LEHKONEN!!! Just A Casual Reminder He’s A Hockey Wizard

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the fire was low, but the glow of it painted the walls with a soft orange flicker. the house was quiet, save for the soft scrape of metal on wood and the occasional pop from the fireplace. joel sat at the table, glasses halfway down his nose, sleeves pushed up, and a small block of wood cradled in his calloused hands. his knife scraped slow, methodical strokes along the curve of what looked like the beginnings of a fox, delicate ears just forming, the snout notched into shape. he looked like he belonged there. not just in the room, but in the moment. hands busy, mouth set, the steady rhythm of his work filling the silence like he needed it more than rest.

you hovered in the doorway for a moment. there was something magnetic about watching him when he didn’t know you were, how quiet he became, how precise. you couldn’t explain it, but something in you twisted a little when you saw him like this. it didn’t help that your brain was already a little fried from the day. you’d been restless all afternoon, bouncing between tasks around town, trying to distract yourself with anything that wasn't the thought of his hands. now you were back. and the ache was worse. he didn’t look up when you stepped in, but you could tell by the subtle shift in his shoulders that he knew you were there.

“you’ve been out there awhile,” he said, voice low and even, not pausing in his carving.

“wasn’t that long,” you murmured, stepping closer. “you eat anything?”

joel snorted softly. “ate somethin’ earlier. left some stew if you’re hungry.”

you walked around him, slow and quiet, letting your fingertips brush the edge of the table. you watched him work a little longer, the careful drag of his knife, the tension in his forearm, the way his brow furrowed when he focused. his glasses slid further down, and he huffed, pushing them back with the side of his wrist.

“i’m not really hungry,” you said, voice lower now.

he hummed in acknowledgment, not looking up.

you stepped between him and the table, gently nudging one of his knees open with yours. that finally earned you a glance. a small, knowing one.

“what’re you doin’?” he asked, not irritated, just suspicious.

you didn’t answer. you just moved closer and lowered yourself into his lap, straddling his thigh like it was muscle memory.

joel made a small sound in his throat. “jesus,” he muttered, setting the carving knife down with care but not taking his hands off you. “you’re gonna make me slice my damn thumb open one of these days, sneakin’ up on me like that.”

“you looked busy,” you said softly, your arms sliding around his shoulders. “didn’t wanna interrupt the great artist at work.”

he shook his head, his hands found your hips, grounding you, holding you still, but not pushing you away.

he muttered something you couldn't make out, setting the knife down with more care than necessary. “that what we’re doin’ now?”

“you’re not gonna make me beg, are you?” you said, your voice low as you slid your hands up the front of his shirt, thumbs brushing the space just under his collarbones. “been wound up all day.”

joel leaned back slightly to look at you over the top of his glasses. his eyes dragged over your face, then lower—assessing. thinking. his hands landed heavy on your hips, grounding.

he exhaled, slow and controlled, like he was weighing his options. like he was pretending you didn’t already have him wrapped around your finger.

“you’re actin’ real needy tonight,” he said, voice dropping a little lower. his hands were still on your hips, thumbs idly brushing the hem of your shirt like he was debating whether to tug you closer or keep you there and burn slow.

“been thinking about you all day,” you admitted, quiet against his skin. “you didn’t even notice how pretty you looked this morning. all frown and flannel and your fuckin hands…”

“mm,” he rumbled, mouth twitching. “that what’s got you worked up?”

you didn’t answer. you just shifted slightly in his lap, pressing down a little harder on his thigh, watching the way his jaw tightened when you did.

joel’s hands flexed, gripping your waist a little firmer now. “you come in here sittin’ on my leg like that,” he said lowly, eyes flicking to your mouth, “and you expect me to finish my carvin’?”

“i expected you to tell me how bad you missed me while i was gone,” you teased.

his brows lifted. “i see you every day.”

you leaned in closer. “doesn’t mean you don’t miss me.”

joel leaned back, gave you that quiet, unreadable look.

his hands slid down to the backs of your thighs, squeezing once before he pulled you closer, flush against him. the fox on the table forgotten, the knife untouched. his mouth brushed your cheek, soft and rough.

but you had him here, grounded. his hands, his warmth, the slow way he let himself have you.

“you done carving?” you whispered.

joel nodded slowly, almost like he didn’t trust himself to speak.

“good,” you whispered, brushing your nose against his. “’cause i need you worse than that fox does.” his glasses were crooked. you reached up and pulled them off, setting them aside. his eyes were darker now, heavier.

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a/n: i wrote this at like 1am after watching the s2 premiere so it's ass but seeing him in those glasses... meow...

