#[ because it can go either way for SURE with this fuckin thing ]

[the-most-humble-blog]

USED SERVITOR BLOWOUT SALE FESTIVAL🎈🥳🎉:

Remember: Serve the Emperor, or Serve as Parts. Either way, YOU SERVE.

EVERYTHING MUST GO (INCLUDING YOUR HUMANITY)

Welcome to the biggest clearance event in the Imperium, motherfuckers! Need cheap labor? Need a servitor with that "lightly used, only screamed for the first 40 days" kinda vibe? Well, step right up! We got everything from half-brainwashed factory workers to lobotomized aristocrats who forgot to pay their tithe.

Because in the grim darkness of the far future, one thing is certain: you can be a worker, you can be a soldier, or you can be stock.

💀 SHOP SMART, SHOP SERVITOR 💀

🔹 Genetic Mishaps? We got those! Crooked nobles who thought they were untouchable, now wired into conveyor belts, drooling coolant, shitting oil, and making sure your las-rifles come off the assembly line on time.

🔹 Failed Tech-Priest Acolytes? Fuck yeah! Ask too many questions, and you could end up as a walking soft-serve machine with a detachable cock-replaceable nozzle.

🔹 Battlefield Salvage? Some dumbass Guardsman who took one too many rounds to the brain and didn’t have the decency to fully die? Now he’s the designated ammo carrier. His eyes are gone, his soul is in whatever counts as an afterlife, but goddamn if he isn’t still loading shells into the Basilisk.

🔹 Discounted Heretics! That’s right, folks! Thought crime isn’t just punishable by death—it’s punishable by a lifetime of tireless, lobotomized, piss-and-rot servitude! Remember that loudmouth who started questioning the Ecclesiarchy? Yeah, she’s a self-powered fuckin’ janitor now. And she doesn’t even know it.

💀 INJUSTICE? NAH, THIS IS JUST HOW SHIT WORKS. 💀

Look, the Imperium doesn’t have time for due process, ethics, or your bitching. You get caught, you get sentenced, and if you’re lucky, you just get shot in the face. If not? Well…

You will be stripped. Of name, rank, and thought.

You will be wired. Into machines, into assembly lines, into grotesque walking infrastructure.

You will be useful. Until your body fucking quits.

And then? Your carcass gets recycled into another batch of "freshly mindwiped workforce," because wastefulness is heresy.

💀 TRAGEDY? MAYBE. COMEUPPANCE? ABSOLUTELY. 💀

🔹 That planetary governor who let a Hive World rot in famine? He’s a servitor now, shoveling the same shit his people had to eat.

🔹 That spoiled noble who thought she was above the law? Yeah, she’s bolted into an automated pleasure engine, servicing the same underhivers she once spat on.

🔹 That inquisitor who purged an entire city "just to be sure"? Hope he enjoys his new eternity as a fleshlight-dispensing bio-recycler.

🔹 That rich fuck who hoarded resources, letting a whole sector starve? Don’t worry. His nutrient paste tastes real good, because it’s made out of him.

Because in the glorious Imperium of Man, even the worst scum eventually finds a purpose. Even if that purpose is being a half-melting, piss-leaking, cybernetic flesh-husk on sale for 5 thrones.

🔥 EVERYTHING MUST GO (INCLUDING YOUR SOUL) 🔥

REBLOG if you’d rather be shot than end up in a servitor assembly line.

💬 COMMENT which Warhammer faction you think deserves to be on the clearance rack. 🚀 FOLLOW for more grimdark truths straight from the corpse-laden frontlines.

[thatoneautisticshark]

I'M BACK AGAIN

Okay so in response to you saying "Simon thinking he was being sooooooo flirty, but it's shit" it made me think about his flirting in general.

Simon's sense of humor is already something that most people wouldn't get and the rest groan at and try to hide that they find it funny.

I think Simon would 100000000% just SUCK BALLLLLS when it comes to flirting like he's so fucjing bad at it. He either says smth and they think he's being kinda creepy ("You used a different shampoo today, it smells nice") or dropping morbid scary facts (totally not projecting)("the epidermis layer of the skin isn't attached to any blood major blood vessels. If you skin someone alive carefully enough, they'll die of dehydration before they do of blood loss" trying to seem cool and smart) or maybe he says smth more normal but he's got that dead face and those intense eyes that make it look like he's glaring and the monotone voice and people think he's gonna kill them.

But Johnny fuckin MacTavish. That little freak!!!!!! It works. Of course Simon's God awful flirting would work! Johnny's a freak! I like to think he's a lil pyrophiliac or smth sometimes, he's kinky! But also, he just understands what Simon's trying to get across bc he knows Simon better than anyone else! People always say they can never tell what Ghost is thinking but Ghost just has to send one look Soap's way and Soap already knows that Ghost wants a specific brand of tea and a fucking biscuit or smth else ridiculously specific.

And it baffles the rest of 141 the way Soap reads Ghost so easily and how Soap blushes at Ghost's weird ass flirting. Bc what do you mean Soap is getting all hot and bothered over Ghost talking about how long it takes to strange someone to death or smth like that 😭🤣

Ghost doesn't even have to say anything he just walks into a room and Soap already knows. Call Soap the Ghost Whisperer from now on!!! It comes in real handy anytime Ghost goes nonverbal bc he's stressed out the wazoo

This is Ghost lookikg at Soap and Soap knowing that Ghost is craving *insert the most ungodly specific and random thing here* more than oxygen itself.

yes. Yup. Cannon now because I say so. Not quite sure how to make it into a fic,so you get more like little prices of it.

Soap genuinely believed Ghost was mute for the first three weeks, then He randomly spoke, and Soap was like. Okay then.

After mission, Ghost is obviously stressed and not doing well and non of the team knows what to do. Ghost just stares at Soap for five seconds, and Soap grabs his keys. "I'm going to get Simon banana milk brainwaves and KFC Fry's, anyone want anything?" And the team is going... What the fuck?

On their one month anniversary Ghost gifted soap a giant plushie spider that Soap keeps above his bed and it terrifies Gaz.

Ghosts flirting is facts. Like he tells soap about how, female hyenas have a pseudo penis, and it rips during birth. And Soap just goes. Good for them mate.

Ghost is either rambling or mute and soap loves him either way.

His observations of little things is so endearing to Soap. "You washed your hair". "your shoes are polished" "That's a new toothpaste." It also comes in useful when soap is injured because Ghost spots in a millisecond.

Freaky under the cut. Also TW Murder

The first time they fuck is in a storage cupboard on a mission, because Soap seeing Ghost slit a clean line down someone's throat to their dick got him going. (He is fucked up okay)

Soap blows up a base, and ghost is giving him bedroom eyes.

Soap has a much shorter mohawk for a while, because while palying with fire in the bedroom they set it on fire.

On days they are both horny, but Ghost isn't up for touch, Soap has sucked off ghosts gun, with the saftey off.

[nightmarecountry]

[PULL]: sender pulls on receiver's hair to expose their neck

- Louis

The Corinthian inhales sharply, almost a hiss. He knows what this man wants from him: knows what he is, has done from the moment they laid eyes on one another in the evening dark. Whether or not Louis will get it is another matter. A nightmare is no easy meal, this one least of all, and the Corinthian mislikes being hunted by those he considers his prey.

"Now, slow down, will you?" Easy enough to resist the tug of Louis' hand in his hair, even with a vampire's strength. The Corinthian fixes him with a smile that does not come close to reaching its hidden eyes. Its hand reaches back to curl around Louis' wrist, prying the hand from its hair. "There's no rush."

[thinkinonsense]

forgive if it’s a bit scatterbrained but hear me out… some sort of reverse corruption w old man!logan >///< i just feel like he won’t be the type of guy who’d immediately be into having a thing w young!reader. i feel like he won’t even take it seriously at first or there’s def gonna be more resistance from him, he’d probably feel initially repulsed by the idea of even beginning to think of them that way given how young they are. but reader is bold bold, so they’re gonna keep pushing and pushing until they’ve got him where they want him. but even if she’s practically sinking down on him, logan is still probably gonna be like “fuck’s wrong with you, huh? old enough to be your fucking grandfather, kid. c’mon, you don’t really want this.”

poor old man’s just too decent for his own good :(

old man!logan x young bold fem!reader *mdni

logan couldn't stand you. how young and ambitious you were; how you couldn't just take no as a fuckin' answer. you thought it was cute but logan found it rather obnoxious. you were persistent with your attraction towards the older man; frequenting the only bar in town that logan was still welcomed in.

"what are we drinking tonight, lo?" your voice was a siren song that he wished he could turn off.

"whiskey." he mumbles against the glass.

the mean glare he sent your way would've made anyone else run in fear, but not you. instead smiling up at him with bambi eyes. at first, logan thought you were just dumb, not picking up on his signals but as it turned out, you're just stubborn.

every friday night, you sat on the stool next to him. you should've been flirting with guys your age by the pool table but no, you would rather get rejected by the old man who drinks alone. at one point even the bartenders started to think that you two were together which logan quickly shut down.

"c'mon, at least let me pretend that i'm yours," you whine, swirling around your second fruity drink tonight.

"you don't want to 'be mine', kid," he said in a stern voice, similar to one you would use on a child who won't behave.

"aaand...why not?" you ask him, crossing your arms and already getting pissy. "don't gimme that bullshit about you being 'too old' either."

"has anyone ever told you that you're-"

"pretty? hilarious? tight? yeah, a few times actually."

logan sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. he tries to give you some sympathy but there's only so many times that you can burn your hand on the stove until you learn your lesson.

"look, cherry..." logan sets his glass down. you adored when he called you, cherry because that meant he was paying attention to you and what you drank, always having to top it off with a cherry. "i'm probably your grandfather's age-"

"don't care." you interrupt him, leaning forward to stare into his eyes and run a hand through his hair. "your grey hair is so hot, lo. should let me pull on it sometime."

logan was finding it more difficult to resist you. almost letting out a groan when you pull slightly. logan could smell your arousal forming; clouding his vision.

"why don't you throw your panties in someone else's direction, huh? i'm sure those boys over there wouldn't mind." logan snarls, getting fed up with your attitude.

it wasn't that he didn't find you attractive, quite the opposite really. maybe if he was younger or you were older then he wouldn't mind your flirty personality so much but that's not the way that the world works. logan is -whether or not he wants to admit it- old and he didn't have time to put up with your whiney shit.

"okay." you shrug, getting up from the barstool.

logan doesn't believe that you'll actually go talk to those boys. in one minute your ass will be back here annoying him. he was sure of it.

then ten minutes passed and giggles were still falling from your lips. nothing the guys said was actually funny but you played it up to look better. there was one guy who you actually didn't mind talking to; both of you went to the same college and shared the same major. for a second, you'd completely forgotten about the man burning holes into your side.

the two of you talked for a while, exchanging stories while you leaned against the pool table in your tiny cut-off shorts. logan watched those boys gawk at you; staring everywhere but your face.

"i know right! her class was horrible! all she did was-" your words fell short when someone grabbed your upper arm, attempting to pull you away from the guy, who you think his name was josh, or john, or jake? you couldn't really remember and you definitely didn't care.

"c'mon kid, i'll give you a ride home." logan growled in your ear.

"oh, it's okay!" you chirp like a little bird at him. "think i'll find another way home tonight."

it's just a facade, logan told himself. you were just trying to prove a point. always stubborn.

"i'm not messing 'round, kid-"

"leave her alone, old man." the kid interrupted, giving logan a push.

logan snarls, about to teach this boy a lesson but you are faster; heel-kicking him in the nuts. the boy hunched over, allowing you to be ear level with him.

"fuck off." you spit, angrily before walking away.

logan looked at you completely dumbfounded. he had no other choice than to follow you blindly outside of the bar. he found you leaning against his truck; under the dim street light, logan would've misplaced you for some angelic figure.

"mind takin' me home, lo?" you ask him, for once not acting like some horny little rabbit towards him.

he nods, fishing out his keys. you give him directions to your apartment. the silence in the car makes you think logan's mad at you for real this time. you pushed it too far, embarrassing him and yourself this time. logan wasn't this dirty old perv who would actually give you the time of day, and maybe it was time for you to face that reality.

"i just wanted to say sorry for everything." your voice is low and quiet. afraid logan won't even acknowledge you. "i know that i should've left you alone a long time ago. you wouldn't want someone like me anyway-"

the car came to a dead halt in the driveway. logan turns to face you and you fear the worst; afraid he will yell at you.

"do you seriously think i wouldn't want you?" he asks. "you haven't left my mind since the day we bumped into each other at the bar and i spilled my whisky down your shirt. remember that, cherry?"

you nod, carefully. that day was imprinted in your mind. your friends and you were celebrating your birthday when logan bumped into you at the bar on accident. he frantically apologized for ruining your white shirt which you suggested for him to lick you clean. it had been so long since someone had flirted with him that he didn't know how to react.

"i'd never seen someone look so pretty and sticky at the same time." logan's hand gently caresses your cheek.

"could've seen it more often if you had fucked me like i wish you would've." the words fall out without pressure, making logan smirk. no matter how much you tried, you were desperate for him.

"you've got one dirty fuckin' mouth, cherry."

"it gets dirtier than that."

"hmm... don't know if that's possible."

"i could show you if you like."

the offer hangs hot in the truck. logan leans back into his seat, asking for forgiveness on what he's about to do. three light taps on his thigh and you crawl right into it.

"atta fuckin' girl, cherry." he groans as you grind against his crotch and bite on his neck.

"also for the record, the only person i want to have my panties is you, logan." you purred in his ear, referring back to your earlier conversation at the bar.

