#Latest Fuel Rate

[allurilove]

Teenager Yandere Husband x teenager you

“What would happen if you went to the same school as him?”

Rated 16 + — regular ol’ short content !

Teen!Yandere Husband had a major scene phase starting sophomore year. It was his way of saying ‘fuck you’ to his old man, and he started to grow as his own person. He was finally able to express himself in a way his father tried to repress. His father was interested in fashion, creating multiple pieces and clothing that had made it to the runways, but he made sure teen!yandere husband looked proper. Not dressing him in the eccentric and world stopping outfits his father was known for, but the cookie cutter boy you see in those movies about snobby rich people. His dad thought his new bright hair was hideous, and when he started to cut up holes in his jeans— he got a whooping that night. That didn’t stop teen!yandere husband, it only fueled him to go all out. He had black eyeliner on his waterline, multiple rhinestone belts on his hips, and wore long striped socks with his boots. He donated all of his old polo shirts, cream white sweaters, and traded his name brand shoes for a pair of converses.

Teen!Yandere Husband enjoyed listening to My Chemical Romance, 3OH!3, and Get Scared. He had all of their latest music downloaded onto his mp3 player, and he listened to it with his girlfriend at the time. They both shared an earbud, and his arm was around her shoulders. She was just the type of girl he liked: she had those skunk extensions in her hair, long eyelashes, fishnets on her arms, and she smelled like a record store (idk if that’s a compliment). But alas, all mildly good things came to an end when he was broken up with. She wanted an alternative man by her side, and he wasn’t enough for her.

Teen!Yandere Husband started to grow out his hair junior year. He had to constantly brush his bangs out of his face, blowing at the strands whenever they poked at his eyes. He was this tall six foot two guy, bumping into people in the hallways with his wide shoulders. And he had an attitude. He didn’t apologize, just grunting out a ‘watch it’ before he stomped his way to his class. Teen!yandere husband also picked fights with anyone that tried to comment on his appearance. He knew how to throw a mean punch, and he learned it all from his great aunt. Breaking peoples noses and fingers were easier than he thought, and getting away with it was just as sweet than the thrill he felt. His father made constant excuses for teen!yandere husband, saying that it was just a phase and he was just a boy, and if that didn’t work… well a gracious donation would be sent to the school.

Teen!Yandere Husband got his dick pierced the summer before senior year. It was a risky move, his father was already on the brink of snapping at him and kicking him to the curb. But, thankfully his aunt was cool about it, and signed the paperwork. While he was at it, he got his ears and belly button done too.

Teen!Yandere Husband noticed you around senior year. He was cleaning up his ‘bad boy’ act, trying to get on people’s good side before the year ended. While he was on his apology tour, he saw you sitting at the library alone. He doesn’t remember if he had done anything horrible to you, and if he did, he would absolutely beat himself up for it. He was about to approach you, but then he suddenly remembered his appearance, and was self conscious about the way he looked. Who would love to be with a mess of a man like him? Surely, you already had people lining up to be with you.

Teen!Yandere Husband made his first move by asking you to sign his yearbook. You had made him nervous. Just your presence alone was making him sweat. He held brief eye contact with you when he asked, leaning against the white bricked wall with a blush to his cheeks. His voice soft and yet baritone, and he held up the yearbook for you to write your name in.

“Ah yeah… I think we had like one class together? With that really grumpy man that’s about to retire soon.”

You smiled, a little snort coming from you. He watched you add a little heart into your name. “You’re gonna have to be specific. That’s like half the teachers here.”

“You know,” he was totally talking out of his ass, “the teach that shakes his fist whenever he sees teens running down the halls.”

“Really? That’s odd. I never had a male teacher.”

“W-What? Oh-“ he gulped, adverting his eyes towards the ground. He shoved his hands into his pockets, and he awkwardly shifted between his weight. “Maybe I’m misremembering things.”

“If we took a class together… I definitely would have remembered.”

That left him speechless. Did you mean that in a good way?

“You’re sort of hard to forget… you kind of look like Sam Monroe from Life as a House.” you bit your lip, and your eyes took in the sight of his dark but colorful clothing. He had this scent that made him smell like fresh rain and wood.

He hadn’t seen that movie, but he was gonna guess on a whim that might’ve been your way of saying he’s … cute?

Teen!Yandere Husband got your number and followed you around all summer. He was actually shy when he got to hang out with you outside of school. Hours before he met you, he walked back and forth in front of his mirror, trying to give himself a pep talk before the hangout. He wasn’t this nervous before, and he started to fret about his appearance. He had put on his best jeans, clean shoes, and the classic sort of fancy tee. He picked you up in his red corvette, playing music from the radio incase you didn’t like what he usually listened to. He was determined to make this “hang out that’s totally not a date” perfect.

Teen!Yandere Husband casually paid for your things, and opened all the doors for you. He totally thought he was winning in the ‘gentleman’ department. He gave you compliments that teetered between the lines of flirtation, and just being friendly. He actively listened to whatever you had told him, making mental notes to bring them up in later conversations. That seemed to make you happy. You two had stopped by a carnival he coincidentally had tickets for. He tried his hardest to help you at any game, and he was pretty good at throwing darts. He happily smiled for whatever photo booth you brought him into, not once complaining when you wanted to use props.

Teen!Yandere Husband had genuinely smiled whenever he was around you. You just made life better. You were his little comedian, his best friend that’ll he never forget.

Full fics: these fics are an aged up version of yandere husband obvs, and it contains smut.

#1 #2 #3 #4 (coming soon)

Allure: this would be soo him if he were to text reader.

[redfoxwritesstuff]

A Taste of Sugar (Part 1 of 2)

Alastor x reader (Hazbin Hotel)

Part 1 rated M, Part 2 rated E 18+ for adult content

TW part 1: Light jealousy, trauma related to past food insecurity, trauma recovery.

TW Part 2: Explicate smut, see part 2 for details.

Almost 4k words for part one. Ps- Fuck you Nonny, this is what you get for trying to tell me what I'll write

~<3 Love, Kit.

As you work through the trauma of your life and starving to death, you dismantle your stash of snacks for what you hope will be the final time. Snack cakes, cookies and crackers are given to everyone around you, except one resident in the hotel whom you knew wouldn't enjoy or consume the treats. Then, as the flow of treats tricked to a stop, stash dismantled, small brown boxes containing treats began to appear at your door. Simple, delicious and seemingly homemade treats without so much as a note.

He watched and he waited, each week for your offer. Each week, no offer came and again he left his gift at your door. Why would you not think of him? Why would you not see him? What did he have to do for you to consider him?

~~~~~<3~~~~~<3~~~~~~<3~~~~~<3

A Taste of Sugar

You found yourself in Hell after a rather uneventful death that made of for its lack of excitement with lasting trauma. Now, sitting in a circle in a hotel that functioned more like a rehabilitation center and refuge than actual hotel, you were expected to recount it to the fellow residents that had become more like friends. 

It was Charlie’s latest grand idea of how to build trust and bonds between the group and process negative feelings that could hold each of you back from redemption. You didn’t think that was how redemption worked but whatever, it wasn’t your reputation on the line and it got you a safe room to sleep in and three meals a day. 

The others had grand stories of murders, crimes and addictions that all landed them in the grave, one way or another, often taking others with them. They had spoken of dark indulgences. 

Now they teased you, your crimes amounting to nothing compared to theirs. Damned for the simple crime of being born poor and attempting, rather unsuccessfully, to survive. 

You had died fairly young, having lived most of your life on the streets only to starve to death, alone, cold and in the dark. The shelters were full and the food banks near useless without somewhere to cook the food. Stealing food could only get you so far when you had little to choose from. You died dreaming of a warm meal, cooked at home. You died begging to world for a simple snack cake to quiet the pain in your stomach. You died alone, cold and hungry. 

The divine didn’t seem to care that you only stole what you thought you needed to survive. Really, not even that considering you starved to death. Maybe you didn’t pray enough. Maybe you didn’t go to the right church. Maybe you didn’t give away what little food you had often enough. 

Explaining that felt like shining a spotlight on every way you failed. You failed in life and you failed in death. Not good enough to get into heaven and yet you were also not bad enough to have a respected place in hell. Weak, unless and fueled by fear of once again going without. 

“So, that’s why you’ve always got snacks?” Angel pointed out, making you blush hard in shame. The trauma of your life hand a lasting grip around your actions even in death. 

“I’m trying to be better about it,” You felt shame in how you tended to hoard snacks in your room, rarely actually doing more than a little nibbling at them. Charlie did a great job of ensuring all residents had access to three meals a day, though someone was almost always missing from one meal or another. “I know I don’t have to worry about starving here, it’s just hard.” 

In the shadows of the hall, red eyes watched the group. A smile stretched in the distance as they discussed how the traumas of life leaked into the afterlife and the ways you could move past your traumas. 

He couldn’t say why he was drawn to you. You were little more than a lost doe and yet you plagued his mind. He wanted to cast you out so you’ll leave his thoughts as much as he wanted to keep you as a little pet for his own amusements. There was time enough to figure out what to do about the conflicting urges. For now, he can simply watch from a distance, from the shadows.

Rosie had told him that in her expert opinion he was ‘catching feelings’ when he had lamented his inability to settle on a course of action. That aggravated him more than anything else, well almost. The utter glee at the concept was more annoying by just a touch. 

He was above romantic sentiments just as he was above the carnal desires of the flesh. Rosie was mistaken, Alastor decided as he also made the decision that he would do nothing about you. There was no reason to let you plague him any longer. Simply look away, move on with his days and it would pass. 

Without the desire to do anything about this strange draw to you, Alastor settled on watching you from across the room. He watched as you ate, as you threw out the occasional small package of snacks.Turns out, he wasn’t very good at looking away from you. 

It didn’t escape him how you would frown, discussing your decision with Angel. You had decided you would no longer hoard snacks and oh, how proud of you the group was. 

You were growing. Healing. Blooming. 

If you’d talk to him, he’d tell you that very thing. Yes, he decided as you gave away snacks that he would tell you just how proud he was of you when you presented him with a part of your stash. 

He watched and he waited as you gave out cakes, crackers and cookies to everyone else. 

But never to him. No, it was always Angel and the other residents you shared your spoils with. Not once had you sought him out to offer him a cracker, cake or cookie. Not that he indulged in processed snacks or sweets on anything but the rarest occasion but that didn’t stop his shadow from bristling in annoyance behind him. 

He wanted to be offered. To be recognized. To be thought of. To be noticed. 

But he didn’t have feelings for you, he told himself. And that’s what he kept telling himself as the purging of your stash came to an end, drawer empty and flow of snacks becoming a trickle, an occasional treat purchased with the intention of sharing.

Oh, how you’d healed. 

~~~~~<3

The first time it happened, you nearly stepped on it. Someone had left a simple plain cardboard box in front of your room door without so much as a note attached to it. Inside were two equally simple cookies. Nothing large, nothing fancy. 

Setting them on your desk, you debated eating them or not. They looked good but when you had asked around, no one knew where they had come from. 

“Guess you’ve got a secret admirer,” Angel had teased you. “If the cookies are good, you should date them.” 

You didn’t know how you’d pull that off without knowing who left them though. Surely they were safe to eat, it’s not like random people came and left the hotel.

What’s the worst that could happen, if they were drugged? You were safe in your room. If they made you sick you had a private bathroom. You were already dead so what’s the harm?

The cookies were good, it turned out. You had nibbled on them over a few days, spreading out the treat. It seemed as soon as they were gone though, a new box appeared at the door. This time with a handful of crackers, some sliced cheese, fruit and sliced cured meat.

This continued for months, treats that were simple, modest and only enough to last for a few days. No matter how quickly or slowly you had consumed the gift, the night you discarded the empty box always brought a new box in the morning. 

~~~~~<3 

You leaned against the counter watching Alastor work. It was late and though you were not hungry, you often found yourself in the kitchen. Just being able to go down and look at the food you had access to had been helping you resist the urge to hoard food in your room when ever you felt that anxiety claw at you. 

It helped too, that you had been able to look forward to the small snack boxes that showed up. 

“Something on your mind, Dear?” Alastor didn’t look to you as he spoke, instead keeping his eyes on ingredients he was measuring out. 

You hadn’t expected to find him in the kitchen. It was late and those who didn’t leave to party were asleep. Husk was even passed out at the bar. 

“Not really,” You said after a moment. 

“The food is all here,” Alastor said with a hum, “If that’s what you’re here to check.” 

“Oh, No! I-”

“We’ve all got our quirks.” Alastor cut you off, pouring water into a bowl and adding yeast. 

“What are you making?” You asked rather than face admitting that he was right about what you were there to do.

“Beignets,” Alastor said, mildly annoyed.

“Those are like donuts, right?” You asked, hoping that you had imagined the sound. 

“Indeed, they’re similar.” Alastor kept his words curt. 

“For breakfast tomorrow?” 

“At this hour, it’s today.” Alastor swallowed his annoyance at the endless questions and lied, “Yes, for breakfast.”

“I’ll go, sorry for bothering you.” You stepped backward as you took the hint, smile falling from your face. 

“No,” He answered too fast, bitter sigh huffing through his always present smile, “I’ll need someone to try the test one.” 

“Oh.” 

You sat, watching Alastor work. He mixed flour into the liquid. This was a way you had never seen Alastor before. It crossed your mind that he probably didn’t let many see him with his coat and gloves off, smile turned soft and flour dusting his dark hands. 

But he was letting you. 

His coat was draped over the back of the chair you sat in, brushing against your skin as you shifted positions. His gloves were folded neatly and discarded on the table. He worked with his sleeves rolled up and a tune filling the air as he alternated between humming and softly singing to himself. 

It was beautiful. You were engrossed watching him work. The sound of his voice seemed to wrap around you, caressing you with warmth. 

You’d never spent much time with Alastor. You knew he was a deer, like yourself but until now, you’d thought his only deer trait had been the antlers and ears atop his head. It hadn’t occurred to you that he would have a little fluffy tail to match your own. 

It should have, you had fluffy ears to match his though with your longer hair, it was more obvious that they were indeed ears. You watched as his red and black tail moved with him as he put the dough in the icebox to chill.

“What now?” You asked, leaning back from him. 

“We wait, my little doe,” Alastor sat front of you across the table, leaning into your space across the small table.

“For how long?” You ask, not sure what to make of spending so much time with him. 

“A while,” Alastor said, “But I assure you the wait is well worth it.” 

“But you don’t like sweets.”

“You know what I like?” Alastor’s dark hand, stained by blood that could never be washed away dramatically rose to rest over his heart with a flourish as he leaned forward even more. “I’m ever so flattered.” 

You stuttered, not sure how to backtrack. Alastor laughed at your flustered stuttering before taking pity on you, pointing a long claw tipped finger so close to you that you swore he was going to stab you with his nail. 

“You, my dear, do enjoy sweets however.”

You didn’t know what to say to that, face warm. He knew that you cared for sweets. You were tired but seeing this relaxed side of him was thrilling. That chased away most of the fatigue, driving you to stay and find someway to push the conversation along. 

“I didn’t know you liked to cook,” You struggled to decide how to fill the silence.

“I’ve always found it rather enjoyable.” Alastor cocked his head to the side as he watched you. “My mother taught me.” 

“That must have been nice.” You weren’t sure what to say, having never really gotten to experience the love of a mother yourself. 

“It was.” Alastor watched as you leaned forward, resting your head on your arms. There was something about you that he couldn’t put down. “Did your mother not teach you to cook?” 

Your ears sagged atop your head at the question, earning a raised eyebrow from the man across from you. “She didn’t teach me much of anything. I was on my own since I was fourteen.” 

“Oh, Dear,” Alastor said as if he didn’t know that already, “How dreadful.” 

“I never really had enough food for learning to cook to be a thing.” You shrugged your shoulders, not lifting your head as you stretched out your arm to use it as a pillow. You shifted, allowing you to face him even as you used the side of the table to lounge on. 

“But you do now.” Alastor pointed out as he sat with you in a kitchen full of food.

“Full of Charlie’s and the hotel’s food.” You said, “I couldn’t risk wasting it. It’s enough that everyone shares with me what they make and,” You shake your head awkwardly against your arm, cutting off the thought.

“And?” Alastor pressed. 

“Someone’s been leaving little boxes of treats at my door. I wish I knew who it was.” 

“Why?” Alastor leaned back now, putting distance between the two of you, “Does the origin of a gift matter?” 

“I-” Your eyes teared up as your voice strangled in your throat. You sat up, not sure why you were being so open with him. 

“You~?” Alastor asked in a sing song tone as a tear slipped from your eye and ran down. His eyes followed it as it cut a path down your cheek. It was maddening to him, what you made him feel. How watching that tear captured his attention, yet he raged at the fact that it was born from pain in your heart.

“I’ve never had anyone give me treats like that.” You said, wiping the tear away much to his disappointment. 

“Never? Surely a suiter gifted you treats while courting for your attention.” Oh, why did saying that raise bile in his throat? 

“I’ve never-” You laugh, not sure why the idea of discussing this with Alastor made you feel uneasy. “There was never any suiters. No boys. No one.” 

“I struggle to believe that.” Alastor laughed as he stood from his chair, “Come my dear, wash your hands and join me.” 

You didn’t know what he wanted but Alastor was a man to be obeyed. While you were both deer, he had far more power than you could ever dream to possess. If he wanted to demand your help, you had little choice but to comply. 

Sure, the hotel offered a sense of safety but if Alastor wanted to squash you like a bug, shared demonic traits or not, there was nothing that could stop him. Well, Charlie would but she was asleep. 

Alastor had the counter floured and a small portion of dough out as you joined him, drying your hands. “Where’s the rest?” 

“That’ll be fried up in the morning, if it passes our test.”

He pulled you in front of the counter before stepping close behind you. It was hard to ignore the overwhelming presence of him looming over your shoulder as he reached around to grab the rolling pin only to pass it to you.

“Roll it out until I say,” He directed as he covered the pin in flour only to place it in your hands. 

As you worked, his hands rested on either side of you against the counter, boxing you in from behind while not touching you at all. It was hard for you to ignore how close he was. 

It was like the man was taking over your mind, something you hadn’t expected considering you hadn’t given him much thought in the months before. The smell of his cologne seemed to surround, making your head light. You weren’t sure why you were reacting to him like this but it left your nerves buzzing. 

Now all you could think of was the way his breath caressed over your ears, the way his hands looked without the gloves, dusted with flour, the sound of his voice as he hummed and the smell of his cologne. 

“There.” Alastor said, taking the pin from you and replacing it with a dough cutter. “Squares, about the size of your fist.” 

Cool air swept around you as Alastor moved away, checking the pot of oil heating on the stove. You’d only just begun to relax under his looming presence and now he was gone and damnit, you missed it. 

There was just enough dough to form two squares with some left over. Alastor scooped them up before dropping them in the oil. You stood next to him, watching as the oil came to life around the dough. 

“How long do we cook them?” You asked over the sound of the violently bubbling oil.

“Not long.” Alastor said from too close behind you once again as inky black shadow imps swept up the flour and crumbs, wiping down the counters.

On the counter, he set a plate with a rack over it and next to that was a sifter atop a container of powdered sugar. You were boxed in by Alastor as he rested his hands on either side of the fryer, looking over your shoulder as he once again boxed you in. 

“Now.” He said softly, “Scoop them out and put them on the rack.” 

You were timid, scared of being burned as you fished for the squares with the spoon made of wire. 

“Hurry, hurry!” Alastor cried, voice carrying a musical note as he only made your nerves worse, “You don’t want them to burn!” 

Finally, you got them out. Oil dripped off the puffed up pastries as they quickly drained the excess oil off. Alastor grabbed the sifter only to put it in your hands. He moved you as if you were a puppet, placing the sifter in your hands over the rack, steam wafting up to caress your hand. You stood still as he poured a few spoonfuls of powdered sugar into the basket. 

“Well, what are you waiting for?” He teased. “You can manage to turn the handle, can’t you?” 

“Yeah,” You stammered over the word, mind buzzing with the anxiety of having Alastor, the powerful, blood thirsty Radio Demon spending so much time in your immediate space. Your hands shook as you turned the small metal handle, causing the wire bar inside the sifter to spin, agitating the powdered sugar and helping it fall in a smooth, clump free shower over a square. 

Alastor used his hand on your forearm to move the sifter over the other pastry when he had decided there was enough dusting on the first. You didn’t know if there was any science to how much sugar each got or if he was simply measuring with his long dead heart. 

Once both were covered enough for his taste, he plucked the sifter from your fingers and set it aside. 

“What now?” You asked, unsure still of what was going on. 

“Now you try one.” Alastor said, plucking a square up. When you went to grab the other, he roughly shoved the rack out of your reach. 

“What? Why did you do that?!” Your brow furrowed as you looked at the rack, now well out of reach before looking back at the man standing too close to you. “How can I try it if you won’t let me grab it?”

“Open.” Alastor commanded as he ripped the corner off the beignet in his hand. 

“Wha-” Your question was cut off by the soft, warm, sweet taste that invaded your mouth somewhat forcefully. 

It was delicious. 

“Well?” Alastor asked as you swallowed the bite. 

You hadn’t noticed Alastor rip off another chunk of beignet but found it pushed between your lips the moment you attempted to praise the taste. This time, instead of retreating, his thumb rested against your lower lip as you took in the bite. 

His nails were long and pointed claws, not the thick claws that encased the fingertips of his gloves, but still dangerous. The sharp point of his thumbnail poked between your lips as he watched you chew for a few moments. 

You were spellbound by the way he looked down at you. What exactly was happening, you had no fucking clue but the air between you and Alastor was thick with something you couldn’t begin to understand. 

His touch left your lip to rip another chunk off the beignet slowly as you watched him. His dark bloodstained hands were covered in the white powdered sugar and flour, softening their appearance.

“It’s good,” You whispered as he slowly brought another bite to your lips. 

This time he offered it, waiting for you to open your mouth and take what he was offering on your own, knowing full well who was offering it. Somehow, it felt like something far more than a midnight snack was being offered to you but what?

“It’s been you,” You said, not asked as Alastor presented another bite that you took willingly as soon as you spoke. 

His thumb again lingered on your lips, sugar damp with oil and sticky on his skin smearing. 

“Yes,” Alastor said after a pause to toss the remaining portion of the beignet on the counter and wiping the hand that had been holding it on a hand towel on the counter, cleaning it of some of the sugar. Yet his other hand didn’t leave you. His thumb remained on your lower lip, feeling every twitch and breath. 

“Why?” You whispered, his thumb slipping against your lip and coming dangerously close to falling into your mouth. 

“You never offered me anything of your stash,” Alastor spoke softly.

“You don’t like sweets,” You hadn’t wanted to waste his time when you had made the decision to dismantle your stash. It had been a emotionally difficult choice, one that you had made before and never stuck to for long until now. “Or junk food.”

“You ignored me.” Alastor’s thumb slipped, running along her lower lip but never leaving it. “I thought if you had better options…”

“I’d share them with you?” Your voice was coming out so soft now, Alastor’s tall ears cocked forward to better pick up your words. 

“But you didn’t.” 

“I didn’t share them with anyone.” You whispered. “I didn’t want to share them with anyone.”

“Why?” 

“I wanted to keep them all to myself. They were too good to share. I-” 

Alastor’s thumb slipped into your mouth, cutting off whatever you had been about to say. Sticky sweetness exploded across your tongue as his thumb caressed it. You could feel the point of his nail against your tongue, a hint of danger coated in sweet sugar. 

Your mind was numb as you caressed the pad of his thumb, rolling the tip of your tongue under his nail softly. You were not sure what he wanted from you. The idea of overstepping Alastor’s unspoken boundaries was terrifying. This was uncharted waters. A side of Alastor you had never seen or even dared to dream of seeing. 

Alastor watched you as you stood near frozen. “Under some circumstances, I enjoy a sweet.” 