BED PEACE — m afton

you’d love to stay in bed with michael without interruptions. it’s too bad some people have impeccable, or horrible, timing.

warnings – sex while on the phone, riding, slight jealousy

© MILL3RD 2023 — all rights reserved. mature content. please do not steal my works.

a thin, singular streak of orange cast into the bedroom, barely enough to fill up the room with the sunrise but enough so that you and michael could see each other. it was no surprise he had blackout curtains since when he wasn’t working the night shift, he was sleeping. usually.

you let out a sigh of content, wrapped nicely between your boyfriend and the covers. he was behind you, kissing your shoulders and back while his hands roamed underneath the silk sheets. you moved your hair over your left shoulder and turned around to face michael, bringing your hand up to redirect his head to face yours.

the two of your lips met, both of your hands cupping michael’s face while his still continued to bury themselves in forbidden territory. they remained on your thighs, squeezing the soft flesh.

you kissed for what seemed like a while, losing track of time as you both had the weekend off of work: michael as a night guard and you as an office assistant. two boring jobs, but you two could get by well enough together.

michael turned you around, getting you to straddle him so your core was flush against his own. you both let out a breathy sigh, your lips meeting again while your boyfriend rocked you against him. the fabric of both your’s and michael’s underwear created the perfect friction for the two of you, the materials dampening quickly.

you let out needy whines here and there between gasps for air and michael ate up your noises with just as needy kisses. your nails scratched his shoulders soothingly, you knew he enjoyed the sensation. michael’s hands left your thighs, trailing up the curve of your ass to the small of your back and so high that his palms comforted the base of your neck and his fingers massaged the back of your head.

pulling away, you opened your eyes and huffed. now letting your nail circle his chest, you pouted at michael and spoke barely above a whisper, “i can’t cum like this..”

“oh yeah?” michael murmured, his hands remaining in your hair. you nodded, your nose scrunching how it always did when you were frustrated and your eyes watering with want.

“can’t keep my girl waiting then, can i?” you grinned, giggling after michael told you to lift your hips. your thighs ached slightly as you squatted, hooking your arms around michael’s neck. he moved his boxers down just enough for his cock to spring up, bumping your clit. you huffed impatiently before michael pulled your panties to the side. he lined himself up and you finally let yourself sink down on him.

the two of you let out similar moans. you took a few seconds to enjoy the feeling of michael inside you before you started moving. the room was filled with groans and moaning in no time. the two of you barely had time to yourselves before the telephone rang. a collective groan fell from your mouths’ as michael leaned sideways and felt around for the box on your nightstand.

“hello?” michael asked as he wedged the phone between his ear and shoulder, the wire curling around your finger as you played with it in boredom. his eyes met yours, an annoyed expression falling upon his face. he gave the phone to you and you shook your head with a tiny smile. your friend was on the phone.

“hi trisha,” you greeted, listening to your friend rave about a possible outing. as a habit, michael’s thumb maintained circles on your hip, “yeah, i think that’s a great idea, when?”

trisha mentioned that she wanted you to meet her boyfriend and that michael could tag along if he wanted to. however, michael was starting to get bored. his hands gripped your hips and began to move you manually on his thighs. your free hand fell onto michael’s chest and you glared at him, but he just grinned.

“keep talking,” he mouthed and you rolled your eyes at him. she continued to talk about places to go later that day. your brows furrowed as michael hit a good spot inside you and a sigh left your mouth. you could hear trisha’s frown through the phone, especially when she asked if everything was okay.

“yeah, i just don’t think today’s a good day,” you excused, “me and michael planned to spend the day together, y’know with it being our weekend off and all that, maybe tomorrow? if that works with you..”

trisha sighed, yet she agreed that tomorrow would give you all time to plan out where and when.

you pinched michael’s collarbone and he winced, thrusting up into you to try catch you off guard again. this time, a scarcely audible moan left your open lips. but it was into the phone and trisha gasped, asking if you were okay.

“i’m.. ah, i’m fine,” you panted, your nails creating marks in michael’s jawline while he smiled, “it’s just a bit hot in here, haven’t managed to open the windows yet.. how does tomorrow at seven sound?”

you wanted to celebrate when your friend agreed to your arrangement but now she began to list why she knew you’d accept her boyfriend. michael was as impatient as ever and your eyes rolled back as he began to bounce you himself. your hold on the phone grew weak and little hums buzzed in the base of your throat. trisha took it as you agreeing with her. with every movement michael forced upon you, the phone slipped from your hand gradually until it fell into the sheets and your friend probably, surely heard the mattress squeaking.

michael grabbed the phone before you could, thrusting up into you quickly and spoke into the phone, “hey trish, we’re a bit busy right now, can you call back later?”

you could hear the familiar laughter through the phone before a few words and a buzz indicating she hung up. throwing the phone to the side, michael chuckled, “she knew the whole time!”

laughing along with him, you shrugged, “that’s trish, anything to frustrate us, gotta love her though..” your boyfriend rolled his eyes, “sure.. i think she just likes keeping you away from me..”

you giggled, leaning down to kiss michael a few times, “maybe, but now we can continue with no interruptions.”

michael grinned, stealing a longer kiss, “fuck yeah!”

i'm gonna jump

you can’t let a game slip like that!! especially with landeskog making his return. 2–1 OT loss to the stars and now it's a 2-1 lead. need to bounce back HARD in game 4

the power of friendship defeating depression is mcu canon now

btw i’ve decided michael afton wears glasses. he doesn’t like wearing them. in fact, he’s self-conscious about it. and he only wears them occasionally to work and when he’s alone with you!