"i know, sweetheart. i know." he chuckles, watching you kick off your shorts and underwear.

once your back in his lap, you unbuckle his belt and wait eagerly for him to have his way with you. yet, logan doesn't offer anything.

"if you want to fuck an old man like me then you need to get used to doin' all the work, cherry." he says, half-joking. "can't keep up with an eager little thing like you."

you knew his game. to scare you off by acting like an asshole but you didn't mind doing the work to get what you want.

"fine with me." you smile, hands inching towards the glasses that hang on his button-down. "can't forget these, want you to see what you do to me."

logan groaned when you pulled him out of his pants, pumping him a few times before aligning him to your entrance. he was a bit bigger than you would've guessed, only making you wetter. just as you are about to sink down onto him, logan stops you, holding your hips in the air.

"fuck's wrong with you, cherry? you still want this, huh?" he taunts you, only getting a whine from you in response. "such a desperate little thing."

"p-p-please, logan." your hips wiggle against his tight grip. "want you... need you."

without another word, he lowers you down onto his length. both of you moan at the adjustment. your nails claw at logan's shoulders and you feel him twitch inside of you at the pain.

"happy now?" logan groaned, watching you bounce up and down on your own. his hands stayed on your waist, squeezing at the fat of your hips. "got what you fuckin' wanted."

"mhm..." you nod along dumbly agreeing to whatever he says. too busy trying to get his white button-down off of him. frustrated, you break open all the buttons.

once his chest was exposed, you litter it with kisses and dark bruises. for the first time, logan was happy that his healing abilities were slowing down so now he can admire your artwork longer. you grab both of his giant palms bringing one hand to your chest and taking the other thumb into your mouth, licking the pad of it before moving it down to your clit. tracing circles in a way that made your head fall back with your mouth wide open.

"do you always get this wet for older men or is it just for me, sweetheart?" logan asked, fist full of your hair.

"j-just you, lo..." you gasp.

logan's lips found your jaw, kissing up to your chin before capturing your lips. he wasn't a fan of fruity drinks but he loved the taste they left in your mouth. your backs against the wheel lazily and logan can tell that your orgasm is approaching.

"don't give up now, cherry." he teased. "you were doing so good, being a perfect little slut in my lap. what happened to her?"

you were too fucked out to say anything back and he knew it. logan finally took pity on you and started pistoling into you, listening to every pretty curse word that fell from your trembling lips.

"where do you want me, sweetheart?" logan grunts in your ear, pulling at the lobe as you come down from your high.

"inside, please."

that's all logan needed to hear to spill inside of you. the warmth indescribably flooded you. the two of you collapse in each other's arms, collecting yourself for a few minutes.

"told you, i'm a good fuck." you told him, looking up at him with messy hair and an unapologetic smile.

"didn't doubt you," he says, mirroring your smile as he moves some pieces of hair from your forehead. maybe logan could see you being a permanent person in his life.

"and to think..." your words drift off as you start to move again, feeling him get hard again inside of you. "we are just getting started."

[nyctoaerah]

⋆♱⋆THINKING ABOUT...

Content Warnings: Yandere Behaviors, Stalking, Fluff, Smut, Masturbation (M), Oral (F receiving), Perv! Sanemi. Reader is the same age as Sanemi, Filth. Mdni.

Pairings: Yandere! Sanemi Shinazugawa x Fem! Tsuguko Reader.

𝐒𝐀𝐍𝐄𝐌𝐈 𝐖𝐇𝐎 loves admiring you from afar, and never confessed his feelings for you. He’s always making sure that you’re safe whenever you’re on a solo mission while justifying and convincing himself that he’s just being a responsible hashira and totally not a creepy stalker. After all, a responsible hashira needs to protect his tsuguko, right?

𝐒𝐀𝐍𝐄𝐌𝐈 𝐖𝐇𝐎 would always mask his obsession attraction and love by being all grumpy and pushing you to your limits during training, only to spoil you and be gentle to you afterwards. He just really likes giving you mixed signals.

𝐒𝐀𝐍𝐄𝐌𝐈 𝐖𝐇𝐎 doesn’t allow you to go on missions with other people — especially not with those lower ranking demon slayers, he only lets you go on solo missions, or missions with the hashiras and him. He doesn’t let you go on missions with Giyuu and Tengen though.

𝐒𝐀𝐍𝐄𝐌𝐈 𝐖𝐇𝐎 intimidates people who tries to approach you. Why bother talking to them? You have him after all. He is stronger and more capable than them after all.

𝐒𝐀𝐍𝐄𝐌𝐈 𝐖𝐇𝐎 can read but can’t write since he never really got proper education and he spent his life slaying demons, so he mostly asks you to teach him how to write, but he’d end up getting flustered when you would grasp at his hand and help him how to properly write the letters.

𝐒𝐀𝐍𝐄𝐌𝐈 𝐖𝐇𝐎 cooks food for you and acting like your husband instead of your predecessor. He loves cooking foods for you, loving the way your eyes would lit up and lovin’ the way that you would smile and thank him.

𝐒𝐀𝐍𝐄𝐌𝐈 𝐖𝐇𝐎 would always insist on giving you a massage, after a strenuous training session, his hands kneading away the tension in your muscles. He’d murmur apologies for pushing you so hard, but he’d end up saying that the only reason why you’re so sore because you’re too weak.

𝐒𝐀𝐍𝐄𝐌𝐈 𝐖𝐇𝐎 would always allow you to join him soak in the hotspring in his estate. However, whenever you would bathe with him, his cheeks would flush crimson, and he would avoid meeting your gaze, because his fuckin’ mind would start to conjure inappropriate things.

𝐒𝐀𝐍𝐄𝐌𝐈 𝐖𝐇𝐎 has zero tolerance for anyone disrespecting you. Catch him overhearing even a whisper of slander about you? He’ll make sure to make the person shut up and makes sure to make their life miserable.

𝐒𝐀𝐍𝐄𝐌𝐈 𝐖𝐇𝐎 absolutely hates it whenever he hears that you’ve been injured and ends up scolding the shit outta you and making you not go on missions for some weeks and not letting you out of his sight.

𝐒𝐀𝐍𝐄𝐌𝐈 𝐖𝐇𝐎 started having weird dreams of you — however, this time it wasn’t all rainbows and unicorns, and innocent like the last one.

𝐒𝐀𝐍𝐄𝐌𝐈 𝐖𝐇𝐎 found himself getting a wet dream about you, where he was on his knees before you, his mouth eagerly devouring your dripping cunt, tongue swirling skillfully over your needy clit, and eliciting sweet, desperate moans from your lips.

𝐒𝐀𝐍𝐄𝐌𝐈 𝐖𝐇𝐎 ended up waking up with a feverish body and flushed face and a cock that’s stiff and aching from the steamy dreams that had him moaning in the dead of night like a bitch in heat.

𝐒𝐀𝐍𝐄𝐌𝐈 𝐖𝐇𝐎 let out a frustrated groan as he saw the bulge in his pants, because damn, he despised jerking off and he rarely did it because he thought that it’s just a ‘waste of time’, but he couldn't resist giving himself a little pleasure, his dick was just begging for it after all.

Sanemi shot a frustrated glare at the prominent bulge straining against his pants, his annoyance growing at the sight of the small, glistening wet spot that adorned the fabric.

Did he cum in his pants while sleeping or was it because his dick is licking pre? Either way, he didn’t liked it.

“Fuck...”

he grunted in exasperation, a slight shift in his stance prompting him to swiftly unbuckle his belt.

With a smooth motion, he let his pants drop down to his mid-thigh, a wince crossing his face as his cock sprung free, slapping against his abdomen with a lewd sound.

“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me,” His eyes widened slightly at the sight of how hard he is.

Sanemi sighed as he hocked a thick wad of saliva into his palm, and winced slightly as he grabbed the base of his cock, feeling it pulsate in his hand and ooze precum.

“What the fuck am I even doing?”

He muttered, his hand trembling as he slid it along his length, his teeth sinking into his lower lip as he dragged his thumb over the sensitive tip, feeling the slickness there.

“This is such a waste of time,”

he grumbled underneath his breath.

“You better behave after I take care of you, you hear me?” He chastised his dick as if it has a mind of its own as he started to moved his hand up and down his cock.

“Stupid fucking hormones,”

he cursed, his grip tightening around his cock. He adjusted his hand for better leverage, and he made sure to press his fingertips against the sensitive underside with each stroke, relishing the way the veins pulsed beneath his touch.

He sat on the futon, his chest rising and falling with each ragged breath, the sounds of lewd squelching and his hand moving vigorously over his dick echoing in the room.

It was a relief that today was his day off, free from any missions or distractions.

But the memory of the wet dream that had left him throbbing and aching still pissed him off, because what the fuck, he was supposed to relax and get the sleep he rarely get instead of waking up in the middle of the night and jerking off just because a dream had him all wet and bothered!

Thoughts of you suddenly invaded his mind as he stroked himself, his heavy breathing mixing with the dirty sounds of his fists moving against his slick cock.

Gripping tighter, he recalled the taste of your cunt in his tongue, and it was a phantom sensation that felt too real to be a mere dream.

He started to stroke himself faster, breathing heavily as he started to fantasize about the things that he wants you to do to him.

He wanted you to sit on his face, suffocate him with your thighs, and smother him.

He wants you to use him.

He couldn’t help but close his eyes and let his fantasy take over. The image of your hands moving on his cock flashed through his mind.

“Fuck, [Name]...” he groaned. Imagining that it was your fingers expertly coaxing pleasure from him instead.

The mere thought of you whispering filthy words in his ear sent a shiver down his spine, and a low whine escaped his lips, the muscles in his abdomen tensing and contracting with pleasure as he nears his release.

“fuckk, just a little bit more...”

He said as a whine escaped his lips.

He was about to cum until he suddenly heard a knock on his door.

“Shinazugawa-Sama? Are you alright? I’ve heard some weird sounds coming from here...”

He heard your voice say, and he froze.

Fuck... He forgot that you also lived with him.

©𝐍𝐲𝐜𝐭𝐨𝐚𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐡 || 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐬, 𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐬, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝.♡

𝐑𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐲: ❤️‍🔥𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐦𝐲 𝐩𝐨𝐨𝐤𝐢𝐞 𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐫𝐨𝐫𝐛𝐥𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐰𝐡𝐨.<𝟑

[blackcupidangel]

Things Batmom has said:

“Keep your father out of the kitchen, I’ll be back by morning.”

“We’ll if it isn’t the consequences of your own actions”

“It means you can either drive yourself home or I’ll have Alfred come get you.”

“Look at my handsome boys growing into fine gentlemen.”

“Stay safe, I love you”

“Eyes open, baby birds.”

“Alfred and I made food for the week, it’s in the fridge” *punch* “Your running shoes are on the left side of the closet” *kicks* “Make sure his project is done tonight, it’s due tomorrow.”

“I’m going to let you fix it, because if I fix it I’m going to jail.”

“It’s called,” she raises one fist “fuck around,” then she raises her other fist, “and find out.”

“You don’t even know me, you don’t even know my real name…” she leans in with harden eyes yet calm features, “I’m the fuckin boogie man”

“Do not play with me, I am not the one, two, or the three.”

“Don’t kill him.” //“I’m sorry but who’s the one tied up here?” //“Darling—“// “Because the way I see it, it’ll be in self defense.”

“Just one leg.” “No” “Both legs?” “No!” “You’re right….I’ll go for their kneecap.”

“So…you’ve chosen to disobey me.”

“Alright now…don’t write a check you can’t cash.”

“I’m sorry, what did you say? I couldn’t hear you because of your tone of voice.” She leans in with a hand cupping her ear to encourage a second chance.

“Do I look like booboo the fool?!”

“Brilliant.”

“As mad as I am, I can’t let you shoot him.”// “Just this once?” //“No.” //“I’ll go for the knees. Nothing vital.” //“Hhgh.”

“You really hit the nail on the head with that one Batman.”

“And WHO do you think you’re taking to?”

“Don’t tell your father.”

“Be home by 10, or I start looking windows.”

“I’m so very proud of you!”

“A girl’s gotta be prepared.”

“You know…about the whole guns thing, I’m still not so sure I feel as strongly as you do.”

“Way to go, Bruce.”

“Touch my child, I dare you. Make my day.”

“Ahh…Motherhood.”

—————————————————————————

Heyyyyyyy hotties I’m backkkkkkk. Send me asks and requests as I’m easing my way back into things. It might take me a while to find my flow and writing style so bear with me please. I missed you all so much honestly.