~~~~~<3

See part 2 for the smut.

[dostoyevsky-official]

this a view of someone who's ignored european developments since 2007, opting for a rosy, outdated view of european politics, i.e. the exact type of american committing the exact type of mistake i'm warning about.

to address this point by point: not only has inflation been a global issue, but the US has consistently enjoyed the lowest inflation of any developed economy. american CPI has remained below the british, polish, and eurozone average numbers. european economies have to deal with fallout from the russian invasion of ukraine that the us can ignore: notably, in energy prices, as the US became self-sufficient in energy (and never imported any from russia to begin with, something squeezing the german economy). america is also not hosting millions of ukrainian refugees.

when discussing european instutions—and "europe" in general—one has to be more specific. do you mean the overarching institutions of the EU, criticized for a democratic deficit that many have pinpointed as one source for euro-skepticism and the rise of the far right? the EU Council, widely ignored and headed by charles michel, an incompetent, blatant nepobaby appointment whom everyone grinds their teeth over? the EU parliament, recently filled with a fresh batch of far-right hooligans, which functions more or less as a rubber stamp for the commission? the EU commission itself, headed by VdL, the latest in a string of failed local politician commissioners (who remembers the alcoholic swindler juncker?) masquerading as technocrats? the ECB, which smothers the monetary (and through the maastricht criteria, the fiscal) policy of eurozone members, thereby fueling resentment, far-right movements, and economic disparity? and all of this held hostage by the veto of one orban or fico, —or the german supreme court, when it decides it's had enough with public investment. those institutions, which remain so opaque that even educated americans—and europeans—aren't entirely aware of their function?

or do we mean the institutions of individual countries, ranging from undemocratic autocracies like hungary to the fief of the jupiter king, who called elections in june, lost them, refused to nominate a prime minister from the winning coalition, didn't name any for over a month, and then appointed a rightwing politician from a party that scored dead last, sidestepping his own centrist party? the UK, where sir keir is handing out five years in jail time to climate protesters, raising tuition fees, relying on private investment companies, and through rachel reeves' plan to fix the alleged budget hole left by hunt before further investment, again enacting austerity? this is all front-page headline news from the last half year.

european countries indeed have cheaper healthcare costs, better pensions, and other public goods that the united states does not. when considering "quality of life," remember, however, that most european countries have unemployment rates considered astronomic in america, especially for under-35s:

to focus again and again on european social democracy is to ignore that it has been steadily eroded since the end of the cold war and especially since the great recession by neoliberal political forces that crush the left and open the door for the far right. in the most blatant example, beside's macron's legislative politricks, the IMF-ECB-EC troika cut off euro cash liquidity flow to greece when syriza was trying to undo austerity under varoufakis. the greek collapse consigned a generation to economic failure, killed seniors, and curtailed possibilities for the youth. this erosion happened even in the nordic model, long imagined by americans as nothing short of a utopia:

In part due to the scrapping of wealth and inheritance taxes and a lower corporate tax than both the U.S. and European averages, Sweden has one of the most unequal distributions of wealth in the world today: on a level with Bahrain and Oman, and worse than the United States. Perhaps most dispiriting for Sanders, Sweden also now hosts the highest proportion of billionaires per capita in the world. Many of the country’s trademark social services are now provided by private firms. Its private schools even benefit from the same level of state subsidy as public schools—a voucher system far more radical than anything in the United States and that Democratic politicians would be crucified for advocating. Both here and there, right-leaning commentators in 2020 decried Sanders’s portrait as little more than what Johan Norberg, Swedish author of The Capitalist Manifesto, has called a 1970s “pipedream.” On this, Swedish observers on the left gloomily agree: despite official rhetoric, the “Nordic welfare model” is now more nostalgic myth than reality. (x)

to problematize further, there's an unadressed first world perspective: who's getting the good quality of life, why are the main economies of the EU so wealthy, and how does the EU continue to enrich itself? there are certainly many living outdoors today, drowning in the mediterranean, or dying of exposure in białowieża. fortress europe is a crime against humanity—and it doesn't beat back the far right. it weakens civic and human rights, undermines legal oversight, and criminalizes humanitarian engagement, allowing an authoritarian creep.

you shouldn't understand the political and the historical as a snapshot in time, but as a moving train. this is the state of europe today. all of the above is necessarily a simplification and an abbreviation, but there's a trajectory you can begin to trace out: given all of the above, where do you think europe is headed?

[xomakara]

[PREVIEW] No Clue

Full Version is released! �� Here!!

SUMMARY |  You're in love with Jaehyun, your best friend, but he has no clue. You have suffered in silence as you have watched him date countless of girls left and right. Graduation is coming up, and you are running out of time to tell him how you feel. Will he finally see that it should have been you all along, or will he break your heart forever? PAIRINGS | Jaehyun x Reader GENRE |  college!student!Jaehyun, college!student!Reader, college au, friends to lovers trope, smut, unprotected sex (wrap it up ya’ll!), fingering, dirty talk, oral sex, (other things that might be added) RATING |  Mature LENGTH |  tbd (halfway there ya'll) TAGLIST | let me know if you'd like to be tagged for when I release this! AUTHOR’S NOTE |  Mama Linda is back and ready to feed you with neo food~ This is a small preview of the beginning of the story since I'm about half-way finished with it. 'Walk' comeback has literally fueled my loins and I've become feral for the neo men. Things might change from the preview and the final release, so please be aware of that! Much love 💚

You sat in the coffee shop, tables away from your best friend as you watched him flirt with that pretty girl he met at the latest NCT frat party. It was another girl this week, but you still hoped. You hoped he would turn and look at you. You hoped that he would see that it should be you.

It was never you.

He laughed at something she said and you sipped your tea. The hot liquid scalded your throat but you barely registered the pain, your eyes on Jaehyun, your heart shattering every single time he smiled at her. He would never smile at you like that. He would never look at you with those soft brown eyes.

And yet you continued to sit in the corner, watching, hoping, praying for something you could never have.

You got up and walked past them, ignoring Jaehyun's questioning glance. Your head was down as you pushed open the door and stepped out into the hot summer air.

The walk back to your apartment was quiet. The heels you wore were a nuisance today, and you kicked them off halfway through the walk, your feet now padding barefoot across the concrete. You could see a group of guys approaching and you sighed, picking up your pace. You didn’t want to have to talk to anyone.

The group stopped and turned towards you, calling out. You could hear their footsteps following and you bit back a curse.

“Y/N, seriously, are you listening to us?” One of the guys, Mark, said.

You slowed your pace and turned, plastering a smile on your face.

Mark stood before you, Taeyong, Johnny and Haechan close behind. You knew them from high school. You had been friends, and you had always found them attractive. But nothing, nothing, compared to how you felt about Jaehyun.

Your eyes drifted to the ground.

“Who made our girl cry?” Taeyong asked, wrapping his arms around you. He could see through your fake smile.

You couldn't help but relax into him and rest your head on his shoulder. He rubbed your back gently.

The others came forward and touched you gently, Mark taking one of your hands, Johnny placing a hand on your head, and Haechan standing beside you and taking your other hand.

You didn’t want to cry anymore.

They held you for a while, silent. They had known for years about how you felt about Jaehyun. You couldn’t count the number of times you had called Taeyong, crying and begging him to come and hold you, the number of times Johnny had taken you for coffee or to the cinema, anything to get you out of your apartment and away from the sight of Jaehyun with someone else. Mark had sat up with you late at night, watching bad romcoms and eating popcorn. Haechan had brought you a new book every single day since the start of university, and you knew that the reason you had done so well was because of him.

They helped you through your worst times. And here they were again.

You finally stepped back, looking up at them and wiping the last of the tears away.

“Another girl this time?” Haechan asked softly.

“The one Yuta introduced him to at the last frat party.” You sighed, running your hand through your hair. "I've got all dolled up today thinking that something was different, that maybe today would be the day when he suddenly asked to meet me at the coffee shop alone. But I guess it was to introduce me to whatever her name was."

The boys stayed silent.

"Why don't you just tell him how you feel?" Johnny asked quietly.

You shook your head.

"He doesn't need to know. I'm okay." You sighed. "Besides, no matter how much I wear pretty clothes or put on makeup, or wear these stupid heels like always...he never looks my way. He never sees me. I must be ugly or something, I don't know."

"You are beautiful. Any guy would be lucky to have you." Haechan whispered.

"You guys are the best." You smiled and kissed their cheeks.

"Why don't we have a movie night? We can get pizza and snacks and just chill." Johnny smiled, linking his arm with yours.

"Drinks included?" You asked, your heart a little lighter than it had been a few moments ago.

"Of course." Mark laughed.

"And popcorn, lots of it." Taeyong grinned.

You walked with them back to your apartment, smiling and laughing at their jokes, letting yourself relax and forget about Jaehyun, at least for a little while.

Haechan opened your front door, grinning.

"Let's get wasted!" He whooped, making a beeline to the cabinet that you had stored all your drinks.

"Get some glasses." Mark laughed, following the younger boy.

You and Johnny made your way into the living room and dropped down onto the couch. Taeyong came back from the kitchen with plates and napkins, placing them on the table and sitting beside you.

Haechan and Mark carried all the drinks and snacks to the table and sat on the floor, sorting out the snacks.

You smiled, grateful for the four men in front of you. You would have gone mad without them.

The night was going well, you were sat between Taeyong and Johnny on the couch, leaning on Johnny and giggling as the film continued. Haechan was curled up on the other side of the couch, half asleep. Mark had disappeared into the kitchen, returning with a huge bowl of popcorn and settling on the floor next to Haechan.

Your phone buzzed and you frowned, looking down and seeing Jaehyun's name. You groaned and threw the phone to the other side of the couch, turning your attention back to the film.

"Don't you want to see what he wants?" Taeyong asked softly.

"Nope." You popped the 'p' and took another sip of your drink. "He can go fuck himself."

"He's texted you like a hundred times already." Haechan frowned, holding the phone out to you.

"So?"

"Y/N, just look. It could be important."

You groaned and snatched the phone from him, opening the messages and rolling your eyes.

Jae: Are you mad at me?

Jae: Seriously, you can't ignore me forever. Please reply. What the fuck did I do wrong? You are my best friend, talk to me.

Jae: This is not fucking funny. What is wrong with you?

"What's wrong with me?" You looked away from your phone, letting out a frustrated sigh as you passed your phone to Mark.

"You want me to reply?" Mark asked.

"Nope. Just turn off my phone. I don't care how many messages he leaves me." You got up, downing your drink. "I'm going to get more alcohol."

"You are going to regret this in the morning." Johnny called.

"At this point, I don't fucking care. I'm done with this. He wants to date the whole world then that's up to him. Not my fault."

You stumbled into the kitchen and opened the fridge, grabbing a bottle of vodka and poured a good amount into your cup, and making your way back to the guys. "I'll regret it later, but right now, I'm getting absolutely, fucking trashed."

The movie finished, and you had drunk more than enough alcohol to kill a horse.

You were lying on the couch, the others sitting around you.

"I don't want to be in love anymore. Why can't I stop?" You slurred, your eyes closed as you lay across the couch, your head on Johnny's lap and your feet in Haechan's.

"There will be someone else. Someone better." Johnny stroked your hair, smiling softly.

"I hope so. I really fucking do." You sighed.

You were drunk, you were sad, and you had cried a lot. But you were also tired.

And within minutes, you were asleep.

Jaehyun was worried. He had texted you, and called you. His texts went unanswered, his calls went straight to voicemail, and everyone else that was with you weren't answering his texts.

"What the fuck is going on with everyone tonight?" He muttered, throwing his phone onto his bed and falling onto the pillows.

He sighed, looking up at the ceiling and wondering why you wouldn't talk to him. He had seen you walk out of the cafe, and had wondered why you hadn't waited for him, why you had left so quickly.

He had wanted to ask, but had been distracted by the pretty girl that was sitting in front of him.

He couldn't deny that she was gorgeous and that he liked the way her dress clung to her figure.

But she wasn't you.

Jaehyun sighed and looked at his phone. The girl, Minah, had asked him out, and he had said yes.

She was the most recent in a long line of girls, all of whom had asked him out. He could barely remember their names. They were just something to occupy his time, something to fill the void in his chest when his mind drifted back to you. You, his beautiful best friend, who probably doesn't think of him as anything but a friend.

Jaehyun could imagine holding you, loving you, kissing you until your lips are red and swollen, only pulling away to pepper your skin in small, soft kisses that make you giggle. He wanted to be able to run his fingers through your hair, kiss the top of your head as he pulls you against him. He could see you wrapped up in his arms as the sun comes up, your soft breaths against his skin, your fingertips gently dancing across his body.

He wanted to be with you, wanted you in his life, not these random, forgettable girls. But he didn't know how to tell you, and so he resigned himself to this half-life.

He grabbed his phone and called you again, but still it rang and rang until finally the voicemail picked up. He didn’t bother leaving another message, knowing that you were deliberately not answering.

He knew that he should probably let you be, but the worry was building inside him. He was concerned. He couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong.

It was almost 2 am and you still hadn't replied to him.

Jaehyun stood up, his mind made up. He grabbed his keys, jacket, phone, wallet, and made his way out of his apartment to head to yours.

He walked slowly, thinking about you, wondering what had happened today. Had he done something wrong? Why had you left the coffee shop without him?

He reached your apartment, surprised that the lights were still on.

He knocked loudly, waiting impatiently for someone to answer the door.

After a moment, the door opened, and Mark stood in the doorway. "Hey, can't this wait? She's asleep."

"Is she okay?" Jaehyun tried to push past the shorter man, but Mark stopped him.

"Look, man, just go home. She doesn't want to talk to you." Mark sighed.

Jaehyun gave him a look. "Why the fuck not? I'm her best friend."

"Well, you have a fucking shitty way of showing it. Do you even know what you have put her through?" Johnny walked up behind Mark and glared at Jaehyun.

Jaehyun paused. "What are you talking about?"

"You are her best friend and you are so blind that you can't see what is right in front of your eyes." Johnny continued.

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" Jaehyun furrowed his eyebrows.

"For fucks sake." Johnny sighed. "Go home, Jae. Leave her alone for now."

"Tell her I'll call her tomorrow. I'll be back to check on her." Jaehyun turned and walked away, his head full of confusion.

Mark and Johnny shared a look.

"This is getting out of hand." Mark muttered.

"It'll work out. Let's get back inside. She needs us."

They closed the door and walked back into the living room, the others glancing at them.

"Is he gone?" Haechan asked.

"Yeah, for now. But I don't know how much longer we can keep this up. If he doesn't realize how she feels soon, it will destroy her." Mark sighed.

Taeyong moved from his seat and sat on the floor next to Haechan. "How many girls has he been with now?" He asked.

"I've lost count. There was the girl at the party last week, the one with the green dress. He dated her for two days before he realized that she wasn't going to give him anything other than her time. Then there was that blonde girl, she was nice, lasted a couple of weeks." Mark listed the girls that Jaehyun had brought around and introduced to you.

"How many of those girls did he fuck?" Haechan asked.

"Too many." Mark sighed.

"And she watches them all. She sits and listens to them talk about their dates and the things they've done, and she never says anything. She pretends to be happy for him, pretends that she is okay." Johnny looked over at your sleeping form.

"This needs to end." Haechan frowned. "Can't we just lock them in a room or something? Let them fuck it out or something? Surely it has to happen at some point."

"I'm with him." Taeyong looked at the rest of them.

"That...I guess that would work." Johnny nodded slowly.

"I could knock her out." Mark stood. "Give her something to drink, make it sweet or something... I could pick her up, put her somewhere..."

"No, Mark. No." Taeyong stopped him. "I'm pretty sure drugging her is illegal, even if you are doing it for a good cause. We don't need you getting arrested as well."