see drabble below ↓

the clock on the wall ticks past 2:45 am when you hear the faint sound of the door creaking open. michael’s home. you don’t need to ask how work went; the tired shuffle of his boots is enough to tell you it’s been a long night.

you’re sitting on the couch, a worn-out book in your hands that you’ve probably read a hundred times already. the house is quiet, save for the distant hum of a fan, and the way the dim light from the hallway filters into the living room. the air feels heavy. when michael steps into the room, you can tell he’s exhausted. his hair is messier than usual, his shoulders a little more slumped, but what catches your attention immediately is the pair of glasses perched on his nose. the same glasses he rarely wears outside of when it’s just the two of you. he looks... a little too good in them. "hey," you say, glancing over the top of your book. “haven't seen those in a while.”

he gives you an unreadable look, but you can see the subtle awkwardness in the way he gently pushes them up his nose, like he's trying to make them disappear. "yeah, well, i don’t really like them," he mutters.

you raise an eyebrow, setting the book down in your lap, "they're cute."

he doesn't respond. crossing the room, sinking heavily down onto the couch next to you. you can smell the lingering scent of cigarette smoke and sanitizer on him, his technician’s outfit looking a bit rumpled. he keeps his gaze fixed on the carpet, fiddling with the edge of his sleeve. “long night?” you ask, tilting your head to the side. he sighs heavily, slouching back against the couch. he rubs at his face with one had, glasses pushed up onto his forehead. “the longest,” he mumbles.

you hum sympathetically. he glances at you out of the corner of his eye, his gaze flicking over your face. "how was your day?" he asks, though his words are more of a formality than a genuine question. you know the day doesn’t really matter to him, but you tell him anyway. about work, about the book you’re reading, the mundane errands you ran, whatever pops into your mind. michael sits there quietly, just listening. he’s been so tired lately; it’s been weighing down on him heavily. “you doing ok?” you ask abruptly but gently, after a long pause. he gives a noncommittal shrug, still looking at the ground. “m’fine,” he mutters, though he’s anything but. you study him closely, and you can see that the bags under his eyes are more prominent than usual. his shoulders are tensed. you set your book on the coffee table, shifting your body and kissing his cheek.

michael leans a little into the touch. the tension on his expression eases just a little, though there's still a frown on his face. he glances at you. “that all i get for coming home so late?” he says, his voice teasing. you laugh breathily, almost like a sigh. kissing the corner of his mouth. he can’t help but crack a small smile as you press a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth, the action so familiar to him. he lifts a hand, gently brushing your cheek with his thumb. “missed you,” he murmurs, the words slipping out before he can stop them. "mm. missed you." you kiss him in a slow way, a lingering press, more comfort than passion. he lets out a soft sigh as your lips meet his, he kisses you back, gently and unhurried, as if the world outside the walls of your home didn’t exist. he tastes faintly of nicotine. he deepens the kiss, his mouth moving against yours in a familiar rhythm.

he shifts on the couch, angling his body towards yours, and pulls you closer. he kisses you a little harder this time, his hands skimming over your hip. he’s always been affectionate when he’s tired, and the exhaustion from his shift just makes him all the more needy. he breaks off the kiss, his forehead resting against yours. he’s so close that you can see the tiny freckles across his nose, the tired bags under his eyes. “stay with me,” he murmurs against your lips, hands finding their familiar place on your waist. his thumb rubs idle circles on your body. he sounds tired. “i don’t want to be alone right now.” you pull away slightly, your thumb tracing his cheekbone as you study him closely. he can’t bring himself to meet your gaze, eyes averted, and you can tell there’s something weighing on his mind he’s not telling you.

(okay this is a sidenote but omg imagine the SL ending when mike opens his eyes and he has glasses on...... like he just got scooped but i #needthat....... i think i'm ovulating.)

my brain just shuts down everytime he’s on screen😞

credit: stan_wifey1

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the apartment was quiet in the best way. the kind of silence filled with low music from an old record player, the occasional thump of alpine leaping off furniture she wasn’t supposed to be on, and the rhythmic scrape of a whittling knife against wood. you sat cross legged on the couch, a bowl of cherries balanced on your knee, fingers stained just a little red. alpine was curled beside you, batting lazily at your sock with one paw between quick cat naps. you plucked another cherry from the bowl and popped it in your mouth, letting the sweetness distract you from anything else going on in the world.

across the room, bucky sat in his favorite chair, hunched over a block of wood he’d been shaping for the past few days. his brow was furrowed in concentration, lips pressed together in that way he did when he was deep in a project. you weren’t entirely sure what it was going to be, a bird maybe? or a wolf? but whatever it was, you could already see the quiet pride in the little details he carved.

you watched him for a moment, chin propped in your hand. his hair had fallen in front of his face again. you knew he’d huff and push it back soon, probably without even realizing. it made you smile.

eventually, he looked up, catching you staring.