[erwinsvow]

we need more moment where shy!reader was studying and practicing new things to show rafe!! ik that girl is so kinky and it’s always the shy girls <33

YESS omg i srsly love that drabble when i reread it im like she was cookin.. i feel like shes the type to try to prep herself with a dildo bc she can never take all of rafe but imagine he found it n was like ?!!?

really—your boyfriend was too big. it was excessive, and though you could never find the words to tell him to stop or slow down—mostly because you didn't want him to—he always did anyways.

no matter how much you insisted that you could take all of him, rafe didn't like to listen. so you were stuck in a conundrum, and your choices were either lying to your boyfriend that it didn't hurt or accepting the fact that he'll never be as rough with you as you want.

you were willing to sit down and accept a lot of things without a fight—but this was not one of them.

one discreetly wrapped delivery later, you had yourself your very own rafe-sized dildo—a pretty pink color and of such a size that it had your insides churning with anticipation. about half an hour later with the use of some lube and lots of work, you were successfully able to fit about three-fourths. it wasn't perfect, yet, but it was a work in progress.

you didn't want to overdo it and end up insanely sore either, and you were beginning to realize even half was enough to have you cumming over and over again. so much so that you almost forgot about the date you had planned with rafe for that night—scrambling to get up and get ready.

that night, after a nice date and way too much ice cream, you realized you were too fucked out from your afternoon activity to go for another round for rafe. it was no big deal—except it happened the next day. then the day after that. and the one after that.

you had mastered the rafe-sized dildo, and you could take the entire thing after week of practice. but it also meant that it had been a full week without your boyfriend fucking you—something that hadn't happened since you had lost your virginity to him.

a little too clueless around rafe like always, you hadn't realized anything was wrong. rafe was on edge—pent up and unable to keep taking out his frustration on the golf course after almost breaking one of his clubs—but you didn't really notice.

you were waiting for tonight, after another date to show him your new-found skills, but of course, he didn't know that.

getting ready in your bathroom, blasting music and doing your makeup, you don't even hear the door open to your bedroom. rafe came to get you early, knowing you would need more time but way too antsy to wait alone in his car.

he sits on your bed, listening to the muffled music from behind the closed door. he's not impatient with you and hardly ever like this, but the current situation had left him more desperate to see you than usual.

leaning against your headboard, he feels something under your pillow. lifting it to move whatever it was—knowing you, the book you had been reading last night—his jaw clenches when he sees it. a dildo. not just any dildo—a huge dildo. under your pillow like you'd just been using it or something.

the pillow stays in his hand but he has an overwhelming urge to chuck it across the room. was this the reason the two of you hadn't had sex in a week? were you finding pleasure from some stupid toy instead of him?

"rafe?" you ask, stepping out of the bathroom and staring at the scene in front of you with big eyes. you're distractingly pretty everyday but even more so today with a short skirt and done-up face for the date he's not sure if he'll be taking you on.

your face burns with humiliation—stupidly realizing you hadn't put the damn thing away after last night. rafe is looking at you and then looking back at your bed, his fist tight around your pillow.

"um, i-"

"do you wanna explain? i'll give you five fuckin' seconds to explain-"

"no, it's not what it looks like-"

"really, kid? what it looks like is you're fuckin' this stupid thing instead of me. y'know, i'll just fuck off and you can have fun-"

rafe stands, not really angry but still sounding like he is. it's more pent-up frustration bubbling up, but you rush over to him anyways, looking so panicked he feels bad the second he said anything. he can't stay mad at you for longer than a minute.

"it's not what it looks like, i swear-"

"what is it then, huh?"

"i was just practicing! i was just trying to get better for you. see, it's yours." you motion to the toy still on the bed.

"huh?" rafe asks, looking between you and the bed.

"it's you. see. it's like... your size. um-" you get flustered again, shutting up in the fear that you've just said something to rafe that you should have kept to yourself. "i'm.. sorry?"

"no you're not."

"no, but i feel bad. are your feelings hurt? i'm sorry."

when rafe glances back at you, tearing his gaze away from the bright pink that's beginning to hurt his eyes, he realizes how sad you look, thinking you've done something to upset him.

"no, m'fine. just.. tell me next time. it was a jump scare."

"okay.." you stay still infront of him, awkwardly playing with your hands waiting for him to say something. you're a little concerned rafe's still upset, but he doesn't seem to look it, rather looking at you expectedly.

"what?" you question immediately, eyebrows furrowing in confusion.

"what? get on the bed. you've had enough practice. time for the real thing."

[bachiras-toaster]

bllk boys and their kinks : ̗̀➛

BLUE LOCK BOYS x f!reader

authors notes: i saw a request that asked for a size kink with kunigami but i decided to just do multiple blue lock characters’ kinks including kunigami. so go the requester that asked just know that i see you fr

contents. praise, dacryphilia, degradation, spanking, size kink, slapping

ft. rin, bachira, isagi, kunigami, sae, ness

RIN ITOSHI, DACRYPHILIA

and he’d be so damn mean about it too knowing that he loves it. as you’re positioned beneath him with your legs spread for him to hain easier access, your profusely blushing face would began to gather tears after going at it for so long. seeing your glossy eyes would only cause rin to be rougher, bullying your desperate hole as he longed to force more tears out of you. “‘re you seriously fucking crying? when i’m not even going as hard as i can be with you?”

MEGURU BACHIRA, MARKING

you marking him, him marking you— it doesn’t matter. either way, bachira could spend hours of his evening letting out little whimpers of pleasure as you left fresh hickeys across his collarbone, smiling foolishly at the knowledge that he would definitely do whatever it took to subtly reveal your work to all of his teammates. and of course, he would return the favour to you, leaving various bruises and marks on your shoulders and neck— particularly in the shapes of desperate love-bites, ensuring that you would think of him every time you saw yourself in the mirror.

YOICHI ISAGI, MASOCHISM

he is so embarrassed of it, he would probably die of literal shame if anyone else other than you found out about it. getting him to admit he even had any kinks was a rough journey, so once you found out, you abused the hell out of it. you’d spank him, bite down on his shoulders while you left hickeys, and even go as far to slap him across the face while you looked down at him on his knees, making him beg you to let him fuck you. part of you wanted to feel guilty, but the growing blush on his cheeks told you that he not only loved it, but actively wanted more.

RENSUKE KUNIGAMI, SIZE

and he tries to be gentle with you, he really does, but you’re so small in comparison to him and he just knows that if he were to even go a little bit too rough, he would break you— which only entices him further. he tries to shake off the desire to absolutely destroy you, but the sight of you just barely taking in his thick cock while his large hand ran across your panting chest to move up to your neck was enough to burn the wildest fantasies into this man’s mind. he wanted to see how much more you could take, because he surely wasn’t going to last knowing that he could cup the bottom half of your face with just one of his palms, muffling your vocal moans as you reached your high.

SAE ITOSHI, DEGRADATION

sigh he is such a bully. imagine you in doggy position while he hit it from the back in front of a mirror. you’d try to bury your head in the bedsheets to shield your blushing face, but he’d just grab you by the hair and force you to look at yourself while he leaned down and muttered dirty insults in your ear. “don’t try and hide. i want you to see how pathetic you look being fucked dumb by my cock. so fuckin’ weak, can’t even handle dick, but i bet it feels nice being handled like a slut, huh?” each string of words being even filthier than the last, he’s so good at saying the right things.

ALEXIS NESS, PRAISE

as expected from him, he just can’t get enough of it. he’s addicted to that feeling of you knelt between his legs as you jerked him off as quickly as you could, your hand sloppily running over the length of his throbbing cock before your thumb met to massage his reddened, aching tip. there would be literal tears in his eyes as he looked down to see your smirk of pleasure as your movements sped up, biting your lip when you whispered things like: “oh, look at that, you’re behaving so well. does that feel good? you look so pretty like this.”

[themultifanshipper]

Hi,

Id like to make a request. Could you write a fic about franco and reader, with voyagerism (idk how you spell it lol). Preferably not by a parent this time (thats a joke!) . You could write a threesome if you think of someone that would go well with franco( I cant think of anyone rn ) . I liked Podium celebration, if thats something to go on. Thanks ahead of time.

P.s. I wouldve suggested lando but you asked for no ln4 fics and I dont think carlos goes with franco ( idk ).

P.s.s. Maybe, and thats a maybe, you can write readerxfrancoxpepe ?

P.s.s.s. Im ovulating rn so…thats what this is abt

How you ended up in this position, you weren't really sure. 

But who were you to complain when you had the attention of not one, but two incredibly fit men on you. 

Warnings: smut, in honour of Franco's dick sucking lips, threesome, blowjobs, facials,  i'll be honest there is no plot to be found here

Franco had been the one to suggest it, the man was shameless after all. 

And of course Lando had to overhear the conversation, because really, the paddock was not the place to be talking about threesomes if you wanted to be discreet about it. 

You and Franco had a thing. 

A sexual thing. 

It wasn't rare that you would find yourselves in each other's beds after a tough weekend. 

This was shaping up to be just that. 

Lando was your teammate, and ever since you'd joined McLaren there had been a sort of lingering tension between you two. 

And, well, Franco had been obsessed with Lando for years. 

He talked about the brit constantly, and when he'd suggested a threesome, you hadn't said no. 

And Lando, who was sitting at the table behind you, had caught quite a bit of the conversation, but wasn't sure how to broach the subject with you. 

Until he didn't have to. 

You were in your driver’s room later, fooling around with Franco. 

And by fooling around, I mean he was railing the shit out of you on the couch. 

Your cries of pleasure were driving Lando nuts, so he stormed into the room, fully intending to tell you both off, but the words died instantly when he saw you. 

You were straddling Franco’s thighs, facing the door, so that you were on full display, spread out for him as Franco's cock split you open. 

Your eyes went wide when you saw him, but you couldn't say anything because your mouth was stuffed with Franco's fingers. 

All you could do was moan around them while Franco carried on thrusting into you.

Lando could feel himself hardening at the sight in front of him, and he could do nothing but stare in awe.

It took several long minutes before Franco noticed him, and immediately an evil grin settled over his features when he finally did.

Lando remained speechless so it was up to Franco to break the silence. 

“Come on in Lando, we were wondering if you would show up” 

He continued thrusting into you almost nonchalantly. 

Lando's gaze was fixed on the way your cunt was clenching around Franco, drooling helplessly as he bullied his cock in and out of you. 

“Fuckin' hell”  Lando muttered, and took a step towards the couch but Franco stopped him by raising a finger and tutting at him. 

“Ah ah, strip” 

Lando’s eyebrows shot up in surprise, but he complied, quickly pulling his team gear off and took another step, but Franco stopped him again. 

“Sit down” he said simply and Lando looked at him with a confused expression. 

“Where?” 

Franco rolled his eyes “Where do you think? On the floor, where you are” 

Lando looked outraged but Franco quickly shut down any protests. 

“Either sit down or get out” 

Lando sat down. 

“Good. Now you are going to watch me make her come, and you are not going to touch yourself, understand?” 

Lando nodded. 

He wasn't entirely sure why he was complying, but something about Franco's tone and demeanor was turning his insides to liquid. 

He watched as Franco picked up the pace of his hips, and one of his hands went to tease your clit. 

You were completely out of it and you threw your head back as you felt you orgasm quickly approaching. 

Franco was nothing if not good with his hands. 

“Look at Lando, sweetheart. He wants to see you come. Don't you Lando?” 

The brit nodded furiously, making the younger man chuckle. 

“See, he is desperate for it. Come for him baby. Make a mess on my cock” 

You came with a muffled wail, riding out the waves as you bounced on Franco's cock. 

Lando thought you looked like a goddess. 

Franco gently lay you down on the couch and motioned Lando over. 

“Sit” he stood up and offered his seat to the older man. 

Lando complied, confused at why Franco was… 

Franco was on his knees. 

Franco was spreading Lando's legs and crawling between them. 

Franco was licking his lips at the sight of Lando's leaking cock. 

Oh god. 

Franco's mouth. 

The Argentine had his lips wrapped around the base of his cock, and was swallowing around him, breathing through his nose, like a fucking pro. 

“Fuck- Jesus, Franco” he hissed, and Franco hummed around his cock. 

You'd recovered by this point, and had crawled toward Lando to bring him into a kiss. 

He groaned into it when Franco started bobbing his head, looking up at the two of you through his lashes. 

The sight was something else. How a person could look sinful and angelic at the same time was beyond you. 

“Lando” he was breathless as he pulled off with a pop, and a string of spit joined his lip to Lando's tip. “Fuck my mouth. Please” 

The brit groaned, and grabbed a handful of Franco's soft hair, sliding his cock along the younger man's outstretched tongue. 

“You two are going to be the death of me” he couldn't believe this was happening. 

You giggled, and he pressed forward, filling Franco's mouth, all the way to the base and started a steady rhythm with his hips. 

Franco's jaw quickly went slack and his eyes were glazed over as Lando used his mouth for his pleasure, and you noticed him gripping his own cock tightly to avoid coming too soon. 

Lando pulled him off his cock and panted, eyes black as he stared down at the younger man. 

“Fuck. I'm not going to last much longer if you keep doing that.” 

Franco nodded, breathless and red in the face, tears threatening to spill down his cheeks as he got up off the floor. 

“You want to fuck her?” he asked and Lando looked at you. 

You nodded enthusiastically at him and he gave you a shy smile. 

“Would love to” 

You lay on your back, and Lando slotted himself between your legs, lining himself up and pushing in slowly. 

You both needed to take a steadying breath once he was fully inside.  

Christ he was big. 

You looked up at Franco, who's hands were wandering across your skin greedily, and pulled him closer to you. 

You put your tongue out, and he grinned understanding straight away what you were asking for. 

But before you could take him in your mouth, Lando spoke up. 

“Uhm… can I?” 

Both your heads snapped to him and he shivered at the attention. 

“Unless you don't want me to” 

Franco bit his lip, remembering all the times he'd imagined Lando on his knees for him, not quite believing it was actually going to happen. 

“Sure, mate” he managed to say almost nonchalantly. 

Getting to fuck the driver you'd been crushing on since you were 15 was quite an experience for him, bless his soul. 

Lando grinned and leaned over you, looking up at Franco seductively before taking his tip into his mouth and suckling on it gently. 

He whined softly, he could taste the remnants of your juices on Franco's cock and the thought turned his brain to mush. 

Franco groaned and put a hand in Lando's hair to grip it, not pushing, just to ground himself. 

But Lando liked that a bit too much, and at the feeling of hands in his hair, his hips bucked and you moaned at the sudden movement. 

You all soon found a rhythm, Lando fucking you in earnest while Franco alternated between fucking each of your mouths. 

He'd been so on edge since he fucked you that he knew he wouldn't last long, and Lando wasn't going to last long either. 

