#LORE IN THE TAGS FOR THOSE WITH EYES TO SEE!!!!

[stuckinmymind22]

On The Run (part two)

part one

🚨🚨🚨MARINEFORD SPOILERS🚨🚨🚨

shanks x afab! reader (she/her)

tags: lovers (intimate) to lovers (romantic)

tw: ptsd, past kidnapping, past drugging, panic attacks, celestial dragons and sabaody, death (including violent), gore, nightmares (the fucked up kind), survior’s guilt, overall trauma

wc: 8.1k

a/n: soooo..... this was less than a third of what i had planned for this part BUT i realized i could make the parts smaller, plus this way theres not as much emotional whiplash. this one's gonna be hard but the next one is cute i promise!!!! okay love you enjoy <3 💕💕💕

summary: trauma has a funny way of coming back to haunt you,

Big reader lore drop lol 

Shanks wasn’t able to get any sleep that night. Far too much was on the man’s mind. Now, more than ever, the state of the future was full of uncertainty. Around two weeks had passed since the events at Marineford, and the consequences of Whitebeard’s death were finally being felt around the globe. The balance of power in the New World and the sea in its entirety had been disrupted deeply. Teach was finally becoming the problem Shanks had feared he would be, if he hadn’t already. Luffy’s condition was uncertain, while the yonko was certain the kid would pull through. The extent of the damage he’d taken (both physically and mentally) remained unclear. 

Also, it upset him how mad you had gotten with him — something he was fully aware should not be on the same level as the other issues, but it weighed on his mind nonetheless. Why it had bothered him so much he couldn't quite say.

At the smallest sign of daybreak, Shanks decided sleep was a lost cause. It marked the third night in a row with little to no sleep, and while the other two nights had been fun, this one had only been restless. Without a plan of what to do so early in the day, the captain aimlessly walked his ship.

While mindlessly wandering, the man nearly tripped over a pair of legs. He turned around, expecting to find one of his men passed out on deck, but instead he found you.

Shanks let out a sigh. He had come to realize how stubborn you could be over the past twenty-four hours. Propped up against an exterior wall, you were out cold. Speaking of cold, you were visibly freezing. Overnight, the ship had entered a new climate zone, and the temperature had dropped significantly. Without much thought, Shanks took off his cloak and draped it over your sleeping form. Immediately, your shivering stopped, and you snuggled into the warmth of the fabric.

The emperor didn’t know what to do with you. He debated waking you up — you really shouldn’t stay out in the elements like this, especially when you were so injured. Ultimately, he decided against it. He wasn’t sure if you would want to see him first thing in the morning after being so angry with him the night before, but you still shouldn’t be out on deck. Shanks knew from plenty of experience how unforgiving the wooden slats of the floor could be. 

If he wasn’t planning on waking you, he should at least move you. After your refusal to go to the medical bay the night before, he knew he ran the risk of you being upset with him, or more upset with him, but it was a risk he would take considering the alternative.

Gently, careful not to wake you, he looped your arms around his neck before sneaking his arm under you. In your sleep, you instinctively clung onto him as you left the ground. He left you at the infirmary, instructing one of Hongo’s assistants to let you be so you could sleep while also keeping a close eye on you, seemingly unaware of how those orders contradicted each other.

After dropping you off, Shanks returned to his pointless stroll. Nearing the sole office on the Red Force, which was his in name but not in practice, he noticed the light escaping under the door. The captain remembered, to his delight, that Beckman was certainly awake. It had been his turn for night duty — as a precaution, at least one senior officer (or the captain himself) would be awake at all times in case a problem arose.

As predicted, his first mate was in the office. The man had been reviewing a stack of documents with his reading glasses so low on his nose that they were one rough wave from falling off. Per usual, Beck was sat at the tiny desk on the edge of the room, which was littered with papers. Shanks never understood why he did that. His refusal to use what was technically the captain’s desk, which, by all accounts, was the better option, with more surface area and a chair that was far more comfortable.

Beckman didn’t seem at all surprised to see Shanks at such an unusually early hour. It was almost as if he had expected it, and he truly might've — the man's ability to know things could be frightening at times.

“Whatcha got there?” Shanks asked while entering the room with the intent to pester the poor man. Beck ruffled through the several piles of papers as he responded. “Got some of what you’re looking for,” his voice was gruff from the hours of disuse. Unfortunately for Shanks, talking to Benn Beckman always ran the risk of turning into business. Nevertheless, Shanks shifted into captain mode as if a switch had been flipped. The emperor sat down at the larger desk and nodded for the man to continue.

“I asked ‘round a bit and overnight got some responses back. ’S not too much more than what we already knew, but there’s a couple things you might find interesting.” Beck continued to sift through the documents as he talked. For all the things Benn Beckman was good at, personal organization was not one of them. It hadn’t helped the man that he’d been searching for multiple pages.

Finally, the gray-haired man collected everything he’d been looking for. He approached the desk Shanks was at, setting a page down in front of the man. It was a copy of your missing poster. Something that had been issued well over a decade ago. Shanks had no idea how Beckman had gotten his hands on it so fast while they were out on the open ocean, but he had long stopped asking questions. The man could just work wonders; his methods hadn’t really mattered.

“She was a princess, went missing, then managed to piss off the World Government,” he laid down a second poster next to the first. They were nearly identical, but had vastly different messages. Both were signs looking for you, but while one said “missing,” the other had “wanted” in bold letters. The same image was in the center of them, some sort of royal portraiture. The issue was it looked nothing like you — and not in the “you’ve aged” sort of way. It bared virtually no resemblance to you. Shanks had to examine it closer to be certain it was even you in the photo. That explained how you had been able to slip through the cracks for so long.

“Well, no shit, they never found her,” Shanks commented, putting down the flyer. “Did they not have another picture? Why’d they use that one?” Beckman, ever prepared, had another poster at the ready. “Couldn’t tell ya. It’s probably why they updated it.” The new poster was slid over to the captain.

“See, this makes sense for a bounty poster,” Shanks said, barely looking at it. He’d only caught a glimpse of a large fire behind you before making his point. Returning his attention to the image, a small frown carved itself onto his face. You looked so small. And sickly, you were pale and had deep bags under your eyes. But above all else, you looked terrified.

The picture as a whole was you running away from a burning building looking over your shoulder. The flames had been so intense that it was impossible to distinguish anything of note about the structure behind you other than it was large and on fire. Against his wishes, the yonko’s eyes kept slipping back to the panicked look on your face. He’d had enough. Shanks flipped the flyer upside-down and held it firmly against the table as if it would turn itself over to haunt him.

“What else?” The captain asked, firmly redirecting his gaze to his first mate.

“Specifics remain unclear, seems even the marine didn’t have it together,” Beck plucked out another page and handed it over. “Got an ex marine find send the internal report.” Shanks took a moment to scan the report, which was short and had very little information — surprising considering how much of a threat you had been deemed with such a high price on your head. All it boiled down to was an attack on a warehouse crucial for operations, nothing on the casualties, only a note on the worth of the damaged goods.

The remaining stack of papers in Beck’s hand were placed down in front of Shanks. “Same guy sent in a detailed personal account. Claiming the report was almost entirely fabricated.” Oh… that stack was one thing. If even Beckman found it to be too detailed, then Shanks was really in for a treat. He paged through the account — it was fucking double-sided.

“This is…through,” the redhead said. Beck let out a deep laugh. Both men knew that had been an understatement. Every minuscule thing the person could recall had been included, including irrelevant information like burning their tongue on the morning’s coffee. Shanks set it down, making note to come back to it later. It was far too early for him to be reading all of that.

“So… the internal report was bullshit, but that’s all we got? Other than this picture at the scene?” Shanks asked, holding up your new bounty poster away from him. “Pretty much.” “Damn,” the captain muttered under his breath.

“I’ll keep looking Cap’t. ’S been less than a day, more’s gonna come in,” Beckman paused to look the red-head in the eyes. “But if you’re really interested, it might be better to get it from the source.”

He should talk to you.

“Good idea,” Shanks stood up and left without so much as a goodbye — a behavior that didn’t phase his second in command at all.

~~~~~~~

You woke up in the same sterile environment that you had fled the night before. This definitely was not where you’d fallen asleep. Someone must’ve found you and brought you back to this dumb room, and you had a sneaking suspicion of who’d been the one to do it. If the familiar coat covering your body was any indication, it seemed that you were on the right track. At least the comforting, familiar scent undercut the harsh smell of sterilization.

Hold on. Comforting? It rubbed you the wrong way that you found his scent comforting, but there was no other way to put it. You sighed and decided to worry about that later.

With a groan, you sat up in bed. Aches echoed through your body at the action. Your first priority was to get the hell out of the godforsaken room as soon as possible. Being confined to “bedrest” or whatever it was felt too much like being trapped. And you were not going to be in that position ever again, even if it went against “doctor’s orders.”

Before you could leave, Hongo walked in and halted your progress. You froze like a kid who’d been caught sneaking out (your situation was not that much different) and offered him a sheepish smile. He shut the door behind him, looking disappointed but not surprised.

“Sit down. Let’s change your bandages,” he said. Reluctantly, you listened, knowing full well that it was what was best for you. Sat on the edge of the bed, you watched the doctor move around as he gathered his supplies.

“Why am I here? Who brought me?” You asked, wanting confirmation. Hongo exhaled and looked you dead in the eyes. “Who’d ya think? You know who.” He was right, you already knew exactly who had done it. The first time the man hadn’t listened to you with something, and you were pissed. “That fucking man,” you muttered. Deep down, you knew it was unfair to be as upset as you were, but that didn’t stop you.

“He did it with your best interests in mind,” Hongo said, coming to the defense of his captain. “It’s not good for you to be out in the cold, sleeping on the deck like that.” You snorted. “Neither are bullets.” The corners of the doctor’s mouth upticked at your retort while he brought what he needed over to you.

“‘M just saying he’s only tryna to look out for you.” Hongo clarified. “Yeah, yeah,” you dismissed him while raising whoever’s shirt you were wearing to take it off, ignoring the buttons.

As if on cue, Shanks came walking through the door following a weak knock. “Get out,” you told him flatly as you let the shirt — his shirt he quickly recognized — fall back to your body. “Yes, Ma’am,” the emperor said, understanding the situation he had just walked in on. “I’ll be outside.”

“Wait,” you said, stopping Shanks. “Take your coat,” you said, tossing the garment at him. “And, uh — thanks.” Although you felt awkward, the gesture was appreciated. “Anything for you, Doll,” Shanks winked before finally exiting the room. You rolled your eyes at the remark, desperately trying to control the heat that rose to your cheeks. 

“I’ll get you out of here soon as I can,” Hongo promised. In silence, he assessed the injury for any signs of infection as he redressed the area. Only once he had finished did he speak. “I doubt you’ll be coming back here without a fight or listen to me when I tell ya to take it easy. So, stop by twice a day to get the bandages changed, yeah?”

Grateful he hadn’t tried to push or guilt-trip you into anything, you agreed — on a caveat. “You have to be the one to do it. Nobody else.” It was bad enough that Hongo knew about the brand on your back; you didn’t want to risk anyone else finding out. “I know,” the doctor said with a tight-lipped, sympathetic smile.

With nothing more to say, you eagerly left the damn hospital room — only to nearly run into Shanks on the way out. You had forgotten he’d been there. He held himself differently than he had minutes before; you could count on one hand the amount of times you’d seen him serious. “What’d ya need?” You cut to the chase, hoping to make it quick. “We gotta talk.” 

You shifted your weight uncomfortably. That could mean many things, and right now, none of them sounded good. “’S nothing too bad,” Shanks offered with a reassuring smile. “I know you can understand now that you’re gonna be staying with us, I got a few questions.”

A part of you wanted to clarify that you weren’t staying for long, only until the next island, but you held your tongue. He was right. He’d been so helpful to you already, with no benefit to him. You felt like you owed the man some answers at the very least. “I understand.”

“‘M glad. Now, let’s go talk somewhere else,” the captain said, and you followed his lead.

~~~~~~~

Shanks brought you to what was clearly an office. He offered you a seat, and you tried to hide how eager you were to take it. You would never say it, but the walk had hurt like hell and sitting had sounded like heaven. Sensing another presence in the room you went on high alert.

“Beck’s gonna join us,” Shanks informed you. You sucked in your lips, unsure how to feel about that. You weren’t dumb, you knew the conversation that was coming. While you trusted both men, almost innately, sharing anything about the period of your life in question was something you were highly cautious of. 

The two times you had confided in someone about it had both ended very, very badly. The first time, in your early twenties, you’d lost who you’d thought would be the love of your life. Only in hindsight could you see the foolishness in such a dream. The second time had nearly killed you, and you had the scars to prove it.

“I’m gonna be real honest with you, Y/N,” Shanks started, noticing your unease. “He’s gonna find out either way. Might as well cut out the middle man,” he said while he sat across from you maintaining eye contact. “But, if you would like him to leave, he can go.”

You looked over at the man in question, who nodded, reaffirming the offer to leave. You sighed. “’S fine, just wasn’t expecting an audience,” you tried to joke, but it had come out stiff — in fact, everything about you was stiff. It looked like you were one wrong step away from entering flight or fight mode.

Your subconscious had already begun building up walls, your brain fortifying itself in preparation for a deep dive into the most traumatic period of your life. You had never fully dealt with the experience, and if you had it your way, you never would either.

Crescent shapes began to form on your palms from how hard you clinched your fists, and your jaw was clenched so tight your teeth could shatter. Focusing on your breathing, you shut your eyes; you weren’t going to let yourself fall apart before you had even begun. Reopening your eyes, you nodded as a sign to start, as ready as you would ever be.

“Where’d ya learn to fight like that?” Shanks asked. It was an entry-level, merely testing the waters — you were aware of that, but you were grateful for the soft ball, even if it hadn’t helped ease your nerves.

“My father.” Your short response was met with a prolonged silence. Both men were seeing if you would elaborate if given the space to do so. It took a few moments for you to cave, when you saw how you could stall for time. Clearing your throat you continued.

“He was hell-bent on us, me and my siblings, being warriors that never saw war. The man had us training in damn near every type of combat you can think of.” Your hands unclenched, resting on the arms of the chair. When you reminded yourself where this was all heading, your shoulders tensed back up and any sign of progress vanished. “To get where you’re going, I got cocky. I thought I was untouchable, really. I also had a habit of sneaking out to go drinking. I didn’t quite understand my limits, and that’s what bit me in the ass. I was so far gone I couldn’t do anything when they, uh… took me…” Your words dwindled out. You couldn’t keep going.