“what?” he asked, a slow grin tugging at his mouth.

“nothing,” you said innocently, though your voice gave you away. “just admiring the view.”

bucky snorted and set the carving down, brushing wood shavings from his jeans before making his way to the couch. alpine immediately stretched and climbed into his lap like she owned him—which, to be fair, she kind of did.

he leaned back, stretching his arm along the back of the couch behind you. “you’ve had, like, ten bowls of those."

you plucked another one from the bowl and held it up like a peace offering. “they’re good.”

he rolled his eyes fondly but took the cherry anyway, biting into it with a soft crunch. you watched him chew, then reached for another, tongue fiddling with the stem like you’d done a dozen times already.

“hey,” you said, glancing sideways at him. “did you ever hear that thing about cherry stems?”

he raised a brow. “what thing?”

you smiled, trying to sound nonchalant. “supposedly, if you can tie a knot in the stem with just your tongue, it means you’re a good kisser.”

bucky blinked. then he smirked a little. “oh really?”

you nodded, biting back a grin as you held up a stem. “wanna try?”

he plucked it from your fingers without hesitation, eyes glinting with mischief. “watch and learn.”

you watched as he worked the stem between his lips, brow furrowed in concentration again, but this time, it was entirely for your benefit. alpine chirped softly, as if judging the performance.

a few moments passed, and bucky pulled the stem out, tied in a surprisingly perfect little knot.

you stared. “okay, show off.”

he leaned in just enough for his voice to drop a little. “guess you’ll have to test the theory now.”

your breath caught just slightly, heat blooming in your cheeks. “maybe i will.”

he was still smiling when he kissed you, it was slow and warm, the cherry bowl nearly tipped off your lap, but neither of you really cared.

from the corner of the couch, alpine meowed in protest.

bucky smiled lazily while kissing you, his hand fisting into your hair in an instant, tugging you even closer. the cherry bowl hit the floor with a thump, but neither of you paid attention. his lips move against yours like a slow burn, he pulled you closer, one of his legs sliding under you to bring your body against his own, the warmth of him spreading through your entire body. he tugged at your lower lip with his teeth, gently, before he finally pulled back with a soft gasp of air. he murmured, “enough proof for you?”

you hummed out a soft laugh, tilting your head in order to brush your lips against the underside of his jaw. “maybe,” you murmured, shifting in his lap, one of your legs slinging over his hip. “but it wouldn’t hurt if you wanted to provide more. just to be sure.”

he chuckles, and you feel his free hand slide up your back, his palm tracing your spine. he pressed his lips to your neck, his breath warm as his lips grazed the sensitive skin just behind your ear. “well, i’ve always been something of a overachiever…” he murmured, his mouth moving slowly down your neck. he slid his hand under your shirt, his fingers a warm brand against your skin, as his mouth found the hollow of your collarbone. you let out a soft sound, arching against him, as he traced the line of your collarbone with his kisses, his fingers dipping lower, the touch a slow burn against your stomach.

his lips moved against yours, slow, lazy and warm, his hands moving to your hips, gently guiding you to straddle him. you tasted like the sweet, tart flavor of the cherries you'd been eating. as his hands drifted upward under your shirt, fingertips tracing their way over your back. he murmured your name, his voice low and a little rough, against your lips, and when he pulled back to meet your gaze, his cheeks were flushed.

his lips were soft and warm, the kiss slow and deep, your mouths moving together in a gentle rhythm. your hips pressed against his, and his fingers traced a slow path up your bare spine, his kisses grew just a little more insistent, his tongue slipping between your lips as he tugged you closer. the hand at your back slid under the edge of your bra strap, fingertips brushing the sensitive skin just below, the touch sending a cold shiver through you.

the kiss heated, his tongue slipping into your mouth, exploring the wet heat of it, before coaxing your own tongue into his mouth, tasting you with slow, lazy strokes. he let out a soft groan, as you pressed your hips down against him, his hands gripping your waist to guide your movements. you felt the hard muscle of his thighs against you, the tension in his body a clear sign of his desire. he was beginning to kiss you desperately, his tongue sliding against yours in a way that made your stomach flip, lips moving against his in a messy and needy kiss. palming your waist gently.

he pulled back just enough to speak, his voice a little breathy. “do you believe me yet?” he murmured, his eyes half lidded as they roved over your face, taking in the way your lips were still slightly swollen from the intensity of the kiss.

you hummed out a laugh, rolling your hips again, feeling a little thrill of satisfaction when his expression shifted, his eyes closing for a brief moment as he let out a low groan. “i don’t know,” you murmured, “i think i might need a little more convincing.”

— NO GOGGLES MARK IS A N⛧STY BASTARD !

cw. +18, smut, minors dni, fem!reader, obsession, sadomasochism, body horror, pervert!mark, mark is freaky and kinda disgusting. mark is portrayed as an utterly depraved, unhinged, and feral menace with zero boundaries and no concept of morality.

