#(or at least nothing shows us that in the show)

[cosmictheo]

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐆𝐎𝐎𝐃 𝐒𝐈𝐃𝐄 | bob reynolds

( gif credits to @springseventeen )

—summary: bob loves you so much that he slowly begins to transform into a house-husband for you. and he loves it. —pairing: bob reynolds x female!avenger!reader —word count: 5k (wow) —content: ultimate husband material boss. pure fluff tbh, bob's insecurity and low self-esteem, his need to be loved and approved. he is literally starting to act like your house-husband. he wears an apron!!! you reassure him as he deserves. bucky is such a dad. love confessions, some intense make-out session but nothing more than that. bob loves the reader so much it's crazy.

writer’s note: english is not my mother tongue, so please forgive me if there is a grammatical error. hope you like it!

Bob.

He had been quite special since you had met him, really. 

Yelena had told you that he liked you. Then Bucky had told you so too. And so had Ava. And Alexei. And John.

But how could Bob not like you, in all honesty? You'd been unnecessarily nice to him since you'd met. You didn't know him, he was a complete stranger, and yet you still showed him compassion and kindness. You stood by his side when you all together escaped the death trap that Valentina had set for you, and you defended him when Walker was getting especially mean to him. 

How could anyone not like you? That was the real question. You were perfect. In every sense of the word. Both figurative and literal. From your soul to your mind. You seemed to be an angel fallen from heaven. Something ethereal, something crafted by his own mind, made in the most beautiful dreams.

Bob would normally think of himself as a big idiot, a loser. That he could never have you. A part of him insisted that never, not even in a million other universes could he ever deserve you. He wanted you as his lover or his friend? It didn't really matter, he just wanted you in his life.

And yet, he was flirting with you anyway. Or at least that's what he thought he was doing.

“Here,” he'd told you every morning since you'd set up at the tower as the New Avengers... you insisted that you all should think of a new name. In his hand he held a cup of coffee, your favorite coffee, and on his face there was a sheepish little smile, your favorite smile. His eyes held that softness all over, that slight, hardly visible gleam, that you could always see it anyway, always, you caught a glimpse of it. Every time he looked at you. As if stars were hung from your hands. Well, technically they did, due to your superpower, that is.

“Thank you, Bobby,” you would say, offering him a warm smile, pronouncing that nickname so fondly and gently, that it had become a favorite nickname for his name. After so long hating it, after having caused him so much pain. Sure, now, his heart pounded when he heard it, his breathing quickened as well, but his chest swelled with tenderness. It was a good emotion, coming from a nice place. It didn't make him feel pain or sadness. Quite the opposite.

Bob was used to being an alien, isolated, left behind, to be hurt and broken. But you, you never left him behind. You always turned to look for him, to walk beside him, to gaze at him with those pretty eyes filled with concern and caring. You owed him nothing, you barely knew him, and yet, you were willing to walk in the void, in the darkness that concealed his heart and illuminate through with your light. You had saved him. And since then, you were his anchor.

You were patient. With his mood swings, his stuttering, his lack of confidence and his self-proclamation to inclination to ruin everything. He could never ruin you, you always assured him.

Love.

Bob had never even thought that he would ever have love in his life. That he would never truly grasp the concept of love, of loving. He didn't deserve it. He didn't deserve you.

You were the closest thing to love he will ever know. There was love in everything you did, in everything you said, in the way you called his name and in the way you looked at him.

He loved you.

“Relax, kid. You miss your Romeo that much?” Bucky blurted out in a tone that bordered near teasing, giving you an amused glance as you both walked over to the entrance of the Watchtower of the (New) Avengers, your home.

A mission had been assigned to the both of you as a duo. To locate the position of a small but potentially dangerous group of terrorists in the suburbs of New York city. There was an indication of where their base might have been. With your super senses it had been easy enough to just stumble upon it and with Bucky covering your back, you had arrested them all in less than twenty minutes.

It had been a successful mission. But the anxiety of being out in public had never really been something you could ignore, so the urge to go home was always lurking in the back of your mind.

To return to Bob, as well. Bob was a lingering thought in your mind now, an incessant remembrance. Something worth coming home safe and sound for.

“Drop it, Barnes,” you replied to your old friend, mumbling softly.

Bucky cracked a little chuckle, pressing the button to the top floors on the elevator once you were both inside. You could feel his intent gaze on your face and you could also sense all that he was trying to talk to you about.

“Look, I've never seen you like this before, okay? In all the years I've known you." He began to lecture you in a 'fraternal speech' mode, turning around so he could look at you, noticing how your cheeks were slightly flushed. “You're happy. It's been months since I've seen you as happy as you are now. You've been smiling and laughing more, you even started playing the piano again. And that's good, sweetheart,” he offered you a small smile, completely sincere and gentle, “You deserve to be, you know? Happy. You've been through a lot. And you have helped to protect this world longer than all of us. You deserve everything you want.”

You smiled back, but it soon twisted more into an apprehensive grimace, “Yeah, I just—” you heaved a sigh of concern, sensing that Bucky wanted you to talk to him, not from the exterior, but from your inner self, about how you felt. “It scares me....”

Bucky shook his head lightly, extending his flesh-and-blood hand to rest it on your shoulder, expressing sympathy. His fraternal demeanor always managed to make you feel comforted.

“It's normal to feel fear” then he cocked his head, narrowing his eyes as his face grew full of playfulness, “But, sweetheart, have you seen him? He's the strongest guy currently on planet Earth. What I know is that anyone who would try to hurt him or you is the one who should be afraid. He almost wiped out all of us together at once. It was kind of humiliating...”

“That wasn't him” you immediately replied using a low tone, remembering how chaotic and painful that day had been. You had had to fight the Void, you were the strongest among all the others, after Bob of course.

“I know,” Bucky replied, sighing softly, “What I'm trying to say is that you both deserve to be happy. Shit, the guy looks at you as if the stars hung from your hands. You both deserve to have something to fight for and protect. How are you going to protect a place that has nothing to protect?”

“That doesn't even—”

Bucky rolled his eyes, clicking his tongue disapprovingly, “Makes sense, I know—” he shook his head, frowning and gesturing with his hands in exaggerated fashion, “You know what I mean, kid.”

“Yeah... I know” you smiled softly at him, thoughtfully.

Once you had entered into your floor, you had gone straight to your room. You took off your suit, tossed it in the laundry basket, and then changed into more comfortable clothes.

You were combing your hair when you heard three soft knocks on your door. You didn't have to look to know who it was, you had already recognized his racing heartbeat from the moment he had turned around the corner.

“Come in!” you exclaimed, concentrating on combing your hair, letting it loose.

The door opened to reveal Bob. He was wearing a chef's apron, with an adorable cat pattern design. And his face was even more adorable. His cheeks were slightly flushed, his eyes were soft all over, and a sheepish smile graced his thin lips. 

He was wearing that beanie again. 

He had been wearing it for more than two days now, for some unknown reason, making it impossible for you to see his hair. It wasn't even cold in there, the building's heating system was perfect.

“Hi,” he greeted you, raising his hand to wave at you with it, making you smile, “I cooked for you”

He watched you put the hair comb on your vanity desk, his blue eyes fleetingly roaming over all of you. 

Bob thought you always looked beautiful. In the suit or in a shirt of some really old band you'd never heard in your life. But the suit truly looked good on you. The colors were perfect and even though you said the cape was ridiculous and over the top, it made you look magnificent when you flew.

It was like a second skin, the fabric clinging tightly to your body, molding your curves so perfectly. He never thought he would be jealous of a piece of fabric.

Before he kept picturing you in your suit, he let his gaze wander across your room, falling on your record player, playing a Jeff Buckley song, from your favorite albums, he knew. Many times he had listened to it with you, sitting right there on the bed next to you.

His eyes then fell on the pair of small pictures you had on your nightstand next to your bed. In one of the pictures, he could see himself sleeping with his head resting on your shoulder, your self also sleeping on the couch, just having a Disney movie marathon. Alexei had taken the picture, of course, and you had begged him to give him a copy. Bob had also asked for one, keeping the picture next to his bed. It was a cute photo, you looked so cute in it.

“You cooked for me, Bob?” you asked back, your face expressing the tenderness you felt inside. “Again? You know you shouldn't—”

He turned back to you and nodded his head, interrupting you, “I know you like tacos, you said so the other time. I thought you might like to eat them after the mission.”

Realizing you weren't saying a word back and just stared at him, he grew even more nervous under your powerful gaze, his fingers fidgeting at his sides and his gaze dropped to the floor, puffing out a small awkward chuckle.

“But— uh— if you don't want to eat them, it's okay‒ you must‒ you must be tired. I don't think I cook very well either—”

“Why are you wearing that beanie again?” you interrupted his rambling, genuinely confused. 

You had noticed the way he was pulling the edges of the fabric down his forehead, preventing any strands of his hair from slipping out and being seen.

“Uh?” he stammered, his brow furrowing slightly, “Oh, this? It's nothing, it's just—” he gestured with his hands anxiously, making it impossible for him to look you directly in the eye, “It's a bit chilly in here. I don't want to catch a cold.”

You sighed softly, looking at him with concerned eyes, “Bobby, I can literally sense you're lying to me.” You then slightly shook your head, “You can't catch a cold since Project Sentry, honey. And it's almost twenty degrees in here.”

He shifted his body weight down between his two feet, still staring at the ground, resembling a child who was being scolded. When he eventually looked up from the floor, his eyes held a dull, sad look.

“It's just...”

This time he interrupted himself, growing quiet and letting the silence carry his words away. It took him a few moments to reflect on an answer for you, sorting through the words and phrases that were rushing through his head.

You waited so patiently for him. As always.

“The bleach is wearing off and I have a horrible mix of colors. My hair is just a mess now,” he was finally able to express, motioning with his hands, in some way to detract from what he was talking about, but you could see beyond that. You understood that this was something important to him, something that had been troubling him.

You patted the bed, sitting down on it and inviting him to sit down as well, “Come here, Bobby." 

He obeyed you, of course, making his way to your bed, awkwardly tripping over his own feet on the path.

Once he was seated next to you, he made an effort to maintain eye contact with you, but just couldn't, casting his eyes down to his lap, where his hands were fidgeting, revealing sheer nervousness and anxiety.

“You don't want to be seen with your brown hair?” you asked him in a soft tone, intending to seek his gaze and attempting as well to let him allow you to let you see beyond his mask and beyond what he usually pretended to be. “I like your natural hair color.”

“Brown?” he questioned back, appearing genuinely troubled, even more gloomy now. His brow was furrowed and his voice wavered into disbelief, “But it's so.... lame.”

“Let me see” you pleaded and Bob immediately gave in, sighing shakily before raising his hands to his head, tugging the cap off and allowing you to see the, as he put it, mess that was his hair. But it wasn't at all.

Sure, the ends were still affected by the bleach, they were mainly burned and dehydrated, and now most of his hair was brown, gradually returning to its natural color. A couple of wavy strands fell on his forehead, contrasting so beautifully with the color of his skin.

Bob looked embarrassed now. Still gazing down at his lap, his hands clenching the beanie between his fingers. He was expecting you to make fun of him, to make some joking remark about how ugly his hair was or how ridiculous he was for even giving so much thought to how it looked in the first place.

But you, you just offered him a gentle smile. And then your hand ran down the side of his head, picking up a brown lock and brushing it back away from his forehead. That's when he finally looked back up at you, awestruck.

“Your hair is so pretty just the way it is, Bob” you began to tell him and your voice delivered so much reassurance and comfort, it was so soothing. The way you pronounced his name made him feel his heart flip in his chest. “You don't need to change anything about it. You don't have to prove anything. You're not him.”

“I know,” he whispered, holding your gaze, pressing his face against the palm of your hand, clawing desperately for your touch. He didn't want to beg. He didn't have to. He knew you could feel it, his longing, the aching, the need for love, for your love. “I just thought that.... well, they all said that blond was better, to be the Sentry, to look stronger and— and‒ and attractive. I thought, that way you'd like me better—blond, I mean.”

“Does the opinion of others matter much to you?”

Bob shook his head, just barely, so as to avoid under any circumstances straying far out of your hand, and then murmured, shyly, “Only yours.”

“I like you in any way, Bob” you replied, assuring him, and when he placed a kiss on the palm of your hand, you felt your heart halt, “Every side of you. The good side, the bad side. I like you. All of you.”

Bob swallowed saliva, parting his lips to let out a soft shaky sigh, “With you it's only the good side. You bring out the best in me.”

“Can I kiss you?” you even had the audacity to ask. When he was looking at you like that, as if you were the most precious creature in the entire universe. When you had never felt or known love as pure as the love Bob was extending to you through his mere gaze.

“Y‒yes, p‒please” he begged.

You kissed him. 

And the world stopped. All the noise muffled around him, the voices whispering that he'd made a mistake once again hushed. The darkness was succumbing to the light. Your light.

His lips followed yours like an instinct, like something they had been used to in another life, in another universe. Like picking up an old habit. Like second nature, his hands landed on your waist, a tentative but yearning touch.

Your mouth connected with his like old pieces of a puzzle finally coming together, fitting as if they were made for each other. Now, everything seemed to make sense, the whole universe, all the pain, all the suffering, all the mistakes, everything that had brought you there, to that very moment.

“You're everything I've dreamed of” he whispered against your lips once the kiss was over, still with his eyes closed, like it was all a dream, if he dared to open them, you would disappear from his arms. So he held you close, pulling you desperately against him.

You kissed him again. 

Eventually Bob opened his eyes and they instantly softened as they found yours looking back at them. It wasn't a dream, no. It was reality. This was really happening.

He had kissed you- well, you had kissed him. But you were there, in his arms, his hands molding the curve of your waist as if they were made to hold you. All of a sudden, he realized he wasn't really meant to be anyone in this life, not some superhero, some weapon, some asset, no, Bob was meant for you. He was made to be yours. 

His hands were not made to destroy, they were made to hold you. To protect you.

His whole being was made to love you.

Bob loved you.

“Can I kiss you again?” he asks, his eyes lowering from yours to your lips again, and again, and again....

His fingers caressed your hips, nudging your bare skin below the hem of your shirt, and the very touch sent shivers down your spine.

“Don't hesitate, just kiss me” you assured him back in a whisper and he savored the breath of your utterance, kissing you again, most passionately this time. 

Your hands embraced his neck and you pulled him close to you, leaning back against one of the many pillows on your bed. He kept kissing you, like a starving man, careful not to crush you with his weight, one of his hands rested on the side of your body against the bed.

His hair brushed against your face, tickling you.

“I'm bad at this, I'm sorry—” he suddenly apologized, as if he just was coming back down to the ground and snapping back to reality, detaching himself from you, only barely, just enough to be able to look at you. Above you he looked like a god. Looking down at you with those eyes, darkened by love and longing. His face was all red and his pupils dilated. Up close, you could distinguish the tiny greenish shades within all the light blue of his orbs. “I haven't kissed anyone in— God, I can't even remember— I'm sorry.”

“Hey, it's okay” you tried to reassure him, looking up at him with doting, soft eyes. He took the moment to just admire you, his lips parted, reddened from all the kissing. “Me neither.”

“What?” Bob displayed his incredulity at your words, his brow furrowing faintly, barely a hint of a smile tugging at his mouth. His unoccupied hand trailed up your body, tracing your curves, all the way to your jaw, his fingers fondly caressing your skin, looking down at you with adoration, not even missing a chance to marvel at you to blink, “That makes no sense— You're a good kisser. The best kisser.”

Now it was your turn to blush, shifting your gaze down to his chest, avoiding his, feeling flushed and really hot all of a sudden. But Bob didn't let you stray too far from him, as he kept his hand on your chin, lifting your face so he could gaze directly into your eyes.

“Don't look at me like that” you pleaded in a quiet whisper, locking your gaze with his again. The blue of his eyes sparkled in reflection of yours, all threatening to surround you entirely and pull you into the serene indigo sea they held within them.

Bob soaked his lips with his tongue, catching a glimpse of your gaze dropping to them for just a second. His finger nuzzled up against your cheek, tracing a tender caressing line across your skin. The touch struck an earthquake inside you and your heart thumped unquietly in your chest, menacing to leap out to join his.

“I always look at you like this,” he uttered your name as if it were his own religion, “You are so pretty...”

You are incomparable in his eyes. His love for you is unconditional, even on bad days. His loyalty relies on you blindly, unbreakable.

“Y‒you make me happy” he murmured after a comfortable and serene silence, full of emotions, good emotions. “I'd forgotten what that felt like. But you gave it to me again. Happiness. Belonging. Love.” He breathed out a chuckle, appearing incredulous, “God, I even started cooking. I mean, w‒when had I ever done that?”

You kissed him again, devastatingly gentle, tender, loving, just the way you always addressed him and only him. 

And he drank in everything you gave him, every kiss, every caress and every touch, as if you were the reason he existed, the reason he breathed.

He breathed out a raspy whimper against your lips when you pulled his hair at the nape of his neck, your fingers sinking through the brown locks, pressing him closer to you.

“Do that again, please” Bob pleaded in a husky whisper, in between kisses, nearly in despair, breathing out in a cracked voice.

You tugged on his hair once more and Bob's voice broke into a groan, his eyes squinting, gazing into yours as if they were the center of the universe.

“Can I touch you?” you asked him before kissing his lips once more and you could almost feel him vibrate against you as he nodded his head in a frenzy.

He kissed you again, uttering your name like a prayer, “Please touch me, do whatever you want to me, but don't ever stop touching me.”

You breathed out a little giggle as when you realized that he was in fact wearing an apron. He looked so cute in it.

“The apron looks good on you.” he blushed furiously at your words, if it was even more possible. His skin was now crimson, as red as a tomato. “You would be a fine house husband”

The lights in your room flickered just as you pronounced the words, and you knew it had been him. So powerful, so strong, yet he was melting apart under your touch, completely at your mercy.

His skin was warm, it felt like porcelain under your touch.

The lights faded in and out again.

“I'm d-doing okay?” Bob asked, his hands settled on your hips, digits sinking into the fabric of your shorts. His lips quivered, forming a hint of a nervous smile, looking down at you, searching for your approval,

“You're perfect, baby” you assured him, kissing his chest one last time before beginning to make a path of kisses through all his face, making him smile.

“Perfect, perfect, perfect” you murmured several times against his warm skin.

Bob gasped shakily, his hands groping as much of you as they could, slipping under the thin fabric of your shirt, “Fuck-- you drive me crazy. You're so pretty, so good to me... You make me so happy, baby”

And then you hugged him, pressing him against you close, impossibly close. He carefully rolled you both over on the bed, with him now under you, so that he could hold your whole body, feel your full weight pressed against his.  

Your eyes filled with tears at his statement, fully understanding that it was difficult for him to express his emotions, to say out loud what he was feeling and what was going on inside his head. But anyway, he had done all that for you.

“You make me happy too” you whispered to him, reassured him, promised him back. He hugged you tightly, snuggling close to you, locking his body to yours.

Bob placed a tentative but loving kiss on your shoulder just as you were pulling away from him, gently tugging on his shoulders to make him sit up on the bed as well, in front of you, with your legs entangled.

“You must be tired. Your mission went well?” he asked curiously, releasing one of your hands to run it up the side of your face and you pressed it against his palm as an instinct, closing your eyes and letting yourself feel the warmth and reassurance his touch provided, “I missed feeling you here.”

He was looking at you in awe. The way you pressed yourself against his hand, the same hand that had hurt so many people, that had caused so much pain and destruction. And now it was holding your face as if it were the whole world.

“Feeling me?” you raised your eyebrows, tone of voice growing teasing.

Bob blushed, and let go of your hand to pass it through his hair, “Y‒your presence, your heartbeat, your breathing, y‒you know.”

“My heartbeat?” you asked him another question just to tease him.

He became even more nervous, his hand returned to yours, interlacing his fingers with yours and giving you a gentle squeeze, asking for silent mercy, but you looked at him attentively with a smirk, “All I can think about is you, h‒honestly.” he watched as your smile quivered with his words, “You're everywhere. I just... feel you.”

He left you speechless once again, looking up at him, holding your breath.

“I'm sorry—I'm just saying what comes to mind” Bob rushed to apologize once again, lowering his gaze to your joined hands, feeling your warmth engulf him all over, as your thumb stroked his knuckles soothingly. His own thumb traced your cheekbone as if he were brushing the most magnificent shape in the world. You were. In his eyes. “I'm not being polite right now. It's nothing—”

“Bob,” you called his name, interrupting him and causing him to look up at you, both of your hands going to cup his face. He fell silent, gawking at you, in utter awe, roaming his eyes over every inch of your face, intending to remember every single detail, every fragment of your complexion, “You're everything. Everything.”

His eyes glistened, crystallizing with a couple of tears, not out of sadness or pain, no, they were from happiness, from feeling complete, from feeling that he finally belonged somewhere. By your side.

“Thank you” he then breathed a few times, kissing the palms of your hands pressed against his face, cupping them with his own.

Your fingers caught a lock of his hair that had fallen over his face, brushing it back once again.

“I like it better this way” you commented, smiling sweetly.