"Fine, fine." Mark threw his hands up and flopped down beside Haechan.

"Doesn't have to be drug-free." Haechan suggested.

"Again, Hae, not helping. We need Y/N and Jaehyun conscious if this is to go ahead." Johnny explained patiently.

"Yo, isn't the summer frat party coming up? We could lock them up in the laundry room since the door lock is broken?" Mark asked. “Like that shit won’t unlock from the inside.”

"Who knows what they could do then...no, wait. What if we kept them under a watch, like literally, all the time, until the frat party. At which point, we shove him in with her and she will have nowhere to escape to." Johnny sat up straight, eyes wide, an excited smile on his face.

"Okay. So far we have a plan to trap them at a frat party, and make sure they won't have any outside influences." Taeyong leaned back.

"Any other suggestions before we call this a success?" Johnny asked.

"Don't get caught." Haechan replied, grinning.

"Don't. Get. Caught." The others nodded.

[djuvlipen]

Femicide rates in Iran up by 60% in two years, report says

A new report has highlighted an alarming trend of increasing femicide cases amid an ongoing pattern of violence against women and girls in Iran.

According to the report by Etemad Daily, in the first three months of the Iranian calendar in 2024 alone (March 20 to June 21), at least 35 women and girls were murdered by their close male relatives, particularly their husbands.

The number is a 25 percent increase from the 28 recorded during the same period in 2023 and a 59% rise from the 22 deaths in 2022.

A massive 85 percent of the murders were committed by the victims' husbands and cases were spread across the country. In 2022, 16 women were killed by their husbands, followed by 15 in 2023, with a sharp increase to 27 in 2024 amid the climate of state crackdowns on women and girls.

Rights activists point to Iran’s laws and patriarchal society based on Islamic law as the primary cause of femicide which has worsened since 2022.

Conditions for women have become so bad that the United Nations branded Iran's policy as "gender apartheid" as state policy legitimizes violence against women.

Honor killings can be carried out for as little as not wearing the mandatory hijab, bringing shame on the family.

UN Women says these gender-related killings are the “most brutal and extreme manifestation of violence against women and girls. According to the latest UN Women report, globally on average, more than 133 women or girls are killed every day by someone in their own family.

Speaking to Iran International, Iranian feminist and human rights activist, Mina Khani, highlighted the lack of accurate statistics in Iran amid heavy censorship and corruption, and the state's own involvement in committing femicide.

Official figures suggest numbers even lower than Germany, she said, with massive discrepancies in both the reporting and recording of such crimes.

"In this context, human rights statistics are crucial," she said. "Organizations like Hengaw report femicide statistics in Iran based on the cases they document, as there is no official statistical reference for human rights organizations to rely on,” Khani stated.

Norway-based rights organization, Hengaw, identified that "at least 50 cases of femicide have been recorded in various cities of Iran since the beginning of 2024.

Khani noted "the state's failure to take legal measures to protect women from domestic violence".

She said, "Instead, the regime has legalized violence attributed to honor and gender-based violence against women, and it also engages in state-sponsored femicides".

High profile cases such as Mahsa Amini and Armita Geravand, who both died in morality police custody, exemplify the role of the state, she said, which "has never been held accountable".

Soraya Fallah, an Iranian researcher and women’s rights activist touched on the surge and prevalence of femicide in Iran adding that the situation highlights an “urgent need for serious measures to change laws and address cultural issues in Iran.”

Fallah echoed Khani’s statements, blaming Iran's discriminatory laws for fueling the femicide crisis.

“The Islamic government of Iran has institutionalized unequal laws and their implementation, enabling crimes like honor killings. These laws, such as Article 630, provide legal grounds for such acts, fueling patriarchal violence," she said.

Article 630 of the Islamic Penal Code allows a man to kill his wife and her partner if he catches them in the act of consensual adultery, without facing any punishment. This law exclusively targets women. Additionally, a father or paternal grandfather who kills their child is exempt from the retribution sentence, known as Qesas.

"The Islamic Republic uses these laws to maintain power and perpetuate these issues within society. Comprehensive legal and cultural changes are crucial to address these deep-rooted problems and protect women's rights in Iran," she added.

The state’s crackdown on charities dedicated to supporting women experiencing domestic violence further add to the crisis with the UN calling for legal reform to empower women in Iran.

Amnesty International last year said, "The Iranian authorities’ oppressive methods of policing women and girls and punishes those who dare to stand up for their rights".

"To this day, not a single Iranian official has been held accountable for ordering, planning and committing widespread and systematic human rights violations against women and girls through the implementation of compulsory veiling," it added.

[gotham-daydreams]

What would've happened if Y/n wasn't even in Gotham? Maybe they went to another country or something

If that did happen, then I think the Batfam would put their connections to good use (superhero or otherwise)!

Bruce Wayne would report the reader as missing, and they'd effectively have everyone and their mom on the reader's ass, and lets just say that Y/n wouldn't be gone for long. Especially not when the Batfam has connects with the Superfam and, well, I don't think I really need to mention anything besides they have incredible hearing and can fly super fast. (Alfred definitely shows some of them recordings and such he has of the reader so they know what the reader looks like, and what their voice sounds like if they don't know the reader already. Even if one of members of the Superfam probably does, even if I don't know who that'd be in particular.)

Granted it may still take them a while because the reader is one whole person in a world full of billions of them, but if there is one trait the Batfam shares is that they are absolutely relentless. Some are more stubborn than others, yes, but stubborn nonetheless.

Eventually they'd find the reader, and considering who these people are, along with who they're working with at this point, I can imagine that they'd find the reader pretty quickly considering things.

Not to mention that the reader is a pretty well known musician at this rate (albeit not to a super popular/famous degree, but well known enough for people on the street to kind of notice who they are in a little surprised but mostly casual way), and most likely has no idea that the Batfam is even looking for them until they see an article of them, or one of their friends mentions that they're apparently "missing".

Which gets extra awkward because, well- obviously they're just living their life at this point, and still making music because it's their passion and dream. They're not just going to stop because they left the manor, and have probably released a few songs with a performance of theirs coming up. Even if the location may not be disclosed yet, it's like the announcement itself cements the reader's fate. Since it's almost acting as a signal that's like a "hey!! i'm here!!" And again, this is a family full of Detectives and such, they can get details from most places other people probably wouldn't.

So, maybe they'd find the reader after a few weeks to a month or two at the very latest. Especially with them, at this point, going full yandere because they've been obsessively looking for the reader over however long it took them to find them. That obsession of the Batfam's growing more and more by the day, and their own paranoia and worries fueling each others. Maybe it even gets to Damian a little, who knows.

Regardless, whenever they find Y/n they are at their wits end. Now it isn't even up for debate if they kidnap the reader or not. They will. They do.

It's swift, it's sloppy, it's impulsive, it's reckless, and even it isn't thought out at all, it's quick. Almost painless.

They all just want to hold the reader and say all these things — but they can't. Not here. Not while Y/n isn't home. Not yet. But they will. Soon.

Whoever holds the reader first doesn't get to hold them for long. They're practically snatched and grabbed from all of the members of the family as they fight over the Reader's unconscious body like starved, savage dogs trying to get that last bit of meat before they have to endure the pains of hunger again.

Eventually, they do settle, especially thanks to Batman and Alfred, and decide who would be the best fit to carry the reader for the rest of the trip. That sparks another fight, but eventually someone is chosen, and some of them even take turns as everyone heads back to Gotham, returning home safely with the reader. Bringing them back home. To their real home.

Safe to say, the reader's freedom? Absolutely taken away, it practically doesn't exist anymore. Along with their personal space, as the Batfam needs a BIG recharge after all that searching, and the reader is just the thing they need. Expect a lot of hugs and a bunch of boundaries to get broken within that first month or so. They're never letting go, not ever again.

Tldr: Reader is still fucked either way, but it does take the Batfam significantly more time to find them, and when they do the family is basically mentally fucked over. All screws scattered on the floor- everything. So they're a little less lenient and immediately jump the gun, just that much closer to completely losing their mind, and so despite being so far away — the Reader is immediately brought back to Gotham once found, has basically all of their rights stripped away from them, and is suffocated in affections, hugs, cuddles, and the like for over a month into their captivity as a result. No exceptions. Not anymore.

Hope this answered your question! If anyone else has a question, or you yourself have something else you'd like to know the answer to, feel free to send in an ask! If you'd also like me to clarify something or anything like that, an ask is the way to go a well!

[reasonsforhope]

"International climate negotiations have long been haunted by a broken promise.

In the wake of collapsed negotiations at the United Nations climate conference in Copenhagen in 2009, wealthy nations, led by the United States, pledged to provide developing countries with $100 billion in climate-related aid annually by 2020.

The money was meant in part to ease tensions between the rich countries that had contributed the most to climate change historically and the poorer nations that disproportionately suffer the effects of a warming planet.

But rich countries fell short of the target in both 2020 and 2021, deepening mistrust and stymying progress during the annual United Nations climate conferences, which are known by the abbreviation COP.

A new report from the Organization for Economic Cooperation and Development, or OECD, confirms what the international organization began to suspect just before last year’s COP28: that wealthy nations finally surpassed the $100 billion goal in 2022.

And while they were two years late delivering on their promise, rich countries partially compensated for their earlier shortfalls, contributing nearly $116 billion in climate aid to developing countries in 2022, according to the latest data available.

That additional funding helps fill the roughly $27 billion gap resulting from rich countries’ failure to meet the $100 billion threshold in each of the two years prior.

“If you underachieved in the first two years, overachieving in the rest of the period is a good way to make up for that, to make amends,” said Joe Thwaites, a climate finance expert at the Natural Resources Defense Council, a U.S.-based environmental nonprofit.

Even $100 billion, however, is far lower than the developing world’s estimated need. United Nations-backed research projects that developing countries (excluding China) will need an eye-popping $2.4 trillion per year by 2030 to transition away from fossil fuels and adapt to climate change.

Serious questions also remain about the quality and accounting of the existing funding. According to the OECD report, more than two-thirds of the public finance in 2022 was provided in the form of loans rather than no-strings-attached grants.

That means developing countries are required to pay the money back, often with interest at market rates...

Such findings are likely to inform talks next week [the last week of June, 2024], as climate negotiators meet in Bonn, Germany, in preparation for COP29 in Baku, Azerbaijan, at the end of the year. Negotiators need to agree on a new collective goal for climate aid to developing countries this year.

So far, different countries have submitted a range of proposals, with some nations floating $1 trillion annually as an appropriate number. Wealthy countries also want to expand their ranks so that some relatively rich countries that are technically classified as “developing,” like the oil-rich states of the Persian Gulf, can contribute funds toward the goal. Historically, only countries that the United Nations designated as “developed” in the 1990s have been on the hook...

If countries continue to provide a similar level of funding for the next few years, they could make up for the shortfall. “Making up for 2020 and 2021, meeting the goal in those two years, could help rebuild a bit of trust,” Thwaites added...

The report indicated specific progress on funding for adaptation measures like sea walls and disaster-resilient infrastructure, an oft-overlooked area of climate finance. In 2021, countries pledged to double adaptation finance from the $19 billion provided in 2019 to $38 billion by 2025. According to the OECD report, adaptation funding had already risen to $32.4 billion one year after the pledge."

-via GoodGoodGood, June 20, 2024

[binsito]

persistent

pairing: bang chan x fem reader

genre: fratboy!chan, pining

word count: 1.9k

rating: mature, includes: unprotected sex, titty fucking, swearing, mentions of alcohol and consumption, mentions of smoking and thr*wing up bc of alcohol, little bit of oral (f & m receiving), fingering, little bit of a cumshot, chan cums inside (sorry it's the breeding kink in me), reader flashes chan but it's welcomed bc he likes her

chan was so tired of you playing hard to get, it had been a full semester of him pining after you hopelessly. 

he did literally everything to get your attention. from the corny things such as dropping a pen under your desk (he wasn’t trying to be a pervert but he definitely got a peak under your skirt), to being painfully good at beer pong to impress you.

he was so used to girls flocking around him, throwing themselves at his feet and dying to fuck him. so why were you so difficult? and why was he so persistent in chasing you? he had first met you in class during the summer semester, he had to take a course during break and he was dreading it - that was until he saw you sitting in class across from him.

he thought you were the prettiest girl he had ever seen on campus. were you new? he had never seen you before. he tried small talking, asking you about class or the homework and once he grew a pair, he finally invited you to one of his silly little fraternity parties. you showed up but were instantly turned off by the crowd. you thought it was funny how girls were idolizing these mediocre men that were chugging beer and being loud. he spotted you but you seemed unamused. you weren’t really in the market for a frat boyfriend. before he had a chance to catch up to you, you had started walking to the door and he was tugged away by his buddies. you assumed he would stop pursuing you after that night but you were oh so wrong.. it only fueled his desire for you even more. you figured it was some type of ego thing, maybe no one had turned him down before? maybe he was so used to expecting sex from women? you found it absolutely hilarious. he was hopeless, you thought. he couldn’t be serious about this.

the blatant flirting was laughable, he was horrible at it. bad pick up line after bad pick up line. you were absolutely sick of him (you weren’t, you were throughly amused). he’d try to convince you to help him study, but you knew damn well studying would be the last thing on his mind if you were to spend time alone with him in a room for hours. he was losing his head over you, growing so frustrated. if only you’d give him a single chance. 

he would try following you out of class, seeing you were headed towards the cafe to grab a coffee. he’d offer to pay for your drink which only earned him a teasing smile and a soft “thanks, chan.” what the fuck did he have to do to get you to want him back?

it was now two months of his stupid antics, at least his determination was kind of sexy. you couldn’t lie, he was a pretty attractive guy, but you just assumed it would be one and done with him and you had too much dignity to tussle in the sheets with a frattie. besides, seeing him struggle was a source of entertainment for you. why stop when seeing him go crazy over you was so enthralling and humorous? his friends encouraged him to get a fucking grip and find another girl, but his mind was already set on you. he was pathetic.

but the last thing he expected was to see you show up to his latest party. it was now the start of the fall semester and the frat house was absolutely packed. freshmen had rushed the placed to get their hands on some free drinks, meet people and have a dip in the pool. there was barely any arm space between people, bodies meshing as they danced to the loud music, chan was on top of a makeshift stage, holding a microphone and singing drunkenly as lights flashed through the place. solo cup in his hand as he swayed to the music. but even through the haze, he was still able to pick you out. suddenly feeling self conscious and passing the microphone to whoever was next to him. he jumped off and basically shoved people out of his way, attempting to get to you as fast as possible before you slipped away.

you waited until he was close enough to see you were making your way to the stairs, quickly following after you. the party was downstairs so there was barely anyone up on the second floor except for people hurling or smoking. “baby girl wait-“ he tried calling out but you had made your way into an empty room, of course he walked in after you.

and then he’s faced with you. you’re staring right at him, eyes locked on him as you sported a flirty smile. god, you looked so stunning, cropped white baby tee accentuating your tits so perfectly. low rise baggy jeans with your hair up - you were totally his dream girl, he just had to have you.

“what are you doing here? i-i didn’t think you’d be here?” he says, eyes wide as he watches you.

and his dick could fucking cry, he had to be hallucinating. there was no way this was reality. was he black out drunk?

because without even caring to respond to him, you had lifted up your tee slowly, the fabric running against your nipples as you flashed him your supple boobs, slightly bouncing at their release.

his breath catches in his throat, he was deemed speechless, not daring to peel his eyes away because this was something from his wildest dreams. tits on display for him to ogle at. was he seeing shit or were they pierced? how was he even supposed to react? the solo cup in his hand shaking as his hand trembled, almost making a mess on himself.

he opens his mouth to speak but nothing comes out. you save him the trouble and completely take your shirt off. walking towards him and kneeling in front of him. “let me see that cock of yours, channie..” you said as you cupped his erection, the music faintly buzzing in his ears as you rubbed him through his jeans.

he would be insane to pass up on this opportunity, quickly dropping his pants along with his boxers and letting it pool by his feet. cock springing out and twitching. it was so cute how painfully hard he was, precum bubbling at his tip. you spat on his cock, stroking it a few times as you giggled at the whimpers that left his pretty mouth. he was so weak for you, chugging the last few sips left in his solo cup and tossing it into the abyss of the messy room before trying to entangle his fingers in your soft hair. “nuh uh.. hands off, silly..” you scolded him with a smile. he quickly dropped his hands from your hair and brought them up behind his head, interlocking his fingers and kicking his head back into it. 

the way you were so casual about ruining him was making his knees buckle, eyes on him as you pressed his cock between your tits, bouncing them up and down his length. he could die right then and there and have zero complaints. sticking your tongue to let his cock come in contact with it whenever it poked from in between your chest. he could barely think, he didn’t want to close his eyes, wanted to imprint this in his memories forever. he was fighting for his life to not cum but it just felt so damn good.

“f-fuck baby.. w-why do you tease me so much.. i-it’s not fair..” he whines

you stop moving your tits on him briefly to give his tip a suck, one that pulls a loud moan from him. your mouth was so sweet and warm, he was hoping you’d let him fuck it later but he didn’t want to get ahead of himself. he wasn’t greedy, whatever you gave him right now, he would take.

“i liked watching you squirm.. you’re so needy..” you said as you planted a kiss on his cock. you wanted to taste him, pumping him vigorously with your breasts while you kept his tip in your mouth, moaning and feeling his cock twitch. he couldn’t hold it anymore, spurting his cum in your mouth and trying to stop himself but it was too late.

you popped him out of your mouth after you got a taste, letting the rest drip on your chest, leaving you all messy.  he never knew how much he needed the sight of you covered in his cum before until now. he was still hard, cockhead screaming red, dying to plunge into you and destroy your sweet pussy.

you got up and sat on the end of the bed, discarding the rest of your clothes and laying back, pressing your legs to your chest to let him get a look at your slick cunt. you were sopping and he just needed a taste. he rushed over and quickly got between your legs, licking two fingers and then rubbing you with them, he knew your moans would sound pretty, the way you heaved and clenched around nothing. he leaned down to lick a stripe in between your folds, just as he expected - you tasted perfect.

he then brings his fingers down and begins scissoring you open for him. “gonna stretch you out kay? g-gonna fuck you open with my fingers. want your pretty cunt to be able to take my cock..” but even as he said that, his voice faltered, he was barely able to contain himself, moaning at your own pleasure. he was enjoying the way you drenched his fingers, how they sucked him in greedily. your walls were so soft, he couldn't wait to shove his cock into you, have the warmth envelope him and milk him dry.

“c-cock channie.. please my god.. j-just fucking give it to me already.” you whined, having had enough of his fingers. you wanted him, the real deal. his thick cock that was making your mouth water. you were losing patience and now you finally knew how he felt.

he chuckles to himself at your desperation, he thought you’d never ask! quickly pulling away and giving himself a few pumps before lining himself up, collecting some of your slick with his cockhead before pressing in, bottoming out so easily because you were so incredibly turned on.

the way you wrapped around him and pulled him close, the way you brought his face to yours and sloppily made out with him while he bucked into you was making him crumble. strong arms holding your legs apart and folding them into you, wanting to reach as deep as he possibly could. cock kissing your cervix so perfectly you could feel tears brimming in your eyes. it was a shame how perfectly his cock fit inside you, you were starting to regret making him wait so long for you. 

the bed rattled but no one was going to hear, the music was still making the house shake. the fact that no one was aware of your little rendevouz was making you reach your peak. white building up in your tummy as you gripped chan’s bicep, moaning when you felt your orgasm wash over you, chan quickly chasing another one. stilling his hips in you and pumping you full of his cum as he groaned out. his body was shiny with sweat and his curls stuck to his forehead. “w-we fucking have to do this again..” he begs “please skip class next tuesday and let me fuck you silly.. i have so much to give you” he laughs, suddenly feeling so shy and so aware of what had just happened. he finally got want he wanted, but he still wanted more. he was hoping this would be an exclusive reoccurring thing. maybe he’d finally be able to take you on a date?

please refrain from reposting, modifying, translating, copying or stealing my work. - © binsito

[ghostinthelibrarywrites]

Like the slumber that creeps to me

My first fic for @painlandweek has been posted! You can either read the first few scenes below or find the whole thing here on AO3.

