#*whines* I WANNA!!! BE!!! MAD!!! ;^;

[honorhearted]

Despite not having an education in medicine, Benjamin hovered over Dr. Weston's every move. He kept interjecting -- "Should that truly go there? Perhaps you should stifle the blood first?" -- before ultimately, the older man threatened to throw him out on his arse.

In an act of compassion, August intervened. "Give him space, he's the doctor. She'll be fine. He'll fix this."

"I know," Benjamin agreed, though it was clear by his tone that he did not. Continuing to pace, his boots practically burned a blazing trail through the grass. With a hand over his mouth, he only faltered again when August corralled him outdoors for a bit of space. It was just as well; he could scarcely stand to look at Emma, let alone be so near... Not when it was his fault she was on that operating table in the first place.

"It's all my fault," Benjamin whispered. Throat dry, he raked a hand through his hair. "She...she only went there because I requested it. Or rather, I told her I suspected Sutherland wasn't telling the truth, so she offered to accompany Sackett. If she hadn't gone..." Perhaps Sackett would be dead. He exhaled, shaken. "I don't know what to do for her."

"She's been through worse," August reassured him. "This is nothing to her. I've seen her running weeks after being told she may spend months in bed."

Benjamin offered a threadbare smile. "Yes, she's told me all about her exploits. Believe me: she was quick to throw out every incident she's ever endured, if only to prove herself worthy of serving. She has a soldier's heart." If only I'd had the courage to say that to her face...

August frowned. "That's the price people pay if they care for her," he said. "She'll make your life feel like an endless summer, be the most loyal, kind, happy of friends. But you'll also get this. You'll get the blood, you get her saving everyone but herself. You'll get her... trying to do everything alone, hardly ever asking for help."

Unbidden, Benjamin's eyes welled up with tears and he was quick to look away, hiding the pain glistening within his distant gaze. "They say it's better to have loved than lost," he softly agreed, "but why does she do it? As much as Emma claims she wants to soothe, to help, why is it that she doesn't consider the pain she's putting us through? Doesn't she know the people who love her are getting hurt with her reckless, senseless ambition?"

Trailing off, Benjamin jerked, startled by his own passions. "I'm sorry," he murmured. "I am not angry with her -- not truly. I, myself, am much the same way...I don't think of the consequences until after, because in the moment, it feels like the right thing to do. I've been told I often expect too much of people. I suppose I'm doing the same here...even when she's fighting for her life." He swallowed, his throat bobbing reflexively.

August remained levelheaded. "And one of these days we'll go back home and it will be exactly the same, because she chooses to do this. She never stopped anywhere longer than a couple of months because there are just too many people to save. Until she met you."

Benjamin looked up at that, visibly startled. "Me? But...it surely can't be as simple as all that," he said, hating the sickening burst of hope that fluttered within his chest. "Emma's quite fond of everyone here. She loves Caleb, and Mr. Sackett, and Mary, and the doxies...everyone, because that's the type of person she is." He shrugged, refusing to entertain the pipe dream within his heart. "Perhaps she just sees this cause as more worthy than past battles."

Ben's lovely face could have been a happy last sight. It wasn't the most optimistic thought, but the pain was fading - was that good? bad? - and she could only think that she needed to reach him and tell him it was going to be alright, that he didn't have to look quite so desperate, that she wanted to think of him as the same happy, carefree Ben she had been seeing at night. No, that was gone too, wasn't it?

She blinked, but knew instinctively that she couldn't speak, any attempt would have been futile or made things worse. Instead, she put all of her strength into lifting the same hand that she had used to grab the gun, which now felt impossibly heavy. She choked out a gasp, taste of blood in her mouth and cold spreading through her, but her fingers found his arm. One squeeze. Two. The little gestures she did when trying to soothe his worries: about war, about friends, about the future. Now, about her.

She felt exhausted after that, and just as her hand dropped and she started feeling too sleepy to keep her eyes open, she heard more familiar voices and at least knew Ben would be taken care of. Her eyes closed.

"We need to get something so we can transport her without moving her body too much," August already knew the procedure, having seen Emma lay in a pool of blood too many times. James, who had left his post once he had realized she was in trouble, went to quickly help just as the doctor came in. August took pity on Ben, whom he had been able to only get to know a little before Emma had decided to do her usual dance with him, and even if his heart felt about to explode with fear for her, did what he knew Emma would want and put a hand on his arm to pull him back and let the doctor do his job. "Give him space, he's the doctor. She'll be fine," he assured Ben with a confidence that he didn't expect - that he hated, because he had gotten that used to Emma's near death experiences and knew some day he might be wrong, "He'll fix this."

No one wanted to leave Emma alone, even if they couldn't directly help the doctor, and they chose to wait outside. August hadn't even bothered to try to send James back to work so he wouldn't get punished, there was a limit to what he could do for Emma and knew the other man would never go, not with that look on his face. The only thing James said was that 'he knew he should have been there too. She had mentioned having a headache, not having slept well, he should have been there with her'. The doctor only came to tell them that the situation was dire, and there was nothing to do but wait longer. That was when James offered to go get some of her things, clothes she had left on top of the bed, things she may need later, and August had the distinct impression he was just trying to go cry in private. He didn't bother, taking a deep breath and running a hand over his burning eyes, still convinced she'd pull through this time. "She's been through worse," he told Ben without looking in his direction, "This is nothing to her. I've seen her running weeks after being told she may spend months in bed." But this time there was a problem: her heart had been hurt. And when Emma's heart was hurt, well, no one knew how much she'd fight to get better. He had seen that too. The man who was probably just as hurt was right there with him, and August knew he had to say something. "That's the price people pay if they care for her. She'll make your life feel like an endless summer, be the most loyal, kind, happy of friends. But you'll also get this. You'll get the blood, you get her saving everyone but herself. You'll get her... trying to do everything alone, hardly ever asking for help. I'm sure I don't know half of the most painful things she went through, and I've known her ever since she was born..." he shook his head, looking at the ground, "And one of these days we'll go back home and it will be exactly the same, because she chooses to do this. She never stopped anywhere longer than a couple of months because there are just too many people to save. Until she met you."

[fbfh]

leo with baby fever? 🥹

i've always wondered what would he be like with babies of his own? 🥹💞

AAAAUGH. thank you for this one my dearest darlingest tumblr user pdlrnjlm. I'm violently sobbing over this one /pos. also excuse any egregious typos, I just woke up from a dream where my dyslexic ass couldn't spell "chris evans fine" to the point that autocorrect was beyond useless (and probably laughing at me).

ANYWAY. Leo with baby fever is... lethal. as previously stated, Leo is the motherfucking ceo of "one wouldn't hurt" but he sounds so... convincing when he says it. he says it so sweetly you start to think huh. maybe one wouldn't hurt. within a day or two his fyp is just cute baby fever inducing videos. he casually learns everything there is to know about child development and parenting in a matter of days. he starts treating your cat like a baby, talking to them and holding them on his lap while he works and good GOD if it doesn't start to hit you too. The tension and soul aching need to see you all big and preggers with his baby, your baby that you made together is almost too much. Then one fatal day, you run out of clean pajamas. It’s laundry day, and the only comfy thing you have on hand is a floral mumu from walmart that looks like something a grandma would wear, but you’re desperate and it’s soft and loose and comfy. So Leo, after spending hours rotting his brain with baby thoughts and thinking about how nice it’ll be to be a dad and how fulfilling it’ll be to come home and see a wrinkly little newborn having tummy time on your chest while you’re both half asleep to barrio sesamo playing on the tv. After a full day of ruminating on that, he comes home and sees you in your floral lil granny nightgown and good GOD something inside him snaps. You have this man feeling you up, snarling and growling, purring in you ear before he bites it. Something has gotten into him and taken full control of the primal part of his brain. And let’s be real here. You might as well consider yourself pregnant from the first “c’mon estrella, one or two couldn’t hurt… they’re so little, you won’t even notice them.” into your neck while he hugs you from behind. But yeah. Leo with baby fever is so simultaneously sweet cute fluffy domestic and rearrange your guts at the same time that it’s kind of inevitable. If Leo kisses your neck and rubs your tummy and says “you’d look so cute pregnant, baby…” you’re gonna fold. You have to. No one can resist that. And who would want to????

[baby-xemnas]

can i be honest. i am so over one piece posts because of oversaturation, i block the tag, but i will always visit your tumblr every so often because i love the idea and content of bepolaw so much. theyre so good and hot and wonderful. your content specifically. bepolaw real, even if idk jack shit about the series

anon's one piece:

maybe the real treasure were the bear best friends we kissed along the way

thank you so much for the message ♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥ makes me super happy that you check my stuff specifically and its an exception :)))))) thats very very nice ♥

[haedia]

I woke up about an hour ago now and I've been steadily getting hungrier and hungrier. That initial hunger is what kept me from being able to go back to sleep (it's 4:30ish in the morning here, at the time of writing).