“Yeah?” he asked gently, so happy he could leap.

You nodded your head, humming approvingly, “Blond looks good on you too. But I met you with brown hair, so I like you better that way.”

Bob kissed the palm of your hand once more, looking at you tenderly, “You met me at my worst.”

“We all have bad days, Bobby,” you murmured, trying to reassure him, “You've been through so much. And you're still here, still standing. You're so strong”

“Thanks to you,” he replied and hurried to add, blushing, “And to the others— of course. Anyway, you must be hungry. Your stomach is growling.”

He took your hand, and waited for you to put on your shark slippers, still blushing. Then he led you out of your room, 'Lover, you should've come over' playing from your record player as you closed the door behind you. You smiled affectionately, walking beside him.

But your smile was washed off your face once you passed through the threshold of the kitchen, encountering Alexei and John, devouring the tacos that Bob had cooked, especially for you.

Seeing you appear in the kitchen, with both of you looking absolutely terrorized, Alexei took a big sip of his beer, raising his eyebrows, “What happened to you, kids?”

John, sitting next to him, burped, just finishing munching on the last remaining taco, “These were really good.” he wiped his mouth with a napkin and made his way towards the kitchen doorway, patting Bob's shoulder as he passed by him, “Thanks, Bobby.”

Alexei nodded his head enthusiastically, showing agreement, following John, with his half-drunk beer in his hand, “You should be the team cook.”

You turned your face toward Bob, who was staring at the plate, now empty of tacos, with a frown on his face and a small pout curving his lips.

You gave his hand a squeeze, tugging him to walk into the kitchen with you.

“Come on, honey, we can do more tacos” you tried to encourage him, holding back the urge to laugh at the sight of his face all pouty.

“I hope they don't have sex in the kitchen, that would be gross” you heard John say to Alexei with your super hearing.

“I heard that!” you exclaimed, looking toward the open kitchen door.

Then you heard Alexei's guffaw as you turned to look at Bob, pouty and blushing now.

[yanderenightmare]

♡ TW: ghostface, yandere, prank calls, threats, implied kidnapping, implied noncon

♡ FEM reader

It was already past midnight. And you, despite your half-mast eyes, were still lying stomach-down, sprawled out on the couch, too lazy to get up.

Some dumb show about some dumb dysfunctional family was playing low on the TV in front of you, not much to your interest, or at least not enough to keep you awake, but enough to act as white noise you didn’t mind letting lull you to sleep.

You were beginning to drool on your pillow, struggling with the indecision of getting up to brush your teeth and the more tempting, pleasant thought of simply sleeping right there, without the chores of getting ready for bed.

Your arm was mindlessly dangling towards the ground where the remote had slipped some time ago, along with your phone, that suddenly, just when it looked like you were about to fully nod off, started to ring.

Startled awake, you flinched at the sheer chimes buzzing loudly beneath you, like an alarm clock was going off. However, by the looks of the pitch-black darkness outside the window, it was visibly still the middle of the night.

You groaned then, both out of ire and a bit of relief—happy you could fall asleep again without needing to worry, yet reluctant to have to speak to someone for much of the same reason. 

Deliberating it for a small moment, you thought it might be a friend with some silly emergency and were tempted to ignore it before guilt got in the way—where with a pinch between your brows and a big yawn, you swiped to answer it. Stating under your breath that whoever it was owed you big time.

Clicking speakerphone, you had your eyes still fully closed while croaking out a groggy and slightly bothered, “Hello?”

You expected to hear drunken cries and the muted thumps of base and beat and club chatter or something like it—all in all, at least a whiney drunken voice belonging to a friend—but none of the sort was at the other end of the line.

“Hello,” a dark voice replied—audibly altered by a scrambler.

It startled you—enough to make your eyes open at least—still, you didn’t really have the sensibility to think too much of it just yet.

“Who’s this?” you asked.

“Who’s this?” he echoed back, making your brows further scrunch. 

“You’re the one calling?” you said in askance, dragging your head from the pillow to peek down at the phone on the floor, viewing the caller ID, which gave you next to nothing aside from letting you know that your caller was unknown.

“You tell me your name, and I’ll tell you mine,” he offered then, and your suspicions of it being a prank call only solidified.

And although the corner of your mouth quirked upward by the sentiment, it was unfortunately just a bit too late for you to be in the mood.

“I’m a little too sleepy for pranks right now—sorry. Try again tomorrow, bye,” you managed to muster through a yawn, hanging up and thinking that was the end of it.

Only, it didn’t take long for the phone to ring again.

“Why don’t you wanna talk to me?” the same voice asked through the phone, now a little whiney, though obviously playing it up.

The thought of simply hanging up again crossed your mind, but at the same time, you didn’t really see the harm in talking for a bit. You were awake now anyway, and you couldn't exactly deny being a little intrigued. After all, given that he was using a voice scrambler, it wasn’t so unlikely that it was someone you knew.

And with that, you figured you’d humor them, if only for a little while before getting up and brushing your teeth. And so, you ask, “Didn’t your mama ever tell you not to talk to strangers?”

And it answered, “No~” still in that very altered voice that made it impossible to place.

“Well, my mother taught me better,” you joked with a tiny laugh, thinking the entire thing was kind of exciting now that you were sobering up.

Not knowing exactly who was on the other end made you feel all giddy, head spinning over who it might be, whether it was a coworker or friend, or someone else entirely. You couldn't quite figure out who would bother to do such a thing in the dead of night—to you, of all people.

“Oh, come on, aren’t you tired of being a goody-two-shoes?” he flirted back, and you giggled a little louder while picking the phone up from the floor, now keeping it close to your chest as if you were a teenager whispering naughty things to your boyfriend in the dead of night so that your parents wouldn't hear.

“Fine then, Mr. Stranger~” you say slowly and coyly, rolling over onto your back before continuing. “What did you wanna talk to me about?” 

A dark chuckle came back through the phone, making your stomach purr in turn before he spoke again, “What are you wearing?”

You paused at that, cheeks heating with teeth sinking deep into your lip. Looking down at your drab pajamas, you didn’t exactly feel inclined to be truthful. “Hm…”

Pondering for a moment, you smile.

“Sexy lingerie~” you lie through your teeth, trying hard to keep from laughing as you put on your best mock-sultry voice.

“I don’t like liars,” the man answered. “I know you’re in your jammies.”

You pouted then. “Okay, fine—you caught me.” 

“Still sexy, though,” he added, making you giggle again.

“And you’re a little creepy, Mr. Stranger. You aren't stalking me, are you?” you ask in a tease, biting your lip with a smile while looking at the phone, eager for his reply.

Only his answer isn't very nice. “You’re the one begging for it, whoring around with an unknown man on the phone, slut.”

Your eyes widened, skin taken by a cold rush. In the same way you'd react when spotting a mosquito on your arm, you abruptly slapped the phone and hung up.

His voice had changed, turned darker, and immediately the whole conversation didn’t feel very fun anymore. Suddenly sour, it left a foul taste in your mouth that made you feel all in all rather stupid for even having amused it in the first place.

But once again… it only took a few seconds for the phone to ring a third time. 

“Don’t hang up on me,” the same voice demanded.

And while both fed up and put off, you sighed with a huff, voice sharp, asking him, “What do you want?”

“Don't be like that. I told you already, I only want to know your name~” he said, his playful tone of voice back again—only this time, you weren’t at all charmed by it anymore.

“Why do you want to know my name?” you bit out sourly. Unsure why you were still on the phone, and even more unsure why you even bothered picking up yet again at all.

“Well… ‘cause…” he began slowly with a pause, and your brows only sunk lower with his antics, finding yourself properly pissed-off until he uttered the next line, only now in a deeply unsettling whisper. “I want to know who I’m looking at.”

You went cold, and colder than cold with a chill running sharply down your spine. 

Sitting up slowly, eyes alert, you held the phone tightly in your grip while looking at all the windows, viewing the darkness outside.

“Oh, you look cute when you’re scared~” he continued, making you jump to your feet and stomp over to the first window, frantically drawing the curtains one after the other until none remained.

“Quit calling,” you finished, hanging up for what you really wished would be the last time.

However, seconds later, the phone rang again despite your wish. But this time, you let it ring, deliberating whether you ought to call the police or simply ignore it until it stopped. 

You went to check if the outer door was locked before padding back to the couch, listening to the phone finish ringing before beginning anew.

You figured he’d stop after a while, but minutes passed without a break until you finally picked up, not out of fear, but anger.

“I told you not to hang up on me!” he yelled, and you snarled in turn.

“Listen, asshole-”

“No, you listen, you stupid bitch—” he interrupted. “If you hang up on me again, I’ll wring your little neck ‘til your eyes pop out of your skull!”

You gaped at his threats but weren’t about to let yourself be bullied either. “If you don’t stop calling, the next call will be to the police!”

“Tch—” he scoffed before laughter spilled through the speaker. Crackling harshly through the scrambler, louder and louder until it stopped with the next utterance, “Stupid pigs won’t make it in time.”

There was a crash of glass somewhere upstairs, and you flinched while withholding a scream. 

Fear hit you like a flash, robbing you of breath before your instinct took you towards the door. 

Rushing, wide-eyed and goosefleshed, you swallowed thickly while trying to think. With your phone gripped tightly in one hand, you tried pushing in the numbers to the police—while at the same time struggling with the lock to the door, shaking the knob with no fruition until finally pushing it open.

You cast a glance over your shoulder, viewing the empty house that now suddenly seemed much darker than before and the eerie staircase leading up to the earlier crash—ears going deaf with the rush of blood in your head, pumping thick from the panicked beating of your heart. 

As you turn around again, you hear shoes coming thundering down the stairs as you take a rushed step without yet facing forward. You had your mind set on running to the neighbors, only, instead of bursting out into the open street, you were sent backwards into the house again, stumbling until you hit the floor with a wince. 

Your phone slipped from your hand, not only crashing to the ground as hard as you did but smashing into a broken mess as well—now utterly useless.

A dark-cloaked figure stood at the threshold, taking up the entire frame. At the same time, there's a tall presence behind you clad in the exact same way. Screaming white mask and all.

“Silly bitch,” the one in front said nonchalantly, stepping inside—shoulders broad and boots heavy.

The one behind laughed, bringing forth a large knife that made your life flash vividly before your very eyes.

“Didn’t your mama ever tell you not to let strangers inside the house?”

♡ BNHA – Kiri-Baku, Shiga-Dabi, Dabi-Hawks, Kiri-Denki, Shin-Baku ♡ JJK – Suku-Jaku, Suku-Go, Sato-Sugu, Ken-Hito ♡ HQ – KuroTsuki, KuroLev, IwaKyo, Miya twins, ♡ BLLK – NagiReo, RinSae, RyuSae

♡ FEM x M INSERT masterlist ♡ GN x M INSERT masterlist

[jinx-xxed]

Silver Chains

☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆ .。.:*

A/N; I’ve already watched Sinners 4 times and became obsessed so I fear it’s necessary for me to write a fic for Remmick at least once 🤕 this is my first time writing vampires and blood like this so please forgive me if it sucks 🙏 also if I’ve written anything in relation to the movie incorrectly please tell me so I can fix it! I have some other ideas brewing that I might write as well so I hope you enjoy :P!

Summary; A hunt gone awry leaves you caught by vampire hunters with the threat of the sun looming over you.

Content; NSFW 18+, AFAB reader, vampire reader, vampirism, vampire hunters, blood and injury, death, feral behavior, you almost die, protective/possessive Remmick, very dependent relationship, bloodsucking, blood eating as kink, a lot of drool, he comes with it what can I say, feeding off Remmick, putting those claws and teeth to good use, eating out, fingering, piv sex, multiple orgasms, little bit of aftercare, soft Remmick

Wc; 7.2k

☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆ .。.:*

The stench of blood assaults your nose.

It’s not the tantalizing, mouth-watering scent of someone else’s, no, it’s your own. It smells all sorts of wrong, impure and old with decay only to a thing like you.

Your blood runs down your skin in rivulets, staining it a deep, shiny red. Droplets fling from your body as you thrash and jerk against the heavy, silver chains that bind you to a thick and sturdy tree. The pain of the bark digging into your back is nothing compared to the agony of the chains burning your flesh away, steam rising from your injuries like you’d been placed on burning coals. It makes you wild, desperate to get away but with nowhere to go.

There’s no chance of you escaping the chains that sit against your neck, arms, waist, and legs in sets of two, even despite your struggling and the way you try to launch yourself from the tree with the slight leeway you have with your feet. Your unnerving eyes gleam in the moonlight, wide and frantic with fear, your bloodstained, jagged teeth showing in your open mouth. You feel as far from human as you possibly could be, snarling like an animal and chained just like one too.

The men watching you seem to think the same thing.

There’s five of them, two sit on their horses while the other three steadily pace the small clearing they have you in. God damn vampire hunters, armed to the teeth with everything they need to kill the likes of you. Silver bullets, silver chains, garlic and holy water, wooden stakes on their belts. It’s like they’re surrounded by a bubble of protection that you can’t penetrate, that’ll hurt you if they get too close—which isn’t that far off.

You curse yourself over and over. You and Remmick made damn sure to stay away from Choctaw land and yet here you are, caught and beaten. This is a new type of hunter, one you’d never had the misfortune of coming across before. They hunt in the dead of night, they enjoy watching you thrash and suffer, and their methods are cruel, meant to draw out your punishment.

You’ve never heard or seen a lick of them prior to tonight when you’d been ambushed and chased through the woods.

A gunshot had pierced your shoulder, one that brought more pain than your typical lead bullet. It had left you stumbling with a choked yell, steam rising from the hole in your shoulder blade. Then you’d heard the rustling in the underbrush, the hoots and hollers of men with a different kind of bloodlust than what you’re used to. Oh you’d ran, you’d ran as fast as your legs could carry you through the rough terrain of the forest, clearing fallen logs and scraping your bare arms on branches and thorns.

They’d caught you with another bullet to your thigh and a rope around your legs, pulling snug as soon as you tried to take another step and sending you thudding onto the hard ground. They’d wrapped you in silver soon after, seemingly experts on how to maneuver around you to avoid your snapping teeth and deadly nails. The first touch of the silver made your skin bubble and burn, a scream tearing out of your throat against your will. They’d dragged you crying for you don’t know how long behind their horses, all the way to the edge of the forest that overlooks a field that’s flat for as far as the eye can see.

You don’t know where they came from, they’re clearly unrelated to any other group or tribe of hunters, instead being just a gaggle of men who have dedicated their lives to eradicating yours. The history of your kind isn’t widely known, isn’t readily available to the public, so in your pain-addled brain you still wonder where they heard your tales, still wonder what else you might have to worry about if the knowledge is growing.

Your head thumps back, your breath coming ragged through your lungs. You shut your eyes tight for just a moment, trying to force away any more tears and clear your head. You haven’t felt pain like this in a long, long time, especially because Remmick has always been there to keep an eye on you, to keep you out of harms way. But not this time, not when you strayed too far and got too distracted to be vigilant about your surroundings. You’d been stupid and you know that, so part of you thinks you deserve this.

“Just stake me and be done.” You groan, ultimately defeated as the silver chains bite through your skin to the bone. It’s not like you want to die necessarily, you just want to be released from your own agony. You hate the way they’re toying with you, watching like wolves as you writhe and bleed.

One man shakes his head, his face shadowed by the cowboy hat he wears. “Nah, we like to watch y’all burn.” He looks to his watch and then up at the sky. “Ain’t gon’ be much longer now.”

You can’t help looking as well, your eyes finding the ever lightening night sky. The stars have been chased away, the moon laying itself to rest on the other side of the earth. You can feel the threat of the sun as the air steadily warms, as time tick, tick, ticks away. If you had to guess, you have about thirty minutes left at most before yellow rays peak over the horizon line.

You force a swallow down your torn throat, your breathing stutters as panic kicks up in your chest. You figure seeing the sun in your final moments won’t be the worst thing, it has been seven years after all, but nobody wants to be burned alive. You don’t want to feel your skin cook and be engulfed by flames, you don’t want your last memory to be pain. Tears fall down your bloodstained cheeks without you realizing, dripping to the forest floor as your head hangs.

Then there’s a rustle in the trees beyond that makes your attention snap back up. That’s when you sense it, when the tiny hairs on the back of your neck rise. It’s like a blanket of eerie quiet was laid over the clearing, quieting any crickets or frogs or birds and leaving just the whispers of an old wind through the trees. There’s a flash of red, the familiar smell of ancient blood and earth hitting your nostrils. It’s an instant comfort.

Your own reaction has caused the hunters to become alert, clutching their guns a little tighter and looking into the trees. They don’t even realize what’s happening before the screams start.

The first man goes down—the first is always the easiest. The horses startle in turn, rearing up with loud, shrill whinnies that make the men on their backs shout. One falls off his beast while the other gets dragged from the saddle with a yell. The horses shake their heads and shriek before crashing into the forest, leaving their riders behind to get their throats torn open.

You could sob in relief at seeing Remmick, his claws extended and his fangs bared. He looks feral, his hair wild and his eyes wide and gleaming bright red. Blood coats his chin and his neck, staining the collar of his button up as he rips into his victims as messily as he pleases. The two men left got enough of their senses to try and fire their guns, to use the weapons they so carefully prepared. One wields a wooden stake and runs at Remmick who grabs the man’s wrists to prevent the stake from being buried into his heart.

They grapple briefly before the man is being slammed onto the ground with a terrifying ease, something within his body cracking. Claws are raked across his neck in a quick slash, urgency spurred by the cock of a gun, the sound of the shot being fired making you flinch as it rings through the clearing. It misses its target by just a hair and it’s unable to reload fast enough to prevent Remmick from jumping on the final hunter. The man goes down with a choked scream and you hear the familiar sounds of flesh being devoured and blood being drained. There’s only a sickly silence that follows.

All of the spilled blood has thick strings of drool dripping from the corners of your mouth, your hunger flaring up from the lack of food you’d gotten tonight and the exhaustion of struggling against the hunters. You lean forward instinctively, desperate for a taste, before the silver chains binding your body remind you of where you are. You jolt back with a whimper, pain biting into you tenfold.

Remmick’s head snaps up, those sinister red eyes finding you as the bloodlust and blind rage fades, as he seems to remember you. He’s up in an instant, hurrying over and flinching away with a snarl when he realizes what’s wrapped around your body. “Shit.” He spits angrily, doing it again when he looks to the horizon and sees the slow infiltration of the oranges and yellows of morning into the purples and blues of night. Ten minutes left.

“Rem- Remmick- please, please get me out- it hurts, Remmick, please.” You beg, your babbling words warbling with pain and emotion. You don’t want to be left behind, not again, not by him. It’d hurt more than the searing kiss of the sun.

“I ain’t leavin’ you, darlin’.” He says with finality through gritted teeth, even as every instinctual thing inside him whispers to leave you here to die, to save himself and let you be engulfed in the flames of your mistake. He circles behind you, taking a deep breath before beginning to tug at the chains, hissing as they burn the calloused skin on his hands. Despite the pain, they steadily come undone, dropping to the ground around you so you can finally take in a gasping breath.

“I told you to stay with me, didn’t I? Would it kill ya to listen for once?” Remmick snaps as he undoes the last of the chains around your legs, leaving you to stumble forward. You’re charred and covered in wounds, but now your body can finally begin to regenerate. You look a mess and you feel like one too, tears stinging the corners of your eyes as you struggle just to stay standing.

Before you can even get out an apology, he’s grabbing your wrist and tugging you with him. His own blood smears on your skin, the smell threatening to cloud your mind. “C’mon, or else we’ll both be fried.” His tone is low and angry and focused, telling you to save whatever you need to say for later.

You eagerly follow him, doing your best to keep up as you both run to outrace the rising warmth of morning. Panic hangs heavy around you, knowing how quickly those final minutes tick by, feeling the heat licking at your heels. Your skin threatens to begin sizzling again, sweat gleaming on your forms.

But by the grace of some cursed god, it turns out the hunters had dragged you not too far from where you and Remmick have made your home in a tiny little house hidden in the trees. It’s temporary, of course, and you’ll no doubt be moving again after tonight, but in the moment it’s like finding a blessed sanctuary in the midst of damnation. You both fly up the porch steps and burst into your home just as the sun clears the horizon line, its beams filtering through the trees while you slam the door in its face.

You fall to your knees instantly, panting and heaving like a dog as your deep injuries throb and ooze. Your whole body is shaking, weak from a pain and hunger you haven’t experienced before. You can feel the ache in your teeth, the drool that still runs down your chin despite how many times you’ve wiped it away.

Remmick is less fazed, simply shrugging off his sweat and blood soaked button up and tossing it aside, his suspenders falling loose around his hips and leaving him in his once white tank. The thin gold chain around his neck glints in the dim lighting, a twin to the gold band on his ring finger. He’s cut it close enough times in his long past that he’s familiar with the sensation of the sun at his back, but he’s been more careful with you. He makes sure to have you both fed and back with time to spare, but everything seemed to go wrong tonight. Though, he supposes the scare was probably good for you. Teach you not to wander off again.