Prompt: Sickfic

Length: 13.5K words

Rating: T

Warnings: none

Summary: While on a case, Charles falls victim to a cursed necklace that causes everyone who touches it to sicken and die. While his friends frantically search for a way to break the curse, a weakening Charles has plenty of time to think about his feelings for his best mate.

Excerpt:

“I fear that I will never understand the living,” Edwin says as they climb the seven flights of stairs to their office on the top floor. He hasn’t groused about not being able to mirror travel with Crystal tagging along once, which tells Charles how off-kilter tonight’s case left him. “They hear about Hell, renowned for being the worst place in existence, and they think, ‘perhaps I should create something just like that and keep it in my pantry.’ Honestly.”

“I don’t think you can blame that on the sorcerer being living,” Crystal says acidly. She doesn’t sound even a little out of breath; she’s acclimating to this climb. “You can blame it on him being a toxic douchebag who wanted to punish his enemies so badly he couldn’t wait for Hell to do it.”

“And now he’s a toxic douchebag stuck in a pocket dimension of his own making, isn’t he?” Charles probably should feel a little bad about trapping the sorcerer in the fire and brimstone hellscape in his pantry, but the way he sees it, he was an evil cunt who had it coming. Russell Mathers had been a surprisingly powerful, if self-taught, sorcerer and he’d used all that power to enact revenge on his enemies. Except, he’d had a very loose definition of what made an enemy: his victims ranged from an academic rival to a colleague that had spurned his advances to the twelve-year-old neighbor boy that trod on his lawn one too many times.

It had been the twelve year old’s spirit who had brought them the case, sobbing in their office about having escaped from the fires of Hell. Edwin’s hands shook for the rest of the day and for that alone, Charles couldn’t feel too bad for closing the door to the pocket dimension in Mathers’s smug fucking face.

“Anyway, it’s done with.” Charles pushes the memories of the raging inferno of hellfire inside the dimension away. He’s been trying real hard not to “keep things bottled up,” like Crystal accused him of doing, since Port Townsend, but this is one thing he thinks he can bottle up for now. “Sorcerer can’t hurt anyone anymore, his victims are avenged, and your wards should stop anyone else from wandering in, Edwin. Case closed.”

“Job officially jobbed,” Crystal and Edwin say at the same time, then look at each other suspiciously. Charles grins down at them. It’s adorable how surprised they both are by the fact that they’re friends now.

“And now I think we’ve earned a break, yeah?” Charles pushes open the door of the office and finds the Night Nurse standing there, standing with her arms folded over her chest and a narrow-eyed look like she’s just caught them out past curfew.

“Evening, Charlie,” Charles says brightly, just to see her eye twitch. Look, he’s mostly forgiven her for cornering him and Edwin in Port Townsend and accidentally getting Edwin sent to Hell, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t think he’s earned the right to needle her a bit.

“You’re finally back. I was starting to think you were out… gallivanting.” She says “gallivanting” in the same tone she might accuse them of attending a drug-fueled orgy.

“Oh yeah, loads of gallivanting.” Charles props his elbow on Edwin’s shoulder. “Right, Edwin? We gallivanted right into a sorcerer’s house, where we saved the latest girl he’d tossed into a pocket dimension full of hellfire.”

“And kicked him in for good measure,” Crystal adds.

Charles nods. “It was a real good time. You should have been there, Charlie.”

“You would have loved the pocket dimension.” Crystal smiles in a way that suggests she would have dropkicked the Night Nurse in herself, given half the chance. Charles and Edwin may have mostly forgiven the Night Nurse for Port Townsend, but Crystal never will. She doesn’t take people fucking with Charles or Edwin kindly. Charles finds himself smiling at her dopily and has to turn away. He catches Edwin shooting Crystal a fond look and finds himself smiling dopily at his best mate instead, which isn’t any better.

“Well, now that you’re back, there’s another case,” the Night Nurse says huffily. “And she’s been waiting for hours.”

“Already?” Charles was about to suggest a night of playing Cluedo and not thinking about any fire and brimstone pocket dimensions. “We just got back.”

She glares at him. “Death waits for no one, young man. If you wanted leisure, you should have moved on to your tranquil afterlife.”

Charles grins at her. “And miss your smiling face? Wouldn’t dream of it.”

Edwin steps forward with an exasperated sigh, though Charles isn’t sure which of them his exasperation is aimed at. “Who is the client?”

***

Miss Paula Morris appears to be somewhere between forty and fifty, with a cloud of long, silvery blond hair, horn-rimmed glasses, and dangling earrings shaped like goldfish. She doesn’t appear to be a madwoman, but that seems to be the only explanation for the story she’s telling them.

“So, your beau knew the necklace was cursed when he gave it to you?” Edwin stares at her across the desk, pen poised over his notebook. The living—or in her case, the very recently living—continue to confound him. “And you accepted the gift? Willingly?”

“Oh, yes.” Miss Morris smiles a little sadly. “Raymond knew how much I like spooky stuff. He was always doing thoughtful things like that.”

“Spooky stuff,” Edwin echoes.

“Oh, the usual things. Tarot decks, Ouija boards, cursed dolls.”

He suppresses a shudder. “And so he gave you a necklace that purportedly causes everyone who touches it to sicken and die within three days.”

“He said he found it on Ebay.”

Edwin turns to Crystal helplessly.

“It’s like an online auction house.” She pats him on the shoulder. “I’ll show you later.”

“Raymond didn’t think it would actually make me sick,” Miss Morris says. “Just like my cursed dolls didn’t actually put me in an eternal sleep.”

Edwin shudders again.

“So Raymond gave you the cursed necklace.” Charles leans forward, wearing that winning smile of his. “What happened next?”

Miss Morris’s smile dims. “The next day, he called me and said he felt like he was coming down with something. I felt fine until I was coming home from my book club that night and I started feeling faint. It just felt like the flu. I was tired, a little dizzy, and I had a fever. I couldn’t stop sleeping. Every time I talked to Raymond, he sounded terrible, and then he stopped taking my calls. Yesterday morning, I fell asleep and when I woke up last night, I was dead.”

Edwin gives her a moment to collect himself, cognizant of Charles and Crystal’s lectures on bedside manner. “And Raymond?” he asks after what he feels is a sensitive amount of time, at least ten seconds.

She sniffles. “Oh, he died right around the time I fell asleep. His daughter is the one who found my body when she came to tell me this morning. Otherwise, I don’t know how long I would have laid there.”

“And you’re sure it was the necklace?” Crystal asks.

“I don’t know what else it could have been. Raymond and I were both perfectly healthy up until the day after our date. Three days later, we were both dead.”

“Did he say anything about the seller?” Edwin asks quickly, because he can see Miss Morris is getting emotional.

She shakes her head. “Just that the necklace came from America.”

“Thank you.” Edwin jots that down in his notebook. “We typically do not carry out revenge missions and even if we did, the person who sold Raymond the necklace is most likely beyond revenge. If this necklace’s magic is as potent as you say, it’s safe to assume that they’re already dead.”

“What Edwin means to say.” Charles props himself on the desk, all easy charm. “Is what can we do to help you move on?”

Miss Morris smiles at him, because people are always smiling at Charles. “The necklace is still in my house and my sister and niece will be coming up tomorrow to go through my things. I don’t want them to find it and touch it. It’s a beautiful emerald necklace and green is their favorite color.. I’m afraid that if one of them finds it and takes it home…”

“That they’ll become victims of the curse too,” Crystal says when she trails off. “So you want us to break into your house and get the necklace?”

“Yes, please.” Miss Morris reaches up to toy with one of her earrings. “Allison and Maeve are my only family. I’ve already lost Raymond. I don’t want anything to happen to them.”

Edwin closes his notebook and exchanges looks with Charles and Crystal. It seems like a straightforward case, just the thing after the ugly business with Russell Mathers and his pocket dimension. The sorcerer was just the latest in a line of harrowing cases and Edwin knows his partners are starting to feel the strain. If all they have to do for Miss Morris is break into her home and steal a necklace before tomorrow, this should be a simple affair.

Charles nods and Edwin turns back to Miss Morris. “We’ll be happy to take your case, Miss Morris. But now, the matter of your payment.”

***

“Dear lord.” Edwin stares around Paula Morris’s house with the expression of someone who’s found himself back in the depths of Hell.

“Come on, mate.” Charles nudges him in the shoulder. “It’s not that bad.”

“It is that bad. How on earth are we supposed to find anything here? No wonder she can’t remember exactly where she left it. Amelia Earhardt’s lost plane is probably hidden somewhere among this rubbish.”

Paula Morris’s house seems like exactly the type of place that would belong to someone who’d fancy a cursed necklace as a gift from her boyfriend. It’s covered from wall to wall in stuff: old-timey portraits hanging on the walls, knick-knacks cluttering every surface, too much mismatched furniture for the small space. Charles kind of loves it, but he can see how it would overwhelm Edwin.

There’s a knock on the door behind them. “Are you going to let me in, or should I stand on a dead lady’s porch all night until the neighbors come over to see what I’m doing?”

“Sorry, Crystal.” Charles turns to let her in with an apologetic smile.

She looks around with a raised eyebrow. “Holy shit.”

“I know.” Edwin sighs. “It’s dreadful.”

“I don’t know, it’s kind of cute. Definitely fits Paula’s witchy vibe.”

“Should we expect to find a giant snake in the basement?” Edwin asks acidly, pressing on before anyone can answer. “We only have a few hours until Miss Morris’s relatives arrive, so we should start our hunt. Crystal, you take the kitchen and the powder room. Charles, you the living room and office. I’ll take the master bed and bath.”

Charles frowns. “You think it’s a good idea to split up? Splitting up on the last case almost got Crystal dragged into a pocket dimension.”

“I do not believe we have to worry about any pocket dimensions this time, Charles. The woman handled a cursed necklace on purpose. A magical mastermind she is not.”

“You know most people don’t really believe in curses, right?” Crystal says. “It’s the same reason little girls play Bloody Mary at sleepovers. They don’t actually expect a knife-wielding ghost to pop out of the mirror.”

“They should,” Edwin says. “Charles and I encountered Bloody Mary herself on a case in 1993. A very unpleasant woman.”

Charles shrugs. “She wasn’t that bad.”

“You only say that because she told you that you had a lovely smile before she tried to stab you.”

“I do have a pretty nice smile, don’t I?” Charles grins at him.

Edwin turns a bit pink around the ears. “She certainly thought so,” he says and turns on his heel, striding down the hall towards the bedroom.

Charles instantly feels awful. In the months since Port Townsend, he keeps finding himself saying shit like that without thinking. He doesn’t mean to tease Edwin or play with his feelings. But he can’t stop himself from testing the waters, seeing if Edwin still feels the way he did back then. They haven’t said a word about Edwin’s confession on the steps of Hell since they returned to London. It would almost seem like a hallucination his terrified mind conjured, if not for the fact that every detail still plays in vivid color in his head every time he has five minutes to himself to think.

He doesn’t want to hurt Edwin. He’d rather cut off his own hand than ever make Edwin doubt he’s the center of Charles’s universe. So Charles doesn’t know why he can’t stop trying to see if he can make Edwin blush.

“Guess we’re splitting up.” Crystal gives Charles a look that’s a bit too knowing, then picks something off the kitchen table.

“Don’t pick up any necklaces,” Charles tells her as he heads towards the master bedroom.

“Thanks, Charles, I was definitely going to pick up every cursed necklace I find. How else would I want to spend my weekend, except dying slowly of a magical illness?”

Charles doesn’t know why he surrounds himself with so many adorable, brilliant smartasses. He goes into the living room to poke around a bit. He doesn’t see any necklaces, though he does find a half dozen half-drunk mugs of tea, several lost earrings in between the couch cushions, and a crystal ball that he slips into his backpack to give to Crystal for her birthday because she’ll hate it. He’s checking under the couch when he hears a sound he’s been constantly listening for since Port Townsend: Edwin’s terrified scream.

Charles phases through the wall in an instant, cricket bat already drawn and ready to go. But he doesn’t find a giant snake, a demon ready to drag Edwin to Hell, or even a mad sorcerer with a penchant for pocket dimensions. Instead, he finds Edwin standing in front of an open closet, grip on the door white-knuckled and eyes enormous. On the top shelf of the closet, there’s a row of glassy-eyed, chubby-cheeked baby dolls.

“Bloody hell, mate.” Charles puts his hand over his chest. “You scared the shit out of me.”

“Apologies.” Edwin swallows hard as he steps back from the closet. “They just startled me. I’m being silly.”

“Nothing silly about it.” Charles looks at Edwin’s frozen expression, far too close to the one he wore while watching a demon made of baby dolls tear his body apart, then turns to the row of dolls. With a single swing of his cricket bat, he knocks the baby dolls over, sending them shattering to the hardwood floor. Bits of porcelain scatter everywhere and a single blue eye stares accusingly up at Charles. He crushes it under the heel of his boot.

“That was unnecessary,” Edwin says peevishly as Crystal comes skidding into the room.

“Are you both okay?” Crystal asks.

Edwin heaves a sigh. “We’re fine. Charles was feeling… dramatic.” But there’s a soft curve to his lips as he ducks his head and Charles feels his own lips curling into a smile in response. “You do realize one of those dolls was allegedly cursed, don’t you, Charles?”

Charles shrugs. “What are the chances Paula got her hands on two genuinely cursed objects?”

“I hope you’re right, because if we find ourselves haunted by a cursed baby doll, you and I will have words.” With one last glance at the heap of broken dolls, Edwin turns away.

Charles hesitates, not wanting to leave Edwin again, not so soon after hearing him scream. There may not have been any real danger, but there could have been. Looking around, he catches a glint of something green in the bathroom.

“Hold on.” Charles ducks into the loo and sure enough, there’s the necklace that Paula described, a gold chain with a pear-shaped emerald pendant, haloed by tiny diamonds. It sits on the counter next to the toothbrush holder, probably removed right before Paula went to bed the night she went out for a nice dinner with her boyfriend for the last time. “Found it!”

“Excellent work, Charles.” Edwin follows him into the bathroom, looking pleased, and Charles can’t help but feel the usual warm glow he gets whenever his friend tells him he’s done well.

“It was right out on the counter,” Charles says. “Not much detective work required, was it?”

“Still very well-spotted.” Edwin holds out a hand and Charles reaches into his bag to produce a magnifying glass. Edwin bends to examine the necklace closer. After a moment, he says, “I see no runes or other obvious signs of a curse, but that doesn’t necessarily mean anything. We can perform a closer examination back at the office.”

“Aces.” Charles reaches for the necklace.

Edwin grabs Charles’s wrist, his grip tight enough that Charles can almost feel warmth, like he’s a living boy with a living hand touching him. “Careful.”

Charles blinks down at Edwin’s elegant fingers, unsure why the sight of them gripping his wrist makes him feel strangely off-kilter. “What? This is what we’re here for, isn’t it?”

“That necklace has killed at least two people that we know of. Until we know more about this curse, caution is in order.”

“Right.” Charles looks up at him, a shit-eating grin spreading across his face. “Mate, I’ve got some bad news for you. You might want to sit down.”

Edwin rolls his eyes at the ceiling, like he knows what’s coming. “Charles—”

“See, I’ve been dead since 1989. You were there, remember?”

“It rings a bell,” Edwin says, clearly trying his hardest to look annoyed.

“And I know it might be a shock to learn your best mate of thirty-five years is a ghost—”

“Are you quite finished?”

Behind Edwin, Crystal snorts.

Edwin turns to glare at her. “Do not encourage him, Crystal, I beg you.”

“I hope we can still be friends.” Charles can’t quite suppress a giggle. Then Crystal starts to laugh and Charles can’t help it; he starts too.

“You are both insufferable,” Edwin tells them gravely. “Can we please get on with the case?”

“Got it, mate.” Charles snatches up the necklace. At Edwin’s incredulous look, he shrugs. “Should I have asked it nicely to get into my bag?”

“I was going to suggest using a towel.”

Oh, right. Charles hadn’t thought of that. He drops the necklace into his bag and flexes his hand. “I’m wearing gloves, aren’t I? Everything’s aces, mate.”

Edwin sighs. “Crystal, please remind me to discuss Charles’s impetuous behavior once we’ve seen Miss Morris off to her afterlife.”

“You say we need to discuss that at least once a week,” Crystal says. “Twice so far this week.”

“And this time, I mean it.” Edwin looks around the bathroom with an imperious air, probably judging the smears of toothpaste in the sink and the mismatched towels. “Now, let us please exit this den of chaos. I shudder to think what else is in here.”

***

“You really do need to be more careful, Charles.”

“Can’t lecture me during boxing lessons, mate. If you’re distracted, that means you get two lessons this week.”

“That was not part of the agreement.”

“I’m the teacher, aren’t I? Think it’s the agreement if I say it is.”

Edwin huffs. It’s just before dawn, Crystal is back at her flat with Niko, the Night Nurse is off doing whatever she does when she’s not assigning them new cases, and he and Charles have a rare moment of peace. A rare moment of peace that Charles has insisted on sullying with boxing lessons, of all things. After Port Townsend, Edwin reluctantly agreed to one boxing lesson per week. He doesn’t think knowing how to throw a punch would have helped him against Esther Finch, the Cat King, or a demon from Hell, but it seems to make Charles feel better.

“You should know by now that, ghost or not, curses are not something that we trifle with.” Edwin throws a punch, which Charles easily blocks. “Do we really need a repeat of the Case of the Cursed Mirror?”

“That curse targeted ghosts specifically, didn’t it? I’m not going to get the flu from a necklace.”

“And you know that for sure, do you? Researched the origins of this curse thoroughly?”

He throws another punch and the next thing he knows, Charles has grabbed his arm, spun him around, and has Edwin’s back pressed against his chest, grip firm but gentle on Edwin’s wrist, which is pinned between them.

“That’s the third right hook you’ve thrown in a row.” Charles’s voice is low in his ear, sending a shiver up his spine. “What have I said about being predictable?”

Edwin is having trouble remembering any conversation they’ve ever had. Charles’s hip is pressed against his backside and it’s absurdly distracting.

“Being predictable gives your opponent a chance to plan their next move. You don’t want that. That’s how you end up in trouble.”

Edwin swallows. “And then you come along with your bat and get me out of trouble.”

“And what if I’m not there?”

“You will be.”

With a sound that’s half-laugh, half-sigh, Charles releases him, letting Edwin turn to face him. “Wish you had enough faith in me when it comes to cursed necklaces as when it comes to fighting.”

Edwin rubs his wrist, even though it doesn’t hurt a bit. Even if he were a human whose wrists could be bruised or broken, Charles would never be so careless with him. “And I wish you cared about your own safety half as much as you care about mine.”

“Not possible.” Charles’s eyes go soft. “I’d never get anything done, would I? I’d be too busy worrying.”

Edwin’s nonexistent breath seems to stutter in his chest. He doesn’t know what on earth he’s supposed to say to that. But before he can think of a reply, Charles steps back, stumbling over nothing and grimacing as he rights himself.

“Charles?” Edwin reaches out, ready to steady him if necessary. “Are you quite alright?”

“I’m fine, mate.” Charles flashes him one of those brilliant grins of his. “Just lost my balance.”

“If you’re not feeling well—”

“Oh, no, you’re not getting out of this so easy.” Charles raises his fists. “Try and hit me again. And if you throw another right hook, I’m tying that hand behind your back.”

