#(hairlines still a mystery)

[twnj]

'She didn’t know how long she might’ve been crying then. She only knew she had no hope of discerning it, stopping it. Her scalp ached and prickled as though her hair had been pulled once again, and as she felt her tears stream, hot and wet, she couldn’t find her will to defy them. [...]

Her fist, clasped tightly around her knight, found her lips in a fierce kiss. Jaw trembling, body quaking, she bit down on her knuckle.

“I can’t just find him under the bookshelf, Shikamaru,” she whimpered. “He’s really gone.”

A hand rested on top of hers. It didn’t force it away from her lips, only squeezed before trailing down to tug at her wrist gently.[...]

Her eyes creaked open — heavy, sticky and aching with tears — to find Shikamaru on his haunches in front of her. His eyes were heavy but bright, and once she met them for a moment, they fell to her bundled fists. [...]

Shikamaru looked up, and with a silent squeeze of her fists, she translated his silence.

I’m here.'

Grandmaster on ao3 by @notquitejiraiya

[cashmoneyyysstuff]

katsuki hates black coffee. it's so obvious it's almost painful. the face he makes when it's done brewing, the way it takes him taking a deep breath and chugging the entire thing in one go to finish and the deep, deep sigh he let's out afterwards.

it's obvious, too obvious. you know it, he knows it.

but he insists on drinking it every single day.

every morning he makes it exactly the same and you just cannot understand why. and you're determined to find out.

today you're both off work. it's been happening less frequently and you couldn't be happier to spend time with your man today. he must've been dead tired, because you woke up before him and his alarm, that he has even though he always manages to wake up before it rings, so you sneakily turn it off and escape from his bear like grip to sneak to the kitchen.

like the great, amazing, loving partner you are, you decide to make him breakfast in bed. you know that despite him not liking overly sweet foods, he still likes him some sugar. you make him pancakes like you know he likes, a family recipe you still haven't told him. you know it's a bit petty, but if he found out he'd probably be able to replicate them to a t immediately and you like taking care of him, and you like the feeling that bubbles in your chest when he groans happily when the food hits his tastebuds and he gobbles it up.

your secret stays safe with you for now.

tray in hand and returning to your bedroom, you're surprised but definitely happy to see him still asleep when you're done. you smile, he truly does deserve the rest after all the work he'd done. you place the tray onto your night stand, running your hands over his eyebrows and slowly running over his messed up hair, thumbing at his hairline. his eyebrows slowly furrow as he tries to lean into it, cheek smudged against the pillow.

"baby.." you sing, katsuki grumbles, shoving his head into his pillow.

"katsuki.." you giggle, running your hand over his back to ease him into waking up. he flips around in an instant, raising an arm up and stretching, his other arm reaches for yours. you give it to him, he squeezes your hand and runs his other one through his hair.

"hi.." you chirp sweetly, katsuki grunts in response, squeezing your hand again in greeting.

"..how long've you been up ?" he asks, voice still deep and gruff from just waking up.

"about an hour.." you respond quietly, easily talking and not in a rush for once. katsuki's eyebrows furrow in confusion and his head whips towards his phone, grabbing it and checking his alarm that had been mysteriously turned off. he turns to squint at you and you giggle, he pinches your thigh and mutters out a "dummy.."

he sniffs the air when he registers the smell of pancakes, and his head quickly zips over to the tray you'd placed there for him. his ears turn pink "you didn't have to do this." you notice how he refrains from adding an affectionate insult towards the end of his sentence, you laugh.

"i know, but i wanted to. now eat up before it gets cold !" you grinned. katsuki sighs, a soft smile pulling at his face before he ducks his head, grabbing the tray and placing it in his lap. his eyes close the moment he gets a bite and your heart beats hard against your chest.

"you seem to be enjoying that." you say cheekily.

" 'm gonna get that recipe outta you one day." he vowed, pointing his fork at you, he groans when he gets another bite "so fuckin' good.." he mutters to himself between bites. you chortle.

after swallowing a few bites in silence, katsuki smacks his lips before he talks again "you just gonna watch me eat ?"

"i'm liking this view," you respond, leaning against your hand and sighing dramatically. katsuki rolls his eyes, an unmistakable blush crosses his cheeks before he's beckoning you over with a 'come here' motion, picking a piece of pancake onto his fork and placing a hand underneath the other as he brings it closer to your lips. "open up," he orders, and you do, tasting your work. you hum happily, and he watches you intently as you do. his eyes drift over to the mug still untouched on the nightstand.

a mug of coffee. black.

he frowns almost immediately, you don't need to look away to know why. you see how he tries to fix his face immediately, you assume so as not to hurt your feelings, your heart warms just a bit more. but you can't help but tease him.

"better drink it before it gets cold.." you sing, trying to sound unbothered. katsuki's grunt borders on a whine as he places his tray to the side. he picks up the mug, making sure to scowl at the black liquid inside, he inhales, before gulping it up quickly.

only to stop, eyebrows furrowing curiously at the flavour.

"it's--"

"good ?" you smile knowingly, you lean back a bit, pressing your legs to your chest and wrapping your arms around your legs. you swing slightly side to side.

katsuki slowly blinks at you "what d'you.."

"i put some sugar in it." you admit, you see how katsuki's face drops, eyebrows flying to his hairline. "katsuki, we both know you don't like it plain black. i don't see why you can't just have some sugar in it." you shrug "i know you've got your diet, but it won't kill you."

he leans back, shrinking into the headboard like he'd been caught committing a crime. his lips pull up into a frown.

"i know that, that's not the problem.." he downs the rest of his drink and he sighs afterwards, it almost sounds like a sigh of relief. it makes you snort. "then what is ?"

"i dunno..hadn't had it in a while and figured i'd try it again, see if i like it."

"but you clearly don't."

"i'd get used to it then." he shrugs.

"katsuki.." you sigh, "you don't have to, you know. nothin' wrong with a little sugar." you tease. honestly, you found it cute. you know he's stubborn and he doesn't give up, even against his own body. you'd seen it happen multiple times, but with something so simple as black coffee was pretty funny.

you think, maybe, he's trying to be more grown up. you remember he tried black coffee back in high school and hated it so bad it ruined his mood for the entire day. maybe, he thought he should like it now since he's graduated and he's an adult. it was sweet, just like how he liked his coffee. and it was so him. you want him to know he doesn't have to change a thing, he's perfectly okay and adult as he is now, coffee plain or sugary. with cream or without or with a sweet treat from the bakery next door.

"course i know that." he mutters after a while, smacking his lips when the taste of his coffee still lingers on his tongue. he places it and the tray back on the nightstand. he grabs your hand, pulling you closer to have you sit in his lap. "so come give me some." he smirks at your flustered expression. one hand reaches the back of your neck to pull you closer, his other hand at the small of your back for the same purpose.

"you just ate and you still haven't brushed your teeth, mister." you run your finger in circles over his chest. he gets hot quickly in the night so he likes to sleep shirtless, your hand runs over the shape of the scar on his shoulder. katsuki snorts, sharp teeth on display as he smirks.

"so ? you know you always wanna kiss me." and he smirks because he knows he's right. you huff, but lean down to kiss him anyway, muttering a quick "shut up," before silencing him. he snickers against your mouth and it doesn't take him long to deepen the kiss, you squeal when he flips you over, laying you right back in bed.

"thanks for breakfast." he says against your lips, leaning back in before you could respond "you're not gettin' away anymore, though. you're gonna spend the day here with me, where you're supposed to be." he drops onto you and you let out an "oof !" at the pro hero mass dropped onto you. you grip his shoulders as he kisses from your cheek to your ear.

"d'you like breakfast ?" you breathe out.

"you know i did, don't make me say it again." he grunts out, biting your cheek when you giggle "now i'd like to spend some time with my girl." he mumbles against your shoulders, voice muffled. you giggle, bring his head up to press your lips to his again.

and they taste sweet, just how you like them.

taglist (finally!!) if your name is pink i unfortunately couldnt tag you :((( : @napbatata @andysdrafts @queenpiranhadon @jastoo46 @cecelia77

@katszumi @m-inluv @monchurie @the-hangry-otter @starlostlaiba

@moonshuul @erenstitanweave @katsus-mistress @dondeh-zedonutqueen @liluvtojineteyam

@aspiringwriter1111 @sugurusmoon @redvelvetstan1

@niktwazny303 @nemisimp @kit-katsukii @alphasage @milktea-academia

[luxurychristmaspudding]

Una Noche En Medellín | Javier Pena x f!Reader

summary: a long day playing pretend at a wedding leads to... exactly what you'd expect.

pairing: javier pena x f!reader

ratings/warnings: 18+, MDNI. javi smoking, mention of a fictional pregnancy, ONE motherfucking BED BABY! mention of previous p in v, fingering, brief f!oral. this is pretty tame, y'all. reader has hair.

wc: 2.4k

an: this is my entry for the summer lovin' challenge thought up by the wonderful @pedgito, @chaotic-mystery and @amanitacowboy <3 i can literally only apologise for this being so late. i scheduled it in the wee hours and got my dates SO wrong.

my brief was a wedding, javi, and the moodboard you can see in the header. this was so much fun, and my first time posting for our fav dea agent - i hope you enjoy!

divider from @saradika-graphics

The fabric of your dress clings uncomfortably to your skin, sweat glistening under the warm lights of the hotel as you step into the elevator. Hair damp at the nape of your neck, thighs chafing a little as you shift on aching feet, you turn from your tired reflection in the mirror back to the closing doors. 

You watch, drowsy, as Javi presses the button to the tenth floor, one thick finger lighting up the numbers. The same hands that have been on you all evening, long into the night. Squeezing, holding, twirling. He stands with his back to you now, shoulders tense and squared. If you didn’t know better, you’d think you’d pissed him off.

You slump a little against the mirror behind you as the elevator swoops and glides upwards, watching as he pinches the bridge of his nose. 

Neither of you had thought it’d be easy. But neither had you thought it would be so exhausting. 

Exhausting to remember the details of your cover, to explain that the reason you weren’t drinking was because you’d recently discovered you were expecting your first child. Exhausting to navigate the knowing looks and slaps on the back, the hands on your non-existent bump, trying to make it look convincing. Following Javier around the room, his hand in yours; whispers pressed into the conch of your ear, your hairline - intel exchanged, wrapped in the pretence of humour and affection. Bodies pressed together in a way that should have been unprofessional, but not in a way that was unfamiliar.

The mission had been a success. 

Under fairy lights and between bubbles of champagne, blanketed by the heady heat of Medellín, you’d wound your web. Dancing and talking, sharing cooing compliments with the other guests, letting people watch and believe as you’d kept each other close, the proximity of Javi coming so easy with the thump of bass and threat of danger. Recognising the faces taped and pinned to corkboards in the office, matching voices to crackled radio frequencies, red string to red crosses.

Never standing in one place for too long, never speaking English, never looking surprised, always looking so in love. Draped across his lap with one hand on your hip and the other splayed against the small of your back. Your face tucked into his neck as you relayed information against his jawbone. His kisses to your shoulder as he told you Steve and Carillo were already on their way to the targets’ addresses. Not out of each other’s sight for more than a minute. 

It had been so easy it was almost laughable.

The cartel’s informant would be on his way to his hotel, and his impending arrest, now. The rest of the guests, the family and friends, would soon catch wind and begin to disappear, to turn on each other. And it would be like you and Javi were never there. Blending with the disco lights, melting into the shadows. 

For now, all you need is some rest.

The elevator bell dings for the tenth floor, and you watch as the doors slide open with a quiet hum. Javi turns his face, barely, to make sure you’re still with him, hand twitching at his side as though he wishes to reach for yours. 

It’s hard to turn the performance off. 

Instead, he runs a hand through his hair, wedding band glinting in the light, as he steps out into the hallway. You follow, reaching into your purse for the key card, watching the slump of his broad shoulders stride up the hall, the sweat-curled hair at the nape of his neck. You’d been running your fingers through it twenty minutes ago, cooing something about wanting to take him to bed that had only been a half-lie. He’s been warm and firm against you all night, always within reach. There’s not a scrap of your dress or an inch of your skin that doesn’t smell like his aftershave. And you’re not too proud to admit how much that turns you on.

He leans against the doorframe with one arm when you reach your room, lips lifting in a smirk.

You pull a face at him as you swipe the key card and open the door.

‘What?’

He shrugs as he watches you step into the darkness, waiting only a moment before following and flicking on the light.

‘Just - didn’t think you had it in you, cariño. Never thought you could dance like that.’

You scoff at him as he closes the door, leaning against the coolness of the wall to unclasp and take off your heels.

‘Surprises are part of the job, Peña,’ you grin, ‘Didn’t think you’d be so good at pretending to enjoy a wedding reception.’

‘I’ve had practice.’ He quips, unbuttoning another two of his shirt buttons, white linen against the gold of his skin, sweat gathered at the hollow of his throat. Something burns in your chest - wanton and willing.

He flips on another light as you throw your heels to the side, pausing in the mouth of the room before it opens to the sleeping quarters. You press a palm to his warm back, trying to urge him forwards before he speaks.

‘You’ve gotta be kidding me.’

You step from behind him to stand at his side.

Illuminated, glowing in the bedside light before its backdrop of glimmering city lights, is a single, king-size bed; crisp white sheets neatly tucked beneath the mattress.

You bite your cheek, looking at Javi. His stormy brow, his clenched jaw. 

‘This was supposed to be a suite.’ You murmur.

You want to be angry. Want this to be the thing that ruins an otherwise successful day. But you’re so warm, so tired. You only want a shower and a place to sleep. And you’ve had many worse places than this to do exactly that. 

‘We could call the front desk,’ Javi says, as a yawn pulls at your jaw, ‘See if they can switch us to a room with two beds.’

You shake your head, and he glances at you, surprised.

‘It’s late, and bad for our cover. We can share.’ A small frown teases between his dark eyes. You raise an eyebrow at him. ‘We’re fake married, remember?’

You step past him, smoothing the sheets with your hand. Cool. Soft. You could lie down now and die happy.

There’s the distinctive shnick-whoosh of a lighter behind you, and when you turn, Javi’s face is lit by the soft glow of a cigarette.

‘How could I forget,’ he says, breathing out a rush of blue smoke, ‘When mi esposa has been the life of the party all evening.’

You purse your lips playfully.

‘I thought you enjoyed being my husband, Alejandro.’

A sultry smile softens his features.

‘Sure, cariño.’

You wink at him as he brushes past you, linen against silk. He smells so good. Clean and masculine, something so Javi cutting through it that you can feel that burning move from your chest to pool between your legs.

He breezes through the curtains shrouding the balcony, and you turn into the bathroom, inspecting the array of toiletries, and the towels, fresh and white, waiting for you. You turn the shower on, setting the water to cool before reaching for the zip at the back of your dress. You twist fruitlessly for minutes, but the heat, the dampness of your skin makes the fabric hard to adjust, the zip impossible to catch. A well of frustration rises up your throat, and you clench your jaw.

Hands pressed against the porcelain of the sink, you look into your own eyes in the mirror. Tired, hot. Not too proud to ask for help.

Javi is stood on the balcony, forearms resting against the railing, smoke curling around his strong silhouette. He turns at the sound of the curtains moving behind you, and you smile as he leans back to watch you approach.

His appraising look is appreciative. Sexy.

You turn your back to him, to those eyes.

‘Unzip me?’

You wait for what feels like an eternity. Rocking slightly where you stand, breath catching in your lungs. Every muscle in your body tightened in anticipation.

Goosebumps break out over the small of your back as his fingers trace the line of the zip, up, up to your shoulders. They skim the fabric there, catching your bare skin before settling at the slider. He pulls, slowly. So close you can feel his breath on your neck. Pulls it all the way down so that the dress falls loose at your chest, so it would take only the smallest movement for the garment to drop to the floor. 

His palms slip beneath the silk, curving around your waist. On instinct, yours follow, catching and holding them in place as you sigh at the feeling of his nose tracing your neck. His thumbs stroke the contours of your back.

‘Que linda, bebita.’ He breathes, and you fight the moan surging up from your belly. You hum, leaning into him even as you whisper,

‘I didn’t say undress me.’

A short burst of air at your shoulder, a barely noticeable kiss against your hot skin to disguise his amusement.

‘Wasn’t going to.’

It’s your turn to huff a laugh.

‘We can be professional for a night.’

‘We can.’ He murmurs, and the heat of his body behind yours is lost almost immediately. You sway a little, a smile on your lips as you step back towards the bathroom. You know Javi is watching.

He always is.

He told you. That night in Bogotá, bodies pressed against, pressed into each other. Your legs wrapped around his waist, claw marks red-raw up his back as you’d moaned and cried for him. The wet squelch of your cunt as he worked you open, as he fucked you, as he crooned into your mouth how you’d been all he’d thought about since you stepped into the bullpen. So fucking smart, so capable, so sexy. How you’d been driving him crazy - lips crushed against your temple as you clenched around his cock.

That whole night, how good it had been, how heady. No one had ever made you come like that.

You’d not called the next day, having slunk out of Javi’s room some time in the early hours of the next morning. He’d never asked you why you hadn’t stayed. You’d never spoken of it again.

It was stress relief. Never anything more than two people blowing off steam. Never anything more than two people giving into an obvious attraction.

But that night doesn’t seem so far away as you wash away the sweat and soap from your body, as you rinse the shampoo from your hair. Doesn't erase how you feel him watching, how close he feels, even separated by the door.

And though the shower is cool, your blood still runs hot. Pumping and burning with want in your veins, arousal so strong it makes you giddy as you wrap a towel around yourself, leaving the bathroom in a cloud of steam.

Javi is sat on the edge of the bed, naked save only for his boxers. The sight of him takes your breath away.

He's so broad, hard and soft in all the places he needs to be. And he's so pretty. Perfect little pouty mouth, deep, dangerous eyes. There’s no cigarette dangling from his lips, nothing in his hands as he clasps them between his spread knees. You think about sinking down between them, pressing your cheek against the bulge outlined below the smattering of hair at his navel.

You step towards him, and he watches with blown, hungry eyes.

You stop in front of him, still wrapped in the towel. He reads your mind like he always does. In the bullpen, the offices, the field. With a gun or a cigarette or a pen in his hand, Javier Peña knows what you need. He parts the towel, sliding his palms across your naked hips, holding you before him. You can’t breathe, can’t speak. It’s too hot in the room, in your body. You can feel slick sliding against the tops of your thighs, spread right up to your clit. So wet it should be criminal. 

Javi clicks his tongue, moving his hands so he can spread you open with his thumbs. He pouts at you, small tilt of his head. 

‘Pobrecita.’

You'd roll your eyes if it were any less true, if he weren't swiping one thumb through your wetness, over your clit. You suck a breath in before moaning brokenly. He grins, wolfish, up at you. 

‘What were you thinking about in that shower, cariño?’

You smile down at him, eyes half-closed. 

‘You.’

He hums, moving his thumb again. You shudder, knees giving a little. His hand at your hip tightens. 

‘Good girl.’ He coos. 

Your hand flies to his shoulder with a garbled cry as he presses tighter, moving the digit faster. He knows how to work you, knew before he'd even touched you. You're on fire, pussy tightening as your hand travels up his neck, before tangling with the curls at his nape.

That's it.

You can hear how wet you are. The only sounds in the room are the buzz of the city below, your fast breathing, and the movement of Javi’s fingers. He’s building you up to it, astoundingly fast. The sight of him, sat on the edge of the bed, spellbound by what he’s doing to you, the noises you’re making, the sight of you bared to him. Makes you want to touch him, too.

Does that feel good, bebita?

So good, Javi.

But just as it seems so close, as you can feel yourself start to clench and pulse and twitch, he slows. Slows the rhythm of his thumb right down to deep, languid circles, keeping you right on the edge as he loosens the towel and lets it drop to the floor, as he leans forward to reverently press his forehead to your belly. He breathes in deeply, and you flex your hips towards him. He nips at your skin, and you whine as he laughs.

‘I think about it,’ he breathes, voice deep and thick, nuzzling into the crease of your thigh, ‘That night in Bogotá. Tell me you think about it, too.’

You hiccup, nodding. Fisting his short hair.

‘All the time,’ you gasp, ‘All the time, Javi.’

He groans, moving to lick a hot, wet stripe through your folds, right up to your clit. It’s like fire, electricity. Your body jolts against him, every nerve ending bending towards him, flinching into this sweet torture.

His lips are shining with your arousal when he pulls away to look you in your eyes.

‘Let me have it. One more night, in Medellín. Let me have you.’

[seancekitsch]

Falling Hard, Failing Fast: A Hughie Campbell x Reader fic!

You get dosed with... a mystery drug made by Vought. Hughie is a good friend and stays with you while you monitor the side effects.

Warnings: sloppy sex pollen trope usage, dubcon turned just normal con, drugging, friends to lovers under upsetting circumstances, foreplay, sappy missionary, not my best work tbh

“What did they get her with?” Butcher asks, his voice near a yell through the receiver. 