Shanks was recognizing that this might not get them anywhere — if you were unable to talk about the basics of the situation then there was no way you’d be able to answer actual questions. The yonko filed the little nugget of information you had shared away for later, for now, he needed to make sure you were relaxed. Luckily, he was good at that.

“Tell me about your family.” Admittedly, the inquiry had come with ulterior motives. You’d been the most relaxed when you mentioned your family, which made it a good place to embark from. There was the added benefit that Shanks was actually interested in your answer. After yesterday, he had realized he really didn’t know much about you.

You opened and closed your mouth. That surprised you. Instead of asking about the kidnapping or what had taken place the night you earned a bounty, he wanted to know about your family. That didn’t make sense. But you had to admit, you missed talking about your family. You had been really close, but due to your situation, you hadn’t been able to talk too much about them for years. 

With hesitation, you answered with only the basics: the only daughter in a family full of sons, the third child out of five, even an honorable mention of the family dog. It took a while for you to give answers longer than what would answer exactly what was asked, but you got there when asked about how your training worked.

“Soon as I was old enough to join the military training, my older brothers were so much better than me. They’d been at it for a couple of years, and I was only — I think nine— but they wouldn’t go easy on me. It made me so mad. I hated losing. I tried so hard to catch up, spending all my time and energy training, but I could not compete. I was so frustrated, so my dad told me to pick one thing and focus on it. From a young age, like too young, like toddler, I had an interest in blades — the stories I’ve been told about my founder self, ’s a surprise I got all my fingers and toes.” You shook your head with a genuine smile. You had been a real handful as a kid.

“Anyways, cause of that I picked sword fighting, it was my dad’s favorite too and he was excited. He’d give me one on one lessons in the dead of night— to hide it from my mom mainly, there’s a whole story about that — Those lessons were so fun.  I was such a daddy’s girl growing up. With his help it took less than a year to defeat both of my older brothers.

“My oldest brother, [NAME], was so mad when I won. I thought I was a sore loser. But imagine being a teenager, damn near an adult really, next in line for the throne, and you get your ass beat by your little sister who still had her baby teeth. Repeatedly. Poor guy. Least when I left he gotta be on top again.” The hint of dark humor didn’t really land with anyone lol.

After you had mentioned the line of succession, it hit you that your brother was not the king — your father had died unexpectedly less than a year ago. In a sense, he had long been dead to you, along with everyone else you had known back then. Trying to see or even contact them would never be safe, for either of you. If they could only ever be memories to you, how far off was that from death?

Your face fell, and your hands fiddled with the hem of your shirt. It felt like you had shared too much. On one hand, it was nice to talk about your family again; sharing memories was what kept them alive, but on the other was your long, lingering sense of apprehension when it came to discussing your past on any level.

Letting your eyes scan the room for something to distract you, you spotted your old missing poster. Now that was something you hadn’t seen in years. Reaching over and grabbing the image, you looked at it closer. You still remembered the day it had been taken. You’d been so resistant to the entire process, but if you could go back, you would’ve complied. The entire day, your mom had spent fussing over you. If you had known it would be one of the last times you’d ever get to spend with her, you would’ve acted differently. However, the regret attached to the memory didn’t change how you hated the portrait. “I fucking hate this picture,” you said, flipping the image over to display it. “I look awful, like I lost a look-alike contest of myself.” That comment won you a little smile from Shanks, who had been awfully inexpressive for most of the conversation, well inexpressive for him.

“You see the new one?” Beckman asked from the side. He’d been so quiet you had nearly forgotten he was there. “There’s a new one?” Beck dug back out your recently reissued bounty poster from the pile of papers on the desk and handed it to you.

Your blood ran cold, and a wave of nausea hit you. The hand that held the paper fell into your lap, and you were stuck staring at the image.

“I don’t remember most of that night,” you admitted, not speaking to anyone in particular. Your voice was so incredibly weak it barely qualified as a whisper, but it was understood. “Or most of what happened after I was taken.” The words tumbled out of your mouth before you could stop them from starting. “It’s all so cloudy. They kept me so drugged up for so long, I’m pretty sure I went through withdrawal after I escaped.”

Shanks’ gaze hardened and his nostrils flared out, but you didn’t see it. He wasn’t naive; when you had revealed that you had been kidnapped he knew nothing good occurred during that time, but knowing specifics made him feel murderous.

“That fucking man.” You remembered the devil fruit user who could put you under with just a touch. The worst was when he would incapacitate you but leave you in a state of relative consciousness. Your kidnappers had found some sick and twisted satisfaction in toying with you, trying to pull the fight from your soul. They never laid their hands on you — bar one incident where you were slapped — but that hadn’t stopped them from treating you like a stray dog. “I could’ve escaped if it wasn’t for him — I almost did too.” 

Memories from your time in captivity had started to come back to you in sharp fragments. Specific incidents that you would rather not think about tried to resurface, and you did everything in your power to not let them.

A tear drop fell onto your hand — you hadn't been aware you'd been crying. Unconsciously, you crumpled up the paper in your hands as you wiped away your tears. It had been years since you had thought in depth about it, even longer since you had cried about it. Pretending that it had never happened was a hell of a lot easier than accepting that it had. You probably would have chosen to live the rest of your life in denial if it hadn't been forced back into your mind. 

“Fuck,” you whispered harshly. Looking to the side, you tried to blink the tears away. You hated crying, but you preferred it to the all-encompassing dread you sometimes got. Both outcomes sucked, and showing it around others was worse. After a moment you had managed to collect your breathing. 

Unfortunately, emotions do not just disappear. Once the waterworks had stopped, a newfound rage blossomed inside you. You had to make them pay. You would make them pay. There had been so many times you had fantasized about getting your revenge, but you had always backed out in fear of the price. However, now, you had nothing left to lose. 

The thirst for blood you had suddenly exhibited unfazed the pirates. They both had blood on their hands. Violence was a fact of life with the way they lived it, and they couldn’t blame you for wanting to get your revenge. Shit, Shanks would probably drop everything and help you if you asked, but that wasn’t in your nature.

As quickly as the fire within you had been ignited, it was extinguished. It was scary how fast you reverted into your old form, or rather a significantly more guarded version of yourself.

You cracked a smile, one that was almost believable. “Anything else I can do for you, gentleman?” You hoped it was over, all you wanted was to be done talking and go back to a state of normalcy. Beckman opened his mouth to speak, a question clearly on his mind, but Shanks cut him off. “Think we’re good for now.” He did not want you to push yourself more than you needed to, and if you truly didn’t remember much, like you had said, your answers wouldn’t fill in the gaps.

“Alright.” You stood up, hoping that the old of pain you felt in your abdomen didn’t show on your face. “You know where to find me,” you paused — you wouldn’t know where to find you. No fucking way would you be heading back to the infirmary and the only other place you knew on the ship was the damned captain’s quarters, which was another no go.

“Actually, we got a room cleared out for you if you want,” Beck informed you. “Why don’t you go show her, Captain?” He grinned at the man. Shanks wasn’t about to object but, but he raised an eyebrow, curious of his first mate’s motive. “I’m still on duty or else I would do it. I trust you know can handle him.” The last part was directed towards you.

“Boy do I,” the double entendre slipped out before you could stop it. Immediately when you realized what you’d said you grew flustered. It was the first time you didn’t stand behind something suggestive, at least around Shanks. But if playing that way was gonna take your mind off of things, he was game. “That still on the table, Love?” The red haired man cheekily asked while he held the door for you. “No,” you said too fast. “Alright,” Shanks drew the response out as if he didn’t believe you, but you didn’t even believe yourself — not that you’d admit that.

“Thank you Beckman, see you later,” you said, ignoring the captain. With that you walked down the hallway like you knew where you were going. From behind you, you heard your sentiment being echoed in a mocking tone and the faint laugh it got from Beck and rolled your eyes.

“Hate to break it to you, Doll, but you’re going the wrong way,” Shanks called out to you with humor in his voice. “I’m taking the scenic route.” The man caught up to you, falling into stride. “Ahh, is that what this is? Gonna be a little bit difficult ‘cause this is a dead end.”

As you turned the corner, you saw the end he’d been referring to. You bit your lips to hold back a smile; you didn’t have to look at him to know his expression. 

Stopping in your tracks, you turned to the man, trying to stay as serious as possible. “Have you considered renovation?” He grinned at the question. “Wanna head that up?” You laughed at his offer. “That’ll take far longer than to the next port. I fear you’ll get sick of me,” you said playfully, as if the thought cut you deeply. “I don’t envision that happening,” Shanks countered honestly.

This was what felt comfortable. In such an unfamiliar setting in an uncertain time, stupid banter felt like a lifeline. The conversation continued as you kept walking (this time with Shanks leading the way). You started to recognize where you were — and it wasn’t near the medical bay. “Luckily for you, my room is right down the hall. In case you need anything.” Although it had started that way, his statement didn’t end as an innuendo — he had meant it.

“And, Doll? I wanna ask,” Shanks said, turning serious again as he looked you in the eyes. “Are you alright?” You did not know how to answer that. You had been shot, had your life turned upside down, were actively being hunted down, and were a hair away from a breakdown. In short, you were not alright. But that wasn’t for him to know.

“I’m fine, Shanks. Thanks for asking.” Your tight-lipped smile proved the opposite, and the emperor had seen the debate going on behind your eyes, but he wasn’t going to press you on it. He couldn’t force you to talk, and he didn’t want to.

Before you could excuse yourself to go sit alone in the dark with your thoughts, a bell rang. You looked around, checking for the source. The captain of the ship was unbothered by the noise; instead, he smiled your way. “You hungry, Darlin’?”

~~~~~~~

Late that night, Shanks was happy to finally be on his way to bed. He hadn’t been sleeping well for the past several nights, and the lack of sleep was starting to catch up to him.

The extensive amount of paperwork he had done had left his eyes stinging. Shanks never would have thought that being a pirate involved so much paperwork, but it came with the territory, quite literally.

Bleary-eyed, he walked past your door only to hear a scream from inside. Suddenly, the emperor was much more awake. His protective instincts kicked into overdrive, and he burst through your door with his hand on his sword. There was no one in the room but you. Of course there was no one but you. The fact that he had thought there might’ve been an intruder or something was ridiculous — it would be damn near impossible for that to have happened with no one noticing. Knowing it was only you in the room calmed his nerves. His hand left the hilt of his sword as he relaxed.

In hopes of finding out what had happened, Shanks shifted his focus onto you, and his stomach dropped. Oh no. You were vigorously wiping tears from your eyes, and your knees were curled into your chest. “What happened?” Shanks asked in a soft, but noticeably tired voice. “Nothing,” you sniffled. “It was just a nightmare, nothing you need to worry about.” You tried to offer him a smile, but it was far from convincing. Still, you hoped he would accept the answer and leave. You didn’t want him (or anyone else for that matter) to see you in this state, especially when he’d already witnessed you cry earlier that day. You were not weak and refused to be seen as such. This was something you could handle on your own.

The man nodded, but hung around the doorframe as if he were weighing his options. “You know where to find me if you need.” It hadn’t been explicit, but you understood what he’d meant — it was an open invitation for you to talk to him. “I appreciate it, but that won’t be necessary.” He should have known that you would decline his offer. “Something to keep in mind.” “I will,” your fake smile made a reappearance. It was obvious you were lying through your teeth. 

“Goodnight,” Shanks said. He was slightly hesitant to leave, but there was nothing more he could do. Besides, he was exhausted, but a lingering sense of unease kept him at the edge of consciousness. He had meant what he’d said.

~~~~~~~

Everything was fuzzy when you came to. You were greeted by a red hot iron and a sadistic smile. An overwhelming panic rose in your gut. Restrained and unable to escape you screamed. To your horror people dropped, their bodies set ablaze. A wall of prison cells materialized through the flames. There were people inside, screaming for your help, but you were completely frozen. You caught a glimpse of your hands — they were covered in blood. Blood continued to pool in your palms until it was spilling out of your grasp and —

You awoke with a start. The previous nightmare along with the conversation that morning must’ve opened the floodgates. Memories you had managed to suppress for the most part had started to resurface as mangled versions of themselves. In truth, you should have been expecting this. Every time you had been reminded of your past, the ghosts of all those awful moments would gather around to haunt you in the form of vicious nightmares. They would lurk until your all consuming guilt was satiated for the time being.

Mistakenly, you had thought you were in the clear. The night before and your sleep during the day had both been dreamless so you had hoped that, for once, you would be spared. It had been naive of you to think. Your body’s desperate need for rest (along with whatever pain killers Hongo had given you) had probably been the reason for the deep and dreamless sleep.

Like the last one, tears streamed down your face as you were confronted with what you had done. Unimaginable survivor’s guilt gnawed at your insides. Everything was too much. You clamped a hand over your mouth to dampen the sobs that escaped while your shoulders shook violently. You couldn’t remember the last time it had been this bad.

When several minutes had passed and you were still unable to calm yourself, you remembered Shanks’s earlier offer. It sounded tempting. In this state, your pride was quickly being turned into dust.

You hated to admit it, but you couldn’t be alone right now. Asking for help was such a foreign concept to you. From the beginning, you had been undefended, but once you had been forced to go on the run, self-sufficiency became absolutely crucial. It was embarrassing to turn to others. 

It’s just Shanks, you reasoned to yourself. He’d already seen you fall apart, so might as well double down on it. What he thought about you didn’t really matter; come the next island in however long, he would drop you off and you would never see each other again. That thought stung a little bit, but the reassurance pushed you to leave your room.

A moment later, you found yourself at his door. You knocked lightly, unsure if you truly wanted him to hear you. If he answered, you prayed that the cover of darkness would conceal your undoubtedly tearstained face and hide the way you couldn’t control your shaking. Just when you were about to turn back and suffer through the rest of it on your own, the door opened.

You had absolutely woken him up. Voice thick with sleep and eyes half-closed, Shanks greeted you, stepping aside to let you in and shutting the door behind you. The last time you had been in his private quarters had been under much more favorable circumstances. That night, only two prior, flashed briefly in your mind before it was drowned out by the horrible images that had been keeping you up.

“Sorry for waking you.” Your voice was scratchy from all the crying. “I couldn’t be alone.” You’d taken care that he hadn’t gotten the opportunity to get a proper look at your face — as if that was the only tell of how fucked up you were. “’S ‘kay,” he mumbled, taking turns to rub his eyes.

Instead of going to bed or standing in the middle of the room, like he had expected, you moved to the desk in the far corner of the room. As if you couldn’t get far enough away. You practically collapsed onto the chair once you met it.