No Goggles Mark who wants to live inside you. Not just be close to you, not just hold you—he wants to be underneath your skin, inside your muscles, crawling through your veins, living inside your bones. He tells you this while holding you close, his breath shaking, his hands trembling against your body, his eyes wild and desperate. He wants to tear you open and crawl inside your ribcage, wrap himself around your heart so he can hear it beating for him and only him.

No Goggles Mark who wears your panties as a mask. He steals them straight out of your laundry, rubs them against his face, breathes you in like it’s the only air he’s ever known. He wears them while he sleeps, fights, eats, touches himself—he wears them like a second skin, because he wants you against him at all times. If you ever catch him? He doesn’t stop. He just grins, drags his tongue over the fabric, and asks if you’re gonna take them off his face yourself.

No Goggles Mark who jerks off to your voice. It doesn’t matter what you’re saying—you could be scolding him, cursing him, telling him you hate him—it only makes him harder. He closes his eyes, fists his cock, and moans your name, imagining your lips whispering filth into his ear, spitting on him, degrading him, breaking him apart.

No Goggles Mark who licks your toothbrush after you use it. He doesn’t even hesitate—as soon as you set it down, he grabs it, shoves it in his mouth, moaning as he drags it over his tongue. The taste of your spit, the remnants of your breath—it’s better than any drug, better than any high, better than any orgasm. If you ever catch him? He just stares, grinning around the toothbrush, sucking on it like he’s trying to absorb every part of you into himself.

No Goggles Mark who wants to chew on you. Not just bite—chew. He wants to sink his teeth into your shoulder and gnaw, leave indentations, bruises, proof that he was there, that he marked you, that he tasted you. He fantasizes about it when he’s alone, his fingers in his mouth, pretending they’re your flesh, pretending he’s eating you alive, pretending you’re letting him.

No Goggles Mark who keeps your hair in his mouth. If he finds a strand of your hair? It goes straight between his lips. He chews on it, rolls it over his tongue, swallows it down so you can be inside him forever. He doesn’t care if it’s weird, if it’s disgusting—it makes him feel closer to you, like he’s absorbing a piece of you into himself.

No Goggles Mark who wants to cut you open just to see what you look like inside. He doesn’t want to hurt you—he just wants to know. He wants to see what your muscles look like when they stretch, what your bones feel like under his fingers, what your insides smell like when they’re raw and open for him. He tells you this while holding you in his lap, his fingers tracing over your stomach, his breath hot against your neck, whispering how beautiful you must be underneath all this skin.

No Goggles Mark who wants to replace the air in your lungs with his breath. He kisses you so deep, so desperately, so hungrily that he wants you to choke on him. He wants your lungs to be filled with him, wants every breath you take to be something he’s given you. He kisses you so hard your lips bruise, your jaw aches, your body trembles—because if he could crawl inside your mouth and live there, he would.

No Goggles Mark who wants to be the only thing inside you. No food, no water, no air—just him. He wants you so full of him that you can’t think, can’t move, can’t exist without him. He wants his fingers, his tongue, his cock, his very existence buried so deep inside you that even if you tried to rip him out, you couldn’t.

No Goggles Mark who cums to the sound of your heartbeat. He loves pressing his head against your chest, feeling the rhythm of your pulse, knowing that your body is alive, that you are real, that you belong to him. And when you’re asleep? He jerks off to it. He strokes himself slow, groaning into your skin, matching his pace to the beat of your heart, imagining his cum soaking into your very existence.

No Goggles Mark who licks your sweat straight from your skin. He doesn’t care if you’re overheated, exhausted, drenched from the summer sun—he’s got his tongue dragging along your neck, your stomach, the dip of your spine. He groans against you, grinding his cock against your leg like a bitch in heat, smearing himself all over you.

No Goggles Mark who would shove his fingers into your mouth just to feel your teeth on him. He watches your lips wrap around them, his pupils blown wide, his breath coming out in shudders as he imagines those teeth digging into his cock, those lips sucking him raw, those soft noises muffled by his fingers pressing against your tongue.

No Goggles Mark who would fuck your thighs like a desperate animal. He doesn’t even need to be inside you—just the feeling of your soft skin, your warmth, your scent surrounding him, trapping him, ruining him—it’s enough. He ruts against you, his hands gripping your hips, his cock rubbing between your thighs, his moans loud and shameless as he fucks himself against you until he spills hot and thick all over your skin.

No Goggles Mark who would fuck himself with your underwear. If he can’t have you? He’ll make do with what he has. He takes your panties, wraps them around his cock, thrusts into them like a fucking maniac, his breath ragged, his moans broken, his eyes rolling back because the thought of your scent, your warmth, your essence surrounding him is driving him insane.

No Goggles Mark who wants to make you cry during sex. Not from pain, not from fear—from being so overwhelmed by pleasure, by love, by him. He wants to see the tears spill down your cheeks, wants to kiss them away, wants to feel them on his tongue as he whispers, “Shhh, shhh, let me take care of you.” But it only gets worse when you do—because seeing you so broken, so vulnerable, so utterly his? It makes him cum on spot.