Hughie traps his phone between his ear and his shoulder and waves his fingers in front of your face, struggling to get you to focus your eyes. Everything blurs around the edges, the same way blood rushes against your ear drums. All you can focus on though is heat, heat in your knees buckling, heat in Hughie’s other arm around your torso to keep you upright, heat in your head that plunges down your front and settles under your pants. 

All you can offer is a weak shake of your head to no one in particular. You don’t know. All you know is heat, and that you’re fading fast. 

“I think it’s bad, it was all over her,” Hughie says. He had watched a guard pull something that looked like pepper spray into your face, and he ran into the mist of it to pull you away and back up the stairs, begging you to stay upright the whole time. 

“I can’t—“ you mumble, your head falling back against Hughie’s shoulder. Relief, like a cool drink of water, trickles into you at the contact. You need more, you need—

You sober up, almost, as fear cools the fire under your skin momentarily. Your head snaps up, and Hughie immediately goes on the alert.

“Get away from me!” your voice shakes, but it's the most clear you’ve sounded since Hughie grabbed you. 

“What? No—,” he stops himself, confused, “No, we have to get you somewhere safe.”

He hangs up the phone in a panic as you try to pull away from him, throwing yourself towards the cold brick wall. He recaptures you, steadying you as you keep trying to lurch away. His bare hand against your arm feels like a white hot poker, feels like he's burning you, but you want it. You want to feel what those burning hands feel like moving across your skin, want to feel the pain they'll leave in their wake; part of you imagines they'd leave a trail of destruction like a forest fire, marks of Hughie all over your skin.

Another wave of heat hits you, this time forcing an embarrassing moan from your lips as you double over, stumbling down the hallway with Hughie still painfully attached to you. There's a basement apartment being used as a safe house up ahead, and if you can just get to a bed, or a couch, or even the floor to sweat this out you’ll be fine and maybe survive with your dignity.

You hear Hughie curse as you try to pick up speed, your sweaty hands clawing at his grasp on you. You don’t care if you seem insane in this moment, you just need to barricade yourself in…. alone. 

Hughie helps you in, punching in the door code on the lockbox and fumbling with the key once it’s free, while you lean into the door frame, sweat starting to gather at your hairline. Once the door is open, you practically throw yourself in. The safe house is scarce; a simple kitchen with a can of corn on the counter, a navy futon, a radio, a folding chair, a bathroom. Dread pools in your stomach, settling right above the heat churning, as you realize: Hughie is not going to leave you alone in a place like this. 

You shrug him off, dropping yourself to lay flat on the floor, your face to the ceiling. You screw your eyes shut, the muscles of your face hurting from how hard you’re trying to hide yourself from this. You must look like a fucking mess to Hughie, you realize, with sweat starting to coat your skin and your chest heaving as you struggle not to writhe on the floor in pain. 

He rushes to the sink in the sad excuse for a kitchen, running the tap with water. Hughie mumbles to himself while he searches the cupboards for a cup or a mug. 

You stare up at the off white ceiling- one of those sloppy paint jobs a slumlord does to turn a profit. It probably covers mold.

You pray silently that Hughie brings you water and leaves you the fuck alone before you embarass yourself any more than you already have. At some point the heat has to subside, right? At some point the painful desire in your gut has to fade away, right?

You close your eyes again, trying to block out the sensations you feel to no avail, the hopeless idea that if you hide from the situation it will go away. 

But then Hughie’s sneakers are shuffling across the cheap thin carpet towards you, and he sits down on the floor next to you instead of taking a seat on the futon. You put your hands on your face to try and further hide from him, and realize how big a mistake you just made. 

A low moan escapes your throat, relief from the heat not found, instead the same burning Hughie’s hands had on you in the hallway. Pleasure, embarrassing and wanton, shoots through you seemingly from the palms of your hands.

“What can I do for you?” he asks, and you can hear the dull thud of the mug he chose being placed on the ground. 

“Leave,” you pant out, your voice wavering and airy.

“Not gonna happen,” he immediately responds, a breath of a chuckle exhaled through his nose. It's silent for a minute, maybe more, time feels weird and far away right now. The world has stopped and you feel like you're melting.

And then that stabbing, burning, sublime pleasure erupts on your skin again. 

A strangled cry whines itself out between your closed lips as Hughie takes your hands in his own; a movement too tender and intimate for what you are.

“You’re so… hot,” Hughie whispers, concern laced in the edges of his voice. His touch sends shockwaves through you. You whimper pitifully as you finally open your eyes, just a crack. Worry is painted all over Hughie’s handsome face, his brows furrowed and eyes wide, his lips falling open. In this moment he looks like he would do anything for you, and you can't ask him to do this. You squeeze your eyes shut again, so tight you fear you may start tearing up. Hughie squeezes your hand in his, and you whimper again, your chest heaving and your body betraying you.

“Does it hurt?” he asks, “Are you hurt?”

You shake your head, no. Hurt isn’t exactly the word you’d use. Your limbs feel heavy, your head feels heavy, and Hughie’s touch feels like heaven, featherlight and fresh. 

You want him to keep squeezing your hand, you want him to squeeze other things, to grab you, those long fingers curling around your flesh. Another moan escapes your lips at the thought and Hughie freezes up. His hand drops yours, unfortunately. The heat rages again.

“Oh,” Hughie says, voice small. He searches your face, and as hard as you try to shy away from him, he still finds you.

“Is it touch?” he asks, “Something to do with me touching you?”

You nod, embarrassment flushing your features. 

“More? Less?” He presses, and it's so fucking sweet how much he wants to help you. It hurts how nice he’s being about this. You ache between your legs, and wish he would stop being so nice about this.

“More,” you plead, arching your back in discomfort. Hughie’s hands are back on you in an instant, pulling you up to sit so he can massage your shoulders. Your forehead falls onto his shoulder, and you move closer to him, your hands moving across his ribs. He leans into the embrace, his large hands guiding you to lean yourself onto him as he rubs circles into your skin, ripples of pleasure radiating out from each spot he touches. He switches from massaging you to just rubbing your back, his hands moving over your tee shirt and roaming the expanse of space.

His fingers trace your spine, stoking the fire and bringing you relief, if only slightly. You move similarly, hands feeling completely right as you try to follow the same patterns he traces along your back onto his.

“I need…” you beg him again, desperate and shameless. You’re gasping for breath as you continue to move against him, your hands moving up under his shirt, his back feeling almost cold under the heat of your hands. You dont miss the way Hughie shivers at your touch. He keeps rubbing your back, adding more pressure to his touch. You squirm against him and moan, and then Hughie stops.

He pulls you back by the shoulders. 

“Holy shit. Are you?” he asks, bewildered, but then something else crosses his features. Something you can't exactly read. 

“I think so,” you mumble, again trying to look away, trying to hide from him, “That’s why I wanted you to get away from me.”

Hughie seems to ponder this for a moment, his eyes searching your face, and then they dip lower. 

You’d be lying to yourself if you said you never thought of Hughie that way. 

“I can help? If- only if you want…” he trails off, unsure. You can’t agree to that, no matter how much you want to. It would feel amazing, his hands on you, roaming and groping and taking, his mouth on you. You shiver, not a chill.

“Help?” you echo, and that look you can't read crosses his features again.

“Like I could,” he pauses, finds the word, “Try to give you a hand?”

If you werent already burning up and soaking wet, you would be. How does Hughie sound so effortlessly arousing in a situation like this? Maybe its just the literal drug you were dosed with, though. Either way, it doesnt matter. You cling to him, nails starting to dig into his skin. 

“I- I couldn't ask you to-”

“But you’re not,” he interrupts, “I’m offering.”

He is offering. Offering to get you off as if thats a normal thing to offer one of your friends on a Wednesday afternoon. Like he’s offering to help you move or put together a book shelf. 

You pull yourself in closer to him again, resting your forehead back on his shoulder. It’s less embarrassing this way.

“Let’s try it,” you mumble into his chest. This way, you dont have to face him, you can hide from it and maybe keep a shred of your dignity.

He moves his hands lower, sliding them down to your hips. Hughie guides you back down, laying you out on the ground. He takes away your ability to hide from him. Now hovering over you, he smiles slightly as he takes you in. He steadily raises a hand, moves it down between the two of you, stopping over the button of your jeans.

“Can I?”

You only nod, no turning back now.

He undoes your jeans slowly, as if he’s the one with something to be nervous or shy about. His fingers are warm against the cool metal of you zipper, the sound as he drags it down mixing with the sound of you gasping for breath, a cacophony of desperation and nervous lust. 

Hughie leans back on the heels of his converse, his fingers hooking themselves under the hem of your jeans and pulling them down gently, care in every step. You whimper as you lift yourself up slightly, letting him pull the jeans over your thighs. He stops at your knees, your legs trapped in place by denim. 

“Okay?” he asks, and “okay,” you also confirm. So Hughie takes it a step further, his hand coming to the waistband of your underwear, a black mesh thong that really looks like you were asking to be dosed with sex mist, but ultimately the case of the fact that you had yet to do laundry this week and all of your comfortable briefs were sitting in the laundry bag ready to be carried down the steps of your walk-up.

His fingers dip below the fabric,and when his middle finger brushes the top of your slit your body contorts beyond your control, a strangled cry leaving your lips. 

“Shh, I’ll take care of you,” he reassures you, leaning down further as his hand travels further, his middle finger leading the charge and stroking you. Each movement is like a breath of fresh air, Hughie’s hand a lifeline to calm the fires within you. His lips part as he reaches your clit, fingertip to pearl. 

Hughie’s eyes bore into yours, lust of his own growing in them. You don't feel as embarrassed anymore, instead, something dreadful that mixes with your hunger. It's going to be hard to stop after this, it's going to be hard to be in the same room after this, knowing that look in his eyes. 

“Touch me, please,” you whisper, the words leaving your lips and sealing some kind of unspoken pact.

He nods his head, obeying you as his hand dips lower. Hughie teases, but not really. Every slow movement is deliberate, testing the waters, gaging comfort and mapping it out for himself as well. It’s careful, calculated, and generous. Just like the kind of friend Hughie always is. 

But all thoughts go quiet as his middle finger slides into you with no resistance, and finally it feels as if there is an end in sight to your predicament. His finger feels… divine. Feels like it belongs there, feels like your salvation, and he your savior.

He slides his finger in you to the knuckle, curls it gently, and then slides it almost completely out again.

“You're so… wet,” he comments, and then a blush radiates up from his neck to his cheeks, as if embarrassed that thought did not stay in his head. You lean into his touch, nails raking into the cheap carpet to cement yourself in place. Your eyes don't miss how his free hand moves to his thigh, his own fingers gripping at the material of his jeans.

He starts again, pushing all the way into you, then almost completely out, then all the way in again. Then Hughie picks up his pace, steady and sure as he begins to thrust his middle finger in and out of you, starts to earnestly fuck you with it. The sounds that come out of your mouth are pathetic at best, whining moans and pants and unintelligible begging for more, all of which he obliges enthusiastically. 

You arch your back into his motion, chasing the rhythm of his fingers, the wet sounds between your legs now filling the air and adding to the sound of your already labored breathing. Hughie is short of breath as well, laser focused on you and all too reactive to your body. He meets every movement with one to match, like physics, actions and reactions. He watches your face for any changes, watches you hungrily, his lips parted and eyes dark. 

It doesn't take much, especially when Hughie adds another finger, and both start moving within you. He curls them along the most sensitive part of you, doesn't hold back as he pulls keening moans from your lips and whispers words of encouragement the whole time. 

You come quieter than either of you expect, with a few shuddering breaths and tears that Hughie wipes away, with your teeth buried in your bottom lip and his hand stilled against you. He lets you ride it out as gracefully as you can, not daring to move his fingers from inside you while his other hand continues to smooth down your hair and wipe away tears. 

It’s only when you still, relief and calm finally replacing the heat, that Hughie slowly pulls his fingers from you. Your breath hitches, your body still sensitive to his touch, to his long fingers. He pulls his hand out of your underwear, and leans back onto his heels again, the comforting warmth that came from him leaving you. Finally, you feel cool, normal. A fever breaking. 

“Was that? Was it good?” Hughie asks, sounding nervous. Was it good? It was exactly how you thought Hughie would pleasure a woman. Lovely, thoughtful, with your care in mind. You want it again, just not under these circumstances. You would like to imagine a date, maybe dinner or drinks, maybe a movie, and then a lovely trip back to either of your apartments and a taxi ride because you're too eager to deal with the subway. 

But yes, it was good. 

And as soon as the relief flows through you, it seeps away, a bucket with a hole in the bottom. The heat returns. You shake your head desperately; No, it did not help, not enough. Tears well in your eyes. 

“I still feel-” you cut yourself off. 

“It was good!” you explain hastily, desperately, panicked, “It was good. But I’m still…”

You don’t exactly have the words for it.

“You need more,” he finishes, not asking, but telling you. You press your lips into a thin line, shame at the thought of what Hughie just did not being enough for you. You look away from him, not wanting to say the words. Once again, you think about asking him to leave, asking him to go and let this pass and then maybe one day it could be a funny story. 

But then you see movement from the corner of  your eye. 

It looks like Hughie was just rubbing his nose, but then his tongue darts out from between his lips and to the side of his middle finger. From that hand, the one that was just between your legs. He puts his hand down quickly, too quickly for it to be a natural movement.

The fire within you floods down the front of you, back with the debilitating vengeance from before. If you were standing, it would have knocked you to the floor. 

“Hughie, did you?” you ask, unsure if you should truly accuse him, your voice shaking the entire time.

“Can I say I was just curious?” he asks, a sheepish smile on his face.

You narrow your eyes at him again, trying to hide any of the discomfort that might be returning to your features. You don't believe that. And luckily, Hughie caves quickly under this kind of scrutiny. 

“Okay, I was curious! I was,” Hughie admits, the blush across his cheeks darkening. You don't even want to ask what conclusions he came to, this horny-embarrassed-nervous-hungry combination doing a number on your thought process. 

You only nod at him, slightly skeptical.

“And you… you need more? So I could-,” he pauses, recollects himself so he doesnt ramble.

“I could do more? I could help more?”

You're taken aback by this, pushing your elbows under you to lean up towards him, ignoring the fact that you're still exposed to him. More? How could you ask him for more? Even though this time and the first time he offered, how could you accept?

“I couldn't… I can't ask you to do that, Hughie,” you cringe as the words come out of your mouth, your head betraying what your body wants, but it's the right thing to do, right?

“Well, you wouldn't have to do much asking,” Hughie sighs, his eyes darting from his own lap to the lightswitch on the wall, away from you. 

Your eyes follow where his fell and… oh. 

From what you can tell, he’s rock hard, the zipper of his jeans bulging as it holds him in place. Hughie liked that just as much as you did. If things were not already complicated, they are now. 

Again, he’s offering. 

“It's a big step,” you say, trying to give him an out. You can't ask him to do this, it's not fair. You're not in your right mind, despite how willing he is. 

“Ah, yeah, you're right,” he admits, then, “this isn't how I wanted it to go-”

“Wanted it to go?” you interrupt him. 

“Like if we ever, you know,” he’s getting truly flustered now, his hands gesticulating to try and explain what his mouth can't. He opens and closes his mouth a few times, and then his shoulders sag.

“Let me help you.”

The air, everything in the room shifts between the two of you, something new and heavy. He doesn’t tear his gaze from you, and you don’t dare break eye contact. Instead, you nod slowly; giving him full permission, giving yourself full permission. 

Within a second, he's positioning himself over you again, this time with his knee between your thighs. The heat radiating off of him somehow stokes and calms yours, his proximity its own salve after he’s already made you come once.

He leans down to kiss you, his lips fully covering yours. His lips are wet, his stubble coarse against your skin. He’s sure to rub off the makeup around your mouth and leave you with beard burn on your chin and cheeks, but that's the least of your worries. He kisses hungrily, passionately, fierce unlike the normally level headed and more meek member of the team he usually is. His lips seem to pull moans from yours, your tongues and teeth clattering and tangling together.

His hands move across your skin, his thumbs rubbing circles down your sides, reaching further and further down. He stops and pauses almost awkwardly, the first time in this entire encounter that Hughie has shown any of his awkward tendencies. He pushes himself off his hands and knees just enough to get a good grip on your jeans and yank them down. Hughie only pauses when you kick off your shoes, both of you working together to free you of the confines of pants. 

You spread your legs for him gladly when he crawls his way back on top of you, settling himself firmly between your legs. His hips rut and bump against the wet patch of your thong, and briefly it fills you with an odd sense of pride that it may leave a stain on his jeans, that he may carry a physical trophy of this moment.

Hughie’s lips are back on yours quickly, his hands careful and gently as they guide themselves around your body. His fingers dip into your collarbones, palms full of the swell of your chest, ghost over your ribs in a tickle. 

Your hips buck, needy and desperate against him, and he pins you down with his own. Fucking hot, in a way you didnt expect from Hughie Campbell. 

“Please,” you whisper against his lips, and he nods, practically swallowing your words. 

“Wait I have a,” he cuts himself off, and pulls his wallet from his back pocket, producing a beaten up looking trojan condom ribbed for ‘her pleasure’. He holds it up to you between two fingers with a smile.

“Why do you carry that?” you ask, honestly taken aback at his forethought. 

“Well after Herogasm anything is possible, so I figure it's better safe than sorry,” Hughie jokes, and for a brief moment it makes you wonder what other odd shit he might store in his pockets or wallet.

You roll your hips again, and he gets the message. You need him now. 

Hughie tosses the condom down near your shoulder, and untangles himself from you. You take the opportunity to pull the rest of your clothes off, as he sheds his just as hastily. All of your clothes get thrown into a messy pile, to the side, neither of you care.

Hughie practically throws himself down on top of you the moment he's bare, rolling the condom down his shaft quickly before he's rubbing himself along your entrance. He wants this just as badly as you do, and you feel guilty for doubting him earlier.

“Ready?” he asks, already breathless. You grant him a nod, a nervous smile on your face, and that's all he needs. 

He pushes into you slowly, filling you. You're surprised at the way your breath gets caught in your throat, knocking the wind out of you. You did not get a good look at what Hughie is working with before, and you’re very much wishing you did. He bottoms out inside you, his hips flush against you.

He nods, as if asking if this is okay, and you push your head up and rub the tip of your nose against his. Hughie laughs, and the tension of the moment breaks. 

You lift your legs, coming up to wrap them around his hips as he settles himself.

“You're so tight,” he breathes, a lazy smile on his face as he rolls his hips, testing the waters the same way he did when his fingers were inside you. He’s checking on you, making sure your comfort is first. He pulls himself almost completely out, and then back in, and then repeats the whole process. The head of his cock drags within you, rubs against the same spots that had you seeing stars earlier. You're not uncomfortable, not too sensitive, and Hughie seems to sense that. 

Hughie wastes no time speeding up his pace, pressing himself deeper and deeper, never fully pulling out of you between thrusts. He fucks into you not like a friend doing another friend a favor, but like a lover, he fucks into you like he wants to wake up next to you. Hughie presses kisses to your face, hips lips all over you, his stubble scratching you just like you knew it would.

"You feel amazing," he whispers against your skin, "So fucking perfect."

Your moans are like a staccato, punctuated and cut short with each thrust, as Hughie fills you to the hilt you lose all ability to use your voice. He pushes your bodies flush together, connecting completely. Hughie moves against you like he can't get close enough, like he wants you both to fuse together. The friction between your bodies as he moves, the way each thrust drags along the most sensitive parts of you, its all so much. Whatever's going on with you or not, this may just be the best sex of your life. Hughie leaves no part of you untouched and no part of you unsatisfied. You can feel your edge approaching fast, too fast, and you wish you could make this moment last longer. 

Its no use, however, as Hughie pulls your leg from his hip to the side, granting himself access to your clit, where he rubs harsh circles against you. 

“Come on, give me one,” he pants against your jawline, and how could you deny him?

He presses his hand a little harder, speeds up the thrusting of his hips, that friction and closeness never being sacrificed for his speed, and something within you breaks. 

You cry out, a high pitched call of his name, before shaking sobs wrack your frame, your back arching your chest into his, Hughie never slowing down as he pushes you through this. 

This orgasm feels like a jump into the ocean, refreshing and cooling to the fire inside you. 

Hughie works you through your orgasm, your bodies rocking together as you come down from your high. He pulls himself out only when you come back to him, when your breathing starts to regulate, when your muscles start to relax. 

Hughie moves desperately himself, rutting against the apex of your thigh, spilling into his condom only moments after, your hands tangled in the short curls of his hair. 

He moves away from you, the loss of contact genuinely having you feel cold, only to pull off and tie off the condom. Hughie comes back to you quickly, his arms immediately coming around your as your limbs tangle once more.

“Don't worry,” Hughie comforts you, pulling your chest against his tightly. His sweat mixed with his cologne smells almost sweet, decadent. One of his hands comes up to smooth down your hair, sweaty and messed up from the friction of the carpet, his other hand grabs your hip. The heat subsiding temporarily again, this time, it feels less painful, less all consuming. Its getting weaker. 

“We’ll be at this as long as it takes, I’ll help.”