“Give me a couple of minutes and I can be out of your hair.” You tried so hard to sound steady. You hated that you even needed to be there and hoped that setting a time limit would make it easier somehow. If you had been of a clearer mind, you also would have thought to do something similar, to avoid bothering the man too much. You were sure that your being aboard the ship was enough of an inconvenience, you didn’t need to make it worse by disturbing the captain’s sleep.

Shanks took a few steps forward to get a better look at you. You were so much more shaken up than you had been. Despite the weak lighting, the puffiness around your eyes was glaringly obvious. Being backlit showcased your quivering silhouette. This was worse than he’d imagined.

Running his hand through his hair, Shanks sighed. “Go lie down.” He left little room for argument, but that didn’t mean you didn’t try. “You go lie down.” Even actively distraught, you maintained your stubbornness. He almost found it charming. Almost. 

“‘M not the one who was shot,” he countered.

“What’re you doing?” You questioned when he tossed a pillow to the floor. No way in hell. “Shanks,” you said firmly, capturing his attention. “I’m not gonna kick you out of your own bed.” You couldn’t believe he’d do something so ridiculous; you weren’t that selfish.

“Okay, fine. We’ll share,” the man compromised, picking up the pillow and flopping onto the mattress. He scooted to the wall, giving you plenty of space to join him, but you didn’t move a muscle.

“Come on. You know I don’t bite… not without permission.” His cheeky smile was laced with sleepiness. It was adorable, and that was annoying. It was odd, how being around him took the edge off, but that wasn’t something you were going to explore at the moment.

Fully aware that Shanks would continue to pester you, you caved. You climbed onto the bed but stuck close to the edge of the mattress. With his eyes already closed, Shanks sighed. “You’re gonna fall off all the way over there.” He waited for you to heed his warning, but, of course, you never did. “’S gonna hurt like hell if you fall off and land on your side.” That managed to get through your head and with a huff you complied.

Lying still as stone next to him, you damn near glared at the ceiling. The panic was doing its best to resurface, but you wouldn’t let it. Your inner turmoil worked to maintain all the tension in your body. “Wanna talk about it?” Shanks offered, breaking the silence after a few minutes. He’d known you hadn’t so much as closed your eyes. “No,” you said simply, but somehow the offer itself helped ease your mind. “Alright.” After the short exchange and with the understanding you didn’t need him awake, the man next to you practically passed out.

The warmth of his body was something you found comfort in. His light, rhythmic snores gave you something concrete to concentrate on. With time, you felt yourself coming down from the verge of a panic attack. 

Feeling like you had calmed down to a reasonable level, you decided it was time to go. But when you made a move to leave, an arm draped over your torso, landing in an unnatural position to avoid the bullet wound in your abdomen. Somehow, despite barely being awake, Shanks had managed to not only sense you leaving but be mindful of your injury. You didn’t like the way it made your heart skip a beat.