No Goggles Mark who gets off on overstimulating you until you’re shaking. You say you can’t take anymore? He doesn’t care. He’s still touching you, still licking, still thrusting, still rubbing, watching as your body spasms, as your voice breaks, as you sob from the pleasure that won’t stop. He holds you down, pressing kisses to your ear, whispering how much he loves you, how good you are, how beautiful you look when you’re falling apart for him.

No Goggles Mark who would fuck you while you’re asleep. Not in a cruel way—but in a desperate, aching, worshipful way. He can’t help himself. You’re so warm, so soft, so perfect. He grinds against you, his breath shaky, his hips rolling slow, his cock pressing between your legs as he whimpers against your ear. If you wake up, if you catch him—he’ll only beg for more as he keeps moving, burying himself deeper, moaning about how he needs you, how he can’t live without this, without you.

No Goggles Mark who has a thing for your period. The second he catches the scent of it, his pupils blow wide, his breath stutters, his body shakes because he knows. He knows. He groans just thinking about it, about the way your body is raw, aching, open, needing him. He begs for it—pleads, whimpers, claws at you, his voice broken, desperate, because he wants it, needs it, craves it like he’s starving. If you let him? He moans against you, his eyes rolling back, his body trembling like he’s reached nirvana. He tells you you’ve never been more beautiful, never been more perfect, never been more his.

No Goggles Mark who wants you to hurt him. Scratch him, slap him, choke him—make him bleed, make him feel it, make him remember that he belongs to you. He laughs when you hit him, moans when you dig your nails into his flesh, shudders when you sink your teeth into his skin. He begs for more, begs for you to ruin him, begs for you to make him suffer because he wants it, he loves it, he craves it. If you ever whisper sweet things to him after? He breaks. He cries, shakes, whimpers into your chest like a ruined, pathetic thing.

No Goggles Mark who wants to drink your spit. He opens his mouth, sticks out his tongue, tells you to spit in it like he’s a dog waiting for a treat. He wants it, all of it, every last drop. He moans when he swallows, rolls it around his tongue, sighs like it’s the sweetest thing he’s ever tasted. If you ever call him disgusting? He just grins, licks his lips, and tells you that he’d drink your bathwater too.

No Goggles Mark who wants to be your personal punch bag. He wants you to use him, break him, push him past the point of no return. He wants you to drag your nails over his chest until it’s raw, bite his neck until it bruises, kick him away just to pull him back. If you punch him, slap him, spit in his face? He moans. He laughs. He grabs your wrist and shoves your hand back, begging you to do it again, harder, worse, meaner, because he loves it, he lives for it, he needs it.

No Goggles Mark who wants you to mark him. Not just hickeys or scratches—he wants scars. He wants to be ruined by you, wants to carry your violence like a badge of honor, wants to feel the sting of your love in every movement. If you ever cut him open, ever sink your nails deep enough to draw blood, ever slam him into a wall so hard he sees stars? He smiles, whispers ‘thank you,’ and kisses you like you’re his god.

No Goggles Mark who wants to be your favorite toy. Not your boyfriend, not your lover—your toy. Something to play with, to use, to throw away when you’re done. He wants to be on his knees for you, under your foot, bruised and battered and desperate, because he doesn’t want to be your equal—he wants to be owned. If you ever ignore him, ever tease him, ever dangle what he wants just out of reach? He whines, begs, claws at your clothes, presses himself against you like an animal in heat, because nothing is worse than being without you.

No Goggles Mark who wants to melt into you. He wants his skin to fuse with yours, his bones to dissolve into your body, his soul to entangle with yours so completely that you’re no longer two people—you’re one. He whispers this against your lips, his voice shaking, his body trembling, his fingers digging into your flesh like he’s trying to hold himself together, because the thought of not being part of you is worse than death.

Because you are his.

Forever.

— MASTERLIST ☆

— © luv-lock. Don't copy, use or translate any of my works here or any other websites ☆

i don't know who needs to hear this but the avs are about to commit seasonal violence

𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐏 𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐒𝐎𝐖.

m.list | next

Warnings: mentions of miscarriage, black market, mentions of depression. Tell me if there is more

Dinas hands are stained with the powder white of flour, the pale dust clinging to her skin as she kneeded the dough. Her fingers worked in a rhythm only she knows while humming a tune like a songbird. Pressing, folding, and rolling as the yeast rose beneath her warm hands working skillfully. The bread brought a sweet scent into the house giving it the aroma of a bakery—it would've gave her mother a large smile as she joyfully watched with her eyes sparkling. But today, Dinas mother was in her room weeping, the house so silent the only thing she could hear was the crackling of the fire.

As Dina continued to knead her mind kept wandering to the black market, knowing she would have to trade a loaf for atleast a pound of cheese cloth to finish her reaping dress. Food went for higher value in district twelve than any fabric that had been used before the dark days happened. But she couldn't complain—she couldn't afford to. Not with everything crumbling before her eyes.