You believe him, and nod, your cheek against his shoulder. He presses a kiss to your hairline.

“Afterwards maybe a shower and I can buy you a coffee? I mean, I think this place has hot water,” he asks, nervousness in his voice. A shower would be nice, but you doubt this place has even one towel.

“A coffee?” you echo. 

“You know,” he explains himself, “so I can say I took you on a date, so that we can be… you know… normal about this.”

“You want to take me on a date?” you lift your head, and that unreadable expression is back in his gaze.

“That wasn't obvious by now?”

[sincere1ystar]

Love’s Last Breath

finnick odair x fem! reader

When an illness comes to threaten the bond you have with Finnick, he proves that he’ll still love you in sickness and in health.

Even though Finnick seemed composed to others, he had a certain type of anger to him. It was the type of anger that ran through his blood and made a home in the vessel that keeps him alive. It’s always felt like a fire to him, not the kind that keeps you warm but the kind that will burn you into ashes. He outlived most of his peers for what? To get to this point? After all he’s went through during the games and being a victor, he can’t help but let it all engulf him.

If he only had one word to describe your presence he would pick ethereal. It fit you perfectly as you brought him peace that he’s never felt before. And once he felt it once he couldn’t fathom going without it? How could he? You blew out his inner fire within him and took care of all his burns. His insides were no longer filled with anguish as your love made a home in the place where it once resided.

So when you caught some mysterious illness, he goes straight back into that state of terror he was constantly in before she met you. Having ill health had nothing to do with man, it was all nature. He couldn’t make it go away in the usual ways he did and that terrified him. Even after building a strong persona for himself by being a victor, Finnick was just a man. And a man against nature has no chance, a message drilled into his head after seeing it in the games. Surviving during the games was his one chance that nature gave him. If he knew what the future would hold he would have held onto that chance and save it for later.

When Finnick opens the door to your hospital room your head is pounding and your whole body feels clammy and damp. You curse yourself for taking it for granted for when you didn’t have dozens of tubes in your arms as you watch the fan on the ceiling spin, it’s the only thing you can do with your lack of energy.

If you were able to you would have teased Finnick when he barges in with a worried expression on his face, but alas you were too weak to do anything but greet him with a small smile.

He greets you with a kiss on your forehead, to which you immediately retreated and tried to back away.

“What’re you doing? Are you crazy?! Don’t do that you’ll get sick”, you say worriedly.

“I was just checkin’ your temperature”, Finnick murmurs into your hairline before he gives you another kiss on your forehead. He can’t help but chuckle at you worrying over his wellbeing as if he was the sick one.

“Well next time use a thermometer”, you mutter playfully in response.

“Nah I don’t think I will”, he whispers to soothe your pounding head , “Think I like this way more… it’s more effective”.

You laugh weakly at his response. Your eyes can barely stay open, but you try your best for his sake. “He certainly didn’t come all this way to watch you rest”, you note to yourself.

But of course he notices the way your eyes seem to be weighing down. He notices the way you have trouble carrying yourself, even though you’re sitting up against a hospital bed. And of course he notices that your glow is gone, snatched away from you despite how hard your grip on it was.

“Rest now”, he murmurs softly, “I’m right here”. He holds his hand in yours to reassure you he isn’t leaving your side.

You’re about to protest when he climbs into the hospital bed with you. The bed was small to begin with so he must be cramped, but still he doesn’t complain as he wraps his arms around you. “Is that better now?”

You nod as you slowly start to fall asleep too weak to do anything else. Finnick doesn’t sleep much, his mind too worried to shut off for the night. He spends most of the night stroking your hair softly and whispering to you whenever you stirred. “Shhh rest honey rest.. I’m right here”, he coos softly everytime.

That’s when you realized that love wasn’t the way Finnick loved you when you were all dressed up and confident in your beauty. Love was when he still cared for you even when you felt like the worst version of yourself. Love was when he still found you gorgeous even though you felt physically rotten.

The phrase ‘love is the best medicine’, was a common saying back home. Finnick’s love brought you more comfort than medicine ever did. Pills filled with empty promises to take away the ache from your bones couldn’t compare to the man who could easily take away the ache in your heart.

[moonlightazriel]

Prologue /// Azriel X F!Reader

Summary: Y/N Blackbeak keep dreaming about the same male for decade’s now, she wonders what this all could mean.

Word Count: 751

Warnings: None for this part.

Notes: Welcome to my new series, i hope you guys enjoy it just as much as i do. I was so excited to share this with you all.

Main Masterlist

Worlds Apart Masterlist

The sound of leathery wings sounded above her head, she looked up expecting to see the black wyvern hovering over her head. She blinked a couple of times, landing in front of her was the male, he had onyx hair, brown skin and the prettiest hazel eyes she had ever seen. His sharp jaw and plush lips were forming a smile, he was smiling at her. 

She tried to touch his face, retrieving her hand quickly before her iron claws could do any damage to his smooth skin. The male shook his head, marred fingers grasping her wrist. He lifted her hand, pink warm lips ghosting over her cold skin, a kiss of midnight on the back of her hand.

She closed her eyes, feeling warmth spread across her chest, that thing skipping a few beats as he pulled her closer by the waist, still holding her hand. She waited for the kiss, feeling his breath fanning over her face, he smelled like night chilled mist and cedar. The scent wrapping itself around her and calming her wild heart.

“You have plagued my dreams for centuries.” She spoke, her voice hoarse like she had been silent for so very long. “Will I ever see you one day?” Her eyes watered. 

The same dream, the same male, but she never found him, and she had spent so long looking for him. She knew he was different from her lovers, from anyone she had ever met. She knew she had to find him, see him at least once, to bring peace to her tortured mind. 

With all the gentleness in the world, he cradled her face in between his hands, the rough skin brushing against the sides of her jaw. Those beautiful hazel eyes, tinted with specs of gold looked into hers, like they could see the fractured soul underneath the brave facade she tried so hard to keep together.

“Don’t wrap your pretty head around it.” His lips touched her forehead, and she leaned into that feeling, the only time she actually had peace was in the arms of the stranger that walked on her dreams. “You won’t have to wait much longer, but please..” She watched as worry laced his features.

She wanted to soothe the furrow of his eyebrows, with a cold hand, she brushed the tip of her finger against his cheek, slowly going upwards until she traced his eyebrows, the left one and then the right one.

“Whatever you want to say, do not worry, please.” She begged and the male nodded.

“Do not be hurt if I don't remember you, I'm not even sure you will remember me.” He chuckled, the sound lighting something within her heart.

“Like I could ever forget you.” She traced his lips.

“The Mother works in mysterious ways, all I know is that our time is coming soon.” He warned and her heart filled with hope, would she finally be able to feel his arms around her waist and his hard chest against her for real? No more play pretend, just reality.

“I can’t wait to meet you.” She allowed herself to feel that love, slowly taking roots in her heart, taking her by surprise.

“Soon, my love, soon.” He promised, his lips capturing hers in a delicate kiss.

She woke up, sweat coated her forehead and her heart hammered against her ribcage knocking the air out of her lungs. She felt dizzy, her fingers touching her tingly lips. The early rays of sunshine invading her room, forcing her to shut her eyes tightly together, the image of him burning bright as she did so. 

Y/N got up, her body protesting but she had things to tend to. She was able to relax under the scalding water of her bath, but the dark circles still marked her eyes, giving her a tired aspect. She inspected the bumpy scar on the left side of her face, two smaller ones marred her eyebrow, missing the eye for an inch, and the biggest one was from the beginning of her hairline to her cheek, irregular skin patched together forming that monstrosity on her once beautiful face.

But just like her, the male also had his scars, and he never seemed disgusted by hers, he always looked at her with love and admiration, she was sure that when they found each other for the first time, he wouldn’t judge her. Nothing would be different between them, her heart just wondered when that meeting would happen.

⋆˙⟡☾𖤓☽ ⟡˙⋆

Taglist: @fieldofdaisiies @blackgirlmagicforever @a-frog-with-a-laptop @going-through-shit @asweetblueberry2

@roses-r-red54330 @mis-lil-red @sheblogs @hibye02 @impossibelle

@glitterypirateduck @zeroangelo13 @sekiro1310

[onelittlespiral]

Hey hi! I've heard you've got some kind of offer or sale going on, not too sure what its about but I'd like to buy your services. My best friend is a bit of ladiesman jock type and he keeps complaining he can't find a good relationship. So I wanted to know if you could maybe turn him into less ladiesman and more men's man, maybe daddying him up a bit? So i could maybe get a chance with him, and he'd get the relationship he wants.

Subject: Order #100714

Dear Dopple,

Thank you for your recent purchase from The Spiral, home for all your transformation needs! Your order #100714 has been received and is on its way as we speak. Your order includes:

(1) Daddy_From_Friend(Best;Jock)

(1) Mystery(Self)

Expect delivery in 3-5 days. Please note that joint delivery is expected.

Sincerely,

The Spiral

We knew you’d come around and round and round and round…

It was only a few days later when you heard another notification come through from The Spiral. At the same time, you hear a knock at the door. You were glad for the interruption. It was nice to head over to your friends’s apartment and hang out for the weekend. But if you had to listen to him complain again about how tough the dating market was for a white, straight, good looking guy like him you were going to scream. Glancing at the notification for a package delivery to this address, you realize that it is probably about time for the show to begin. No need to interrupt the process. You dart into the restroom as you hear him pick up the package. As you close the door, a rip is heard outside, and as you lock it, a faint poof is heard. A faint fog creeps under the door crack. It smells like fresh grass and sandalwood. Another notification comes through, as The Spiral provides you with product details:

Due to selected target changes, we have elected for our rapid delivery transformation system to best meet your needs. Upon receipt, subject will open box and full product delivery will commence. A dense cloud of product will be released directly onto target and rapidly absorbed. Your friend will age to around 35, with associated physical changes. His previously smooth, young body will change rapidly. Skin is expected to tan, hairline recede, muscles grow, and body and facial hair develop. As the product is breathed in, expect tastes to change. Your new friend will prefer whiskey and beer drinks, along with the occasional cigar. As mental changes set in, they will find themselves drawn to care and maintenance hobbies, like regular workouts, yard work, renovations, cars, and sports. He will be drawn to jeans and beat up tennis shoes or boots, and only prefer to wear a polo when they must go into the office. At the same time, his mind will be filled with images of men. Men staring at him. Men holding onto him. Men worshiping him. This will start the final change, a libido adjustment. He will feel a deep need to fuck, to control his partners, and leave his seed planted deep inside them. The added girth and heavy sack will ensure he never underperforms. As he adjusts and embraces his new personality, he will settle and seek a single partner to fulfill his needs.

Thank you again for choosing The Spiral

You finish reading and unlock the bathroom door, running from the upstairs bedroom through your friend’s spacious house to meet him on the porch.

He is standing on the porch, a box still in hand, just as described. You didn’t know he could be more handsome, but he has aged like a fine wine. He takes one look at you and simply holds out the package in his hand,

“It’s for you.”

For you? You check the label and he is correct. You grab the box and he crosses his arms, waiting. Unsure what is inside, you open the package.

“Ah, good. Been waiting for these,” he snatches it from your hands and inspects the well-worn frames. You try to turn away, but he catches you in his arms,

“This should make you behave.” He takes the sunglasses and sticks them on your face. In an instant, the world is dark. And then a pair of screens flicker to life. As spiral fills your vision, you try to take them off. But your friend is holding you tight. You can’t resist it’s allure for long. It’s right. You do feel so sleepy. As it counts down from ten, your body begins to sway and relax. But you can’t bring yourself to mind. The spiral knows best. You fade away, held in the warm embrace of release and the strong arms of a man…

You come to laying in a bed that feels familiar and foreign all at once. You scratch at your beard and inspect the scene. Lube is left open on the bedside table. Tank tops, jeans, and boxers are strewn over the floor. A pillow is still wedged under you. Heh, still got it. You wander downstairs as you stretch your muscles and rub some sore muscles from the night before. You find him in the kitchen preparing some eggs. Your love. Your master. Your beast in the sheets. You sneak up behind and wrap your arms around his waist.

“Stop, you’ll make me burn them.”

You don’t listen. You plant a kiss on his cheek. He turns around, spatula in hand, and smacks your ass.

“Act your age, boy.”

Something in that statement hits a trigger. You remember something. A younger body. Slender, taut, pale. A firmer mind. Less corruptible, less controlled. Then, you feel an arm around you.

“You okay, cuz you look faint. Don’t break a hip old man.”

You stare at your husband and the world comes into focus. He smirks and gives you a little growl, and you swoon a little in his arms,

“Give daddy a kiss,” he commands.

You lean forward, pressing your hairy chest against his, and love on your husbear.

“I’m going to finish these eggs. Go set the table and look cute,” he says with a wink. You walk off, dizzy for a new reason. You ignore the buzz in your pocket as you get ready for breakfast.

Subject: Order #100714 Fulfilled

Dear Dopple,

Your order has been fulfilled. We know you have many options, but thank you for supporting The Spiral.

Sincerely,

The Spiral

[zazter-den]

Foul-Mouthed Frit | Stained Glass Circumstances Ch. 1

Series: Snippet #1, Snippet #2, Current

Synopsis- All stained glass begins as frit, but you're not as frit of the warrior in front of you as you probably should be.(Main Scene: Bakugou, Aftercare: Kirishima).

Warnings- Coerced NonCon, Oral Knotting, CumVom, Choking, Clothes Tearing, Degradation, Overstim, Org Denial, Slap(giving), Forced Bond, King/Consort Dynamic, Alt A/B/O, Yandere Bakugou.

Tags- Fantasy AU, BarbarianKing!Bakugou, Dragon!Kirishima, KingConsort!Reader, Black Haired Reader, Isekai, Creampie, Chin Grab, Excessive Seed, Aftercare.

Word Count- 7700, Chapter 1

Your heart thumped against your ribs, unease and curiosity battling it out, as you stood before the imposing blond warrior. On a good day, you couldn't help but feel out of place in the simple hand-me-down dress, a one of few mercies you received from the cold villagers when you arrived. Standing here in front of the decorated barbarian within the confines of the grandiose war tent, you felt dressed in little more than rags. Was this man here to finish the villager's sad attempt at uprising? Surely non-lethal injuries to a handful of soldiers, even if severe, didn't warrant a general's (or whoever's) presence.

Why am I here? I wasn't even involved.

The bodice of the scratchy dress felt nearly too tight to breathe, a physical pressure to match the growing weight of dread settling in your bones. It had been a month since your watery arrival to this world, but it hadn't taken long to miss your modern clothes, modern stressors, and the familiarity of home. A pang of longing shot through you like a static shock, but you pushed it aside, focusing on the intimidating figure ahead.

A shiver ran down your spine as you met the blond's piercing blood red gaze. His throne, made from the bones of fallen beasts long dead and a patterned patchwork of leather, only amplified the imposing aura surrounding him. With each passing moment, you couldn't help but feel like a small, insignificant creature in the presence of a predator.

"Pint-sized for a dragon, aren't ya?" the barbarian growled, his gruff voice boomed in the tense silence, tone heavy with amused disdain. A predatory smirk adorned his face, highlighting his intimidating yet undeniably attractive features. "You're quite the fuckin' anomaly."

Your eyes widened at his words, and for a moment you forgot your unease. You had become so used to the weight by this point that you honestly almost forgot. A hand instinctively went to touch the base of the draconic crystal horns that jutted back from your hairline, a bizzarre feature you had woken to on the lake shore, a side effect of the magic that had forced your entry to this unfamiliar world.

All of the lakeside villagers were human, but you had learned enough about this world's inhabitants to know that that you weren't a true dragon like the ones the citizens of this realm were familiar with—those with wings, a tail, and true dragon features. You are, at your core, still human, and really the horns were the only evidence to suggest otherwise. The asshole wasn't entirely wrong in calling you a mystery.

"Can tell you're no real dragon, some sorta bastard maybe" he remarked, rumbly voice smug. "Though I admit, those crystal horns of yours are intriguing 'nough. You'll pass as an addition to my collection."

You blinked once, twice, as you struggled for a mere second to process the words coming out of the pompous man's mouth before time seemed to resume again.

Should you have been scared? Probably.

But you weren't.

Your eyes narrowed to near slits with incredulity as you peered up at him. White hot anger filled your veins, fear of the undoubtedly dangerous strange warrior forgotten. Being a newcomer to the realm, you couldn't quite comprehend the gravity of the situation in standing before the man in front of you. Being an outsider to the village and their rebellion, also meant you weren't aware yet just how low cowards will sink to save their own skin.

" 'Collection'? " You repeated, scoffing loudly at his arrogance. The gall of him had your nerves shot and common sense short circuiting. All pretenses of appearing as a polite peasant were now firmly out the window, all bets were off. After a month of biting your tongue to rude villagers as you struggled to adjust to your new life, it felt amazing to spit exactly what you were thinking. "Who the fuck do you think you are, blondie?”

The fair haired barbarian's grin only widened at your boldness, relishing the rare occurance. It wasn't often someone had a big enough death wish to challenge him face to face.

"O, sweetheart, not just any 'blondie'," he sneered, weighing the weight his words had on you. "I'm yer fuckin' king." Enjoying the way shock washed over your face, anger clearly forgotten, overshadowed by the realization that you were standing before the most dangerous man in the kingdom.

King Bakugou's amusement was evident as he leaned forward in his seat, his eyes gleaming with sadistic satisfaction at your dumbstruck face. "D'ya wanna know why you're standin' in front of me?" he asked, his tone dripping with condescension. "They offered ya to me, little anomaly," the barbaric royal continued, the corners of his lips curling into a cruel smile. "A barter for their miserable lives after a pitiful 'scuse of a rebellion."

You were shocked, your eyes meeting his with furious disbelief. "So, people I barely know, GAVE me to you to spare themselves?" your words were laced with anger and a sense of betrayal, unable to comprehend the depths of their craven desperation. Sure, they were cold to strangers, but to sacrifice you for their own lives wasn't something you had thought was even a possibility. Had it really been so foolish to want to believe they were finally warming up to you?

The barbarian king's expression hardened as he replied, his voice laced with a sharp edge. "Ya should feel honored," he snapped, his blood red eyes narrowing. Rising from his intimidating throne of giant bone and beast hide, he closed the distance between them with a purposeful stride. The sound of his heavy boots thudded against the packed ground within the war tent until he loomed over you.

“I rarely take consorts,” King Bakugou's hand shot out and firmly grasped your chin, tilting your head up to meet his piercing gaze. His touch was harsh, a firm reminder of the physical might that Bakugou wielded when he so chose. Your heart pounding in your chest as his fingernails dug into your jawline. Leaning in close, his face mere inches away from yours, his voice dropped to a low, dangerous rumble as he continued speaking. “especially not runt freaks like you." The disdain in the cold blooded king's tone sent a chill down your spine.

Your heart dropped, The weight of the revelation pressed heavy against your chest. Mind racing with anger and betrayal as you grappled with the harsh reality of your situation. You had only been in this unfamiliar realm for barely a few weeks and now you stood before the formidable barbarian king, a man who held the power of life and death over countless warriors and civilians alike.

It didn't take years of education, or really much common sense, to know the dangerous consequences of defying a medieval tyrant. You knew you had to keep your anger in check, to try to bite your tongue and submit. At least for now.

Your fate was sealed the moment you stepped into that fucking tent, and survival was now officially the priority.

King Bakugou's sadistic enjoyment of the situation was plain as he ruthlessly analyzed your appearance, his gaze lingering on the translucent crystal horns with an almost dismissive glance. "Yer horns are clear, nothin' special," he remarked, his voice dripping with annoyance. It was clear that your unique crystalline features held little significance in his opinion. However, as his eyes roamed down your body, a more sinister gleam sparked within them.

"Body, on the other hand, is fine enough for a concubine," the blond added with a twisted smirk, his grip on your chin tightening slightly. The shift of the dress' neckline sent a shiver down your spine, baring your shoulder to his inspection. Your heart beat faster as King Bakugou's piercing eyes bore into you, his actions invasive and dehumanizing. Your throat constricted in response to the humiliating position you found yourself in. Even having to resist the urge to pull your chin away from his grasp, knowing that defiance would only lead to suffering of some variety.

His eyes swept over your neck and shoulder, searching for any sign of a scar, any indication that you already belonged to another. You kept your gaze to the side, unnerved by the intensity of his bloody stare, a shiver rippled down your spine as his touch almost seemed to burn your skin.

"Good," he declared, a twisted smile tugging at his lips as his hot breath ghosting over the exposed skin. "No claim."

King Bakugou wasted no time in closing the remaining distance. Swiftly leaning down, he sank his canines into the smooth flesh with a forceful bite. However, unlike true mating, the barbaric blond did not release the necessary venom that would solidify an actual bond between souls.

The lack of numbing venom caused a sharp hiss to escape your lips, a mix of agony and indignation flooding your system. You might not have been here long and you certainly were no expert, but you knew the basics of mating marks, this world's lifelong courtship. It was a deliberate move, a clear reinforcement that he had no intentions of making you his equal partner in this arrangement. After all, you were merely a plaything, to be toyed with. You should be thankful not to be bound to the barbarian's soul, and yet you couldn't ignore the obvious insult. Or the pain.