“Stay,” he mumbled, not opening his eyes. After a second of thought, you decided to follow his suggestion, and eventually, you slipped off into sleep.

~~~~~~~

A while later, Shanks was pulled back to consciousness by something. He didn’t know the time, but the moon seemed to be high judging from the beams shining through the small window. A light whimper to his left caught his attention. It’d come from you.

Your face was contorted into a grimace, the rise and fall of your chest irregular. Another nightmare, no doubt. Under your breath, you started mumbling words that sounded like pleas. Without really thinking about it, and still half-asleep, Shanks stroked your hair, trying to comfort you. 

“No, don’t,” your words clarified slightly, awakening the man to your side further. He blinked away some of his lethargy and focused his gaze on you. Your brow had furrowed more since the last time he checked. The sight prompted him to caress your face, soothing out the harsh lines. It seemed to work for a moment, but it didn’t last. Tears started to sneak past your lash line. Shanks hadn’t realized he’d been wiping them away until he felt you stir and he was far too tired to read into why he’d thought to in the first place.

“Stop!” Even unconscious, an aura of power radiated around you.

Panting, you jolted upright. You curled your knees close to your chest, mimicking the fetal position. Your hands went to your head and wove themselves into your hair before you tugged on the strands. Gently, Shanks called out your name as he sat up with you, but you didn’t hear him. No noise made its way through the panic. You couldn’t calm down. You clung to yourself, closing yourself off. Your nails dug into the flesh of your arms and you held yourself tightly, the stinging barely teetering you to reality. The thought of where you were didn’t even cross your mind until the tears slowed drastically.

Shanks hated seeing you like this. What was worse was knowing there wasn’t really anything he could do. He couldn’t join in on the battle in your mind or pull you out of it; all he could do was be there. Shanks pulled you into him and brought you both back down onto the mattress. Instinctively, you settled into the man. While you weren’t by any means better, you had stopped trembling and your hyperventilation had scaled back to ragged breaths — it wasn’t a lot, but it was something, and Shanks would take something.

You placed your hands on his chest, pushing back to create some space. Craning your head up to look the yonko in the eyes to find that he already had his trained on you. His eyes were filled with concern, but that worry was entirely lost on you in your state.

“I did it —“ you started, interrupted by a sob you couldn’t hold back. Shanks, of course, had no idea what you were talking about. He had his suspicions, but they meant nothing in the moment. Your troubles being unknown to him didn’t change how you were struggling. Whatever you had been confessing to, whatever you had done, or thought you’d done, was crushing you. “—I-I— F-fuck.” You couldn’t get a word out.

The dam officially broke, the tears you had tried so hard to hold back forced their way out. Your hands clutched tightly onto the fabric of Shanks’s shirt as you pressed your forehead into his chest. You couldn’t breathe. You couldn’t fucking breathe. It had never been this bad before, but you were too far gone to think of what could have changed.

Bringing you closer, Shanks rubbed your back as you cried. For your sake, he tried to suppress the anger he felt, but it had tripped since this morning and was still growing. Someone had done this to you. You had gone through something that left you deeply traumatized — if you weren’t currently falling apart in front of him, the yonko would search the ends of the earth to find the people who’d hurt you… as he would for anyone else on his crew (lie)… even if you weren’t on it yet.

“I killed them.” That information hadn’t surprised the man; you had hinted at as much before. Your body went right as you forced yourself to continue. You stared and spoke directly into Shanks’s chest, muffling your already hard-to-decipher words. “I…hear the screams. I couldn’t do anything. I tried to help them, I really did… couldn’t find the keys. The fire grew too fast.” A string of sobs, more violent than the last, cut you off. Shanks tightened his grip on you.

“I can still smell it,” you sniffled with more composure, but it was obvious you were hanging on by a thread. “I can feel the heat.” Your voice was still unsteady, but your words were more defined. “I feel the heat. I-I told him to stop and he did — but he dropped it. And the fire,” you pulled back from the security of his chest to look at Shanks. Your eyes were dangerously glassy. “They begged me for help and I let them die.”

There was no other way to describe it — you looked broken. He watched you try to continue talking only to devolve into weeping. You didn’t have the presence of mind to be embarrassed about what was happening, so, for the time being, you’d let Shanks hold you as you cried.

Whispering words of comfort, Shanks intermediately placed kisses on the top of your head as you continued to cling to him. He felt his shirt grow damp from your tears, but that was the least of his concerns. He couldn’t help but feel partially responsible for your distress, like if he hadn’t asked questions, you wouldn’t’ve been hurt. He had seen the way you’d reacted to light questioning. You had probably been struggling like this all day, the thought made his heart clench.

He listened to you as your breathing gradually grew soft and steady, eventually evening out. Shanks sighed when you finally fell asleep. Luckily, you slept through the rest of the night, but he couldn’t say the same. As tired as he was, sleep never came to the man. He held you throughout the night, the image of you breaking down burned into his memory.

A new day would bring a fresh start but this ran deeper than that. 

a/n: should we (royal) be worried how easy writing the panic attacks came to me? should i talk to my therapist or something lol

good news!!! the next one is going to be even more fun (actual fun) and this time we actually have a plan (and over 10k written for it so far so 💀)

thank you for reading!! i hope you enjoyed it 💕

more from me

[resurrection-trait]

He got her :( !!

[soupmanspeaks]

Glammike but a kid should go up to Freddy during a Meet-N-Greet and mention something about playing catch with their dad and then Freddy looks them dead in the eyes like "haha I never played catch with my dad :3" before 4 beats of silence pass through that entire greenroom and bro gets looks from everyone send tweet

[sugarsnappeases]

thank you for the tag @fxreflyes this is so cute, except the format is trying to hinder my propensity to ramble, so i’ve rectified this in the tags lmao

i’m over 5'5 / i wear glasses or contacts / i have blonde hair / i often wear sweatshirts / i prefer loose clothing over tight clothes / i have one or two piercings / i have at least one tattoo / i have blue eyes / i have dyed or highlighted my hair / i have or have had braces / i have freckles / i paint my nails / i typically wear makeup / i don’t often smile / resting bitch face / i play sports / i play an instrument / i know more than one language / i can cook or bake / i like writing / i like to read / i can multitask / i’ve never dated anyone / i have a best friend i’ve known for over five years / i am an only child

no pressure tags for @static-radio-ao3 @inevitablestars @itsjaywalkers @carniferous @orbitfalls @transsexualpriest @futurequibblerjournalist <333

[biblicallyaccurateangeloncrack]

Just finished the 2.4 trailblaze continuance

[scalproie]

HELLOOOOOO

[fogwitchoftheevermore]

ok so i was gonna draw these but um. i got lazy. so i'm now just going to write up a tumblr post establishing this headcannon so when i eventually post my fic about it i can link to this as an explanation.

so hi gang. back when i first started cosplaying life series characters i wanted to make up a way that allowed me to more clearly distinguish my cosplays in between the seasons, even if it was just something small and for me, and this led me to here.

basically, what happened here is i decided to give each player a little mark/tattoo like thing representing themselves and each season they didn't win. this has now morphed into a headcannon, that all of the life series players have a physical reminder of every game that they don't win from the watchers, to remind them of what they're missing while they're gone, in an attempt to encourage them to come back. (they're not particularly effective, but oh well, the watchers like to commit to a bit). the winners don't get one because they accidentally set a precedent by not giving grian one (they didn't WANT him coming back), and while the same thing applied to scott, they don't quite feel the same way about pearl or martyn. however, it's also just a little bit of cruelty that there's not physical reminder of what you went through if you win. it only lives in your mind, as fickle as your mind can be, especially in these games. it's on brand for them.

i'm throwing everyone's marks below the cut, specifically what they look like post limited life. i will also explain why i chose each of them, because some of them are more obvious than others.

grian: three purple eyes on the back of his right hand. look the watchers are doing this, of course it's a reminder of what he's supposed to be doing instead of playing these games. for him, it's meant to serve less as encouragement to sign up again, but as encouragement to stop. if you hate us so much, why are you letting us give you more reminders of what you are to us?

scar: a (non painful, because it's not real) injury representing the way he died in each season. there's a bruise on his ribs that never goes away, covered by two scars from ren's arrowhead and grian's sword, tinged in a skulk-y blue.

scott: three flowers on the inside of his right elbow. a poppy for third life (duh), a lotus for double life (victorian flower language is "estranged love"), and hemlock for limited life (victorian flower language is "you will be the death of me").

jimmy: four canary feathers clumped together on his left shoulder. no explanation needed.

pearl: the first two phases of the moon (starting with the full moon) on the inside of her left elbow. obviously due to her name, but i think it's also important to note that last life began a few months into s8 and ended a month before the end of s8, so she would've had her first one show up a month before the moon… well...

martyn: three tally marks on his right eyebrow. this one is less representative of martyn and more of his relationship with the watchers. it's a small mark, it almost looks like a deliberate eyebrow slit or a scar if you're not paying much attention. but as time goes on, and martyn's understanding of/connection to the watchers increases, it's harder to mistake. it's harder to hide what's really happening.

ren: three crowns on the left sideburn. also very self explanitory.

bigb: an arrow, a diamond sword, a piece of dripstone, and another diamond sword on his clavicle. each represents the weapon that shows up around him the most in each season. he's killed by a bow and a crossbow across all three of his deaths in third life, he kills cleo with a diamond sword in last life and looses his first life to lizzie's sword, he is killed by mobs only in double life until grian and the dripstone, and bigb is killed by and kills with a diamond sword most often in limited life.

etho: four sticks of tnt behind his right ear. this is less related to his life series and more his general... everything. it's etho, of course it's tnt. the "behind the ear" thing is also very funny to me because it takes etho AGES to figure out where his is- he knows he should have one, everyone but grian has one, but someone else sees it first MONTHS after third life has ended.

impulse: four arrows on his neck, pointing down. his final deaths in third and last life are to bows, and his first (and arguably only, as bdubs looses the other two lives) death in double life is to a skeleton. the limited life connection is a little more sparse but 1. the watchers had already committed to the bit and 2. he killed quite a few people with bows this season, including bdubs and i am nothing if not annoying about those two.

skizz: three hearts on his wrists, one on the front and inside of his left wrist and one on the outside of his right wrist. hearts are the general symbol of the life series, but skizz is also the definition of "heart on his sleeve". in this case it's just on his wrist, cause i think it looks better than his shoulders/upper arms.

tango: lichtenberg scars along on his left ankle that spread farther every time he looses. these are the scars that you get from being struck by lightning. lightning strikes when you die, and tango's deaths continue to be the most frustrating part of every season for him, the part the watchers think he'd most want to rectify. i know the lightning strike on death wasn't a thing in third or double life, but shhhh don't worry about it. i'm retconing.

bdubs: numbers of a clock on his left side. limited life rounded out the 12, 3, 6, and 9. further seasons would fill in the rest of the numbers and the hands. this is also entirely self explanatory.

cleo: four red stitches around her right wrist. (the stitches existed prior to her playing in the life series, but they change colors one by one after every season. were she to run out of stitches, she would either start suddenly generating more on the same area or ones on other parts of her body would start changing color.) for her, it's just something small that she'd constantly be seeing, as she works with her hands often and the red stands out well against both green zombie skin and the more human colored parts. it makes the series stick in her mind, reminds her of what she still wants from it.

joel: four vertebrae outlined down the spine. the bones part comes at the start from his dogs in third life, and then it becomes more of an association with death as the seasons go on. it's specifically outlining his vertebrae because one thing about life series joel is that he has a spine. he is never a coward, even when it might serve him better to be one.

mumbo: one broken heart on his chest. as martyn discussed in his post limited life stream, last life messed mumbo up bad. like, so bad the watchers decided they couldn't put the guy back in. his is very literal- a broken heart over where his real heart is, where he took multiple injuries over the course of last life, for once, in a mostly non malicious way, a reminder that he shouldn't come back. (i say mostly because, hey, nice to give him time to recover, but it's less because they actually care about the guy and more because they know he'd be no fun like this)

lizzie: small fairy wings on her right shoulder. representative of the fairy fort, of course. were she to show up in another season, it would be something else to represent her alliances, because that's always where lizzie thrives in my opinion, with other people (even if fairy fort was a mess, lol).

[bi-writes]

I’m sooo curious, how did John and his young wife meet if you have an idea?

I read a young price fic where she was his son’s nanny and now I’m curious if you have lore for them too!!!

-anasdump

they are the most obnoxious group of oxygen-stealers you've ever seen, and they're in fucking uniform.

taking up all the bar counter space. hogging the pool tables. throwing the darts so hard, they nearly took out some poor man's eyes. if they laugh and holler and spill one more fucking speck of beer on your leather purse, you're going to wind it up and smack them up the throats with it.

you approach the bar for a refill. you crane your neck as you look for a spot to grab the bartender's attention, but they're all shoving each other and slamming their hands on the wood and getting in the way. you huff, stepping up to a couple of them.

"hey, you need to move. no one can order if you're just gonna take up the whole counter."

the biggest one turns to look at you head-on. you glare a little, motioning with your hand for them to move, but he just leans back against his elbows. he's got the ugliest army haircut, and he wears his dog tags out in front like it's some kind of medal. you doubt he's ever seen anything outside of whatever stupid base he came off of.

"sure, we'll move. but it'll cost ya."

he looks you up and down, and you purse your lips when you meet his eyes.

"no. move over. i'm asking nicely right now."

"oooo," he laughs a little, nudging his friends with his elbows. they laugh, too. "i'm terrified, love."

you decide to just move them yourself. you shove your way between them, but when someone grabs your arm and tugs you backwards, you don't think. you just swing.

your knuckles connect with that asshole's face, and he cries out as he steps backward into his friends.

"don't fucking touch me!"

"you cunt--"

"oh, you did not just fucking call me that, you stupid, brainless piece of shit--!"

"easy," a low voice says behind you. you're almost glad for the interruption. your fist would falter with another punch you think, already bruising around the knuckles.

he's weathered, this new man. you would smell the military on him from a mile away, but he's older in a way that speaks volumes to you. he has the hands of someone that only knows hard labor, and the lines in his face have been warped not by time, but by decisions. he wears a beanie and a scruffy beard, and by the way the other men shuffle in his presence, he must be someone important.

when he steps in front of you, he blocks the view of wandering eyes. you peek around his arm, and every single one of those idiots has their gaze on the floor, and they stand at attention.

"you're an embarrassment to the crown, you lot," he mutters. "supposed to be examples. supposed to enact...some sense of duty in others, and yet all i see are a line of fucking boys that never learned their manners in primary." he laughs, "i mean...to call a lady a cunt?"

you rub your knuckles gently, looking down.

"i expect all of you to report to lieutenant riley at 0600 tomorrow. and your weekend passes are hereby revoked."

the whole pub is a little more relaxed once they're gone. you take a seat at the bar, and the bartender gives you a solemn smile before going to make you another drink.

"i uh..." you stiffen when you hear him behind you. "i want to apologize on behalf of them. tha's no way to treat someone, especially a woman."

"especially a woman," you laugh a little, shaking your head as you pick up the drink set down in front of you. you take a long sip of it, turning to face him. "i can handle myself, thank you very much."

"i can see tha'." he nods to your hand, which looks a little raw. you hide it under the counter, taking another sip of your drink.

"you know, i think you have a lot of other things to worry about," you snap. "like the band of assholes you apparently are in charge of."

"i'm sorry about them," he says again. "you won't see them here or anywhere close to you ever again. tha' i can promise you."

"you listen here--" you turn in your seat to face him, poking his chest with your finger. you try not to think about how your finger doesn't even budge, hitting a thick, pelted chest that has no give. you glare up into those baby blues. they're so bright--gorgeous. your breaths shake, but you steel yourself. he looks anything but afraid of you, no, he looks amused. "you all bring nothing but shit tracking in those boots of yours."

he sniffs, tilting his head to the side. "not a fan of servicemen, are you?"

you laugh, shaking your head.

"i'd spit on you, but even that's too good for you."