“Lando, you'd better make her come before you do, or we are never inviting you again” 

Lando moaned around his cock but one of his hands trailed down your body to help you along, his slick fingers working over your clit in tandem with his thrusts. 

You and Lando came almost at the same time, rutting against each other desperately as you rode out your highs. 

Franco, the bastard, pulled out and pumped his cock furiously while he watched you and Lando completely fucked out under him. 

He came on both of your faces, streaks of white painting your skin as he groaned and his knees almost buckled at the sight. 

Cleanup was easier than it had any right to be. 

Thanks to your regular activities with Franco, you always had wash cloths ready in your driver's room. 

“You know…” Lando said, as you sat there with a cloth, gently wiping the cum off his face “I could've swallowed and saved you this hassle” 

Franco gasped dramatically. 

“You are such a slut.” 

Lando scoffed. “Takes one to know one. You were the one basically crying on my cock before” 

Franco blushed and pulled a Tshirt over his head to try and hide it.  

But Lando pressed on. 

“Tell me, how long have you dreamed of doing that?” 

“Doing what?” Franco asked, not quite meeting his eyes. 

“Sucking me off” he had a smug grin on his face. 

Franco just blushed even harder. “I would rather not say…” 

You giggled and pulled Lando in for a quick kiss, getting up to retrieve your clothes. 

“So…” he said awkwardly, looking between you and Franco. “Will I be invited back into this little arrangement?” 

Franco smirked, zipping his pants up swiftly. 

He walked towards Lando on the couch and brought a hand up to cup his jaw. 

He leaned down, as if he was hoing to kiss Lando, but the little tease just hovered there, lips barely brushing against the other as he spoke. 

“I think you have earned it” he he rasped, and Lando felt his pulse quicken as Franco pulled away, slapping his cheek lightly and retreating to pick up his jacket. 

You glanced at Lando and he looked quite flustered. 

Oh yeah, this was not going to be the last time, if you had anything to say about it. 

[mattslolita]

꒰ biker!matt sturniolo ꒱ ⟡ headcanons !

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

꒰ SFW! ꒱

biker!matt would . . .

✦ have met you at a party, no doubt — he noticed you in your short, black dress with the ribbon tied in your locs as you stood around uneasily among the crowd of people you didn't know. he made it his mission to have spoke to you by the end of the night. sweet, unsuspecting you wouldn't have realized he'd been standing near you until you accidentally get bumped against him as he's leaning against a wall.

"oh! m'so sorry bout' that, i didn't see you there."

"s'alright, sweetheart. why's a sweet girl like you doin' at a party like this anyway, huh?"

"my friend dragged me here, i'd be home reading if i had it my way."

"want me to take ya home?"

biker!matt would . . .

✦ take you on a long, late night ride whilst you fill his head with any random thought that pops into your head — and as time goes on, you find yourself on more late night bike rides around the city with him, your figure huddled up close to his as you enjoy the breeze that sifts alongside you both.

biker!matt would . . .

✦ keep you close to him when you guys go out — his hand hangs dangerously low on your hips just above your skirt, and when he feels you drifting away he's immediately pulling you back towards him.

"aht, stop movin' around so much."

"sorry..."

✦ when you're leaning against his bike, he's got both if his hands resting right above your ass while massaging your lower back area. and he enjoys how flustered you get when his hands are on that particular part of your body — it's fun watching you squirm slightly under his touch.

"s'got you so worked up doll, huh? stay still..."

"keep your hand up there, an' maybe i could!"

biker!matt would . . .

✦ love picking out your outfits — his favorites are the cute little mini skirts you wear paired with a cute cardigan and matching bows that go in your hair.

✦ doesn't hesitate to take you shopping, either per your request or just because he wants to do something nice for you. he'll watch you pick out whatever you like, then let you drag him into the dressing rooms as you try on various outfits.

"whatcha think about this skirt? is it too short?"

"makes your ass pop out nicely. put it in the cart."

"matt!"

biker!matt would . . .

✦ unfortunately not put a label on you guy's relationship — he's not one to trust easily, so he's not ready to give you that title yet. however, he'd do things to let others know you're off limits such as...

biker!matt would . . .

✦ let you wear his signature leather jacket, no doubt because he wants everyone to know that you're his. if you're at some kind of outing, he'll casually drape it over your shoulders and shoot a death glare to anyone who even thinks about trying it.

✦ he'll make you put his jacket on when you insist on straying away from him to join your friends, but the jacket made sure to serve its purpose as a constant reminder to anyone.

"y'keep this on, 'kay? don't need anybody thinkin' they can try it."

"i highly doubt they will matt, i'm-"

"y'know i don't take no for an answer, bunny. keep the jacket on, got it?"

"yes sir."

biker!matt would . . .

✦ never let you smoke cigarettes, yet he keeps his marlboros tucked in the pocket of you denim skirt or your pocket in your cardigan — you got a custom made blue, eeyore lighter just for him.

"here, come light this f'me sweetheart."

✦ he's holding the cancer stick up to his lips whilst you flick the lighter on, getting momentarily distracted by how the fire accentuates his features but you focus again as the fire catches onto the cigarette successfully.

꒰ NSFW! ꒱

biker!matt would . . .

✦ fuck you against his bike any chance you got — he'd have you bent over, your hands perched on the seat as he's pounding into you from behind mercilessly.

"fuck, gonna make a mess all over my bike, aren't ya?"

"thas it sweet girl, fuckin' take it."

biker!matt would . . .

✦ have his hands all over you — his ring clad hands with either be wrapped around your neck whilst he's got you in missionary and doggy,

"fuckin' like being choked, sweetheart? wan' me to do it harder? such a naughty girl..."

✦ or they're groping your titties whilst you ride him.

"jus' like that doll, doin' so good f'me..."

biker!matt would . . .

✦ have a major corruption kink — everyone thinks you're his sweet, innocent girl clad in her cute bows and quiet personality; but matt knows better, and every chance he gets he's always reminding you about how he knows you're a freak ass on the low.

"always so quiet got nothin' comin' out ya mouth, now you're chokin on my dick like the good slut you are..."

"you like bein' fucked like this, don't you? such a naughty girl, so perfect f'me..."

biker!matt would . . .

✦ make you cockwarm him at parties when you guys are sitting alone, on the couch or something — if you're moving around too much, he's thrusting up into you subtly to get you to stop.

"s'not that hard doll. jus' sit still, got it? don't you dare move."

"fuck, matt..."

biker!matt would . . .

✦ be a brat tamer! you might be quiet and sweet most of the time, but when you act out, you're bratty — so matt makes sure to put you in your place.

"told you to stop actin' up, didn't i? now look, all fucked dumb on my cock..."

"you cum when i tell you to, got it? y'know what happens with you disobey me..."

"keep talkin' back sweetheart an' i'll give you somethin' to whine about..."

( lilly's corner 💌 )

i am all things biker!matt, y'all. this is mostly inspired by my biker!matt fic on my wattpad, so i thought i'd share it here🤭. feel free to spam my inbox with more biker!matt headcanons! 💌

@muwapsturniolo @thenickgirl @luverboychris @cottoncandyswisherz @chanelles-world

[wegc]

perv!channie and reader finally fucking but she teases him the whole time until he has had enough. “you’re such a fucking pervert” and “you’re so disgusting” all while she’s grinning at him and riding him like her life depends on it. he’s literally a second away from cumming as soon as he’s inside her. “you really think you deserve to cum? after fantasizing about fucking your best friend’s sister?” she denies him to cum for so long that he finally snaps and flips her over, pounding into her like a madman. “such a tease, you whore” and “don’t have much to say now, huh?” she cums so hard but he’s not done. even after he cums, he aint done either…

OK IM DONE AHHHHHH (please feel free to finish or add on or write more to it bc i would v much appreciate it)

i’m ascending. something about cocky!reader paired with a perpetually flustered, perv!chan is such a mouthwatering combination.

perv!chan whose cock twitches inside you every time you humiliate him with yet another reminder of how repulsive and depraved he is; he can’t bite back immediately because you’re right. he’s nothing but a disgusting pervert and he’s fortunate that you aren’t completely appalled by him.

when you grip the base of his cock and guide him inside your dripping cunt, chan feels like he could pass away beneath you. every delusion of his, whether it emerged in his bedroom or your washroom—a mere room away from you—was coming true and it was far better than he had ever imagined.

all he can do is pant and whine under you, taking in the sight of your tits bouncing in his face and the cute flush of your face, which scrunched up in pleasure. most importantly, the feeling of your cunt—the warmest thing in the world—took his breath away; his cunt, all his—he’d make sure of it.

the overwhelming feeling of being inside you, the epiphany and high of all his dreams and desires coming true right before him has his poor cock pulsing inside you, seconds away from cumming. each flutter of your cunt, each moment your fingers teased his nipples or when your hot, wet mouth whined against his had him feeling lightheaded—he knew he wouldn’t last long.

and your teasing—while it did turn him on, it also infuriated him. god, you were such a fucking brat—a mouthy little handful. did you frankly know what he thought of every time he stroked his cock to the image of you? you wouldn’t be behaving so pretentiously if you knew all the things he yearned to do to you, all the positions he’d bend you in, all the fondling and groping he had dreamt of, all the mean and obscene remarks he’d taunt you with, all the ways in which he would make you beg for more. you had no fucking clue.

before you even realize it, you’re pulled off his cock and manhandled to your hands and knees, where the drilling of chan’s cock seizes your breath. he’s suddenly so deep inside your cunt—you swear the tip of his cock might kiss your cervix—and you can scarcely catch some air every time he snaps his hips to go harder.

chan would grin, smacking your ass, laughing shakily at the sounds of your yelps and wailing with each drag of his length. your face is buried in his pillow, but even that hardly muffles your loud sobs and pleas.

“god, you don’t ever shut up do you?”

“fuckin’ brat, you want more?”

“dirty little thing, you’re just as gross as me.”

“you feel like a whore, don’t you? doesn’t it make you feel dirty, knowing everything i’ve done? you hate that you like it, don’t you?”

chan, who fucks until dawn, cumming continually inside you and pulling out periodically to observe and engrave the way his cum oozes out of your gaping hole. he feels so pleased as he takes in the bruises and marks he’s littered on your body, marking you as his. or even better, the way your eyes gloss over, looking at him desperately with tearful eyes. your hair is dishevelled, draped messily across his ruined sheets, and your lips are bruised with his kisses and nibbles, lipgloss pathetically smudged away.

“so fucking pretty—my pretty girl, yeah? you wanna go again? can’t go without me, hm? need me so bad to stop all that fussing, right?”

“you’re all mine now, you know that? can’t fuck you just once—can’t have you looking at other people.”

[evilminji]

Huh >.> you know how Crechelings are basicly, like... possessed?

Like? They are cute af. But they VERY MUCH are constantly reaching out too and listening too the Force cause they are Baby and know jack shit? They are in that "why? Why? Why?" ×1000 stage of life. But instead of asking ADULTS, who might not always be on hand?

Well... the FORCE is on hand.

24/7!

Why NOT ask a cosmic driving force of all creation is you should have juice or water? This fruit or that vegetable? What are we gonna play today Effectively God? I'm a toddler! I don't know what boundaries are! Nor do I realize I probably shouldn't be bothering you with every single thought that passes through my head!

Yeeeeeah....

Tiny force sensitives? HELLA possessed.

They'll pull shit like "speak in prophecy" and "I stole a ship a can't even reach the controls off, to thwart an assassination attempt, because The Force Told Me Too, and that's why I'm on another planet and missed nap time." Plus the fun ol *hands a jedi master a rock* "the force says you'll need this! :D " *walks away, oblivious to the confusion they have wrought*

There is a REASON Creche master have to be SUPER patient types. And that parents are so often like "yeah, yeah we can't handle our kid. We love them. But this is beyond what we can parent."

Cause when your kid? Looks up from their mashpotatos? To casually drop "X is going to die soon." Or "he's going to betray you, you know" like??? Sweetie. Honey, youngling, you're THREE. Wtf. It's a BIT MUCH.

But? What I'm getting at?

I wanna see Creepy!ForceAvatar!Crechelings? Like it's... it's just a STAGE kids grow out off?

And I want it to save their fuckin LIVES.

Like? During the later stages of the Clone Wars. The Force is getting agitated. Knows what's coming. Does NOT like such imbalance and death. So? Even if the OLDER ones either can't hear it clearly or won't listen? The BABIES sure can.

And it's like a FUCKING HIVEMIND.

Absolutely HORRIFYING to behold.

All these lil babies. These wee lil toddlers n smol kiddos. Just... Stopping. Misstep. Balls bouncing past hands frozen, toys mid "woosh" motion, spoons half way to faces. All of it. Just... stopped.

They all cock their heads.

Like animals trying to hear a sound better.

Put down what they were doing. Calm as you please, ignoring everything around them, everyONE. Gathering their things from their rooms. Gathering the babies. Who are... oddly well behaved. It's the most calm and orderly anyone's ever see them. None of the creche masters can get their attention. Every attempt to physically get in the way is dodged before it's even attempted.

The children... calmly. Pleasantly. Like taking a stroll.

Steal a series of ships.

Broad daylight.

In... in front of everyone. No one can even STOP them. The Force is helping. All anyone can do is just? Follow.

They settle basicly a few weeks into the uncharted zone, in an old temple no one knew was there. All they will fuckin say is variations of "the Force says we live here now!" Like? Subtle this was NOT. I guess... we live here now?

.....huh.

It IS weirdly easier to think way out here.