***

“Charles, I think this is around where our client died, don’t you? It matches his description. The bend in the path, the pond, the bench.” A pause. “Charles?”

Charles blinks. “Yeah, mate?”

“Doesn’t this seem to be the place where our client died?” Edwin gestures to the park around them.

Charles looks down at the ground, half-expecting to see a chalk outline on the ground. But there wouldn’t be; their latest client is a middle-aged man who died of a heart attack during his morning jog, not a murder victim. There wouldn’t be a case at all, except that some prat stole the dead man’s watch, an heirloom inherited from his grandfather that he wants to pass onto his son, off his corpse.

“Seems like it,” Charles says when he realizes that Edwin’s waiting for an answer. “He mentioned the pond, yeah? And the ducks.”

Edwin pivots to face him, hands on his hips. “What on earth is going on with you today, Charles?”

“Me? Nothing at all. Just tired, is all.”

“Ghosts do not get tired.”

“We’ve worked ten cases in five days, Edwin. I was just hoping for a break after we found Paula’s necklace last night, wasn’t I?” Charles scrubs a hand over his face. His mind is filled with a kind of fog. It reminds him of the nights he would sneak out to go to concerts with his friends and still have to go to school the next morning, doing his best not to fall asleep during history class.

Edwin sniffs. “This is certainly a case that I can work on my own, if you’re not up to it.”

“Not going to leave you alone, mate. What if we’re dealing with a watch-stealing monster? Like that Fae we caught robbing houses in South Kensington?”

“I hardly think we’re going to run into another Fae with a penchant for stealing electronics.”

“I’m fine, mate.” Charles rolls his eyes up at the sky. “Let’s have a look around, yeah? Got to be at least one or two ghosts lurking around. Maybe one of them will have seen something.”

They do find a ghost, an old lady still sitting on the park bench where she died, probably around the same time as Edwin from the looks of her. She seems more interested in complaining about all the riff-raff in the park than answering any of their questions. Given the suspicious looks she gives Charles’s earring, he thinks she might consider him part of the riff-raff, so he lets Edwin take the lead.

It’s a beautiful day, late enough in the autumn that it’s bound to be one of the last beautiful days London gets for a while. Everyone seems to be out enjoying it; couples sit together on park benches, kids dart around the playground, a group of uni students are involved in a spirited, if amateur, game of rugby, joggers and dog walkers make their way along the path that encircles the pond. 

As Charles watches, a little boy dashes away from the playground, shrieking and laughing. His father lumbers after him, growling with his arms stretched out like a monster’s. A year ago, Charles would have squelched the sadness he feels at the sight. Now, he lets himself feel all the grief, anger, and disappointment that he never got to play like that with his own dad, because he had never once felt secure in the knowledge that his dad wouldn’t hurt him when he caught him.

The little boy’s father catches him, scooping him up into his arms, and the boy’s delighted scream seems to pierce right through Charles’s brain. Charles winces. All of a sudden, all the noise of the park, which had been a pleasant background hum, seems too loud. Kids laughing, parents calling out to their children, ducks quacking, the good-natured shouting of the uni students, music blaring from the speakers of a passing car. It’s all too much, like a physical pressure squeezing Charles’s head.

“Charles?”

Charles turns to find Edwin standing there, brow pinched in concern. The old woman has gone back to scolding passing children who can’t hear or see her.

“Charles, are you alright?” Edwin asks.

“Yeah, mate.” Charles grins at him. Should the sun be that bright? It like he can almost feel the heat beating down on his shoulders. He hasn’t felt the sun on his skin in decades.

Edwin’s eyes look startlingly green in the sunlight. They’re really nice eyes. Charles thinks he might tell him that, but everything is so loud around them and he’s not sure if the words come out. Edwin’s mouth is moving, that furrow in his brow deepening. Dark spots are starting to dance across Charles’s vision, but that’s alright, because he can still see Edwin’s eyes.

“I’m aces,” Charles tells Edwin, because he looks worried, right before the ground seems to shift under him and he’s falling, falling, falling…

***

Read the rest here on AO3!

[searchingforgravity]

Your Hands (Elvis/Austin!Elvis x Reader)

Fandom: Elvis - Elvis (2022)

Prompt: You and Elvis go to the Drive-in to see a movie, but you can't seem to keep your eyes on the screen.

TW: Dirty talk, oral sex (f receiving), slight sub Elvis, slight mommy kink, unprotected sex, semi-public sex, bondage

Rating: Mature

Word Count: 2955

A/N: This is my first sub Elvis one, I've been wanting to do one like this for a while, I hope you guys like it!

"What's goin' on, Satnin?" Elvis mumbles as he turns his attention to you.

You two are at the drive-in, watching one of the latest horror movies, but you can't keep your attention on the film; your eyes keep gravitating to his hand which is currently resting on the center console. Only when he moves his hand as he turns to you fully is when you look into his eyes.

"Are you not likin' the movie, baby?" he questions, disappointment laced in his tone.

"No- I mean yes, I'm enjoying it. I'm sorry Elvis," you fumble, your cheeks flushing a bit at getting caught being distracted.

"That's alright, Satnin. C'mere," he murmurs as he sneaks his arm behind your back, pulling you close to his side.

You sigh as you try to focus back on the movie, but as his hand rests on your hip, it feels like its burning through your shirt. You subconciously bite your lip as you think back to last night when he was touching you with that same hand, making you come undone more times than once.

"Alright, sweetheart, what's goin' on in that head a' yours?" he sighs, slight agitation in his tone.

"Nothing, Elvis, I'm trying to watch the movie!"

"The movie ain't down here!"

That's when you realize that your eyes were now glued to his other hand that is resting on his thigh. You quickly look back to the screen through the windshield, your cheeks flaming.

"Aw, c'mon now, mamma. I didn't mean to embarrass ya," he chuckles as he sits up turning his attention to you.

"You didn't," you lie, "I'm just a little distracted is all, but let's watch the movie."

"What's holdin' your attention like that?" he asks, even though you're sure he saw you staring at his hands. Something tells you that he wants to hear you say it.

"Nothing, Elvis! Can we just watch the movie please?" you sigh in exasperation, your face on fire.

"Alright! Alright," he chuckles as he sinks back in his seat, turning his attention back to the screen as well.

You are relieved when it seems like he's going to let it go, until you feel the hand resting on your side slip under your shirt, touching bare skin, his face coming to nuzzle into your hair. You shudder when you feel his warm breath on your neck, heat pooling to your already aching core.

"Elvis, please!" you hiss, though your mind is on everything but the screen at this point.

"You like my hands, Satnin?" he whispers in your ear like a secret. "Can't seem to take your eyes off 'em. What are you thinkin' 'bout?"

"I'm thinking I want to watch the movie, Elvis! Now stop it!"

Your anger is fueled solely by embarrassment, Elvis knows you well enough to know this, too. He pulls you in closer as he nuzzles his face further into your neck, gently kissing it, making your eyes close on their own accord.

"We both know that's not gonna happen."

He gently rubs his hand on your side, massaging it gently.

"Now, my pretty girl is gonna tell me what's on her mind."

You aren't quite ready to relent yet as you open your eyes again, turning your attention to the movie. He withdraws his mouth from your neck when he notices your change in attitude, his eyes narrowing on you.

"Ah, you're gonna be a little brat, huh? Not gonna let me help you?"

You don't respond, keeping your eyes on the screen, with a considerable amount of effort.

"C'mon, Satnin, don't be actin' like this."

Silence.

"I'm just tryin' to help you. You're the one that's drippin' for me."

You turn to him, your body on fire.

"I am not, Elvis!"

He quirks his eyebrow, amusement on his features at your flustered state.

"Oh, really? Let me check."

"No!"

"Well, if you're not, then it shouldn't be a problem, should it, baby?"

You huff at his smugness as you untangle yourself from him, grabbing a bag of snacks from the back seat. Fishing out a random bag of sour candy, you rip it open harsher than you intend to, causing the candy to spill out all over his car.

"Damn it!" you sigh under your breath.

Elvis reaches down to help you pick up the mess you made as he chuckles to himself.

"Always makin' such a mess."

You roll your eyes as you focus on picking up the spilled candy. When it's all picked up, he reaches for you again, pulling you against him before you can protest.

"Just let me hold you, I'll stop teasin'" He groans in your ear. "We can just watch the movie."

You couldn't care less about the movie right now, and when you chance a glance at Elvis' pants from his tone of voice, you don't think he cares much about it either. Nevertheless, you settle back into him as you focus your attention on the screen.

The torture really starts when Elvis starts eating the candy, his fingers disappearing into his mouth before he pulls them back out; not before sucking the sugar off of them first. He has to be doing this to tease you, it's the same motion he was doing last night, only it wasn't candy he was sucking off his fingers.

"I was thinking about what you did last night," you murmur, your eyes focusing back on the screen, too anxious to make eye contact with him.

He sits silent for a few seconds and you wonder if he's heard you.

"Do you want me to do it again?"

You finally pull your eyes away from the screen and look at him to see him already looking at you, his eyes dark and intense; unwavering with hunger. You don't know what to say, you feel as if you are caught in headlights. You place your hand on his thigh to steady yourself.

"We came here to see a movie, Elvis."

"Fuck the movie," he groans as he suddenly leans forward, capturing your mouth in a needy kiss.

You don't even pretend to not want his kiss as you deepen it, slipping your tongue into his mouth, tasting the sour candy on him. He pulls away for a moment, his lips inches from yours, his breath warm on your face.

"Sit back."

A shock wave runs through you as you lean back in your seat.

"Put the seat back as far as it'll go," he gently orders.

You quickly find the lever on the side of the seat as you pull it up, easing the seat back. Elvis doesn't waste time as he shrugs his jacket off, moving over to you as he drops to his knees on the floor of the passenger seat. His hands instantly come to your thighs as he tucks them under your skirt, spreading them apart as he peaks up at you.

You are completely mesmerized as you look down at him. His eyes are begging as he waits for you.

"Why are you waiting?"

He hesitates only for a moment before he responds.

"Tell me what to do."

You pause.

"What do you mean?"

He leans down, placing soft kisses along your thighs, so light they almost tickle.

"Order me around."

You never thought you would hear those words come out of his mouth, but now that you had, a new feeling makes it's way through your body.

"Kiss me."

He starts to climb up off the floor to kiss your lips when you place your foot on his shoulder to keep him where he is.

"Not there."

His eyes darken as he kisses your ankle, working his way back up to your thighs. He easily hoists your legs over his shoulders as he hitches your skirt up, revealing your pink panties. A deep groan leaves his throat when he sees just how wet you are, soaking through completely.

"I was thinking about your hands on me. How good you made me feel last night with them. I can't stop thinking about them. I want you to make me feel good again."

"I will, Satnin. Gonna make you feel real good."

He leans forward, gently kissing you over your panties, making your eyes flutter closed as you dig your heels into his back, forcing his face further against you. You feel his groan against your core, making your head fall back against the seat.

"Let me take these off," he mumbles as his fingers slip under the waistband of your panties.

"Not yet."

He sighs as he obeys, resuming his kisses on your core before softly licking you through your panties. You gasp as your hands quickly make their way to his hair, gripping it softly.

"You make me so hard, Satnin" he whines, his hands gently squeezing your thighs in response before applying more pressure as he laps up the wetness on your soaking panties.

"Alright, take them off already," you groan, feeling him grin against you.

In an instant, there off as he quickly slips them down your legs, waisting no time as his mouth gently latches on to your clit, his touch flicking it gently.

"Fuck, Elvis," you gasp out as your grip tightens on his hair, earning a pained groan from his throat.

His tongue continues its torturous, gentle assault on you as he circles your clit a few more times before traveling down to your opening and, with little effort, slips it inside.

You gasp out as you lurch up at the sudden intrusion before settling back into your seat. His right hand travels up your body in response, slipping under your shirt and sneaking inside your bra. Your head falls back further when he messages your nipple between his thumb and finger, a long moan escaping from your lips, your mind completely muddled from his actions.

"Taste's so good, mommy," he grumbles when he comes up for air before dipping back down to latch on to your clit, his voice drunken on you, laced with desire.

Your eyes roll back when you feel his finger at your entrance, playing with it softly before pushing it in gently. You take the opportunity to look down at him and he looks completely lost in you. His eyes closed in concentration, his mouth closed around you as he sits sunken to his knees.

The sight makes you groan out as your hands, still buried in his hair, push him further on to you. Your legs tighten around him at he adds a second finger, reaching the same spot inside you that he did last night as his fingers curl inside.

"Oh God, baby, don't stop," you whine as you buck up into him, your orgasm already close.

Elvis licks you more adamantly when he hears you, knowing your close. He hums into you and when you look down to him, he is already looking up at you, his eyes drinking you in, loving the sight of you. It doesn't take long before you are squeezing your eyes and your legs as you pulsate around him, crying out as you grip his hair for dear life.

When you start coming down from your high, you feel light kisses along your thighs as his hands come to rub your legs.

"Let's go to the back," you breathe.

In an instant he brings his face up to your, enveloping you in a desperate kiss. You hum into his mouth as you taste yourself on him.

"I'm so fuckin' hard," he groans.

You trail your hand to feel him through his pants, gently palming him. He wasn't lying. Groaning, his face falls into the crook of your neck, bucking into your hand.

"C'mon baby. I'll make you feel better," you whisper into his ear before moving for the back seat, pulling him with you.

After instructing him to lay down, you make quick work of his jeans, unbuckling his belt and unthreading it from it's loops.

"Put your hands above your head."

To your surprise, he doesn't protest. He does instantly as he waits for you. You wrap his hands in the belt so it resembles a figure 8, making sure to tighten it enough so that he can't get out. After your pleased with your work, you lean down giving him deep kiss.

"Please," he whispers, his hips lifting gently making you feel how much he needs you.

Hearing his beg sends a shudder body your body making you even more wet than before.

"Okay baby. You've been so good, haven't you?"

"Yes, mommy."

You reach for his pants, unzipping him and pulling his underwear down along with them. He helps you as he lifts his hips, making it easier for you. After his bottom half is bare, you just admire him for a moment, looking at how impossible hard he is for you, his tip leaking the tiniest bit.

"Please, Satnin," he whines, his voice sounding pained at his lack of relief.

Lining yourself up on top of him, you strip yourself of your shirt and bra, knowing it will drive him crazy not being able to touch you.

"That's not fair, mamma," he complains, his eyes begging as he looks at your breasts, his hands clenching in his restraints.

"Do you want this or not?"

"Yes."

"Then stop complaining," you order. He groans in response but doesn't say anything else as he waits a bit impatiently now.

Slowly, with your hands on his chest to steady yourself, you sink down on him and he easily slides into you.

You both gasp at the feeling of him inside you, stretching you.

"Fuck," he groans, his head falling back against the back seat.

Your hands grip his chest as you lift yourself up, sinking back down on him, circling your hips when your fully seated on him. Setting a quick pace, bouncing on him, you both quickly turn into moaning messes.

"God, Elvis," you whine, your head leaning back.

His hips softly buck up into yours, craving more friction. At feeling this, you instantly stop. A stuttering breath leaves his mouth at your action.

"B-Baby-"

"Don't do that again or I'll stop," you interrupt.

"Okay! I won't, I won't. Please, baby, please, don't stop. Please, honey," he pleads, his voice hoarse.

At this you start again, slightly increasing your speed, making his breath hitch.

Looking to his hands, those damn perfect hands, you see his veins bulging from him resisting the restraints. You groan at the sight as you lean back, achieving a deeper angle as you both moan out.

"Goddamn! Shit, I wanna touch you," he moans, sweat forming on his chest from pure exertion. You shush him when he says this.

"Watch me touch myself."

He whimpers when he hears this, but trails his eyes down to your core where your hand trails down, circling your clit in fast, tight motions.

Your head falls back again at the feeling, and you know your close again.

"Oh mamma, it's torture," he whines, his head falling back as you come down on him harder than before, chasing your orgasm.

You can tell he's close as groan after groan leaves his swollen lips.

"You better not come before me," you groan, making him whine out.

"Sweetheart, I can't take it."

"Yes you can."

He groans as he clenches his eyes shut, trying to hold off his orgasm.

"You feel so good, baby. You make me feel so good, mommy," he breathes, his words going straight to your core.

It's not long before you come undone for the second time that night, and he gets there almost immediately after you, and he can't help the slight buck of his hips as he releases into you, his veins nearly bulging from his hands against the restraints.

After you come down from your high, you nearly collapse on top of him, your breathing ragged.

"Such a good girl," he praises, kisses your forehead.

You lay your head on his chest, listening to his rapid heartbeat. You two just lay there for a moment, trying to catch your breath, when you hear a knock on the window.

You both freeze. Maybe you imagined it.

Another, harsher knock.

"Police! Open up!"

You quickly sit up, slipping your shirt over your head and shoving Elvis' pants over his legs. You are about to open the door when Elvis stops you.

"(Y/N), the belt!" he hisses, his cheeks a deep red.

"Oh!" you gasp, a giggle slipping from your lips as you quickly undo it.

He sighs as he rubs his sore wrists before smoothing his hair and rolling down the window after checking to make sure you're decent.

"Good evening officer," Elvis says sheepishly, his face red in embarrassment.

"Look son, you can't be fornica-" The officer, probably the same age as the two of you, starts before seeing who he's talking to.

When he realizes who he's caught in the act, his eyes nearly bulge out of his head.

"Mr. Elvis Presley!" he starts, making you have to cover your face to hide your grin.

"Well- uh, hello ma'am," he continues, completely flustered as he looks you over. You see Elvis' expression instantly change as he sees the officer looking you over.

"Are we in any kinda trouble, officer?" he snaps, making the young man look back to him.

"No! Absolutely not. Have a great rest of the evening. I hear this movie is a real good one. Goodnight, and be safe getting home tonight."

With that, the officer walks off, leaving you and Elvis giggling to each other and he pulls you into his arms, kissing your forehead with a smug grin on his face.

Masterlist

Taglist:

@flowersofcement @peaceloveelvis @looloolily @littlehoneyposts @elvisalltheway101 @horrorgirl4life @goldobsessionsworld @father-of-2cats @tantamount-treason

[ghostofaboy]

I Can Bring You In Hot

Summary: Maxwell is Din's latest bounty but in an attempt to ensure his freedom he's willing to offer the Mandalorian anything.

Pairing: Din Djarin/Maxwell Lord Rating: Explicit | Word count: 2616

Warnings: Oral sex, face fucking, facial, Dom/sub elements, Din's helmet stays on, light bondage

Note: This has not been beta read, so apologies for any mistakes. This was a request from @boliv-jenta as part of my 200 Follower Celebration. Divider by @saradika-graphics

"Please wait! I'll do anything you want, just let me go."

Din frowned under his helmet at the cowering man before him and sighed. Jobs had been slim on the ground for a while, and this one was barely going to cover the cost of his fuel. Usually he preferred to stick to the Outer Rim, but some rash young group of bounty hunters had snatched up all the local jobs by the time he'd gotten back to Nevarro last week. So it had been this, or a trip to Balmorra and Din really didn't want to be that close to the Core.

So here he was on Ord Mantell in the Mid Rim chasing some 'businessman' who ran out of his investors. Maxwell Lord had apparently been the toast of Coruscant just after the Empire fell, but three years on it didn't look like things were working out for him.

"Please." Maxwell repeated. "I just need another week or so, and I'll be able to pay them. Then the bounty will be called off. Please. I'll do whatever you want."

Din snorted. They all said that. This man probably could never imagine how many times Din had heard that over his career as a bounty hunter. 

"I can bring you in warm, or I can-"

"Please!" Maxwell cut him off, getting shakily to his feet from the spot he'd dropped to his knees to the moment Din appeared in his office. "I can't pay, I need the money to settle this debt, but there are other things I could do."

"Such as?"