I could get up and fix something, or go to one of the 24 hr options in the area, for a very early breakfast. But I'm like resentful that I'm awake and that I'm too hungry to go back to sleep.

Is that productive? Absolutely not. But sometimes you gotta wallow in your frustrations before you can do anything about them.

Also, though I would love a breakfast burrito from a particular place, it's very chilly out and it's raining. I don't really want to have to deal with all that (nor do I want to have to put on actual outside-appropriate clothes). But my at-home breakfast options are comparatively disappointing. So yeah. >:/

[purple-space-aliens]

i don’t know how to explain how distressing it is when multiple people say they’re going to talk with you and help you not feel lonely and then end up with none of them talking to you

[feather-and-roses]

I love my friends and how hard they try to be inclusive but I keep being hit with the "I'm so inclusive I'm gonna accidentally misgender you" ray.

I'm gender fluid but I don't use they/them or neutral terms. I'm not....upset by them, but they're not mine. "Partner" No pls call me their girlfriend or boyfriend or husband or wife. "Sibling" They are my sibling, I am their brother or sister! I prefer gendered terms way above non-gendered ones. "Parent" My cats call me mom and dad.

Inclusive language is good. It's great and we should use more of it, but in your effort to not misgender anyone, please remember those of us for whom this is misgendering. Some of us really hate these terms.

[doppelnatur]

.

[stabmovie]

Is work good today?

-🦇

kinda. i got cookies. but i don't feel good

[thedevotionaltour]

i dont wanna go to class i really really really don't wanna go to class *THRASHES

[fleeting-sanity]

This house is too crowded and each family member makes my life worse in their own way instead of better. I hate my life. I hate this house. I hate waking up pissed bc their irresponsibilities becomes MY problem!

[swagging-back-to]

so fucking mad actually. my job will have a snow day for 2 inches of snow that fall the night AFTER the snow day was. (as in, tey cancelled Monday and it didn't even start snowing till Tuesday) but when there's a winter storm warning for nearly 2 feet of snow and a foot of sleet? o no no that's no biggie.

[cinnamorollcrybaby]

The JJK men want YOU to wear their jersey

Tags: JJK men x fem!Reader, college au, sports au, mostly fluff and/or crack, suggestive only on Toji’s (nasty bitch), itafushi makes an appearance

An: This has been heavy on my brain recently 🙂‍↕️ Also, I don’t know if this concept is only in like my area, but basically, the concept is that on game days, a common thing for highschool/college players to do is to wear their jersey to class, and their sweetheart wears their home/away jersey. it’s just a cute thing to show support. Another thing, I know Kamo is not Choso’s last name, and I know Sukuna is not Sukuna’s last name. Sukuna might not even be Sukuna’s name at all. idk and idc. this is a no curse au anyways so who cares! let me know if i should do more sports au :)

Incl - Satoru, Suguru, Nanami, Choso, Toji, Sukuna

SATORU

Girls will literally hunt Satoru down to get his jersey from him, and if you were the lucky girl who got to wear the jersey of the star quarterback… you either became instantly popular, or every girl in the university wanted to kill you.

“I’m sorry, ladies. I already have someone in mind.” Satoru flashed a grin towards the crowd of girls surrounding his seat. Disappointed sighs and whines emitted from the group as they slowly dissipated from his desk.

Satoru couldn’t care less. They could be mad at him if they wanted to. They were no where near as special as the girl he had his eyes set on.

Class had yet to start, and Satoru was growing tired of just staring at the back of your head. He finally got up, and he slumped down in the chair next to you.

“Is this seat taken?” He asked with a bright smile. He hadn’t interacted with you much, but he always had his eye on you. You were the one of the few girls who didn’t dumb down their intelligence for him to make themselves more appealing.

“It’s not.” You replied shortly. You weren’t rude, just incredibly matter-of-fact.

“Wanna make a bet with me?” Satoru asked as he tried to catch your eyes from your book. He was really pining for your attention, and you wouldn’t pass him a second glance.

“Not really.” You replied, not looking up from your book.

“I bet the professor will be twenty minutes late.” Satoru went on anyways, not taking your rejection to heart.

“Hmm. Doubtful. He’s normally prompt.” You say finally looking up at Satoru, which causes him to flash an easy smile. He’s happy to have your attention — now he wants to keep it.

“If he isn’t here within the next twenty minutes, you have to wear my jersey today and every game day for the rest of the season. If he makes it here before twenty minutes is up, I’ll buy you as many books as you can carry.” Satoru proposes as he taps on your book with a cheeky grin.

You think for a moment… all the books you can carry?? “Deal.” You say with a smile, offering your hand to him to shake on it — thinking you just easily won yourself a free shopping spree. Satoru takes your hand, and he gently shakes it before bringing it to his lips and pressing a kiss to your knuckles.

He’s already won.

Satoru knows that you’ll be wearing his jersey today, and you’ll wear his colors for the rest of the season. He’ll make more bets… win you over slowly with false bets. Oh, he’ll buy you all those books you want too just because he can.

He’s already set Geto in motion to go run into your professor with large cups of coffees in his hand. Your professor ended up cancelling class after being 25 minutes late.

When the group of girls sees you with “GOJO” written on the back of your jersey, their faces contort in utter disdain, but Satoru looks at it with a shit-eating grin on his face. He won.

SUGURU

Suguru really didn’t get the thing about giving a girl his jersey on game days. Basketball season is pretty ruthless. While football teams only have 12 games in a season, basketball teams play over 30. That’s 30 days in one season that he’d have to find a girl that he gave enough of a shit about to give his jersey to? No thanks.

Of course, if he had a girlfriend it wouldn’t be too big of a deal, but the whole attitude around giving a girl your jersey was just something Suguru didn’t subscribe to.

Well, he didn’t think he subscribed to it until he saw one of his teammates offering you their jersey.

Maybe on a more psychological level, this was territory marking, and Suguru would be damned if he sat back and let another man mark you as their territory.

Even though he’s not proud of it, Suguru immediately marched straight up to you and his teammate with his away jersey thrown over his shoulder. He placed his hand firmly on the small of your back, and he gave his teammate a piercing look with his violet eyes. His lips curled into an easy smirk.

“Sorry man, she’s already agreed to wear my jersey today, isn’t that right angel?” He asked in such a condescending tone, and his fingertips dig into your skin with just enough pressure to make your face flush.

Luckily for Suguru, you were into it — and not his teammate. “Yeah, sorry. I almost forgot.” You agree, giving his teammate an empathetic smile.

So no, Suguru doesn’t get the idea of giving his jersey to a girl on game days, but he does get the idea of giving you his jersey. He loves how he towers behind you in the halls, seeing the name “GETO” written on your back with his number. He loves remembering the way you easily went along with his plan. You just fit him.

NANAMI

Nanami doesn’t need antics to get you to wear his baseball jersey.

Plenty of girls pine for Kento. Who wouldn’t? He was the leading star of the baseball team… who’s ass just so happened to look so good in those white tight-fitting pants.

Your college certainly played into it, giving Nanami the big screen when he takes off his helmet and shakes out his messy blonde hair that a bit damp from sweat. His cheeks are smeared with his eye black smeared on his cheeks (the charcoal black lines that athletes sometimes have).

They knew what they were doing when the yearbook crew took professional level pictures of Nanami looking absolutely jaw-dropping while delivering the nastiest pitch.

He was like eye candy that enticed a bunch of girls to buy tickets to the baseball games, and dammit, it worked.

Despite his celebrity status at the school, Kento didn’t act above anyone else. He didn’t flaunt money or act posh and sophisticated like a lot of the wannabes did at your university.

He was down to earth, smart, caring, and humorous to the right group of people (the dry humor enjoyers). Kento was the type of man to be able to reject someone without them even feeling rejected, which he did a lot when girls would ask for his jersey.

You often came to baseball games to watch (to watch nanami lets bffr), but you weren’t bold enough to ask Kento for his jersey on game days. You had witness girls before you, pilgriming the way to Nanami before they turn back empty handed. You couldn’t risk the heartache.

It wasn’t until one day after class you and Kento were the only two still packing up after a lecture, he casually strolled to your desk. “Will you be at the game tonight?” He asked with a genuine air of curiosity to him. This wasn’t awkward forced conversation because you two were the only two people in a room together.

You hadn’t even known that Nanami noticed you, much less noticed your attendance at games. You could feel your heart start to thud obscenely loud in your chest as you came to terms that you’re not invisible in Kento’s life.

“Yeah, I think I’ll show up…” You try your hardest to sound casual, but you just sound terribly nervous.

“I’ll look forward to seeing you.” He said politely before he reached into his bag and pulled out his spare jersey. “Hopefully wearing this..?”