he grins. a full-blown smile, and when he leans into your space, you don't move. your finger on his chest flattens, your entire hand pressing there in the middle of his chest.

"i'm john."

you look him up and down. his pretty eyes, the dated but kept beard, the smile lines, the warm and solidness that sits under your hand. he's a teddy bear under that, but you're not fooled. this man isn't like the others--he's wise. experienced. it means he's trigger-happy, and it means he has blood on his hands.

you give him your name anyway, and he repeats it, low enough and close enough that you feel his breath on your face.

"i need another drink," you say, putting a finger on his lips and pushing him backwards. "and you're gonna buy it for me. buy me a few, actually."

john chuckles, taking his jacket off. he drapes it over the back of your chair, and you try to avert your gaze when you see big, burly biceps and coarse hair. his arm stays there, behind you.

"you understand me, john?" you coo, and he smiles big. he nods.

"yes, ma'am."

[resurrection-trait]

Some 𝔍𝔞𝔫𝔲𝔞𝔯𝔶 looks~

[satoruhour]

geto reaction to you wearing only his shirt

OVERSIZED NEVER LOOKED THIS GOOD

a/n: lore. a lot of lore. i always cannot help but write backstories. ure gonna have to bear w/ me SORRY !!!! based off of this drawing that i wanted to write sum about but then i thought why not combine it w/ this prompt. i went a little insane on this mb / tagging @papersirens @crysugu @getousex @hyomagiri @slttygeto, who else r geto fuckers

wc: 2.9k

warnings: roommate!geto, soft dom!geto, mutual pining, reader steals one of geto’s shirts, geto is also a little bit of a pervert, mentions of panty sniffing but geto doesn’t do it, m! and f! masturbation, fingering, clit stimulation, oral / cunnilingus, slight nipple play, spitting (on ur pussy), finger sucking, p -> v sex, unprotected sex, creampie / breeding kink, n*sfw under the cut

geto was a sweet roommate.

he’s always topping up on supplies when you needed things, pushing away your hand whenever you wanted to pay. where he got all his money, you weren’t even sure. geto cleaned the house, he cooked dinner, hell, it was like you two were married at this point. even gojo had asked if he would get together with someone who wasn’t you (and of course, in classic gojo way, he was skilled in asking it in a roundabout way), geto’s firm and abrupt “no” was enough to make gojo grin from ear to ear.

even he wasn’t sure when it all started — you were always friends with the three of them, gojo and shoko and himself, participating in their antics and getting in trouble in high school. there was hardly any dull times between the four, looking at you through the lens of a friend. but when those lens started to turn blurry and black, seeing you in a new light of tighter outfits and a sweet smile that looked like it contained something hidden, suguru genuinely hoped it would all go away.

it’s not like he thought he was unattractive, but you wouldn’t go for a guy like him, someone hidden behind gojo’s bright personality or shoko’s satirical, cool demeanour. he was oh so oblivious, however, turning an unintentional blind eye when you’re hanging with gojo for the day but only because you wanted to know what birthday present would be best for him, or having a movie night with shoko only to disregard cher horowitz on the television just to ask if geto would like your new nails and hair.

the two of you were so dense when either of you were hanging with them, going on for so long even after taking a gap year for shoko’s overseas med school attachment. they assumed the two of you would’ve done something then, but it was stagnant, dry, that gojo almost wants to take matters into his own hands; so when you’re begging geto if you could room with him, since he lived near the university you were all attending together,

“suguru, pleasee— i wouldn’t wanna travel for hours on end just for like a two hour lecture.”

shoko smiles, gojo laughs, slinging an arm around you, “help your poor friend out, suguru.”

gojo torments him to no end. he doesn’t regret it one bit when your arms are thrown around his neck in a bear hug in thanks, feeling himself get hard just from the way your breasts press against his chest.

“yeah,” it’s said breathily, softly, “it’s no problem.”

suguru thanked god you hadn’t wanted to move in that very same day, cause all that could be heard throughout the small apartment was him pumping his cock to a polaroid picture of you, calling out your name softly as he came all over the photo of your bright smile. he didn’t need the fan that night, the guilt was enough to burn him alive. and after, he acted like nothing happened, except the many, many times he’d think of taking you on every surface of the house, suffering silently for an entire year as the two of you fell into routine day by day.

today might change, however, when geto hangs the last piece of clothing, something that was hardly a difficult task, but it proved to be the hardest thing to date when he’d spot the bras and underwear lying at the bottom of the basket each time he prepared to do laundry. geto wills himself to wash, hang it, and get out but he cannot tear his eyes away from the unmistakable dark spot at the centre of your panties before it’s thrown in, taunting him to just pick it up to breathe in your scent, to do something to defile it, to let his desires take over. but he wasn’t gojo, no, he’d wait all the time in the world for the right time, even if it was at the expense of a throbbing cock and flushed cheeks.

“(y/n), ’m going to the store, you want…” his voice trails off when the drawer before him shows only one clean shirt left, sighing when his favourite shirt has gone missing, again. he knows it simply by the missing tag on the top, cut off terribly by your hands on a drunk movie night. he was thankful you missed his skin by an inch, but he cherishes that shirt and night dearly. geto simply brushes off the mishap, grabbing a sweatshirt instead.

there’s a rap on your door that quells all movement from your side, fabric clutched tightly between your fingers that it hurt just a little.

“(y/n)? love? you okay?”

“y— yeah, i’m fine sugu. what did you say earlier?”

“i’m going to the store. it’s grocery day so i’ll be there for a while — need to stock the fridge up for the week. you want anything?”

geto wishes so desperately to see your face now, asking if you could go and holding a reusable bag by your side, but strangely you don’t even make a move to open the door.

“no it’s fine, and okay! i’m— uh, busy with something,” you look towards the door and back to the article of clothing in your hand, “so i’m sorry i can’t help today.”

geto’s disappointment is brief, but he recovers as soon as he hears your apology, in that sweet, honeyed voice you love to use on him, as oblivious as you were of its effect.

“’s fine, see you later!” there’s a weird and panicky bout of feeling geto gets, but he’s satisfied with the hum you sound through the door. and once the door clicks behind him, you’re unlocking your own door softly, ensuring your surroundings are safe.

geto wasn’t the only one. between your fingers were his favourite shirt, straight from the dirty laundry of last week’s load; it’s been a reoccuring thing these few weeks after realising you maybe want geto to fuck you silly. you’re sneaking around undetected with it, holding it to your nose, breathing in his natural musk. it was the one shirt you liked on him — always put on when with you — it’s like your secret little joke from that night. and it was so sinful, the way your breath hitches from just his scent, the way your panties pool with arousal.

what would it be like to actually wear it?

the thought crosses your mind and leaves just as fast, heart pounding in your chest when you realise you’ve never tried that before.

peeling off your top, you slip it on carefully, swallowing from how much larger he is than you. the sleeves extend past your elbows by a little, so much cloth on you that you’re a little lightheaded by the possibility of being geto’s, belonging to geto.

“oh god…” you sigh, feeling your pussy throb at the thought, and your hands are shy when they creep in between your thighs. they rub at your clit gently, imagining geto was doing the work instead. he’d be so gentle with his hands, cupping your thighs, spreading your legs.

you’re whining when your fingers find your way into your cunt, nose filled with the scent of geto and head filling with the repeated runnings of his tongue on you, his cock in you, his whole person devoted to you. it’s cute how you don’t know that’s already the case. your fingers are lacklustre as you pump them in and out while your other hand is busy with your clit and you look like a goddess: spread out on your bed in nothing but your roommate’s shirt, a soft, slow melody playing from your phone.

you’re so entranced by the sensations you don’t hear the front door opening and the rustle of the plastic bags (he forgot the reusable bags) containing your groceries, distracted by the phone call he’s having with gojo who teases him through the line. his best friend says stupid crap like she’s definitely into you, too. what her panties smell like? have you guys fucked yet?

the last two was enough for geto to whisper a soft satoru!, clearly displeased with the way he was asking about you, about you both that he only rolls his eyes, muttering an annoyed “i’m hanging up, you pervert. i’ll talk to you later—”

setting down the bags, he frowns again upon seeing the closed door, although not as closed you thought you left it.

“suguru— f-fuck, right there—” geto chokes on his saliva at the moans coming from behind the door, careful not to step on the wrong floorboard below him as he lines up with your room door — a terrifying feat rewarded by your needy whines begging for him. he can hear the wetness of his roommate’s cunt, and he wants to take a peak so bad; so he does just that and stiflies a groan at the sight.

your hair is splayed out all around you, pussy facing the entrance of the door just perfectly and his shirt draped over your body. it sends him into a frenzy, head reeling at seeing his shirt so oversized and so perfect over your body that he swears he cums a little at the display. your cute face scrunched up in pure pleasure, your toes curling around the bedsheets he changed for you.

oh, shit.

and geto panics when your head shoots up, eyes meeting his and your hands halting.

fuck, did i say that out loud?

you’re speechless although your reflexes cause you to close your legs immediately, scooting up the bed like you’ve just got cornered by a predator. it was similar — geto with his big, brooding self, moving slowly into the room with both hands up and a dazed look behind his eyes, you, exposed in the eyes of a hungry man who’s craved you for so many months. you like it.

“you’re— you’re wearing my shirt,” geto gulps, causing you to let out a nervous laugh.

“yea— yeah…”

geto thinks that maybe this is it. this was the moment he’s been holding back on for so long, and so he crosses that boundary into your space, stopping right at the footboard of the bed. you follow suit, going onto your hands and knees and crawling to him that he tilts his head back. everything you do drives him crazy.

suguru’s words is heavy, “you think you’re cute, hm? stealing my shirt and then moaning out my name and fingering your pussy like that…”

your breath shakes, ascending to your knees so you’d reach his height, but not quite. he tugs you closer to him.

“yeah.” it’s so quiet he almost doesn’t hear it, “been wanting you for a long time.”

your roommate hums, lips hovering over yours just by an inch. you’d probably pass out if not for your racing heart and pulsating core.

“yeah?”

you’re finished with words, resorting only to a shy nod before geto crashes his lips onto yours, wrapping the other arm around you as yours go around his neck. it’s messy, filled with drool, devouring you on the spot for teasing him for so long, mouths moving in sync with each other. there’s a soft moan that escapes your mouth when you feel him manhandle you with ease, picking you off the bed to set you down on your back gently.

“c’mon, let’s see the mess you made,” you mewl at the words but your legs are stubborn, still in disbelief at the way suguru treats you, but you let him pry your legs apart after some gentle praises. you stifle a smile when you see how geto exhales at how beautiful your pussy is, leaking from your hole while your puffy clit is begging to be touched.

“oh, she’s so fuckin’ pretty…” your roommate mumbles, intoxicated on your scent as he bends down, giving your cunt one last loving look before he looks to you with a small grin. it’s clear he cannot wait, but he pauses for the words he wants to hear.

“wan’ you to eat me out, sugu,” you’re mumbling and suguru thinks it’s so cute, only responding by giving you a peck on your inner thigh, a soft yeah? before he goes down on you.

geto’s tongue on you is slow and cautious, drawing languid circles around your clit as he plays with your thighs, moaning softly into your core.

“s’damn sweet,” you can feel the stretch of a smile before he resumes, drawing you in slowly with each lick, each suck. geto doesn’t let your arousal go to waste, using a finger to scoop up your juices before he rubs the area around your hole and then the first push into your pussy makes you let out a loud, wanton moan.

“oh— your fingers, sugu, they’re—” they’re so much thicker and longer, everything that you couldn’t feel before now feels too much and yet your cunt gives him his answer by clenching around his longer finger.

“better than yours?” he asks with a lopsided smile.

you huff in indignance — not your fault you had shorter fingers, “yeah.”

“i’ll make full use of ’em, baby,” geto gasps softly when he pushes his finger right to the hilt, obsessed with the way your hand closes around his wrist. “too much?”

you shake your head, “n-no, just— feels too good.”

your roommate laughs softly, “princess is just too sensitive.”

he’s tempted to chuckle again when he sees how the pet names affect you, but soon he’s adding a second finger and pushes in, moving at a slow speed. and then when he adds his mouth into the mix, you’re begging for him to hurry; his eyes flutter close, getting lost in everything that you dish out.

geto’s pace is routine like his life, but it’s not any less pleasurable as he curls his fingers upwards, stretching you out and hitting your spot repeatedly. he continually flicks his tongue and sucks and slurps, tasting your essence once and needing a second, third, fourth, umpteenth taste, bringing out the most delicious moans to fall from your lips. it’s like hearing aphrodite sing, and yet you cross her by miles both in beauty and voice. surely, he shouldn’t mention that out loud, but eros can’t possibly help the arrow puncturing his heart, and looking at his psyche now, he thinks you look absolutely flawless.

“f-feel so good, mmh— so deep, suguru—!” his eyes snap open to look at you with hooded lids, sending you a cheeky wink before he starts to suck on your bundle of nerves, keeping his mouth latched around it as his fingers speed up. the noises of your cunt sucking him in paired with your whines just sound so good, and the scent of his shirt is dizzying, pulling it higher and higher till it pools around your chest. you watch as geto pulls away for a second, gathering saliva in his throat before he spits on your pussy, and the action is so lewd your jaw drops and your hips start to hump against him. 

“ya like that? filthy girl,” geto smiles, rubbing his thumb into your clit and there’s that distinctive build-up in your stomach, coiling and burning until lays his tongue flat onto your cunt, pressing it deep along with the fingers that curl up in your pussy.

“su—” you don’t even have time to tell him, cumming all over his fingers and soaking the sheets, flustered at the in-awe look geto has on his face at how the shirt had ridden up, at how your hands cup your tits and play with your nipples, at how your cunt gushes so sweetly for him. he continues to pump his fingers to let you ride out your orgasm, relishing in the whine you let out when he removes his fingers.

“patience, sweetheart,” geto moves up to reach you, fingers waiting inches away from your lips. you’re taking his fingers into your mouth, keeping eye contact as you wrap your tongue around them and sucking your cum off of him, swearing lowly when you grab his wrist and shove them deeper. “but then again, we’ve been dancing around each other for too long, now.”

you smile at his allusion to the many times that the what-ifs could’ve come true, and yet now you’re tangled up like this in his shirt.

once geto’s underwear comes off, you’re gaping at the cock that he pumps, clearly looking intimidating enough that geto has a hand to your knee and kisses it gently. “we’ll make it fit, alright?”

you nod a little timidly, taking his hand off and twining your fingers, “yeah, i trust you to take care of me.” you make a quick move to remove his shirt but he stops you, saying something embarrassing about wanting to see how cute and small you look in his shirt. you’re scoffing and pushing at him later, you’re just too tall.

he takes care of you perfectly fine — when geto fully sheathes himself in you, he can only focus on your gummy walls that wrap around him fully, his eyes are rolling to the back of his head and you’re grasping at his hands that grab your hips so hard. your roommate fucks you so well, your body limp and your pussy begging to milk him dry that it spills out so much — geto groans into your neck with reddened cheeks at that later.

you’re receiving a noise warning the very next day, alongside a QR code that takes you to a link for soundproof foam, and all you can do is laugh at each other. like routine, geto is already gathering the ingredients for an apology cake, beside him right in that little kitchen in another shirt of his that starts to smell more and more like you—

as his roommate and maybe now, something more.

part two ♡

[meteorella]

Nerdgasmic Rhapsody

pairings: loser!dom!ellie x popular!sub!reader

cw: flufff!! ellie's an absolute cutie pie. cursing (obv), oral! (r receiving), tribbing (maybe?), nipple play, after caree!!, pet names: sweetheart, baby, princess, that's all i think!

wc: 511

a/n: (intentional lowercase!!!) first ever ficcc omg🥹 i have never ever in my life written a fanfic before so pleaseee don't judge and also feel free to point out some mistakes and stuff!! I take criticisms as i'm sure it'll help me a lot throughout my writing journey :))) can't promise I'll post consistently considering I'm insanely dumped with school works but I'll definitely find time to do so. anyways i hope u guys enjoy this one!! Feel free to hit me w some ideaaasss :3

after you had made it official with the biggest dork on campus—ellie—people would randomly come up to you in the hallways and tease you, not believing how sweet she actually is. after all of your previous relationships, ellie is the only one who genuinely cared for you. despite her shy and nerdy demeanor, she's really fun to hang out with. she'd continuously yap about space, the comic books she's read—savage starlight—and drop all of its lore to you. the whole fucking lore. although you hardly cared. she was too adorable. most of the time, you would find yourself just looking at her sparkling green eyes, topped by her matte, black glasses, her hand gestures, and the soft smile plastered on her lips while she speaks. she's even more beautiful up close. how could others not see that? whilst ellie can be a total cutie pie, you cant deny how fucking insane she can be in bed.