Meanwhile, across the street at the millers carpenters shop, Ellie was working, the rhythmic sound of a hammer striking wood echoing in the air. Dina often caught glimpses of her during her bread making through the window—the way her strong, muscular arms moved with precision, the way her leather apron fit her like a second skin. Ellie was more muscular than other working women in the district, Dina only having slight muscles because of kneading bread dough from 6 am to 8 pm—but that didn't phase her much because of how scarce food is and having someone to fix something for you was.

Ellie worked hard, some people say she worked harder than others. Her chisels, and hammers always in motion, creating whatever was necessary to trade for food. She was the one who kept a watchful eye out, the one who made sure Dina didn't take too much risk with her dealings in the market. But as much as she cared for Dina, Ellie never sugarcoated the truth about the reapings, trading, or the hunger games.

When the pairs lunch break came, Dina walked over to the millers shop, wiping flour off her shoulder as she knocked on the door frame. Ellie barely looked up as she grabbed a few pieces of wood to sand, the noise of the shop humbling their conversation to a hushed murmur.

"Got bread for the trade today" Dina said leaning against the doorframe holding up her sack holding the loaf.

"Good." Ellie muttered, her eyes narrowing on the wood as she carefully smoothed the surface. " you know that black market guy isn't gonna give you anything decent for it, right?"

Dina placed the bread parcel down and shrugged, trying to hide the way the thought weighed heavy against her chest. "We need the cloth and my mother's not... Well." she trailed off, glancing back towards home. "She's not getting any better."

Ellie nodded, finally stopping the sanding to look at Dina. Her gaze softened, just a fraction. “I know. I know.” She exhaled, then turned her head slightly toward the front door, eyes distant. “I still can’t believe the Reaping’s so close. They say the Capitol’s watching even more closely this year. You think one of us is gonna get called?”

Dina hesitated, the words on the tip of her tongue, but not enough courage to speak them aloud. " I don't want to think about it" her voice got low, making Ellie almost nearly miss it.

Ellie let out a quite snort. "Well, you'd better start thinking about it, because when your name gets drawn, you can't exactly just walk away from it. Someone's got to step up, Dina."

Dina didn’t say anything. She didn’t have to. The unspoken truth between them was heavy enough. Both of them had been close to the edge for years, but the Reaping always felt like a final straw they could never seem to escape.

Later that afternoon, Dina made her way to the black market, clutching the still—warm bread wrapped in the parcel she just had shown Ellie earlier today. The stall she approached was tucked between two crumbling buildings, hidden away from prying eyes. A rough man with a scar on his neck and hands like calloused leather leaned against a table stacked with old goods from smugglers from the Capitol.

"You got the bread.?" he grunted, eying her warily

Dina nodded, holding it out carefully " I need cheesecloth."

The man grinned, showing a row of crooked teeth. “You know the price. For fresh bread, I’ll give you half a roll of cloth."

Dina bit back her frustration. She’d hoped for a little more. “Half a roll? It’s not enough to finish both dresses. I need enough to make a full dress for myself"

His eyes glinted with amusement. “You’re a girl who knows what she wants, huh? That’ll cost you double. I’m giving you a good deal, girl. Take it or leave it.”

Dina’s stomach turned. She had no other choice. She nodded, handing over the bread.

When she returned home, she found her mother sitting at the table, eyes vacant as she stared at the half-empty plate of food in front of her. The sight broke Dina’s heart every time, but she had no time to linger on it. There were dishes to wash, firewood to gather, and a hundred other things waiting to be done. She could hear the faint sound of her mother’s sobs from the next room as she fed her, spooning soup into her mother’s mouth as she barely managed to swallow it.

When Dina finished, she hurried to get ready for the Reaping. The tension in the air was unbearable, thick and choking like smoke. Even though the draw was still hours away, it felt as though everyone in the district could sense what was coming. The Reaping was always a grim affair, but this year, it felt heavier.

Dina sewed the last buttons to her dress, standing back to take a good look she sighed—not because it looked bad, but only because it was a inch shorter than how she wanted it. But she couldn't care, because at 1pm she'd have to be dressed and ready for the reaping.

The day of the Reaping arrived, and the air was thick with dread.

Dina stood beside Ellie in the town square, surrounded by hundreds of others who were trying to pretend they didn’t feel the cold, suffocating weight of the Capitol’s presence looming over them. The announcer’s voice crackled through the speakers, calling for silence, and everything stopped.

The names were drawn.

" DINA WOODWARD"

Dina looked around, her heart beating in her cheat and a stone in her throat. She couldn't believe it but she had to, she needed to go.

Walking towards the stage to the pale makeup Capitol lady she stood looking at the other tributes, they paid her respects to her by placing three finger to their lips and up towards the sky.

" now for the one boy tribute"

" ELIJAH MADISON"

she knew Elijah, he was just a meekly 12 year old boy. She couldn't believe it, a choked up sob almost came from her throat but she had to suppress it.

" I volunteer."

She heard from the crowd, district twelves searching around trying to figure out who the words came from.