Your eyes widen as you realize he was offering his jersey to you. “That- are you sure? Me?”

“Yes, I’m sure.” He gives an honest laugh. His multimillion dollar smile makes you swoon, and he hands his jersey out again. “You should put it on now. That’s the tradition, right?”

You slowly slip the jersey on over your long-sleeved white top, and it definitely hangs loosely on you, but with a few tucks and adjustments, it finally sits on your body appropriately.

“It looks good on you. I’ll see you tonight.” Kento smiles before leaving the classroom.

You had never gotten more shocked stares than when girls saw you with “NANAMI” printed across your back.

CHOSO

“Hey Yuji, why does Megumi wear your jersey on game days?” Choso asked his teammate as he sat down on the bench in the locker room.

He had seen quite a few people - guys and girls who weren’t on the basketball team wearing the jerseys of his teammates, but he didn’t understand it. He figured he’d ask the one teammate who he considered to be more of a brother to explain.

“Because I make him.” Yuji laughed as he dried his pink hair off from the shower. It was a pretty brutal practice, even Choso’s raven hair was down, messy from sweat.

Choso furrowed his eyebrows. “Why would you do that-? I thought you liked him.”

Yuji laughed even harder as Choso clearly didn’t understand the dynamic he had with Megumi. He also clearly didn’t understand the concept behind giving someone his jersey.

“I do like him, so I like seeing him wearing my jersey on game days. I think he looks good in it too, even if he pretends to hate it. I know he likes showing his support.” Yuji explained, but he went on, “People give their jerseys to someone they like. It’s like a courting gift, and it lets everyone know your intentions with that person.”

Choso nodded as he began to understand. He should give his jersey to someone he liked - to someone he wanted to court, and his intentions would be made known.

That’s how shy, timid Choso ended up at your dorm door late one evening. After much encouragement and convincing from Yuji, he finally gave your door a soft knock, and Yuji ran around the corner to hide.

When you opened the door, looking at Choso with those big pretty eyes, he completely clammed up and forgot the mental script he had prepared about how he really liked you, and it’d mean a lot to him if you wore his jersey.

Instead, “I want my intentions known.” He nearly shouted as he gestured his jersey to you.

Yuji facepalmed around the corner.

You blinked a few times, looking down at the jersey then back up to him. He was lucky that you’re very good at filling in the blanks. “You want me to wear your jersey, Cho?” You asked with a small laugh before taking the jersey from his hands.

His cheeks were flushed, and he gave you an awkward smile before nodding his head vigorously. “And uh.. I want to court you.” He finally added all in one breath.

To Choso’s delight, you agreed, and now, he finally understands the real reasoning behind giving his jersey to someone he likes because seeing “KAMO” on your back makes him feel all dizzy with love and adoration.

TOJI

It started off as a small prank amongst girls. A prank that really pissed Toji off. A group of girls decided it would be cute to steal Toji’s spare hockey jersey and wear it without his knowledge.

When Toji saw one of the girls wearing his stolen jersey with his appalling last name printed on the back, he was livid.

Needless to say, he got his jersey back, and the girl couldn’t even look him in the eye after that whole experience.

He hated his jersey. He hated how his last name was on the back, and he hated how anyone else would want to wear it.

He couldn’t just get rid of his spare jersey. Then, he’d owe the school even more than what he already owes them. He couldn’t trust to keep it in his dorm because he didn’t put it past those bitches to try to sneak into his dorm to get their filthy hands on it. That was when he had a genius idea.

“Wear my jersey.” His gruff voice demanded as he dropped the fabric on the table in front of you, his too responsible friend.

“No, it probably stinks.” You pushed the jersey aside, trying to focus on the homework in front of you.

“Nah. It smells like the last bitch who stole it.” He remarked as he plopped down in a chair in front of your desk.

“Even worse.” You respond back unamused, still not giving Toji the time of day.

“Do you remember who hunted down the fuck who stole your headphones?”

You sighed, finally looking up at Toji to show that you were paying attention. “Why do you think me wearing your jersey will deter them?”

“Maybe they’ll think you’re my girl and piss off for a while. I don’t know, but if I see another preppy bitch wearing it without my knowledge, I’m going to burn it.” Toji’s voice sounded stressed as he pinched the bridge of his nose.

“And you don’t mind them thinking that?” You inquire, raising your eyebrow.

“Doll, you know I’ve spent the last three years trying to get you to hop on my-“

“Eughhh, give it.” You interrupt Toji before he can go into any further detail, snatching his jersey up and putting it on over your clothes. “There. Happy?”

Toji didn’t expect to have such a reaction to seeing you in his jersey. He knew he was serious about liking you, no matter how much you liked to believe that he didn’t actually like you, but seeing you in his jersey — the way it swallowed you whole. He figured he’d still hate seeing his last name on you, but there was something satiating those deep primal urges when he caught a glimpse of “ZENIN” across your back.

SUKUNA

Sukuna is much comparable to a dragon. He sees something pretty and shiny (you): he wants it all for himself. He wants to hoard treasure (you) to keep, and he definitely does not like the idea of anyone else looking or touching his treasure.

So, how does he keep wandering eyes off his treasure? He cloaks her in his favor, making her brandish his last name on her back along with his number. Yes, Sukuna demanded for you to wear his football jersey.

There was just enough satisfaction of seeing you walk around campus with “SUKUNA” written on your back that kept him from trying to hoard you in his room.

Oh, he’s also like a dragon in the sense that he’s absolutely devastating out on the field.

[satoruan]

FRIENDS WHO PLAY TOGETHER STAY TOGETHER ! ! — ARCANE

( tw ) f!reader. FF pairings. modern AU! masterbation. fingering. squirting. cunillings. dry humping. reader is kinda possessive in Vi’s. some yearning.

featuring. Violet, Caitlyn Kiramman & Mel Madarda

authors note. When you off that honey packet and ur home girl the only one in vicinity. Mel is so 🤭 I can’t she my type to a teeee. Anyways I’m about to go watch Act 2 WISH ME LUCK IM SCARED. Also idk how I feel about Kaits part I could do better 😔

VIOLET 

You and Vi were at another one of your friends' sleepovers. You didn't wanna come, you wanted to spend the Saturday just the two of you, alone. You hated sharing her attention, she was your best friend. You were each other's number one, why did you need other friends when you two were each other's everything. It was late now, almost everyone was sleeping or about to fall asleep when Vi crawled between the bodies of people to where you were laying. You didn’t notice until you felt the familiar embrace of her against your back. Despite yourself, you felt yourself relaxing against her body.  

“Are you still mad at me?” she whispered into your ear before placing a gentle kiss on your bare shoulder. “You know my favorite person. You have nothing to worry about.”  

“Yeah, whatever.” You grumbled. You weren't truly mad anymore but you knew what came next, what Vi did to reassure you that you were special to her. Her only best friend. You weren’t surprised when her hips rocked into your ass, when she pressed her tits against your back nor when her hand traveled underneath your oversized sleep shirt and cupped your breast. 

“Vi…” You sighed nuzzling into the arm underneath your head. She tightened her grip on your breast and rocked her hips into you. You push back harder and soon enough you guys find a rhythm. Your ass pushing down on her hips when she grinds up into you. Her callused palm grazes your nipple and you whine softly. She whimpers into your shoulder, finger going to your nipple when she pulls and twists. You wish her mouth was on you, you wish your mouth was on her. You turn your head to her “I love you the most. My favorite forever.”  

You feel her smile into your shoulder. “You're so beautiful, you know that?” translation: I love you too. 

MEL MEDARDA 

You couldn’t believe it. Your best friend’s tongue was inside of you. Licking you. Her lips were sucking on your clit, her teeth were biting your pussy lips. You could hear how wet you were—you could feel yourself leaking all over her face. “Mel!” You scream out into the dark room before slamming your hands over your own mouth. You don’t want anyone to see you—you don’t want her mother to see you, what a scene she would make. Seeing her daughter nose deep into her childhood best friend. Mel pulls her mouth off your clit with an embarrassingly loud pop. “Do you feel that? This is how you’re supposed to eat pussy darling.” She smiles when you just nod. Afraid that if you remove your hands from your mouth, you might confess something you don’t want.  

Plus, this was just a favor, strictly platonic, you were just friends. That’s why she was eating you out in the first place—you wanted to finally dip your toe into the dating scene but you were scared because you were inexperienced, you didn’t wanna leave your future partners disappointed in your nonexistence skills. And that’s where your best friend came in. Where you didn’t know anything about sex, she knew what felt like everything. Though you never saw her with anyone, she talked like she knew the ins and outs of men and women and she offered to teach you.  

“Now after you use your mouth and get them wet you wanna bring in your fingers, like this.” Mel grabs one of your thighs and pushes it down, giving her a better view of your dripping pussy before using her free hand and pushing a slender finger into you. You gasp. “I know you’ve fingered yourself before sweets, how many fingers have you shoved into this pretty pussy?” 