The unexpected stabbing pain of fang sinking into flesh triggered a reflexive response, causing you to shove and slap Bakugou's face in a desperate attempt to free yourself from his grasp. The crack of your palm connecting with his cheek seemed to echo in the massive war tent, leaving a bright red handprint in its wake and a streak of crimson trailing down the king's chin.

The barbarian's eyes glowed with fierce delight, his feral nature taking enjoyment in the defiance of his new concubine. Despite the stinging pain in his cheek and the split in the corner of his upper lip from the strike, a low chuckle escaped King Bakugou's lips. "You've got guts, shitty horns, I'll give ya that much" he growled, his voice laced with a dark amusement as his tongue flicked over his split lip.

If you thought your heart was racing before, it certainly paled to the drumbeat it was pounding now.

You had dared to challenge the king, to strike him in a moment of instinct. If the tyrant himself marched to this village over a few maimed soldiers, what exactly was your punishment going to be? A part of you regretted the impulsive action, aware that it would only fuel the bestial nature of the tyrant and likely add to your own suffering...But another part of you couldn't suppress the thrill that surged through you when you slapped the shit out of him. You might be trapped in this new situation but you refused to be completely meek, cowering at his feet.

You would submit. But only as much as you had to.

As King Bakugou's wicked chuckle echoed in the confines of the tent, he swiped away the droplets of blood that trickled down his split lip, relishing in the taste. "Spirited whore, ha?" he continued with a dangerous glint in his eyes. "You'll learn. 'Til then, I'm gonna enjoy breaking that attitude of yours."

Your breathing grew shallow as you just stared at the king, mind a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. You knew full well that true defiance would only bring more challenges, but still a small ember of resistance burned. You would not surrender completely, no matter the threat. And even bolstered with the courage of the dissociative haze that emotionally numbed you to the consequences of your actions, you still knew the danger was very real.

The red glistening imprint of his bite marked your delicate skin, a reminder of his sadistic tendencies and the cruel pleasure he derived from such acts. Your body trembled in frustration, mind grappling with the complex storm of emotions that threatened to take over reason. You may have to play the role forced on you but you would bide your time, until the opportunity presented itself.

And so began the balancing act.

"Your position, in this territory," the warrior king continued, his voice dripping with gruff superiority, "is t'be at my beck and call. You exist to serve my needs now, like any other fuckin' whore. An' rest assured, you will serve me well." With those words, he spun you around and pressed your abdomen hard against the tent's solid wood table, his hands gripping your hips possessively.

"Lemme show you your new role," Bakugou sneered, voice filled with dark promise. With one swift motion, he pulled the rough dress up to rest on your hips, baring your body to his gaze. His eyes hungrily took in your curves, his fingers ran up the exposed skin of your thighs and hips. Feeling his rough fingers trail over the sensitive areas of your thighs, you could feel yourself getting lost in the intensity of the touch.

The sound of fabric tearing filled the air as King Bakugou ripped apart the too-tight bodice, buttons popping off as your breasts spilled free from the barely reinforced fabric. His knees pressed painfully firm against the back of yours, effortlessly spreading your shaky legs apart. The motion trapped your hips against the edge of the table and exposed your pussy to to his gaze. Breath hitched as you felt the large tip of his hardened cock pressing against your slick entrance. Every inch of your body tensed. Judging from the thickness of his head alone, the lean warrior was larger than you expected him to be. Bakugou's girth tested your cunt's limits, forced to stretch wide. Initial entry was rough, inch by inch, as your pussy's tight walls struggled to accommodate the impressive length of the barbaric king's dick. The pleasurable ache making you fight to maintain composure.

Leaning forward on your forearms for support, your chest squished against the cold surface of the table. Fingernails dug into the smooth wood, your knuckles turning white with each of Bakugou's punishing thrusts. An unexpected surge of arousal coursed through your veins, and you decided to embrace the inevitable pleasure that his pace promised to bring.

Despite your feelings on the turn of events, your body responded to his coarse treatment, for the distracting orgasm and mind-numbing hormones that lay tantalizingly within reach. Determined to find some semblance of pleasure within your new prison, you forced yourself to shift your perspective. If you were going to be forced to be an object of desire, you may as well revel in the physical gratification it offered and claw back any benefit you could until you made your move.

As the table rocked against the packed dirt floor of the tent with each forceful thrust, the warrior royal couldn't resist mocking you. His voice was filled sadistic amusement. "Where'd all that fire go?" he taunted, amused by the contrast between your previous defiance and your current submissive state. "Don't tell me I already fucked it out of ya."

Your aching walls had struggled to accommodate his girth initially, causing you to tense up. You had to focus on consciously relaxing your body, allowing him to fuck you with more ease. The mixture of discomfort and increasing pleasure sent waves of heat coursing through your body, intensifying your arousal. At this point, you couldn't tell whether the fact that rough sex made your cunt leak like a faucet was a pro or a con.

You really couldn't help but snap back, voice loaded with a defiant edge. "You really like the sound of your own voice, huh, 'Your Highness'?" you quipped harshly, rolling your eyes knowing he would be unable to see, as you were swept up by the overwhelming pleasure of being fucked against the table.

Undeterred by your attempt at disrespect, Bakugou leaned forward over your bare back, his lips grazing the shell of your ear. The warrior king's voice dripped with amusement as he addressed your lack of fear. "You're really not scared of me, are ya?" the blond chuckled sharply, the feeling of his hot breath against your skin sending shivers down your spine. "Give it time," he sneered, his grip on your erect nipples tightening as he pinched and pulled. With a choked moan, your body arched instinctively in response, a symphony of conflicting sensations flooding your body.

Your black curls bounced with each punishing thrust, your body pressed against the dull edge of the table, the hard surface digging into your hips with a force that promised to leave bruised reminders of your afternoon in the days to come. The brutal intensity behind Bakugou's movements overwhelmed you, leaving you breathless and at his mercy.

Just when you thought you had found a rhythm, just when you though you were getting close to finally cumming- the royal bastard abruptly withdrew, his cock's sizeable head dragging along the walls of your dripping passage. A soft indignant gasp escaped your lips as the sudden emptiness left you yearning for release. Inner walls involuntarily clenched in a futile attempt to hold onto the fleeting pleasure, not that you would ever admit it out loud.

He took a moment to enjoy your needy frustration before thrusting back inside with renewed intensity. Each powerful movement caused your body to arch and quiver in response, teetering on the razor's edge between ecstasy and torment. Despite the lingering defiance in your heart, your cunt betrayed you, subconsciously craving the pleasure that Bakugou pounded into you. The aching bite at the junction of your neck felt hot, as your nipples squeezed between his vice-like fingers.

Your walls eagerly embraced the renewed pounding, tightening around him in a desperate attempt to hold onto the pleasure he provided. The overwhelming mixture of pain and pleasure sent shockwaves through your body, sparking sensations that threatened to consume entirely. As the table creaked under the combined weight, your gasps and moans filled the air, merging with the sounds of flesh slapping against flesh and groaning wood. The intensity of the king's pace, each thrust pushing you closer to cumming around the thick cock slamming in and out of your needy hole.

As your body neared the peak of pleasure, King Bakugou enjoyed the control he had over you, keeping that orgasm just out of reach. Each time you felt the pleasure building within you reach that breaking point, he would cruelly withdraw, denying you much needed relief. The frustration reached a boiling point,as your walls involuntarily clenched desperately around the thick ridge of his cockhead in a feeble attempt to keep it inside.

"Stop fucking teasing me!" you shot over your shoulder in irritation. The pleasure that coursed through your veins was distracting, clouding your mind and amplifying your need to cum. The denial of your orgasm left you on the edge in what felt like a perpetual state of yearning, body aching for the release that the feral blond held in his cruel grasp.

As King Bakugou repositioned himself, angling his thrusts to target your most sensitive spots, and the pleasurable torment of denial continued. The conflicting sensations pushed you further towards either heaven or hell. With how your legs trembled with both the overstimulation of your poor pussy's stretched walls and the unbearable need to cum, you weren't sure which you were closer to.

"Ha? Think ya forgot who serves who here," bloody eyes narrowing as he sneered, his arrogant tone held an unrestrained hunger. A wicked grin tugged at the corners of his lips as he drank in your frustration. He took great sadistic pleasure in this game. Knowing that, despite your protests, he had the power to bring you to the edge of cumming and keep. You. Trapped. There.

As the twisted dance between pleasure and denial continued, your body reacted eagerly to every movement, cunt walls fluttering near constantly in desperate need of fulfillment. Each time King Bakugou withdrew, your inner muscles clenched around the massive disappearing tip, another futile attempt to hold onto the pleasure that slipped through your grasp.

Wet, squelching sounds filled the air as he pounded back into your gushing pussy. The table beneath you was sticky with your juices, and his blood red gaze spotted a string of viscous slick suspended mid-air between the edge of the table and the packed dirt floor below.

With each turn of Bakugou's cruel cycle, a symphony of profanity spilled from your parted lips. Your body shook with the weight of unfulfilled lust, aching for the relief that seemed cruelly just out of reach. The rise and fall of your emotions danced in harmony with the motion of their bodies, humiliating frustration fueling your foul mouthed whimpers.

"'N fact," Bakugou laughed, gruff voice filled with sadistic glee, "I think that tongue o' yours has earned ya a punishment."

The barbarian's fingers curled around your quartz horns, his grip possessive and firm. As his grip tightened, you barely felt the dull ache spreading from the base of your horns through the haze of pleasure and overstimulation. The strain on your neck was evident, your head tilted back to reveal the garnet red bite print marring your exposed skin.

With a deliberate slowness, King Bakugou pulled back on your crystalline horns, his hold firmly guiding you until your upper body was no longer supported by the table's wooden surface. Weakened by the cruel cycle of ecstasy and denial imposed on you, your legs trembled with the effort to remain upright. The shift in position caused a head rush as you fought to remain standing upright. Turns out, you wouldn't need to fight that battle for long.

Using your horns as a guide, Bakugou yanked you down to kneel before him. Obediently following his command, your weakened knees sunk against the hard packed dirt beneath you. The shift in posture brought about a new level of submission, body now positioned at his feet, ready to fulfill the king's desires.

Bakugou's massive member hung heavy above you, his imposing figure towering over as he peered down with cruel superiority. "Ever get your mouth washed out with soap?" he sneered, a wicked grin stretching across his face.

With a snarky retort already forming on the tip of your tongue, you opened your mouth to deliver a biting response. However, in that moment of distraction, the massive cock head shoved past your lips, the sudden intrusion catching you off-guard. A muffled gag sound escaped your throat, eyes widening in surprise as King Bakugou claimed your mouth with little mercy. Musk filled your senses, the unexpected violation left you momentarily stunned. Your eyes watered as you struggled to accommodate his size, jaw stretched to its limits while King Bakugou hissed in pleasure at the feel of your hot tongue against his dick.

A gasp of surprise escaped your lips, muffled by Bakugou's large cock as he took advantage of the opening you unwittingly provided and began to thrust. The rough motion caused your tongue to press against the underside of the massive member, tasting both of you. The initial shock gave way to a mix of conflicting sensations - humiliation, arousal, and a begrudging surrender.

Your throat constricted around the tip of his dick as you fought against your body's instinctive gag reflex. The taste of your combined arousal filled your mouth, the combination of his precum and your own slick coating your tongue with every thrust. With each attempt, guided by the iron grip he held on your crystalline horns, you managed to swallow a little more of his length, throat stretching in an attempt to accommodate his girth. The barbaric king's control remained unyielding. He roughly guided your movements with an unwavering grip on your horns, forcing the pace at which you took him deeper. The sight of your struggle only made him grip you tighter, setting a faster pace.

You looked good, all fuckdrunk at his feet, submitting to his desires without question.

With each inch you took down your throat, your breathing became increasingly labored. Your eyes flitted upwards as much as possible, trying to meet his gaze as you continued to obey his every command. Teary eyes pleaded for mercy, yearning for the release that was just out of reach, as you continued to let King Bakugou's thrust into your throat. Bakugou locked gazes with you. It wasn't that he ignored your pitiful puppy eyes, all watery and unfocused, but it didn't certainly have the outcome you were begging for. His pace sped up, his thrusts becoming more urgent as he approached his climax.

Your eyes narrowed in confusion and as you felt a new ridge near the base of his cock begin to swell. It took you by surprise, lips forced to start to form an O-shape as you struggled to comprehend what was happening. You mumbled uselessly around the resulting barrier, only managing to press your tongue harder against the enlarged gland.

"Never seen an alpha before?" King Bakugou asked incredulously, the tone of his voice heavy with pompous amusement. "Ya really are a fuckin' freak, this'll be fun" he added, sadistically excited for the surprise in store for you.

The swelling knot created a tight seal against your teeth, effectively trapping your tongue in a frenzy of desperate, frantic movements. As his lust hit a peak, Bakugou looked down at you with dark satisfaction, the intensity of his gaze piercing into your very being. His words cut through the pounding of blood in your ears, his mean grin widening.

"Y're gonna want to breathe through your nose when ya can," he instructed as his hips started to stutter, cruel grin never faltering. "For the next ten minutes at least." He took great joy in the power he held over you, knowing full well the challenge he was about to present. His groans of pleasure were the only warning of his orgasm that you got besides the pulse of his knot, before waves of warm cum were cascading down your throat. You fought against the rising panic, you just needed to relax you told yourself. The taste of his seed flooded the back of your throat, your lips stretched around his swollen knot, as you braced yourself to endure the minutes to come.

Your breathing grew ragged as you tried to comply with the barbaric king's instruction, the pressure of his spurts down your throat sending your body into a state of sensory overload. Each surge of his cum filled the back of your mouth, forcing you to swallow to make room for more, so you wouldn't be overwhelmed. Nose pressed against the coarse, orange wires of his pubic hair, your breaths coming in short gasps as you struggled to find enough air.

Your sore throat bobbed with each gulp, lips sealed tightly around Bakugou's pulsing knot. You followed his instructions, taking quick breaths through flared nostrils whenever his spurts allowed a moment of respite. As you continued to swallow the seemingly never-ending load, your eyes watered and throat contracted around the royal's throbbing cock. Bakugou ran his thumb over your neck, tracing over the ridge his twitching cockhead made in your throat, causing you to choke and sputter, your reflexive gag wrapped around his dick.

The primal sounds of you gagging and swallowing seemed to fuel Bakugou, a wicked gleam in his eyes as he reveled in your struggle to regain control of your reflexes. He found the cruel game fun, knowing that you had to drink every single drop or be overwhelmed by the seed that filled your mouth. As the barbaric king rolled his hips, his cock milked one last time by your tight walls, the deflating knot slipped past your teeth with a squelching pop. You felt each inch slowly withdraw from your pained throat, eliciting a mix of both relief and a weird sense of emptiness. Your jaw ached from the strain, throat raw and bruised from the rough treatment. Cum dripped from your swollen lips, a shiny string dripping towards the ground between your knees.

You leaned back against the leg of the heavy table, body boneless and weak from the intense sex. Your chest heaved with each ragged breath, senses still reeling from the experience. The taste of his cum still lingered in your mouth, a reminder of of just how well you had performed your role.

His cruel grin twisted with satisfaction as he held your weak chin with his thumb and pointer finger, tilting your glassy gaze to meet his blood red eyes. The arrogance in his voice was evident as he spoke, his words laced with a mocking tone.

"You did well, little whore," King Bakugou taunted, "Maybe you'll last longer than the others." His words cut through you like a knife, a reminder of your place and his complete control over the situation.

And it only got worse.

Your stomach churned, the fullness from consuming the sheer volume of cum you did, mixed with the exhaustion and strain on your body. It was rapidly becoming too much to bear. The taste of his bitter seed lingered in your mouth, adding to the increasing waves of nausea that welled up. With shaky legs, you bolted towards the clean bucket next to the table, a hand clamped over your mouth. Face contorted in anguish as you reached it just in time, hunching over and emptying the viscous contents of your stomach into the wood container, a curtain of dark curls obscuring the action.

Wave after wave of white, thick cum splashed into the bucket. Your throat burned even more from the forceful expulsion, tears streaming down your face as you tried to catch your breath between stomach spasms and hiccups.

Meanwhile, Bakugou simply rolled his crimson eyes in annoyance. He watched with a scowl as you succumbed to the ill effects of being orally knotted for first time, his own sense of satisfaction completely unaffected. The king redressed himself in his leather breeches, his muscular chest displayed proudly. He made no move to help or console you, instead commenting with a disdainful tone

"Y're gonna have to get better at that," he sneered, his dissatisfaction with the newest addition to his collection clear as day. Without a backward glance, he exited the tent, leaving you seething with roiling resentment.

As you continued to glare daggers at his retreating back over the rim of the bucket, an unbreakable determination burned in your eyes. The interaction had further solidified your disdain for the barbarian king. One way or another, you swore to yourself, you were going to find a way to make that man miserable.

Bakugou made his way through the field, his strides thudding quickly across the field. His blood red eyes scanned the surroundings, taking in the lush greenery and wind rustling through the grass and leaves. In the distance, he spotted Captain Kirishima, his towering figure standing tall on a hill overlooking the lake.

The captain of the king's guard, tall and muscular, wore his signature dark grey uniform adorned with a crimson cloak denoting his station. His mane of long, vibrant red hair cascaded down his back, and his curved ruby horns glinted in the late afternoon light. Nearing a staggering seven feet, Kirishima towered over most humans and dragons alike. With a languid stretch of his wings and tail, he looked every bit the formidable dragon he was. Even though his stature was imposing- off the battlefield, there was a softness to his facial features, a warmth in his scarlet eyes that contradicted his formidable appearance.

Stretching his wings and tail with a contented yawn, Kirishima paused mid-spread as he noticed his long time friend approaching. His scarlet eyes widened in alarmed confusion as he caught sight of the split upper lip on the king's face.

"What happened to your lip?" Kirishima asked baffled, his tail and wings still unintentionally frozen extended as he waited.

Bakugou's grin widened, his blood-red eyes shining with a mischievous glint. He licked his split upper lip, savoring the sting that still lingered from your bold and unexpected slap. The memory of the defiance brought a twisted satisfaction to the king.

"Hah! The village's 'peace offering' turned out fiesty" he responded, a hint of admiration laced within his tone. The fact that you had the audacity to strike him, the mighty Murder King Bakugou, had caught the barbarian off guard at the time, but it definitely made you more interesting.

Kirishima's eyebrows furrowed in surprise, his tail flicking. "They attacked you?" he asked taken aback, “Are they still breathing?” The captain knew that the barbaric ruler was not one to tolerate defiance easily, let alone physical attempts to challenge his authority. Kirishima's mind flooded with questions, but he kept them to himself as he awaited further explanation from his commanding king.

Bakugou's smug grin widened even further, his blood red eyes sparkling with perverse delight. "Oh, they're alive," he responded, his voice dripping with a sadistic satisfaction, "Just paying for their little outburst, that's all."

The words hung in the air, the implication clear. The king's tone hinted at the punishment the new consort was enduring in the privacy of the tent.

Although he hadn't yet met the new concubine, Kirishima couldn't help but feel a pang of empathy towards them. Having grown up with the royal, he knew firsthand the levels of wrath Bakugou could reach. Despite these conflicting emotions, Kirishima's primary concern was ensuring the well-being of those in the king's care, even if it meant treading carefully in the sea of Bakugou's own volatile temper. It often fell to the loyal captain to keep the king from committing actions he would regret later. Well, less regret and more inconvenience him.

"'n fact, you're on babysitting duty while I deal with the village," Bakugou said, the murderous glint in his bloody eyes betraying his enjoyment of the situation. The king's command echoed in Kirishima's ears, causing his ruby scaled tail to stiffen and his broad shoulders to tense.

Kirishima let out a silent exhale, disappointment etched across his face as he processed the news. In truth, he had hoped that Bakugou would choose to spare the villagers and seek a peaceful resolution instead of resorting to violence. The captain believed that the actions of a few rebels should not warrant bloodshed on such a scale. After all, the villagers had made multiple peace offerings to appease the barbaric king, it felt like a breach of honor for Bakugou to now go back on that agreement.

However, Kirishima knew better than to openly challenge his friend's authority. He respected the position Bakugou held and understood the consequences of rebellion. Biting his tongue, Kirishima buried his disappointment and gave a casual bow to his commanding ruler, before making his way towards the tent on the hilltop.

Kirishima stepped into the large tent, his unfurled wings brushing against the side as he entered. His wings, magnificent and majestic, spanned wide, their vibrant ruby scales shimmering under the soft glow of the tent's filtered light. The ruby scales continued down the length of his long, sinuous tail, adding a touch of elegance to his formidable presence.

As his fiery ruby eyes landed on you, Kirishima's first thought was one of surprise. The person who had struck King Bakugou looked a lot less imposing than he had anticipated. You, unlike the powerful and intimidating dragons Kirishima was used to, stood before him at a mere average human stature. If that. The only discernible dragon feature you possessed were the crystal dragon horns that adorned your head, gleaming subtly in the low lit tent. His scaled tail swayed slightly, displaying a mix of curiosity and caution.