when eating you out, she'd flick her tongue out relentlessly on your leaking hole. firmly gripping on to your thighs, she already knows your next motive. "nuh-uh, sweetheart. keep them open for me." she shoots you a knowing glare before diving back into your drenched core, keeping eye contact all the while. her gaze roamed over your appearance, hair disheveled, eyes rolled back, and completely fucked out. "s-sorry, baby–fuck." you moaned as you clutched onto her dino-printed sheets. so fucking cute. after you'd climaxed for the 3rd time, she'd climb on top of you and slip her tongue down your throat, allowing you to taste yourself as she grinded her own throbbing cunt against yours. your soaking wet pussies rubbing, and creating the most delicious rhythm together. she absolutely loved your boobs. she adored how it just bounces up and down as she rolled her hips above you. she took your nipple in between her thumb and her index finger and pinched them, making you flinch at the feeling. her glasses were all fogged up and crooked, but she couldn't care less. she was too engrossed on drawing out more of those angelic sounds that slips past your lips as she pleases you. "doing s–so good f'me, princess... fuck–so hot." when you had both finally reached your peak, she'd lean down and gently clean up all your juices from between your thighs with her tongue.

she gives absolutely the best aftercare imaginable. the routine would start with cleaning you up with a wet towel, swiping it's soft material across your face, your breasts, your legs, your inner thighs—she had always taken care of you in the most tender and loving way. she loved hearing your soft, exhausted sighs of relief, as you watch her with a smile on your face all while savoring the chocolate she so graciously offered you. after ellie finishes cleaning you up, she would settle beside you, enveloping you in her arms as she wrapped them around your waist. her lips showering your neck with gentle kisses as she whispered heartfelt words of affection. "i'm going to marry you one day."

YAAALLLL OMG I HOPE THIS DIDN'T SUCK TOO HARD😣😣😣🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻 i hope u guys enjoyed this one, i really enjoyed writing thisss!!

tags: @ellstronaut

dividers: @khaer @plutism

[aliceramblez]

Telemachus x Goddess of Joy!Reader (HCs)

pairing: epic!Telemachus x fem!reader

tags: fluff, childhood friends to lovers, telemachus is a dork, athena ships it, flower language, and some lore for the actual goddess of joy

artwork by Gigi on YouTube!

It all happens one day when you're still very young.

After a particularly stressful day working alongside your sisters to please Lady Aphrodite, you can't handle the pressure anymore, so you travel to the island of Ithaca to clear your head.

It doesn't register in your brain that you've been crying until you hear a boy's voice calling out to you asking if you're alright. It's a mortal, obviously—a boy who appears to be your age, at least physically.

“Why are you crying?”

“I... I'm tired of trying to make others happy. I just want to be the sad one for once.”

You know you aren't supposed to mingle with mortals, so you keep your responses vague in hopes of satisfying his curiosity while not giving too much away.

But it wasn't like you were lying—as Goddess of Joy, you are expected to bring happiness to the hearts of everyone around you—Aphrodite included—, and it can sometimes take a heavy toll, especially since you haven't been using your powers as long as other Gods have.

The boy stares at you for a moment before running off somewhere in the field of flowers you've been sitting in, only to come back with both a small puppy and a pink peony in hand. He hands you the flower with a smile.

“My mommy says it's okay to be sad sometimes, so don't beat yourself up over it. I think this one would look pretty on you, though!”

You take the flower, give it a look over, and then turn back to the boy with a smile of your own. That's when the puppy leaps on top of you and starts slobbering you with kisses, much to the boy's dismay but your delight.

Since then, you decide to pay Ithaca visits more frequently whenever you aren't busy, successfully meeting up with the boy again and again to play.

You finally learn who he is—Telemachus. The prince of the land and son of Odysseus, progidy of Athena. Whenever he talks to you about his father, you can see the pain in his eyes of having to be sitting around waiting for a man who may never return. You decide to use your powers once in a while to help cheer him up.

It isn't until his thirteenth birthday that he finds out who you are.

“You're a Goddess, aren't you?”

It catches you by surprise, but it's not unexpected. Telemachus is smart, so it wasn't like he wouldn't find out eventually. After revealing your true self, all he does is sit down and listen, just like he did when you met all those years ago.

“I'm sorry I never told you. I... I liked being your friend without the pressure of a title between us. I didn't want you to treat me any differently.”

Telemachus doesn't do anything other than pick up a flower from the field you're both sitting in. A purple orchid which he tucks behind your ear with a smile, making you stare in awe.

“Goddess or not, you're still my best friend! I'd think you'd know me better than that by now.”

“Haha, I do... what even gave it away?”

“You're always showing up outta nowhere and people seem much happier whenever you're around, but like, in a super quick way! Besides, there's no way someone so pretty isn't a goddess...”

It's immediately clear that last part wasn't meant to come out because pink is now covering Telemachus' cheeks, causing you to flush as well.

More years go by and you begin to share stories with him about the Gods in Olympus—how Zeus is a womanizer, Poseidon looking scary but actually being a secret softie, and of course all the beef you have with your ‘boss’, Aphrodite.

He's always so eager to listen to whatever you have to say because of his dream of becoming a noble warrior, and will also comfort you whenever you're in a bad mood.

You try doing the same when more years pass and there's still no sign of his father. You offer to use your magic to help, but he says all he needs is a friend willing to listen, so that's what you become.

Whenever the suitors are giving him a hard time, you use your powers to make them be as sickeningly sweet with one another as possible, that it sometimes looks like they're in love. You and Telemachus get a crack out of it every time.

It's you who goes to find Athena when Telemachus is fighting Antinous, begging her to come help because there's really nothing you can do on the matter. She really doesn't need much persuading, though.

You can only thank the Gods that he's fine all things considered, but seeing him all battered up with cuts and bruises all over his body breaks your heart. You're immediately by his side with a washcloth and fresh clothes so that the wounds don't get infected despite his protests.

“I-I'm fine, really! Ow!”

“You will be fine once you stop moving!”

Athena chuckles in the background as you turn to her. She's giving you a knowing smirk, causing you to look away with a blush adorning your cheeks.

Once they start their training together, you're there cheering him on from the sidelines, which kinda backfires because according to Athena “we don't need any distractions”. You apparently fall under that category, and Telemachus is covering his face all the time but you swear you can see red on the tips of his ears.

Once Odysseus finally returns home, you're surprised to see Telemachus make his way to you as you're sitting in your usual spot.

He sits beside you and seems to be fiddling with something hidden in his robe. You can't see what it is from your angle.

“Aren't you going to spend time with your father?”

“He's with my mother right now. Something tells me they're going to be a while...”

“Right, I almost forgot. She must be overjoyed! But... are you okay? I saw what happened in there and...”

“Hey, I'm okay. Athena's training paid off. I'm tougher than I look, ya know?”

He then proceeds to comically flex his muscles with a wiggle of his eyebrows, causing you to laugh at this adorkable human being. You thank the Gods that you were born in the same time period as him, because now you can't think of a life without him in it.

That's when you notice the nervous fidgeting again and he's even started to advert his gaze after the little joke he pulled off. It's strange considering he's never been the shy type—when he's got something on his mind, he'll speak up no matter what.

“Are you sure you're okay, Telemachus?”

“Y-Yeah, I'm fine! I just... wanted to give you something. As a thanks for everything you've done for me.”

And before you can say anything, he's pulling out a flower from behind his back and placing it behind your ear. You can only barely register what it is before it's out of your sight: a red rose.

“You're the most amazing person I've ever met. A-And not just because you're a Goddess! You've always been there for me even when I don't ask you to, and have my back no matter what. You're just really nice, and funny and kind... I-I..”

You can't take it anymore and before your mind registers what's happening, you're already kissing him.

As you pull away, both your faces are as red as tomatoes and you can feel the smile on your face turning large and goofy. Giggles erupt from you both.

“I love you...”

“I love you, too...”

“And I love how long it took you two lovebirds to admit it.”

Athena's owl is gazing at you both and it almost sounds as it's chuckling while you two hide your faces in each other's shoulders.

Coming to Ithaca was the best decision you could've ever taken.

[supernotnatural2005]

Lovin' You

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Summary: It’s that time of the month and Dean is there to save the day.

Word count: 1.1k

Warnings/tags: FLUFF! Dean is a hero! Menstruating, mentions of blood (nothing graphic) Dean is an actual sweetheart! I want one 😭

AN: Just a little wishful thinking for those doom and gloom moments us ladies get once a month 🫠 i hope this can be a pick me up for those times 💕 Gif not mine (found on google)

Dolly was the inspo behind this one 😉

Main Masterlist

You groaned as another sharp pain twinges in your lower abdomen, curling further into yourself as if that would somehow lessen the relentless ache. The hot water bottle pressed against your lower belly was practically scalding your skin, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. Anything was better than the pain currently wreaking havoc inside you.

Menstruating sucked.

Nestled in a fortress of blankets and pillows, you had tried to make yourself as comfortable as possible, but comfort was a foreign concept right now. Even the TV, which Dean had so thoughtfully set up in the room to distract you, barely held your attention.

Your phone buzzed in your weak grasp, drawing your attention. The screen lighting up with a picture you’d taken of Dean crossing his eyes goofily the last time you pointed a camera at him. The sight alone brought a tiny smile to your face as you answered, lifting the phone to your ear while suppressing another pained whimper.

It honestly felt like someone had taken up a chisel inside your uterus and was attempting to recreate the damn Sistine Chapel.

“Okay, I got light flow, heavy flow, extra wing support, night support—” Dean’s voice came through the speaker, listing off the brands as well. His voice was too serious for the matter, like if he was reeling off a list of supplies for a damn spell, and you had to bite your lip to keep from giggling despite the pain.

You’d run out of everything—tampons, pads, even your emergency stash. Between constant hunts and general chaos, your usual monthly toiletry restock had completely slipped your mind. But this particular cycle was hitting you like a freight train, leaving you barely able to move.

So, Dean—without hesitation, without complaint—had gotten dressed, laced up his boots, and headed to the store. No questions asked.

Sure, most guys knew about periods. Some were even cool about it. But not all of them wanted to hear the details without making a face or pretending they were about to pass out.

Dean Winchester, however, was a rare breed.

He never cringed or acted grossed out. If you needed something, he got it. If you were in pain, he listened. And, as if that wasn’t enough to make your heart swell, in the especially bad months—when you woke in the middle of the night to find you’d bled through your pyjamas and onto the sheets—Dean never got mad. He never looked at you with anything other than concern.

Instead, he’d scoop you up in his arms, carry you to the bathroom, and help you clean up while murmuring reassurances in that deep, gravelly voice of his. Then, without hesitation, he’d strip the bed, toss the sheets in the wash, and settle you back in a freshly changed bed like it was nothing.

Whether it was the years of hunting and being desensitised to blood or just the way he loved you—completely, without hesitation—it only made you fall harder for him.

“—or what about these? Super Soakers?” Dean drawled, snapping you back to the present. You could practically see him squinting at the box, brows furrowed like he was trying to crack some ancient hunter lore.

“I mean… I’m pretty sure they do the opposite of what you need, but hey, they claim to absorb up ten times more than the last version.” He let out a low whistle. “Damn. If these things were around when I was a kid, Sammy could’ve used ’em as flotation devices.” He sounded genuinely impressed, and that time, you couldn’t help but giggle.

“Just my usual, please.”

“Alright, alright, no Super Soakers,” he muttered, still sounding way too fascinated. More rustling followed, then—“Aha! Got ’em.” The sheer triumph in his voice was like he’d just bagged the biggest salt-and-burn of his life.

You rolled your eyes fondly. “Congrats, champ. You wanna do a victory lap?”

“Tempting, sweetheart,” he quipped. “But I think the ladies in the aisle might start throwing coupons at me in appreciation.”

You shook your head at his ridiculousness, but you adored him for it.

You were still in the exact same curled-up position when Dean returned, two stuffed grocery bags in hand and a bag of your favourite chips clenched between his teeth. He kicked the door shut behind him and dropped the bags onto the foot of the bed.

Slowly, wincing, you sat up. “Did you buy the whole damn store?” you asked amused, rifling through the bags.

Maybe it was the exhaustion, maybe it was the pain, but the sheer volume of products he’d brought back almost made you cry. He hadn’t just grabbed your usual brand—he’d picked up damn near every similar product on the shelf, as if he was preparing for the apocalypse of all periods.

And the second bag? Overflowing with your favourite snacks, along with his, because of course he wasn’t suffering with you without the proper provisions.

Dean shrugged, flashing you a wink as he kicked off his boots and shed his jacket. “Maybe. But now you ain’t gotta worry about running out for a while. And this—” he lifted the snack bag with a proud smirk “—is so we don’t have to leave the bed.”

Your eyes welled up, and you tried to blink the tears away before he could notice.

But he always noticed.

“Hey, hey, no.” His face softened immediately as he rounded the bed, settling next to you, hands warm as they cupped your shoulders. His thumbs rubbed gentle circles against your skin, his touch grounding you. “What’s wrong, sweetheart? Did I get the wrong ones? I swear that’s what you said, but maybe you were cutting out, and I—”

You silenced him with a soft kiss, cradling his scruffy cheeks between your hands. He let out a small, surprised sound before melting into it, his arms instinctively winding around you, pulling you in. When you pulled back, his green eyes searched yours for an answer.

“I love you, Dean.”

His entire body relaxed. His shoulders dropped, and that rare, completely unguarded expression softened his face. He looked at you like you were the most precious thing in his world—and you were.

One hand came up to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing away a stray tear with infinite tenderness. “I love you too, sweetheart.”

He kissed you again, slow and sweet, before easing back against the pillows and pulling you into his arms. His warmth immediately engulfed you, his scent—leather, soap, a hint of motor oil—comforting you more than anything ever could.

His hand slid over your abdomen, his palm pressing softly against the ache there, radiating the kind of warmth that soothed more than any hot water bottle ever could. He was your rock, your safety, your home.

“You good?” he murmured after a beat of comfortable silence.

You nodded, burrowing into his chest, listening to the steady, reassuring beat of his heart.

“Good,” he sighed, pressing a lingering kiss to the top of your head. “Now c’mon, let’s eat enough junk food to make both of us sick, and then pass out watching that show you like about Friends or something.”

You let out a watery chuckle, “You mean Friends?” You corrected him. It was your ultimate comfort show, one Dean’d had to endure many times. Though he wouldn’t admit it, he’d gotten hooked on it himself.

“That’s the one.” He hummed, stroking your side with the tips of his fingers. You closed your eyes and melted against him. Even through the pain, wrapped up in Dean’s arms, you’d never felt luckier.

AN: So this was a short one, but what I'd give to have my own Dean in these God awful times 😭😍. It’s giving Priestly vibes in Ten Inch Hero (if you’ve seen the movie) but i went with Dean on this one. Hope you enjoyed 😘

If you would like to be tagged in my future works please respond to this >form< so I can add you to the character's you'd like 😊

Dean Winchester Tag List:

@bettystonewell , @nancymcl , @happyfxckinghorrors , @ambiguous-avery @jollyhunter

@tbgfvfdcb @crooked-haven @chevroletdean @paganvamp @stoneyggirl2

@deans-baby-momma @spnaquakindgdom @ladykitana90 @lyarr24 , @impala67rollingthroughtown

@jackles010378 @riteofpassage77 @spnaquakindgdom @cevansbaby-dove @shadysoulangel

@piptoost @star-yawnznn @deansimpalababy @megara0224 @hobby27

@idontwannabehere7 @maddie0101 @kr804573 @shadysoulangel @mrs-nesmith

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[taintedcigs]

— cowboy hat rule.

pairing: cowboy!steve harrington x fem!reader

warnings: smut, p in v, MINORS DNI!!!!, pet names, praising, kinda degrading but not really, a lil argument, dom!steve, rivals to fcking, swearing, good old bj for our good boy stevie! reader has a nickname 'sunshine' bc i didn't wanna do y/n sorry:(

summary: helping out mr. harrington in his ranch was supposed to be fun, but steve harrington was an asshole. an absolute pain in your ass that teased you, and you gave him the same energy back, always. so when you unknowingly wear his cowboy hat, he decides to teach you what exactly the cowboy hat rule is. (wc: 5k+)

author's note: this is just horny babbling. i have no idea how cowboy lore works so if im wrong pls just close ur eyes i tried to research but i couldnt find shit just pls i just want cowboy steve dick. and ofc no proof-reading bc im lazy as hell. no dividers ugly aesthetic bc of tumblrs f ass not showing my shit in tags SIGH.

also PLSSS LIKE + REBLOG + COMMENT TO SUPPORT ME MWAH ILY

When you told Mr. Harrington you’d be more than happy to help around his Ranch during the summer, you didn’t expect Steve to become a problem, but you were wrong, so fucking wrong. 

A cocky cowboy who’s way too into partying and into his looks and his fluffy hair than you could ever imagine. That’s exactly how you’d describe Steve Harrington. Even though you so badly wanted to believe otherwise, wanted to disregard the rumors and the reputation that came with him. But, he made it so goddamn hard. 