Until Ellie walked up towards the stage standing beside Dina staring towards the crowd. That was against the rules but Dina didn't want to say anything until one of the Capitol announcers denounced this volunteerism.

The final goodbyes were harder than Dina had imagined.

Ellie was already in her room, while Dina was isolated in hers looking out the window. Her door opened as she saw her mother crying in tears speaking in the language only both of them could only understand.

Her mother’s lips trembled. “Dina…” Her voice cracked. She took one step forward, then two, and then she was in front of her daughter, kneeling awkwardly, as if her bones no longer trusted her weight. “My girl.”

Dina felt something snap inside her chest. “Don’t cry,” she whispered, even though her own eyes were welling up. “Please don’t cry.”

“I’m sorry,” her mother breathed, reaching up to cradle Dina’s face with both hands. “I’m so, so sorry.”

Dina shook her head, eyes burning. “Mom—”

“No, let me say it.” Her mother’s voice broke. “You’ve been taking care of me since… since I lost the baby. And I—I didn’t mean to leave you alone like that. I just…” She let out a slow, aching sob. “I was drowning. And I didn’t even see how much you were carrying.”

Her mother nodded slowly, her thumb brushing a tear from Dina’s cheek. “You didn’t deserve that. You’re seventeen. You’re still a child. And I let grief steal you from me. I should have been there for you.”

“You’re here now.” Dina’s voice cracked as she gripped her mother’s wrists gently. “You didn’t mean for any of this to happen. I know that.”

Her mother leaned forward, resting her forehead against Dina’s. “I just got you back, and now—

“I’ll come home,” Dina said, though she didn’t know if it was true. She needed her mother to believe it. Maybe she needed to believe it too. “I’ll come home. I’ll fight.”

Her mother wept into her shoulder, her hands still gripping Dina like she was afraid to let go. “Promise me you won’t lose who you are in there.”

Promise me you’ll eat. Promise me you’ll try to get better. Even if I don’t come back. Please.”

Her mother swallowed hard, like the words were cutting her throat on the way out. “I promise.”

They sat like that for a long moment—two broken hearts holding each other in the silence between everything they’d said and everything they hadn’t. And when the Peacekeeper came to announce the time was up, Dina didn’t want to let go.

But she did.

Ellie paced the length of the goodbye room, jaw tight, fists stuffed into the pockets of her worn jacket. The Capitol had dressed her in nicer clothes, but she still wore her own—scuffed boots, threadbare hoodie, sleeves stained with sawdust and grease. She didn’t want to look like a tribute. Not yet.

The door opened, and Joel stepped inside.

He filled the room with his presence. Broad shoulders, sun-weathered face, and eyes that had seen too much. He didn’t say anything at first, just stood there, arms crossed like he always did when he was trying not to feel too much.

Ellie froze, then gave a shaky exhale. “Hey.”

Joel’s jaw twitched. “Hey, kiddo.”

She tried to crack a smile. “You pissed?”

“Should I be?”

“I mean… you always told me not to be stupid.” She tried to shrug it off, but her voice caught halfway through. “Volunteering for a twelve-year-old isn’t exactly smart, right?”

Joel walked toward her and stopped just a foot away. He looked at her like he was trying to memorize every inch of her face. “It was the right kind of stupid.”

Ellie’s eyes dropped. Her throat tightened. “He was just a kid, Joel.”

“So are you,” he said quietly. “Doesn’t mean I ain’t proud of you.”

That made her look up. “Yeah?”

Joel nodded. “You did what I would’ve done. What your mom would’ve done.”

A long silence stretched between them, thick and quiet and full of everything they didn’t know how to say.

Joel sighed, then placed a calloused hand on the back of Ellie’s neck, pulling her into a hug. “You listen to me, alright?” His voice dropped low, steady and warm like an anchor. “You get in there, and you don’t lose your head. You don’t start fights unless you know how to finish ’em. You don’t trust anyone unless they’ve bled for you.”

Ellie swallowed hard, pressing her face against his shoulder. “What if I can’t—?”

“You can.” Joel’s voice cut through the air like steel. “You’re the toughest kid I’ve ever met. You’re sharp. You’re scrappy. And you’ve got more heart than half the bastards who walk this earth.”

Ellie sniffed. “Kinda sounds like you’re saying goodbye.”

“I’m not.” Joel pulled back just enough to look her in the eyes. “I’m saying—no matter what happens—you ain’t alone. You carry me in there, you understand? You fight like I’m right behind you, watching your back. ‘Cause I am.”

Ellie’s lips trembled. She nodded once, then twice.

Joel pulled something from his coat pocket—a simple, worn carving knife. “Keep this with you. Not for show. For survival. You’ll know when to use it.”

She took it silently, fingers curling around the hilt like it had always belonged there.

A knock at the door made them both flinch.

Joel stepped back slowly. “Make me proud, Ellie.”

“You already are,” she whispered.

And then the door opened again, and the goodbye was over.

© this work is owned and written by fawnieangel, any copies of my work on any platform will get you reported and blocked.