Your eyes widened as they met Kirishima's for the first time, and your body tensed instinctively. You had been thoroughly exhausted, both physically and emotionally, by your round with Bakugou. Your throat was raw and voice gone, leaving you unable to deliver the defiant expletives you desperately wanted to snarl at the imposing dragon that had just entered the tent. But your voice failed you, leaving you with only one avenue of expression.

With a fierce hiss, you expelled every ounce of ferocity you had left buried within. Your body tensed, lips curling back in a display of bare teeth. The hiss reverberated within the confines of the tent, a desperate attempt to communicate defiance to Kirishima, to convey that you would not be dominated or humiliated any further today.

The captain took a step back, scarlet eyes swept over your form, they couldn't help but notice the torn remnants of your bodice on the floor and the ripped dress clinging to your body. The rips and tears spoke volumes of the intense encounter you had undergone at the hands of King Bakugou. His gaze then landed on the mark that marred the delicate skin of your neck—an unmistakable claim.

Kirishima's eyebrows shot up in surprise, his mind reeling with the implications.

As a dragon, Kirishima understood the significance of such a bite - it bound two souls together, sealing their connection as life partners in a way that couldn't be severed. When done correctly.

Marking a consort with a claim without fully mating them was not unheard of, but it was generally met with extreme judgment. Claims in terms of mating were typically reserved for life partners, a commitment that extended beyond physical desire. Nobles, known for their fickle nature and ever-shifting loyalties, often chose to mark their consorts with more temporary symbols, such as collars.

The ornate collars allowed the royals to easily discard their concubines when they grew bored. The nobility were notorious for their fickleness and often left their consorts behind as they moved on to fresh pursuits. By marking a consort with a bite with no intention of making you an equal, Bakugou had not only defied what little merciful convention held by the upper class but also inflicted a cruel fate upon you in Kirishima's eyes. The mark would make it near impossible for you to find a true mate, forever branded as the king's property.

Kirishima couldn't help but feel a stab of disappointment towards his lifelong friend. While he knew the barbarian ruler's tendencies on the battlefield, he hadn't thought Bakugou would exhibit such cruelty towards a consort, knowing you would likely be discarded at some point. Kirishima's own sense of honor and loyalty clashed with the conflicting emotions he felt, itching at the back of his mind as he observed the vulnerable state you found yourself in.

The captain's gaze lingered on your throat, noticing the subtle signs of strain and discomfort. The realization for the hissing aggression struck Kirishima like a bolt of lightning. You had lost your voice, and it wasn't due to natural causes or illness. No, it became clear to him that it was likely a result of your first tryst with King Bakugou, an experience that he could only imagine had been rough and brutal, throat rubbed raw from the repetitive acts demanded of you.

Feeling a surge of empathy, Captain Kirishima decided to ease the intimidating aura he unintentionally projected. He understood that his imposing stature must be overwhelming to you, given the turn of events. He folded his wings against his back, their vibrant red membranes pressed tightly together, confining their expansive span. The act served to minimize his physical presence, making him appear less threatening. He slouched slightly, adopting a more relaxed stance, and kept his hands visible, showing that he meant no harm. It was a deliberate display of non-aggression, aimed at putting you at ease, or at least as much at ease as one could be in such circumstances.

The red dragon's eyes softened as he noticed the weary look on your face. He could see the exhaustion etched into every line, body still trembling from the recent ordeals you had endured. Determined to offer some solace in this tumultuous situation, he decided to take matters into his own hands.

With slow deliberate steps, Kirishima moved away from you and towards a pile of chests near the entrance of the war tent. These chests contained spoils from the village, items meant to appease the king after their attack on his soldiers. Kirishima knew that among them, there was a chest filled with garments. Opening one of the chests, he carefully sifted through the contents until he found a fine yet simple dress that roughly matched your size.

A small smile tugged at the corners of Kirishima's lips as he gently tossed the dress onto the table, positioning it between the tow of you. Its delicate fabric fluttering in the air before settling down over the wood. It was a small gesture, but meant to convey that he harbored no ill intentions.

It was a silent message that you deserved respect and dignity, even in this tumultuous situation.

Sensing that you needed some space to collect yourself and change, Kirishima took a much smaller chest from the pile. He left the tent, giving you room to breathe and reckon with the pent-up emotions that surely swirled like storm clouds.

As the cool mountain breeze blew through his hair, Kirishima found a suitable spot a few paces from the tent, overlooking the serene lake in the warm hues of late afternoon light. With deftness and precision, he constructed a small firepit, arranging the rocks in a circle. As the dragon exhaled softly, a gentle stream of fire escaped his lips, the light glinting off his curved ruby horns. The flickering flames danced and crackled, casting a comforting glow over the hilltop.

As the captain patiently waited for the water to heat, he glanced back towards the war tent, briefly catching sparkle of your horns through the opening. His heart went out to you. Though he understood the gravity of Bakugou's actions, Kirishima couldn't help but feel a creeping sense of responsibility in making sure you felt as comfortable as possible, despite the circumstances.

Just as the water in the kettle neared boiling, Kirishima activated his innate talent. His hands hardened, gaining an impressive durability that allowed him to handle the intense heat without harm. With a swift motion, he reached for the kettle, hands possessing the resilience of a dragon's scales. His grip was confident and steady as he effortlessly removed the kettle from the fire, preventing the water from boiling. He gently tossed the healing tea leaves into the kettle, watching as they swirled and danced in the near-boiling water. The soothing aroma of the tea began to waft through the air, carrying with it hints of delicate flowers and calming herbs.

With a careful hand, Kirishima reached into the tea chest, procuring a magnificent stained glass teacup that shimmered in hues of red and amber. Draconic stained glass was a rarity, prized for its strength and ethereal beauty. The light of the late sun cascaded through the vibrant colors, casting an enchanting glow on his hands.

Unwrapping the glass bottles, the captain uncorked the crystallized honey and yuzu peel. He slowly poured a generous amount of honey into the teacup, its golden texture illuminated by the sunlight. Next, he added a pinch of the fragrant dried yuzu peel, allowing its subtly sweet and citrusy scent to infuse the air. These ingredients held healing properties, meant to soothe and restore vitality to worn souls. The captain took extra care, ensuring that the precise balance of ingredients was met, creating a concoction that he hoped would bring some measure of comfort to your weary spirit.

With a quiet exhale, Kirishima patiently awaited the completion of the tea's steeping process. He hoped that the healing properties of the tea, combined with the warmth and tranquility of their surroundings, would provide a much-needed respite for your body and mind. In this moment of quiet reflection, he couldn't help but hope that this small act of kindness would bring some solace amidst the chaos that was now your new life in royal confines.

As the tantalizing fragrance of the healing tea filled the air, it didn't take long for you to emerge from the confines of the tent, eyes cautiously studying Kirishima's every move. Clad in the simple yet elegant dress he had provided you, features betraying a mix of cautious curiosity, before you fully exited the tent.

Scarlet eyes met yours as he poured the infused brew into the stained-glass teacup, the colors of the evening sun casting a mesmerizing glow through its amber and red hues. With a delicate touch, he extended the teacup towards you, his gentle gesture offering a sense of peace and comfort amongst the chaos.

Your gaze flickered between the beautiful teacup in Kirishima's hands and his eyes, wariness slowly giving way to a glimmer of trust. You lowered yourself onto the cushion placed by the fire, its warmth seeping through the fabric and into your tired body. Settling in, you positioned yourself to face the serene vista of the lake, where the calm waters mirrored the vibrant shades of the setting sun.

Kirishima, mindful of your nervous vigilance, kept his movements steady and reassuring. His hand extended further, confidently offering you the teacup of healing brew. The crimson colored light filtering through the stained glass seemed to dance and flicker as if carrying with it a promise of respite.

A soft smile tugged at Kirishima's lips as he spoke, his voice gentle yet filled with earnest sincerity. "Can we start over? I'm Captain Kirishima." In that simple statement, he hoped to convey that he was not just a guard but someone who, at their heart, genuinely cared. Someone who would listen and support you, should you choose to share your burdens.

He waited patiently, the teacup held delicately between the two of you, awaiting your response. In this moment, amidst the tranquil beauty of the lake and the tender offering of healing tea, he hoped that they could find a glimmer of solace and a fresh beginning.

IRL Safety Disclaimer: Never Pull A Partner Up By Their Hair Off of a Surface. You Will Injure Someone.

Taglist: @themythicaldisaster

Comments and Reblogs carry me through the week!

[justaaveragereader]

Devil In Disguise

Pairing: Choi San x Reader

Word Count: 4.7k

Genre: Smut, Dom!Reader x Sub!Choi San

Warnings⛔️: Unprotected Sex (Don’t Do That), Cream Pie, Choking, Oral (Receiving), Infidelity, Sub!San, Dom!Reader, ManEater Reader, Rough Sex, Degrading, Spanking, Pussy Whipped San, Manipulation, Now If I Missed Anything, Let Me Know👀😚!

NSFW & Warnings Under Cut - Minors DNI!!!🔞

😈😈😈😈😈😈😈😈😈😈😈😈😈😈😈😈

You made men and women fall to your feet. Face of an angel, truly. Some think you floated down from heaven. To pure be dating Jung Wooyoung.

You were sitting on Wooyoungs lap as he laughed at another one of Jonghos jokes, the bass from the music slightly annoying you. Your arm thrown around the back of his neck playing with the hairs on the end of his hairline while letting your eyes shift around the room taking in your surroundings.

Wooyoungs hands dangerously drifted down to your thigh, giving it a tight squeeze causing you to slightly wince. Just as you were about to give Wooyoung a piece of your mind, everyone started to hoot and holler. The man of the hour finally entered the room, going on a alcohol run before he was even able to be at the party.

“San-Ah!” Yeosang shouted, excited to see the extra additions of alcohol more than he was to see San.

He was gorgeous, broad shoulders, pink pretty plush lips, a smile that could make a woman drop to her knees. A successful career, he was the full package. Everyone wanted a man like Choi San. You wanted a man like Choi San.

Placing the additional alcohol on a small table near the kitchen, you watch the way his arms flex as he lifts the bags. Muscles just bulging. You are smooth in the way you shift your gaze around, making sure not to spend too long ogling at the man. Your fingers continue to play in Wooyoungs hair. Your gaze shifts over to his other friends. Jeong Yunho, tall and handsome, big doe eyes, and you are sure he’s big somewhere else. You’ve caught him a couple times checking you out but he’s never seemed to notice the lingering gaze you’d have on him. Then there is Choi Jongho, strong strapping Choi Jongho, hands and thighs that could make a woman cry. You had seen him smush a melon in half with his bare hands. You wanted to suck the melon juice off of his fingers but you never teetered that line.

Kim Hongjoong, while he was quite mysterious he was always busy, you never knew much about him besides he worked hard as a producer, he was subtle with his sex appeal but he still had some, a sex appeal you always wanted to explore. Then came the groups oldest, Park Seonghwa, innocent by day, demon by night, you and Wooyoung let him stay at your apartment for the weekend one time, his eyes shifted and shaded you so often. When Woo would leave you’d put extra sway in your hips so you could feel his stare on you. Still believing that you were too “innocent”, to “naive” to be with a man like Jung Wooyoung. If only they knew…

Then you had Kang Yeosang, you could feel his gaze on you when you were alone. You loved to lock eyes with him, it was like a game of domination, waiting to see who would break eye contact first, ten out of ten it was always him who broke it. He’d get so tense, so flustered at your gaze. It was a victory to know you had Wooyoungs best friend in a permanent state of being flustered. Last but not least you had Song Mingi, you were convinced life blessed him with that height and body to make up for the dominance he lacked in the bedroom, once while alone, in a tipsy state he hit on you, not expecting you to meet his gaze and to make him fold faster than you could fold a piece of paper, behind those bold eyes of his, was just a simple submissive man. What a pity.

You always wanted to take a dip into what Choi San would be like, his soft dimpled smile, his kind gestures. It was hard to believe him and Wooyoung were best friends. You loved Wooyoung but the “being in love” phase was long gone. Looking at it now, you were curious as to if there was ever a “love” phase for him from your end. Your friends called you a maneater and did you love it. You had a face a naive man would trust, your actions always proved otherwise.

Wooyoung loves you, yet you knew he wasn’t in love with you. He didn’t want to leave you, he knew he could do no better. Where would he find arm candy like you? He never caught on to the sexual tension between you and his friends, yea he knew they found you hot, but what he didn’t know is that you lived for their burning stare. One stare in particular, Choi San.

There he was making his way towards the friend group, your nails slightly scraping at the skin on the back of Wooyoungs neck. Big dimpled smile on display, you wanted to ruin him in more ways than one.

“Come sit by me!” Wooyoung squeaked, patting the area on the couch cushion beside him, trying his best to be heard over the loud bass. Dodging his way over people's feet, making sure not to step on anyone he happily takes a seat. Eyes crushed into beautiful crescent moons.

“Hey Y/n! Are you enjoying yourself?” He asks sitting down, two bottles of water, and a bottle of Soju for Wooyoung. You smile back politely, fingers pausing before your hand rakes down Wooyoungs chest reaching out for the other water bottle.

“You always throw a big party! I thought this was supposed to be small?” You speak through a chuckle, looking around at the house full of people, a small get together that turned into a full house. Cracking the cap off the soju Wooyoung guzzles down some of the clear liquid. Hand on your thigh, rubbing small circles in your skin, his eyes boar around the place while you see Sans eyes flicker to the gesture before letting out a small cough and looking around the room.

“It was supposed to be…but someone, I’m not going to name any names, told everyone about it.”

“The more the merrier San-Ah. Learn how to live!”

“It’s my get together yet I was on an alcohol run before it started, how is that possible?”

Wooyoung shrugs his shoulders while letting out a laugh, his hand coming to shove Sans shoulder. You could feel the love between them, between all the members. They truly were a family unit. How nice.

San could feel you staring at him, you were like a temptress. He knew deep down you were no good, yet he wanted you in various ways. He wanted you mentally, physically, emotionally, he wanted you forever.

You gaze was like fire, his skin was nothing but gasoline, you sparked him up every time you were near. Your perfume alone made him rock hard, his hands fiddle with the water bottle. Barely hearing anything that Wooyoung is saying, the soju runs its course through Woo making him more chatty than usual. Clearly getting tipsy he starts antagonizing Jongho, saying he can clearly drink him under the rug.

Letting out a small chuckle you stand up so that Wooyoung can make his way over to Jongho to continue the argument, and to show Jongho that his quote on quote “Hyung can drink him into the grave.” You and San watch the banter that goes on. Letting out a small chuckle you are staring straight but eye him up out of the corner of your eye. A smirk tugging on your lips. A hand coming up to the back of his hairline, running your nails across it, you see him break out into goosebumps. Your cool fingertips beyond enticing to him.

“Mind telling me where the bathroom is Sannie? You know I always forget.”

You can hear him gulp, you both are most likely the most sober at the party. You know where the bathroom is but you loved to play cat and mouse with him.

Nodding his head, he turns his head to throw a glance at the hallway that the bathroom is by. A smile graces your face, teeth on full display for him. You stand up, adjusting your pants just so he can have a show as you walk to Wooyoung to tell him you are going to be back, you are just headed to the restroom. To wrapped up in the drinking game all the members except San is playing, he brushes you off.