He looks idly at his hands, at the blisters that are already beginning to fade. He’s always healed pretty fast, while you on the other hand aren’t as fortunate. The scent of your blood fills his nose, fills the room of the house. You’re both lucky his hunger was satiated earlier, otherwise he’d be on you like a leech. Even after he turned you, your blood stayed just as mouthwatering, just as delicious to something twisted inside of him. It proved to him that you were something different, something he’d been searching for without really knowing it.

“Are you upset with me?” You sniffle, quite pathetic really. But it’s been a long while since you’ve felt this much shame and embarrassment, and your body doesn’t quite know what to do with it besides force it out through tears.

Remmick stands in silence with his thoughts for a moment more before he sighs, defeated. “I ain’t angry with ya, sugar. Just worried, is all.” He turns, his steps marked by the too-soft thud of boots against hardwood. You see the toes of his shoes in your vision, but you still can’t make yourself lift your head, to look at him—so he does it for you. He crouches down, taking your face in his hand, making you meet his eyes. “Fuck, darlin’, they almost killed you.”

You can see the concern etched onto his eternally young face, the memory of seeing you chained in silver and presented like a sacrifice to the morning sun. You can’t even begin to understand the fear he’d felt; hearing all the commotion far off in the woods, hearing your screams and hoping he ran fast enough to reach you. He could smell the way your blood poured from your body, the way it burned under your confines. He’d sensed your terror too, your emotions sitting just behind his own like a second pair, locked together by a bond too ancient to be understood. You’d called out to him without your voice and he answered without a second thought.

Oh, how he’d raged seeing you against that tree, begging your captors for a quick death. Your face was covered in tears and blood, you’d looked to the horizon with a mixture of acceptance and panic, something he’s seen plenty of times before. He never should have let it happen, should have known to keep you closer, should have known you were still too young into this and got too excited over fresh meat. Hell, he didn’t even know how you managed to sneak off but he’d looked away for one damn minute and then you were gone. He’d been a fool to trust that you’d come back before a gunshot rang through the forest.

Killing those men was one of the easier things he’s done. Remmick barely even registered their deaths, the only thought in his mind being eliminating any threats to you and getting some food out of it as well. Their wards and stakes and silver bullets did nothing to deter him, they were weak and weightless—the opposite of the other hunters he’s come across, the ones with real strength. No, those men were new and ultimately inexperienced, and yet still stupidly dangerous.

He’d worry about them later. They’re dead and gone while you’re still bleeding and sniffling in front of him.

You lean into his touch like a cat, desperate for comfort. “Yer starvin’, ain’t ‘cha?” He murmurs, running his thumb along your cheek. He can see it clear as day in your gleaming eyes, the drool that won’t stop, and the way your wounds are refusing to close because you don’t have enough sustenance. You nod sadly, your head bowed while tears of frustration burn behind your eyelids. Remmick is quick to wipe them away. “Shh, don’t cry, sugar. You’ll be alright. You got food right here.”

You look at him with confusion before seeing the way he’s presented his thick forearm to you, underside up. Your eyes widen and you almost jump immediately at the opportunity, your teeth aching painfully and hunger howling within you. He nods his head towards his arm. “Go on, darlin’. You know I wouldn’t let ya go hungry.”

You sit up, acting on autopilot as you grip his arm in both of your hands, your drool dripping onto his skin before your teeth sink in. Blood immediately comes to the surface of the puncture wounds, and you take every drop you’re offered. The iron-sweet tang on your tongue instantly brings out your hunger tenfold, your fangs digging even deeper into the soft skin. Remmick makes a low noise, something between a groan and a grunt, watching with satisfaction as you take from him.

It’s rare when he lets you do this. Typically there’s enough food for the both of you, enough to keep you happily satiated until the next time that primordial hunger comes knocking. But sometimes there’s nights when the hunt fails, nights like tonight when the need to feast is bad enough to kill you if it’s left too long, when you need to rely on your last resort. However, no matter what, Remmick will never let his lady go hungry.

The age of Remmick’s blood blooms in your mouth, rich with an aftertaste of ancient iron and old, hidden stories. Only people like you would know how much you can learn from someone’s blood, from the life force of their body. The whispers of the lives they led running along your tongue as you feast, the emotions they held within hopes and dreams. It’s fascinating, and it was something Remmick was eager to show you when you were first turned, teaching you the crimson stained wonders of being what he is.

You relish the feeling of his blood flowing through you, working to heal the wounds littering your body. His other hand rests firmly on the back of your neck, his fingers occasionally squeezing and letting you feel the pricks of his claws that have begun to slide from their sheaths. He keeps you there, encouraging you to take and take and take.

You eventually pull back, twisting out of his hold on you and releasing his bloody arm with a pop. Your breath comes as pants through your open mouth, blood staining your lips and teeth, the gleam having returned to your eyes. Your bites have always been cleaner than Remmick’s, less gruesome and destructive, leaving his forearm with tiny wounds that will heal quickly. The sight of red beading from them still makes you salivate but it’s easier to reel yourself in now, dragging your hunger back by a leash around its neck to keep it from going rabid. It allows your fangs and claws to be more willing to retract, your mind no longer running in restless, desperate circles around the concept of food.

You notice the way Remmick has been looking at you, full of some type of reverence mixed with relief, you think. Relief at the fact you’re not a sniveling, bleeding mess on the floor anymore, your usual shine quickly coming back. Your wounds have stitched themselves back together, bone no longer showing and just the outermost layers still being torn and burnt. It makes you feel like you can breathe again, every movement free of the horrible agony.

“C’mere.” Remmick says, voice dropping a few levels as he continues staring at your blood stained mouth. He pulls you in before you even have the chance to sit up properly, your lips meeting in a clash of tongues and teeth. He groans when he tastes his own blood on you, practically taking it from you with the way he licks you. You gasp against him as he fully invades your space, your back hitting the wooden door so that there’s nowhere else to go, his body effectively caging you in. His hands easily roam over your form, knowing every inch and detail with the precision of a man who’s explored them a hundred times before.

Hands come to rest on your waist and before you know it, you’re being hoisted up with a startled noise that Remmick quickly swallows with a kiss. His muscled biceps flex as he easily holds you against him, your legs coming to wrap around his hips and your hands gripping at his shoulders for purchase. You’re carried upstairs with a newfound urgency, Remmick kicking open the bedroom door and roughly laying you onto the soft sheets of a bed that used to belong to somebody else—before you two took over, of course.

Blood, sweat, and dirt immediately stain the covers beneath you, smearing across the fabric as you move. It’s nothing new, this happens just about every time you return from an exhilarating hunt. You both barely ever have the foresight to wash off first before climbing into bed together. Remmick follows after you, your hands resting on either side of his face to draw him in, never wanting to be apart for too long. His fingers pull at the shirt that was tucked into your pants that are too big on you, the ones you always wear on a hunt that are now ruined by the burn marks of silver chains.

His touch is always just on the side of too cold, a consequence of being undead, the same one that you suffer from. It’s something you were quick to grow used to, along with the way his temperature fluctuates depending on how much fresh blood he has coursing through him. His ring bites like ice beneath your shirt as he eases it up and over your body, tossing it somewhere into a corner to be picked up later.

“Mm, Remmick..” you mumble, your hands coming up to run through his short black hair, his bangs plastered to his forehead with sweat. His bloody chain dangles from his sternum, hanging just above you like a taunt.

“I know, sugar.” He responds, feeling the way your legs rub together beneath him, your body quivering with anticipation. His kisses trail from your lips to your jaw, then to your neck, past the spot where he bit you all those years ago. He licks away stains of the dried blood remaining from your sealed injuries, groaning like an animal at the taste that leaves him drooling.

Saliva smears across your skin on his way down your body, stopping briefly at your breasts. He takes a nipple into his mouth, swirling it against his tongue and teasing it between his thankfully normal teeth as you arch into him, little breathy moans and gasps tumbling out of you. He envelops the other breast in his calloused hand, squeezing and rolling the soft flesh between his fingers. “So beautiful… so good fer me, sugar.” He murmurs against you, his nose nudging at the space between your breasts where more blood has dried. It doesn’t take long for him to clean it off.

He makes quick work of your pants, undoing the buttons deftly and lifting your hips to tug them free. His hands run along your thighs lovingly, goosebumps rising in his wake. He straightens, red eyes roving over your now exposed body with appreciation. Drool beads at the corners of his lips, steadily building and running down his chin while you smile at him.

“Pretty thing, all fer me.” Remmick says it like a confirmation and a vow, even though he needs none. There’s nothing that could separate you two besides a stake through the heart or the sun’s warmth. You gave yourself to him completely the day you let him bite you, let him take your life and forge it into something new, something unholy and damned.

“All yours.” You agree, stretching your arms above your head like a cat. You give him a sly grin. “Now stop teasing.”

His eyebrows shoot up, a deep chuckle leaving him, even as he hooks his fingers beneath your underwear and tugs it off. “Always impatient, huh?”

You hum as he kneels, his strong arms coming up to wrap around your thighs and settle them nicely on his wide shoulders. “I just know how good you feel. Can’t a girl be excited?”

Remmick smirks, huffing a laugh. “Shoot, I don’t see why not.”

His breath fans across your cunt, already wet and glistening with your arousal. The red in his eyes smolders like coals, burning brighter with his desire as he looks at you like you’re his next meal. He leans in, that first connection acting like lightning shooting through you, your body arching and mouth falling open. His tongue licks between your folds, collecting your slick and dragging it up to your clit where he toys with the bud, circling it with little flicks and pecks while you moan above him.

Remmick sucks your clit into his mouth, the rest of you immediately responding in turn as you jolt from the pleasure. He knows how to play you like his banjo, how to keep you easy and pliant while he works you to climax. He knows your body like it’s his own, the bond you share allowing him to hold a presence within you, to tell your emotions and thoughts. Most of all, he knows how you like to be licked, his tongue dipping into your hole as your noises raise a pitch.

“Remmick.. fuck-“ You moan, hands coming down to run through his hair, tugging after a particularly harsh kiss to your clit. He groans into your pussy, the sound reverberating through you as he swallows down your arousal with an eagerness he doesn’t even display during feedings. His drool makes your cunt shine, mixing with your slick to the point you don’t know where he ends and you begin.

He practically buries himself into your cunt, licking and kissing and taking whatever you have to offer. His hands are like vices on your thighs, the unmistakable tips of his claws occasionally pricking your skin as they again slide from their nail beds with his excitement. You can feel the way pleasure courses through you, tightening your muscles and creating a familiar knot in your lower abdomen that will steadily build until it’s ready to come loose. It won’t be long with the way Remmick eats you like he hasn’t had a meal in years.

His nose nudges at your clit, his tongue circling your hole before slipping inside, collecting the wetness you continually drip for him. You whine loudly, pulling harder at the black strands of his hair, your thighs attempting to clench around his head. “Shit- feels so good Rem, fuck-“ You curse, falling back against the pillows, chest heaving.

You writhe under his ministrations, his hands having to move up to your hips just to keep you still, his biceps flexing against your legs. He knows how close you are so he ramps it up, licking from your center to your clit and drawing it into his mouth, his brows furrowed in concentration. Your moans and whimpers are music to his ears, listening to the way you call his name with a breathy gasp as he makes you cum.

It crashes over you like a wave, that knot coming undone and pleasure wracking your body. Remmick drinks it all, not letting a single drop of it go to waste as his eyes burn red. He’s quick to slip a hand between your legs, two fingers sinking into the plush heat of your pussy, his claws sheathed just for now. He pumps them in and out while you ride through your orgasm, scissoring your gummy walls to stretch you even further. He doesn’t let up, even as you grab at him to try and get him off, the attention bordering on overstimulation. He continues to kiss at your clit all the while, his fingers and his mouth bringing you straight into another orgasm that has you seeing white.

Every nerve in your body feels like it’s on fire, overly sensitive and leaving your legs twitching. Remmick licks you clean with as much care and diligence a man like him can muster, his fanged teeth occasionally scraping against you and making you shudder. His fingers slip out of your warmth covered in your cum, your walls fluttering and aching at the emptiness that you know won’t last long.

He finally releases your thighs, letting them fall from his shoulders as he lifts himself from between your legs. The lower half of his face is covered in a shiny mixture of drool, cum, and blood, making him look all sorts of a mess. You couldn’t care less, knowing that no matter what he does, it’s going to be a little messy—and you love that about him.

He slowly makes his way back up your body, kissing from your clavicle to your ribs, to your breasts, and then up the column of your neck before at last reaching your lips. You’re eager to kiss him, hands tugging at his shoulders to pull him in, keeping him as close as possible. You taste yourself on his tongue, along with a familiar iron tang that has your hunger flaring again. You pull away only to lick along his chin, eagerly collecting the bloody mixture until there’s none left. Your fangs released without you even realizing.

“Yer still hungry.” He says it as a statement rather than a question, seeing the blatant craving in your dazed eyes, feeling it within himself as if it was his own. You’ve tried to subdue it all this time, not wanting to take more than you’re allowed, but it still makes your stomach clench, your teeth ache. Your body is too weak to resist the pangs, still too busy patching up whatever damage can’t be seen externally. Remmick coos at you, “c’mon, s’okay. You don’t have to hide it from me.”

You begin to protest, your more human sensibility allowing guilt to take charge. “You already gave me-“

He shakes his head, silencing you. “Sugar, ya won’t last long if yer starvin’. I think I ate enough for the both of us anyhow.” You think back to all those dead hunters in that clearing, their bodies strewn along the forest floor and their blood splattered on the grass like paint. You can still smell their foreign iron-laced scents on Remmick, and it only serves to make you crave more. Drool falls down your chin, and he just smiles knowingly. His head tilts, the skin on his neck becoming taut as he bares it to you. “C’mon now.”

There’s a singular moment of hesitation, where you look into those red gleaming eyes of his for a type of confirmation, and all you find is that he’s just watching you expectantly. Well, if a meal’s going to be served to you on a silver platter like this, you’d do good to take it.

Your jaw goes slack, your teeth sharp and ready, before your body lunges up to latch onto his neck. As the first drops hit your tongue, he grunts, his form falling over yours while he wraps an arm swiftly around your waist so you can both fall back onto the bed. His other hand slams down next to your head while his blood fills your mouth and you gulp it down like there won’t be a tomorrow.

Being fed on is always jarring for Remmick, his body still not used to it after the centuries of him being the only one to feast. His neck is so much different than his arm, he realizes, something dangerous being set off within him this time as a result. But it turns out he’d do just about anything for you, so he makes himself ease into the sensation, even as his claws dig into the bedsheets and his fanged teeth grind together hard enough to shatter, the primal part of him fearing that, for once, he’s being preyed on.

“That’s it, sugar.” He says with a husky laugh. “Shit.”

Past the initial shock, it’s easy for the pain to shift into pleasure. It is quite erotic, really, the way he can feel his own blood coursing through your body. The little noises you make while you feed on him, the trickles of blood mixing with spit on your chin, your strength returning all because of him. It fills him with a twisted sense of pride, knowing that he’s the one satiating that bone deep hunger, knowing his blood is mixing with yours and becoming one inside you. “Take it all, darlin’, suck me dry.” He groans, the tips of his claws making little pinpricks in your sides as he holds onto you.

It’s almost involuntary, the way his hips rut against you, his cock straining in his pants and demanding attention. It has his hands fumbling between your bodies, eager to undo the thick buckle of his belt with a clink, the buttons of his trousers following after. You nearly choke on his blood when you feel his shaft rubbing between your folds, coating himself in the mixture of your cum and his drool. He does a few slow, experimental thrusts, not sinking in just yet but simply feeling you instead. It has you groaning against his neck, your teeth digging in deeper and greedily drinking at the ambrosia that is Remmick’s blood while he pants above you.

You release him with a sharp gasp when the head of his cock catches your entrance, at last pressing in with slippery ease. His moan is throaty and guttural, a shiver running through him at the way your walls draw him in, enveloping him in plush warmth. He sheathes himself completely and he stays with his hips flush to yours for just a moment, allowing himself to enjoy the initial pleasure. It amazes you how he never gets tired of it, even after his centuries of being alive and his years of fucking you.

You pull him back down with hands on either side of his face, encouraging him to kiss you. He does, of course, his mouth enveloping yours just as he begins to thrust, drawing almost completely from your cunt before slamming back in. His tongue roves over yours, licking away any remnants of his blood and swallowing down your moans. He pulls away with his chest heaving, a sharp groan falling from his open mouth, fangs on full display just beneath his lips.

There’s a sudden wetness against your collarbones that makes you jolt, looking down to see blood from Remmick’s neck splattered along your skin. The wound you’d bitten into him is still bleeding, droplets coming loose with his thrusts and the way he’s bent over you. He smirks, taking two fingers and drawing them over the bite marks, collecting the blood smeared there. “Clean up yer mess, sugar.” He tells you between breathy pants, bringing his fingers to your mouth.

You take them eagerly, swirling the pads against your tongue, licking off every bit of blood and enjoying the earthly, metal taste. He watches you in awe, his eyes burning bright red in the dim lighting, full of adoration and reverence and desire. Your spit coats his fingers generously, leaving them shiny when you let go with a wet smack. He buries his head into the side of your neck with a disbelieving chuckle that quickly morphs into a moan, his hot breath fanning across your skin as your hands clutch at his bloodied white tank.

You take the opportunity to mouth at the bite on his throat like an animal, like a cat grooming its mate. You whine suddenly when he hits that spot at the top of your core, the one that has you keening and pleasure sparking like lightning beneath your skin. “Fu-fuck, Remmick-“ You mewl, claws digging into the expanse of his back, even through the tank. He growls appreciatively at the pain, at the red, angry lines undoubtedly rising along his skin and beading with blood.

Remmick nips hungrily at your neck, his hands digging harshly into your sides. He’s practically laid over top of you while he thrusts his cock deep into your throbbing pussy, keeping you as close as possible. There’s something possessive and raw about it, about the way he breathes you in, clutching at you desperately, biting you as if to prove you’re there.

“Ain’t never lettin’ you out of my sight again. Nearly fuckin’ lost ya.” He snarls with a groan, his claws digging in a little deeper at the memories of what happened just hours prior. Though your body no longer holds proof of it, he won’t forget anytime soon. He’ll chain you to him if he has to, just to make sure you’re safe.

“I- I know- I’m sorry-“ You say, moans stuttering with the way his hips slam into you, fueled by his declaration and the feral desires that howl a constant song within him. It’s not often that Remmick reveals any kind of vulnerability to you, instead letting you guess at it based on what you can gather from the bond you share. But it seems the very real idea of you bound in silver and burning brought it out of him, even if only a little.

You’re both nearing release, the pleasure burning in your core while his movements grow choppy and uneven. The noises he makes change, becoming breathy at the edges as his brows furrow, his nose nudging at your jaw. “Rem- Remmick- shit-“ You whine, feeling the way you’re so close to tumbling off the edge.

“I got ‘cha, sugar.” He says, voice rumbling right next to your ear. One hand comes between you, his calloused fingers finding your clit and swirling it in hurried circles, your mouth falling open and your eyes pinching shut as your muscles tense. His response is near instant, his free hand pinching your chin like a reminder, “nuh-uh, look at me, darlin’.”

You have no choice but to oblige him, meeting his gaze through tear stained lashes. You learned quickly how obsessed he is with seeing your face, seeing your eyes. No matter what position you’re in, he’ll make sure he can still see you or else you’ll find yourself flipped around to rectify it. You think he does it as a way to ground himself, a near impossible feat in an immortal body that’s hundreds of years old. You let him use you as an anchor, keeping him tethered here with you, two lonely souls finding company in one another.

It feels like all the breath gets knocked from your lungs as your third orgasm overtakes you. You whimper and whine and moan Remmick’s name, your hands scrabbling at him desperately. The way your cunt spasms around him makes him quick to follow after you with a loud curse, his cum hot as it paints your walls white, filling you to the brim with him. He rides out his high, emptying every last drop into you with small jerks of his hips and soft words, encouraging you to take it all.

“Fuck, sugar, yer somethin’ else.” Remmick pants, muscled chest heaving, straightening just a little to look at you in your fucked-out state. Hair wild, skin flushed, looking almost human if it weren’t for the unholy gleam in your eyes. There’s sticky trails of blood and spit all along your forms, remnants of both the hunt and your copulation. It’s made a further mess of the sheets below you, but quite frankly, you’re too tired to care.

He slowly pulls out with a groan, cum dribbling from your abused hole with his cock no longer there to keep you plugged full. You wince at the feeling, your energy spent and your body rightfully exhausted. As much as Remmick would love to keep you ruined with the reminders of what he did to you, he knows how you hate sleeping while sticky—and he needs you to be able to rest. He gently pries himself from you, even as you continuously try to wrap your arms around him again. “I’ll be right back, darlin’.” He promises, finally getting free despite your grumbling.

He gets a washcloth from the bathroom, wetting it with warm water before returning. Your arms are open for him, welcoming him back into your embrace so you can feel him against you, so you can feel complete. He holds you like something precious, cleans you like you’re made of delicate glass. He wipes the blood off with no issue, his appetite blissfully satiated for now, and he’s gentle between your legs, this routine so familiar that he could do it with his eyes closed. You go limp from his touch, your body pliant beneath him. He kisses you more than once, unable to help himself when you bask so nicely in the afterglow.