"I can compensate you for your trip here." Maxwell gestured over to his terminal. "Refuel your ship, for example. I know the bounty on me isn't that high. To be honest, that's why I was so surprised someone took it. My investors, well, I think they put it out to scare me into getting their money."

Every instinct was telling Din to just grab this guy and take his payment. He would get his credits, be able to refuel... and then what? Damn it! Maxwell was right. The bounty was half what he'd usually consider taking. Most of his pay would go on fuel, with barely anything left over for food or to hand to the Covert. 

"I'm listening." The words were out of his mouth before the rest of Din's brain could engage.

"Good!" Maxwell smiled brightly at him. "Well, yes, I can refuel your ship and... and... if you let me go..." Maxwell trailed off, diverting his eyes from Din as he thought.

"You're going to have to do better than just fuel." Din shook his head. "Something much better."

Maxwell swallowed hard, nodding as his eyes rested on Din. For a few moments, he just stared, and the Mandalorian could feel the other man analyzing him. Those dark chocolate eyes were filled with worry, but there was an intelligence behind them that Din rarely got to see with his usual quarry. Finally, Maxwell straightened himself, brushing a few errant hairs from his forehead before looking Din directly in the visor.

"If you let me go, I promise to not only refuel your ship, but I will make any dream you have come true."

"Make my dr-" Din shook his head, almost laughing. "What?"

"You must have wishes, dreams, desires." Maxwell gestured to Din. "I've heard Mandalorian's have high libidos. Surely you have needs that require fulfilling."

This was a new one. Usually when trying to get away from him his bounties would offer Din credits but this definitely new.

"And what if my dreams are not to your taste?" Din cocked his head. He was intrigued now. If Maxwell was truly offering sex in return for freedom, Din wanted to see just how far the other man was willing to take it.

But to his surprise Maxwell laughed, not a dismissive one aimed at Din, but a soft surprised chuckle.

"I assure you my tastes are quite broad, Mandalorian. If you promise to let me go tomorrow morning, you can do whatever you want to me tonight."

He should have said no and placed the businessman in carbonite. He should have done his job, gotten his measly credits and taken the reputation merits with the Guild. But instead, Din let out a long sigh. 

"Deal."

The room Maxwell led him into was much more modestly decorated than Din would have expected. When studying him to learn where he might be, Maxwell had given Din the impression of a brash extrovert. The other man wore well tailored suits with bejeweled cuff links and large gold rings that screamed for attention.

His ads on the holonet were all smooth talking pitches aimed at making the viewer feel as though he were talking directly to them, all the while appealing to as broad an audience as possible. Some called him a con-man, but Din was sure Maxwell would have preferred holo-personality. The type of person who thrives in that environment of influencing others. But this room had Din second guessing his assessment.

While it was a large suite, with huge bed and plush furniture, it was by no means extravagant. Din had seen how some bounties spent their credits and the type of gilded facade that passed for wealth. This was understated, classy even. 

"Welcome." Maxwell spread his arms after throwing his suit jacket over the back of a chair. "I'd say relax and make yourself at home, although I doubt you'll be taking any of your armor off."

"No." Din turned back to face Maxwell, who simply nodded with apparent understanding.

"In that case," he swallowed hard, "what would you like me to do?"

In the short walk here from the office, Din had found Maxwell in his mind had been running through every fantasy he'd ever had. Some were immediately off the table. Either involving Din removing more clothes than he was comfortable with or requiring a level of intimacy that was part and parcel of the dream. 

Finally, he'd settled on something he'd always wanted to try but had never had the guts to ask for. With partners he knew Din wasn't sure how to bring up the subject, and when paying for sex he preferred to keep things simple. But with Maxwell, well, Din had the opportunity to really push things both for himself and the charismatic businessman.

"Take your clothes off."  Din's command was brief and to the point as he set his rifle down on a table close to the door. Never taking his eyes off Maxwell, Din's cock twitched to life as the other man didn't hesitate and began efficiently removing his clothing. 

With each layer more sun-kissed skin was revealed and Din started to marvel at the differences between them. By necessity Din tried to keep himself in good shape, not bulging with muscles like some of his brothers back at the Covert but toned at least, but Maxwell was beautifully soft. 

Thick, full thighs, a small round belly and a pair of tantalizingly grabbable tits were all bared for Din. Finally, as Maxwell pulled down his underwear, Din’s eyes locked onto the other man’s erection jutting out from under the slight swell of his stomach. He was much smaller than Din, but thick, with a heavy set of balls that swung as he kicked his underwear away to the side.

Din’s legs moved of their own accord and he began circling Maxwell, who to his credit stood proudly nude and erect for Din to appraise. As he reached Maxwell’s back, Din reached out and firmly pushed the other man’s shoulder down. Maxwell understood immediately and bend forward, planting his feet further apart to steady himself as he gave Din a better view of his ass.

Gently pulling Maxwell’s cheeks apart, Din could see a flushed pink ring of muscle and as ran a finger to teased at the flesh, Din smiled as Maxwell’s hole briefly gaped. He could hear a short intake of breath as Maxwell showed off for him, and Din instinctually knew the Maxwell must have a dildo he used on a regular basis. Slapping Maxwell’s ass, Din glanced back towards the bed. Perhaps he’d make Maxwell ride it for Din later, make the businessman put on a show for him with his favorite toy.

“Hands behind your back.” Din unclipped his cuffs from his belt and waited for Maxwell to obey.

After a slight hesitation, Maxwell shifted, positioning his hands behind his back, letting out a quiet whine as Din secured them with the cuffs. Then, with another firm hand on his shoulder Din helped lower Maxwell onto his knees.

Walking back over to the table where he’d left his rifle, Din quickly and efficiently removed his bandolier, explosive charges and any weapons he had on him. The last thing he needed during this was an accident and he was confident Maxwell wasn’t going to try anything stupid. After removing his vambraces and gloves Din returned to Maxwell, who had remained on his knees, his short, fat cock dripping onto the tiles between his knees.

Striding over, Din planted himself in front of the submissive Maxwell watching as the other man raised his head to look up at him. It was time. Now or never for Din to play out this fantasy or call it off and carry Maxwell back to the Crest as he was. Last chance to turn back.

Tugging open the fly of his jumpsuit, Din took in a slow steady breath as he pulled out his achingly hard cock. From his seat on the floor, Maxwell beamed up him, licking his lips as he waited for his instructions.

“You bite, you die.” Din growled, grabbing a fist full of Maxwell’s hair.

“I would never.” Maxwell sounded genuinely offended before leaning forward to gently suckle on the fat tip of Din’s cock.

He’d always wanted to try this and as Din watched Maxwell expertly work his length into his mouth he had to admit it felt better than he’d ever imagined. There was a certain amount of trust needed for oral sex and it pained Din that he’d never been in the position before to either give or receive. But here he was watching his bounty swirl his tongue around the head of his dick, each lap and flick of the other man’s tongue sending spikes of desire through him.

Din let out a long moan as Maxwell began tracing the vein along the underside of his shaft before returning to the head, teasing at his slit for entrance. Looking up at Din through long dark eyelashes, Maxwell parted his lips and began to work Din’s full length into his mouth, saliva running out of the corners as he opened wide enough for Din’s girth. As each inch disappeared into Maxwell’s hot wet mouth, Din’s skin prickled with arousal as he fought the urge to close his eyes. As much as he wanted to give into the bliss, he wanted to watch, to see Maxwell’s beautifully flushed face take his cock, to savor this moment.

Without the use of his hands, Din could tell Maxwell was struggling slightly. Obvious used to using mouth and hands in tandem, Din had stopped him from employing his usual techniques, but he was slowly adapting. After working along the shaft a few times, Din could feel as Maxwell flattened his tongue and finally took Din to the back of his mouth. As Maxwell’s nose nestled in Din’s unruly bush, the Mandalorian marvelled as he felt the tip of his cock hit the back of Maxwell’s throat. 

The burning wetness closing around him, enveloping his cock was almost overwhelming and Din’s head swam with heavy fog. Holding himself there for a few seconds, Maxwell spluttered slightly and withdrew, leaving Din slick with drool as he returned to gently suck and teasing on the fat cockhead. 

“Can you take more?” Din growled, tightening his grip on Maxwell’s hair and watching as the other man’s eyes flickered up to him.

“You want to fuck my face?”

“Yes.”

“I can take it.”

That was all Din needed as he pushed his length back into Maxwell’s throat, firmly and steadily, until the other man’s lips were stretched taut around the base. Slowly at first, Din began to move his hips, testing Maxwell’s limits as he used the other man’s mouth. Looking up at him, Maxwell was adjusting his breathing, sending puffs of hot air against Din’s exposed skin as beads of sweat trickled down his forehead. 

“You’ve done this before.” Din teased, bringing his other hand up to grip Maxwell’s head fully. Maxwell responded with a wink and hummed around Din’s cock, making Din curse and buck his hips.

Shifting his feet further apart to steady himself, Din took a deep breath as he began to quicken his pace. The fire inside him was a roaring inferno now, and Din was not accustomed to ignoring it. Usually quickly seeing to himself in his bunk, Din was used to rapid bursts of pleasure, sprints not marathons, and this entire encounter with Maxwell was quickly undoing him. 

Each thrust into Maxwell’s waiting throat sent powerful thrums of pleasure coursing through him. Each time he hit the back of Maxwell’s throat, Din blinked away the dizzying urge to cum. His cock throbbed inside Maxwell, who gazed up at Din with lust blown eyes, urging him on, begging for more.

Din’s balls swung against Maxwell’s chin as the pace increased. Frantic, save for the briefest of pauses to allow the businessman to catch his breath, before pondering his mouth once more. Maxwell’s eyes watered, yet still he stared up at Din’s visor, as each blink sent tears cascading down his cheeks. 

The sound of the outside world melted away. There was nothing else now except the wet gagging sounds of Maxwell choking on Din’s cock as the Mandalorian hungrily fucked his face. Then with a vibrating whine, Din watch Maxwell pinch his eyes shut and felt the other man shudder. Peering down past his own length, Din could see Maxwell’s own untouched cock twitch as it shot bursts of cum onto the floor.

Din felt the tension inside him snap. Pulling roughly out of Maxwell’s mouth, leaving a long trail of connecting saliva, Din was just in time to stop himself from cumming down Maxwell’s throat. Instead, Din grunted and moaned as he began to paint the other man’s face with his seed. Rope after rope covered Maxwell’s beautifully disheveled features as Din spilled himself in hot spurts that landed and ran together.

Stepped back on trembling legs, Din panted as he took in the scene before him, the heady rush of his climax ebbing away and allowing him to fully appreciate his actions. A small puddle of cum sat between Maxwell’s legs, as his small dick soften and retreated, while Maxwell himself sat back to rest on his kneels panting heavily. His face was covered in cum and drool, dripping from onto his chest as the businessman gasped for air. Slowly, Maxwell reopened his eyes, searching the space in front of him until he found Din’s visor. 

“Face fucking and a facial.” Maxwell’s chest heaved as he blinked at Din. “Hard, fast and filthy. Was it everything you wanted?”

“I’m not through with you yet.” Din ran a finger through the sticky release covering Maxwell’s face before offering it to him to suck. As Maxwell suckled on the digit, swaying slightly with a playful smile on his face. “You look so perfect on your knees, ready for me to use.”

“I was hoping you’d say that.” Maxwell grinned. “What’s next?”

[naeverse]

The Beast Within - (2/2)

~ Ｖｉｃｅ ＃１ ~

𝐖𝐞𝐞𝐤 𝐨𝐧𝐞: 𝐒𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐠, 𝐒𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐭, 𝐃𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐥𝐲 

(𝐎𝐜𝐭. 𝟏-𝟔)

----

𝘗𝘳𝘪𝘥𝘦: 

𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘪𝘯 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰𝘰 𝘩𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘭𝘺 𝘰𝘧 𝘰𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘰𝘰 𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘵𝘭𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘴 

-

"𝘐𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘰𝘧 𝘴𝘪𝘯 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘱𝘳𝘪𝘥𝘦 𝘪𝘴 '𝘐.'"

Ｍｕｓｉｃ：

“𝘉𝘢𝘣𝘺, 𝘐’𝘮 𝘠𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴” - 𝘐𝘴𝘢𝘣𝘦𝘭𝘢 𝘓𝘢𝘙𝘰𝘴𝘢

“𝘐𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘋𝘢𝘳𝘬” - 𝘊𝘢𝘮𝘪𝘭𝘢 𝘊𝘢𝘣𝘦𝘭𝘭𝘰

Apologies for the late post. October 7th (today/yesterday) was my birthday, and my older sister, @powerful-niya, my family, and I spent the last couple of days celebrating. So once again, my apologies, lol. 😅❤️ I hope you all enjoy the finale of The Beast Within. As always, it was a joy to write! 🐻❤️

Art was found on Pinterest. All credit goes to the original artists, designers, and photographers.

🐻staring: Beast!Miguel O’Hara x Explorer Fem!Reader

      ✒️preview: 

He cleared his throat, crouching down to your level as you sat on the edge of his bed. “My body is craving a new mate, little twig,” he bluntly stated, his face full of seriousness.

“I haven’t cared about mating in a long while, but you’ve reawakened the urge,” he explained, his hands constantly seeking to touch you, now running along your arms. “So for my… price,” Miguel’s eyes locked onto yours, taking in your emotions that were hard for him to read.

“I want to mate with you, humanita.”

❄️summary: The Monster of the Great Mountains was a tale that spread far and wide—a story of a creature that slaughtered anyone who dared enter the snowy peaks of the Great Mountains. Fueled by the growing fear propagated by the media, you decided to take on this legend. As a supernatural explorer, you sought out hauntings, monsters, and creepy artifacts, determined to prove to the world that they were simply tales told in the dark—nothing more. 

But with your latest discovery, you may soon find that not every story is just a story.

🖤tw/cw: Big Dick Miguel, Blood (Just a smidge), Body Worship, Cock Bulge, Claiming, Cunninglius, Dirty Talk, Gore, Marking, Multiple Organisms, Non-human AU, Olfactophilia, Oral Sex, Ownership, Pussy Worship, Scent Kink, Size Kink, Size Different, Riding, Violence, many more…

🏔️Pet names: Gusano (Worm), Humanita (Little Human), Terca (Stubborn One) 

     📘Rating: 18+ explicit I SMUT I

 🤎 Word Count: Total - 11k, Part 2 - 7k words

🐻Click here for Part 1

‘What madness compelled me to leave this human unscathed, and instead bring it back to my den?’ This was the only rattling question that filled Miguel’s mind as he carried the unconscious woman against his furry chest through the harsh blizzard.

His narrowed eyes occasionally snapped down to the human, so small, fragile, weak. ‘I have gone mad,’ he concluded with a grumble, crunching through the snow as the blizzard raged at an all-time high.

‘Should’ve left her. Should’ve killed her,’ his inner voice growled. ‘Why did I pull her from the snow when the Great Mountains so clearly sought her sacrifice with that avalanche?’ The monster wondered, not understanding his actions.

But Miguel knew the reason—the atrocious reason.

This human was seemingly different, dangerously so.

Any other human, male or female, who entered the Great Mountains was met with death. It was their rightful punishment as the bear saw it.

But Miguel found himself incapable of harming this human, and it rattled him.

The snow-encased breeze lashed at his fur, causing him to tighten his grip on the fragile creature, holding the human closer to his chest to warm and protect.

It wasn’t long before his mahogany eyes spotted his cave through the blizzard—a well-hidden opening on the side of the mighty Great Mountains.

With a huff, he quickened his pace. ‘She’s ice cold. Not good. Not good for a small thing like her.’ He found himself worrying. Escaping the harsh storm, the beast ducked into his home.

Upon entering the cave, the beast was greeted by the warmth of a small fire—embers glowing within a ring of stones. In one corner of the large cavern lay a heap of furs and hides that the bear used as a makeshift bed. Collections of bones, logs, and trophies from hunts, such as antlers, hung on a ledge as decorations. 

The cave was completed by a naturally formed alcove in one of the walls, where the bear stored small items like bowls, containers, and his food. Chunks of dried meat, fish, and winter berries were kept and preserved there, aided by the natural cold of the cave and small ice pockets along the niche.

The beast swiftly moved along, and with great care— foreign to him—he settled the human down upon the plush furs. ‘Careful. Nice and easy,’ he told himself, afraid of accidentally harming the much weaker being, this sense of caution unfamiliar to him.

Miguel’s eyes roamed the unconscious human, taking in the sight of them inside his most sacred space. The bear wanted to scowl at the thought, still unable to believe he had allowed such a wretched thing to breathe another breath of air—inside his lair, of all places.

His clawed, calloused hand lifted to brush the drenched strands of hair from the human’s face. The beast marveled at the woman’s softness, so different from his own fur and rough skin. Like touching sizzling fire, he yanked his hand away, growling at himself. “What has come over me?” he snarled, standing up and moving away to start a fire, needing to distance himself from the puny human of temptation lying on his bedding.

“It’s a human—a lying, deceitful, and greedy human,” the beast spat, his blood boiling at the mere thought of the despicable little monsters. He had sworn long ago to protect these mountains from their clamorous fingers and to slaughter every single one of them, like they’d done his little one—his precious cub he had failed to save.

Miguel’s teeth clenched together, claws digging into the stick he held to stoke the fire, tearing through the bark. “Now one wishes to entice me—blind me with her—” The beast snarled, looking over his shoulder at the sleeping beauty, taking note of how completely still she lay. The sight was almost alarming.

His heart leapt, and he hurried to prepare a small broth and warm water over the fire before returning to her side. It had been a long time since he’d felt fear or concern, but the bear detested how his worry was for a human—the very beings that took everything from him and sought to take even more.

Glancing at the entrance of his cave, he saw the brutal winds and cutthroat chills, knowing the blizzard wouldn’t stop anytime soon. ‘She’s a weak, lowly human. She’ll die if she goes back out there,’ Miguel thought. But another jarring voice filled his head: ‘Why do I care? It’s a human. I should kill her now. Snap her like a twig underfoot.’ The words clouded his mind, but when he looked at her, he couldn’t will himself to do it.

‘Was it her appearance?’ The beast wondered, wishing to understand the reason behind his hesitance. His gaze ran along the slope of her nose, the fan of her long lashes against her flushed skin, and the curve of her red, parted lips, which seemed to call out to him. “This human is… decent,” he grumbled, unwilling to admit aloud his attraction to her beauty. But he could feel his body heat rising, not out of anger like he usually felt, or to warm himself when the mountains became too cold, but for another reason...

An animalistic want.

A shaky exhale escaped his muzzle when he finally noticed it.

Your scent.

Like honey, it clung to every part of his cave, flooding his den and clouding his senses. 

Sweet, intoxicating, and very, very dangerous…

The bear groaned, feeling an ache inside him that he hadn’t felt in years—an ache to mate, to bury himself inside a warm burrow and rut until he was content.

‘It’s her scent that’s causing this… indifference.’ The beast assumed with a gulp, a part of him wanting to lunge at the sleeping human, to take what he wanted and needed. Yet another side of him felt a sense of protectiveness for this frail, yet hated being.

“I need to stay away from her. Get far away,” the demihuman whispered, but found himself incapable of moving, no matter how much of a risk he knew he was taking by standing in her presence.

He growled, hearing the raving storm outside. ‘Just until the storm passes,’ Miguel told himself, gently reaching out to cup the woman’s jaw. Instantly, he noticed how small she was compared to his massive palm, his thumb tenderly tracing her cheek. ‘Then she’ll leave, or…

I’ll kill her…’

For once, Miguel found the latter as difficult as chewing through stone. 

The bear slowly became entranced by the soft rise and fall of your chest, your beauty, and an overwhelming desire to fully take in your scent.

Lifting your chin without hesitation, he buried his snout in your neck and took a deep inhale. Like the sweetest nectar quenching his parched throat, a feral growl rumbled from him.

