was forced to degrade himself, forced to just take it, until it felt pathetic just to resist because there was no point to it.
At some point, he finally realized it would do him no good. The more that he was forced to throw away his pride, the more he just wanted to rid himself of the shame, the disgust, the hatred he had not just for Mavik, but himself.
Because he was weak. So utterly, helplessly, pathetically weak, and the weakest thing about a Golden was their ego.
But if there was no ego--
If there was no self-assured arrogance, no superiority complex holding him to such high standards, no unrealistic expectations that he had to live his life by, always making sure he was above others and in control of himself--
"You've finally earned this, Cassius."
There was no shame.
Master didn't need to use machines anymore. Cassius dropped to his hands and knees willingly, the moment that Master ordered him to. He gasped when Master's cock thrust into him, tears springing to his eyes not out of pain, but pure joy. After all this time, he finally had the honor of Master's cock inside of him. Not just using his mouth, but actually claiming him. Giving him their Blessing.
"What do you say to your Master, hmm?"
"Thank you, Master," Cassius gasped out, a strained cry pulled from him when Master started thrusting, burying their cock deep inside of him. "Thank you, thank you, thank you."
my writing x emmettsin x gold and green au x ko-fi
#emmett whumps#whump tag#emmett writes#emmett reposts#Gold and Green AU#Gold and Green AU (writing)#mavik oc#cassius oc#mavius (ship)#emmettsin
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