You know he’s looking, you can feel his gaze on your ass. Making your way towards the restroom that’s located in Sans room, not the one that’s located in the bathroom. Freshening up a bit, because you know you will be getting laid tonight, it’s just a matter of fact who it will be.

~~~~~

Just as you are going to open the bathroom door you hear sounds of movement on the other. Worried it’s two people fucking in Sans room you try to ease the door open to be surprised by it being San. Alone, in his bedroom, sporting a hard bulge in his pants. He was mouthwatering. With a firm hand he grabs himself, trying to ease some tension. Your eyes lift over to his door, seeing that it’s locked. Oh. So he did come in here for some special alone time.

You let out a small chuckle, causing San to quickly whip around, both hands now covering his thick hard on that can be easily seen through his pants. You see the flush on his face travel from his face to his neck. You wonder if his cock will be flushed the same way he is.

“Y-Y/N! I didn’t know you were here!” He squeaks out, voice layered with nerves.

You lean up against the door frame of the bathroom, arms crossing under your chest to have your tits poke out a bit more, his eyes flicker to your cleavage shamelessly, what a man.

“The other bathroom was occupied. I thought you wouldn’t mind if I used yours.” Your voice drips out, thicker than honey. You swear you see his eyes swirl with lust. Eyeing him up and down like he was candy. You could visibly see him gulp. Making your way over to where he was seated, standing in front of his open legs with his hands still covering his bulge. Your fingers lightly brush over his broad shoulders. His body does a noticeable shiver.

“My, my, my Choi San. Still as handsome as ever.” You whisper out, a clear smirk on your face, lips stretching into a grin.

San felt his knees buckle, this was wrong he shouldn’t be doing this, Wooyoung was his best friend. You were his bestfriends girlfriend, the ultimate forbidden fruit. Nodding his head at your words. His eyes glued to the floor. Trying to not grab the forbidden fruit that waves in front of his face.

“Thank you.” He slowly says, voice barely above a whisper. You can see his cock slightly twitch with each word that drops out of your mouth.

“You shouldn’t be here.” He whispers again, hands still trying to hide his jumping bulge.

Your fingers come up to play with the shirt that is being stretched by his wide shoulders. Your touch felt like fire on his ice body. He lets out a small whimper. If he made noises like that just based on your small touch, what would happen when his cock was stuffed inside you?

“I was just using the restroom Sannie, no harm in that. Unless…” you drift off at the end of your sentence. His eyes looking up at you, he swore he saw doves fly from around your head, and a light shine. They did say that the devil was once the most beautifulest angel.

“Unless what..?”

“Unless you don’t want me here, I can g-.”

“No!” He quickly speaks out, noticing your eyes grow hooded. Gaze feeling like you’ve caught a mouse in your trap. Clearing his throat he speaks up.

“I mean…what I meant was…if you needed the restroom by all means, please use it.”

Your fingers dance down his chest, nails scraping over his pecks. God, what a hunk.

“I don’t think we should be doing this…what about Wooyoung? What would he think?” He whispers out, trying to hold onto any morals he had left, you haven't even done much but yet he was withering away.

“I don’t know Sannie, you tell me. What would he think? He is your best friend, isn’t he?” You whisper out, hand now getting dangerously lower. As your fingers graze over his goosebump littered body he lets out a whimper.

“I’m not going to do anything you don’t want me to do. If you want me to go, I’ll go.” You lift your hands off of him, grazing a piece of his pants, your fingers feeling over his bulge. Taking a step back, his hand shoots out to grab your hips, not letting you step back any further. He’s biting his lip so much it’ll start bleeding any second. Bringing your thumb up to his lips you pull his bottom lip out. Running the pad of your thumb over it. His eyes bore up at you, unshed tears in his eyes. Was it shame/guilt making him feel this way? Or was it his undying desire for his bestfriends girlfriend?

“I want you so bad, I’ve always wanted you so bad Y/N.” He whimpers out, unshed tears now falling down his face. Your pussy clenched at the sight. You truly were making this man go against all his morals. Seonghwa did say once that San never betrays. Guess that was a lie. Everyone always has their own price.

Your fingers rake through his dark locks. Cooing at him, bringing his head to your stomach to let him cry. The light scratch at his scalp was driving him insane. Opening his legs further so you could stand in between them. You could feel his throbbing member on your own leg. God, he was blessed.

His hands start to roam your lower body, hesitating before slowly running down the side of your hips, circling back to grab two handfuls of your ass. You let out a small hum. Enjoying his strong hands on your body. His cologne flooding your nostrils now. Running your hands down to the back of his shirt you grab it, pulling his shirt over his head, tossing it to the floor. Stepping back as far as you could with his hands holding onto your hips. You can finally ogle at his body, he was built like a literal God.

Nails raking down his chest, leaving red angry lines on his skin. Tossing his head back, he groans out. Hands still full of your ass, he pulls you closer to him, so close you wind up knocking him back, his body hitting the mattress while you fall on top of him. One arm keeps you held up, while your other arm is braced against his chest. You grip his chin lightly, pulling him back into reality. Bringing your lips down you push your soft lip gloss coated lips against his. Licking his bottom lip you pull away, his hand shoots up to the back of your head pulling you back in, he couldn’t settle for that swift peck you gave him. He was needy, he needed you now, he needed you yesterday, he needed you when you agreed to be an item with his best friend. The kiss starts out hot, his tongue crashing against yours in a frenzy, trying to soak all of you in.

Groaning into the kiss, his hands roam all over your body, tugging at the clothes you are wearing. The way he’s pulling on them you'd assume he was trying to shred them to pieces. The kiss gets needier, teeth starting to clash, lips starting to wander to necks. Your fingers lightly tug on his hair, letting out a groan, you can feel his cock twitch at the tug. Smiling to yourself you pull back, pulling your shirt over your head. You swear you saw his eyes almost bug out. Grabbing his hands from your ass you stand up, pulling your pants along with your panties down. Foreplay in your eyes was over. You came here for one thing, and one thing only. Dick.

His eyes don’t know where to look, it’s all happening so fast, palming himself over his pants he lets out a small hiss. He’s rock hard, worried he might shoot his load if you even touch him with your naked body.

Unbuttoning his pants, cock begging to be free. He sits up, shimming his pants down, boxers still on. Doing nothing to hide his throbbing member. Your mouth moistens, oh how you want to shove his cock down your throat. Your hand runs delicately over his peck before pushing him back down so he’s laying flat on his back, sitting on his legs right before his cock so you can get a good look at all of him. His eyes bore up at you, as if you were playing God. Your nails run down the outline of his cock. Causing his whole body to shiver, grabbing your hand lightly, you look up at him amused.

“What’s wrong baby? Are you going to cum already?” You say through a pout, sarcasm thick in your voice. His chest flushed red again, beginning to pant, he nods his head quickly. Any form of verbal communication he has right now, has left the room.

You grab his cock through his boxers causing his hips to jerk up. Any other time he would’ve been embarrassed by how much a woman had affected him but the girl of his dreams was sitting on him in her bra, bare wet pussy on display for him. How could he care?

Tugging on the band of his boxers letting it snap against his skin, he lets out a moan. A smirk grows on your face. Tugging on the band, you let it snap against him again. Smirk growing by each pathetic moan he lets out. You rub the irritated skin where the band snapped against. Getting up off his legs, crawling on the side of him, tossing your leg over his chest, ass in his face, pussy on his chest. Looking back at him he’s staring at your core like it’s dessert. You push his boxers down letting his thick cock spring free, wet patches coat the boxers.

Bending over you blow on the head of his cock, earning a small whine from him. Arching your back so he has full access to your dripping cunt. You give his slit a lick, smearing his precum around. His hands jolt to your hips, trying to stabilize himself before he can even get a taste of you. Licking his lips he spreads your ass cheeks open to get a better view of your cunt. Eyes rolling back almost immediately, you were dripping.

Darting his tongue he instantly latches on to your clit. Causing you to let out a moan. His silky tongue runs along your folds, dipping into your hole, groaning at the way you taste, he sticks his tongue as far as it can go into you. Your mouth drops open, panting against his cock, trying your best to put it in your mouth but it’s hard when he's eating your pussy like it’s his last meal on earth. Just as you lock lips around the tip of him, his arms reach around to your upper body, right below your tits pulling you back to you were fully seated on his face. Your head falling back instantly. Giving your ass a harsh slap, he grabs both cheeks jiggling them while his face is buried into your cunt. Your body begins to clam up with sweat. The way he’s working your clit while thrashing his head back and forth has you ready to see another universe.

You begin bouncing on his face, causing him to groan, his neglected cock oozing with beads of pre cum. Hands still slapping your ass while keeping your cheeks spread so he could get full access to your pussy is driving you crazy. So wrapped up in the pleasure of bouncing on his face your orgasm approaches before you have time to even tell him, your back arches, fingernails digging into his thighs, surely to leave some marks. You do nothing to hide your loud moan as you reach climax. The poor people who pass by clearly know two people are in here fucking. But the thrill of them not knowing who is enticing. Slurping your juices down like he’s been deprived of fluids all his life. He fully understands why Adam and Eve ate that apple, forbidden fruit is so delicious.

Body feeling like a limp noodle you try your best to remain upright, his tongue still thrashing around your wet cunt causing you to let out small whimpers. Tossing your leg off of his chest, trying your hardest to pry him off of your pussy. Turning around so you are face to face with him, you run your thumb along his bottom lip, pulling down on it, he so easily submits to you, tongue rolling out , you spit into his mouth. You want him to feel as dirty as this situation is. You want him to bask in the delight of fucking you, yet you see him as easy. Fucking his best friends girlfriend, what a slut. As soon as you spit, it hits his tongue, letting out a moan, dick bobbing so hard you feel it brush the back of your thighs. Lining his cock up with your sopping entrance you slowly slide down his shaft. Giving your hips an experimental roll, his hands shoot down to your hips, causing them to stop.

His eyes scrunched shut, panting heavily, toes instantly in a curl position. Cooing at his disarrayed state you run your fingers down the sides of his face. You already got yours, you are being nice enough to let him get his.

“You're going to cum already baby? Is my cunt so good that one bounce in and you are going to come undone?” You chuckle. Lifting your hips slightly before slamming back down causing his whole body to jerk, his back arches off the bed. Shooting his load deep into you. His heavy panting filled the warm room. His eyes are squeezed tight, too lost in the feeling of his orgasm. Did you just turn Choi San into a minute man…?

You chuckle before you pick yourself up and start bouncing swiftly on his cock, his toes curl in an instant. Your warm wet walls wrapped his clock with so much ease. Hugging him tight each time you shifted up. Overstimulation causing him to whimper out your name in a whiny voice. His hands drop to your ass, holding onto it for dear life. As you bounce up and down slamming your cunt onto him, you place your hands onto his chest, getting better leverage to fuck your self on him. Bringing your face down to his lips lightly brushing over his plump moist ones.

“Am I fucking you good San-Ah?” You say with a crooked smile on your face. He looks fucked out already, his eyes twinkling under the room light.

You are bouncing with determination, cracking his eyes open to get a better look at you, he sees the crazed look in your eyes. You truly are the devil.

“Oh my fucking god.” He moans out, drool starting to pour from the side of his mouth. You wrap a hand around his neck. Giving it a slight squeeze, causing him to place his feet on the bed, trying his best to thrust up into you, he couldn’t get enough of your cunt. If he could be buried into it all the time, he would. His sloppy thrust trying to meet your heavy bouncing. Each time you go down you can feel your wetness leaking down his cock, dropping down to his balls. His own inner thighs become moist with your juices.

“Whose fucking you this good baby?” You groan out against his neck, placing sloppy kisses along his collar bone. While one hand remained firm on his thick neck. It was the ultimate power move. He was beneath you, quite figuratively and literally. Making sure not to leave any marks. He wasn’t yours to claim.

“You are!” He whimpers out, hand coming down to crack against your ass. While he holds the other ass cheek, lifting you up and down so you could ride him harder and faster.

“That’s right baby…I am fucking you this good.”

You pant out into his ear, tongue darting out to lick the skin close to his ear. Your cool tongue on him pushes him over the edge. Both his hands now jack hammering you up and down his cock. You let him freely bounce you around like you are a rag doll. Not even caring if you come this second time around. You let him freely use you.

“Fuck fuck fuck!” He loudly groans out. Eyes squeezed shut, toes curling harder, his head tossed back. It’s such a shame Wooyoung asked you out first. If you had known San looked like an absolute god while cumming you would’ve turned down Wooyoungs offer to go public. His hips jerk one last time while he slams you down onto him, your cunt clenches as soon as you feel his same load shoot deep into you. Core muscles flexing because of how hard he came, finally relaxes. His body falls to a limp in an instant. You stand up slowly easing off his cock, you both let out a small hiss. As you stand onto your feet, his cum instantly starts to ooze out of you. Waddling over to the bathroom, you try to clean yourself up the best way possible. Not offering him any pillow talk or aftercare. You got what you came for.

Walking back into the bedroom you see San with his eyes still blissfully shut, cock now softening. Picking your clothes up off the floor you pulled your panties back on, your pants following behind. San sat up in bed, seeing you shuffle around to toss on your clothes.

“Where are you going?” He pants out, still in complete awestruck of the mind blowing orgasm you gave him.

You chuckle to yourself, shaking your head slightly while throwing your shoes back on.

“I’m going back to the party, Sannie. Can’t lay in bed with you all night now.” You get up correcting your smudged lip gloss and sweated out mascara. He bores his eyes into the back of your head. Feeling his heart snap into two. He didn’t know what was eating him more. Guilt, or sadness. You coo at San, making your way over to the side of the bed he was currently on. Placing both hands on his face, mushing his lips together.

“Sannie my love, did you think we were going to lay here and cuddle? What would Wooyoung think? Isn’t that what you told me before? Your best friend Wooyoung.” Your sticky lip glossed lips peck him quickly. Drawing away to fast for his liking.

“But I’m in love with you..” He squeaks out through squished cheeks. A heavy blush coating his chest and cheeks. Not even caring that you brought up Woo. You plagued his mind. You laugh loudly, the mockery vibrating off of the walls. You kiss his nose before standing up making your way to exit the bedroom.

“I’m in love with you too Sannie, in love with you just like I’m in love with Wooyoung.” You say through a chuckle.

“But sometimes love just doesn’t cut it anymore Sannie.” You say unlocking the door and twisting the knob.

“If it makes you feel better, your cock was amazing. That was ‘in love’ worthy sex right there.” As you stepped out of the room the sound of your shoes echoed through the empty hall. Not caring if anyone saw you leaving Sans room. You follow the loud music back to the living room where your boyfriend awaited you. You could feel the music carrying you.

“You doing anything to keep her by your side

Because she says she love you, love you long

Time, she’s a maneater, make you work hard,

Make you spend hard, make you want all of her

Love, she’s a maneater.

😈😈😈😈😈😈😈😈😈😈😈😈😈😈😈😈😈

A/N: When I tell y’all the amount of times I had Maneater by Nelly Furtado on repeat should be illegal💀. This song was and still is my shiiiiittttt! I love reading about maneater women bc like periodddd! Had him pussywhipped so early on. Anyways I hope you all enjoy this one💕👏🏼!

[tearsofastraeax]

May I request a petite reader who sees Ghost drinking and wants to have some too, but gets rejected by something like “Kids shouldn’t drink”, so they compete with him that whoever becomes intoxicated first needs to listen to the other’s request. Ghost is confident at first but reader drinks him under the table. TYVM!

This was so fun to write, thank you for your request 💖

pairing: ghost x reader tw: alcohol use word count: 1.3k

You were out at the pub with a couple of your friends when you saw him. Sitting all by himself at the bar, tucked into the corner and hidden away by shadows. You could hardly make out his face as you watched him, but what you did see were broad shoulders and thick arms. He looked so mysterious and so ... intoxicating it was hard to take your eyes off him.

All throughout the night you felt your gaze wandering to him, nursing on his beer in silence. Your body was buzzing with the need to go up to him, to see him up close, to hear his voice and to do so many more things. You saw his head turn your way then, your eyes immediately turning back to your friends. His gaze felt heavy on you, your cheeks warming at the thought of what could be.

It took you a couple of minutes after to gather your courage. You downed your beer in one gulp and stood up, before this pent up energy left you again and all this would be was a staring contest with some mysterious man you'd think about later when you were alone in bed, your fingers slipping underneath the waistband of your underwear.

Your feet seemed to carry you toward him more by themselves than your active participation, your thoughts were racing a mile a minute, and you still had to figure out what to actually say to him.

"Can I get a drink too?" You blurted out once you stood before him.

Classic, could you have said that any less aggressive? Or maybe at least said hello first, how about that? But you tried to swallow down the insecurity and attempted to plaster a soft smile across your face.

He turned to you then, his eyes roaming over you, from your face, over your body, all the way to your feet. When he looked up again, your breath caught in your throat. This man was going to be the death of you without even saying a word.

"Don't think kids are allowed to drink yet." His gruff voice cut through the anxiety bubbling up in your stomach.

You could hardly breathe, the sound of his voice would surely bounce through your mind for the next weeks.

And ... wait, what? Did he just call you a child? Your arms crossed over your chest, your chin tilted up in defiance, your face forming a sour expression.

"I'm not a fucking child you know."

"Sure look like one."

"Excuse me, what? Bet I could drink you under the table, the way you're sipping on that drink for the last two hours. Probably can't handle shit, can you?" Your voice sounded more hostile than you intended as it reverberated in your ears.

His eyebrows shoot up into his hairline as he looked at you, unimpressed and so fucking agitating. You didn't know if you wanted to punch the man right in the face or kiss him instead.

"You've been watching me?"

"I ... - what?! No. You up for the challenge or not?"

"Try me then, don't think you can handle half of what I can."

He sounded so sure of himself, so smug. The hints of a self-assured smile crossing over his features, which made you even surer of your plan to fuck this man up and show him how you definitely were not a goddamn child.

You ordered the first round and sat down next to him. Up close he looked even more handsome, scars adorning the skin you could see peaking out from his clothes, his face and his hands. You faintly wondered how he had gotten them. The bartender saved you from getting lost even further in your adoration of the guy. He placed 4 shots of whiskey and two beers in front of you.

"I'm y/n by the way."

"Ghost."

"Ghost? What kinda name is Ghost?"

Instead of answering you he looked at you again, his eyes burning into yours. Any words left on the tip of your tongue died out then, the intensity of his stare making little butterflies tango dance in your stomach.

"What's your stake?" He asked, and you watched as he grabbed the first shot, wrapping his fingers gently around the glass.

"How about bragging rights ... and your number." You added the last part quickly, afraid that if you thought about it too much you would shy back.

He searched your face for something, before a slight smile spread across his features.

"Alright, bragging rights and my number. Fine." You thought you saw the slightest bit of heat in his eyes as he answered, but maybe you were just imagining it.

"And what's your stake?"

He laughed now, a low and rasping sound that made your body tingle. "You'll find out when I beat you."

But you never found out. About an hour later, Ghost was slurring his words, the accent heavier, the smiles coming more easily.

You on the other hand were handling your liquor pretty well, sure it didn't leave you unaffected, but you were holding yourself up far better than he was.

"So, I think we know who the winner is." You exclaimed, a shit eating grin spreading over your lips.

"I ... - uhh, nah."

"What? Clearly you're way drunker than I am."

He hiccuped. "'s not true."

One of your eyebrows shot up, and you looked at him in disbelief. What a thick headed man he was. He made your blood boil, in the good and the bad way. The frustration felt like it was seeping out of your pores, your eyes staring him down.

"Don't get all ... ye know - fussy, little lady."

"Little ... little lady?" You felt heat rising into your cheeks at his words, and a traitorous feeling settling between your legs.

"Fucking unbelievable..." You muttered to yourself before you looked at him again, nearly getting lost in his dreamy - albeit, slightly drunk looking eyes, an idea forming in your mind.

"I dare you to get up right now and walk in a straight line." You grinned at him.

"Dou ... double dare you."

"To do what exactly?"

"Walk..."

"OH MY GOD, just admit you're drunker than I am."

His face pulled into a stoic facade, well at least he could still do that quite well, no matter how drunk he was. To prove his point to you he stood up, or at least he tried, nearly crashing face first into the floor had he not balanced himself with a hand on the bar.

"Fine." He plopped back down on the chair, and looked at you rather displeased. "You win."

A shit eating grin spread across your face. "Hell yea, I told you. Not a child anymore, am I?!"

Without another word he slid over a folded up piece of paper. His defeat evident in his slumped shoulders. You grabbed the paper and peaked inside, true to his words, his number was scribbled on there and a grin crossed your lips.

"Oh come one now, don't be a sore loser. You can get a revanche next time if you want." While you spoke you carefully bumped your shoulder into his, feeling the broad muscles underneath his shirt. Oh how you wished for a re-do of this, maybe next time a bit more private, maybe a bit more intimate ... You were so caught up in your drifting thoughts you nearly missed the slightest hint of a smile that spread across his features.

"Alright, hun'. A revanche then, you have my number." With that Ghost made to stand up again, this time more sure of his footing.

You watched as he threw some bills on the bar counter, turned and disappeared out of the door. His broad shoulders and delicious backside hopefully ingrained into your mind for the next time you felt a little lonely.

I think this calls for a part 2, maybe where reader gets a lil bit more close and personal with Ghost 🤭

✧ check out my masterlist for more ✧

[txttletale]

You've spoken at length about how the Lancer setting is just wildly incongruent with what the authors think it is at length, and I agree wholeheartedly. My question is, largely for the purpose of if I ever want to run a game of it again, how would you make the setting carry that tone the authors think it has without too terribly much rewriting? Say, from the point of 'there was a revolution to overthrow seccom'? I love the 'gallant warriors of liberation in giant robots' and would like it if the game actually was that.

But the more the bureaucratic apparatus is “redistributed” among the various bourgeois and petty-bourgeois parties , the more keenly aware the oppressed classes, and the proletariat at their head, become of their irreconcilable hostility to the whole of bourgeois society. Hence the need for all bourgeois parties, even for the most democratic and "revolutionary-democratic" among them, to intensify repressive measures against the revolutionary proletariat, to strengthen the apparatus of coercion, i.e., the state machine. This course of events compels the revolution "to concentrate all its forces of destruction" against the state power, and to set itself the aim, not of improving the state machine, but of smashing and destroying it.

-- Vladimir Lenin, The State & Revolution