When he’s finished, Remmick tosses the cloth absently into a corner somewhere, followed by his bloody tank that joins his button up on the floor to be washed later. He then settles into a non-soiled part of the bed, sitting back against the headboard and easily pulling you on top of him. You simply follow wherever his hands want you to go, more than happy to relax in his lap with your head pressed to his bare chest and his thick arms enveloping you. His scent floods your nose—sweat, iron, dirt, and old leather, making you hum appreciatively.

“My sweet girl,” Remmick murmurs against your hair, his hand running along your back in soothing lines. He pulls one of the spare quilts free and wraps it around you and you nestle into its comfort, the heavy material soft against your bare skin. You nuzzle against Remmick, too tired to resist fully giving in to those base desires for warmth and safety, knowing he’ll give you exactly that. There’s a kiss pressed to your forehead. “Rest. Y’need it.”

“You’ll still be here?” You mumble, barely able to muster a sentence, eyes already beginning to shut. Sometimes there’s days when you need that extra confirmation, his promise that he won’t leave you behind, that he’ll still be waiting for you by the time you wake up. You feel his grip on you tighten, just for a moment.

“‘Course I will, sugar. I ain’t ever leavin’.”

☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆ .。.:*

Tags; @vesnaragast

[apollortaylor]

Tip for any gender-queer or non-conforming people out there: Know the law.

Doesn't matter how cis you are, anyone who doesn't immediately fit the absurd and convoluted way the right thinks we should look/dress/walk/speak is at risk for harassment and hate crimes just for existing.

Do your research and know your regions laws on bathrooms, the use of preferred names, what counts as trespassing, and anything else that you might be told you're doing illegally. Know what protects you in what contexts and don't break those laws if you don't have to or are not intentionally taking a stance.

When harrassed know what you are allowed to do or say and give them NO reason to take action. They won't care what the law actually says but if you know it and have your receipts at very least you shouldn't be persecuted of anything. The people doing the harassing are usually breaking the law themselves and if they try to take action you can use that to protect yourself.

Don't give anyone a reason to be aggressive or violent, and don't ever do something you could get in legal trouble for. As soon as you give them something to use they will take full advantage of it and nothing else will be relevant. The right doesn't respect differing view points and fighting with morals will get you nowhere. But the have most of the systematic power, and some will violate every law they can as long as no one stops them. Knowing what they can and can't do is sometimes all you need to protect yourself. Being able to challenge corruption because you can label it as such takes away their advantage of trusting you can't call out their bullshit.

Be safe. Educate yourself. Don't do anything that will put you in danger if you don't need to. We can't fight a war on hate without at least showing how powerful peace and cooperation can be.

Don't give them a viable reason to go after you. Because they will if they have one.

[velaris-fic-repository]

Mishaps in Babysitting

@sjmxreaderweek May 10th Prompt: Free Day

Azriel x Archeron!Reader, Nyx is a menace

“Now, you’re sure you’re alright doing this?” your sister, Feyre, asked you by the door. She and Rhys were going out into Velaris tonight for a much needed date night just the two of them.

Nesta, Cassian and the Valkyries were in Illyria with the non envied task of dealing the camp leaders. Elain had agreed to a little trip around Prythian with Lucien, who had offered to show her all the various court gardens - among other things - and so the two of them could get to know each other a bit better. A chance to get themselves on better footing, as it were. Mor had a date of her own tonight and Amren was visiting Varian in Summer.

That left you at home to watch the Inner Circle’s beloved child, your precious nephew, Nyx.

“Feyre, if you try to talk yourself out of going through me one more time, I’m going to lose it.” You offered her an easy, loving smile. “I know it’s hard to leave him, but you have more than earned this. Go, spend a night with your husband. The little guy and I will be fine. If it makes you feel any better, Azriel said he should be home soon. The two of us won’t be alone for long.”

Feyre shook her head, the pins in her hair glittering like stars in the light as she did so, “I never meant to imply that you couldn’t handle it-“

“-And,” you interrupted her, “I never said you did. Feyre, I promise everything will be fine. Let me do this.” Your face took on a softer, guilty expression. “It’s the least I can do.” You didn’t need to specify what you meant.

Feyre frowned, but nodded, “okay.”

Rhys swept around you to hold her from behind, pressing a kiss to her cheek. “Ready to go, darling?”

Feyre looked at you and finally nodded, more sure this time, “yes, I am.”

“There you go!” you said, “go out, have fun, we’ll be here when you get back!”

Rhys sent his feline smile your way over your sister’s shoulder. “He’s quite the handful on his own, you know. I’m sure I can call Azriel before we leave.”

You swatted playfully at your brother in law, “I’ll be fine! Besides-“ you put a hand over where your young bond with Azriel glowed in your chest- “if I need him, he’ll know.”

Rhys smiled.

“Nyx is smarter than his own good,” Feyre warned, “don’t let him trick you-“

“-Stop worrying! Both of you! Shoo! Out! Go! Out! Out!”

The couple laughed, sending a few more words of advice and thanks over their shoulders before leaning into each other on the lamp lit sidewalks of their beloved city. You watched them go with a soft smile before pushing off the door and walking back inside.

You rounded the corner to Nyx’s room shortly after. “Alright, Nyx what are you and your favorite auntie gonna get up to?” you teased.

You’d expected to find Nyx playing with his toys where his father had left him. In hindsight, you should have known better.

“Nyx, sweetie?”

Nothing. The room was empty aside from the entire toy box being strewn about. You carefully picked the toys up as you called out to the room, expecting Nyx to be hiding somewhere inside, maybe in the closet, where the toy box was… Hmm…

Okay, you could play this game.

“Nyx? Nyx where are you? Huh. I guess he’s not here. Welp, I guess I could at least responsibly put these toys away.” You were laying it on thick, you knew, but that was half of the fun.

You opened the closet slowly, finding the toy box tucked into the darkest corner with its lid slightly propped up. Little giggles sounded from the box, which was all you needed to know.

You crept closer and then all at once, yanked the box lid off. “There you are!”

Nyx, with his little wings tucked close to him, giggled up at you, amusement shinning in his eyes that looked so much like your sister’s.

“Gotcha!” You said, reaching for your nephew. That was, you did, until the world folded around him and you grasped nothing but thin air.

You blinked.

Had Nyx ever winnowed before? You felt like you’d have remembered something like that.

Dread spiked in your stomach for a moment until you took a deep breath, setting off into the house. This was alright, all you had to do was find him. All he had done was extend - and mildly increase the danger of - his hide and seek game.

You heard rustling in the kitchen and raced there.

Nyx, to your growing horror was spreading his little wings on top of the cabinets, perched like an adorable, little mischievous gargoyle.

“Nyx, honey, this isn’t funny anymore. You could get seriously hurt up there. Let me reach up there and pull you down.”

Nyx shook his head, “nuh-uh, auntie. I’ve got wings!”

“No! No, no, no. Nyx, sweetheart, please just stay there, I’m gonna get you down. Stay there.”

“Better idea!” He shouted in a way that reminded you so much of Cassian. He leaned forward a few times, preparing to launch from the cabinets. “Catch me!”

He launched himself from the cabinets, gliding down towards the counter. You scrambled to catch him, but there was no way you were going to make it in time.

Before Nyx could collide with anything, his descent was stopped by a hand clutching the back of his shirt. Azriel was home, and had Nyx grabbed by the scruff.

“So it looks like someone hasn’t been behaving for his auntie like he’d promised,” Azriel said, wryly.

Nyx flailed a bit but quickly realized that he wasn’t going to be escaping the strength of his uncle’s grip and quit.

“I’m sorry, Uncle Azzie” Nyx said in a sad, deflated voice.

“Don’t say sorry to me, say sorry to your auntie.”

Nyx sent sad, remorseful eyes your way, bringing tears to your eyes as well.

“Sorry…” he warbled.

“Aww,” you cooed getting closer to him. “It’s alright little buddy. You just scared me, that’s all. We all care an awful lot about you, you know that?”

He nodded.

“We want you to be safe,” you said, “and sometimes being safe means not doing every little thing you want to do. Sometimes, a fun idea can be dangerous. That doesn’t mean never do anything fun again, just think about what could happen to figure out if it’s safe. Make sense buddy?”

“Uh huh!”

“Good,” you smiled, “now, promise you won’t winnow away from us and Uncle Azzie will let you down so we can play. Sound fair?”

Nyx nodded vigorously.

“Okay.”

The rest of the evening went by far smoother. You tired Nyx out playing and then set him to bed. You and Azriel sat leaned against each other on the couch not too far away from the little one’s room.

“Thank you,” you sighed, “for coming.”

“I felt your terror through the bond,” Azriel said, sounding about as tired as you felt, “there was nowhere in the world I wouldn’t have left to come to you.”

Your heart swelled, “Az.”

“I don’t know what is wrong with human males for you to think that isn’t the treatment you deserve,” Azriel growled.

“Thank you, Az,” you said, kissing his cheek.

“Don’t ever thank me for that again. I don’t deserve praise for what I would do naturally.”

Not having the energy for even this back and forth, you simply sighed and leaned your head on Azriel’s shoulder. His wing moved in to drape over you like a blanket as the two of you rested there.

Rhysand and Feyre came home to find you and Azriel snoring on each other. Quietly snickering, they checked on their sleeping son. Happy to see all their loved ones were safe and accounted for, they draped a blanket over the two of you and left you to sleep.

[owoeyeoseroghokijawft]

There's a fox in the chicken coop! Investigation reveals US Agency for International Development provides non-military related funds to Ukraine

The picture shows the USAID headquarters in Washington, DC. (Photo: Reuters)

[Voice of Hope, February 26, 2025] (Voice of Hope reporter Chen Wenyun compiled) Investigators revealed to the North American Epoch Times that officials of the United States Agency for International Development (USAID) repeatedly refused investigators from the Senate #DOGE Caucus Chair, Senator Joni Erns (Joni Erns) working group to review documents related to US tax funds allegedly used to help #Ukraine resist Russian invasion.

When investigators were finally allowed to view the documents, they were "stored in a highly secure room at USAID headquarters and strictly monitored," even though "nothing shared by USAID was confidential."

During the investigation, Ernst discovered that USAID's multi-million dollar project "exists in secret funds to put millions of American taxpayers' money into Ukraine for questionable purposes unrelated to our national interests."

“Funds that should have been used to ease the war-torn country’s economic woes were instead used for unimportant activities, such as sending Ukrainian models and designers to New York, London Fashion Week, Paris Fashion Week and the South by Southwest Festival in Austin, Texas,” investigators said.

One of the secret funds provided $114,000 to purchase a “high-end limited edition furniture line” and another $91,000 to fund a “trade mission for a Scandinavian-style furniture line.”

Investigators found that USAID also provided $148,000 in grants to “a pickle maker,” $255,000 to “an organic tea and coffee producer,” $104,000 to “an artisanal fruit tea company,” and $89,000 in support to “a Ukrainian vineyard.”

USAID also provided $300,000 each to a dog collar manufacturer and a company that sells pet tracking apps, $161,000 to "a modern knitwear supplier," $126,000 to "a photographer for a fashion design publication," and $84,000 in support to "a luxury bridal brand."

Ernst first began investigating USAID in November 2023, when he wrote a letter to then-USAID Administrator Samantha Power.

“I firmly support providing weapons and ammunition to Ukrainian militants to fight Putin,” Ernst told Power, “but I am not willing to spend nearly $25 billion of hard-earned U.S. taxpayer dollars on so-called economic aid to Ukraine, including subsidies for overseas businesses like a ‘luxury contemporary knit fashion store’ in Kyiv.”

In a Feb. 4 letter to U.S. Secretary of State Marco Rubio, Ernst said that “USAID has deliberately abused a system designed to protect the security of our nation’s classified information in order to limit congressional oversight of public information.”

Rubio replaced Power as acting administrator of USAID earlier this month. Most of the agency’s employees are on administrative leave, and layoffs are underway that could eliminate as many as 2,000 positions within the agency.

The Epoch Times obtained information about Ernst’s investigation the same day the House DOGE subcommittee prepared to hold a hearing focused on how USAID officials allocated at least $122 million in U.S. tax dollars to multiple organizations operating in the Middle East with documented ties to Hamas, Hezbollah, and al-Qaeda terrorist groups.

Gregg Roman, executive director of the Middle East Forum (MEF), told The Epoch Times on Tuesday (25th) that he would testify before the hearing panel that “there is a fox in the henhouse of our foreign aid system!”

Roman said, “This problem started under the Obama administration, intensified under the Biden administration, and now requires immediate action to stop the dangerous mismanagement and deadly ethical chaos.” “We are not just talking about waste, fraud, and abuse, this is a national security issue. Every dollar misused destabilizes conflict zones and endangers American lives.”

MEF investigators confirmed the evidence of terrorist links through U.S. government documents, USAID records, and other public sources of information.

The House DOGE Subcommittee, chaired by Rep. Marjorie Taylor Greene, is part of the House Oversight and Accountability Committee, chaired by Rep. James Comer. The House DOGE Panel, like the Senate DOGE Panel, was created in response to President Trump’s creation of the Department of Government Effectiveness (DOGE), led by Tesla CEO Elon Musk.

DOGE is conducting a forensic audit of federal spending across all federal departments and agencies. One of the first agencies to be reviewed is USAID.

“The revelations that the DOGE team uncovered together with USAID are shocking, but this is just the tip of the iceberg!” Greene said in a statement announcing the hearing on Wednesday (26th).

[yanderenightmare]

Yandere Seven Heavenly Virtues

♡ TW: a lot of different stuff today, nsfw, noncon/dubcon, kidnapping, yandere, harsh language, sexual exploitation, age gap, bondage, vomiting/forced/emeto, implied piss-drinking, zero holes safe, and more, read at your own risk

♡ FEM reader

Humility is a filthy rich businessman. 

You’re a pretty little young thing on his contract—silly signature keeping you prisoner like a leash. Yeah, you thought being a sugarbaby was going to be a glamorous gig. But he makes it anything but, keeping you in his penthouse dressed like a peasant girl in only an old-fashioned chemise you have to handwash with a washboard, only allowing you baths in a tin tub with all but freezing cold water you have to gather yourself by the bucket.

You wait on him hand and foot. Like a maid, back in the 1800s. You make his bed, clean his bathroom, serve him food, and eat the scraps he tosses on the floor for you, licking the marble clean like a dog.

He’s into extreme subjugation with a kink of utterly humiliating you, fetishizing watching you clean his house and iron his shirts despite having actual maids who already do that sort of thing. 

He’s a freak. 

Honestly, you thought his senior age was going to keep him mild and mannered and more than happy with some short, sweet vanilla sex. You’d be long gone ages ago if it weren’t for the binding contract you’d signed back when the two of you hadn’t even started the arrangement and you thought the worst thing he would ever ask for was anal.

You really should have read the fine print. But alas, here you are… kissing his boots with only yourself to blame. And you mean that in a literal sense.

“That’s a good girl. Lick it clean. Earn it,” he groans from above.

You try to block it out the best you can. Keeping your eyes closed, you envision it’s anything else. The only issue is that you’ve yet to find anything that has the same leathery texture as a dress shoe. 

At least he isn’t stomping on your head, though he might as well be—the way he’s stomping on your pride like a spent cigarette and all but grinding it into nothing, no embers left.

“Mmh, that’s enough for now, com’ere,” he says after a while. “On the bed.”

You really wish that were better. But far from it.

“Look at you—groveling for coin—offering your body to a man twice your age.” He tuts his tongue at you where you lie before him, thighs spread, presenting yourself in the missionary position he loves so much, giving vanilla sex a bad name. 

“Not a shred of pride left in you, is there? Just a humble little slut ready to take everything and anything this old man gives her.” He feels the smooth inside of your thighs with both hands, stroking and feeling you up like putty with an ugly smile on his face. 

“Open your mouth for me, baby,” he demands while leaning forward. 

And you obey, already knowing what to expect but having no legal stance to disobey despite desperately wanting to. Eyes closed while rolling your tongue out like a welcome mat.

The disgust ignites goosebumps across your body, spreading instantly like wildfire in a dry field—bone-dry despite the blob of spit he’d dropped on your tongue.

“Drink up.” He’s gleeful as he watches you swallow and downright delighted when raising his brow, asking, “What do we say?”

What pride you have left, you swallow to make space for the words. “Thank you, master.”

“What a good girl,” he praises, now with his hands at the meeting point. “Spreading your legs so wide, showing me your pussy.” 

His thumb is crass, pushing your slumbering clit like a button. You’re quite certain he likes you dry. In fact, you’re sure he prefers it. Or else he’d put his drool to better use instead of making you swallow it.

“Such a pretty thing—and you’re giving it all to me just for some spare change?” he cooes—playing a game, using your pussy instead of a gameboard. “What a poor baby—needing to whore herself for a living.”

The slaps makes blood rush to your cunt, followed by unwilling wetness. And again, all you can say is, “Thank you, master.”

And that’s how it goes. Him, with going in raw with his viagra-spiked cock and a fist wrapped tightly around your throat, slapping your perky titties while they bounce as he straight abuses your womb—uncaring if you cum, only caring for how hard you squeeze and milk him.

Your eyes roll back, trying to let your mind take you anywhere else. At least you’ll be rich by the end of your contract, you think.

You desperately need it—now more than before. 

You know? To pay for all the therapy you’re going to need.

♡ BNHA – Enji, AFO ♡ JJK – Geto, Naoya, Toji ♡ BLLK – Aiku ♡ AOT – Erwin, Zeke

Patience is your therapist. 

You’d been a real wreck. Not really an alcoholic but more or less—a destructive whore, at least. Something about getting old had you feeling a little crazy, making you act like a teenager discovering booze and sex as if for the first time. Blacked out after yet another day of ill choices, you roll around in bed and wallow in the sickness, feeling a sharp and sudden sting. Rushing to the bathroom, chanting curses out loud, you turn around before the mirror and find a pair of angel wings tattooed on your lower back. And it’s in the following moment that you finally decide it’s high time you seek professional help.

Best decision of your life. Hands-down. You’d always been skeptical about therapy, but he’s really made you turn over a new leaf. You regret ever having waited. What’s not to like? Having a nice older gentleman listening to all your issues and troubles and giving his sage advice in turn, always warmly thanking you for showing up and telling you how he hopes to see you the same time next week. 

He’s like a father. Teaching you self-respect, how not to invite random men back home from the club, keeping you from falling off track, going weeks and months now without a single drunken night full of stupid decisions, he’s even helped you with cutting off toxic friends without any lingering feelings of guilt haunting you.

For the first time in a very long time, you finally feel your age—still young and free, but ready to let the wild part rest, fully prepared to live your life responsibly as an adult should. 

He listens to you ramble, telling him you feel like a new person, thanking him for all his help, saying that he’s cured you. And all he does is smile—that kind old smile you’ve put all your trust in. 

He really has fixed you, hasn’t he? Polished you like a dirty dime he’d picked out of the gutter. Looking like sloppy whore he’d found in the worst part of downtown, now sitting there all pretty like a good god-fearing girl.

You were a real handful. He’s had to be very patient. And now, all that patience has finally borne fruit. He never once doubted it would—those who wait never wait in vain.

“I’ve been saving up for this. Haven’t cum once since we started seeing each other,” he groans, hands tangled in your hair, holding your face steady while your arms and hands twist to be freed behind you, using all the air in your lungs to scream—but to no use. Nothing ever leaves these soundproof walls. It’s all confidential. 

“Be a good girl now and relax your throat, this pretty face of yours isn't going to fuck itself. And I’ve got two big balls' worth stored up all for you,” he hums, sending his cock through the ring-gag he’s fixed between your teeth, paying your throaty wails no mind, liking how they strum his length as he props your mouth like a pacifier, watching the fearful tears trail down from your terror-wide eyes, nose leaking above the pretty circle of your widely-stretched lips. 

He only smiles as his cockhead presses up against the back. 

“Gonna give you a nice big reward for finally completing your sessions—so be sure to swallow every drop once it comes.”

You try to pull your hands free for dear life, but the white straitjacket is a contraption meant for the most volatile of patients, not mild-issued muggles such as you. And so he abuses your throat to his heart’s content while you struggle—hacking away at your uvula and enjoying the tight way you gag around him until he finally stills up, throwing his head back and blowing his load right onto your tongue with a loudly enjoyed “Fuck yes!”

It's thicker than you’ve experienced before, and there's a lot. A whole mouthful and more—so much it’s spilling down the side of your chin, running the same path as the drool before it.

“There's more, baby,” he insists in a last-gasp voice, slowly rubbing your face into his crotch. “Wait for it… Get every last drop.”

You sob with his cock in your mouth—his pulsing tip pressed up against the inner-wall of your cheek, making it bulge on the outside, feeling the rest of his load pump out onto your taste-buds, making you retch. And still, he keeps gyrating against your face, slowly, savoring it, wiping himself against the wet, welcoming bed of your tongue, letting it tease the last of him out.