As though we were no longer standing in the middle of some terrible smoke cloud. Nice and calm. Lots of Light. Unlike back o-.....waaaaait a fucking second. *sound of various Master's and council members connecting dots in their head*

>:O

@legitimatesatanspawn @hypewinter @hdgnj @babbling-babull @spidori @lolottes @nerdpoe

[corazondebeskar-reads]

of rage and ruin - chapter nine

chapter nine

series masterlist | prev chapter | next chapter

werewolf!alpha!Joel Miller x f!omega!reader

word count: 3.6k

summary: things take a turn for the worse.

Please read the warnings as some new important ones have been added. NOTE: this is the last time that the SA tag will be used in this story. However, the events of this chapter are important. If you decide to skip this chapter, feel free to message me and I’ll fill you in. Or message if you want specifics about the tags to decide if you want to read it.

chapter warnings: non-con, dark, dead dove do not eat, a/b/o, alpha/omega dynamics, omegaverse, captivity, canon-typical violence, genre-typical violence, horror themes, graphic violence, abuse by captors (not by either joel or reader), body horror, viewer discretion is advised, sexual assault (NOT by joel, NOT described, just implied and alluded to), p in v, torture

also on ao3

dividers by @saradika-graphics

You were wrong about Mike. About his lack of retaliation.

You were so, so wrong. 

That much is clear when you wake up.

The first sign that things aren’t quite right is that you never did get around to going to sleep last night. 

The second is that you may be buried, or something. You can’t quite move your limbs beyond wiggling your fingers and toes. And you can’t see shit. 

The third sign is that you can’t smell Joel. Not beyond what’s soaked into your skin and sweater. No, he’s very much not here. Or anywhere nearby, if the rapidly tightening feeling in your chest is any indication. 

It’s panic you can’t shake off, you know, since you can’t fucking move. 

The fluorescent overhead buzzes to life. 

“Not so brave now, are you?” The voice blows in from across the room and sinks in your gut like it’s sleeping with the fishes. 

You really, truly are in some deep shit. 

You’ve been kidnapped from your kidnappers. Honestly, what did you do in a past life to deserve this? 

He’s right about one thing. The confidence you clung to in the early days has been picked at like carrion. You’re scared. 

“I didn’t–I’m–” but something is wrong, so very, very wrong. You’re bubbling out gibberish and spit. It’s just sounds, dribbling from sloppy lips. 

He rolls his eyes. “Shut up. It ain’t gonna wear off for a while, so best just sit quietly like a good bitch.”

You’re not sure if it's the panic or whatever he’s drugged you with, but your throat is cinched, and your cheeks sting from the uncontrollable stream of tears. 

“Let’s see what’s so fuckin’ special about you. Why your cunt is worth more than my brother’s life,” he spits, unfortunately literally, as droplets spray. 

Shit. They were actual brothers. Not that it mattered; what was done was done, but you had really miscalculated this. 

His hand is on your shoulder. It’s better than where you thought he was reaching, and yet, still horrible. It’s not like you haven’t had to deal with handsy or aggressive men. It’s just… usually, you can move. Fight. Run. 

His hand is nothing like Joel’s. His fingers are short, his nails broken and edged with grime. There are scars and dry skin, like Joel, but it’s nothing like his rough grip. There’s no nick above the webbing of his thumb, no calluses on the plump pads of his fingers to remind you that you’re alive. 

Mike brushes his thumb over Joel’s bite, the thin newborn skin taut and jagged. You make a sound. You don’t hear it, not with the way your heart is beating in your eardrums, not the way every note scrapes your throat, but you grate out a sound that might have been a hiss. 

Or a growl.

His hand connects with your cheek, which does not help the dizziness stuffed between your ears.

 

You’re not even mad, because it makes you dizzy enough that you don’t really register what comes after. Maybe you would have been worried about that, but he hit you hard enough that you didn’t even remember how hard you’d been hit. 

He must know he’s on a dwindling timetable. Inevitably, by dawn, the others will return to the base with Joel in tow. Inevitably, by dawn, they’ll know. 

As if he can tell you’ve dug up a fragment of hope, he leers, taking a swig from a bottle of dirty brown liquor. “You think Jim’s gonna waste resources on finding you?” he murmurs, grimy fingers stroking your cheek. 

And just like that, with a sharp breath, you lose that hope. Because he’s right, he’s undeniably right. Jim never misses a chance to bitch about the drain you are. They don’t need you, not really. Neither does Joel, not really. 

It’s easy, after the hours that have passed, to give in to the overwhelming dread. His hand wanders as it settles in, and you twitch away from his touch.

“Guess it’s wearin’ off,” Mike muses, taking another drink. “Can’t have you puttin’ up a fight now.” His bottle clinks against the file cabinet he sets it upon as he squats to dig through a duffel bag. 

There’s nothing you can do when he ties you down. There’s nothing you can do as he grips your cheeks hard, his thumb digging into your jaw until your mouth opens. You try not to swallow the liquor he pours in, only to aspirate it instead, wheezing and sputtering to little effect. 

“Jesus. Can’t even handle a little booze,” he sneers. “Too bad. Can’t have you gettin’ too feisty, huh?” He forces more down your throat, and it burns. 

He keeps squeezing your face, peering down at your mouth. “Reckon I should teach you a lesson about biting,” he said, tapping the bottle lightly against your front teeth. A whimper of fear slips free, and he grins crookedly. 

“Yeah, you don’t like that, huh? My brother didn’t much like gettin’ bit, either.” 

He steps away to rifle back through the duffle, and when he comes back, it’s with a pair of rusted pliers. 

You can feel your body twitch, trying its very hardest. The lingering drugs and booze make your head spin and throb. Mike faded in and out of view, but made his presence very clear as he pried your jaw back open. 

He tapped each tooth with the pliers, hemming and hawing about where to start. Garbled sounds are all the protest you can muster, trying to shake your head loose of his grasp as he selects an incisor. 

The first two attempts fail, the pliers slipping free, battering you in the process. The third try, though, clamps on just right. He clumsily tugs, to no avail, before wiggling and twisting the tooth. Reluctantly, your body parts ways with it as he increases the force, plucking the loosened tooth from the gum. 

You can’t even really hear your own screams. There’s pain, there’s blood, there’s Mike’s sick laughter. And then there’s darkness.

—

It’s not the fight that wakes you. Not the gunshots, not the snarling. Everything has died down by the time you come around.

Well, not everything. Based on the sounds, you’d hazard a guess that Mike is still at least a little alive. When you look up, you’re thrilled to find out you can, that the paralysis has waned. 

Then, of course, you wish you hadn’t looked at all. Once you have, though, you can’t look away. You understand that Tool song now, the one from the CD your dad burned you before the world went to hell. 

For a moment, Joel meets your eyes, and you are the wolf, nearly. You can feel the way it burns through your veins. 

Satisfied that you aren’t afraid, that you’re okay for a moment, he finishes his feast. 

There’s not much left of Mike when he tosses his corpse into a corner. It smacks against the far wall and drops to the ground. His final resting place. 

The Wolf that is Joel, that is your alpha, that is your savior, stands on his hind legs with those unsettling inverse ankle-knee-freaky bits bent. But even crouching, he fills the room. He’s a blur, like the first time you saw him, an ink blot in the center of your vision. A wormhole absorbing all the light. What little is left reflects off his shiny body. It takes you a moment to realize his fur (or his body hair, as he insists) is soaked in blood. 

It clings to the plaque on his teeth. His hands are steeped in it, some already hardening or coagulating under the stretch of his claws. He stalks over to you, and you do not flinch from him. His claws rend the rope as if it were no more than spaghetti. You tremble uncontrollably as he helps you sit up, most of your faculties back under your control. His blood-soaked, massive paws cradle your cheeks, pulling back abruptly when you whimper. 

A growl rumbles from his chest, and he throws his head back and howls. It brings footsteps in your direction as he gathers you into his arms. You’ve never felt smaller than you do now, and it’s not just the bulk and heft of his body. He cradles you with a delicacy unbefitting his sharp, deadly nature, but it’s all the more Joel to you than the brutality you witnessed. 

The raiders filter in, just a few of them, more to control him than assist, but they reclaim Mike’s stolen supplies and pay you no mind. At least until Cheryl comes in. 

“Alive after all, huh?” she says, approaching far closer than you think she should dare. But she wiggles the remote to the shock collar as she nears, peering at you. “Still want her, pet?” she asks Joel. “She’s all used up.”

He bares his teeth and snarls, and she shrugs. “It was just an option,” she says, hand dropping from the pistol on her belt. 

You feel sick from the second brush with death in as many hours. Or maybe it’s from the bootleg booze and blood that’s been dripping down your throat. 

He looks down at you, long tongue poking out to lap at your cheek before he realizes the injury is inside. He whines, and you shake your head, weaving your fingers in his fur and burying your face there. He doesn’t need words; neither of you do. He just takes you home. 

No. Not home. You can’t let yourself accept that. But it’s been almost a year, now. Almost a year since they plucked you from that FEDRA truck and brought you to hell. 

It’s not the cell that’s home, though. It’s him. 

—

You look up at the wolf once you’re locked in, the relief of your familiar prison bubbling up like bile. The others go back to their day, the incident no more than a blip of inconvenience. Silence lingers, both of you waiting, waiting, waiting to hear the heavy thunk of the cellar’s deadbolt. 

As soon as it sounds, you break.

“You found me,” you gasp, trailing into a whimper. “You found me, you found me.” Your voice is grating, leaking from your cracked and dry throat. It hurts to talk, your jaw throbs, and you struggle around the swelling, but you can’t stem the leak.

He grips your biceps with both paws, and rolls back the shift enough to speak. “I found you,” he says firmly, letting you feel his sturdy hold on you, keeping you there and present. “I’ve got you. Okay?”

You don’t respond, still shaking and swaying a little on the spot. “You found me,” you echo, raw and dredged up from the hollow of your lungs. 

“Hey,” he growls without aggression. “ Listen to me. ” He doesn’t mean to do it. His voice drops a register, an even lower rumble than usual, and your attention snaps up to him. 

He winces. There’ll be time to apologize later, though. “I’ve got you,” he repeats steadily. “Okay?”

You nod. “Okay,” you echo in a whisper. 

“I will always find you,” he promises, eyes gone dark. “Always, little omega. You’re mine, and there’s nowhere on this godforsaken earth that they can hide you from me.” 

In any other context, it would frighten you. It should, by all means, frighten you a little. Instead, you kiss him.

It’s a mistake that sends you pulling back, gasping in pain, and all the ferocity on his face falls.

“Let me see,” he coaxes gently, cradling your jaw. He’s careful as he presses your lip to the side to get a good look. “ Jesus, ” he whispers.

You can see the guilt building up, layers upon layers from all his life. You won’t let this, won’t let you be another. “Joel—”

But he’s not having it. He bristles and narrows his eyes at you. “Would you stop tryin’ to run your mouth? You’re making it bleed.” His eyes dart over your face, stopping back on your missing tooth each time before sighing, shoulders slumping. 

“C’mon,” he grumbles, leaving no room for argument by simply picking you up and carrying you over to the bed. He settles with you straddling his lap, wincing. He looks down for only a moment. “I’ll take care of that next. Sit still ‘n be good.” 

It turns out not to be a hard order to follow. He sets about to lick your wounds, starting with your mouth. He doesn’t mean for it to turn into anything, he really doesn’t, but he’s licking inside your mouth. As his spit mixes with yours, as he laves his tongue oh-so-gently over and over, the familiar tingling starts to set in. It numbs the pain, not entirely, but the relief is enough to make you sigh softly against his mouth.

He can’t entirely be blamed as it turns into lazy kisses, tongues brushing comfort over one another, each press of lips like a mantra. I’m here, I’m here, I’m here. You’re not sure who’s reassuring who. 

It’s not going to fix it. There’s not a magical makeout session that can restore your tooth or even heal the socket. Not that quickly, anyway. But it eases the pain, and so does the way his warm hands hold you like you’re something precious. The way he groans into the kiss, the way he can’t stop reaching for every bit of you, checking meticulously to make sure nothing else was taken from you. 

He makes good on his promise to soothe your other wounds. He can’t quite numb your aching mind or racing heart, can’t slide his tongue over the places that shattered inside, but he can damn well remove every trace of Mike from your body.

He settles you down on the mattress, settles himself into the wolf, and he licks every inch of you. His long, hot tongue is just rough enough to make you feel clean. There’s no way even a cell of Mike’s skin is left behind on yours. Joel eats it all up like he did the man himself. It leaves your whole body tingling, your heart pounding in your ears, your cunt gushing by the time he sheaths himself in you. 

There’s no room left for anyone else. There’s no room for anything but you and Joel in the darkness. 

It’s too late before either of you realize he’s triggered his own rut. Your body responds beautifully, burning under his touch, following your alpha into blissful oblivion. He fusses relentlessly, worried despite his own distress and desire, not wanting you to feel trapped or forced. Not again. Never again. 

It’s a promise neither of you are sure he can keep, but both know he’ll die trying. 

It isn’t as long as your first heat, but it’s all the more intense. Your little room fills with sweat, pants and groans replacing any need for words. And it’s exactly what you need—no thoughts, no memories, no dealing with what you’ve suffered. Just Joel, just… love? No, that can’t be right. Just lust. 

His cock is insistent, pressing into you, filling the gaps he’d left behind. He doesn’t bother turning back to the man, doesn’t bother trying to pretend he’s anything but a mindless creature right now. And still, he’s so gentle. More gentle than he’s ever been. 

You didn’t have time to build a nest, but that’s okay. He doesn’t ever move from his place over your body, cocooning you, blocking everything else from sight. There’s just Joel. You’re warm and cozy and safe. 

You almost forget that you’re locked up at all. He keeps you on such a high with his deft fingers, mouth, and cock that you can’t even fathom a time when he might have to part from you. The lock of your cunt around his knot is your echo of his promise. Never again. 