His eyes fluttered shut, your scent so intoxicating it seemed to ensnare him, making him crave more with each breath. Sniffing along the length of your sensitive throat, his muzzle brushed your skin, each inhalation only making his cock throb beneath his gray loincloth, causing him to groan.

Drool trickled past his lips, dripping down his jaw as though he'd gone days without food. "Oh, Great Mountains, what are you doing to me?" he muttered in ecstasy, his rough hands gripping your shoulders to keep you rooted beneath him on his pile of furs.

The more he ravaged your throat with sniffs, the stronger his need to mate became, a primal stirring in his loins. The creature wanted to touch, taste, and claim, the restraints holding him back beginning to loosen.

A soft whimper, not from Miguel, broke through his daze, stopping him abruptly. Eyes widening, Miguel swiftly stood, his massive chest heaving. 'No, you fool,' he scolded himself, barely able to believe how quickly he'd succumbed to his animal urges.

'She's human. Vulnerable and weak. Not for you. Never for you,' he thought, jaw clenching as he watched you stir. When your eyes met his mahogany gaze, he braced for your inevitable reaction to his beastly form looming over you.

Your eyes slowly opened, feeling as if you'd been hit by a truck. Your entire body ached—a blend of cold, bruised limbs and warmth. A weak groan escaped you as your vision tried to focus on your surroundings.

The first thing you noticed was the jagged stone walls surrounding you, so different from the vast snow where you last remembered being. Furrowing your brows, you struggled to recall what had happened.

‘Greg and I came to these mountains to explore. Greg left me stranded, I made camp, then the blizzard, and then—’ Your chest heaved as fear gripped you. You turned to your side, locking eyes with a pair of mahogany orbs staring right back at you.

“What’s g-going on? W-Where am I? H-How am I a-alive?” you stammered frantically, finally coming to terms with what stood before you. “Y-you're—” You gulped, eyes wide as you took in the beast that you once believed to be a myth, now undeniably real.

The creature was massive, a blend of human and bear-like features, both alluring and terrifying. His chest rippled with strength beneath thick, coarse fur that lined the center of his pectorals, with a trail of hair descending from his navel beneath a gray fur loincloth. His broad torso, with large, powerful pectorals, rose and fell with every breath, exuding raw power and barely concealed aggression.

His dark brown fur matched the wild mane atop his head, and his furry arms and shoulders were equally formidable, veins pulsing along his sinewy limbs.

The mahogany eyes of the White Walker pierced through you, his gaze animalistic beneath his wild hair. His shadow engulfed you, his immense size and presence looming menacingly, making your heart pound in your chest.

You watched the beast, battling your fear and the instinct to flee while remaining on guard. The atmosphere was tense, as if you were being sized up by the predatorwho was ready to strike at any moment.

“In my den,” the bear answered, his deep voice reverberating through the stone enclosure, making you jump. Your body screamed at you to run, but how could you when your feet were so frozen in your boots you couldn’t feel them?

“W-why?” you asked, your voice so cold it was hoarse. “I-I…thought I was dead.” The memory of your near-death experience and the hopelessness that had gripped you came rushing back causing you to clench the rawhide blanket tightly in your gloved hands.

Your heavy coat, pants, and boots—once believed to be your protection—were now soaked through, the melted ice intensifying the chill against your skin. Despite the dire circumstances, you forced yourself to stay strong, staring at the monster and trying not to show your fear.

However, it was hard to ignore the stiffness and soreness of your body. If his intentions were to kill you, it would be all too easy in your weakened state.

Miguel stared at the human, finding you even more captivating now that you were awake. The sight of your small, fragile body filled with life, gazing up at him with those beautiful eyes, sent a strange tingle through him. He cleared his throat, shaking off the unfamiliar feeling of fascination as his thick brows furrowed.

“I pulled you from the snow, human,” he spat, turning his back to tend to the simmering broth of meat he was preparing.

Miguel didn’t know what humans ate, but if the broth was enough to nourish him, it should be enough to strengthen the fragile creature resting in his bed.

Grasping a hand-carved wooden bowl, he began to ladle the broth into it. The smell was rich and savory, and Miguel grunted in approval, secretly hoping it would be to your liking—before quickly dismissing the thought.

You watched the beast, recalling everything you’d ever heard or read about him. ‘But here he is, crouched over the fire, proving everything I thought was fiction to be fact,’ you thought, still struggling to come to terms with it.

But you were wrong. 

So very wrong…

You couldn’t help but marvel at the creature, his body brimming with strength. His large frame and powerful muscles flexed with his every movement. You found yourself wondering just how strong he truly was, whether he possessed any supernatural abilities, and how long he had lived in the cold, desolate Great Mountains.

The explorer in you couldn’t help pondering questions about the White Walker, but one thought above all echoed in your mind: ‘Why save me?’ That question rose to the surface again and again, desperate for an answer as you sat frozen in place.

Every story and legend about the Monster of the Great Mountains told of his hatred for humans—how he killed any trespassers, inflicting slow, excruciating deaths out of spite. ‘But… he saved me?’ You nearly laughed at the irony, though the coughing fit rising in your throat quickly stifled it.

You had been sure he would kill you—that he’d dug you out of the snow just to toy with you, waiting for you to regain consciousness for his amusement. ‘It wouldn’t be any fun to kill a human if they weren’t awake,’ you belived were the beast’s thoughts,

Teeth chattering, chills wracking your body, numbness gripping your fingers and toes, and the overwhelming sense of vulnerability—it all felt like torture, knowing death was still likely to come.

“I-If… you’re going to k-kill me, just do it,” you croaked, trying to maintain your bravado. Head held high, you stared at the beast’s broad back as he filled the wooden bowl. “I-I won’t… beg for my life, so g-get it over with if t-that’s what you want.” you said, your voice trembling with cold, though the terror in your chest contrasted sharply with your defiant words.

Miguel raised an eyebrow, surprised by your words. He had never heard a human so openly ask for death, much less demand it. Huffing, he poured another ladle of broth into the bowl before rising to his full height.

When his gaze met yours again, his heart leapt at the sight of your narrowed eyes and determined expression. Yet, beneath the surface, he could practically smell your fear.

It was… 

Captivating.

4The bear’s footsteps were heavy and deliberate as he approached you, his face devoid of emotion. “Drink,” he commanded, ignoring your previous demand. Miguel watched with mild surprise as your face twisted in anger, pushing his hand away and rejecting him.

“I-I don’t want that,” you stated firmly, surprised your arms were even capable of moving from their frozen position at your sides. “Why am I here? T-Tell me. Now,” you demanded, unwilling to let your questions be dismissed. If you were going to be killed, you felt you had the right to know.

A deep growl escaped the beast, his paw tightening around the bowl. “You will obey, or I will make you,” he threatened, his tone holding little patience. Again, he thrust the bowl toward you. “Drink. Now.” Miguel commanded, cradling the back of your head and bringing the wooden container to your lips.

The bear’s touch in your hair was unexpected, but strangely, not unwelcome. You glanced at the bowl of brown broth, the small pieces of meat floating inside enticing you.

You couldn’t even remember the last time you had eaten…

You swallowed, the warm broth soothing your parched throat, its smell alluring. Wary, you glanced at him before allowing him to feed you since your hands were still too numb from the cold.

A quiet purr escaped him as his nails combed through your drenched hair, caressing your scalp. He relished the look of defiance you gave him with each sip you took. 

Miguel felt his cock twitch beneath his loincloth as he watched your lips part over the container. He assisted, tilting the bowl to help you drink the broth he’d made for you.

The interaction felt intimate, watching your pretty eyes flutter shut as you slurped his cooking. The bear couldn’t help subtly stroking your scalp whilst you ate.

You hummed, finishing the broth, and pulling away with a sigh. Coming back to reality, you glanced skeptically at the beast.  The broth had warmed you, but you couldn’t wrap your head around the reasoning behind the creature’s kindness—if you could even call it that.

You couldn’t deny that the broth helped. The hot liquid soothed your frozen insides and tasted surprisingly good.

Not that you’d ever tell him that…

Wiping your mouth with the back of your hand, you glared at the beast, clearing your throat. “Now, answer me. W-what am I doing here?”

Miguel eyed you for a moment, debating whether or not to reveal the truth. His fingers loosened from your hair, leaving behind a lingering warmth.

His pride led him to dismiss the question entirely. “All you humans do is take and take. Even when there’s nothing left to be taken, you seek to claim something else that isn’t yours,” he growled, his disdain evident. He tossed the empty bowl to the cave floor with a loud thud.

“I sought to cleanse my lands of you wretched beings,” Miguel stated, his mahogany eyes seeming to glow redder as his anger flared.

“And then you came.”

“Me?!” you exclaimed, raising an eyebrow in surprise. You chuckled, shaking your head. “I don’t know what the hell you’re talking abou—” your words cut off into sputtering coughs. You hacked into your hands, the cold overwhelming you as you practically barked up a lung.

Miguel’s eyes widened, and he hastily moved to your side. He wanted to leave you to your growing sickness, but for the first time, he felt something close to sympathy for a human.

Grumbling, Miguel yanked the blanket off your body, revealing your drenched, cold jacket, pants, and boots.

“W-What are you… doing?” you asked between coughs, your voice weak. The bear ignored you, grasping the wet fabric of your coat and giving it a squeeze, watching water drip from it. “You’re soaked and cold. Not good,” he rumbled. “Undress.” The beast commanded, pulling away.

Your entire body tensed, your head snapping toward the monster in disbelief. “W-What?”

“Take off your clothes,” he repeated sternly, leaving no room for refusal. You shook your head and burst into another fit of coughs. “N-No… I-I-I’m fine,” you tried to assure him, not wanting to show any weakness.

“No, you’re not,” Miguel snarled, his brows narrowing at your defiance. “You and I both know you won’t survive another minute in this state, twig.” He hissed, looking you up and down, noting how your cheeks and nose were rosy, your face sickly.

The bear found himself cupping your face, his massive hand cradling your jaw. “You’ll get sick and die, little twig,” Miguel purred, tracing his thumb along your cheekbone. “The Great Mountains aren’t meant for humans.”

Your breath hitched, his body heat so comforting against your cold skin that you subconsciously nuzzled into his palm, seeking warmth. Realizing your mistake, you quickly pulled away. “W-Why do you care?” you asked, wheezing. “I-I thought you… h-hated humans.” You coughed.

Miguel huffed, his heart skipping a beat when you snuggled against his palm. “I’ve told you already, gusano,” he said, gazing at you, your scent surrounding him. A growl rumbled in his chest. “Undress… I won’t ask again.”

The threat made your heart drop. You met his gaze and saw he was entirely serious. “Shit,” you muttered under your breath, narrowing your eyes at him.

“F-Fine…”

Your trembling fingers slowly worked to unfasten the straps from your wrists, freeing your palms from the drenched gloves. You sighed, tossing them aside before beginning to remove your clothes. Glancing up at the beast, you noticed the flicker of fascination in his eyes before he masked it with his usual stoicism.

“Continue,” he rasped, his arms crossed over his large chest. Rolling your eyes, you grabbed the zipper of your puffy jacket, drawing it down to reveal the soaked sweater underneath. You shrugged off the heavy coat, casting it to the cave floor with your gloves. The cold air immediately sank into your wet sweater, making you shiver.

You were about to stop, but the bear’s growl urged you to continue. Cursing under your breath, you gripped the hem of your sweater and pulled it over your head, exposing your bare, wet skin to the icy cave. Adding the sweater to the pile of clothes, you were left in only your bra, pants, and boots. You quivered, reaching for the blankets to seek warmth.

“No,” the bear said, gripping your wrist to stop you. “All of it.” He nodded toward the rest of your clothes, clearly expecting you to remove everything.

You scoffed, unable to believe the audacity of this creature. “I-I will do no such thi—” another fit of coughs interrupted your words.

Miguel growled, having had enough. He reached for you, ignoring your protests as his rough hands gripped your pants and pulled them down along with your undergarments. He continued undressing you, his senses overwhelmed by your scent, which intensified with every layer he removed.

After removing your boots and finally your bra, he left you completely bare on his fur bedding.

“That wasn’t so hard, human,” he rumbled, his gaze sweeping over your nude form, his heart dropping.

Your body was a vision of perfection upon his bed. Your skin, pale from the cold with a patchwork of bruises, bore the harsh marks of the avalanche. The purplish-blue splotches trailed along your hips, thighs, and arms where the snow and debris had pummeled you. 

Miguel could see the tiny hairs standing on end on your legs and arms, your body trying desperately to generate heat in its exposed state.

He watched your chest rise and fall rapidly, the cool air brushing over your sensitive skin as the ethereal curves of your body lay vulnerable and on display before the beastly creature. 

Your nipples, hardened from the cold, stood out against the soft flesh of your breasts, and the faint shadows of muscles you had built from years of exploration were evident as your stomach tensed, drawn in from the chill.

Miguel noticed blotches of redness along your skin where your wet clothes had clung tightly. The beast wanted nothing more than to lick your wounds, bruise after bruise, and ravish your body until he was satisfied.

The growing ache in the pit of his stomach intensified—the urge to grasp the small human and do what he should have done the moment he rescued you from the avalanche. But he had to stop himself. 

‘She's small, fragile. Not for you,’ he reminded himself once more. 

No matter how beautiful you looked lying upon his bedding, Miguel must quell the need inside of him.

In a mixture of embarrassment and shock, you swiftly grabbed the rawhide blanket, tugging it over your body. You had never felt so humiliated, laying completely bare before a being you had once denied existed, feeling weak—a feeling you were not used to.

“H-Happy?” you shivered, trying to keep an authoritative tone in your voice. Yet, oddly, a warmth in your gut found his gaze of desire to be… 

Interesting…

Miguel didn't respond, instead, he picked up your clothes and boots, and swiftly moved to hang them by the fire.

He needed to distance himself from you before he lost control.

You studied him, your fingers toying with the fur on the blanket. You had so many questions and wondered if the mysterious creature would answer any of them. “Do you have a name?” you inquired, hoping for an easy question he’d answer.

Hugging the rawhide tightly over your body, you awaited his response, wishing he’d give you something useful.

Miguel ran his palm along your drenched sweater, smoothing it out where it hung. “Miguel,” he replied gruffly.

“Miguel…” You whispered his name, trying it out, but the sound of it on your lips stirred something under his loincloth. “What is yours, terca?” Miguel asked, secretly wanting to know yours as well.

“Y/N,” you said, feeling the discomfort of your wet hair sticking to the back of your neck and shoulders. Reaching up, you gave the heavily soaked strands a squeeze to relieve them of water, your movements sluggish.

The bear watched you closely, hearing the unique name. “Y/N,” he muttered so softly you couldn’t hear, his fascination evident.

Miguel hated the interest he felt for you—a human. He was supposed to hate all humans, the same creatures who had raided his lands and killed his little girl. 

He wasn’t meant to feel anything for you, so why did he?

He huffed, picking up a nearby stick to stoke the fire, needing to occupy his hands.

‘Miguel... I didn’t expect it to have a name,’ you thought, unable to help but track the beast’s movements. His furry, defined backside was to you, his gray loincloth hugging his waist tightly. The muscular curves of his thighs and legs were heavily accentuated beneath his fur as he crouched before the flames.

“What are you?” you asked, fascinated by the creature and wanting to know more about him.

Miguel scoffed, irritation clear in his deep voice. “Why don't you tell me, human? Your kind seems to be all-knowing,” he retorted.

You rolled your eyes, now comfortably warm under the blanket since your soaked layers were removed. ‘Perhaps the creature knows a thing or two,’ you thought, but his lack of answers was starting to irritate you.

“Will you tell me anything, or will you keep me here without reason?” you asked, no longer wanting to beat around the bush.

“I'll decide your fate when the storm passes, twig,” he snapped, glancing back at you from the fire.

The beast grunted, his turn to ask questions. “Why did you come here?” he inquired, standing to his full, towering height, tossing the stick aside. “What foolish ideals led you to me?”

Despite the ominous tone of his words, you gazed up at him without the fear you had felt before. You couldn't explain it, but you felt like he wouldn't hurt you.

“For you,” you confessed, hoping your answer might earn you some in return.

“I came here with a colleague to prove that the ‘Monster in the Great Mountains’ was false,” you chuckled, looking him up and down. “And I must say, I'm not used to being wrong.”

Miguel’s mahogany eyes widened for a moment, surprised by your answer. He stared at you, letting it sink in. “And why were you seeking me? I could have killed you in your ‘search,’” he smirked, remembering the fate of the last human who came for exploration, seeking him and their fate.

You shrugged. “I was seeking a good story—a journal entry to show the tales of you were just that: tales. I didn't believe—didn’t even think you were… real,” you sighed, meeting his eyes.

Miguel chortled, crossing his arms over his broad chest. “Foolish, just like the rest of them,” he spat, hoping to uncover why you were different—why he couldn’t kill you—but finding only similarities to the other humans he had encountered.

"You do things without thinking, putting yourself in danger just for the sake of proving truths—or tales—false?"The beast scoffed, shaking his head, his brown mane swaying with the movement. “I'm surprised your kind hasn't killed itself off with your idiocy.”

You huffed, feeling attacked. “And what makes you so great?” you shot back, turning to sit on the edge of the bedding, glaring daggers at him. Your hand gripping the blanket that encased your body tightly all the while.

“You’re a lone beast that roams a mountain of snow, only existing to kill a race you deem weaker!” you spat angrily. “Who gives you the right to play judge, jury, and executioner!?” 

“Watch your tongue, mortal!” 

Miguel roared, suddenly looming over you in the blink of an eye. “You know nothing of what you speak.” He growled. “So unless you wish to become another sacrifice to the mountains, I'll cease your senseless speech,” he threatened, his claws itching to hurt you, though he knew he really couldn’t.

You gulped, realizing you might have gone too far, but you couldn’t stop. “Why? Is it true?” you pressed, noticing his red eyes and heavy breathing. “You’ve killed enough humans to cover the Great Mountains, and yet, I stand before you. Why?” You demanded, the intensity between you and the beast growing. “Why am I still alive? Why haven’t you killed me like all the others?”

Miguel held your gaze, your questions cutting into him like shards of ice.

Never had he met a human like you—someone who could match his temper, who wasn’t afraid of him, and who returned his anger just as much as he gave. 

It made him as hard as stone.

“Why?” he rasped, his paw reaching to grab the back of your head, fingers sinking into your drenched hair. Miguel loved how your stern gaze never faltered, and you didn’t flinch.

“I’ve been wondering the same thing,” Miguel confessed for the first time in your presence.

Your eyes widened as his touch was surprisingly gentle, cradling your head like you were made of glass. “I don’t… understand,” you uttered, brows furrowed.

“Neither do I,” the beast replied, leaning in close.

“I thought it was your appearance,” he purred, tracing his claws along your face. “Then I thought it was your scent,” Miguel muttered, lifting your chin and running his snout along your throat, inhaling your sweet aroma, which made him ravenous.

But that wasn’t it.

“Then, you spoke to me with little to no fear,” he growled, moving up to your ear, nuzzling your skin and savoring the shaky exhale that escaped you. “I’ve never had a human speak to me like that. It’s... 

Intoxicating.”

The creature’s closeness and body heat made your heart flutter, his touch hypnotizing you. Yet, you were puzzled as to why you felt this way for a killer beast of all things.

‘Am I dreaming?’ you wondered, questioning if the beast’s existence was just a hallucination—that you were sicker than you believed.

The bear pulled away, his mahogany eyes now burning a deep red, full of desire. His rough fingers traced your lips, nose, and jaw as if studying every aspect of you.

The creature’s behavior sent shivers through you, the sensations too real to be a hallucination, though you wondered if you were truly lost.

You bit your lip, eyes roaming over his beastly and human features, trying to uncover the reason behind your shared fascination. Then it hit you—

You were the first.