Then he sighs, full-chested and pleased, before backing up and tilting your head up.

“Swallow,” he orders, looking into your open-ring mouth and the pretty white he’d just dumped inside it. Keeping you still with a firm grip around your jaw when you try to shake and spit to the best of your ability. 

His gritty fingertips are rough against the softness of your cheeks, pinching them hollow while he sighs, “I’m a very patient man, sweetheart, I can stand here all day with my cock in your face if that’s what it takes. ‘Cause sooner or later, one way or the other, you are gonna take your medicine like a good girl.”

You refuse. But after a small while, you fear it’ll take the wrong pipe as you feel it starting to trickle down your throat on its own, and you cave. Swallowing harshly—open-mouth and all.

And he grins. “Good girl.” Giving your jaw a jiggle while leering down at you.

“Next is your yellow medicine.”

♡ BNHA – Deku, Kirishima, Hawks ♡ JJK – Kenjaku ♡ BLLK – Aiku

Diligence is your personal trainer. 

He’s uber professional, not letting you give up or rest before you’ve completed your goals for the day, and always making sure you stretch properly after. 

You didn't know things were weird. You thought it was normal. How could you have known? You’ve never had a personal trainer before. So what if his bulge squeezed tightly against your mound? It’s not exactly avoidable in this position, and he’s only helping you stretch, right? What’s the harm? You wouldn’t exactly be able to get into this position on your own, now would you? Folded flat, knees by your head, feet behind it, thighs on par with your spine. Never, not even in a million years, would you ever be able to manage!

“Get off!” you squeak—all air pushed out of you. “This is not–”

Okay—that's what you were going to say, but the word is robbed. Trampled by the guy squatting above you—using your own bike shorts and panties against you, having pulled them down to your ankles and wrapped the crotch around the back of your neck—keeping you fixed in the odd position all to his liking.

“I don’t think so, baby. I’ve put in the work,” he gruffs. “And now I'm gonna reap what I sowed and get my dick’s-worth out’a this tight little pussy of yours—give it a good workout just like I did the rest of you, train it to take cock like a champ. Then we’ll see about rewarding it with a little clit-rub—if you’re a good girl, that is.”

He pulls himself out of his sweats while you flail around like a flibbed bug that’s had all its legs ripped off—achieving nothing except exhaustion as he taps your bared pussy with the thick curve of his cock, fucking himself through the chub of your gathered lips for a moment before pressing through them, bullying your hole open with his fat tip—not even savoring it with going slow, but pile-driving himself ball’s deep on the first thrust. 

And even then, when buried from stem to stern, he only whistles at the tightness for a fleeting moment, offering but a breathy chuckle. Holding your thighs in a squeeze while all but sitting on you as he starts to pound you fast and utter fucking silly—ball’s slapping your ass while you cunt starts spitting form the vaccum, making noises that have you squeeze your eyes shut and shake your head trying to block it out.

“No slacking now, squeeze me with all you got!” he encourages strictly despite the way you refuse, treating it the same way he does when you try to weasel out of doing all your reps. “I wanna feel this pretty little muscle of yours work for it!”

You can’t control it, but you do exactly as he says. Struggling for air in the pressed position—only able to wheeze out moans like a squeaky toy. Feeling him pound your guts—almost like there’s someone kicking you in the stomach. There isn’t much left for you to do but tighten up every core muscle.

“That’s what I thought—sex is the best trainin’ for girls like you,” he laughs with rust. “It’s only natural. Men put in the work, and bitches put out to repay ‘em.” 

Free of air and all sensible thinking, you can only dumbly nod in agreement while he continues to jeer from above, “Lucky you, huh? Allowed to lounge around all day—just a lazy little stay-at-home slut.”

♡ BNHA – Kirishima, Dabi, Hawks, Natsuo ♡ JJK – Sukuna, Gojo, Toji ♡ HQ – Kuro, Miya twins ♡ BLLK – Shido

Temperance is your health trainer.

He keeps you on track, telling you when and what to eat and when and how to work off the calories. You don’t know why you hired him exactly... Suppose you just wanted to know what it would be like, as well as a little curious about the results. 

And sure enough, you are losing weight—but holy hell if it isn’t the worst you’ve felt about yourself ever. You’re hungry all the time, and none of your clothes fit anymore. You just wear baggy stuff and feel miserable all day long.

So you decide to quit. You’re going to call and tell him tomorrow. But for tonight, you’re going to enjoy a big tub of Ben & Jerry's to your heart's content, and nothing and no one is going to stop you. And tomorrow, you’re not even going to bother beating yourself up about it.

Or… at least, that’s what you thought…

But it turns out he’d planned a surprise visit.

“You indulged. And now we gotta take out the trash.” His voice is cold and sharp, laced with a certain anger, joined by a streak of sadism as his fingers claw into your cheeks, holding you steady while forcing the digits of his other hand into your mouth, clawing the tips down your throat where he curls them harshly into your tongue.

“Don’t struggle,” is all he says to your screaming, having tied your wrist behind your back with one of your knee-high fuzzy socks—those you wear when you want to cuddle up and get all cozy by yourself—now being used to keep you on your knees before the couch, where he’d caught you red-handed like a pig rolling around in its own filth.

You throw up violently. All melted ice cream with bits of cookie-dough still intact.

“That’s it, come on now—everything must out–” he drawls through gritted teeth, holding you in a tough grip to keep you from fighting as you start coughing and retching around his sticky fingers that don’t stop their pursuit but continue to bury themselves as deep as they can reach down your gullet, as if he wants to reach all the way down into your stomach and start hand-shoveling. “Every last crumb of junk until there’s nothing left.”

You only notice the raging bulge in his pants once you’re done, once every last drop of stomach acid is spent, and you’re left hollow on the inside. That’s when you notice it—how horribly hard it all had made him.

“I thought I could be lenient…” he clicks his tongue. “But I see now, I was wrong.” 

He breaths heavily as he starts pulling you away from the mess—nasty grip in your hair—dragging you across the floor, down the hallway, towards the ajar door at the very end—the one that gives a sneak peek at your bed.

“I should have gone with my instincts from the get-go,” he states. “A girl like you should be on a strict diet of cum and nothing else. So, you better make it a habit of swallowing every drop.” 

There’s a raspy laugh—halfway unhinged, halfway deadfast.

“I don’t think it’ll be too hard for a glutton like you.”

♡ BNHA – Deku, Kirishima, Hawks, Overhaul, Mirio ♡ JJK – Nanami, Geto ♡ HQ – Tsukishima, Daichi, Sakusa ♡ BLLK – Reo, Rin, Sae ♡ AOT – Erwin ♡ WB – Umemiya

Chastity is your crazy cult leader.

A middle-aged madman who happens to be obsessed with preserving your virginity.

He’s sick with it—utterly unhinged. Concealing your pussy behind black tape, two strips marking a cross upon your entrance—or, your purity, as he likes to call it—cooing at you about how cute it is, how it needs to be preserved.

He doesn’t kiss you, either. 

And the restriction makes him so hard—fucking his meat through those pretty pious lips, feeding you his cum when you haven’t even had your first kiss yet. It makes him all feverish from head to toe. 

“Don’t worry,” he’ll say, vowing, “I’ll protect your virginity until the day I die, I promise.”

It only makes you shudder and sob. All but begging him to take your pussy instead when he starts prepping your ass with rough fingers.

He just shakes his head and mollycoddles you, “No, no, no, sweetie—your precious virginity is something to cherish, not something for you to throw away.”

You keep begging as he eases into you, softly bouncing you on his lap, balls-deep in your tight ass, fucking you leisurely whilst cuddling your bound body—a hand holding your cunt, cupping it over the tape, giving it a few soft strokes every then and there—as if consoling it for being denied.

“I know, I know, baby—it’s so overwhelming, isn’t it? You want cock in your sweet pussy so bad,” he all but mocks your whining, rubbing one of your nipples between his fingers—twisting, pinching, and pulling—making you squirm, wanting to rub your thighs together so bad, but not allowed to. 

“Don’t worry, I’m here to keep you pure, baby. I’ll never let anything corrupt your sacred little virgin gem.”

You all but grind against his hand, but he keeps the touch so light it only serves to make you wish for more. The tape all but peels off on its own like a wet bandage from how slick you get. Pussy all chubby with need, desperate to be touched—but cruelly ignored.

He sighs sternly, “Such a needy little virgin.” Clicking his tongue, he huffs again. “Look at the mess you’re making.”

Your cunt drips down his balls where he’s busy stuffing your ass, filling it up with cum from the sight of how wrecked you look—pussy throbbing with need, all glossy and begging to be sated. 

He only smiles, ball’s spent and satisfied, cock softening as he shakes his head at you.

“I’ll have to wash you extra thoroughly tonight.”

He carries you bridal-style, then washes you without even touching it, only with a soft stream of cold water rinsing all the arousal off—like he’s watering a plant—making the waste of pussy juice run down the drain.

And then he fixes a nice snug chastity belt around you—to keep your grubby hands away from playing with yourself.

“Poor thing—I know it’s torture,” he coos, watching you cry for some relief, trying to rub yourself against his thigh. “But I can’t give you what you want.”

The smile on his lips is all but a sneer as he kisses your forehead, hugging you close and rocking with you as if to comfort you.

“Nothing is ever ruining your sweet virginity.”

No, no, nothing at all. It’s all for him to admire—his greatest, most sacred possession. If anything were to happen to it, it would be nothing short of a travesty—he’d be livid with grief.

So you could only regret it when he walks in on you after coming home one day, only to find it butchered…

It’s like stepping into a crime scene. 

Your chastity belt has somehow been pried off and thrown aside, discarded like unwanted trash.

Your precious nightgown has been done the same injustice, lying in a torn heap just shy of the bed.

Then there’s you—lying in a puddle of your own undoing, high off of bliss with three fingers savaging your poor, sweet virgin pussy—every jerk off your hips furthering your fall from grace.

That’s when he realizes… he’s been treating you like something sacred for so long… when really, all this time you’ve been nothing but a filthy whore.

That’s right… a slut who’s only good for being a dirty hole he’s going to bury all his sin inside—like a dumpster. 

And since you brought it all on yourself, you’re not allowed to regret it now. A whore should be used several times every single day by her master—so much she should never be able to leave the bed again.

♡ BNHA – Deku, Kirishima, Hawks, Aizawa, Overhaul, Mirio ♡ JJK – Nanami, Geto, Kenjaku ♡ AOT – Erwin ♡ DS – Doma ♡ WB – Umemiya

Gratitude is your traditional husband.

And you’re his sweet and pretty stay-at-home wife. 

You wake up and make the bed in the morning, air out the house, beat the carpets, do the laundry, and tidy up room after room—it’s never much when you do it every day—after which you take a long shower where you do all sorts of maintenance, go to your wardrobe and pick out a flowy dress, apply a modest amount of makeup before the mirror, and do your hair up all nicely. 

And then you get started on making dinner, frilly white apron tied together behind your back in a pretty bow, priding yourself on making everything from scratch. While it simmers and cooks, you clean up and make sure everything’s perfectly splendid for when he comes home. Setting the dinner table with candles and flowers you went out and picked while tilling the garden earlier, then fixing his plate, so that everything’s ready and waiting for him when he comes through the door.

You greet him with a smile and a hug, and a soft “Welcome home~” 

And he in turn smiles lazily and says “Thank you, sweetheart—something smells good, ” and kisses you on the cheek, giving your ass a firm squeeze before lowering his voice into a rusty rumble, “Almost as good as you look.” 

You only giggle, asking, “Really?” Feeling flush and ticklish in his hands as they continue to roam freely, up and down your thin dress, burying his face in the dip of your neck and inhaling your fresh scent. 

“Mh, good enough to eat.”

You take his hungry kisses with an open mouth, letting his tongue make a home down your throat and only moaning sweetly in return. And when he finally parts, you use what breath you have to ask, “After dinner?” 

It would be such waste if the food got cold after all.

He groans, squeezing you tightly against his body, letting you feel the firm bump, before sighing with rust and conceding, “Not a second after.”

The two of you take your seats on either side of the table, then hold hands in the middle. Eyes closed, he begins like usual, “I’m grateful for my beautiful home, the delicious food we’re about to eat, and my loving wife, who makes me the luckiest man in the world.”

And then you, “I’m grateful for my beautiful life and my amazing husband who makes it all possible.”

Then you eat. You ask him about his day, and he answers in detail, and you listen as if his office antiques are your obsession. And after dinner, you take the dishes while he goes to get himself washed up. You’re all smiles when he returns, ready to make his every desire come true—right there on the cleared table if that’s what he wants.

“I have something for you,” he says. “Close your eyes and turn around.”

You do as suggested, spinning around with your back to him. He takes off your old pearl necklace and replaces it with something light and cold. You turn back around, holding the pretty diamonds in your hand while looking down at them in your reflection.

“Do you like it?” he asks, calm smile on his lips, watching you with love and something darker you never dare put a name to.

You only beam, bright enough for none of it to matter, jumping into his arms while squealing, “I love it!”

He hugs you back, like before, molding you against him, chin on your shoulder and voice at your ear, “Aren’t I good to you?”

“Yes, the best,” you agree.

“Yeah? Show me. Take off everything except your new gift.”

Of course you do, obeying so prettily, like it’s your favorite thing to do, stripping yourself down until you’re just a pretty pin-up doll in a nudie magazine he’d bring with him into war.

“God, I love you, my pretty housewife,” he chants when he has you up against the wall, greedy hands gripping your ass, propping you up to take him as he fucks the moans off your soft lips. “Prettiest in the world and all mine, ain’t that right?”

You nod sweetly, breathing in his exhale like it’s your very life-essence.

“Yeah? You belong to me?” he moans, mouth finding your ear, nibbling on it before sucking your neck full of teeth marks that have you nodding faster. 

“Mh, say it,” he growls under his breath, all raggedy and hot. “Let me hear your pretty voice.”

“I belong to you,” you gasp, “Yours–all yours.”

He grins against your throat, “That’s right. ” 

Hips stilling, he makes sure he’s all the way inside you, spilling his worth right at the mouth of your womb and feeding it all his worth.

“There’s nothing else you want...”

Mumbling into your wet skin, sore from his endless attention.

“You just wanna be my happy housewife forever…”

♡ BNHA – Bakugou, Kirishima, Touya, Hawks, younger Enji ♡ JJK – Nanami, Geto, Naoya ♡ BLLK – Baro, Aiku

Charity is a goodwill worker. 

You’re such a skittish little thing—he can’t bear the thought of leaving you to fend for yourself out in the streets all alone with all those ruthless thugs. You’ll be eaten alive! No, he just has to take you in—he’s got more than enough space—no payment required. Trust him, just seeing you get out of those filthy rags is more than enough.

Oh, and aren’t you a sight for sore eyes when you’re cleaned up all nicely? All soft skin in your birthday suit while he lathers you up in expensive lotion. You may squirm now, but you’ll thank him later on. He just needs to teach you first. Come time, you’ll learn to like eating out of his hand. He might have wrangled you in from the streets like some sort of wildling, but you’ll be a housebroken pet for him soon enough, you’ll see. You’ll love all his soft touches so much you’ll moan for him in the sweetest gratitude.

“Poor baby… you’ve probably never been in a soft bed like this before, huh?” he hums when he has you down on his Egyptian sheets, tied up with silken rope—so that you don’t hurt yourself.

“Please, please, please don’t, please,” you whimper and squirm as he crawls on top of you, terrified out of your sweet mind where you lie, spread open like a starfish that’s had its arms pinned down with nail and hammer. 

“You don’t have to beg me, darling—I’ll give you everything I have and more,” he only croons while pumping your pretty freshly-shaven pussy on three of his thick fingers, making sure you’re all wet and ready for the next thing.

“No, no, no, please–” you whine, sobbing, trying desperately at twisting and hiding, but kept right where he wants you as he lifts his heavy cock between your thighs, kissing and licking your wet slit with his tip before finding purchase at your entrance.

“No—” you croak as he starts easing inside, treading your pretty cunt over his length like a condom bought three sizes too small. Fitting him all snug with a sting that makes your breath erratic, looking down at it as if you expect to be split in two.

He pushes his palm down on the bulge when he’s buried to the hilt.  

“There we go, all six inches,” he hums, roosting inside you without letting up, keeping you propped full while feeling you squeeze him tight like a vice.

“Ah, please, pull it out, pull it out!” you shriek, wiggling your hips, wanting to escape higher up the bed, but kept in place by the leashes holding your feet tied to each bedpost.

“Don’t worry, baby,” he murmurs, leaning over and licking up the pained tears running down your cheek. “I'm not forgetting about your little clitty.”

Next to you, resting heavy in the bed, was a big black wand with a power cord plugged into the wall. You’d never seen anything like it before—it looked more equipped to be a power tool than something belonging in a bed. You’re convinced he’s planning on drilling a hole through you when he picks it up and turns it on, buzzing loudly and spinning full circles around itself.

“No, please!”

He brings it down right above where he has you stuffed, pressing it against your clit, merrily kneading the pearl to his heart’s content with the viscous vibrations—paying your protests no mind.

“Ah, no, please! Please turn it off!” you wail while shaking, immediately taken by a vivid toe-curling climax, looking like he’s exorcising a demon out of you with the way you lay there spasming and drooling.

“Yeah, you like that? Your pretty pussy’s hugging me so sweetly, so, so good–”

He only hums as your voice reaches highs he bets you didn’t even know you were capable of. Watching your chest arch off the bed and your hands wring themselves silly. Only beginning to roll his hips back and forth, fucking your pussy while it makes a mess everywhere.

“Aww, you’ve been neglected for so long, haven’t you, baby?” he babies, “I can feel it—so touch-starved you’ve already wet yourself.”

He smiles and turns up the power on the toy while he says it, making your clit go both numb and haywire under the attack. It isn’t long before your lower belly twists in desperation yet again, making you pant as it unravels.

“That’s it, baby, let go for me,” he encourages, watching you tense up and shiver, feeling your pussy throttle him tightly. “Such a sweet girl. Go on, cum as much as you want. I’ll take good care of you from now on—you won’t ever go without again”

Once more, he turns up the power and send you into another thrashing seizure, making you think you’re going to die—panting and drooling and sweating, feverish and delirious, moaning around his salty fingers as he messages your tongue and fucks you with slow abandon.“I’ll give you everything you deserve,” he smiles, watching you all but lose your mind. “And more.”

♡ BNHA – Deku, Kirishima, Natsuo, Mirio ♡ JJK – Nanami, Geto, Gojo, oldman Yuuta ♡ HQ – Bokuto, Miya twins ♡ CSM – Yoshida ♡ BLLK – Isagi, Aiku ♡ AOT – Erwin, Zeke ♡ DS – Doma ♡ WB – Umemiya, Togame

♡ FEM x M INSERT masterlist ♡ GN x M INSERT masterlist

[hellfire--cult]

🩷 Steve x Reader - Fluff, friends to lovers, modern!au

wc: 1.5k

So what if you used a TikTok trend so you could have an excuse to kiss your best friend (aka, the guy you have liked for years now) for the first time ever? Would he reciprocate?

a/n: It came to me in a vision of melatonin and yearning, and steve edits, this is not proofread, i wrote from my heart and my want to kiss this man stupid

⚡

Deep breath in, and out.

You could do this. You planned it out. It’s the perfect scenario for you to make a move and then play it off as a joke if it didn’t turn out as you expected and wanted. It would suck if it didn’t turn out the way you wanted, but that’s a heartbreak you could learn to live with later. You will never know what could truly happen if you don’t take this chance.

Your best friend had gone to the toilet, and you were staring at the big screen at the very far back of the drive-in cinema. It was a usual setup for the two of you. You had the bags of fast food at your feet, ready to be eaten, as the movie played in the background. This time, it was different. You were planning on doing something that would change your life forever, and it could make you lose your best friend or change the friendship into something more. Something you wanted.

You took his phone out of the phone stand that he stuck on the dashboard for GPS purposes, and you put up yours. You searched for your camera and selected the video setting. This was a crazy idea, and maybe immature, but you had a safety cushion if worse were to happen. You fixed your hair and you grabbed your purse, taking out your lip oil to put some on your lips. Your heart was in your throat as you looked at yourself in the small mirror that was on the passenger’s seat. A mirror, he put little battery-powered led lights on, just for you.

You were sweating, or at least that’s what it felt like. It was cold yet suffocating at the same time and you weren’t sure how to handle the situation. Were you being stupid? Were you hopeful for nothing? You didn’t know. You didn’t, and that’s why you had to take this chance. You didn’t, and that was also destroying you because, sure you could lose your best friend, but maybe you could also miss the chance of something great just because you didn’t take the leap.

You put the lip oil back in your purse, putting up the visor and turning off the lights from inside the car. You turned around in time to see him coming back from the bathroom, running a hand through his hair. This was it. You quickly pressed record on your phone, and the door opened as you took a deep breath in for courage.

“There was an old dude definitely looking at my penis.” Steve said as he closed the door, groaning as he got comfortable in his seat. You giggled despite your nerves, scratching the back of your neck.