You whimper, hesitantly removing your hands. “T-two Melly.” You answer bashfully, using the nickname you gave her when you were children. She hums and adds another. You bite your lip, lower abdomen clenching when she curls them into your spongy g-spot. 

“Now pay attention to me alright?” She leans down to place a kiss on your pubs, leaving a trail of light kisses until she reaches your clit. She moves her hand out of you and a fast pace, fingers curling when she knuckles deep. You moan at the feeling of her hand pounding into you.  

She gives your clit a few kitten lips before wrapping her full lips around the swollen area. She bits hard enough for you to wince before she starts sucking. You feel yourself coming apart on her face before you can stop yourself. She hurriedly removes her fingers, mouth sucking you even harder when you feel liquid gush out of you. You grab the back of her head and scream. You can’t stop it, you don’t want to. You throw your thigh over her head and curl your foot into her back, still riding the high. When your pussy stops shooting the mysterious liquid out Mel’s fingers find themselves back inside, four this time. 

You feel tears collecting in the corner of your eyes, as she finger-fucks you. Mel pops back off your abused clit to whisper praises, good girl, you're doing so good, look at how well you take me, you feel heavenly, and when she goes back to playing with your clit you know you don’t want anyone to fuck you unless it’s her. Maybe you can ask her to teach you how to give hickeys next. 

CAITYLYN KIRAMMAN 

You were horny. Cait was horny. You both kept glancing at each other when you thought the other wasn’t looking, sussing out what the other was thinking. The movie you guys were watching was a rating away from being straight porn. When it was over you, both decided to call it a night. It was late she said. You guys had class tomorrow you said. When the lights turned off, you both said goodnight and laid down in your shared bed. You two were so close and loved being near each other that on the first day of the semester you pushed your twin beds together. Oh, how you were regretting that idea now. All you wanted to do was fuck yourself. You knew you weren’t going to fall asleep without an orgasm and so after twenty minutes when you thought Cait was asleep, you found your hand traveling into your boy shorts. You sighed in relief when your fingers grazed your throbbing clit. You rubbed it for a few seconds before shoving two fingers into yourself. 

That relief was short-lived when you heard a breathy moan that didn’t come from you. You tensed up and stopped. When you didn't hear anything—maybe she was making those noise in her sleep—you slowly started to move your fingers in and out, palm rubbing against your clit. You bite your lip to stifle a moan and turn onto your back. You could barely move your fingers in and out lying on your side. You part your legs and moan when you finally hit your G-spot. You're so horny but your imagination isn't cutting it. Opening your eyes you turn your head to find the outline of your best friend who was the star in some of your fantasies, her hourglass figure would for sure spark a fantasy. When your eyes adjust to the dark you're shocked to see Cait staring back at you, her blanket pooling at her hips when you could see her hand abruptly stop moving. Your Cait was masturbating too, in the same bed as you. A grin spreads along your face. 

“I-I’m not—”  

“I am.” You whisper, pushing your blanket off you. Her eyes immediately latch onto where your fingers are slowly pushing in and out. Your other hand comes up to your tank top where you push your shirt down. Your breasts spill out. Cait’s face turns into a tomato, eyes widening even more than they already are. She doesn't remove her gaze from your breasts when she starts fingering herself again. You watch her mouth part into a small O and her eyes roll to the back of her head. You imagine what she looks like riding your face and start to speed up. Your other hand twisting your nipples.  

“I-m gonna..” Cait whimper and spasms for a few seconds. You moan at the look on her face, so pleased with herself, and soon enough you're squeezing your eyes and coming too.  

[justwinginglife]

The LADS Men Catch You Masturbating To A Photo Of Them

Yall can read the title but this is mature content. Big thanks to @tbaluver my lovely beta reader who helped me not rip my hair out as I was writing and editing and editing and editing again.

Xavier

Xavier was frustrated again.

He knew it was his own damn fault for sending you a photo of him with his shirt slightly unbuttoned but it was two damn buttons. He didn’t think you’d be so hot and bothered by a single photo of him that you’d hide yourself away in your room and jack off to it. If he’d known you’d neglect him like this, opting to pleasure yourself to a photo of him instead, he never would’ve sent it in the first place. Sure, you hadn’t known he was awake, and sure you hadn’t known he’d been dying to see you, but you could’ve sent him a message saying you were horny. You could’ve asked for help. 

Now he was sulking outside of your bedroom door, listening to you whimper and whine, and it was driving him crazy. Finally, he’d had enough, and without warning, he charged into the room. 

You yelped and reflexively yanked the blanket over yourself. “Xavier! Wh-what are you doing here? I th-thought you were at home asleep.”

“So you figured you’d quietly get off to him and let me continue sleeping, is that it? Do you think I can’t satisfy your needs like he can?” His eyes darkened as he made his way towards you. 

Your brows furrowed in confusion. “Xavier. What do you mean ‘he’? It’s literally you. I’m getting off to you.”

He grabbed your wrists and pinned them above you, allowing your phone to fall to the side. “No, if you were getting off to me, it would be my cock getting soaked and not your fingers. Wanna try that again?”

You swallowed. “Please… please Xavier. Help me. Please, I wanna come on your cock.”

“That’s much better.” He growled.

He wasted no time at all in yanking down his pants and positioning himself over you. He dragged the tip of his swollen cock along your slicked entrance, allowing your arousal to drizzle down his impressive length. He slapped it against your clit a couple times in a teasing manner, but then finally just jammed himself inside you. Maybe if you’d approached him from the very beginning, asked for his help nicely, he would’ve been gentle with you. Would’ve taken his time to coax you open, would’ve eased his way into your warmth. 

But you hadn’t even considered him as an option and it drove him mad. So he slammed his hips forward and drilled himself deep inside you, thrusting against your tightening walls with a punishing tenacity. When you whined, he silenced you with a devastating kiss, tongue invading you with overwhelming force. You’d remember him next time you were in the mood- that he would make sure of. 

He spent the remainder of the night bullying his way through your pussy until you were cum drunk and sky high, shuddering through multiple orgasms, and slurring the words he made you repeat after him, “I promise I will only come on Xavier’s cock… I promise I will only come on Xavier’s cock… I promise…”

************************************************************************

Sylus

It was almost like Sylus sent you the photo on purpose. 

He was half naked on top of a motorcycle, grease dripping down his toned abs, and smirking like a sinner; what girl wouldn’t come to that?

So when you suddenly found yourself tugging off your soaked panties, and settling into a comfortable position on your bed before beginning to tease circles onto your clit, you felt it was only the most reasonable of ways to respond to his photo. If he didn’t want you to touch yourself, he should’ve been there in person to let you touch him. 

Little did you know, he’d come home early, and had begun to watch you from the doorway, eyes alight with both amusement and arousal. He’d intended for the photo to get a reaction out of you, but he hadn’t intended for the reaction to be quite so… primal. He continued to watch intently as you slid your slicked up fingers in and out of you, lust-filled eyes laser-focused on his photo. You imagined his abs were wet because you’d come all over them and it nearly sent your orgasm crashing into you. You bit your lip to stall its arrival, prolong your pleasure for a moment more. 

Sylus watched as you sunk your teeth into your plush lips and god did he want to sink his teeth right into them next. But he stayed still, he stayed silent. Waited for the opportune moment to show his hand. 

It wasn’t until you moaned, “Fuck- Sylus, I need you,” that he made his entrance, sliding onto the bed beside you. Before you’d even had time to properly be shocked, he was spreading your legs open wider. 

“I think you can do better than that, sweetie.” His fingers guided your fingers deeper inside you, slamming up against your sweet spot.

You gasped and dropped your phone in surprise. 

He watched as it fell to the floor with a smirk. “Looks like you’ll have to rely on me now.”

He spent the next few, agonizing minutes summoning your release with every deliberate stroke of his fingers, only to let it sink back inside you, before bringing it to your forefront again and repeating the cycle over and over. Tears pricked the corners of your eyes as you throbbed around him, desperate for one, single orgasm.

“Sylus!” You exclaimed in anguish, “Please. Let me come.”

“How badly do you want to come, kitten?” He grinned as he flexed his fingers, flicking them against your eager core once more. 

“Badly.” You groaned.

“Ah, so not that bad then,” He smirked.

You attempted to glare at him but he cut you off with a sharp flick of his fingers. You cried out in pleasure and pain. “PLEASE- Sylus, I wanna come so badly. I NEED to come.”

He nuzzled against your ear, nibbling on your earlobe before purring, “So come for me then. Don’t hold back a single sound.”

A spark of heat flashed through you when you heard his words. Your eyelids fluttered shut as you clenched around both of your fingers, dancing on the edge of ecstasy. Then, your orgasm finally found you. You cried out his name as the warmth spread through your veins. 