All he fucking did was tease you, complain. Order you around and act like you didn’t know how to do shit. And, you didn’t, but he was supposed to be your guidance, teach you. But all he did was grumble and give you that goddamned smirk. 

Yet, you couldn’t fully hate him, there was a side of him he rarely showed you, one that cared, one that offered you rides—it was more of a mumble each night but you accepted nonetheless, one that ended up at your side whenever an asswipe bothered you at the bar, one that offered you a hand on your back when you were crying, he didn’t ask what happened, didn’t speak, just stood there, letting you spill out your guts. The two of you never spoke about these incidents, ever, because he acted like they didn’t exist, like he couldn’t bear the thought of being nice to you. 

You were so fascinated by him, even though you’d never admit it out loud. He was charismatic, outright funny, and had a heart of gold that you only peered one layer of. 

And fuck it, he was fine, annoyingly good-looking that he was a distraction to be around when you were supposed to be working, him with those sturdy denim jeans that cupped his ass perfectly, wide-brimmed cowboy hat with a creased crown, put perfectly on his head. Even though you’d much rather see his pretty hair falling on his face, run your hands through his smooth layers.

Usually, when it got as hot as it did today, he’d even take off that stupid shirt, feast your eyes with his glimmering chest, all hairy and glistening with sweat, broad shoulders as he ordered everyone around made you gulp. Like he is doing with you, right fucking now. 

“Sunshine, get back to work.” Heat travels to your cheeks quickly, and that stupid nickname rolls off his lips so bitterly, the one he always called you just because you were all nice and smiley—even when he was being an asshole to you, something that grinded his gears, you guessed it was a foreign concept to him, being nice. 

You were quick to shake off the hold he had on you, getting back on your feet as you stood your ground. “I am working! Just needed a second to breathe!” The lies rolled off your lips so simply that you wondered if he caught you staring. When he turned around to leave, you guessed he hadn’t. 

“Asshole.” The insult leaves you before you can register how close Steve still was to you. 

Turning head-spinningly fast. “What did ya say?” He spits, making you gulp physically. 

He looks out of the world stunning when he’s mad, maybe it’s a toxic trait of yours but, fuck, the way his chocolate hues turn unrecognizable, that slight quirk of his brows, and the way his muscles flex in pure anger made you rub your thighs together. 

Jesus Christ. He is getting into your head, and you hate that you think of him this way when he is so mean. 

“Nothing! I’m just saying it’s really hot out today,” you hum, the sun rays hitting your face not making it easier on the heat that flame your cheeks. 

He gives you a snort, all mocking once he takes a step closer, making you feel hotter if that is possible. “Well that’s what happens in the summer, darlin’”

Hand on the wall he tilts his head slightly, all with sass that has you rolling your eyes. “Or did you expect the weather to give Miss Sunshine some sorta special treatment?”

You roll your eyes, an act you always did that makes Steve’s jaw clench. “Oh, come on Steve! It’s really, really, hot, and the sun is all on my face!”

“Boo-hoo, princess,” he mocks, tipping his hat, almost as if to tease you further.

You scoff, getting closer to him. “Easy for you to just stand around in that big hat!” With a narrowed gaze, you cross your arms against your chest, like a brat, another trait that annoyed Steve even further.

Then, you beam again, and Steve knows no matter how much you hate it, Sunshine is absolutely the nickname you deserve, eyes glistening with happiness that it annoyingly even brings a glint to his pretty amber hues. His gaze unintentionally droops down to tour lips, so plushy and soft looking when it curls into that pretty smile that Steve wants to kiss you all over. 

“Oh! Do you mind if I?” You ask all giggly, pointing toward his wide-brimmed hat, hand teasingly standing above his head. 

He scoffs as if you had just asked him the most insulting question ever. “Not a chance,” he spits, now he crosses his arms in front of his chest, eyeing you with a dark glint in his eyes, one you couldn’t decide was full of annoyance or just pure desire. 

“Mhmmm… okay,” you hum, feigning innocence for a second, before snatching it off his head with another hearty giggle.

Oh, what he would do to hear that on a loop, admire the way your lips stretched into the prettiest grin, brows quirked.

“Sunshine!” He chides, much rougher than he intends to, but you don’t pay attention to him when you place the hat carefully on your head, smoothing your hair.

You shrug, looking up at him with those doe eyes that have him melting, everytime, without fail. “Admit it, looks better on me.” You shrug, expecting him to agree.

Instead, he just offers you a deep sigh of breath, eyes almost widening when he realises what you just did. “Do you even—”

He huffs, hiding the obvious pink shade thats starting to color his cheeks, you really had no idea the hold you had on him, did you? “God, you city girls have no idea about anything, huh?”

Your brows furrow. “What?” 

“Cowboy hat rule?” He asks with a tilt of his head, a low chuckle rumbling in his chest.

A teasing smile curves on your plushy lips as you push for more information. “What’s that?”

“Just give me the hat back,” he insists, attempting to mask the warmth that crept into his tone.

With a shake of your head, your defiance only grows, a glint of mischief dancing in your gaze. “Not until you tell me the rules.” 

“Sunshine,” he warns, voice so grumbly that heat travels all over your body quicker than the sun burning you. 

“Steve?” You hum with a flirty gaze, so teasing that Steve wants to fuck you right then and there, until he teaches you proper manners, until he shows you not to be a total fucking brat and not to roll your eyes at him, until he shows you that you’re his. 

But, of course, he settles on a low grumble of, “You’re annoying.”

“You used to be more creative with the insults, Harrington.” Another teasing remark, and Steve rolls his tongue inside of his mouth. 

With a smirk, he takes another step toward you, when your back hit the walls of the barn, only then you realise, he has you cornered. “You wanna know the cowboy hat rule, princess?” He asks all smugly.

Gaze meaner than he is, chest almost pressed against yours, voice so low that all you can do is slightly nod. 

Your breath gets hitched in your throat when his face is mere inches away from yours, hot breath fanning against your cheeks, skin heating on the impact, that brattiness you wear as a mask quick to slip off when he’s all demanding. “You wear the hat, you ride the cowboy.” His tone is almost a growl, pupils blown wide, making you gulp, physically.

“What?” You blink, unsure of what he’s actually asking. Excitement jumping around in your tummy. 

“You heard me. Wanna take me for a ride, Sunshine?” He is so goddamn close that you are sure he can hear the annoying tumble your heart does at the weight of what his words hold. 

It makes you pause, gaze sticking on his, sometimes slipping away to his soft lips, almost to signal him of something, but all you can do is try to hide the embarrassment that burns your cheeks. 

“Didn’t think so,” he scoffs, backing away just slightly. 

His cowboy hat is too big on your head, tipping low over your eyes, possibly hiding your nervousness as you mutter, “What if I do?”

With a smooth motion, he flips it off from your head, holding it with his palm, away from you. “Get back to work, Sunshine.”

“I’m serious—”

“So am I, those horses ain’t gonna straddle their strap themselves, off. to. work,” he hisses, turning to leave.

You huff, heat still burning off your cheeks, more embarrassed than annoyed, yet you still don’t have it in yourself to let it go, you can’t let him have this. Win this.

Quick to snatch the hat back, “So the hat rule is, wear the cowboy hat, ride the cowboy, huh?” You mumble behind him, your voice failing you, yet you appear to be giggly, and Steve heaves a deep sigh of breath, before fully turning to you.

He halts a bit when he sees you once again, in his hat, tipped low, that stupidly addicting smirk gracing your slightly-open lips, hand on your hips, and all he wants to do is fuck you till you lose that attitude of yours. 

“Stop,” he warns, taking a step closer to you but with a shake of your head you back away, and he sighs, loud and annoyed. 

“Gimme that, sunshine!”

“Nuh-uh.” All teasing and bratty, and grating on Steve’s last nerve. You know this, yet you wanna keep pushing him, further and further, until he snaps, until he can’t take it anymore. You have no reason to do this, you’re supposed to hate him, think of him as an annoying asshole.

But the two of you are finally tethering on that line, the line between purely teasing each other out of spite, to teasing each other out of flirting, you know that, and you don’t wanna take a step back. “Prove it.”

You are all up in his face, and all he can do his roll his eyes, cheeks beetle red, frustration worn on his face. “Knock it off.”

You tut gently, crossing your arms in front of your chest. “Not until you—” Your words are interrupted quickly when he snatches up the hat from your head in annoyance, making you gasp when he discarded it easily.

“Get back to work!” His voice raises, and it makes you take a deep breath.

Shit, did you fuck this up?

“What?” You question, entire body feeling dizzy. He takes a step closer.

“You heard me.”

Another step closer, his breaths come out in short gasps, frustration taking over him. “Get back to fuckin’ work, before I can’t stop myself.”

He is close. Too fucking close, and you can’t help the way your gaze droops down to his soft lips, slightly parted open, downturned from frustration. God, you realize how hot he is when he is angry, once again. “F—from what?”

He hesitates, before licking his lips. This is it. He wants, no, he desperately needs you. Needs to put you to your place. Teach you what happens to bratty girls like you. Show you what exactly the stupid rule is. “From fucking you in this goddamn barn.”

You release the breath you’ve been holding back, feeling small, so small under his gaze. Mouth hanging open, and all you want is him to pin you against the wall, have you screaming out his name. “From making sure I show you how the goddamn cowboy hat rule works.”

Your back is plastered against the wall, his hands are by your side, you are caged beneath him, chest rising in anticipation. “Is that what you want, honey, think you can handle all of that?” He’s so smug, and you don’t know what overtakes you when he’s all in control like this, you wanna obey him, make him happy, proud, so you bite back on your insults.

His smirk is dangerously alluring, and you’re under his spell. 

“Please,” you beg, heat finds your cheeks again, you hate the hold he has on you.

He barks out a chuckle, so mean, yet as equally hot. “Please, what? Speak up,” he spits, rolling his tongue inside of the roof of his mouth, lips wearing a smirk.

“Ruin me,” your voice is small, meek, yet it makes him groan. 

You’re such a good girl for him, and he wants nothing more than to ruin you. Fully. Completely. Ruin you for every other man. 

His head ducks down to your neck, leaving a sloppy kiss before leaning into your ear, his breath hot on your neck, leaving goosebumps in its wake. “Goddamit darlin’, you gonna be the death of me, huh?”

You don’t—you can’t answer, you’re speechless, rubbing your thighs together desperately, seeking some friction, a touch, anything. 

He levels with you again, dangerous gaze on your lips, fingertips brushing against your cheeks teasingly “You know what I always wanted to do, sunshine?” He coarses lowly. 

“W—what?” You ask with a gulp, lips twitching with need. 

He gives you another grin, that asshole. The pad of his thumb slowly caressing your lips now, making you shiver with hunger. “Always wanted to put you to your place, you and that damn smart mouth, always runnin’ it for no good reason. I’d give you a good reason for those pretty lips, huh? Use it the way I wanna use it, fill it the way I wanna feel it,” he grunts like he said the most normal thing, yet you’re already squirming, wanting to open your lips, take his fingers in your mouth and suck on them, show him how much of a good girl you can be for him.

He has you on such a hold already, and you can’t complain. For someone who seemed to be annoyed—hell, even hated him a few minutes ago, you feel crazy, batshit insane, all you want is him.  

His fingertips play with your lips all teasingly, pupils blown wide, the other hand caresses your hair so possessively that you melt into his touch. “You gonna be good for me sweet thing?”

He doesn’t have to ask you twice. “Y—yes, sir.”

Sir. 

Godfuckingdammit. You don’t know the hold you have on him, do you?

He bites back on the moan that rumbles in his throat, instead settling on a, “Good girl.” Your puppy dog eyes glint at the praise, and he makes a mental note of it. . 

“Get on your knees f’me, darlin’,” he grumbles, and you’re quick to obey, not minding the uncomfortable feeling of the wooden floors scraping your knees, or the fact that anyone might’ve walked in, the door was locked, and there was probably no one around yet Mr. Harrington might’ve returned to the ranch at any moment. But he made you feel safe, somehow. 

You look up at him with those doe-eyes again, making him suck in a breath before he unbuttons his jeans and pushes them off his hips, boxers so tight around his hard cock that he grunts involuntarily.  

Your eyes go wide the second his erection springs free, almost hitting the tip of your nose, red, angry and leaking with pre-cum, he lets out a chuckle at your expression before grabbing the base of his cock. 

Same eyes, looking up at him all hungrily, Steve feels the way blood rushes quickly to his cock, making him harder if that's even possible, with a groan he runs the leaking tip across your lips. “Open up.”

Your hand replaces his quickly, and he runs his fingers through several strands of your hair, teaching you how exactly he wants you. 

You open your mouth wide, just like he likes it, tongue giving his slit kitten licks, moaning at the taste of his salty pre-cum, wrapping your plushy lips around his thick head, and sucking the life out of him, determined, and feigning innocence with the soft gaze you held. 

Head thrown back, heavy boots planted on the harsh ground, he lets out a low groan, stroking your hair all softly. “Look at you s’pretty like this for me.”

His hand wraps tighter around your hair, pushing you onto him, making sure you gag a little and that only spurs you on, making you whine around his cock, the sound reverberating through his chest. “Cat got your tongue, darlin’?” He chuckles all meanly. 

“God, do you have any idea how many times I wanted to shut up that bratty mouth like this?” He asks with grunts leaving his open mouth, hand working harshly around your head, mouth feeling like heaven the more you bob around his thick length, struggling to take all of him. 

“Those pretty lips are—mmpf, shit—better stuffed with my cock than being a spoiled lil’ city girl runnin’ her mouth, ain’t that right, baby?” You nod meekly, angelic eyes seeking for his validation before you flatten your tongue around the sensitive part of his tip, struggling to take all of him in your mouth. Earning guttural moans, eyes squeezed shut as he feels your soft lips wrapped around him again.

“Fuck, sweet thing.” You can feel his filthy grunts straight in your core, all low and lewd that you almost moan around him again, he puts one hand on the wall, helping himself to better move in and out of your throat. 

He knows if you keep this up, he’ll cum right and there, and fuck, he needs that. But he needs to be inside of you more. 

You keep up your stroking, now adjusting yourself properly to start licking and sucking on his balls. “Sunshine, you need to s—stop,” the words barely leave his lips, he so doesn’t want you to stop. But, he needs to cum inside of you. 

Yet, you don’t listen to him as your movement speeds up, determined to feel his load warming your throat, make him proud, and your mouth bobs harder around his length, making him growl at you harshly. “Sunshine,” he warns, pulling you by your hair. 

You’re quick to take a deep breath of air once he pulls you off, looking up at him with the perfect innocent eyes, your lips wearing the prettiest pout. “Was that not good for you, Stevie?” 

Stevie. That nickname makes his head spin faster, all he wants to do is fuck you against those stupid rustic walls, have you screaming out for him, the whole ranch filled with your filthy noises, no one was around anyway.

“You kiddin’, sweetheart?” He gives you a chuckle, wrapping his hands around your jaw, pulling you off the floor. 

“You were fuckin’ amazing,” he hums, leaning down to kiss you, tasing the salty semen on your tongue. 

His hands are quick to travel along to your waist, fingertips finding their way onto your panties rather quickly, earning a gasp out of you. “Need to be in here first, honey.”

You nod, so quickly that you can feel him grinning into the kiss, his hands are everywhere, yours are more or less the same, quick to get rid of his top, to feel his toned chest in your soft hands, your top is sprawled right next to his, revealing your pink and gold bra at him, breasts peeking out just enough to have him groan, big hands quick to get rid of them. 

He has you caged against the amber walls, back hitting the rough material, making you hiss. Your skin heats at the impact, it’s filthy, lewd, and so public, but none of you even care enough to break the kiss. He settles between your thighs, his pants drooped to his ankles, hands rubbing across your skin, leaving goosebumps in its wake.

The sight of you so easily submitting to him, makes his cock grow harder than he thought was possible, looking so ethereal that Steve forgets all about everything else. “Sunshine,” he breathes, hands fiddling with the hem of your panties. 

“Mhmm,” is all you can muster, legs slightly open for him, and he almost feels possessive over you, it’s entirely stupid, but he looks so fucking alluring with those dark chestnut eyes, layered hair a mess, and cock weeping entirely with the thought of you. 

His thumb runs over the seam of your pussy, just a glimpse of how his fingers are going to ruin you, and you pulse and clench against him already. Wet. Drenched. And all ready to take him. “You’re soaked,” he groans.

Leaning further into your ear, “is that all for me, honey?” he rasps, desperate, needing your confirmation. 

Heat grows in your cheeks faster than a scorching day in July, and he grins, again, all cocky and proud. “Yes,” you admit meekly, and Steve’s quick to kiss your worries away. 

“God, you’re so fuckin’ pretty like this,” he growls, swirling your wetness up and around your slit, almost toying with you, having you desperately mewl for him. 

He can’t put his finger on it, what it is that draws him this much into you, but he’s hooked, so goddamn obsessed that he feels like an idiot, for being this much of an asshole, for acting like a grade school boy who’s pulling the pigtails of his crush. Like a stupid cliche. 

“Stevie.” That nickname, again. Godfuckingdammit, Steve thinks. You have him so wrapped around your finger, it’s like a prayer, and he’s sure you’re not aware of it. And it drives him even crazier. “Please.”

“Talk to me.” His voice is low, lips now nipping at your neck, suckling, giving you all the marks you need. 