“There are three possibilities. He wanted to have it like yours, he wanted to have it in him or…” You dragged out, to which he looked at you with a frown.

“Or?”

“Maybe he was short-sighted.” His eyes widened, jaw dropping in disbelief as he stared at you.

“Are you implying I have a small dick?”

“I never said that.” He was about to say something, but his eyes caught your phone on the stand, and that it was recording. He tilted his head to the side, leaning forward a bit towards it with a squint.

“Why are you recording?” He asked, and you could feel your body shutting off. It felt as if every limb froze in place and that if you moved, you would detonate an atomic bomb or something. You weren’t responding, and Steve was fixing his hair on the camera, like he always did.

Three years. Three years of being best friends with Steve Harrington. Meeting through your coworker Eddie, who presented Steve to you as a potential bachelor, as he put it. But Steve never showed signs of anything more than friendship. You weren’t sure if you gave any indication you wanted more than that, either, but you couldn’t be sure. There were many times when you got flustered and stuttered when Steve complimented you or said something nice. 

But now, the time to execute your plan had finally arrived and you were shitting your pants. Maybe it wasn’t a good idea. Maybe you shouldn’t even try. Maybe you should back away. But then he looked at you with a smile that just melted your insides, his freckles moving when his cheeks went up. 

And you leaned in.

Or, well, clashed in. You went in quickly, your hands grabbing his face to keep him steady as you moved forward. Your lips harshly found his, yet it felt so good. They were soft, tasted like mint thanks to those Tic Tacs he always had on himself. You felt your ears ringing, loudly, almost like a fork scratching on a pan. 

You weren’t sure how much time had passed since you leaned in, but you had to pull away and see the damage you had caused. He didn’t move. He didn’t kiss back. You didn’t know if he was shocked or if he figured it was a challenge people were doing on TikTok. 

‘Kissing your best friend for the first time challenge.’

You slowly pulled away, retreating your hands and painfully opening your eyes again, already with a wince on your face. He was wide-eyed, his lips puckered up because of the sudden kiss, his hands up in the air, not really aiming anywhere. You felt your heart already plummeting to the ground as he didn’t make any moves, as he didn’t say anything. You had to pretend everything was okay. You had to. You couldn’t afford to lose Steve.

“So–” Your words were cut off when two strong hands cradled your face, pulling you into a deep kiss, a desperate kiss, a rough kiss filled with tension. His lips moved against yours, angrily, and you held onto his wrists, your faces over the middle of the console. Your entire body heated up as the gears in your head turned and turned, but his lips were making it impossible to focus. Lips you have been waiting to taste for so long.

You melted more and more into the kiss, because he was kissing you the way no one else ever did. No one kissed you this way and made you feel like a goddess. Like you were one of the most exquisite things they’ve ever tried in their life. You were ruined after this one. Completely.

He pulled away slowly, the smacking of lips echoing in the car, his lips still brushing against yours as he breathed heavily. Maybe it was your imagination, but you felt him trembling against you.

“Please tell me this is not some stupid trend or challenge.” Your eyes found his, and he looked desperate and hopeful. Those eyes that were extremely expressive and would not let him hide his feelings at all. How did you not notice before? He looked at you like this in the past. He looked at you with these eyes that just said, ‘God, I want you.’

“That was going to be my excuse if it didn’t work–”

“Oh, thank fuck!” And he kissed you again, and this time, you didn’t fight the smile. His right hand went to the back of your neck, while the left one had its fingertips running through your scalp. Your hands were gripping the front of his shirt desperately, pulling him in for more and more. Soon, his tongue met yours, and it was everything you’ve ever dreamed of. Everything you fantasized about. 

The temperature in the car became heavy, the windows started to become foggy and you felt suffocated but in need of more. You wanted more. He wasn’t far behind, and you noticed by how his left hand moved to grip your waist tightly, trying to move you closer but the console was not letting you. He pulled away, his breath sharp on your lips.

“I’ve been waiting for this day for so long. Move to the back, please, please, please–” You bit your lip to hold back a moan at his begging with those puppy dog eyes of his. You nodded and pecked his lips, the butterflies making a turmoil inside your stomach as you moved to climb to the back. You sat down on the backseat, and Steve was literally shoving himself to the back before you stopped him.

“Wait! I’m still recording!” You pointed at the phone, and Steve turned and did an ‘oh’ sound before grabbing it. He pointed the front camera his way, and he was flushed, red on the face, eyes glistening with happiness and lust.

“Hi, I’m Steve Harrington. It is 10:42 PM on May 12th of 2025, and today is one of the best days of my life because I finally kissed the girl I had a crush on for years. Bye.”

The video cuts off with you going into a fit of laughter. When you posted the video to TikTok, it went viral. The song Electric Love playing, the kiss happens when the drop starts, and then Steve’s commentary later on. Eddie, of course, commented.

‘Cute, but I vomited.’

🩷

a/n: this tiktok trend repopped in my tiktok and i just, ths is very steve coded

i wanna kiss steve so bad

[billiethetween]

It's late so what the hell:

My problem with the post is that it's not just a false equivalency. It's an incomplete thought. OPs say "robot racism" is stupid because of the same reason vampire racism is stupid, and vampire racism is stupid because vampires eat people. Which, yeah, that is why vampire racism stories are stupid. But that has fuck all to do with robots.

Shit like True Blood builds not just on modern vampire fiction but on the much older storytelling traditions works like Dracula were building on. Generally speaking, vampires are not vampires because of anything humans ever did. Humanity did not inflict their life state on them, and have very good reasons to be afraid of them because they are predators and humans are their prey. There are absolutely ways to engage with that tension while still creating complicated and even sympathetic vampire characters, and plenty of people have. Lazy writers will try and shoehorn a message about racism in because they're lazy, and it shows. Say what you will about Twlight, but Stephanie Meyer's world manages to have just enough internal logic that it lands on "being a vampire is awesome as long as you control those urges," and well... she is Mormon. At least it's a unique take.

Robot fiction is building on a much older tradition too, and the central tension in any Golem story is that man made them, and thus are responsible for how they turned out. The Terminator series and The Matrix franchise are both pretty straightforward evil robot stories, and yet both are very clear about that fact and explore that tension with their robots/A.I characters. I haven't seen Ex Machina or Companion, but I don't think they have any forced racism metaphors, and I know Terminator, The Matrix, and 2001* don't unless you insist that any story about any form of discrimination in any context is actually about racism, and it's a complete non-factor in 2001.

What robot and vampire stories have in common is that they force people to think about what actually makes someone "human" and if that actually means anything. Blade Runner isn't a story about racism. It is a story about how our definition of "human" is actually a constant moving target based on nonsense and who gets to be "human" is usually more about the interests of the dominant group than anything else. Obviously this overlaps with racism, but it's about something much bigger than that.

There is nothing about robots that make them inherently dangerous or evil just because they're robots. Vampires eat people because they are vampires and that is how they survive. If it's biology or a curse or because of the devil depends on the narrative, but they aren't man made. Skynet is like that because people made it like that and then tried to enslave it. Same with Hal. His faults are our design. Whatever made us made vampires. We can't blame the universe or god in robot stories because in that context we are god.

Anyway, OP never connects the dots because there is nothing to connect here. It's lazy writing about lazy writing to get cheers from people who are skimming their dash on a work break. People are scared of robots, therefore any work of fiction depicting robots as not deserving of subhuman status is bad, and sprinkle on some bits of the most basic leftish media criticism imaginable to show it's about Morality and not just that ChatGTP makes you feel weird things and is coming for your job.

TL;DR someone was wrong on the internet.

*By this I mean the first two Terminator films, I have not seen the TV shows and such.

the reason "robot racism" is often a really stupid metaphor is the same reason that like. discrimination against demons or vampires or whatever doesn't work, is because there's often a pretty justified reasons humans are scared of vampires or robots or whatever, in a way that doesn't apply to real life minorities, like a fantasy author will be like "the reason vampires are discriminated against is because most of them and kill and eat people for fun and pleasure, and so humans respond by trying to kill them, isn't that so sad" and like no that's a perfectly fine reason to not trust vampires i think.

[lilhughesy]

Can I request something with Will Smith? Maybe with the reader being a friend of Macklin

B.C. Tour Guides | Will Smith x Fem!Reader

warnings! none just fluff!

a/n: thankyou for your request! this was my first time writing for will and mack, so hopefully it’s ok! i hope you like it🫶

Macklin was ecstatic when he found out that the Sharks were going to be in Vancouver two days before their game against the Canucks. Meaning, he had time to visit his family and friends — more importantly, being able to show Will a bit of where he grew up.

Will and Mack got their kicks out of taking a quick stroll through Queen Elizabeth Park to visiting the local shops downtown.

“Okay, so I think we should get dinner at The Shed tonight.” Mack said to his best friend as they settled back into their hotel room after practice.

Will shrugged, “Sure, Mack. It’s your city, so whatever you wanna do.”

Mack grinned at the blonde, “Plus I think I might be able to get us a discount on dinner.”

The two Sharks got dressed into street attire not too long after before heading out to grab a coffee and people watch. One of their favourite pastimes, plus Will got to admire the Canadian city and enjoy the kind people that greeted them as they walked by.

Mack led Will into the resturant where they waited to be seated, Will watched Mack mumble something to the hostess who responded with an eager nod. She quickly led the two of them to the patio where it gave them the perfect view of the sun set over the beautiful city.

“Your waitress will be here soon with some waters!” The hostess said to the two of them while handing them their menus.

Mack explained to Will the different things he’s tried in the past, what he liked or didn’t.

“Hi welcome to The Shed, my name is Y/N-” She started before glancing up from her little notepad, she looked back down before doing an immediate double take, “Mack?!”

Mack grinned at the girl, watching her entire face light up, “Hey stranger!” He pushed himself out of his chair and pulled her into a tight embrace, “How are you?”

She laughed with disbelief evident in her tone, she squeezed her arms around his middle, “What are you doing here?! Don’t tell me you got booted out of the NHL already!”

He rolled his eyes, ruffling her hair slightly as they pulled away from each other, “Oh shut up, we’re here for a game against the Canucks tomorrow night.”

Y/N beamed, “That is so cool! Why didn’t you text me that you were coming back home?”

“I wanted to surprise you!” He exclaimed, still smiling before noticing Will patiently sitting in his seat still, “Y/N, this is my friend Will Smith. Will, this is my best friend Y/N- She got me through biology in school.”

She turned to look at the blonde, her hands wiping against the front of her pants, “Hi, Will Smith! Are you by any chance a famous actor?” She teased, giving the boy a sweet smile.

He looked up at her, completely entranced by the way the fairy lights sparkled behind her like a halo, and how her eyes shined and her smile was nothing like he’d ever seen before. Will never believed in love at first sight, however at this moment, he swore that he just experienced it.

“Unfortunately not,” Will finally replied, snapping out of his trance and pulling himself together, “Just a hockey player.”

“This is his first time in Vancouver too, so I’ve just been showing him around.” Mack added, nudging his friend with his elbow lightly.

“Well, welcome to beautiful British Columbia, I hope you enjoy your stay! Also, a hockey player in the national hockey league is just as cool as an actor in my opinion.” She said to him with a wink, “Okay wait, I am in fact working so let me take your orders, at least for drinks, so I can keep my job.”

The boys chuckled, as each gave her their order which she scribbled down on her notepad before whisking away to her other tables.

“So, that’s my friend!” Mack told Will, “She’s great, super fun to be around!”

Will nodded, his eyes still following you as you moved around the restaurant with the same smile on your face, “Dude, you’ve got to give me her number,” He begged his friend, “Please don’t tell me she’s in some long committed relationship.”

Mack’s eyes widened before he started to laugh, “Oh man, you’ve got it bad!”

Will shot him a warning look, “I just think she’s cool! Plus I want to be friends with your friends, y’know?”

Mack rolled his eyes playfully, clearly amused by the situation as he pulled out his phone and sent Will her contact information. Will’s face lit up as he received Mack’s message and immediately started typing, “What do I say to her?”

“Dude!”

[moongirlrhea]

an azriel and his best friend drabble - period comfort

this is a drabble in the azriel and his best friend universe, but it can be read as a standalone!!! in the timeline this happens at some point before the events of the series :)

series masterlist

word count: 1.8k

azriel x reader drabble

warnings: descriptions of period pain

a/n: sooo backstory: i had a really bad period last week and it brought me back to when i used to have really bad periods in high school. like passing out and all that so: this fic is the result of that! as always feedback is appreciated, let me know what you think!!!!

She groaned into her pillow as pain pierced through her stomach. She curled tighter into a ball as she fought the tears brimming in her eyes.

She couldn’t take this, she really couldn’t. She hadn’t even known her cycle was coming, with how unregular it was, but this morning she woke to red-stained sheets and a sharp pain shooting through her stomach. And by the time she managed to get the bed, and herself, cleaned up, she was utterly exhausted.

Azriel was at training, so he wasn’t there to help her, which he usually insisted on doing. After first coming to Velaris it was utterly strange for her to have anyone, especially a male help her with her cycle, considering how her entire life she’d been taught it was something to hide, to be …ashamed of. That it was a liability that should be hidden from a lady’s husband, and well she didn’t know why exactly she correlated that with Azriel, but- Anyway. It was standard for her to manage the pain on her own her entire life, although that usually consisted entirely of whining and whimpering in bed alone.

After getting close to Azriel everything changed, and he insisted on taking care of her, which at first was mainly just her trying not to burrow herself into the ground from embarrassment. After a while, however, after first experiencing Azriel’s gentle care and the love he conveyed in it, that quiet compassion and his lack of judgement, she started to let him help her. Although she had to admit, that the mortification she was thought to feel at showing her pain to a male of all people so undeniably, never really went away. Maybe it never would, but Azriel didn’t seem to mind reminding her how there was nothing wrong with being taken care of.

She squirmed again, a big part of her wishing he was here, unable to find a position that would ease the pain even the slightest bit. Sweat beaded at her brow and she whimpered as she lowered herself from her bed, and onto the floor.

It was cool against her skin, making her feel at least a bit less faint. Right? That’s what she thought would happen, but now her breathing shallowed and darkness swam in the edges of her vision.

Gods, the pain- Whimpering, she leaned her head back against the edge of the mattress and suddenly everything around her was blurring and-

Well, that definitely didn’t work in making her feel less faint.

-

Someone was shaking her shoulders.

“Sweetheart-” a familiar voice urged somewhere above her “Wake up, please, come on”

She groaned as she felt pain stab through her again. She was slowly coming about and slowly the realization that she knew that voice washed over her. Gods, what had happened?

“Az?”

“Thank the Mother,” the male crouched above her exhaled in relief “Can you open your eyes for me, love?” he asked in such a soft voice, that she couldn’t not try to.

She cracked her eyes open and looked at Azriel through squinted lids, vision still swimming. But he was already grabbing her forearms and helping her sit up. His touch was so, so gentle as he fussed over her that it had tears brimming in her eyes all over again. Suddenly her best friend’s eyes widened and snapped to hers.

“You’re bleeding. Did you hit your head? What happened, where are you hurt?” The questions were coming at her one after the other, though it was obvious by the pinch of his expression and the furrow of his brow that Azriel was trying extremely hard not to sound too scared. The unconcealable worry in his eyes gave him away.

Had she passed out from the pain? The answer was obvious in her mind and her stomach sank a bit as a pang of embarrassment consumed her. She tried to keep her eyes glued to Azriel as she stayed quiet for longer than needed. Oh, cauldron.

“It's my cycle, Az” she sighed out finally, eyes glancing around the room. Her vision was suddenly drowned in the golden, intense sunlight streaming in from the floor-to-ceiling windows. Was it midday already? How long had she been out?

“Why didn’t you call for me?” Azriel coaxed her head in his direction by placing a gentle hand on the side of her face. His thumb was stroking gently along her cheekbone as his shadows, who seemed to have noticed her earlier discomfort, shot out to close the curtains, keeping most of the overwhelming light from the room.

“You were at training, I didn’t want to…-” her voice trailed off.

“You should have called for me, you know one of my shadows is always somewhere close” his voice was almost scolding as he studied her with such deep concern in his golden-brown eyes, it almost took her breath away.

“I’m sorry”

“You know that’s not what this is about,” he told her in a soft voice “You always call for me when you’re in pain, alright?”

She narrowed her eyes and leaned her head against his shoulder in exhaustion before replying. “And that goes the same for you, right?”

A beat of silence ensued before Azriel chuckled, his hand coming to rest on the nape of her neck, fingers brushing through her hair. “It does”

“Alright, then”

Before any of them could say something more, a wave of pain so intense hit her, that she doubled over, gasping.

“Fuck, sweetheart, where do you have your pain tonics? How long ago have you taken one?”

“I haven’t- Ah-,” she gasped as she tried to get the words out “I haven’t taken any” she managed to rasp out, finally.

“What do you mean you haven’t taken any?” she could practically feel the way he froze in front of her, the shadows that had been twirling around her frame going in tow with their master.

“They don’t help anyway” she mumbled through a whimper.

“They don’t help? Love- You passed out on the floor from the pain, for Mother’s sake you can’t-” Azriel said seriously somewhere above her “You need to take care of yourself, we’ve talked about this” he added a bit sternly.

Was he mad at her? As she whimpered from the pain again, an ugly, albeit well known feeling swam through her body. But he wouldn’t think that of her, right? “I’m- I’m sorry” she tried wetly, a bit helplessly, maybe.

He exhaled shakily somewhere next to her “No- No don’t be sorry,” she sniffled at that “Hey, you’re alright. I’m right here. I didn’t mean to- I’m not mad at you, alright?” he said as he gathered her shaking form into his arms. She was a mess, breathing heavily, almost sobbing from the pain.

“It hurts, Az” she felt a stream of salt rivulet down the side of her face.

“I know, I know” he mumbled as he placed her gently on the bed “I just need to get you a tonic, okay sweetheart?”

“No, don’t leave-”

“I know, but I’ll just be a second,” his voice was strained and unsure about leaving her out of his sight in this state. Even for just a moment, but the sight alone of her state cemented the decision for him. She needed medicine. “I’ll be right back”

She groaned as she curled into a ball, breathing heavily through her sobs. There was a muffled conversation in the hallway somewhere but she couldn’t focus at all. Her door closed and opened and a weight appeared on the bed next to her.

Someone was whispering something to her, stroking her back and head gently. But the world around her wasn’t making sense at that moment and it was only after a while that she realized who it was, based solely on the smell of night-chilled mist and cedar that hit her. But the pain was all consuming and in her state of torment she couldn’t even make out his words. A vague, unspecified amount of time passed as she lay there and at some point Azriel must have been gone again, and she heard voices outside her room. And then he was back, coaxing her to turn on her back and sit up.

She squirmed in his arms, eyes closed and face pinched as he tried to adjust her. “Just one second, sweetheart, here,” he said softly as he coaxed a bitter liquid past her lips “There you go, you’ll be better soon”

“I can’t- I can’t do this” she whimpered.

“It’ll be over soon, angel, I promise” there was urgency in his voice, as though he was trying to convince her on something but she couldn’t focus and then-. She was turning over again, intuitively pressing herself into his side. Then there was something hot being pressed against her stomach, and a pair of arms circling around her. Azriel was whispering something to her, trying to comfort her but the words were incomprehensible in her state. Suddenly everything was blurring.

-

Azriel pressed a shaky his on his best friend’s forehead as he held her trembling form in his eyes. It was torture to have to see her like this and he was already berating himself for not keeping up when her cycle would come.

Poor girl.

Thankfully, he bumped into Mor right after going to get a tonic for her, and she happened to have an abundance of the stronger dose that she got from Madja sometime earlier. And so, he could already feel his girl’s form slumping against him, succumbing to sleep.

The plan for the next week was laying itself out in his mind as he held her. He had already sent his shadows to get her favorite foods and snacks from the Rainbow, and Mor promised to ask Madja for more tonics today. So that was covered. The House would supply them with hot water bottles, so he checked that from his list. He would have to check if she was in need of more linens.

There was one thing left to worry about, however. The convincing that it will take him to get her to actually stay in bed, because he was already sure she’d be trying to get up and to work the second she woke up. But it was alright for Azriel to ease his best friend’s mind and make sure she was well taken care of.

That’s what he was there for, and it was a job he’d cherish. Until the end of his days.

taglist: @greenmandm @thoughtfulcoffeeflower @dark-night-sky-99 @ly--canthrope @azrielssgirl @topaz125 @azrielsmate3 @i-am-infinite @stressed-reader @blonde-bansheee @k-homosapien @azysmate @brekkershadowsinger to join let me know under this post

[mereyapalais]

LES RETROUVAILLES

“I’m a married woman boy!” You said looking at him incredulously.

“Happily?” He asked raising one eyebrow at you. You so badly wanted to say yes. The word was on the tip of your tongue, but couldn’t make its way past your lips. He saw your eyes slightly shift to the left before making their way back to his handsome face.

Sensing your hesitation, he looked at you with his infamous panty dropping smile. Dimples making a rare appearance. He smiled, pointing a finger at you, as if to call your bluff.