When your eyes eventually blinked open again, you were met with the sight of him licking his fingers clean. His wild eyes held your gaze and he smirked. 

“That’s my good girl.”

************************************************************************

Rafayel

“You could’ve just told me you missed me, cutie.” Rafayel smirked as he stood with his arms crossed in the doorway.

Just an hour ago, Rafayel had sent you a photo of him shirtless on the beach and now you’d been caught red handed, masturbating to it. Embarrassing. If pressed, you’d argue that it was simply impossible not to touch yourself when faced with such a photo. You’d noticed he’d taken a dip in the ocean just before taking the shot because a tantalizing trail of water was trickling down his abs, and it was enough to get you dripping as well. Honestly, it was a wonder you hadn’t come already with how furiously you’d fingered yourself after receiving his photo. Anyway, he’d come home from his beach trip earlier than you thought and that led to your current predicament. 

You bit down on your lip, blushing slightly. “I, uh… I missed you. Help me?” 

“Don’t have to ask me twice.”

In an instant, he was spreading your legs apart. You’d assumed he’d take over fingering you and were, instead, pleasantly surprised when his head dipped down to lick a stripe up your glistening folds. 

“Raf!” You gasped.

“Sorry… my lips are chapped from all that salt water and I’m just so… thirsty. I was hoping you could give me something to drink, cutie.” He grinned up at you before delving back inside you with his tongue. He wasn’t kidding about being thirsty. You felt him collect every drop of arousal from your quaking walls with each hungry flick of his tongue. You thought he might just drown himself inside you if he continued.

You attempted to pull away slightly, just to allow him air to breathe, to allow him a moment of respite from your suffocating warmth, but he pinned your legs in place before you could get too far. 

“You think the God of the Sea is in need of air?” His voice dropped to a low growl. He looked up at you with dark eyes, as though offended at your underestimation of him. 

“I think Rafayel is in need of air.”

His eyes softened slightly at your concern. Then his lips curled into a smirk. “Lemurians can survive the darkest depths of the ocean; I’m pretty sure I can survive the depths of my love.” He swirled his tongue around your sensitive bud teasingly. “But the real question is- can you survive me?”

He didn’t need your answer. He already had it the moment he buried his tongue back inside you and you responded with choked whimpers. He reveled in the sounds he drew from your mouth with every drag of his tongue here and there but what he relished even more was the moment you were convulsing against his tongue and coming down his throat. As you shuddered through your release, he thought to himself that he could honestly get drunk on the taste of you. One orgasm wasn’t enough. He’d have you emptying all evidence of your arousal into his mouth until he couldn’t taste anything else, until he’d forgotten the taste of anything else. 

************************************************************************

Caleb

You had just sent him the most innocent looking photo of you. You were walking in the park, wearing a white sundress, the sunlight had caught your eyes just right, and your hair was blowing in the wind. You couldn’t have looked more perfect.

But you weren’t wearing a bra.

His first instinct was to look away, ashamed. But then he realized you weren’t here to scold him. So he took another peek. His pants quickly tightened around him as his eyes followed the curves of your breast through your nearly-see-through dress. And when his eyes settled on the peaks of your nipples poking through the sheer fabric, he bit down on his lip to keep the precum from trickling down his pants. He stained them anyway. He couldn’t help himself; he was hard as fuck. 

You were still strolling through the park; he was sure he had time to relieve himself. So he made his way to the bathroom. 

One hand gripped his phone tightly; he didn’t dare to drop it. The other stroked his aching length aggressively. He imagined the way your perky tits would bounce as he drilled himself deeper into you, imagined the way he’d stain your dress with his cum. He was so lost in his thoughts that even after he’d come down the toilet, he didn’t notice that you’d come home and made yourself comfortable in the bedroom. It wasn’t until he opened the bathroom door that he heard just how comfortable you were.

“Caleb!” 

At first, he thought you needed him. He quickly rushed to find the source of your voice, worried you were hurt. Then he realized you were in the bedroom with the door slightly ajar, and his footsteps slowed. 

There it was again. “Caleb!” You moaned.

His recently emptied erection flickered back to life. He thought you were calling his name because you needed him. He didn’t realize you were calling his name because you… needed him. Well, that was an easy fix.

He slipped through the doorway, ready to be at your service. What he was not ready for was just how debilitating the sight of you touching yourself to him would be. You had a shirtless photo of him propped up in one hand, fingers curled inside you with the other, thrumming at your insides with an ever increasing rhythm. Moments ago, he’d been more than prepared to assist, but now all he could do was stand and stare, mouth slightly agape.

“Caleb!” You exclaimed again. But this time, your voice was tinged with embarrassment instead of pleasure. His eyes found yours and he realized you’d caught him staring. 

“Sorry, sorry! Just comin’ in to see if you needed some help.”

Your cheeks burned bright. If you’d had more pride, maybe you would’ve kicked him out. Closed the door in his face, made him promise to forget he ever saw you like this. But you’d been desperately chasing the high that was always just a fingertip out of reach, and you’d begun to get frustrated. “My…” You cleared your throat awkwardly, “My fingers aren’t long enough.”

He took a couple cautious steps towards you. “I…I can help with that.”

You swallowed as he settled onto the bed beside you. Caleb was always helping you. Helping you reach the nice glasses on the top shelf, helping you jumpstart your car when the battery died, helping you set up the wi-fi in your new apartment. You just never imagined he’d be helping you with… this.

You held your breath as he spit on his fingers, and released the breath in a low moan when he slid them inside you. In no time at all, he’d already found the sweet spot you’d been straining to reach. 

“Fuuuuck.” You hissed, eyes rolling back as he caressed your wet heat. 

He tried to focus on pleasuring you, on lavishing his attention on every spot that made you gasp and groan. But as you grew tighter around his fingers, clenching as the ecstasy built up in your core, he felt his pants grow tighter around him again. He bit down on his lip and tried to ignore his own selfish desires.

“You know…I can help with that.” You murmured, voice seeped in lust, as you laid eyes on the bulge in his pants. Your fingers danced around his belt, waiting for his permission. 

He nodded a little too quickly and soon, he was fucking himself into your hand. It almost became competition, the way you’d stroke him faster and he’d finger you deeper. 

He wasn’t sure who came first in the end, but he was sure he’d stained your dress. He’d have to buy you a new one. Maybe he’d stain that one too.

************************************************************************

Zayne

Zayne cleared his throat from the doorway. 

Shit.

“You know…” He stepped closer to your bed, where you’d shrunken under the covers, away from his prying eyes. “When I said physical activity was good for you, I didn’t mean…masturbation.”

You swallowed. “I’m just… blowing off some steam?” You offered weakly. 

If he had any witty remarks to make about your current situation, they quickly stuttered to a stop when he realized that you’d been holding a picture of him in your hand (and to his surprise, it was a picture of him fully clothed, in…surgical gear??) while you touched yourself. Crimson seeped into his cheeks and his ears soon followed. He started to talk but when no words came out, he cleared his throat again, sweat rolling down his Adam's apple.

“Would you…like some help with your… activities?”

Your eyes widened. Here he was, avoiding all eye contact with you like it was the plague, and he was offering to help?

He swallowed when you tugged the blanket off of you and spread your legs in response. “I… I’ll take that as a yes?”

“Yes…I… I want you to touch me, Zayne.”

His lips found yours in an instant. At first, his kisses were soft, tender. Then they grew increasingly more passionate as his fingers found their target. He moaned against your lips, heat enveloping him as you clenched around him. He didn’t dare pull away from your lips, partly because he was happy just to be kissing you, and partly because if he pulled away long enough to watch himself fuck you wide open with his fingers, he might just come all over his pants and his dignity. 

Somehow, touching you was just as arousing for him as being touched himself. Somehow, every time you squeezed or squirmed, he felt your pleasure as if it was his own. Somehow, every torturous trail that his fingers teased into your walls was a torment to him too. Somehow, he needed your release as badly as you did. He needed you to come all over his fingers. He needed you to cry out his name. He needed you to arch your head back and let him devour the length of your neck as you rode out your orgasm. And he needed it like he needed air. 

It was this ravenous tenacity that brought not one but two orgasms flooding through your core in a matter of minutes. Zayne completely missed the first one, still focused on wanting to take care of you, and you were too breathless to tell him you’d already come so he continued vigorously pumping away until you were overwhelmed by your second release of the night. It wasn’t until he began thumbing at your clit that you finally choked out a protest, tears in your eyes.

“Z-Zayne! F-Fuck… I’ve… I’ve already come t-twice… don’t you think you should give me a minute to…to breathe?” You begged in between panted breaths. 

His eyes widened. “Twice?”

You let out an exhausted laugh. “So Doctor Zayne can find the g-spot just fine, but he can’t tell when it’s overloaded? A+ for anatomy, Doc, but maybe like a C for observational skills.”