“I need you,” you hum, eyes squeezed shut, desperate. His finger discard your panties and slide easily inside of you, your back is fully dipped into the well-worn walls with how good he feels, his thick fingers making their way in and out of your soppy cunt, whines leave your lips faster than you can comprehend. 

“Ruin me, Steve, fully, completely.” You don’t know how those words leave past your lush lips, but your thighs ache with need, cunt throbbing for him and him only. 

His eyes widen quickly, pure hunger quick to fill his veins, mouth hanging open, curses leaving his lips at how forward you are being. “Show me the cowboy hat rule, sir.” 

Steve all but groans, mouth harshly on yours again, chests pressed together and you can feel how hard he truly is, rock stiff, and aching to be inside of you. The sheer size of how he feels against your thighs almost makes your eyes bulge again. 

His fingers stop moving in and out of you, before you can whine, he spins you around so fast that you gasp loudly, hands immediately plastered on the wall, pleasure and excitement fills your tummy, but the fact that he’s seeing you all vulnerable like this is embarrassing enough that you try to close your legs. 

He’s quick to stop you with a grin, rough hands landing on the back of your thighs, spreading them open while tutting you. “Nuh-uh. Don’t get all shy now, princess. Spread them open f’me.” You spread them a little, cunt throbbing with how close his fingers are. 

He groans again once he fully gets a view of you like this, face down, ass up, your pussy slicked with your juices, at his mercy. “‘M gonna ruin you, honey, don’t you worry.” A dark chuckle barks out from his chest, sending chills down your spine, almost making you whine. 

Fuck. 

His hands are rough when he has you by your waist, bruising almost. Lining his cock in front of your slick core, he swipes the head of his reddened tip inside of you with one forceful thrust. Your plushy lips open slightly, stealing your breath away as you try to adjust to his size.

Shit, shit, shit, he feels even better than you fucking expected.

His cock splits you open, filling every goddamn inch of you. You don’t know how many times you thought this, but, shit, he’s as big as the gossip in this small town says he is. 

His thrusts are slow, grunts so loud and heavenly that it spurs you on more and more. His weight on you, the bruising hold. You feel him everywhere. On your back, hips, and fucking inside of you.

“F-fucking, fuck!” he growls, leaving nibbles all over your shoulder and back, even with the fact that this was Steve, and he was rough and filthy, it was wildly intimate, so wildly intimate that you could feel your heart pounding inside of your chest. 

“How are you this fuckin’ tight, s-sweetheart?” One of his hands travel up to your neck, roughly holding you down, hips slamming into you with such force that you cry out.

He watches the way his girthy cock disappears in and out of you, wetting himself with your juices, filling every inch of you. “Doin’ s’good for me, princess.” His praises are heavenly, making your chest swell with pride.

He moves inside of your soppy cunt with short thrusts. Completely bottomed out, thrusting against the same sensitive spot every time as his balls, heavy with cum grind against your clit, with each movement, making you cry out his name, babbles leaving your mouth. “Yeah, you like this don’t ya? Want me to ruin this slutty pussy, huh? Ruin it for every other men?”

You nod all dumbly, yet, it isn’t enough for him. He wants to hear you, have you scream it out. “Say it, sweet thing, fuckin’ say it,” he groans, coarse voice making tingles appear everywhere on your skin. 

“I-I love it, Stevie, want you to ruin me for everyone else, mmpf,” you moan all fucked out, eyes rolled all the way back to your head, hips desperately grinding against him for some more friction. 

He picks up his pace, fucking into you with reckless abandon.“F-fuck doll, won’t last if you keep runnin’ that dirty mouth.” 

But his words just encourage you to keep going, gasps coming out in short breaths as you manage to drive him crazier. “All yours, sir, all yours.” 

He grunts at that, one of his arms snaking around and under your hips to find a better angle, lifting you up so that he can fuck his cock deeper into you, make you feel how fucking big he really is. “That’s right, baby, it’s all fuckin’ mine.”

Hot tears spill down your cheeks, entire body burning with it. The slick sounds of his hips driving into you, your moans, his low groans are all that fill the room. So fucking filthy, and you can feel yourself clenching around him. 

It’s all too much; his hands everywhere, the lewd noises he makes, how deep his girthy cock is bottomed out inside of you, making you feel every ridge. It’s fucking perfect, and you desperately need to cum. 

And of fucking course, Steve can feel your pussy gripping him, so tight that he knows he’s gonna cum right after you do. “Gonna cum f’me, huh? Such a good girl,” he praises, again, knowing the effect it has on you and all you can do is gasp and weakly nod. 

One of his thumbs quickly finds your clit, making your pussy throb around him in pure ecstasy, all the overstimulation enough to have you crying like a bitch in heat. “Give it to me, angel,” he murmurs, pressing open-mouthed kisses everywhere on your skin.   

His movements pick up, padded thumb rubbing circles around your clit, the other hand landing on your nipples, twisting them while pumping into you, it’s all too much that it makes you sob and beg for him. 

“Cream my cock, let me ruin you completely, darlin’” It’s all the confirmation you need as your orgasm builds and washes through you, body exploding with pleasure, spreading through your skin as you scream out his name. 

Your pussy squeezes and pulses around his cock, and he fucking knows, he won’t last, not in the slightest. “S-shit, sweet thing, gonna make me cum with all those filthy noises.” 

“Want that, honey, hmm? Wanna be filled with my cum? Show everybody in this town who owns ya? Owns this tight lil’ cunt?” He feels it, that pure hunger for you over taking him, coarse voice, dark eyes, like a man possessed. His fingers dig further into your skin as he desperately chases his orgasm, enjoying the sloppy sounds your pussy makes as he drives into you.

“P-please, Stevie, n-need your cum,” you weakly hum. And it fucking breaks him. Hips losing all rhythm when he spills his warm load into you, twitching inside of you once he pumps you full of his cum. 

“Jesus fucking Christ, Sunshine,” he breathes, collapsing on your back, both of you trying to come down from the high. He slips free of you slowly, his cum dripping down your thighs, making him grin proudly. 

“S-steve,” you weakly murmur, collapsing in his arms. He holds you down, slight kisses left on your back, delicate in a way you have never seen him before. Yet, the two of you don’t mention it, “let me take you home,” he mutters, a gentle hold on you that makes you feel warm.

“N-no.”

“No?” Intrigued, his breath gets caught in his throat, the look you give him is so sultry that the blood rushes to his cock in an instant again. Fucking fuck, what have you done to him.

“We still haven’t followed the rules,” you purr sweetly, causing him to raise his brows in excitement, tempting him further and further. 

“The rule was wear the hat, ride the cowboy, wasn’t it?” You question with a slight grin, eyes lulled, still fucked out. 

Your fingertips gently grazed against his chest, hairy and slicked with sweat, his sudden dominance fading when you were so quick to switch from begging to cum underneath him to gaining that flirty, giddy personality again. Already leaving him a mess. “Y-yeah,” he murmured, watching you hungrily, his cock already weeping again. 

“Then, sit down and lemme take care of you, cowboy,” you ordered again, shuddering breaths leaving him in an instant.   

Now you were going to ruin him.

Fully.

Completely.

And Steve couldn’t be more infatuated. You were truly his demise.   

[formulakracing]

"you belong here" - s.v.

pairing: gf!reader x aston martin!sebastian vettel

word count: 1.5k

warnings: (slight) age gap relationship, a little bit of cursing here and there, seb being absolutely down bad for the reader, some (slight) angst, the general public being judgmental, (slight) slut shaming, the drivers being little shits (as always), yadayadayada

a/n: i am a perfectionist when it comes to writing personalities, mannerisms, cadences of words, etc. so if i happened to not do the best job with this fic, please be patient with me!!! this is my first time writing for seb!!! i am open to feedback!!! <3

"okay, from the top. how many drivers are there?"

"twenty."

"nope!" he shakes his head, his lips curling into a smug smirk, "there are nineteen drivers. sorry love, but you were incorrect."

"sebastian," you scoff, rolling your eyes, "you needed to specify if you were included. because if you weren't included, there would be nineteen other drivers. if you were, there would be twenty."

"that's why it's called a trick question," his hand squeezes yours, "your hands are clammy, by the way."

"maybe because i'm nervous?" you counter, "this is my first time tagging along to a grand prix, you know."

"i know," he brings your hand to his mouth, kissing it tenderly, "i'm sorry for being a little pest."

"you're not a pest," your heart swells at the gesture, "i'm just anxious to meet everyone, that's all."

"oh they'll love you," confidence oozes out of his words, "i have no doubts about that."

sebastian vettel, four time world drivers' champion, was your boyfriend of the last year or so. the two of you met online, as you had slid into his dms on instagram after a very intoxicated evening out with friends.

since you had a love for formula one since you were a teenager, you admired drivers such as lewis hamilton, nico rosberg, daniel ricciardo, and well, sebastian.

you weren't quite sure where the love for the sport came from, but you could remember the sleepless nights you spent on youtube, eagerly clicking through racing highlights through various grand prixes. the sleepovers where your friends would be doing makeovers on you or painting your nails as you chattered about all of the driver drama and lore.

so, when you learned that mr. vettel was very single, and very open to the world of dating, you decided to shoot your shot. it took about six or seven drinks, but you mustered the courage to type out those fateful words.

i heard your single. we should change that.

shockingly, you received a response not too long after sending the message.

i believe it's *you're and not your. why should i take you up on your offer? you're a very beautiful woman but i need a little more information before i take you out on a date. ;)

from that message, the two of you chatted constantly, getting to know one another in-between shifts at your job, and his free time between races, press conferences, and training sessions.

eventually, he asked for your number, requesting a facetime call. you obliged, the two of you talking for hours upon hours that night. only a week or so later, he flew you out to his place in switzerland, requesting that you spend the weekend with him.

you did, falling for him the moment you met him in person. well, not like it was difficult by any means. with his charming aura and goofy persona, you felt comfortable almost immediately, letting your walls come crashing down.

nothing was too much or too out-of-pocket. you could make all of the vulgar jokes you wished, and he would laugh right along, only escalating the joke further. you could cry on his shoulder about anything, and he would happily rub your back, wiping away the tears that fell. he would hold you every night you slept together, not letting go until you wriggled away in the mornings.

and now, here you were, hand-in-hand as you entered the paddock. your heart skips a beat as your gaze falls on lance stroll, sebastian's fellow driver and teammate.

upon seeing you, his mouth curves into a bright smile, "look who it is!"

"i know you're not that excited to see me," sebastian pouts, "or did you really miss me that much?"

lance rolls his eyes at sebastian, sticking out his right hand, "good morning! i'm lance. i'm the other aston martin driver. well, you probably already know that."

"it's nice to meet you," you suppress a giggle, "i've heard a lot about you!"

"oh have you?" lance arches a brow, turning to sebastian, "have you been talking shit?"

"always pooks," sebastian chuckles, "not really. i just happen to talk a lot about racing. i'm sure she's tired of it by now."

"oh never," you flash sebastian a radiant grin, "i never get tired of all of the racing talk. i've loved formula one since i was about thirteen or so."

"that's awesome!" lance gushes, "you have yourself a keeper then, seb."

"i know i do," you feel his arm wrap around your shoulder, "should we go meet some fans? i promise they won't bite."

"fans?" you echo, a shiver running down your spine.

"well yeah," lance nods, "we have some time before we need to meet up with everyone. we usually chat with some fans, hand out some autographs. nothing too serious or glamorous."

"if you say so," you mumble, the words so quiet you were shocked you heard them.

it wasn't like you were dreading interacting with fans, it was just that you were a bit daunted by the idea.

ever since sebastian went public with you about a month ago, the reaction from the public was mixed. one half was adamant that you were too young for the driver, as there was an almost fifteen year age gap between the two of you. the plethora of negative comments that flooded the comment section of your instagram posts was almost too much to bear.

the other half, however, was very supportive, voicing that they "shipped" the two of you or that you were good for the driver. some comments even went as far to say that you were "a breath of fresh air", and that sebastian needed someone like you in his life.

yet, as the three of you stroll out of the paddock, you hoped for the latter. that the fans would be kind, welcoming you with open arms.

you could only dream, right?

"sebastian!"

"sebastian over here!"

voices flurry about, calling from all directions. everywhere all around, it was almost a sea of green, fans donning aston martin gear from head to toe. people of all ages flooded your field of vision, children hoisted on their parents shoulders to men and women in their seventies, maybe even their eighties.

"baby, can i see your purse?" his breath fans against your ear, snapping out of your trance.

"yeah," you nod, fumbling with your bag, "y-you need your sharpie, right?"

"hey," fingers find yours, intertwining them together, "it's just you and i. forget everyone else. just think about you and i."

"it's hard to-" you protest, yet you're swiftly cut off by a voice rising above the midst of the crowd.

"who invited the slut?"

sebastian's brows furrow, his eyes narrowing into slits, "what the fuck?"

more voices cut in, jeering.

"put her back in her crib! where she belongs!"

"you heard what i said! who invited that slut beside you?"

"goddamn," lance mutters under his breath, "what the fuck are they on right now?"

tears well up, threatening to spill over as you duck your head, lower lip trembling. sebastian senses your energy shift, wrapping a protective arm around your waist. he pulls you in close, pressing gentle kisses along your temple.

"come on, let's go back to the paddock. you don't deserve this."

lance flashes you a sympathetic glance before raising a hand, giving the crowd the finger, "whoever said that, this is for you!"

every aspect of the walk back is blurred as the tears fall. your lips are sealed tightly shut, suppressing the sobs rising in your chest.

you were barely here an hour and fans were already heckling you.

could you even last the weekend here?

did you even belong here?

"hey," his voice is soft, "come here."

blinking, you realize that he had taken you back to his motorhome, a private space for just the two of you. his arms are open, inviting you in. you nearly collapse into his chest, burying your head in it as he rubs your back.

"i'm so sorry."

"you don't have to be sorry," you shrug, swallowing the lump in your throat, "they're right. i don't belong here."

"stop that," fingers grasp your chin, tilting your head up, "you do belong here. you belong here just as much as anyone else does. i need you here."

"you promise?"

"i promise baby," sebastian tucks a few wisps of hair behind your ear, "you're irreplaceable. who cares what they think? just focus on me. it's just you and i this weekend, okay?"

"okay," you nod, sniffling slightly.

"you know what i think?" he leans in, the tip of his nose brushing against yours.

"what?" you inquire, the tears dissipating as he brings you in closer.

"they're just jealous that i have the most breathtaking, stunning, kindest, funniest girlfriend in the whole wide world. and no one, i mean no one, can take that away from me. you're mine baby. and nothing is ever going to change that."

you find yourself nearly crumbling into his chest once again, "you mean that?"

"of course i do. now, let's go try this again. if anyone is rude or hateful, i'll just spit on them, okay?"

[miifu666]

Ive seen people drawing my Wukong a lot! I'd thought to release his reference, incase anyone else wanted to! Dw about drawing him wrong, i mean i havent released his design till now lmao. I also tweaked some stufff

Sun Wukong - 2nd Half

" The more mature one's mind is, the more it changes one's body"

Left Suklha for a few months in order to properly focus on his journey and self improvement.

Has a hard exterior but is actually clingy, very smug, good at poetry but has a hard time making it (writers block ahh)

He's easygoing but Blunt, Cynical, has a hard time lying if it doesn't benefit him, Bad humor (like a dad's joke)

He must be less insane right? Nah he just learns how to hide it better. Hes worse actually. He would force u to drink immortal wine just so u can be extra durable when he tortures u

Because Suklha gave him fun facts, he has stupid facts about things lmao.

Still short, just know how to dress to make himself taller. (Also he's a bit chubby)

Crafty as hell. prepares necessities for the group, sew a centipede pattern on his garment.

Very proud of his healing journey. He ate better, posture isnt as bad as before, scars are healing, little nightmares but not as bad as before! He can hear through his sleep though.

Still has trauma of his family/monkeys got burnt due to his actions (more like Erlang burning the mountain down) thus VERY clingy with Suklha. Is learning to be more independent now.

A rehabilitating workaholic.

If angered, his mouth and eyes release a sort of magma out of it, theres small sparks of fire and smoke every time he talks. His fur turns into a darker, almost cool hue with red tips.

His head is shaped like a gourd, hence why he grew his hair around it to hide thr shape.

If u noticed, his headband has a gap at the center. Suklha altered it a little back then as a way to make Wukong stop stalking her (he didn't)

His tail is so wild after not using it for years, he even accidentally stole a bracelet!

He loves his wife. A lot.

So much so, he wrote "if you dont have anything to say, atleast spit on the letter and send it to me" and sent 6 of those to Suklha.

"I will leave such an imprint on you that anyone you entertain after me will have to know me to understand you"

To see more of his design! Checkout #My Monke tag in my blog!

Design note : i try to incorporate how Suklha would change JTTW lore through the design, also make it unique enough to be seen as my design, but still stick to some original interpretation. Some of the choices i made are entirely meaningful! Also, simplifying some aspects because i draw him a lot, and it saves time 🫡