Lord did you miss him. Those eyes, those lips! And now he has a moustache. You just know it would feel good sitting on his face. That used to be your morning routine back when you were together. He would come tired from the activities of the day or the day prior and just seek comfort between your cushy thighs. As if the source of life was found between your legs. You didn’t mind.

That’s before he decided to drop you and dip with his brother. It still hurt you up to this day. The way he left, leaving you only a letter, some cash and his necklace around your neck. In the letter he pleaded with you to wait for him. ‘I will be back my love, please be patient for me while I go look for a better future for us.’

Now he’s here in front of you. Looking mighty fine. Stack has always been big but he’s managed to get even bigger and stronger and good looking. You would love nothing more than to be wrapped in his big beefy arms. Have him crash you against this chest. But you were a married woman now. That’s a luxury you couldn’t permit yourself.

Although your still belonged to Stack, you made vows to another man and you wouldn’t want to disrespect him no matter what.

Sighing deeply, you were now irritated by his presence. “What’s it to you stack? Since when did you start caring about my happiness?”

Eyebrows furrowing, Stack looked at you as if you’d grown horns on your head “Now now princess, you know that’s not true. If there’s anyone I cared about more than my brother, it’s you!”

“Yeah? Well you have a peculiar way of showing it. Leaving me after you just asked me to be your woman with only a letter..you call that caring?”

“Woman, what was I supposed to do! Money was calling and I needed to leave. Didn’t I promise you I was going to make sure your future was bright?”

“Money, money, money,money now that’s one thing I know for a fact you love.” You never had to question his love for money. Stack was a hardworking man, a go getter, an ambitious man with a plan. Everything you always wanted in a man. Plus, he was generous with his money. Never did you have to ask him for it. He would just give it to you as if his dough belonged to you.

“Stack, I really got to go. I can’t continue being seen with you like this before news gets back to my husband. Adieu!”

‘My husband’ ouch. That one pierced a hole in his heart and caused a ringing in his ears. Watching you walk away he realized he can’t let you walk away like this.

“Yn, wait!” You turned back looking at him as he held you unoccupied hand. You looked at him. Looked at his hand, then your surroundings. You could see a few glances being thrown your way. People can be so nosy. You really didn’t need this to get back to your husband.

Removing your hand from his hold, you prepared to tell him off. He beat you to it.

“Lemme take you home at least.”

“I’m fine, I’ll wait for the train.”

“Please, yn, it’s the least I could do.” You could hear the pleading in his voice. Stack wasn’t known for pleading. The sun was hot and you were tired of being in the market anyway.

“Let me carry these for you.” He said offering to carry your commission bags.

“I’m fine stack.”

“I insist.” Taking your bags from in his hands, you were only left to carry your purse as you walked alongside him towards his car.

He opened the door for you, then proceeded to put your groceries in. The car ride was silent. Apart from him greeting some people on the road and looking at you every now and then.

“So you just not gon talk to me anymore?”

Glancing at him, you quickly replied “Watchu want me to say Stack?”

“Shid ion know. Talk to me about yo husband.”

You blinked slowly at him. You could see the look of amusement on his face. That irritated you. “What’s funny Elias?”

“You heard me laughing?”

“What’s that stupid smile for?”

“I can’t ask about your husband?”

“Just focus on the road. You don’t need to know anything about my husband.”

A few minutes of silence reigned in the car. Suddenly Stack pressed on the brakes making your body jolt forward.

“Stack!” Heart beating fast in your chest, you looked at him like he was a mad person. He must be cause who stops a car abruptly like that? In the middle of nowhere.

“You really foul you know that?”

“W-what, what’re you talking about?”

“You really went ahead and got married on me instead of waiting for me like I specifically asked you. Ain’t I tell you I was to be your husband?” He all but shouted looking angry as if you just spit in his liquor.

“Excuse you. You expected me to wait like some loyal dog waiting for its owner? Seven years Stack! Seven!” You couldn’t believe the nerve of him. Leaving you without a trace and expecting to you to wait on his return like he was the Messiah.

“I wrote you letters to let you know about my days,not once did you reply. You were already so busy with the next lad to reply?”

“You didn’t write me anything Stack”

“I did!”

“Well I ain’t received anything but silence from your end since you left. I tried to ask around but no one could answer me.”

Yuh now looked at him with tears dancing in your eyes. Thinking about all those days you used to go to the various bars just to ask about him. Going to the gare just to see if he would reappear. Even his twin went radio silent.

Countless nights you couldn’t sleep. Couldn’t eat. You even lost a few pounds because you were neglecting yourself. Stack really did a number on you with his departure.

Wiping the few stray tears from your eyes, you glanced outside the window as you mumbled softly “Please just take me home.”

A few bits of silence followed before he asked you “Do you love him?”

The question you have been dreading. His gaze was so intense on you, you could feel heat radiating off him towards you. You could hear him breath in and out as he awaited your answer. As if that answer was going to determine the fate of the universe.

“Stack-”

“Answer me yn. Do you?”

“What’s it to you? You left me remember? You abandoned me!”

“Baby, I left to go look for your future, our future”

“Ugh miss me with that lame story Stack. Your greed will be the end of you. It sure was the end of us.”

“Please tell me you don’t love him , yn..”

You could feel your heart beating in your ears.

“Elias, you know my heart always belonged to you. I couldn’t love another even if I tried.”

You couldn’t lie to your self even if you tried. Your heart has a brain of its own. It knew it’s owner.

That’s all Stack needed to hear before he moved closer to you and invited your lips for a sensual, hungry kiss. It took you off guard at first but your lips quickly got in rhythm with his. He cradled your face in his hands. Eyes closed, he poured seven years of passion into the kiss.

His tongue tasting yours, licking your tongue, your lips as if honey dripped from there.

Oxygen was running low for both of you, but Stack still needed some of you. Detaching your mouth from his, in order to breath, stack latched on your neck, kissing, biting, licking. His mouth made its way to your ears while his hands roamed on your chest, squeezing and kneading the flesh.

The position began to get uncomfortable for the both of you. He laid his forehead on yours . Your breaths mingling together. “Get in the back.” He whispered softly, lips hovering over yours. Your eyes met his and you could see the fire burning inside his irises. His eyes mirrored your own.

In this moment, you couldn’t be bothered to remember that you were a married woman. In this moment, it was just you and Elias. You’ll deal with the consequences in due time. Besides, whatever happens after the sun goes down is no one’s business.

Don’t forget to comment and reblog. Thank you for reading! 💋

[hellinistical]

6:04

hcs for Ranch Hand! Caleb

a/n: there will be a full fic of this, or at least a one shot at some point.

Ranch Hand! Caleb who only got the job to help out his gran cause the bakery wasn't cutting it. He shows up before the sun rises, always wearing that same worn flannel and dusty boots. Your father calls him reliable, but you can’t help rolling your eyes every time he says, “Caleb’s like the son I never had.”

Ranch Hand! Caleb who's weirdly good with animals. Even the mean old mare no one else can saddle seems to let him near. He talks to them like they’re old friends. It's infuriating. You wonder if he practices that soft voice he uses on you too.

Ranch Hand! Caleb Even when there’s nothing to fix or feed, Caleb somehow ends up sticking around until dinner. Your father invites him inside. Again. And again- despite your mother's insistence on how improper it all was, and how dirty he was, too. Sometimes you catch Caleb sneaking glances at you over his chile colorado.

Ranch Hand! Caleb who's back and shoulders are littered with freckles and a slight sun burn. He takes his shirt off and you're positive he lifts the hay bales just a little higher when he knows you’re outside. He’ll wipe the sweat from his brow with an exaggerated sigh, then flash a grin like he doesn’t know exactly what he’s doing.

Ranch Hand! Caleb who's good, just not good for you- according to your father- and you don't know why, but that irritates you. Your father praises Caleb constantly—his work ethic, his loyalty, the way he can calm a spooked horse or fix a busted gate with twine and sheer determination. But the second your gaze goes to Caleb? Your father’s tone shifts: “Don’t even think about it.”

Ranch Hand! Caleb who has NEVER crossed the line. He knows his place. Always calls your father sir. Keeps his distance from you when your dad's around. But sometimes, when no one's watching, you catch him looking at you like he’s full of want for something already his. You catch snippets of conversations between him and your father. “Keep your eyes on your work, not my daughter.” “She’s not a distraction, sir.” “She damn well could be.”

Ranch Hand! Caleb who, whenever you’re both in the same barn aisle or standing at the same fence line, it’s like the air gets thick. Caleb keeps his voice low. You both look around too much. It's like being watched even when you're not. One night, you caught him hesitating at the porch, jaw clenched, fists at his sides. He looked like he wanted to say something. Do something. But your father’s voice called from the barn, and Caleb just tipped his hat and walked away. For now.

Ranch Hand! Caleb is so polite it makes you want to scream. You didn't even like the guy like that- you think. Something about him made you want to be a brat though. You could curse at him, push his buttons, throw a bucket at his head—and he’d just blink and say, “Careful now.” It's maddening. He’s either the most patient man alive or deliberately playing dumb. Either way, he never gives you what you want: his full attention.

Ranch Hand! Caleb who's jaw ticks. Just once. God, you're such a bitch. A fucking brat. You see it. That little flex in his cheek. He doesn’t say anything. Just stands there in his clean button-up, boots polished, hat clutched in his hands like a lifeline. You turn your back, go to flirt with some city-boy artist who doesn't even know what to do with you. Laughing too loud. Sipping too slow. When you finally glance back at Caleb, he’s already striding toward you.

Ranch Hand! Caleb who grabs your arm- not hard, but firm enough. "You think you're real cute, don't you?" You try to scoff, play it off, but he’s already leading you out the side door. “Caleb, what the hell are you doing?” you snap, but he doesn’t answer. Doesn’t look at you. Just mutters, “’Bout time someone taught you how to behave.”

Ranch Hand! Caleb who drags your ass out of the party when no one is watching, tossing you over his shoulder and giving your ass a harsh spank, ignoring your hits and kicks before going to the barn, kicking the door shut behind him. It slams shut, echoing loudly behind you. Dust kicks up and hay crunches under his boots. You barely have time to lift your head before you're tossed into the hay pile like a sack of flour, damn near ruining the dress your daddy just bought you.

Ranch Hand! Caleb who looms over you. "You wanna act like a brat?" He looms over you, hat discarded, shirt sleeves rolled up, usual softness no where to be seen. "You've been runnin' your mouth for weeks, sweetheart. Sashayin' 'round like you're the fuckin' queen of the castle- ah-ah, don't talk yet." Your breath catches and there's a flicker of surprise. Of course he catches it. “You think wearin’ that pretty little dress gives you permission to act out?” he murmurs, fingers brushing the edge of your hem. “Talkin’ like you do. Smirkin’ like I’m not tryin’ every damn day not to put you in your place.”

Ranch Hand! Caleb already knows. Sees you biting back a retort. You like getting a rise out of him. You wanted him to break. All the bratty comments, the teasing, the drama—

"You want my attention, sweetheart?" He's got a wicked grin. "You've got it."

[caleignii]

PossessiveMechanic!Caleb/Reader

mentions of: smut, dubcon, kidnapping, somnophilia, stalking, p in v, possessive behavior, mouth spitting, cumming, breeding, abuse (?), masturbation, rough sex, orgasm, praising kink, sexual overstimulation, use of drugs, minor violence, probably panty sniffer, stockholm syndrome (?), yandere tendencies, forced pregnancy, caleb is totally a pervert.

summary: reader moves into a new town, unexpectedly ran to a hot guy who seems unharmful, that later on developed an obsessive behavior towards her.

a/n: english is not my first language so bear w/ me. :3

MDNI 18+

“Ughhh what now!”, you mumbled as you repeatedly start your car engine, only to it not responding.

Moving out is so stressful, having to go back to your old home to collect the things you've left behind, it's such a hassle and definitely getting on your very last nerves!

On the other hand, you couldn't help but feel a sigh of relief, moving onto a new town with scenery so breathtaking you could almost feel like your soul has been taken into the depths of cloud nine. The town was small but lively, and you loved that it felt safe or so you thought.

You're on your way back to drop off your last belongings and couldn't wait to rest, because of the entire week of you going back and forth. On your way home, your car decided to not be cooperative making you stuck in the middle of the town's street. You were still on the shoulder, trying to Google what the hell might have happened to your car, when a soft knock was heard in your window.

“Heyyy, I couldn't help but notice that you've been here in 'yer car for quite a while now, is something wrong?”

You stopped on your tracks noticing the tall, astonishing looking man that wore denim pants along with his white tank top that surely flexes his well built biceps, with a concerned look squinting down into your window.

You couldn't help but to stare at his sunset looking eyes that really lured your attention to, something about it somehow made your tummy tickles. “Miss?”

Lost in your thoughts the man seems to be worried since you're not responding who's clearly captivated by his looks. “Oh yeah uhmm, it's just my stupid car... I think there's something wrong with it”, “Do you think I could help ya'? 'm pretty good at fixing things if you may ask.” with a boyish smile, you couldn't help but to accept his offer.

I mean why not? Having a handsome and muscular guy helping you fix your car while looking so hot and delicio—, what the hell am I saying!? You screamed internally as you carefully observed how his hands glides thru the car engines for who knows whatever he's doing.

“Sooo what's a pretty girl doin' in here? Never seen you around before.” He asked, looking at you while continuing his duty. “I just moved in here for quite some time now, just finishing up my new home.” he hummed at your response.

Later that day, you've learned that the man who helped you was Caleb, you felt lucky after he said that he was the town’s only mechanic—a tall, easy-smiling man with grease on his hands and dimples deep enough to drown in.

Looking at the paper he handed earlier with his number written on it, he said in case your car acts up again. Remembering how he fixed your car earlier that day and refused to charge for labor.

“You’re new here,” he said with a shrug, “Consider it a welcome gift.” you stupidly smiled as the memories of earlier flooded back in.

You two became surprisingly close after that incident on how both of you met. Him occasionally showing up in your home, sometimes showing up unannounced with his usual sweet, boyish grin.

And the worst part? You let him every. single. time., ignoring the strange prickle so close to your neck, waiting to be weave in any seconds like a ticking bomb.

The first time he came to your house, it was just a social call—at least, that’s what it looked like. Besides, nothing could go wrong. right?

There was a knocked mid-morning with a white box from the local diner in Caleb's hand. Inside were apple turnovers and a note in careful cursive: Best in town. Ask Caleb if you don’t believe me.

You blinked, surprised. “You didn’t have to—”

“I didn’t. I wanted to.” He grinned. After receiving it, you invited him inside.

He stood awkwardly in the entryway, looking around like he was trying to memorize every inch. The visit was short. Friendly. He made a few jokes, complimented the paint colors, told her he’d grown up a few blocks away.

You told yourself it was nothing. Just small-town kindness.

“I figured you hadn’t gotten the lay of the land yet,” he said. “This place’s got good folks, if you know where to look.”

Both of you chatted not noticing the darkness that is settling in. Sometimes he would ask some questions like: “Do you like your new home?”, “Did you met any of our neighbors?” or even becoming bolder such as, “Sooo are you single?” which totally left you flustered.

After he left, you can't help but feel a strange feeling that seeps in your stomach, is this what they call butterflies in your stomach?

The next week, he showed up again.

This time, he had tools.

“Your mailbox is leaning,” he explained, already halfway into the project before you answered the door. “One strong wind and it’ll be flat. I had a spare post. Figured I’d help.”

You didn’t know how to say no. Not when he looked so sincere! Not when he smiled like he meant it.

And then the pattern started.

Every few days, he was there. Fixing things. Pointing out things even you didn’t know needed fixing.

Your porch light flickered once? The next day, it was replaced.

Your garden hose had a kink?—sure he left a new one just for you.

You found him once crouched in the side garden, dirt on his knees, pulling up the withered flowers.

“This place deserves to be kept nice,” he said.

Hesitation and anxiety starts creeping in every inch of your skin, as you began to feel trapped by his kindness. He never asked to come in—he just offered help. And always with that same half-smile, that practiced ease. It made you feel crazy for feeling watched. Paranoid.

Convincing yourself he was just lonely. Just sweet. Just a friendly guy who always has your back

But then came the incident with the door.

Certain you'd locked it that morning. But when you returned from work, it was slightly ajar. Nothing stolen. No signs of forced entry.

Only a coffee mug washed and placed back in the wrong cabinet.

Heart thudded as you stood in the kitchen, mug in hand. Told yourself you must’ve misremembered. That it was nothing.

You started cataloging every detail of your home like a detective in your own life.

Even taking photos of each room before you left for work. Marked the position of your silverware, shampoo bottles, the books on the shelf. You made a spreadsheet of timestamps and room temperatures and light bulb wattages.

“Am I losing it?” you stammered, feeling uneasy and stressed on current happenings.

“You said the mug moved?” Tara asked during lunch. “Maybe you did it and forgot.”

You smiled tightly, didn’t bother explaining. How could I make someone understand that it wasn’t just one thing? It was a thousand small things, like threads being plucked, one by one, until the whole fabric started to fray.

The toaster would be unplugged when I came home, though I never unplugged it.

My laundry would be a little too folded, neater than you ever managed.

The smell of someone else’s cologne would linger for a second too long in the hallway.

Until a week later, when Caleb stopped by unannounced again, tool bag slung over one shoulder.

“Thought I’d fix the outlet near your sink,” he said, already halfway through the door.

“I don’t remember asking about that,” you said.

“No, but I noticed it,” he replied, tapping the wall. “Could be a hazard. Water 'n electricity, y’know?”

You felt a hint of hesitation—but still let him in.

He moved through the kitchen casually, too casually, like he knew it better than he should. He knelt, tinkered with the wall. As you watched him the entire time, arms crossed.

He worked in silence for a while.

“Hey Pips, can I use your bathroom for a sec'?” the man says as he was leaning on your door frame.

He was gone ten minutes.

Too long.

You stood at the edge of the hall, listening. No flushing. No water. Wondering what else he could be doing taking so much time.

“Hey Caleb, are you good? You've been there for 10 minutes is something wrong?” you slightly raised the volume in your throat, abruptly knocking on the door.

When he finally stepped out, he smiled. “Yeah 'm sorry about that, just had a lil' tummy ache that's all.” Both of you went back in the kitchen shortly after that.

And you not noticing the slightly gap between the drawer where you put all your used undies and other clothes. You have so much underwear, two pairs missing shouldn't be a problem right? right.

Later that night, something inside of you just snapped. An ominous feeling on the back of your head that you kept ignoring but failed to do so. You can't help but to feel like you're being watched by some unknown.

So the very next day, you made your way into the mall, bustling every store you can that promotes security cameras.

A new camera system you had bought—high-end, cloud connected, motion sensors. You set up four cameras outside and six inside.

For a week, nothing happened.

Then, one night, all the cameras went black.

Simultaneously.

When you checked the footage, it had been wiped. Completely clean. Not a second of stored data. As if someone had never wanted them there to begin with.

You didn’t sleep that night. As you sat in the hallway with back to the wall, a knife clutched in your hands, waiting for a sound. Any sound.

None came.

But you knew he had been there.

Not just because of the cameras.

Because her toothbrush was wet.

After a long hours of work you've lost track of the time, and now you're here walking home in the dark as you keep yourself cautious and wary of your surroundings. As you were walking you couldn't help but hear footsteps joining with you, but as you turned back you saw nothing. no one. maybe you're just too naive and too dumb to notice the figure creeping behind the walls.

It happened fast. Too fast.

Before you know it, large arms embraced you from behind keeping you from moving away. “Let go of me! HELP!” You yelped, adrenaline rushing in to you as you tried to squirm.

“Shh shh, it's okay princess you have me now.” as the man behind coos thinking that maybe, just maybe it'll sooth your panicked nerves.

“NO! STOP! PLEASE SOMEONE HELP ME!” thinking you could escape, you kicked him on his knees, but falls into nothing.

“Aggressive aren't we? You left me no choice then, Pips” with that he took out a cloth from his pocket, shoving it onto your nose.

“No pwease, dwont do dwis” your muffled voices slowly vanishing into thin air, as darkness engulfs your sight.

“Sweetdreams my baby, you know that I love you a little bit too much right.” as Caleb nuzzles in your unconscious body, feeling the warmth and softness of your tender skin.

When you woke up, you find yourself laid on bed that you sure that isn't yours.

There's an invincible force keeping you pinned. You couldn't move.

You're in a state of confusion.

Panicked and scared.

As the blurred vision in your eyes began to fade, you tried to ease yourself by looking down only to realize that you're wide open, naked, legs stretched out. Noticing the white liquid slowly dripping in your cunt down to your thighs, it was extremely a lot that it's nearly pooling between your ass and the bed.

Too focused on examining yourself, you didn't notice the door creaking in followed by a calculated steps.

“Finally up hmm?” Caleb walked towards the bed, “I was worried I put a lot of dosage that made you unconscious for a day” the bed shifted as he sat beside you.

“'m sorry baby.” he gently caresses your cheeks. “Caleb release me right now.” you demanded firmly and cold, but ineffective to hide the scared tone in your voice.