—

“How much of this is even real?” you whisper in the fading light of your heat. Your hand is lazily raised, blocking out the fluorescents, but he catches it with his own, his thick fingers making room for themselves between yours. Locking you together in another way, keeping you close. 

“Couldn’t tell ya,” he says quietly, gruff voice even coarser in the way he holds back, keeping it soft in your ear. “Probably nothin’. But it’s there anyway.”

He was sure as shit right about that. This burning in your chest, the way your heart picked up as he wove your fingers together and tugged your hands down, using both your arms to hold you to his chest, your unified fist in the center. It’s not real, not really. You don’t know him. He doesn’t know you. There’s nothing for this heavy feeling to rest upon, no foundation for the feelings that should not be there. 

And yet.

The conversation is veering uncomfortably personal, of which you only have yourself to blame, but you run from it anyway. “You ever see Dawn of the Wolf? ” you ask, pushing for something unserious, something that’ll have him rolling his eyes and putting up a fuss about the W Word. 

That’s not what happens, though.

His breath catches for a second before rolling out in a soft sigh, his warm breath ruffling the hairs at the nape of your neck. “Yeah,” he admits. “My—” and there’s something potent in his pause. Something that saps the silliness of your subject change away and dances dangerously close to serious. 

“My daughter loved that shit,” he says. 

You can’t help the way your body stiffens. You want to roll over and look at him, to parse his pursed lips and warm eyes. He doesn’t let you, though, tightening his grip around your waist, fingers pressing a little more insistently in the divots between your knuckles until you settle. 

“Watched the damn movies, read the damn books, had the damn poster on her wall,” he says, something careful in his words. Like he’s trying to give this to you without giving anything up for himself. These memories he’s clutched in the recesses of his ventricles—they can’t be extracted without damaging the last soft tissue he could spare to wrap them in. 

“So, who’s team were you on?” you tease instead. 

“I didn’t give a shit,” he dismisses. A beat passes. “Why would she even have considered the wimpy blond vampire kid?”

“Oh, I see,” you say, nodding sagely. “You think the obvious choice was the tall, hairy, brooding wolf-man. I have to agree.”

“Shut up,” he grouses immediately. “It was all stupid, anyway. None of ‘em could stop whining.” 

You go to turn over again, but this time, he lets you, both of his arms cradling you in a way that makes your throat feel tacky and tight. It’s made worse by the way his eyes are bright, the flecks of green bursting through the brown like lichen in soil. 

“Never did get to see the sequel,” you say after a moment, trying to regain some sense in your brain.

He snorts. “Didn’t miss anything. I thought it couldn’t be worse than the first one but it was the stupidest two hours of my life.” 

“I can’t believe you saw Dawn of the Wolf 2, and I didn’t,” you say. A beat passes. “Will you tell me about her?” you ask, barely a whisper, afraid to break whatever is happening. 

“Not… not today,” he grants, and you take it for the huge step that it is, and nod, burying your face in his chest instead and taking a deep breath of his soothing scent. The oaky notes are easier to parse, now, much more complex. Hints of spices are there, sometimes. 

You’re getting too familiar. So much so that when the chamomile blossom of his grief leaks through, your grip on him tightens just a little, and you find yourself pressing a kiss to the thick thatch of hair beneath your cheek. 

It isn’t real, but how can it not be? How can something this intense not be real? No, it’s different. This isn’t real versus fake like something photoshopped, something on a green screen. 

This is more than that. The dotted lines that make up constellations aren’t real, but it doesn’t change the way those stars are bound together to make something unique, something breathtaking.

“I get it now,” he murmurs, breaking your existential reverie. 

“Get what?” you say, nose wrinkling.

He bumps his nose against yours, nudging at you in a way you know would involve a playful nip if he was his other self. “Why he didn’t just eat her,” he says.

You reward him with a bark of a laugh. “You’re still thinking about Dawn?” 

This time he does nip at you, catching your ear gently with very human teeth. “S’your fault,” he grumbles, and you feel it rumble through his chest. 

And yours. 

No, wait, that was your stomach. You’re suddenly starving, and with that revelation comes another, much worse one. You sit up so quickly that Joel follows suit, eyebrows raised. 

“What’s the matter?” He barks. 

“It’s the food,” you whisper. “That’s why they don’t let you share. That’s how Mike got me. It’s in the fucking food.”

He sits up, cupping your jaw. “Explain,” he growls.

“I think they’re drugging us,” you finally tell him. It’s been a haunting tug in the back of your brain, one you didn’t really want to admit to. There’s been a matching tug in your gut, the feeling of something not sitting quite right, but you couldn’t put a finger on it.

It had been twenty years since you had something like cough syrup, anyway. But that’s the feeling. The fuzzy spot between your eyes where the ground seems to swoop up, the way you move through the day underwater. 

“Fuck,” Joel whispers. But he can’t deny it makes sense. It makes too much goddamn sense. He’s been too fucking compliant, too fucked to care. He thought it was apathy borne of everything he’s been through. 

But goddamnit. He knows. He just knows you’re right.

[imsofreakingtired]

After a brutal fight, you scream at Sevika, accusing her of caring more about Silco than she ever did about you, and she agrees and calls you a distraction.

when you leave she regrets it but she’s to late

my god i love that. thanks for the prompt!

the cut that always bleeds

content warning(s): wives fighting 😔

"i don't love you anymore, a pretty line that i adore five words that i've heard before 'cause you keep me on a rope and tied a noose around my throat you're gone, then back at my door"

~~~

It had finally happened.

You’re sure of it, and it makes you go cold all over.

Your head is heavy from lack of sleep, but you can’t even stand the thought of lying down. Your heart’s pounding something awful in your chest, as if you’re waiting for the knock that would come any second, bringing the brutal news that you had lost your wife for good.

Sevika had promised you there was no external business tonight. She had promised that she would come directly home after the Chem-baron assembly, she had given her solemn word.

So either she was really dead, or—

The door swings open, hard, so that a thin rain of plaster and dust showers onto the floor. You see Sevika’s tall figure in the doorway.

You stand up.

“Shit,” Sevika mutters. “You spooked me. Why aren’t you asleep?”

Your voice is dangerously low. “Where have you been?”

Sighing heavily, Sevika takes off her cloak and throws it carelessly over the chair. “Silco needed me to take care of some loons trying to steal supplies near the harbor.” Without meeting your eye, she goes to the icebox and takes out a bottle of beer. “Then there was a misunderstanding with some fool merchant about a shipment for Topside—”

“Do you have any idea how worried I’ve been?”

Sevika looks at you over the bottle. “What?”

“What,” you echo. “Very nice. What. Because you can run around all day, all night at Silco’s beck and call without a care in the world, and I can just sit here worrying myself sick, right?”

“Baby, don’t start. I’m not in the mood.”

“Don’t baby me.” You slam your fist against the table, causing the empty glasses to jump.

Sevika just looks at you. Her cool silence makes you angrier than any insult could have done.

“I must mean nothing to you, don’t I?” You yell. “Is it too much to fucking ask that you send a message in advance, telling me you’ll be late?”

Sevika tips the bottle back, draining the whole thing in one sip. Then she calmly set it down on the table.

“You think I like sitting up here alone until the fucking morning, not knowing whether you’re alive or dead? If I matter less to you than a fuckin’ object, what are you keeping me around for? You might as well save us both the trouble and stop off at Babette’s every night after work.”

“You’re right, maybe I should.”

A deathlike silence falls.

You stare at her, shaking slightly, as her words sink through the air between you like stones in deep water.

Sevika must have seen the way your face changed, the shock in your eyes, and she must have realized the weight of what she just said, because she tries to backtrack. But the damage is done.

“This isn’t a relationship,” you say quietly. “The relationship you’re in, the one you’re fucking devoted to, is with that man in the office above the Last Drop. Just say so.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Fuck you!” You scream.

Sevika stands quickly, her eyes stony with anger. “What did you expect, then?” she says harshly. “Tell me. What’d you expect—honeymooning around the riverside, flying off to Noxus, for Janna’s sake? We’re at the brink of war.”

“Is that what you think? What am I, your fucking toy bride?”

“You’re not a toy,” she snaps. “You’re a distraction.”

A moment passes before you repeat, “a distraction.”

She glares at you. “Silco was right,” she says. “This whole thing—you—it was all just holding me back.”

The slap rings through the empty room.

Sevika stands unmoving, like she’s carved from stone. You watch her, eyes burning, palm stinging, waiting for a reaction, waiting for her to hit you back, yell at you, curse you out—anything. Anything to show that she felt something.

But she doesn’t say a word.

You shake your head, slowly. “You’re a jackass.”

Still no answer.

You turn on your heel and storm into the bedroom you shared with Sevika. You rip your few spare pieces of clothing off the hooks on the walls and roll them violently into a bundle, then stride back into the front room and yank open the door. Sevika is still standing in the same place, staring at the floor as if holding a silent argument with the floorboards.

Before you leave, you turn and say, “Sevika.”

She looks at you.

“You’re the worst thing that ever happened to me.”

The door slams behind you.

~~~

Sevika listens to the dust settle. She stands in the dark room, feeling strange and vaguely angry. Suddenly she lets out a yell and grabs the empty beer bottle and hurls it against the wall. It shatters upon impact, the shards dancing across the floor.

Sevika stands, unsteady on her feet, swaying slightly. She grabs the back of a chair, ready to break it as well, then changes her mind and goes to take out another bottle of liquor.