In the heady days after the revolution, the air buzzed with potential. The future was today. Hazy, gaseous dreams of liberation patiently awaited their turn to be forged into something you could touch. But those days didn't last for long. The coalition was already a fragile thing during the revolution, and now that it was faced with the levers of Union's imperial machine each hairline crack became a chasm. The corporate armies, who had marched under the banner of the enormous profits locked away behind Harrison Armory's legal monopolies, had reached their personal horizons and refused to move an inch further. The moderates and high-class intellectuals saw the wealth that Union funneled from its edges being distributed generously to the citizens of the Core Worlds and declared a new economic paradigm of post-scarcity and mutual wealth. The anarchist cells with their mysterious reality-hacking mechs were the first to come to the only inevitable conclusion: the revolution was not over.

Now that the old order had been surgically deposed, the new order was finding itself fitting comfortably in its throne. Humbled and stripped of its previous privileges, Harrison Armory was welcomed back into the halls of power under the smiling auspices of free enterprise. Groundbreaking legislation was still being written in the halls of ThirdComm--guaranteeing the right of worlds to self-determination, the rights of clones to live freely, even radical and heretofore-unthinkable proposals laying the groundwork for an end to NHP-shackling. But the old revolutionaries had grown weary and cautious (and, of course, had begun to personally experience the economic benefits of Union's vast hegemony). To enforce this legislation, they argued, would be a de facto redeclaration of war against the corpostates, a disaster for the trade networks on which our wealth depends. To those who still harboued the hopes of revolutionary change, this was a loud and clear signal: the war had not ended. The revolution was not over.

The All-Galaxy Revolutionary Front as it exists now is a set of strange bedfellows. The disciplined combat battalions of the Communist Party fly in perfect harmony, distinguishable by their red battle flags, mass-produced in collectivized forges with reverse-engineered corpo tech. The motley individual oddities that the anarchists call their mechs, their open-source physics-bending HORUS peculiarities, strike unpredictably, in and out of ThirdComm's sight. But the one thing which binds them all, as they fight for the liberation of the peripheral worlds, for the wealth of mines and factories to enrich the people of the planets they're built on instead of fueling ever-replenishing consumption in the distant Core, is that they still have those old revolutionary dreams.

This is what it means to be a Lancer: to be willing to struggle. To acknowledge that the revolution is not over.

[kryptokent]

clark kent (smallville) x male reader

before clark meets up with you for a coffee date, his mother makes an unusual discovery in the laundry basket.

warnings/content: lead up to smut but fade to black, established relationship, you know about his powers, bisexual clark :3

word count: 1.7k

also on ao3!

dinosaur boxers

“Hm,” Martha murmurs, rifling through the laundry basket and grabbing at an item. “I’ve never seen these before.”

“What is it, Martha?” Jonathan asks, peering over that morning’s newspaper. 

She turns around and holds up a pair of boxers. “These aren’t yours, are they?”

Jonathan raises an eyebrow at the design. “No. Must be Clark’s.” He shakes his head with a huff of laughter and turns back to the newspaper. “Although I can’t imagine him wearing that.”

“I dunno. I didn’t buy these for him.”

Chuckling to himself, Jonathan folds the paper and places it on the table, standing up to make his way over to her. “Martha, Clark is 18. I’m sure he’s old enough to buy his own underwear by now.”

“Well, yeah, but he…” She starts, trailing off. Instead, she gives him an embarrassed smile. “Yes, I suppose you’re right.”

“When am I ever wrong?” He smirks, pressing a kiss to her forehead. Making his way back to the kitchen table, he grabs his jacket and shrugs it on. “Speaking of Clark, where is that–”

“You were speaking about me?” Clark asks, bounding down the stairs with a grin. “Good things, I hope.”

“We were just talking about this mystery underwear your mom found.”

Clark tilts his head and turns to his mother, the smile slipping off his face immediately at the sight. She waves the boxers, still holding them in front of her chest, and asks, “These yours?”

“Uh, y-yes,” Clark manages to get out through a cough. Martha’s eyebrows knit together and Jonathan turns back to face him with his eyebrows reaching his hairline. Clark clears his throat and smiles again. “Yes. Of course they’re mine, mom, who else’s would they be?”

She takes that as an acceptable answer and shrugs, dropping them back into the basket. “Just didn't think dinosaur-themed boxers were your thing.”

His face heats up. “Trying something new. Anyways, gotta go.” He’s out the door before anyone else can say anything.

Staring at the door in confusion, Jonathan shakes his head. “That was weird, wasn’t it?”

“Definitely. Think he’s hiding something?”

He thinks for a moment. “That he really likes dinosaurs.”

Outside, Clark takes a few deep breaths to calm himself. That was close, he thinks, before shooting off toward the Talon. He comes to a stop at the back alley, glancing around to make sure no one's nearby to notice him, and makes his way to the front of the building. To his surprise, you’re already standing at the corner behind a dumpster and he almost jumps out of his skin.

“Jesus, you scared me!”

“Sorry,” you laugh, waiting for him to catch his breath. “I know you like to come this way.”

“Do you now?” Clark laughs, leaning down to press a chaste kiss to your lips. He pulls away, searches the area, finds no one, and presses his lips back to yours. The height difference makes his chest swell with joy and he pulls you closer, wrapping his arms around your lower back. Between kisses, he mutters, “You'll never guess what my parents found earlier.”

“What’d they find?”

Clark pulls away and leans against the wall with a smug look. “Your boxers.”

“What?”

“Mhm.” Pushing off the wall, he gently grabs your arm and leads you toward the entrance of the Talon. “You must have left them there last time you were… over. I figure you took mine instead when you rushed out.”

You take a shaky breath. “Do they suspect anything?”

“You mean do they suspect we’re dating? No, doesn’t seem like it.”

“That’s good,” you reply as you take a seat closest to the door. “I guess you still don’t wanna tell anyone?”

Clark gives you an awkward smile as he sits opposite you and leans in close. “I just don’t know how they’ll react,” he says, voice hushed. “I mean, I know they’ll accept me, but…”

“You’re just not ready to announce you have a boyfriend.”

He looks around quickly, worrying that someone would overhear. “Exactly.”

Your hand twitches, and to Clark it looks as if you’re  about to reach for his hand but have second thoughts. He wants to reach out for you in return, hold your hand with no fear, but he stops himself. “That’s okay,” you smile, a small smile at first before it turns into a loving grin that lights him up like the Fourth of July. “I completely understand. As long as you’re happy, yeah?”

“I am happy.” Clark bumps his foot against yours under the table with a sweet smile. “You make me happy.”

Your grin widens “You make me happy too, Clark.”

He smirks and glances around. “Why don’t we get outta here?”

“Thought you wanted coffee.”

He shrugs. “Coffee can wait.” He stands and brushes a hand over your shoulder casually as he passes you, beckoning you to follow him.

“And this can’t?” You laugh, following outside and back down the alley. “What have you got planned?”

“Something fun,” he grins, looking around before taking you into his arms. “May I?”

“You may.”

Clark’s lips find your cheek. “Hold on.” He waits until you’re in his arms before speeding off, running faster than the speed of light. He runs and runs and runs until he makes it back to the farm, entering the barn and slowing down.

“We’re at the barn,” you state.

“Mhm.”

You smirk at him. “And what do you plan to do here?”

“Well…” he trails off, looking you up and down with his own flustered smile. “Whatever you want. But first, I’ll be back in a minute.”

He speeds off, leaving you standing alone. You shake your head with a laugh at his abrupt exit and make your way upstairs. By the time you’re flopping onto the couch and picking up a book from the table, Clark returns holding two coffees. 

“You couldn’t have gotten them before we left?” You ask, chuckling. 

“I didn’t think.”

“Do you ever?”

Clark rolls his eyes and hands you a cup, gently pushing your legs aside so he can sit next to you. “Yeah, yeah. Whatever, wise guy.” He takes a sip of his coffee and smiles. “I figured we could have our coffee date here. In private. Where no one can see us.”

“That is what private means, Clark.”

He huffs out a laugh. “I can never catch a break with you, can I?”

“Only when I’m dead.”

“Well I hope that’s not soon,” he whispers, leaning in close and looking deep into your eyes. His breath fans your cheek. Leaning closer, he presses a few soft kisses from your lips toward your cheekbone, and he smiles, before pulling back and taking another sip of his drink. “Now I can kiss you whenever I want.”

You giggle at that. “Alright, loverboy. You sure your parents won’t come up here?”

“They’re both out doing their own things. We’re all alone up here.”

“Alone, huh?”

Clark flushes red. “Mhm.”

“Well maybe I can get my boxers back then?”

“Oh…” He glances away. “Yeah, uh, sure. I can go get them for you.”

You roll your eyes in amusement and laugh, leaning forward to press a kiss to his burning cheek. “I mean, Clark, that you'll have to take these ones off first.”

His breath catches in his throat and his wide eyes find yours. “Wh– I– Oh. Oh, heh, yeah. Yeah.”

“You’re so cute,” you laugh, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. “But it looks like you might explode if I say anything else like that. Let’s just enjoy this coffee first.”

He nods eagerly, making you laugh even more. “Sure. Yeah. It’s nice coffee. Really nice.”

You shuffle closer so that you’re curling into him, head on his firm chest. His strong arm instinctively wraps around you, pulling you closer, and he drops a kiss to the top of your head. “I’m glad we’re together, Clark.”

“Me too. If you hadn’t flirted with me on that day we met, I don’t know where I’d be right now.”

“Still chasing after girls that already have boyfriends, I bet. And blissfully unaware you could have been chasing after the boyfriends, too.”

He laughs and you can feel the vibrations of it against your cheek. “I’d have figured it out!” You glance up and raise an eyebrow and he gives you a cheeky smile. “Eventually.”

Pressing your lips to his, you smile. “I’m glad I helped you out.”

“Me too.”

The kiss deepens and you can feel rather than see Clark leaning forward to place his coffee on the table behind you. His hand slides up your arm and takes your cup too, placing it beside his. You chuckle against his lips as he pulls you into his lap. “Thought you were enjoying your coffee.”

“I was,” he shrugs, trailing kisses down to your jaw. “But I’ll definitely enjoy this more.”

You tilt your head to give him more access to your neck. “What happened to my cute flustered farm boy?”

Clark pulls back to smirk and there’s a playful glint in his beautiful blue eyes. “You talk too much,” he says, more of a loving statement than an insult. Pushing you against the soft pillows of the couch, he hovers over you confidently. “I guess I need to shut you up.”

You laugh and tug at the hem of his shirt before lifting it up and over his head. “And you need to give me my boxers back.”

He rolls his eyes “What did I just say, mister?”

“I don’t know,” you shrug, eyes stuck to his toned torso. No matter how many times you’ve seen him shirtless, the beauty of him still amazes you. “Wasn’t listening. Was a bit distracted.”

He chuckles and dips back down to trail kisses from your lips to your neck, sliding his hands under your shirt and over your burning skin. “Guess I gotta help you with that.”

“And my bo–”

“And your boxers, I know, I know.” You share a sweet laugh and he removes your shirt, smiling down at you. “You're so beautiful. So, so beautiful.”

“Says you.”

He gives you his usual boyish grin and gives you a sweet kiss. “I do say so.”

It’s safe to say the coffee grows cold a while before the two of you are done.

[bruhstation]

Since we see him every now and then, what is Ryan like in Casa Tidmouth?

ryan works at the harwick branchline with daisy. in the secret of the lost treasure and misty island rescue arcs, ryan is the bystander to thomas' adventures that lead up to his fight with sailor john and skiff, eventually adding to the number of supporting characters that got dragged into both the mystery surrounding the gold dust and the mess thomas has left on sodor. after sailor john got arrested and thomas went missing, ryan helped thomas' friends look for his whereabouts while also being the key witness to sailor john's mad ramblings about "lady of the legend" and his motives for almost blowing up the island. ryan never asked for any of this but because he likes thomas and knows info that other people don't, he just HAS to step in

outside of the plot-heavy stuff, ryan's one of the kinder sudrian railway workers compared to his weirdo coworkers. he considers daisy and thomas to be his closest friends despite the former having the tendency to push her workloads onto him in the past and the latter being a bit standoffish despite ryan's attempts at hospitality.

ryan's extended family, on the other hand...

ryan is connected to the gresleys through his mother. his mother is the daughter of joseph gresley I (the gresleys’ grandfather), so he’s the cousin of gordon, scott, spencer, and mallard. he doesn’t talk to his cousins often ever since he’s a teenager because they’re nutjobs who mostly care about themselves and ryan has self-respect and values his sanity

unlike most his cousins who has the power of hater-ism coursing through their veins, ryan is a perfectly normal man who cares about his friends. he talks about his issues directly instead of letting it simmer. he sometimes have drinks with daisy and thomas after work. he used to have trouble articulating his more “negative” feelings and driving his opinion, but he’s doing better lately. he wants to maintain peace by being kind to others, which makes him prone to being dragged into any weird business his cousins have whenever they have the chance.

whenever holiday season is around the corner, ryan knows exactly what to expect. scott, his most famous cousin, the only one who still GAF about tightening what’s left of the gresleys together, will ask him to come over for dinner with his cousins (his charisma stat is maxed out). ryan can’t refuse because scott will pull excuses like “it’s just once a year” or “there's a dog” and ryan doesn’t have anything else to do. the family party will start off normal, then when mallard brings out the wine (provocateur!!!) things go south. gordon and spencer would badmouth each other about each other's secrets/fails, they get into a fight, scott tries to calm them down, ryan frowns at the disinterested mallard, sighs, goes outside to the nearest telephone booth to call daisy and ask her to pick him up. at this point it’s comical

ryan’s really the opposite of his cousins, from clothing to backstory. when designing him, I took the key components of his cousins’ designs and invert them. his cousins dress lavishly – big coats and suits, but ryan just rolls up his sleeves and dons a vest. his cousins’ haistyles are combed back, gelled, etc, while ryan’s hair goes everywhere (parted bangs show hairline). most of his cousins have horrific trauma related to death and loss from their childhood, while ryan’s just a city boy who grew up with nothing eventful in his life (except attending his cousins’ funerals). he doesn’t even inherit the gresley surname and is oblivious to most of the gossips surrounding or is inside the gresley family.

ryan is his own person who gets thrown around like a volleyball a lot, but he still has a good heart. one can consider ryan to be what any of his cousins would’ve ended up like if they had normal upbringings. who am I kidding? lol

[things-arent-what-they-seem66]

I saw you were open to mpreg Adamsapple 😶‍🌫️ and if that other guy wasn't making a request I (respectfully of course) will. May I please request mpreg Adamapple for my fellow degenerates /J

Okay I can take a stab at it lol

Hope this is okay!

Content Warning: Mpreg

Adam never thought in all of his years that he would end up being pregnant with the devil's child. He was a man for fuck sakes! This shouldn't be physically possible.

He only found out because he woke up feeling sick one morning, power puking into the toilet. The sick feeling didn't leave him for a long while. Adam knew that being a sinner, he could get sick now.

Since Lucifer was off dealing with something, well, King related, Adam didn't give a shit cause it didn't concern him. He got Charlie to take him to see the doctor.

The doctor ran a multitude of tests including blood and urine. That was when he got the results.

"Congratulations, you're pregnant." The fucking doctor had the audacity to say.

"Fucking excuse me?! I'm a man! I think you have someone else's chart there." Adam crossed his arms and glared.

"Are you Adam? The same one to leave the middle and last name slots blank?"

".... Yes."

"Then I have the right chart."

"B-but, I'm still a man!" Adam just couldn't wrap his head around this.

"I'll take it that you you've taken it up the ass at least once, right?" Adams answer was a heated glare, but he didn't deny it. "Depending on how powerful your partner is the more powerful they are than you, the more likely male pregnancy can happen even by accident. It's still a bit of a medical mystery, but not impossible."

"Clearly." Adam deadpanned.

"So," The doctor looked at Adam over his glasses. "Who's your baby daddy?"

Adam smirked. "Oh you might know him. He's the king of the ring after all."

The doctor paled. "You don't mean, King Lucifer Morningstar himself, do you?"

"The very same."

The doctor scrambled and picked out a few things before handing them to Adam. "Well take these prenatal vitamins, booklets on pregnancy trimesters and pamphlets on the most nutritious foods to eat while pregnant. On the house! We'll even book you a follow up appointment." He was sweating and Adam loved making people squirm.

But he'd let it go for now. He's going to be the one squirming when he tells Luci. Fuck, and Charlie.

Lucifer first.

On the way home he told Charlie it was just a bug and nothing to worry about. He texted Lucifer to meet with him in the bedroom, he had something important to talk to him about.

So now here he sat, jiggling his leg anxiously. What if he reacted badly? They weren't married and Lucifer never mentioned wanting more kids. Fuck, Adam didn't think this could happen!

"Hey, I got your text." Lucifer greeted, though his cheery demeanor changed when he saw Adam. "Are you okay?"

Adam shook his head, how could he be okay? This could ruin their relationship, one they worked so hard to have. He couldn't even find the words to say it.

"I'm sure whatever it is will be okay, we'll make it through."

Adam handed him his test results from the doctor. He couldn't say it, he was too scared.

Lucifer gently took the paper and looked it over. His eyebrows shot to his hairline. Was this for real? He'd like to think that Adam wouldn't make jokes like that.

One way to find out for sure.

He snuck his hand over Adams lower stomach. "What are you-?"

That's when he heard it. Two heart beats. Adams and their babies. He crashed his lips into the sinners, pulling a yelp from him. "We're having a baby?" He was over the fucking moon!

"You're not mad?"

"Why would I be mad?"

Adam bit his lip. "We're not married for one. And you never said you wanted more kids."

Lucifer smiled. "I never thought I'd have the chance to have more kids. I resounded myself to be content with Charlie. Now that I know we can, it changes things. As for the marriage thing." He purred. "We can get married or not. Makes no difference to me. We're committed to each other and that's enough for me."

"Well, if we get married it better before I get fucking fat." Adam said.

Lucifer kept his hand on Adams lower stomach. "So we're doing this?"

Adam smiled, he rested his hand on top of Lucifer's. "We're doing this."

[beforeimdeceased]

A GIRL IS MISSING: LET THE DEAD BURY THE DEAD ❄️🧣⚰️

synopsis: someone left behind a beautiful corpse.

a/n: finally putting the mystery/thriller into this mystery/thriller fanfic wooo! if you wanna set the tone while reading: i listen to a lot of ethel cain and princess chelsea while writing this series!

masterlist

walking over to them felt like a juvenile attempt at making friends. your body clenched. sweat dripping down your neck and building at your hairline. teeth making crescents into the sides of your tongue. you appear before the three grievers and struggle between offering a smile or a handshake or both. you settle for an awkward wave. ellie is too busy comforting abby and they don’t notice you, but jesse does. he gives you a simple nod.

it’s interesting being this close to them. watching their dynamic. abby is completely torn in the way you’d imagine ellie should be. ellie is frowning but in the way you’d imagine jesse might be. jesse has the tear streaks you thought ellie would have. you take a deep breath, awaiting maria’s further instructions.

“alright and team 4,” she pauses looking over at their sad faces. “we’re going to have you guys search near the creek.”

you remember playing by that creek. using the water for mud pies and dirtying up your hands and clothes. coming home and getting lectured about it. getting asked about the stains at school. you were an explorer, an adventurer, and a creative out there. you’d hoped that time didn’t make all that wash away.

jesse drove. ellie took the passenger’s seat, fingers fiddling with a ring. a cursive letter d etched into a heart on top of it. abby sat in the back with you, her head looking outside the window. watching the life pass by.

you couldn’t stop yourself from trying to figure them out. which one was the last to see her? what did they talk about? what did she say? do any of them think she’s alive? are any of them hiding something? do they know where she is? did they kill her? are they planning on killing you now because they can tell you’re figuring them out?

“i can’t do this sober.” ellie breaks you out of your thoughts. you realize that you’ve already arrived at the creek. jesse pops open his glove box and pulls out a flask. your stomach sinks a bit, you feel guilty for being accusatory. even if it’s just in your head.

“one sip, each of us gets one,” he takes his. “but we need our heads on straight if we’re going to find her.” jesse hands it to ellie. she looks at him, a real mean piercing gaze. something crude on her tongue? she puts the flask to her lips and takes a sip, then holds her hand out back towards you.

you can’t refuse, it’d be rude. so you take it and take a sip, then you look over at abby. you’re scared to touch her. to scare her. to make her start crying again after she’s finally calmed down. it’s almost as if ellie can read your mind, she calls out abby’s name.

“what is it? oh, we’re already here? i zoned out.” she looks away from the window and you hold the flask out in front of her. jesse looks at her through his rearview mirror. “one sip. and make sure you’re wearing your gloves, you don’t need anymore bruises on your hands.”

she takes a sip. “because people get funny ideas?” she raises her eyebrows. saying it like it’s something we’re all supposed to know the answer to. like it’s a stupid question. jesse shakes his head. “no, because i care about you. but, you make a good point.”

“you’ve just been crying a lot.” ellie chimes up. “i thought you would’ve run dry yesterday, but you’re still crying.”

your eyes widen as you listen to them. attempting to decipher what all of this means. if what you were thinking earlier was true. if these would be your last moments alive, because now you certainly knew too much.

abby looks over at you. “do i cry too much? wouldn’t anyone cry this much if someone they cared about was gone?”

you open your mouth to speak but you’re interrupted. “you say that like she’s not gonna come back.” jesse grips the steering wheel.

“she didn’t fucking run away.” ellie scoffs, rolling her eyes. “cmon let’s go before we lose daylight.”

as you leave the car, you take a deep breath. the tension in that moment was rigid. suffocating. why were they arguing? is that normal? you’d never been alone with these three. you’d barely even had a conversation long enough to remember. you didn’t know these people. you didn’t know what you’d gotten yourself into by volunteering. you didn’t know what was going to happen at this creek.

“if we split up, we’ll cover more ground. do you know the creek well?”

it takes a moment before you realize jesse is talking to you. you nod, and he looks at ellie. “alright ellie, you go with her. i’ll go with abby. let’s meet back here in twenty minutes. i’m serious about that too, a storm’s coming.”

“well we never would’ve known, weather man. thank you.” ellie trudges towards you, wrapping her scarf around her face. jesse rolls his eyes before walking in the opposite direction with abby. you look over at ellie before gesturing your head forwards. you start walking ahead of her hearing her boots hit the snow behind you. then she speeds up and walks next to you. sniffling.

“didn’t you think abby was being weird back there in the car?” she starts. “i mean, it seems to me like she thinks i know something. like i’m hiding something because i’m not bursting into fucking tears every three seconds but…it’s not like i’m not sad. fuck.”

you nod along, pulling a flashlight out to get a better look at the ground. at any possible fresh track marks in the snow.

“i’m angry, at myself mostly. i’m fucking…scared. i miss my girlfriend.”

she looks over at you, and you nod. you don’t say anything you just nod. you let her know she’s understood.

the crack of a tree branch is heard closer to the deeper end of the forest. closer to the frozen over creek. you look at each other once before walking towards it. stomping on in the snow while periodically wiping at your nose.

when you reach where you can guess the sound came from, you hand ellie the flashlight. “here, hold it towards the water. there could be something around here.”

she does as you ask, holding it still so you can look. in all honesty, you were losing hope and just trying to pass the minutes by. it was fucking freezing, and from what you’d learned at the after-search meetings, dina was scared of this part of the woods. she wouldn’t come through here for a million dollars, jesse’s words verbatim.

“you know the police won’t even help out? they don’t think she’s missing. maria’s the only adult in this town who gives a fuck.” ellie chimes up as you wipe some snow off of a rock. you look back towards her, cough up into the icy air, then stand. “what about your uncle? isnt he on the force.”

she looks away for a moment. even though you can’t see her frowning you can tell from the sadness in her eyes. “i don’t wanna talk about it-“