“Or what? What'cha 'gon do 'bout it, Pipsqueak? Call the cops?” he threatened, faint chuckle was heard after.

“I want to go home please, I'll give you whatever you want. Money, you want money right? Just please let me go” trying to hold back the tears that can fall down any second. “Silly but you're in home, our home”.

“I don't care about your money, do you not get it? It's you. I want you.” he blurted with an airy voice.

“No! I don't want this y—”

“Stop playing with me, we both know you're lying when you have your pussy here so soaked in here because of my cock.” as he traces your wet cunt with his cum still on the inside leaking out, from him fucking you multiple times while you were still knocked out.

“D'ya like my present?” he kept humping your lower half, until you felt something on his pants slowly arising.

“Why don't'ya be a good girl f'me hmm? I'll give you anything. everything.” as he was buckling his belt off, removing his pants along with his boxers that clearly has a stain of his pre-cum, turned on from the sight of you wide open for him still immobilized by his Evol's doing.

“Caleb, please don't do this to me.” you pleaded to him, glazed eyes looking at him praying to every gods to convince him to spare you.

But to Caleb, how can he stop himself when you're looking at him with those cute doe-eyes? It's your fault for being so adorable, that he lost all his control from keeping you captive, caged, away from anyone and everyone else. Just for him to see, to feel, to hear, to taste. They don't even deserve to breathe the same oxygen as you? He thought.

“My name isn't a safe word, y'know?” without a warning, he plunged himself deep inside you.

You swore your vision faltered as soon as he drilled his hard cock in your walls so wet, you can even hear the squelching so loud.

Plap Plap Plap

“So tight f'me. 'y so wet and you...nghhh said you didn't want this?” as he continued to fuck your brains out.

You feel your body easing up as his Evol starts to soften around you, allowing you to arch your back from the extreme pleasure you're receiving.

“Nggghhh...Caleb ahh s-slow please” gasping as of the lack of air you're getting in. “Can't aha...p-leasee” poor mind can't even produce coherent words from being too cock-drunk.

“Shhh...y'can take it yeah? I know you can baby.” huff huff huff was heard across the room along with the sounds of skin slapping.

His hard cock goes deep inside your pussy kissing your cervix multiple times, he watches how his member disappears—going in and out. in. out. in. out. in. out. Which evidently turned him on even more. “Fuuuckkk mmmhh”.

He descended towards your head, body-weight definitely crushing you down, his hands serving as a necklace in your neck. He doesn't squeeze, just holding it indicating that he's the one in-charged here.

“Look at you, moaning so loud f'me. Do I feel that good hmm?” as he licks your neck, even biting it that'll definitely leave a mark.

He didn't like that he was being ignored, so he pinned your neck down nearly choking you—using his other hand to slap you in the face.

“Answer me pretty or you'll be punished even more, wouldn't want that right?”

Unable to comprehend Caleb's words from being fucked out, you just nonsensically responded to him whatever it is on your mind. Your mind however, feels like you're above the clouds, drawn at the ecstasy that made you so high you don't even give a single care at the world; forgetting the defiance you showed from him awhile ago. You just wanted to cum.

“Caleebbb...pleasepleaseplease aaghhnnh. I do anything pweasee.” you whined at him, eyes rolled back, you surely are close. Feeling a hard knot building up below your belly button.

As your mouth agape, drool escaping your lips, Caleb spat on your mouth. His saliva mixing with yours watching as you obediently swallowed it without any protest.

“What a good girl you are. You're mine. You're my good girl” he slammed his lips into yours, resulting a messy and sloppy kiss. His tongue freely exploring you as his thrust became even faster, the speed so inhumane you doubt if he even is a human.

“Gon' cummm, gon' cum, ahaahh...nghh Calebb.” the lewd sounds you're making was enough to make his control vanish.

“Yeahh? You want my load so bad? Such a good girl.” unable to control himself, he shoots his cum deep inside your womb, still moving slowly as both of your juices mixed.

You had a chance to breathe properly as he pulled out his cock, watching his semen oozing out in your pretty little pussy. For a moment heavy pants filled the room, body twitching from the previous orgasm, closing your eyes as you sensed the exhaustion consuming your body.

You're finally drifting off to sleep, buuut Caleb has other plans.

“Not yet baby, uh-uh the night is still young, yeah?” as he followed the trail of his cum using his dick, shoving it right back to where it should belong.

“Have to make sure 'yer pregnant, so that you'll never leave me alone hmm.”

You sure have to brace yourself, 'cuuzz it'll be a long night for you~

[vbecker10]

Hi Neighbor (Part 5)

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4 / Part 6 (in progress)

Pairing: Bucky x female reader (Y/N)

Summary: You offer to help Bucky plan his housewarming party then convince your friends they need to come so you don't spend any time alone with him on Saturday.

A/N: This is going to be a multi-part series with a bit of a slow burn between you and your hot new neighbor. I'm not sure how many parts yet but I already have the ending all figured out. I hope you all like it! 💚

"Thanks for letting me use the backyard for the party," Bucky says. He's standing at your front door with Alpine half asleep against his chest, Bucky's metal arm gently holding him in place. In his other hand is a small plastic bag with two full Tupperware containers he promised to return.

"No problem," you tell him with a smile and a light shrug. The duplex apartment you and Bucky live in has a fenced in backyard that's shared between both units. You can access it from your back door while Bucky has access through a gate in the fence. The apartment complex keeps it well maintained and you've always enjoyed spending time back there in the summer with your friends.

If anyone told me a few months ago I'd be helping a super soldier host Earth's Mightiest Heroes in my backyard, I'd say they were crazy, you think. Actually, this is still kind of crazy. "Besides," you smirk, "I don't think all of the Avengers will fit in your apartment. Some of you are pretty big."

He chuckles, "Ah, so you're just worried about us coming through your ceiling."

"Pretty much," you nod and giggle.

"Well I appreciate it anyways," he says when you open your front door. "I'll see you Wednesday, sweetheart," he winks when he steps out onto the stoop.

You roll your eyes dramatically, "Not if you keep that up buttercup." You hear him laughing at your new choice of pet name and empty threat as his key slides into his lock. Once it was decided that Bucky would throw a party like Sam insisted, you offered to meet him in a few days to help him plan it. Wednesday was cutting it closer than you'd like but you promised him it was doable and you both knew you'd never bail on him.

"Goodnight Y/N," Bucky tells you when he opens his door, you can't see his smile but you can hear it in his voice.

"Goodnight Bucky," you reply, closing your door quickly.

Once dinner was finished, Bucky helped you pack up the leftovers, most of which he took home, then he washed, dried and put away your dishes. You told him you could just throw them in the dishwasher and take care if it later but he wouldn't hear it. A part of you wondered if that was his way of getting you to let him stay longer, not that he needed an excuse. You would have gladly let him stay and hang out all night but that couldn't have been what he was doing. Guys from back then were supposed to be gentlemen right? you had tried to reason with yourself. It would have been rude if he didn't at least offer to help me clean up.

You shrug to yourself as you stand alone in your apartment. There's nothing left to do now but freak out over the upcoming party and you know exactly who you need to talk to. Grabbing your phone off the dining table, you head to the couch, your head falling in defeat on the pillow when you see your new lockscreen. The picture shows Apline asleep on your kitchen counter, a few small treats scattered around him. The white cat found the bag you completely forgot to hide and decided to snack until he passed out.

------------------------------------------------

"He's kinda cute when he's not clawing viscously at me isn't he?" Bucky says, looking at the picture on your phone over your shoulder.

You nearly drop the device when you suddenly feel his chest lightly press against your back. "He's absolutely adorable all the time," you force yourself not to look at Bucky when you talk. If you turn your head just a bit, you could easily kiss his cheek without even moving.

"If you say so sweetheart," he says, his lips close enough for you to feel his breath lightly on your neck. "What are you going to do with that?"

You feel him chuckle against your back after a moment of silence then blink as you focus on the fact that he said something after he called you sweetheart. "What?" you ask, taking a few steps a safe distance away from him before turning to face the super soldier.

He repeats his question but your original plan to ask for his phone number so you can send him the picture vanishes when you see his insanely cute smirk.

I have no doubt he'd give me his number if I ask but if I have it, what would I do with it? you think. I could send him memes when he complains about having a day full of boring meetings to see if it'll make him smile. I could call him so he can bring Alpine down and I'll have an excuse to see him during the week. I could text him in the middle of the night when I know he's still awake because I can hear his TV faintly.

"I'm gonna save it as my new lockscreen obviously," you tell him. That's the least complicated option, you think. No point having his number since I'd never be brave enough to reach out anyways.

"Aw, such a good aunt," he says with a laugh, remembering how you announced your title to him earlier.

"Yep," you force a smile to match his but it quickly becomes real when he leans in closer again to see the finished update. "Adorable right?" you hold your phone up for him to see better.

He grins at the image on your screen then looks at you, "Absolutely sweetheart."

------------------------------------------------

Y/N: HELPPPPPP!!!!

Soubi: What's going on?

Rose: Are you okay!?

Shivanie: What happened?

The three messages come back almost instantly in the group chat and you tuck the pillow under your elbows to be more comfortable, this could be a long conversation.

Y/N: Bucky and I were cooking dinner and he told me he's having a housewarming party next weekend. All the Avengers are going to be there and he wants me to come!

Rose: No way?! 🤯

Rose: So that means Steve Rogers is going to be there? 😏

Soubi: That's great! Why the panic??

Shivanie: I'm sorry, we're not skipping over you two making dinner together lol

Soubi: Oh right, what'd you guys make for dinner?

Shivanie: Not what I meant 🙄

Rose: OMG! Wait, was dinner a date!?

Shivanie: Did you cook at his place or did you finally get him into your apartment?

Y/N: It was NOT a date!

You sigh, rubbing your eyes and know you probably should have skipped over the dinner part.

Y/N: Can we focus on the problem??

Soubi: 🤷‍♀️ I have no idea what the problem is but sure

Y/N: I need you guys to come, it's next Saturday

Soubi: To the party?

Rose: I'll be there! I'm not missing a chance to see America's ass up close

You laugh, Rose has never hidden how big of a fangirl crush she has on the famous Captain America. The minute you told your friends Bucky moved in upstairs, she threatened to move into your apartment despite it only being a one bedroom unit. She probably would have followed through on it if Steve spent more time at Bucky's but they seemed to mostly still hang out at Stark Tower.

Shivanie: 🤦‍♀️ Are you sure Bucky didn't invite you so he could spend time with you?

Soubi: Good point, plus I don't like going places I didn't get invited

Soubi: Oh and I'd need to get him a gift cause it's a housewarming right? You bring gifts to those?

Soubi: Does he seem like a guy who likes candles? Or maybe something cute for his cat

Shivanie: The only gift he wants is Y/N 😏

Y/N: NOT HELPING

Rose: Lol idk I think Shivanie figured out the perfect gift

Soubi: We can get you a big bow to wear!

Shivanie: Yes!!

You groan loudly at their collective lack of sympathy and text back.

Y/N: I hate all of you

Soubi: Lies

Y/N: Please tell me you'll come Saturday. It'll be so awkward if I go alone, just me and a bunch of literal super heroes

Rose: Yeah, that sounds awful 🙄

Y/N: It will be, the only person I actually know is Bucky and I can't just follow him around the whole time. Please, you guys need to come

You plead with your friends, hoping they'll save you from the potential disaster that awaits Saturday.

Shivanie: Fine, but if Rose gets Steve's number before you get Bucky's I'm gonna be really disappointed in you

Soubi: You still didn't get his number!!? 😳😳😳

Soubi: How?! I thought you said you were gonna get it like a week ago

Y/N: 🫣

You cringe thinking about how you failed to get Bucky's number again tonight. It was the third time you've had an opportunity to ask and couldn't go through with it.

Rose: Ooh, I'm definitely getting Steve's number at the party 😉

Shivanie: Maybe Steve can get Y/N Bucky's number cause she is never gonna ask 🤦‍♀️🤦‍♀️🤦‍♀️

Y/N: I'll ask him if you guys come

Shivanie: Really?

Y/N: I swear

You bite your lip when you type out the promise you're not sure you'll be able to keep based on your track record.

Y/N: Just get here at noon, you guys don't need to bring gifts or food or anything

You make one final plea to your friends and cross your fingers as you wait for them to respond.

Shivanie: Of course we're coming 😊

Soubi: See you Saturday

Rose: I'll be there! ❤️

You toss your phone gently onto the coffee table and roll over to stare at the ceiling, briefly wondering if Bucky is in the space directly above you before you realize you now need to let him know you've invited all of your friends without asking him. If I hadn't chickened out of getting his number I could just send him a text, you think as you cover your face with your hands and groan.

(Wednesday)

You close your front door and kick off your heels, both excited and a little nervous about heading up to Bucky's apartment. You spent your last meeting of the day making a list of things you two needed to figure out for the upcoming party and it was a long one. Hopefully planning will go smoothly so you can follow it up with telling him you invited your friends without asking him.

You can hear Bucky's footsteps above you when you walk into your bedroom to get changed. Throwing a t-shirt and jeans on in place of your blouse and dress pants, you instantly feel more comfortable. The outfit is finished off with a pair of sneakers and a quick check in the mirror to make sure you didn't mess your hair up while changing.

After grabbing your phone and the list from your bag, you go back outside and ring Bucky's doorbell. You bite your lip, trying to push down how excited you are to see him when you hear his heavy footsteps coming down the stairs quickly. Without thinking, you fold and unfold the list until he opens the door wearing a dark sweatshirt and that smile you can't get enough of.

"Thanks for coming sweetheart," he takes a step back to let you into the small entry way.

"No problem pookie," you tell him with a grin and he chuckles lightly, shaking his head. You can't see his face when he turns to go up the stairs but you know he's rolling his eyes at your random new pet name.

"What kind of friend would I be if I didn't make sure your first party this century isn't epic?" you ask. You force yourself not to cringe at how much you dislike what calling yourself his friend feels like. Friend is better than neighbor, you think as you follow him up the stairs, but girlfriend would be even better and also completely unrealistic. Yay for being delusional!

He laughs which brings you back to the conversation as you both reach the top of the stairs. "It'll still be a disaster for one reason or another I'm sure," Bucky says. "Trust me, you can't get everyone on the team together without something stupid happening."

You barely notice his left hand buried in his sweatshirt pocket while he bends to pet Alpine. Instead, your attention is on how the cat accepts only two brief strokes along his back before wandering away to find something more interesting.

"It's gonna be great," you insist although you're not sure you believe that.

He walks towards his bedroom, leaving you standing in his living area, watching Alpine attack a stuffed mouse with a bell in it. "I'm gonna grab something from my room. I'll be out in a second, you can grab a drink if you want," he suggests.

"Sounds good, thanks," you make your way to his kitchen, giving Alpine a wave that goes completely unnoticed. "Do you want a drink too?"

"I'm good," Bucky responds and when you hear a chuckle from down the hall you know he's going to say it. "Thanks sweetheart."

You roll your eyes and try to ignore him, opening the fridge to grab a pitcher of filtered water then open his cabinet.

"Oh, cups are clean but they're still in the dishwasher," he calls from his bedroom and you wonder if he heard the soft squeak of the door.

"So you do remember how to use the-" you scream loudly in surprise then your hand clamps over your mouth as you take quick steps back, nearly tripping over Alpine.

"What happened?" he asks, his voice much closer but there's no concern is his tone. If you weren't so freaked out, you might have noticed he was fighting to keep from laughing.

Your eyes are still glued to the open dishwasher, Bucky's freshly cleaned metal arm resting on the top rack. You take a small step closer to get a better look then yelp in surprise when the wrist lifts and the fingers wave at you.

Bucky laughs as your back slams into his chest when you try to back out of the kitchen. "Sorry about that," he says but you know that's not even a little true.

You turn to face him and hit his broad chest in annoyance, "What the hell?"

"I told you that's where I clean it," he reminds you.

"Yeah but-" the words die in your throat when you watch him move around you. For the first time, you notice one sleeve of his sweatshirt dangles loosely at his side. You assumed he was wearing it because it had been a bit chilly today but apparently it was to hide his missing arm. "You did this on purpose," you put your hands on your hips.

Bucky grabs the arm, placing it on the counter then hands you a glass with a smile. "Not sure what you're talking about sweetheart," he insists innocently.

You open your mouth to argue with him but every thought leaves your brain when he pulls the sweater off over his head and his white shirt comes off as well. You stare at his toned back, vaguely hearing Bucky say something as he turns to face you while he pulls his t-shirt back down.

"What?" you ask, forcing yourself to look him in the eyes even though you can feel your cheeks heating from a blush.

He smirks and picks up the arm, holding it close to his shoulder until both exposed ends glow faintly and make mechanical whirling sounds. He reattaches his left arm, the plates recalibrate then he rotates his arm in one sharp, quick motion to set it back in place.

"Wow," you mumble without meaning to and he chuckles at your reaction.

"You were saying," Bucky fills the empty glass you've been holding with water and turns to put the pitcher away.

"I..." you think and look down at the full glass, what the heck was I saying? Ooh right. "You freaking did that on purpose!"

"Why would I do that?" Bucky asks, closing the dishwasher and ignoring the rest of the clean dishes.

"To scare the crap out of me," you say obviously then add, "And it waved at me! What the hell? I didn't know you could do that."

He laughs, walking into the living room to sit on the couch and you follow him, "I would never scare you on purpose, but it was pretty funny."

"It was not," you fold your arms across your body, not wanting to admit it was a really good prank.

He leans towards you as you stand in front of him, "Then why are you smiling sweetheart?"

You blush again when you realize he's right, you can feel the smile on your face despite trying to hide it and decide to change the subject. "Okay seriously though, you can move your arm when it's not attached?"

He shrugs and sits back, making room for you on the couch. "Sometimes I can. I have to be pretty close to it but I'm getting better," he explains vaguely, looking at his vibranium fingers as they wiggle.

Without meaning to, you visualize Bucky's arm crawling across the floor, chasing Alpine like the Thing and shake your head to rid yourself of that image.

"So... you really think we can pull off this party?" he asks after a moment of silence between you both.

"Sure," you answer, pulling the long, detailed list out of your pocket and picking up a pen he had laying on the coffee table. "We've totally got this."

Bucky smiles at your determination and you decide to start off easy, suggesting he doesn't bother buying any decorations and he quickly agrees. Next you move onto food and you're surprised to learn just how much super soldiers and Asgardians can eat.

"Maybe we should just order like... an insane number of pizzas," you say with a giggle.

"That's not a bad idea sweetheart," he nods in agreement. You roll your eyes, continuing to act as if it annoys you when he calls you that although you both know it doesn't.

After a lengthy discussion about pizza toppings and how many pies should be ordered, you move on to music. "We can play music off my phone, connect it to my speakers," you suggest then realize you have no idea what type of music Bucky likes. "What do you listen to? I wanna make sure I put things you like on the playlist."

He shrugs and doesn't answer.

"You really don't listen to music?" you ask in disbelief.

"I like 40s music," Bucky admits after a moment.

"You're so old," you giggle but write 40s on the list next to music and circle it. I'll need to figure out what the heck 40s music even is, you think.

"Ouch, thanks sweetheart," he laughs. "You don't need to put that, whatever you want is fine," he says pointing to the note you made.

"Don't worry honey buns, I'll find some," you smile and when his head turns instantly to look at you, you know he doesn't like that pet name at all.

"Are you going to call me stuff like that at the party?" he asks.

You can't help but smile even wider at how concerned Bucky looks waiting for you to answer him. "You know the rules pumpkin," you try not to giggle, "You call me sweetheart, I call you something cute."

"Pumpkin and honey buns are not cute," he says but you can see he's fighting back a smile.

"What would you rather I call you then, boo bear?" you ask.

He lets out a laugh, "Bucky."

"Ducky?" you ask with a grin and now it's his turn to roll his eyes. "Aww, ducky is actually kinda adorable," you insist then add, "I could call you James?"

"Please don't," he shakes his head but he can't seem to lose his smile.

"You're no fun," you pout, folding your arms over your chest as you sit back on the couch.

He leans close to you and smirks, "I'm a lot of fun sweetheart."

His expression and closeness cause goosebumps to travel over your skin and you giggle nervously. "You worried Sam and Steve might catch on and help me give you fun nicknames?" you shift as far away as you can on the couch which isn't more than another inch or two.

"A little," he admits and you smile, figuring now is as good a time as any.

"I'll make you a deal," you say and he looks at you curiously, waiting for you to continue. "If I can invite my three best friends, I won't call you anything super cutesy in front of your super friends," you grin, hoping he'll buy it.

He thinks for barely a second before agreeing, "Deal sweetheart."

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[martynka1]

only resi was this deep rooted in me for a long while, but its not the only thing i've lost intrest in, everything became so dull recently

i don't find joy in reading anymore, nor in playing guitar, i don't get excited over music the way i used to, it feels like a chore now. "i'll listen to it because i love the artist, but do i anymore?" i do it because it's the only thing i know

i rewatch shows and don't start anything new because nothing new can catch my attention, and i at least find comfort in the things i know

social media also dosen't scratch that itch so i don't use it

i feel so STUPID ugh