Soon the world is comfortably fuzzy and nothing was ever real, your voice fades pleasantly into the back of her head like the thin buzz of electricity...

~~~

Sevika wakes up among glass shards and splintered wood. Her head throbs like it’s ready to split open. She sits up with a groan, blinking in the daylight seeping through the small window. What time was it? Why was she sleeping on the floor? Why hadn’t you woken her up?

There had been this strange, funny dream she had…this dream where you were real mad at her…she should tell you.

Then she sees the open door of the bedroom, and the empty bed beyond it. Then she remembers—the fight, your anger, the sharp sting of your hand against her cheek. “No,” she mumbles to herself. She gets to her feet clumsily, staggering. “No.”

Stupidly she goes into the bedroom, as if you might be hiding somewhere in the corner or beneath the bed. She sees the empty hooks on the wall. She walks back out and opens the front door, looking up and down the apartment hall. She calls out your name in a hoarse voice.

But you’re not there.

[thinkinonsense]

i just listened to sabrina's new album and oh my god the song slim pickins is such a song that was written from daydreaming about lumberjack!logan, oh and the recent fic that you reblogged was just so yummy and perfect for that song especially the lyrics "a boy who's jacked and nice" like god having to settle down for less because nobody can be him 😭😭😭 need him expeditiously im afraid

it's slim pickins

lumberjack!logan howlett x fem!reader

cw: yearning!! fluff, tiny nsfw conversation (nothing graphic)

a/n: this request couldn't have come in at a better time because i'm seeing sabrina on opening night of her tour tomorrow night!! <3

masterlist

"am i just destined to be alone forever?"

another friday night in the hole in the wall bar outside of town. another date gone horribly wrong. your question hangs heavy in the air as you gossip to your best friend who's bartending tonight.

"you keep picking douche bags." she answers without missing a beat.

"well, that's fuckin' rude." you slur slightly, sipping on your third fruity drink tonight.

"well, it's fuckin' true." she smiles, looking over your shoulder at a group of men that walked in. "why don't you go talk to one of them? they look hot."

you spin around in your stool to see a group of lumberjack workers. these were the men that you worked with, you can't flirt with them.

"i work with those guys!" you hiss.

"sooo...?" she smirks.

both of you quickly end the conversation with the five guys approach the bar. the last thing you needed was for these guys to see the desperate and pathetic look on your face. quickly, you rummage through your purse for some cash to put down.

"what are you doing here, doll face?" a familiar voice asks.

you look up and see the most handsome of the men, in front of you; logan. twice your size, buff, toned, tan... god, you had such a crush on him. never in a million years would you go after him though, he's too good to want a girl like you. you were just a friend. he make small talk with you, laughed at your jokes, calls you little nicknames, and refills the coffee pot for you but thats what friends do, right?

"oh... um, i'm just-"

"she's been sitting here moaning and bitching to me all night about her horrible date." your best friend smiles then introduces herself to logan with a handshake.

"thanks asshole." you mumble under your breath at her, making logan chuckle.

"tough night?" he asks, looking down at you in a way that makes heat rises up your face.

"kinda, but i'll save you all the gory details." you admit, sliding off the tall stool a little ungracefully. "have a good night, logan."

"wait, doll face." he says, grabbing your arm to balance you. "wanna talk about it? i'm sure your friend here is busy."

the alcohol let him take you to one of the booths. all the other men noticed logan and you sitting together, definitely making mental notes to tease you both on monday.

"so, what's on your mind?" logan asks, taking a swig of his beer.

"it's nothing really..." your mouth says one thing but your phone says another; practically buzzing off the table.

"you sure?" he raises a brow.

"uh... yeah?" you sound confused as you peak at the notification. an annoyed groan falls from your lips as you slam the phone back down and sink into the booth. "why? why? why?"

"why what?" he squints.

"be honest, do i have dumbass written on my forehead?" you sigh, hazily looking over at logan. the question threw him off guard; unsure if you're joking or not.

"no." he answers.

" well, i sure feel like one. every guy i've gone out with is either the most obnoxious asshole i've ever met who's still hung up on his ex or he's absolutely perfect but he's just not ready for a commitment right now? what the fuck does that even mean?"

all of your drunk rambling surprised logan. at work, he's only seen your shy personality as you scribble down numbers and log them into spreadsheets. this was a completely different side of you.

"i know what you're thinking, 'why not just try dating a woman?'. well, i fucking would if this town wasn't stuck in the 50's, except the men aren't going to war in order to get away from you, instead they just run back in between their ex's thighs and pull that 'it's not you, it's me' bullshit."

it was getting harder for logan not to crack at your silly yet, adorable expressions as you rant.

"and the worst part is that they can't even get a woman to orgasm." you say a little quieter. logan stores that quote in his pocket for another time. "a few weeks ago, i literally had a man in my bed who didn't know the difference between their, there, and they're! i don't know who's stupider, him for not knowing or me for letting him give me the worst head in my life."

if you were even a little sober, this would be mortifying. sitting in front of your work crush and spilling pathetic details of your love life to him. if you were even a little sober, you would have notice his eyes turn dark and lustful under the dim bar lighting. logan couldn’t fathom that you were having trouble in your love life.

"sounds like it's slim pickins out there."

"you have no idea." you sigh.

"if it makes you feel any better, i don't think that you're stupid."

"you're just saying that to be polite. trust me, everyone thinks i'm an idiot for taking these guys back every time. im just like my mom, my sisters, my friends, and every other girl i know. we make up excuses for their shitty behavior because we are afraid to be alone."

logan could see tears forming in your waterline, about to roll down your cheek. it hurt him to see you so heartbroken over these losers. everyday at work, you came in like a ray of fucking sunshine. you didn't deserve to be treated like this.

"it's not your fault that those asshole don't know how to treat a woman." he sighs, leaning forward in an attempt to comfort you.

"i know, i know..." your voice was cracking and you didn't want logan to see you so vulnerable. suddenly, you rise from the booth. "thanks for listening, logan."

"where do you think you're going, doll face?" he asks, following you out the door.

"should head home." you mumble, pulling up the number of a car service about twenty minutes out.

"let me give you a ride home." he offers. "you've been drinking too much."

it's late, you're exhausted and heartbroken so, you let him help you into his truck. it's kinda old but full of character, like logan.

"what's going on in that pretty head of yours?" logan asks, breaking the silence in the car. "still sad?"

you shrug. "think i'm just going to become a nun."

he tried, he really did, but he had to laugh.

"sweetheart, there's no need to become a nun."

"well, i'm never going to find the man i'm looking for so, might as well join the sisterhood."

"what are you looking for in this dream man?"

logan's question has your eyes wondering over to where his left hand sets on the wheel and his right on thigh. the images of what his hands could do flood your fuzzy mind.

"j-just a good guy who's um, who's kind, jacked... respectful, good with his hands...."

it was shameless, your staring that is. logan worried you might get drool on the car seat, not that he would mind.

"hm... those seem like simple requirements there."

"apparently not." you giggle. "it's fine, though. i'm sure the nuns will be friendly."

"still thinking about joining the 'sisterhood'?" he asks, pulling up to your drive way.

"maybe... i'll give it twenty-four hours and if he doesn't come knocking on my door, i'll just buy a chasity belt and go off the grid with the nuns." your smile warmed his cold bitter heart. "thanks for the ride, lo. i'll see you monday."

as logan watches you fumble with your keys and make your way inside, he fights an internal battle over his feelings. he has had a crush on you since the day the two of you first met. by the end of the week, you had baked him some cupcakes, babbling about how you do this for all the new employees, which was far from the truth he later learned.

you captured his heart. even when he tried to burry his feelings for you, when logan looked at you, his world stood still for a moment. he looked forward to all your silly jokes in the break room or the ridiculous gossip you would tell him when he lingered outside of your office door. he couldn't let you slip away into the arms of another asshole who didn't deserve you.

before logan could comprehend what he was doing, his feet lead him up to your door, knocking twice. the wooden door opened and he knew he made the right decision.

there you were in your light blue and grey plaid pajamas with a cupcake in your hand and vanilla frosting on your bottom lip. logan had never seen you look prettier.

"hey? did i leave something in the–"

in the blink of an eye, logan’s hands reach up to caress your jaw, leaning in until his mouth engulfs yours. the taste of vanilla and alcohol surrounded both of you. forgetting the cupcake in your hand, dropping it to reach up and pull logan closer. kissing him was like drinking a glass of wine after a long day. no more stress or anxiety over anyone else’s bullshit. the two of you gasp against each others lips, catching your breath.

“i could be the good guy, you know?” logan pants, now forever addicted to your taste. “i could be the good guy for you.”

your heart fluttered as you stared up at his pretty hazel eyes, twirling a piece of his hair around your finger. this had to be a very realistic dream, thats the only answer to this.

“you would do that for me, logan?” your delicate voice could bring him to his knees, worshiping the ground you walk on.

“i would do anything for you, honey.” he whispers, leaning back in to kiss you again. maybe your dream guy wasn't as far away as you thought?

[total-dxmure]

ೃ࿔ CHERRY FLAVORED →【ELLIE WILLIAMS】→ CHAPTER ONE

pairing: mega fan!ellie williams x rock star!reader

summary: your guitarist was carted off to rehab after just one month into your recent tour. fuck. there’s only one thing you can do, and that’s hire a replacement. your band thinks it’s going to be nearly impossible to find someone that is on the same level of talent as your “beloved” guitarist. you don’t have high hopes that anyone can nail the songs quite like he did either, if you’re being brutally honest. enter ellie- she’s a mega fan. the girl knows every lyric and note like the back of her hand. . . and everything about you, which isn’t creepy at all. her apparent obsession with you is something that you and your tour manager can overlook if it means carrying on with the rest of the tour. forced proximity with a stalker-level fan . . . what’s the worst thing that could happen?

warnings: smut in next chapter, talk of substance abuse, the reader is a tease and a bit of a bitch but it’s hot i promise, ellie is obsessed with reader to an unhealthy degree.

from the river to the sea, palestine will be free 🇵🇸 READ: this account stands with palestine, and so— i require everyone who interacts to educate themselves, and support/donate. READ THESE; 1 and 2, HELP HERE, BOYCOTT. silence is complicity, do not scroll past this. DO NOT BUY THE REMASTER, TLOU2, TLOU1, OR ANY GAME FROM NAUGHTY DOG! neil druckmann (the creator) is a zionist. PLEASE READ THIS. AND REBLOG THIS.

It was the kind of love that tortured poets mused over. Ribs straining against a heavy heart. 

Ellie had deluded herself, as any love drunk person does, that she wouldn’t dissolve into a puddle on the floor if she were to meet you. She could keep her cool- downplay the crushing significance you held in her life. Your voice was constantly ringing in her ears. She could see your face in perfect clarity any time she closed her eyes. Pictures like snapshots played out behind her eyelids, and yet you always felt a million miles away for her. You were a perfect performer, situated on your sky-high pedestal, always out of her puny reach. 

Because Ellie, as much as she despised this fact and dreamed of greatness, was a nobody. She grew up in a tiny town of no noteworthiness, her adolescent years spent dreaming about the planets and playing guitar with Joel. By all accounts Ellie was normal, while you were certainly not. Still, she liked to tell herself that she’d somehow manage to make herself worthy of your affections if she were ever to be blessed with them. 

Finding herself in a situation like this seemed like an impossibility. She was partially convinced that she was daydreaming, having concocted some elaborate fantasy just to feed the insatiable ache. She was starved for you with no way to feed herself. 

All it had taken was a single audition tape. One. Single. Tape. Ellie was staring, wide eyed, at Gene fuckin’ Murray. 

The blood rushed from her head, hands breaking out instantaneously into a clammy sweat. She couldn’t think, couldn’t function at the realization that she was staring at one of the people that she had worshiped for years. Gene’s talent had been praised by the likes of Lars Ulrich and Danny Carey. He wasn’t popular just for his looks but for his undeniable talent. 

And he was staring straight at Ellie, arms crossed over his toned chest as he waited expectantly. She felt like an idiot. Should she be playing? If so, what did they want her to play? Surely one of their songs. She’d glossed past the fact that she was a megafan, instead making it sound like she was just looking for a successful band to join. She was talented. No, Ellie was really talented. 

She wasn’t just a technical player, but excelled at making her own rules. She enjoyed the creative freedom that playing the guitar granted, and felt as though the world needed more Jimi’s and Van Halen’s. Ellie excelled at thinking outside of the box. 

She wasn’t very successful when it came to women, but had no problem making her guitar scream and cry for her. 

She wasn’t very successful when it came to women, but had no problem making her guitar scream and cry for her. 

She wasn’t very successful when it came to women, but had no problem making her guitar scream and cry for her. 

So she took a deep breath and tried to steady her heart, once again stepping up to the mic. If there was one thing that all of your bandmates had in common, it was the attitude. She’d watched hundreds of interviews, had studied all of their movements and mannerisms. . .she understood you down to a science. 

“So do you want me to play or what?” Ellie spoke into the mic, gripping the neck of the guitar in the hopes that it might act as an anchor. She was scared that she might float away. 

The manager’s eyebrows twitched at her sudden change in attitude but he didn’t say anything, merely turned to look at Gene. For a second everyone just stared at her, like a bug under a microscope. After what felt like five minutes but was really just five seconds, Gene broke out into a grin, motioning to her with a flick of his wrist. He wasn’t confident in her, Ellie could tell. 

She had a sweet face, she knew that. Big green eyes and freckles- she was unsuspecting. People were usually shocked to find out that she had wrestled competitively in high school and had no problem putting a man three times her size on his ass. People expected very little from her, and perhaps that was part of Ellie’s real charm. 

“What song?” She was staring at Gene now, gripping her guitar pick between two sweat-slick fingers. 

“What ‘bout ‘Sometime Soon’? Know that one?” His tone was teasing. Condescending. 

The song was fast paced. It was supposed to be played loud and hard- one of your angrier songs. Ellie knew that you had been the one to write this one, meaning it was one of her favorites. The notes weren’t beginner friendly, but it wasn’t exactly hard for her. 

It was more style, less technical ability- which meant that Ellie would have no problem making this song her bitch. 

It was obvious that Gene was the one meant to judge her. The manager was just that- a manager. They needed an actual musician to listen in. So she took a deep breath and readied herself. . . 

and then the sound of your singing voice blasted into the booth. Drums, bass- she was meant to play with you. 

She almost missed her que, eyes widening in nervousness. She thought that she’d be playing all by her lonesome. She thought wrong it would seem. They’d started her off right in the middle of the song. Probably to throw her off. She jumped in, fingers sliding along the frets to shape out the correct notes. She tucked her guitar pick against the palm of her hand with her thumb, using the pads of her fingers to tap the strings. Faster. Faster. Faster. She didn’t look up from her guitar to look at the men’s reactions to her playing. Instead she just pretended she was standing in the living room of her apartment, hellbent on getting another noise complaint from the bitchy nextdoor neighbor. 

Her calloused fingers pinched the strings, satisfied with the way the guitar whined over the speakers. The guitar solo in this song was meant to be impressive- and it was, she had to give it to Leon. A lot of it was just bullshitting though. He’d admitted that he came up with the solo in the actual sound booth off of the top of his head while they were recording the song. 

The man was a god. He deserved “guitarist of the year” two years in a row. Ellie had the Los Angeles native beat though. Where he had grown up in the constant presence of “the greats”, Ellie had grown up in a constant state of boredom. She’d been playing the guitar since she was fourteen. Every day she’d sit down for hours and practice until her fingers bled. . . literally. She had thousands of hours on Leon, and she knew that with certainty. 

Ellie moved the guitar up and down gently with her fret hand, prolonging the last note so that it cried the way she wanted it to. The muscles in her arms were sore from how hard she had been tensing during the song. She’d been a lot more mechanical about it than she was used to, but she had something to prove. 