He blinked at you. “You’re giving me a C? I’ve never gotten a C in my entire life.”

“That’s what you’re worried about?” You shook your head, laughing again. “Well, as your professor, I’m afraid I can’t award you anything higher than a C.”

“Surely there’s something I could do to make you… reconsider?” Suddenly Zayne’s slow, agonizing circles resumed on your clit.

You bit back another moan. Oh god, he was at it again. 

************************************************************************

Taglist: @pixelcafe-network @ouiouimochi @minasfwoopyponytail @inkytypewriter

[yanderedrabbles]

Yandere Wendigo

Being out on the frontier ain't easy, 'specially not for a woman. And when a stranger wanders in from the plains, you know things ain't never gonna be easy again. 5.4k words. Originally published October 2022.

IT'S MORNING WHEN YOUR DADDY DRAGS A DEAD MAN INTO THE HOUSE.

You're curled up in front of the fire place, half dreamin' and half reading, when they stagger through the door. You notice your daddy first, breathing hard with the effort of keepin' the man up.

"Pa? What happened?"

Snow is thick on his shoulders and trapped in the brim of his old Stetson. But your daddy don't seem to care.

You get to your feet slowly. It's then that you notice the stranger.

A real tall fella, bent over like he ain't got much strength left in him. The winter was cruel to him and what's left of him is all bone, bone and hunger and aching need.

"Get the door to your room open."

Your daddy ain't askin'. That's his rancher voice - all hard steel. Your daddy is commanding you.

You stand still, too shocked to move. It ain't normal. Your daddy never talks to you like you're just one of the cowhands.

"But daddy, I don't want a dead man in my room."

You're whining, you know it. But you can't stop yourself. The stranger is covered in snow and bleeding too. You don't want him on top of your nice clean sheets, don't want a dying thing in the place where you sleep.

"Ain't dead yet. And he ain't gonna die, not if I can help it."

The stranger looks carved outta hunger and little else. Dark clothes and mean looking spurs, he ain't the type of fella you invite into your home.

"But why my room daddy?"

Your father is already dragging the man down the passage, his boots real loud against the wood floor. You follow behind them, your book still hanging from your fingers.

He doesn't wait for you to catch up. Just leans the fella against the wall for a second and opens the door to your room himself.

"But pa-"

Your daddy ain't hearing it. He spears you with a look to tan leather, a real mean glare that shuts you right up.

Your pa ain't ever cruel - not to you. You can't understand it. Why is he getting all worked up about a stranger? Ain't one man just as good as the next? Why go through all this trouble for someone you don't even know?

He drops the stranger on your bed and you flinch. When he speaks, his voice is still hard.

"He's half starved and half frozen. It don't look good and I want you to stay right here with him."

"Me? I ain't know a thing about him!"

Your daddy ignores you, dusting the snow off his hat 'fore putting it back on again. "Feed him and keep him warm, 'til I'm back with the surgeon. You hear me?"

You're staring at your daddy. He's gone mad, you're sure of it. The stranger is just another mouth to feed and you ain't got the food, not with winter already here.

Your daddy is tough and your daddy is smart - he tamed the west, made something out of the wild frontier. You don't like this starved man in your home, but if your daddy's asking you...

You nod slowly, shifting your eyes to the stranger.

"That's my girl." Your pa's voice is kinder and he grins at you. Then he's out the door.

In the silence, you finally take a good look at the man. He ain't much older than you really, but there's a hunger in his face you ain't got.

He's mighty handsome too, but it ain't...

It ain't a safe kind of beauty.

He's got plenty of scars but that ain't what makes you wary. 

There's something cruel in him - in the lines 'round his eyes, in the set of his jaw. He's winter lean. 

What was your daddy thinking? Leaving you to care for a wolf?

You take a deep breath. You can handle this. He's just a man, a man like any other. Ain't no kinder and he ain't no crueler.

But you ain't sure where to start. Lookin' at him is like lookin' straight into a grave. He ain't got no colour to him and his breathing is too slow to be normal.

Well, if you were sick and near dying, you'd wanna be comfortable, right? Get him all tucked away then get something for that hunger, that thirst.

His Stetson is covered with snow but underneath the ice, it's midnight dark. Slowly, you take it off. You're waiting for him to open his eyes, flinch, scream, anything.

But he's still as death and the hat comes off easy.

Underneath it, his hair is a dark blonde. Long enough to brush his jaw and still littered with snow.

The strands cling to his forehead and you smooth them away without thinking. His skin is real cold. Hell, he's probably frozen straight down to the bone. 

You sigh quietly.

His gun belt has two revolvers, both of 'em a bright silver. They ain't just for looking pretty either - the metal is covered in fine scratches from years of use.

You reckon it ain't a good idea to sleep with guns on and you reach forward, your fingers brushing the buckle.

He grabs your wrist.

He moves fast, faster than you've ever seen a man move. You try to jerk away, but he still has some strength in him and his grip is iron. Tight enough to bruise.

"The hell you doin' girl?"

The stranger's voice is deep but rough with thirst, a coyote learnin' to speak. You're frozen - you ain't expected him to be so strong or so fast.

You swallow and slowly drag your eyes up to look at him.

"Takin' your belt off."

It's his eyes that you notice first. Yellow gold and dangerous, he looks like he wants to eat you alive. Coyote eyes your daddy calls 'em.

"Oh really?" His eyes rake you up and down, lingering without an ounce of shame. "And you haven't even asked my name yet."

He ain't a gentleman and there's something in the way he smiles that makes you go cold. It's staring straight down the barrel of a gun, the way he makes you freeze.

"I ain't got a chance to ask your name on account of all the near fainting."

He laughs. It's deep, like his voice. But it ain't a kind laugh. The stranger don't have no kindness in him at all.

"I 'spose that's fair."

He's still holding your wrists but his grip ain't as tight.

"It just ain't a polite thing, touching a man's guns while he's sleeping. You get that darlin'?"

He lies down again and finally let's you go. Talkin' ain't done him no favors and his breathin' is real shallow. His eyes are closed again and you stand up, all slow and cautious.

"I'll get you something to drink."

He don't respond and you hurry away, your back burning the whole time.

Water is everything out on the plains and with winter outside your door, even the well has started freezing. You don't wanna feed the stranger, don't wanna quench his thirst. What good has ever come from having a coyote at your table?

But your daddy told you to do something and you listen to your daddy, 'specially out here. You listen to him 'cause otherwise you'd be dead and gone long ago. Buried out on the prairie like so many others.

Life ain't easy out west and the land belongs more to ghosts than people.

When you return, the stranger's eyes are still closed. Most folks look harmless in their sleep, like their dreams are all they care 'bout. But that ain't true of him.

Being near him is being near a bear just as the snow melts. Any moment, he'll open his eyes and chew straight through your heart.

You clench your jaw and reach out your hand. Your fingers rest on his forehead, then his cheek. He's still icy to the touch and you ain't sure how he keeps breathing.

"That feels real good sweetheart." His voice is low.

He opens his eyes slowly, and when they settle on you, he manages a smile. His teeth are sharp and his lips are bloody, like he's been chewing at them for a real long time.

"I brought you some water."

He sits up slowly but his eyes never leave you.

"Much obliged darlin'."

He reaches for it and his fingers brush yours. You flinch - his touch is cold as the grave.

He drinks slow but his muscles are tight and you know it ain't easy. He's fighting with himself for every sip - the desperate, thirsty part of him just wants to gulp it all down. He would drink a river dry, if you gave him the chance.

When he's done, he looks at you and he smiles. A twisted thing that never touches his eyes.

"You got some food too?"

"I do."

But you ain't eager to share it with him. What was it the ranch hands always said? Don't feed the wolves unless you wanna feed them everything you've got?

Your daddy was wrong to bring him here - wrong to offer him hearth and home when the men were lean and the crows were watching.

You don't move and he watches you. In the quiet, your heart starts to race. What's going through his head, that makes his eyes so dark?

"You ain't much like your pa, you know that?"

His wolf eyes look straight through your soul. You fidget with your dress, tryin' your best to look uninterested.

"Your daddy is a better man than most. But you...well, I reckon he spoils you."

He licks his lips and you realize the bleeding is worse than you thought - he's teeth are red with it.

He continues, "Your daddy ain't taught you enough about the frontier."

Who does he think he is? Lyin' in your bed, drinkin' your water and lecturing you?

"You ain't know a damn thing me."

You're scared of him but you're bitter too, and anger is easier to stomach than fear.

You don't mean to snarl at him, but your blood is up and you ain't good with your temper. Your cheeks are red hot and your heart leaps right up your throat, 'til you can almost taste your own blood. 

"Get your own damn food if you want it."