a horrific and tragic scream is heard in the distance. the scream of a young woman. you both turn your heads towards it, then each other, before running to the commotion. it takes two minutes to get through the barren woods. ellie tripped once, and you twice, before coming across jesse and abby. abby is wailing, worse than she was in the church. worse than you’d ever seen her. you can almost hear ellie’s heart stop.

“els don’t look.” jesse grabs her before she can reach the scene. she’s beating against him with her hands, cursing harsh under the scarf. “what is it jesse? tell me what is it? what the fuck is going on?” her voice cracks and tears begin to fall as she falls into him.

you walk past abby, who’s on the ground holding her stomach. she pulls her scarf off and runs behind a tree. you can hear her throwing up. throwing up and crying.

you could’ve never guessed that you’d be seeing what you were right now. not in a million years. a bloody young woman who looked like she’d been ripped in half by some heinous creature. her insides on full display for you. her skin discolored. and the smell, it was god awful. and in what you could only guess was her hands, a heart necklace with the letter e in cursive etched into the front.

the worst part was that, from what you could make out, this was not dina. dina didn’t have the tattoos these remains had. dina didn’t have green eyes. so who the hell is this, and how did she get dina’s necklace?

[cadavercowboy]

To Serve And Neglect

Pairing: Sheriff Lee Bodecker x Reader

Summary: Lee Bodecker doesn't abide by the rule of never bringing your work home with you. He just wants to hang out!

Word Count: 4.5k+

Warnings: Explicit content (18+ only). Description of reader’s clothing. Mentions of stalking. Implied drugging. Kidnapping & imprisonment. Light bondage. Brief use of ‘pup’ & ‘puppy’. Oral sex. Cum eating. Improper handling of a firearm. Dub-con/non-con elements.

A/N: Sorry. Can't explain. Feeling violent.

The strange, unsigned letters arriving each day in your mailbox had been odd. The expensive gifts and veritable garden of bouquets on your porch, a burden. But it is the partially open window — one which your paranoia had prompted you to lock and then check three times before bed last night — that is finally a bridge too far. 

Armed with a shoebox full of evidence and an armful of this morning’s flower delivery, you march through the doors of the police department and demand an audience with the sheriff. The poor deputy seated at the desk observes your irate countenance with a pair of raised brows, unmoving until you repeat your request more firmly. You wait only a few minutes before you’re beckoned down the hallway by a tall, uniformed man who introduces himself as Sheriff Bodecker.

You stride along behind him amidst the sound of your clicking heels and the whooshing of the poofy skirt of your patterned dress, the hem of which brushes the sheriff’s thighs as he invites you to step into the office ahead of him.

As you take a seat, you lay the paper-wrapped roses across his desk and set the overflowing box of stationary and notes alongside them, being careful not to knock the brass nameplate off the wooden surface. With a heaving sigh, Lee — according to aforementioned nameplate — rounds the desk and eases his weight down into a creaky high-backed chair.

“What can I do for you, miss?” he inquires dryly, seemingly uninterested.

Smoothing the soft fabric of your dress along your thighs, you sit up straighter and look the formidable man in the eye. It will do you no favors to appear weak and frightened, even if that is precisely what you are. You hope your feigned strength will make your claim more believable. 

“I need to file a report,” you begin confidently. “I’m being stalked.”

Lee’s eyebrows practically fly up into his hairline and he purses his lips as he contemplates your bold statement. He says nothing for a long moment and you feel yourself deflate slightly beneath his scrutinizing stare. You should have known a man wouldn’t believe your unsubstantiated claim, he’d simply write you off as hysterical.

Before you can accept your fate and leave the office with at least some of your dignity still intact, the sheriff leans forward. He braces his elbows on the desk and folds his hands beneath his chin.

“And all this?” he wonders, flicking a pinky out in the direction of the items you’ve laid out before him.

Hope renewed when he questions the evidence you’ve brought along, you’re quick to lift the top off of the old shoebox to reveal its contents. You aren't sure why you've kept them all, though you're suddenly glad you had. Inside is what must be hundreds of letters, notes, and cards. Of course you hadn’t taken the time to individually count them, but it's obvious the stationary within is numerous. Reaching in, you gather several pieces of paper off the top and hand them to the sheriff who takes the stack rather hesitantly.

“Someone has been sending me all these letters and notes. At first, I thought it was just some sort of practical joke,” you explain. “But what’s written in there…there are things no one could know unless they were…watching me.”

Your throat grows tight and your cheeks warm as you recall some of the things this mystery scribe had written, knowing that Lee now reads them too. The sender had begun to mention events from your daily life that no person could possibly know unless they were with you. As time passed, their letters grew in intensity; complimenting you in an intimate manner, noting various opinions on you and your ‘unbelievable beauty’ and even going so far as to name all the things they’d like to do both to and with you. 

What began simply as a strange correspondence quickly grew eerie and obsessive. They spoke of the sort of subjects you wouldn’t discuss with a close friend let alone reveal to a complete stranger, though you know the impropriety is necessary at this point.

Lee rifles through the letters before reaching into the box himself to explore further. His face is the picture of concentration as he scans each word and gathers an idea of what you’ve been dealing with. In one particular letter he unfolds, you recognize the haphazard state of the scribbled writing and how it appears to have been composed in anger. It is a letter whose inappropriate content you remember well and you feel a sudden need to distract Lee from his perusal.

“And there’s also the flowers,” you offer, fingers tapping on the bouquet’s wrappings. “Every single day, there’s more flowers.”

The sheriff lifts his gaze from the crumpled sheet clutched in his hand and his eyes flick between you and the fresh flowers. His expression reveals nothing as he places the letter on the desk and leans back in his chair.

“So you’ve got a secret admirer.”

You flinch as if you’ve been hit with a physical blow. How could he possibly reduce your predicament to something so innocent and juvenile? Had he even read those letters?

“Sir…with all due respect, I’m concerned for my safety,” you declare. “Some of the more recent letters imply that this creep wants to reveal his identity to me! Look right here, this one especially!”

With a pointed finger, you jab the piece of paper and direct his attention to a letter that is borderline threatening. Sheriff Bodecker inhales sharply and offers a slow nod of his head as he shuffles some of the other discarded stationary across the surface of his desk. Interlocking his fingers, he reclines again and rests his hands across his belly while he regards you. 

“I suppose there are some unsettlin’ things in there,” Lee drawls. “But it all seems rather harmless and unfortunately, there ain’t much I can do if this person hasn’t taken any direct action.”

“They broke into my house,” you admit softly.

You aren’t sure why your voice wavers or your eyes moisten, but you suppose finally admitting it out loud to another person makes it undeniably real. Your stalker’s gifts had made you uncomfortable, but their gall to physically threaten you — no matter how indirect — and leave clear evidence of having done so has shaken you. 

“Broke in?” Lee nearly barks, straightening in his seat. “When was this? Why didn’t you say so?”

You explain the situation to Lee, detailing your certainty that you weren’t responsible for the open window. Having now heard something of substance, he finally takes out a sheet of paper and begins to document everything you’ve told him. You’re relieved that you’re being taken seriously, however Lee’s sudden concern has you even more fearful than before. By the end of your statement, your shoulders slump and your hands vibrate in your lap.

“I’ll have this report filed and send some officers to your address to check everything out,” he assures you as he takes notice of your distressed state. “Can I get you something warm to drink?”

You’re quick to accept the sheriff’s offer, opting for a cup of hot tea which he returns with shortly. He carefully hands the steaming mug over then disappears behind you to shut the office door with a soft click, closing you both off from the rest of the department. Before returning to his place behind the desk, Lee gently rests a large hand on your shoulder, his fingers gliding with ease as he rubs your back reassuringly.

"We'll get this all figured out, honey. Don't you worry."

Lifting the edge of the faded brown ceramic to your lips, you nod your head and take a tentative sip, doing your best not to wince. Although Lee asked how you take your tea, it tastes nothing like you expect. It’s awful, in fact. While the sweet flavor of sugar is present, the scalding liquid carries an underlying and off-putting bitterness. Still, you’re too polite to turn the drink down and so you daintily nurse the unfavorable beverage while Lee reads your statement back to you to ensure he has it exactly right. 

It’s unclear at first whether the fuzzy memory of the sheriff’s office was a dream or if the circumstance you currently find yourself in is one. The pressure of the dirty concrete floor is agonizing against the hardened curve of your bare knees, though it’s nothing compared to the fiery ache which zips along your shoulders. The muscles are tired and over-extended, your arms pulled high above your head where your rope-bound wrists hang from an iron hook on the end of a chain that’s affixed to the ceiling. 

Slipping in and out of consciousness, it’s impossible to know how long you’ve been strung up here like an animal awaiting slaughter. Only that it hasn’t been long enough for your poor muscles to go completely numb yet. Your joints ache mightily and your mouth is uncomfortably dry. You blink to clear your hazy eyes, but even then, your surroundings are totally unfamiliar. 

Pain spears through your shoulders when you shift your weight to look around, spotting very little that helps to identify where you are. A stack of dusty boxes fills one corner and a metal shelf strewn with various tools sits propped against the opposite wall. It’s clear you’re in a small basement, though you have no idea how you got here.

From behind you, a door creaks open and a band of golden light fills the room; growing broader and spanning the length of the cramped cellar before a loud slamming shrouds you back into darkness. Wooden stairs squeak and groan beneath someone of notable heft and your skin prickles as they descend and approach. The distinguishable click of a pull-switch overhead bathes you in a blinding halo of light.

“I could have been so sweet.”

The deep voice comes from right beside you and makes you jump. While its tone sounds vaguely familiar, you’ve yet to fully regain your facilities and it feels as if your ears are full of wet cotton. It's difficult for you to make the connection as to why you recognize it.

Scuffling feet shift and begin to step around you where your body practically dangles from the ceiling. You peer upwards, squinting against the brightness of the bare bulb that shines above you until the stinging in your eyes forces you to lower your gaze back to the floor.

“I gave you so much. So much of myself. So many gifts,” the man continues. “All you had to do was accept them…accept me.”

Your stomach drops and the words hit you like a barreling freight train. Your stalker. Squirming in your binds, you fruitlessly attempt to twist away from the dark figure which slips into your periphery. The movement is painful and when you try to shift your bare feet, you realize your ankles are lashed together with even more rope. A desperate whimper bubbles up in your throat.

“I didn’t ask for much in return. I just wanted you to be mine,” he insists, as if it were a small favor. “Now I won’t give you a choice.”

The man’s words darken with anger and when the light from above is blocked out by the mass of his body, you dare to look at him. Your eyes fall upon a pair of black-booted feet before moving upwards to a pair of dark gray slacks dissected by the tell-tale black line of uniform slacks. A sense of dread spreads like a growing chasm in your belly. 

Following the expanse of a pair of long legs, you observe a standard-issue utility belt and clench your teeth to hold in a frightened sob. If not for his terrifying declaration, the sight of a uniform man would have felt like a relief. You may have thought he was here to help you with your predicament. But given what he’s said, you know his intentions are much more nefarious.

Your eyes seem reluctant to move any further and you spend a long moment observing the yellowed buttons which secure the crisp material of his white shirt. Ultimately, you force yourself to gaze upon the face of your captor, already knowing what horror awaits you.

Even with the expectation of his identity, the revelation of Lee Bodecker’s ice-cold stare is sobering nonetheless. A quivering exhale escapes through your nostrils and you feel your lower lip tremble as he looms above you with an expression of disappointment and impatience.

“Sheriff?” you ask pointlessly, finding it difficult to believe this irrefutable truth.

Lee studies you with something ominous in his demeanor. So smoldering and rife with an indeterminate fire that you can almost feel its heat upon your skin. His eyes hone in on the uncertainty blanketing your face and you notice the ghost of a smirk haunting the corners of his pinkened lips. 

“I didn’t want it to be like this,” he promises, stooping to kneel in front of you.

“Lee, please,” you beg, your voice hoarse. “I didn’t—”

He hushes you right away, furrowing his brows and bringing a single finger to his lips as he shakes his head. You snap your mouth shut and tears begin to well in your eyes. There’s nothing you can say to change his mind, that much is obvious. Your eyes return to the ground with a guilt you’re not sure you should even feel, though Lee’s demand brings your gaze back up.

“Look at me!” he barks impatiently as his hand flies out to cup your chin in his calloused palm. “Keep your eyes on me, just like that.”

You obey out of sheer terror, heart pounding and limbs shaking at the unwavering way he raises his voice. His thumb shifts from your chin to your lower lip where he toys with the soft flesh and presses the finger against your mouth until it grazes against your front teeth.

“If I let you down, will you be good?” Lee asks.

He lifts his chin upwards, gesturing towards your hands over your head. Watching intently, he smirks crookedly when you blink with wet eyes and nod in ardent agreement. The smile does little to offer you much relief or comfort. When Lee stands, you shift anxiously and the links of the chain overhead twist and pop. 

His fingers are rough but warm when he reaches for the rope wrapped tightly around your arms and begins to undo the knots. For a moment, you consider whether an attempt at escape is worthwhile.

You have no desire to stick around and see what Lee intends to do with you, though you’re uncertain if he plans to release your ankles and even provide the opportunity. Given the way your legs tingle, you’re not certain you’re even capable of outrunning him anyway. As if able to read your mind, Lee pauses and levels an admonishing look at you. Taking note of your diminutive expression, he carries on.

With your wrists finally freed, your arms drop to your sides and searing pain mingles with the relief you feel. Fire blazes through your muscles as sensation returns to your limbs and you can’t help crying out.

Lee kneels before you again and gathers each wrist, lifting them up to inspect the indentations left upon your skin. When he leans in and you can see he intends to bring your wounded skin to his lips, you yank yourself away from his grip. The momentum causes you to tip backwards where you catch your weight with your hands and begin — with much difficulty considering your bound ankles — to scoot away from Lee who watches with disapproval.

You make it only a few feet away from him before your back hits the cold, solid wall. Lee stands at his full height, taking the three steps it requires to crowd your space before he speaks.

“Now, I thought we agreed you’d be good,” he chides, his voice eerily flat.

Still following his earlier instruction, your eyes do not leave Lee’s face. Not when he sighs and tilts his head to look down at you like a misbehaved child. And especially not when his right hand drops to the front of his pants where he gropes himself through the starched material of his slacks. Even when a low groan rumbles in his chest and you have a pretty good idea of what’s happening, you still refuse to break eye contact.

Deft fingers pop open the button of his slacks before lowering the zipper with a grinding sound which seems to echo off the pervasive walls of tension that close in on the pair of you. If possible, your mouth grows even drier and as you work to produce saliva, you note that the bitterness you experienced earlier while drinking Lee’s proffered tea still remains. Lee enjoys observing the struggle that flashes across your face when his hand delves into the open fly of his pants to engulf his growing erection in his hand before freeing it from the tight confines.

You hadn’t wanted to look, but something comes over you and your eyes seem to move of their own volition. Lee allows your disobedience only so he can watch the shock and fear erupt in your eyes as he exposes his hardened cock to you, hissing as the turgid flesh catches on the coarse metallic teeth of his open zipper. 

Dragging his warm palm with agonizing slowness along his length, Lee plants a booted foot beside your bent knee, the motion causing the utility belt he still wears to shift and jingle. You want to move away from the nearness of his crotch, but with a slab of cinder block at your back, there’s nowhere left for you to go.

“You know, I planned to bring you home last night when I came to your house,” Lee admits, switching hands to work his other fist languidly over his cock. “But I got so distracted by those pretty lips. Spent all night watching them while you slept. Jerked off thinking about how they’d feel…how they’d taste. Next thing I know, sun is coming up and you’re starting to wake.”

The tears which had formed earlier spill from your eyes and roll in fat drops down your cheeks now; something which seems to satisfy Lee given his throaty groan. You’d come to the sheriff for his help and all along, he’d been the very epicenter of your worst nightmare. And now you have no way to escape him. He squeezes a shiny drop of precum from the tip of his swollen shaft before using his tight grip to angle his length expectantly in your direction.

“Show me what those pretty lips can do.”

You’ve hardly begun to shake your head when Lee’s free hand moves to settle on the butt of the gun secured at his hip. His sharp voice cracks through the air like a whip.

“Trust me, you don’t wanna say no.”

Although you’re terrified of the subtle threat he delivers with only a slight movement, you can’t possibly imagine Lee brandishing his weapon to control you. Surely, he couldn’t be that cruel.

You sniffle and let more tears fall, still making no obvious effort to acquiesce to his demand. Lee tries once more to direct his dribbling cock towards your mouth and you turn your head to the side at the last second. His tip drags along your cheek, leaving a warm wet trail across your skin.

This time, Lee’s threat is anything but idle. His gun slides from the holster with practiced ease before he’s holding it loosely, just inches away from your face. He scoffs coldly when you refuse to turn his way, outright denying him the acknowledgement you know he desires. Lee waves the revolver in front of your face, making sure he has your full attention before he opens the cylinder and shows you six clearly loaded cartridges. He watches a fresh wave of tears stream down your cheeks before snapping the gun shut once more.

“Open your mouth and pretend like you want it,” he growls. “I wanna hear you beg.”

Knowing you have no other choice, you relent. Turning back to him, you can only stare straight ahead at Lee’s thighs. You shift your weight forward and lift your hands, placing your palms against the muscles of his legs and dragging them from the tops of his thighs to his knees. Your voice is devoid of emotion or enthusiasm when you fulfill his order.

“Please, Lee.”

His chuckle is slick and cruel. Your tearful visage, scared eyes, and the humiliating way you paw at him like a pathetic animal has his blood pumping until his cock swells to the point of pain. He’s certain he’s never been so hard in his life.

“Aw, what a good little pup,” he praises, unable to resist teasing you for the demeaning way you perform at his feet. “Good puppies get treats. Are you gonna keep being good for me?”

Although you cry, you agree to his request. You’re too afraid to do otherwise and the ever-present weapon he holds prevents you from daring to deny him what he wants. Lee asks you once more to look at him, a condescending approval in his voice when he reminds you how good you are for listening.

“C’mon, open,” he prompts, the tip of his cock tapping against your mouth. “Wrap your lips around it.”

You’re hesitant at first, instinctively mashing your lips together against the attempted intrusion. He’s so close you can smell the scent of fresh laundry and feel the warmth that pours off of his broad body. Lee presses the swollen head more insistently to your mouth, though your brain refuses to allow your body to cooperate. Any inclination you had to continue defying his silent inquest is swiftly eliminated by the cold, hard steel pressing against your forehead.

As if flipping a switch, your mouth opens and allows entrance. The hot tip of Lee’s cock slides against you, just barely making contact with your tongue. His essence is slightly salty and causes your mouth to water, much to your horror. He makes no attempt to insert himself further, simply allowing the weight of his erection to rest along your lower lip.

Your obedience seems to appease him and he allows the muzzle of his revolver to slide from your forehead to your temple where it comes to rest firmly on the vein which throbs just beneath the delicate skin. Saliva begins to gather in your mouth and you’re on the verge of drooling all over yourself. Without prompting or permission, you close your lips around the ridged crown of Lee’s cock and he grunts in approval.

Almost on instinct, you use your tongue to form a light suction and begin to suckle gently at the first inch of the length which parts your lips. Your tongue swirls, swiping tenderly along the smooth and overly-sensitive flesh. Lee’s knees threaten to buckle as he watches you perform with uncertainty and as he feels himself edging closer and closer to orgasm, his thumb pulls back the hammer on the gun still situated at your temple.

The sound of the revolver cocking frightens you, certainly an indication that you’ve done something wrong. Worried that Lee is angered by your presumptive actions, you whimper and try to release him but his free hand swoops in to hold your jaw and keep you in place.

“Keep going, sugar,” he pleads breathlessly. “Keep being a good girl.”

He moves the gun again, this time wedging the hard barrel just under your chin. You begin to cry anew, your face twisted in fear that he may still choose to harm you even given your obedience. However, Lee shushes you and reminds you to continue what you’re doing.

“Just wanna see all of that pretty face when I cum,” he clarifies, evidently hoping his words will soothe you.

As his breathing grows labored and his thighs begin to twitch with his impending release, Lee’s demeanor changes and he becomes more intense. The fingers holding your chin tighten with uncomfortable force and he digs the revolver’s barrel so deeply into your neck that you can feel it shifting against every pulse of your artery.

“Gonna make me cum, baby. That’s it, keep sucking the tip,” he grunts. “Just the tip…that’s all you deserve. Don’t deserve the rest of me yet. But you will soon. Yeah, my good girl’s gonna earn it, isn’t she?”

Lee rambles dirtily, the vein that runs along the underside of his cock throbbing as he twitches between your lips. You suck harder then, prompting him to exclaim hoarsely and allow another inch of his erection to slip into the glorious wet warmth of your mouth. When his hands begin to shake, you worry about the loaded and cocked gun he still holds against you. There isn’t much time to consider it because Lee pulls out hastily, releasing your face and using that hand to furiously jerk himself off.

He pants and a broken sound stutters from his parted lips as the first hot spurt of his cum lands on your cheek. Whispering only to himself, Lee wrings every drop of his release over the planes of your face; each thick stream splashing wetly across the bridge of your nose and over the seam of your spit-slicked lips. When he’s finished milking his cock, Lee requests — with unexpected gentleness — for you to open your mouth yet again. Upon doing so, he uses his softening length to swipe across your face and push some of his seed into your mouth so it dribbles onto your tongue before he allows the flaccid appendage to drop from his hand.

“So good for me, pretty girl,” he praises under his breath, patting your head with something resembling affection.

To your surprise, Lee takes the gun still gripped securely in his other hand and drags the cold barrel along your cheek then down your jawline. He gathers some of the sticky drops from your face onto the black steel and lifts his weapon to observe the narrow barrel before bringing it to his own mouth. The tip of his pink tongue flicks out to trace the metal’s edge before he wraps his lips around the hollow opening much the way you’d just done to his dick and he sucks the firearm clean.

“Next time I’ll let you swallow all of me,” he offers unprompted as he finally holsters his weapon and readjusts his pants.

You’re unsure whether the invitation is meant to be some sort of reward or just another threat and your brows furrow in confusion. Though it’s nothing compared to the confusion you feel as Lee reaches to wrap the discarded rope back around your wrist. When he assures you that continuing to behave will mean he won’t have to tie you up again, you bite your tongue to stop yourself from outright begging him not to leave you in the cold and dark like his needy, forgotten pet.

Sebastian Stan Masterlist ✦ Writing Masterpost