After a second she looked up from her guitar to gauge everyone’s reactions. The manager had dropped his cold and indifferent demeanor, instead flashing her a small smile. It bolstered her, gave her the strength to turn and look at Gene. 

He still had his arms crossed over his chest, and for a second Ellie was sure that he would tell her that she sucked. She widened her stance, shuffling her feet so that she was in a more defensive position. His heated gaze made her feel as though she needed to protect herself from whatever mental anguish he was about to put her through. 

“I thought she was kick ass,” Gene finally spoke up, giving Ellie a small thumbs up. Her face lit up into a wide smile before she could school her reaction into one of indifference. “What do you think? You’re the one that calls all the shots.” He spoke behind him, looking down at someone that had been hidden on the couch all along. 

Ellie squinted her eyes, taking a step closer to the glass to see if there was another businessman she’d somehow overlooked. 

She saw your hair before she saw anything else. It was freshly dyed, different than the last she’d seen you in all of the recent tabloid photos. You were clad in leather- pants so tight that they looked like a second skin. Your top was just as restrictive, breasts spilling out from the top, midriff revealed to show off the small silver piercing you had decorating your belly button. 

You were Hecate in the flesh- dark, sinister, mysterious and capable of anything. Ellie didn’t think that it would be possible, but you were even prettier in person. The sight of you sent a shock through her system, and for a second she felt her knees quiver, as if she could no longer hold up the weight of her own body. Her insides turned to mush; white, hot mush. 

The Stendhal syndrome: Ellie had been brought to the very precipice of existence by sight alone. She was so overcome by your mere existence that she felt her eyes begin to well up with tears. Body trembling, eyes locked on to your face and nothing else- it felt like she might faint. She remembered reading about the syndrome once before in an art history class she took in college. 

“Absorbed in the contemplation of sublime beauty. . . I reached the point where one encounters celestial sensations.” 

The urge to flee was just as great as the urge to get her hands on you was. She was thankful for the wide stance she was currently in, because if her legs had been any closer together then she was positive she would have lost her balance and fallen over. 

You were right there in front of her. You’d been right in front of her the entire time, she’d just been so focused on Gene that she hadn’t even seen you in her panic. She stumbled forward, her sneakered foot catching the jack for the amp. She slapped her hands over her ears as a blood curdling screech began blaring over the speakers. 

Ellie could have died. In fact. . . she just might. She dropped her guitar roughly on the ground as she raced over towards the amp, fingers shaking as she turned the knob to the volume.

The booth, once again, was silent. Silent enough to hear a pin drop. Slowly she turned, grimacing when she noticed the looks on everyone’s faces. She’d embarrassed herself and ruined her chance. Even worse was the fact that she’d humiliated herself in front of you. 

She had somehow deluded herself into believing that the two of you were soulmates over the years. She’d compared your birth charts, life numbers- had taken multiple celebrity compatibility tests. All signs pointed to a resounding yes. The two of you were star crossed lovers, cursed to never know one another. She had told herself that if she were ever to bump into you in person that she’d be able to keep her cool. Ellie was certain that she could pretend that she didn’t know who you are- could downplay the significance that you held  

Her ignorance was laughable. She’d been so overcome by your mere presence that she’d stumbled on air while standing completely still. You were standing up straight now, and even from her spot behind the thick glass she could tell how much taller you were than her. You had to be wearing heels or platforms, because according to Google you were- 

“You know how many auditions we’ve listened to today?” You had grappled the mic from the tech and were now hunched over his soundboard, the lights from all of the buttons and knobs casting strange, beautiful shadows over your face. Your eyeliner was dark and smoked out around your eyes, and in that moment Ellie wondered if you were an angel or a demon. “Twelve. Twelve fuckin’ people have walked into that booth today. Every single one of them has been absolute shit. So bad, in fact, that I’ve wanted to blow my fuckin’ brains out in this buildings tiny, piss-stained bathroom.” 

Ellie blanched, lips losing their pink color as the blood drained from her face. She was about to pass out. Her vision was already starting to tunnel. She grabbed onto one of the microphone stands to hold herself up, trying to keep her expression hard and unreadable. People often told her that she had “dead eyes”, and she could only pray that her face wasn’t giving her crushing grief away. It felt like someone had just died; like she had just died. Actually, she would have rather you just go ahead and stab her then tell her she sucked. You were her idol, her dream girl, her everything. 

And you were telling her that you’d rather blow your fucking brains out then listen to her play. How was she supposed to recover from this? She’d heard the saying “don’t meet your heroes” a thousand times, but this? She’d rather you just be a bitch to her. Actually, Ellie would probably like that. This was the worst thing she could have ever heard. Her nose twitched as tears began pooling in her eyes. She blinked a few times, praying that you couldn’t tell in the nearly pitch black room you were standing in. 

“But this?” You turned towards your manager and pointed passionately at Ellie. “This is music.” 

Breath left her lungs in a loud, audible whooshing sound, like a balloon deflating. Her shoulders relaxed, the hand that was white knuckling the mic stand falling limp at her side. No, you didn’t hate her. You liked her. 

You liked her. 

Everyone had their vices. Leon’s had, apparently, been copious amounts of prescription drugs- often consumed simultaneously. You were used to getting what you wanted. You drank whenever you wanted to, fucked just about anyone that peaked your interest and got away with your usual rotten antics and bitchy behavior. You lived the lifestyle that you’d always dreamt of, even when you were a little kid. 

You enjoyed putting on shows. You were flamboyant, loud, and weren’t afraid of expressing yourself. Teachers often described you as a “free thinker” back in your elementary school days. You dressed yourself for school each morning, each outfit louder and more daring than the next. You were an artist, and like most artists you had some inner demons that you fought against. You still fought tooth and nail, even to this day. 

Finally though, after what felt like a thousand years of waiting and biding your time, you had the life you had always yearned for. 

You sold out arenas, appeared on the front page of just about every magazine imaginable, and had celebrities clamoring over themselves to be your “best friend” of the week. Things were good. 

But also a bit empty. 

The friends that you’d made in your youth only used your name for bragging rights. Your parents had stopped showing up to concerts years ago, instead choosing to listen about your successes through their shitty television shows. Life felt a bit hollow.

Exciting. . . just different than you had always been used to. 

“Come play with us.” One of the women whined from her spot on your plush hotel mattress. The bombshell blonde was already stripped down to her underwear, her eyes glazed over from whatever overpriced alcohol she’d already taken from the suite's bar, at your expense no doubt. 

Your manager was used to the up-charges on the company card. He would probably be relieved in the morning when he found out that you didn’t break anything. There was still time for that, of course. It was only one in the morning, which meant you had nine more hours to get fucked up and wreck the cushy room. 

“I’m not feeling up to it right now.” You said simply, already disinterested in the two women you had invited to bed with you tonight. You were holding a beer bottle loosely between two of your fingers, swishing the remainder of the room temperature alcohol absentmindedly.

You weren’t much of an “observer” when it came to sex, more of a very active participant. Still, all you could do was sit back in one of the comfortable lounge chairs, muscles tense after a long show. You weren’t exactly sure why you’d invited the women back to the hotel. They were both attractive and had come onto you at the same time. It was obvious what they had been insinuating, and who were you to deny two beautiful women? The first thing that had popped into your head being “a threesome might make me happy”.

Except now you were bored out of your skull and would much rather be sleeping right now than watch two ditzy girls clumsily fondle each other’s fake breasts. 

“Please? I want you to fuck me so bad-” There was a knock at the door, causing both girls to go silent for a second. 

You pinched the bridge of your nose, exhaustion threatening to swallow you up whole. If it was your manager here to yell at you for “accidentally” breaking an amp at tonight's show you were going to scream. It was too late for that bullshit. Still, you saw this excuse as a blessing. 

“Hear that, ladies? Looks like we’ve gotta pack it up. Thanks for showing me a good time.” You stood up from the seat with a small groan, placing your beer bottle onto the counter clumsily. The glass clattered, almost spilling all over the shag carpet. 

The two girls groaned, obviously frustrated that they hadn’t successfully gotten you into bed with them. You weren’t sure what was wrong with you lately. If this had happened a few months ago then. . . well, you would have fucked them- no questions asked. Were you maturing out of your “wild and crazy” phase? No, you didn’t think so. 

You bent down, scooping up a discarded bra so that you could toss it onto the bed. Fabric rustled behind you as they began to quickly sort themselves out, hoping to beat you to the door. 

“Who is it?” You called out in a sing-song voice, deciding that if your manager was already angry enough to show up in front of your door at one in the morning then you might as well have a little fun with it. 

There was no reply on the other side of the door, causing you to scoff. He was giving you the silent treatment. You reached out for the door handle, only to have your shirt yanked on by one of the women. You could hear the seams ripping against the weight of her, her eyes wide with desperation. 

“Please let me show you a good time. I promise I’m good- I swear.” There was a fear of rejection there, you could tell. 

You felt a bit guilty and were quick to lean in to press a kiss on her cheek. “Baby, you’re gorgeous. I’m sure you would have been wonderful- but I’m tired. That’s all, okay? It’s nothing personal.” 

And with that you opened the door. The air from the hallway was brisk, causing goosebumps to instantly break out on your bare arms and legs. You were expecting the balding, bespectacled Barry to be standing on the other side of the door, all in a huff about “expenses” and “damages to the venue”. Blah, blah, blah. 

Instead it was Ellie. A very broken looking Ellie. 

The girls were quick to straighten out their outfits, their attention now turned towards the guitarist. Groupies like this didn’t care who they slept with, just so long as they were getting it in with someone that was in the band. 

“You’re Emma. . . right? The new guitarist? You were so great tonight. I mean- Leon was always a bit of a poser anyway. You’re killing it.” One of the girls started, moving to stand next to you in the doorway. 

You weren’t sure why, but you felt angry. Genuinely angry. Were you jealous of Ellie? No, because you were sure they would still rather fuck you than her. You’d been their first choice, afterall. Maybe you felt the need to shelter Ellie a bit? Yeah, that had to be it. She was still learning the ropes, and the last thing she needed was to be sexually harassed in a hotel hallway.

“. . . -lie” She was mumbling under her breath, eyes locked on the expensive carpet beneath her ratty old sneakers. 

She had changed out of her stage clothes and put on jeans and a t-shirt. Her hair looked wet too, meaning she’d already taken a shower. She smelled earthy- Alpine, even. 

You leaned against the frame, slamming your hand against the doorway to box the two women in, hoping to keep them away from the newbie. They flinched but both seemingly weren’t off put in their newfound pursuit. 

“You’re the most talented guitarist I’ve ever seen live. I mean. . . your solos were incredible.” You hadn’t managed to successfully remember the girl’s names. Just that they were friends with two guys that had worked security for the venue tonight. People often took advantage of connections like that in order to get close to you and your bandmates. It usually worked too. Tonight was different though. Tonight you had a real stick up your ass. 

Ashley? Amber? Sophie? God, you were bad with names.

“. . . -is Ellie.” Your guitarist mumbled again, slowly moving back down the hall in the direction of her suite. 

Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion over her attitude, and you were quick to stumble out of your room and down the hall after her. 

“Wait! Emma, can we get an autograph!” One of the half naked girls called after the two of you, trying desperately to shrug on her shirt to follow after. 

Ellie turned then, eyes narrowed and teeth bared. You’d. . . You’d never seen her like that before. 

“My name is fucking Ellie! Who is Emma? Jesus fuckin’ Christ-” She dug her hand into the back pocket of her jeans, trying desperately to find her keycard. 

The girls gasped at her outburst, jostled by the look of pure evil on her face. Even you were taken aback, not used to this kind of attitude from her. Still, you’d be lying if you said that you didn’t know why she was acting like this. 

Ellie was what some would call a “mega fan”, though that would be putting it lightly. The word “stalker” would be more appropriate. Your manager knew that before he even messaged her for an audition. He’d checked all of her social media sites and scrubbed the internet for anything he could find on her. One thing was made very clear: 

Ellie was obsessed with you. 

For whatever reason she seemed to be keeping it a secret from Gene and Chris. All she fessed up to them was that she enjoyed your music, which was why she’d auditioned in the first place. She’d conveniently left out the dedicated fan blogs and the status of her cult-like following.

You didn’t mind it. Sure, it was a bit creepy. . . but she was talented and you liked her. She could hold her own against Gene and Chris’ constant asshole behavior, and had been receptive to Barry trying to teach her the ropes of the business. It was obvious that she wanted this, even if her motives weren’t exactly purely for the music. You’d let her be as close to you as she wanted if it meant that she’d continue playing the way that she does. The crowd had loved her, and it was only her second show with the band. 

She was a bit shy, but that would pass eventually. You remember your early debut days vividly. You’d been just like her, maybe even a little worse. 

“Hey, stop for a second.” You reached out to grab her wrist, stopping her from fleeing after her outburst. She turned to glare at you, but her eyes softened as she took in your features. 

You could feel her arm trembling in your grasp, so you gently let go. No matter how many times you touched her or spent time with her, she still seemed to get overly nervous in your presence. It was endearing. 

“Aren’t you a bit busy? Don’t let me ruin your fun-” She was being sarcastic. 

“I was done with them by the time you knocked on the door. They aren’t exactly my type. I’m not sure why I even invited them back in the first place.” If you had to guess, you’d probably done it out of habit. You were used to inviting people back to your room or tour bus. 

Ellie didn’t seem pleased by your answer. If anything it seemed to upset her even more. She bristled, reaching back into her pocket for her keycard. What did she want to hear? That you hadn’t touched them? You groaned, wiping an exhausted hand down your face. 

The elevator dinged behind you, meaning the girls had finally taken the hint and were leaving with their tails tucked between their legs. 

“Are you jealous or something?” You asked once the elevator doors were closed. The last thing you needed were the girls trying to sell information to some shitty gossip magazine. 

She froze, eyes going wide and lips going pale. It was almost like she didn’t think that you knew all about her dirty little secret. A part of you wanted to tease her. Really make her squirm. 

“Why would I be jealous? Those girls weren’t exactly my type either.” She was good at playing things off. Ellie was a good liar. 

But you were good at sniffing out the bullshit. It was one of your many talents. 

“Not of me,” You leaned against the wall next to her door, watching with curious eyes as she began fumbling in her pockets for her key. “Of them. Do you wish I had taken you back to my room or something?” You cooed flirtatiously, flashing her one of your most sinister smiles. 

She coughed, turning around so that she could hide her face from you. This nearly had you groaning out loud in disappointment. Was she blushing? Do her freckles look even brighter when her skin gets all pink and hot? 

Nah, it was dangerous to think like this. Band members were always off limits. It was a recipe for disaster. The last thing you needed was another Stevie Nicks and Lindsey Buckingham situation on your hands. Your PR team wouldn’t be able to recover. They’d just barely gotten over the “Leon” incident by the skin of their teeth. 

Your old band member having to be tackled by three cops in a hotel lobby was horrible. It made you look sloppy. And sleeping with the brand new edition to the band was definitely sloppy. 

“You’re acting crazy.” Ellie told you, shoving the keycard into the lock so that she could clammer into her room. 

Pushing the boundaries was sort of your thing. You enjoyed being bad, fuck the consequences. Right about now you wanted to kiss Ellie. What would her reaction be? Was she a good kisser? You wanted to know. No- you needed to know. 

“You’re right. I’m talking nonsense, don’t listen to me,” You called after her into the room. “Sweet dreams.” 

And with that you sauntered back to your own room, practically purring in delight over the fact that it had been that easy to get to Ellie like that. You loved pushing the boundaries. . . and now you had a new toy to play with.

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