You turn to leave but his hand grabs the back of your dress and he yanks you toward him. He's strong and you ain't expecting it, ain't got any time to dig in your heels. 

You land hard on the bed, right next to him.

"I ain't done talkin' sweetheart. Ain't your daddy ever taught you any manners?"

He's voice is real close to you ear and he has a growl to him that makes you freeze. He smells of juniper and pine, of icy cold winter.

"Let me go."

You try real hard to sound brave and mean, to sound like your pa when he wants something done. But you ain't your daddy and the stranger is too close and too cruel. Your voice is quiet and afraid, a girl begging a monster.

You hate yourself for it.

"Why would I do that?"

His other hand curls around the back of your neck and he leans toward you, 'til you can feel his breath on the shell of your ear.

"You've got a real temper in you girl."

His voice is rough with somethin' you can't recognize. Hate? Anger?

He ain't a man to be disrespected, ain't someone to take an insult.

You should apologize, say your rage got the better of you. Say you won't let it happen again and that you're real sorry. Ask him to please let you go.

But even in your fear, your pride won't bend. How dare he touch you so easily? You don't belong to him - he ain't got a damn say in how you behave.

You swing around, your nails coming up to scratch his face, dig his eyes out, make him bleed.

But you ain't learnt from the last time.

He's faster than you and he catches your hand in his. His grip is tight and he's skin is rough, calloused from years of gun slinging.

He's face is just next to yours and the dim morning sun casts him in shadow.

"Temper, temper."

He chides, his gravel voice rumbling through you.

You're going to bite his face off, just lean forward and-

And he's smiling.

Not a cruel smile neither. All gold eyes and real deep dimples.

He's dangerous, you know it in your bones. But his smile is all honey, all sunrise gold.

There ain't a lot of men out here, and none who smile at you like that. None who look you straight in the eyes like you're all they've ever wanted.

"Let me go, please."

You ask politely this time. He's too handsome and he's too close and Lord help you, your hearts gonna run right outta your rib cage.

He hums softly. "Ain't happenin' girly. I let you go and you're gonna run right out that door and leave me to freeze."

You want to get away from him, it's true. He's twisting your soul 'round his fingers 'til you ain't sure whether he wants to kiss you or eat you alive. 

You shake your head. "I'll stoke the fire. My pa said to keep you warm."

He laughs, a real throaty laugh. "You always do what your daddy says?"

"Of course."

Why did it have to be him? If your daddy was going around saving strays, couldn't he have found someone else? Anyone else? 

The stranger is a mystery and you hate it. 

His grip tightens 'round your neck. "You ain't gonna run off?"

"Ain't that what I said?"

He's quiet for a real long time. You start thinking he ain't even considering it - he's just gonna keep you here with him 'til your daddy gets back. 

And then he let's you go.

"Alright sweetheart, let's see you keep your word."

You stand up slowly, keeping your eyes on him the entire time.

Your room is the only bedroom with a fireplace and when you've put all the space you can between the two of you, you finally turn your back on him.

You stack the firewood carefully, feelin' his eyes on you the whole time.

"You ain't scared of me, are you?"

You flinch. 

"Why would I be?"

Your voice comes out real calm. It's easier when you ain't looking in his eyes, when he ain't spearing you down with the heat of his stare.

"I ain't sure. I promise I'm real nice darlin'."

You make the mistake of looking at him. He's smiling at you with those sharp teeth and he don't seem nice at all.

You drop your eyes real fast. Your cheeks feel all tingly and you ain't sure why, ain't sure how he does this to you.

Ain't you 'sposed to like men who are kind?

Not this stranger, not a man made cruel from years of hard living. And still...

"You got a name stranger?'

"I do."

You wait but he doesn't say anything more. He's giving you a taste of your own medicine and you loathe him for it.

"How did my daddy find you?"

"Is that really the question you wanna ask me?"

His voice is better, less harsh. But that don't mean he's kind. Don't mean he's good. 

You fiddle with the kindling, staying quiet. 

" 'Cause I think what you really wanna know is 'why.' Why your daddy brought me here, why he wants to save me."

You turn to face him. How did he know? You ain't that easy to read. Hell, most of the ranch hands can't even tell if you're in a good mood, much less guess what you're thinking.

Who is this man?

He has you full attention again and he smiles, runs his hand through his blond hair. 

" 'S what I was sayin' earlier. You ain't know enough about the plains. You can't survive alone out here. You've gotta take care of folks, gotta keep them fed when they need it. Your daddy knows that."

You raise a brow. "And what happens when you don't?"

He laughs but it's bitter as sand. "Hungry folk are dangerous folk."

But ain't he half starved already?

You turn back to the fireplace, finally striking a match. The fire catches quick and the light rims you in gold. 

The stranger watches you - on your knees and haloed in warmth, you're a sight for sore eyes. All those long months on the plains, always tryin' to be one step ahead of death and here you are, a just reward for all his suffering.

You ain't got a clue how hard life is, ain't got any idea how the nights stretch long and lonely. But he'll teach you. 

He'll make sure you learn the danger of hunger unsatisfied. 

"Come sit with me." He says quietly.

You stand and shake your head slowly. Being in here is stifling, makes you wanna crawl right outta your skin.

Is it fear or want? You ain't sure.

"Come sit with me. I don't bite." He ain't smiling no more.

You swallow and cross your arms, fold a little into yourself. He ain't anything you're familiar with. Folks don't order you 'round - not when you're the boss' daughter.

"I don't trust you." You say simply.

He's sitting on the edge of your bed, his revolvers glinting in the cold winter sun. He's a desperado, you ain't got a doubt about it.

"What am I gonna do to you girl? I just want a little company."

He taps his fingers 'gainst his knee, watching you with sharp eyes.

"You ain't got a clue darlin'. Out there, folk shoot 'fore they offer conversation. Is it so bad that I wanna talk to you?"

"Then talk. I can hear you just fine from over here."

He shakes his head slowly. "You grudge me food and water. And now you won't even talk to me. You always this charmin' sweetheart?"

You bristle. He's the one who ain't got any manners at all, not you.

"Fine." You snarl and stalk forward, stopping right in front of him. "Happy now?"

A smile is crawling 'cross his bloody lips. "Still ain't working on that temper, are you darlin'?"

"I ain't your darling! And I ain't got a temper neither."

He reaches out slowly and his hands come to rest on your waist. He don't hold you tight but his fingers are long and they dig into you just a little.

You freeze, not expecting him to touch you. His voice is real low, just shy of a growl.

"Don't me want to call you my darlin'? You'd better stop me then."

You slap him.

You're quicker than him for once and you hit him hard enough to twist his head, the sound cracking through the quiet. Your palm stings and it runs straight up your arm.

He touches his cheek gingerly, his other hand getting real tight 'round you, clawing straight into your back.

Oh no.

You're done for. He's gonna grab one of his guns and end you right now, shoot you straight through the heart. Or maybe he'll do it with his bare hands, just choke the life outta you. Or -

He laughs.

"God damn girl, I bet you've got a mean right hook too."

He grins and rubs his cheek.

"You're a real hellcat, ain't you?"

His other hand is still curled 'round your waist and you step away, pull yourself free of him. You don't trust his good mood. Don't trust his smile when his eyes ain't got no joy in them.

He ain't eager to let you go but there ain't much he can do to stop you - nothing gentle at least.

You've had enough of him - of his entitlement and his anger, of his values that mean nothing to you. You spin on your heel and aim for the door.

"I wish he left you outside to starve."

You ain't gotta share a damn thing with him. Who cares if he dies? What's yours is yours. You ain't gotta give him food or shelter or kindness. Ain't owe him.

Your daddy was wrong. You gotta look out for yourself first.

"Sweetheart I-"

You leave 'fore he can finish, shutting the door and leaning against it. Just tryin' to slow your heart.

He ain't a pious man and he ain't thinking holy thoughts 'bout you.

The first thing you notice when you turn around is the dimness. The fires burnt out, sure. But the sun should be shining through the glass.

You walk into the living room and stare out the big bay windows, your mouth fallin' open. 

The clouds are thick and dark, real storm clouds blowing in from the plains. And the wind has gotten stronger too. You watch it kicking up puffs of snow and hurling it past the glass.

A blizzards blowing in, you're sure of it.

But it's movin' fast, faster than you thought possible. When the stranger came in, there weren't even a breeze.

God, is your daddy gonna be okay? Maybe he's reached town already. Maybe him and the doc are drinking together and waitin' for the storm to pass. Your daddy's tough - he'll be fine. Right?

"You okay darlin'?"

You whirl around, your heart in your throat.

The passage behind you is real dark and you can just kinda see the stranger, a blurry silhouette. He's standing strange and his arms are real long looking. Has he always been that tall?

"I'm...fine."

There's something 'bout his voice you don't like.

Somethin' in it that makes you take a step back. And then another and another, 'til you're pressed right against the window sill. It digs into your back and the chill goes straight down to your spine, dulls its teeth on your marrow.

"What I tell you 'bout leavin' while I'm talking?"

You can just make out his yellow eyes. They're catching the light and glinting like an animal's.

He continues, "You're real slow to learn, ain't you?"

You frown, your heart stuttering inside you.

"No. 'Course not."

He laughs and it runs down your neck like ice.

"You're really somethin', you know that y/n?"

When did he learn your name? You sure ain't told him.

His voice is low but it has winter's bite to it. He talks to you like cowpokes talk to girls after a real long time out in the plains - all hunger and need.

"You're just the kinda girl I like. Selfish, greedy, gotta learn her place."

His eyes trace your body and he smiles at you, that mocking half smile that ain't got an ounce of kindness in it.

"Now come 'ere."

He lunges forward but you're ready for it and you dive outta the way. You land hard on your knees but you scramble up, your blood screamin' in your ears.

Gotta get a weapon or somethin' - he's still stronger than you, even if he's half starved.

Your daddy keeps a Henry rifle 'bove the fire place and you aim for it, movin' fast.

But the stranger ain't no ordinary man. He grabs you from behind and you both go crashing down.

His body is pressed right up against you and he's cold as ice.

"That blizzards keepin' you right here darlin, ain't no running."

His voice ain't human. It's the cracking of bone, the tearing of flesh, the hound dog howling. His voice is hunger and nothin' else.

His hands are pressed into the floor next to your waist and his teeth brush your ear. Even starving, he's lean with muscle and you can feel the hardness under his skin.

His breath is cold and it smells of wintergreen.

He's gonna bite straight through your throat. Rip you apart. Have your heart right between his teeth.

But you ain't dying today.

You snarl and try to buck him off, but he doesn't budge. His weight is pressing you into the floor and you can't take a full breath.

Your ribs feel like they're 'bout to snap inwards, shards of your own bone driving straight through your heart.

You struggle under him and he laughs.

"Keep doin' that sweetheart. I love feelin' you squirm."

His voice is husky and it ain't like anything you've heard before.

The dead fire is right next to you and the embers are still hot, still have some burning red streaking through them.

You reach out and grab one. It's scalds your palm and your whole hand is nothing but white hot pain. But you ain't gonna let that stop you.

You twist around and press the burning ember right in his face.

He shrieks like an animal and leaps back, light on his feet like he don't weigh a thing.

"Fucking hurts." His voice is a hiss, a rattlesnake under your skin.

You scramble up and yank the rifle down, swinging around with your finger on the trigger.

The stranger is in front of you and there ain't nothin' human left in him. He's crouched down on the floor and his limbs are too long - sticking out like an insect's. He ain't got no lips neither. Just ragged, bloody skin like he's eaten straight through them.

Corpse pale and cold as the frost, the stranger in your home was always a dead man.

His teeth are sharp and long and Lord help you, he has so many teeth.

He lunges toward you.

He's fast, faster than anything alive. But you ain't done fighting yet.

His body is in the air when you fire the first shot. The bullet hits him straight in the head and knocks him back.

Black blood sprays across the floor, across the furniture, across your face.

He crashes into the dining table, his spine shattering against the table legs.

You don't wait to check if he's still alive.

You aim for his chest and empty your daddy's rifle. Put bullet after bullet straight into his heart. The sound is thunder and when the firing stops, your ears are ringing.

His blood pools around him, thick as oil. The wendigo is still.

The wendigo is dead.

The blizzard is startin' in earnest now and the snow outside the windows is coming thick and fast. Your shoulder aches from the rifle's recoil and you can't get the shaking outta your fingers. You sink down to your knees, your breath ragged.

They were just 'sposed to be stories.

You keep your eyes on its body, scared of even blinking.

With a heart of ice, it's born in the cold, lean months.

The wendigo devours.

The wendigo is ever hungry.

But the wendigo is dead.

You wait a real long time. Until you heart ain't as loud and the blizzard rages, until the whole house is freezing. The wind screams and the wendigo doesn't move.

You're safe.

You close you eyes. You let yourself breathe. The gun slinger is dead and he ain't gonna hurt you, ain't gonna touch you.

You were right - ain't nothing good ever comes of strangers at your table.

The winter grows angry, but you're safe and you're warm. And the stranger ain't ever gonna have you. You smile. You open your eyes.

He's gone.

He was dead and now he's gone.

You jump to your feet, holding the rifle like an axe. The quiet stretches around you, nothin' but your own breathing to break it.

Where is he?

You keep perfectly still, squinting into the dark corners of the room. The light is scarce and every shadow hides him.

"You ain't getting away from me sweetheart."

You whirl around but he's quick as a cat. He grabs a fistful of your hair and yanks you toward him.

He ain't gentle and he shakes you 'til your jaws rattling. Holds you like a kitten.

He's pressed up behind you and he dips his head low, 'til his lips are right above your pulse.

"So selfish but so warm..."

You scream, try to pull away. But he ain't movin' and all you do is rip some of your own hair out.

He laughs, laughs deep and cold.

"You gotta start listenin' sweetheart. What I just say 'bout getting away?"

He uses your hair like a leash and tosses you straight across the room.

The floor hits you hard and knocks the air clean outta you. Pain spikes white hot right through your ribs.

He's stronger than any man has the right to be. He threw you clear across the room without even tryin'.

He don't wait for you to get up neither. He just grabs your jaw and drags you to your knees. His fingers dig into your cheeks.

He's human again but that ain't a kindness.

His nails - his claws - leave bloody scratches 'cross your skin.

You look up and he's staring down at you with those strange, hungry eyes.

Coyote gold. Wolf gold. Killer gold. 

His pupils are blown out wide, 'till they're all black rimmed in honey. He's staring at you and there ain't nothin' but want in him.

"Your daddy's a good man. He knows the way of the west. But you..."

He smiles that sardonic grin of his. Your bullets ain't left a hole but blood is running down from his hairline. It creeps down into his mouth and his smile is red and cruel. 

"You need to learn a lesson girl."

He pulls you up and you scream. You claw at him, dig your nails in deep 'til your fingers ache.

He holds you like a prize and his eyes drop to your lips. And then lower still.

You're crying, tears on your tongue bitter as poison. It ain't fair. You just wanted to keep yourself safe and fed and warm. You shouldn't be punished for it. 

He runs a thumb across your cheek but there ain't no kindness in it.

"Awww, am I scaring you darlin'?"

He said your daddy was a smart man, a kind man.

Would he have let you go? If you were generous or selfless or good?

He smells of the forest and your head is swimmin' with it. His thumb traces the outline of your lips and his smile is all teeth. He'll shatter your bones like glass if he wants.

He presses his lips against your cheek and whispers to you, his voice cruel as the snow.

"I'll be gentle sweetheart. I promise."

It's then that you realize.

A man's got more than one kind of hunger.

[rafey-baby]

an introduction to older!rafe x sensitive!reader

cw: use of daddy & dad, 18+ mdni!

this is literally mean older!rafe who makes sensitive!reader sit on his lap because she’s a restless crybaby who needs his attention 24/7 or else her pouting and whining is going to piss him off even if he can't help but get hard whenever she cries...

“Just stay still and pretty right there, yeah?” he murmurs into her ear when she rests her head on his shoulder and wraps her smaller arms around his firm abdomen as he goes over some business contracts.

He’d harshly smack her ass whenever she’d so much as wriggle her hips on top of him, which makes her jump and let out a faint whimper every single time.

“What did I just tell you? Don’t wanna make daddy upset with you, do you?” he scolds her when she tries to adjust her position once more because she's aching at this point.

“No! No! Sorry, I just…”

“You just what?” his question comes off as mocking.

“You’re being mean,” she frowns.

“I’m being mean? Even if I’m letting you sit in my lap and voluntarily listening to your annoying whining? You don’t see me complainig, do you? Why don’t you go to the bedroom and sit there alone then, hm?” his words are coarse; her eyes turning watery at the notion of him being mad at her.

“No, that’s not what I meant…don’t wanna be alone,” her voice is muffled against his neck as she sniffles.

“Why are you crying?” his tone is patronizing, yet the calloused fingertips smoothing through her hair tender.

“Cause I made you upset,” her forlorn mumbling makes him soften some as he lets out a deep sigh at the thought of her teary eyes dampening his shirt.

“You wanna make me feel better?” he questions with an almost gentle rasp.

“Mhm,” she eagerly nods against the side of his head and tightens her hold around him.

“Why don’t you shut that dumb mouth then and stop moving around so much and let dad focus, yeah?”

Finally, she listens; not daring to shift an inch anymore. Even if she can feel the obvious bulge in his pants pressing against her puffy clit and making her soak through her panties as her cunt throbs at the prospect of him rewarding her later for being good…

read another part to this here!