You, Y/N, the infamous supernatural explorer, were the first to meet Miguel—the White Walker and Monster of the Great Mountains.

Before you, no one had set foot in the Great Mountains without facing death, let alone seeing him and feeling his curious strokes along your cheeks.

Miguel was a mystery, and not only could you confirm his existence, but you could be the first to discover all of him, if you so chose to.

You observed the beast, secretly admiring how gentle he was when touching you—his fingers featherlight along your ears. “Then perhaps…” you began, his hand stilling on your hair as he ran your strands between his forefinger and thumb.

You smiled, looking him up and down, noticing his hardened eight-pack and the scars that decorated his chest, with some hidden under his furred arms. “Perhaps I’ll let you find the answer to your questions, if you allow me to do the same,” you offered.

Miguel’s thick eyebrows furrowed, withdrawing his fingers from your hair. He was intrigued by your proposal, his animalistic urges wild beneath his skin, but he was also…

Afraid.

“My questions come with a price,” his deep voice replied, eyeing your smaller body and wondering how intimacy between you could occur without harm.

“As do mine,” you retorted with a smirk, enjoying how your words surprised the beast. “Name your price.”

Miguel grunted, admiring your confidence. He felt his body responding more and more to your bravery, something nearly all humans he’d met previously lacked.

He cleared his throat, crouching down to your level as you sat on the edge of his bed. “My body is craving a new mate, little twig,” he bluntly stated, his face full of seriousness.

“I haven’t cared about mating in a long while, but you’ve reawakened the urge,” he explained, his hands constantly seeking to touch you, now running along your arms. “So for my… price,” Miguel’s eyes locked onto yours, taking in your emotions that were hard for him to read.

“I want to mate with you, humanita.”

Disbelief coursed through you.

‘Mate? He wants to mate… with me?!’ you thought, though your face masked your true feelings well.

You could see the need in his gaze, the way his chest heaved and shaky, rumbling exhales escaped him.

Although you hesitated at the thought of such an act with the large, killer beast, your desire for knowledge and discovery outweighed everything.

“Okay, you have yourself a deal, Miguel,” you grinned, testing the waters by running a finger along the slope of his defined cheekbone, feeling him stiffen at your touch. “Only if you’re okay with me studying you in the process.”

Miguel groaned, leaning into your touch as the anger and aggression—emotions that always simmered within him—were quelled by your presence and soft strokes.

"I'm fine with your… observations, human," Miguel grumbled, grasping the blanket you used to conceal your body, preparing to rip it free.

His arousal heightened when your hand loosened, allowing him to remove the fur shield.

You felt the beast slowly draw the rawhide fabric from your being, exposing your bare self to him in all its glory.

You couldn’t help but chuckle as the bear stood in awe, hand still holding the blanket, completely frozen. "I take it you've never seen a human this way?" 

Miguel licked his lips, a slight scoff escaping him. "I’ve never cared to," he muttered, dropping the hide and advancing toward you.

His massive hands grasped your breasts first, swallowing the soft flesh in his palms. The bear sniffed and licked at your shoulder and neck, familiarizing himself with your scent.

"You are so small, little human. I fear I may harm you," the beast admitted, voicing his concerns. His grip on your chest was gentle, brushing over your nipples with his thumbs with tender swipes.

You moaned, your back arching into his palms. Running your nails through his hair, you tugged gently. "Hmm… who knew you were such a gentle bear, Miguel?" you teased, grinning as his eyes darkened.

"Gentle… bear?" The beast repeated, a challenge in his gaze. With a snarl, he pushed you back onto his bedding, engulfing you in an instant with his body of muscles and fur.

You couldn’t help but laugh, provoking him quickly becoming your new favorite game. "Yes, quite a gentle one for a killer beast," you giggled, humming softly as he ran a flat tongue along the pulse point of your neck.

Miguel was slowly losing himself, needing the reminder that his new mate was human to keep him grounded. Yet, despite how foreign the word "gentle" felt, he found himself liking it when it came from your lips.

"Sí, I can be… gentle," he whispered gruffly, trailing down your body, following the alluring scent that had tempted him since he pulled you from the snow.

Miguel gave your inner thighs a nip, smirking when you jolted. "Así que, considérate afortunada, pequeña humanita," he purred, feeling his shaft pressing against the gray fur of his loincloth at the scent of your arousal.

Your eyes fluttered, fingers stroking his hair and ears from atop his head. You gasped at the sensation of his nose pressing against your core, seeking to smell your readiness.

“F-fuck...” you cursed, your head falling back on the fur bed, legs spreading wider for him.

Repeatedly, you glanced down, still in disbelief that it was truly a massive bear causing such pleasure. The situation was surreal, and you couldn't help but think, ‘Shit, this would make one hell of a journal entry.’ 

You bit your lip, savoring how the mysterious creature was making you feel so incredibly good.

Miguel lapped at your core, his tongue teasing your clit while exploring every inch of your intimate area. His hands gripped the soft flesh of your thighs, keeping them spread as he continued his feast.

Like the beast he was, he ravaged his new mate—suckling, nipping, and licking your entrance. His tongue tasted your wetness, loving how you dripped for him and how your grip tightened in his hair.

Your body writhed and squirmed, feeling like the bear was everywhere at once. His teeth grazed your thighs, leaving love bites, while he suckled your swollen clit and lapped at your entrance. The sensations overwhelmed you, and it wasn’t long before that familiar burning built in your belly, only to explode just as quickly.

You choked back a moan, your body writhing in bliss, feeling weightless as the beast devoured every drop you gave him.

But even after you climaxed, Miguel couldn’t get enough of you. You smelled so good, tasted even better, and his tongue trailed along your trembling thighs, marking them with his scent and teeth, wanting all to know you were his new mate.

The bear found himself content to stay between your legs, basking in your heat and scent until the end of his days. And he would have…

Had his cock not demanded your attention.

Miguel pulled away, your scent still clinging to his snout. His clawed hands didn’t hesitate to rip his fur loincloth away, revealing his massive, drooling shaft.

Your dazed eyes widened at the sight of it, the fogginess of your mind vanishing in an instant. You knew for certain that he wouldn’t fit. “You are rather… big,” you remarked with a nervous chuckle, trying to mask your anxiousness.

The beast glanced down at his own shaft, a breathy laugh escaping him for the first time in a long while. “Sí, it is,” he smirked, grabbing your ankles and pulling you closer to the edge of the bed with ease.

You yelped at his strength, your body sliding effortlessly like you weighed nothing. Gasping, you felt his heavy shaft rest against your stomach.

Swallowing hard, you realized, like always, you might have bitten off more than you could chew, but the ache of desire coursing through you was undeniable—and very enticing.

The beast’s shaft was unlike anything you had ever seen. It was long and equally girthy, with a pink tip and a dark brown base that matched his fur. His balls were large and hairy, about the size of two grapefruits, hanging heavily at the base of his impressive length. The veins along his member throbbed, and pre-cum dripped steadily from his shaft, showing his evident need.

“Don’t lose your confidence now, little twig,” he purred, resting his large hands on either side of your head, the pile of furs sinking beneath you under his weight. “It’s what makes you so delectable,” the beast rasped into your ear, tugging at your earlobe with his sharp teeth.

You scoffed, masking your hesitation with a layer of false courage. “Who said I was afraid, beast?” you asked, raising an eyebrow as you reached down to grip the massive cock in your hand, giving it a few strokes. You bit your lip, surprised at its weight.

“Let me take control, Miguel,” you said with a naughty grin, looking up at the beast while working him over with your hand. “Let me show you just how strong a human can be.”

Miguel’s mind turned to mush, a rush of pleasure and need causing him to drool slightly. His little human—his mate—was very brave and bold, something he had grown to adore.

“Está bien,” he uttered breathlessly, thrusting one last time into your soft palm before pulling away to stand over your prone body. 

For the first time, Miguel looked to someone else for direction.

Pleased, you rose up, noting the size difference as your head tilted back to maintain eye contact. Taking his hand, you guided him to lie down on the pile of furs, watching as his muscular form sank into the soft fabrics.

Miguel’s red eyes followed your every move, wary of what you had planned. “Careful, humanita,” he warned, feeling his worry rising again. “I do not wish to harm you,” he muttered, watching you climb on top of him like you were scaling the Great Mountains themselves.

You giggled, balancing perfectly on Miguel’s bulging thighs. “Where’s your confidence gone, mighty protector?” you teased, his cock fully erect and smacking against your belly at your taunt. “It’s what made you delectable,” you laughed, smearing his pre-cum along his tip with your thumb, eliciting a sexy growl from him.

“Besides, I can handle it,” you boldly told him, determined to prove it. 

To both Miguel’s and your surprise, you were capable of doing just that.

The beast watched you in sheer amazement as you took his length inside your small body. Animalistic roars and unintelligible words escaped him while you rode him, bouncing on his monster of a cock as if you’d done it countless times before.

His rough paws reached for your waist, his large hands practically enclosing around your center, guiding your movements. Sharp tingles of pleasure surged through his body, leaving him trembling and growling beneath you.

You whimpered, feeling like you’d gone mad with lust at how good his massive cock felt inside you, stretching you to the extreme. “O-Oh, fuck,” was the constant mantra you repeated, curse after curse spilling from your panting mouth with every bounce on his hips.

Miguel couldn’t get enough of how tight you were and how sensitive he was. It had been years—decades—since he’d mated, and only seconds in, he found himself whining like a virgin cub during his first time.

“You’re… impressing me, twig,” the beast huffed, his claws gripping your hips hard enough to bruise. He was mesmerized by the sight of your pussy devouring him in wet guzzles. 

The squelching of your pussy didn’t go unnoticed by the bear; the sounds shot straight to his cock as you repeatedly rose and slammed down onto his large, throbbing length, which begged for your return with each departure.

‘Who would’ve thought a small, weak human could take a being like me?’ was all the beast could think between the intense squeezes of your exquisite pussy.

Your hands landed on Miguel’s chest, feeling the taut muscles and scratching new markings into his pecs. You ground yourself on his cock, taking him as deep as your body would allow.

Communication was impossible; your eyes crossed, jaw hanging slack as only curses, moans, and high-pitched noises left your lips.

The bear grunted, noticing your sputtering hips that signaled you were close. Snarling, he tossed you onto your back, taking control before either of you could come to your senses.

His hips moved into you with raw power, his thick-furred muscles snapping with a precision deemed inconceivable. Miguel couldn’t take his eyes off your bouncing tits, the flesh moving in sync with his thrusts and the lustful sight of him joined with his new mate.

The beast’s little human was so strong, taking everything he gave you. He purred, clearly seeing the tip of his girthy cock poke through your soft abdomen, making you tremble and choke back moans at his inhuman size. “Tan perfecta, pequeña, tan perfecta para mí," the creature rumbled, the praise practically unintelligible.

Your combined cries of pleasure rang throughout the cave, bouncing off the stony walls as the blizzard continued to rage outside.

You squirmed, not remembering when your arms enveloped the bear’s broad backside, nails marking his tough skin. Whimpering and moaning in overwhelming pleasure, you were pushed over the edge in an instant when you felt Miguel’s cock press tightly against the opening to your womb.

Shrieking, you released, your back arching off the bedding and your thighs clasping around his waist. Aftershocks of electric bliss coursed through your nerves, shocking you back to life as Miguel continued his rutting.

The beast roared, his hips stalling at the clench you gave him before thrusting more erratically than before.

Burying his face in your neck, the bear whined, “Sí, sí, humanita.” He panted, his fangs grazing the skin of your ear, making you tremble in delight.

“Llevarías a mis pequeñas, mi compañera?" Miguel murmured into your ear, his pace becoming more frantic, his large balls smacking against your ass.

"Llevarás mi legado y te quedarás conmigo. Nunca me dejarías, pequeña compañera. Nunca." The beast growled, allowing the rush to overtake him.

With a loud bellow, the bear came. He held your hips down in a bruising grip, burying his cock as far as it would go, leaving no doubt you were filled with his seed.

Your toes curled, holding onto the monster tightly and moaning into his shoulder. You were left exhausted, your mind empty and devoid of thought. Your belly felt full, stuffed by the beast, but you wouldn’t have it any other way.

Your exploration was complete… 

Breathing a sigh of relief, you welcomed the beast beside you, never wanting to let go. Your arms gripped his waist tightly, your face nuzzled into his furry chest.

Out of exhaustion, sleep overtook you in no time, melting into the bear’s hardened pecs as soft snores escaped you.

Miguel pulled you close, engulfing you in his burly arms. He used his massive, furry body to warm and shield you, his fingers brushing strands of your sweaty hair from your face. 

He admired the human next to him, never in his life foreseeing this. “A human as my mate?” he whispered with a small chuckle, his hand moving to caress his little human’s belly, knowing what was growing there and what he would ensure would grow.

“You are mine now, Y/N, for all eternity.”

Miguel, the Monster of the Great Mountains, stated, his arms tightening around his new mate.

You were now Miguel’s, his little human and mate who was never to leave his cave.

He’d keep you here, where he could protect you, fill you full of his little cubs, and ensure you’d never escape his sight.

Miguel knew you’d probably fight him and disagree with his desires, but inevitably, you’d stay with him.

Whether you liked it or not…

A/N: That concludes The Beast Within! Writing Miguel as a beast was such an interesting and fun experience for me, and I really enjoyed it. If you enjoyed it just as much as I did, please like, comment, reblog, and follow!

If you’re excited to see what else my older sister, @powerful-niya, and I have in store, stay tuned—Vicetober is just getting started. 😈

Hope everyone has a wonderful day! Stay safe!!

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[redfoxwritesstuff]

Fallen For Glory (Sinner!Adam x Reader)

CW: Glory holes, sex work, Oral (M receiving), fem masterbation Rating: Adult Summary: Seven months after your fated encounter with the First man, you struggled to get him off your mind. Even after a unexpected failed early extermination and the broadcasted slaying of Adam on the battlefield, you couldn't get him off your mind as rumors of him being reborn, sentenced to hell himself made it impossible for you to let go.

And then, sitting in the both of the shitty glory hole joint Valentino ran, you heard his voice once again. Rumors were true. Adam lived and your obsession was fueled by nothing more than the taste of him on your tongue.

This was the best day at the office...

Follow up to Crash Landings- reading not required

Adam walked through the seedy streets of hell, heavy bat wings held tightly against his back. He was wound up and ready to blow off some steam. Too many disgusting sinners had fucked with him since he had landed in hell and the last thing he wanted was to spend more time around them. 

“Fuck this shit,” Adam grumbled, ducking under an awning as the sky cracked with a bolt of lightning. Acid rain wasted no time in falling to the ground, burning sheets of water that would eat through flesh and clothes. 

Whatever this building was, music pumped inside promising a good time, or at least a better time than anyone caught outside in the rain was having. 

“Holes” was plastered on the door, though Adam didn’t bother reading the small text under it as he stepped inside. 

The room was dark, lit by neon lights. A woman behind a host booth that looked more at place in a restaurant eyed him. Her breasts were hardly covered, pressed up by the hard surface of the booth as she leaned forward. 

“Yoo,” She slurred her words, clearly drunk or high on something. “You’re the first man.” 

“Yeah?” Adam puffed out his chest and held his head high, letting the light reflect off the horns atop his head. “What’s it to ya?” 

“Nothing at all,” she shrugged, “if you’ve got the fee, we’ve got a hole for you to use around here somewhere.” 

You sat on the bench in the small room you rented. The dim lights filtered in as you listened to the hostess talk with the latest client. Hearing his voice, Adam’s after nearly a year had your stomach doing flips. 

Everyone knew he had died in the failed extermination a few months ago, but if he had been reborn in hell as a Sinner, no longer a winner, was little more than rumor. Hell had a lot of rumors and, more often than not, they were nothing more than tall stories. 

This time, the rumor was true. You struggled to believe it. 

Worse yet, you struggled to understand how excited that thought had made you. It wasn’t like you had wanted to lie with him when you had seen him so many months ago. It was something you did to survive, to help him through the damned pollen that was distorting his reasoning. The little bits of purple flowers that clung to his hair made it easier. 

Yet, you couldn’t get the damned first man out of your mind. 

“Right this way, sir.” you listened as the woman walked Adam the other half of your booth.

“How do I know she’s hot?” His voice filled the small room as he stepped inside. 

“It’s a glory hole, sir. It doesn’t matter if she’s hot. Just use her holes.”

“And it… it is a chick?” 

“Yes, sir.” You answered from your side of the wall. “I’m a chick.” 

“How does this work?” Adam walked deeper into the room, peering into your side through the holes in the wall. 

“You put your cock in the hole, she sucks your cock. You pay by the minute and then fuck off.” The woman answered before leaving, pulling the curtain closed behind her. 

“Okay then,” Adam said, voice sounding awkwardly unsure for the first time. Buckles clinked as he worked his pants open, grabbing his soft member in his hand. “Just ah, give me a second to get up and I’ll-” 

“You can just put it through,” you said, turning to face the wall. “I can do that for you if you’d like.” 

“Okay,” Adam hesitantly put his semi hard cock through the hole at a comfortable height for him. 

You licked your lips and moved forward, running your tongue along the side of him, starting from as close to his base as you could reach and moving toward his head, chasing him when he shifted away from you. 

Opening your mouth wide, you knelt down, letting his cock fall into your mouth. Lips wrapped around his soft shaft as you sucked on him. The salty taste of him coated your tongue as you rolled him around your mouth. You could feel each beat of his heart in the pulsing twitch of his cock. 

On the other side of the wall, Adam groaned, “Oh fuck.” 

He expanded, growing within the warm wet confines of your mouth. Soon you were stretching your jaw open, wrapping your lips around the solid shaft you remembered pounding into your cunt so vividly. 

What would he say if he knew it was you? What would he say if he knew you were wearing the same baggy sweatshirt and tiny skirt he had fucked you in before? 

You moaned around his shaft, reaching your arms forward, leaning against the wall on your forearms. Slowly, you pulled back as you sucked hard on his shaft. The head of his cock popped from your lips as Adam thrust his hips into the wall, trying to chase the warmth of your mouth. 

“Fuck, babe.” 

Adam’s voice reverberated through the wall. You could swear you felt it run up your arms and down your spine. Licking your lips, you eagerly delve forward for more, wanting to taste his pre-cum on his cock more than you wanted anything in your very short life and even shorter afterlife. 

The head of his cock was heavy on your tongue. You moaned, wrapping your lips around the ridge of his head and running your tongue over his slit again and again. You suckled the head of his cock, pulling forth beads of pre-cum as it was the sweetest nectar in the world. 

On the other side of the wall, Adam thrust his hips into the wall again and again, seeking the feeling of your mouth around his length. He groaned in frustration, fingers digging into the crumbling drywall. There was nothing he wanted more in the moment than to reach through the wall and shove your head down his cock.

A deep moan filled the rooms as you gave him what he wanted, sucking his length into your mouth. Each prominent vein on his shaft throbbed under your tongue as you traced it. 

“Fuck. That’s right,” Adam groaned, grinding his pelvis into the wall. “Suck it,” 

Bobbing up and down his cock, you did exactly as he said, working his length in and out of your mouth as he panted and moaned on the other side of the wall. You startled as you felt a hand gripping your breast, only to realize it was your own. 

Delicious pain sparked through you as you pinched your own nipple. The feeling of being used by the first man once again had heat rushing to your core. Your hands quickly followed. 

Fingers fumbled as you eagerly pulled your short skirt up, slipping one hand inside your panties. The feeling of him thrusting into your mouth again and again as you held steady, open and nose just almost touching the wall had your folds slick and sloppy. 

Never had you enjoyed your job as much as you were this day. Fingers ran over your clit, slipping through your folds and smearing the slick around as you drove yourself closer and closer to your own finish. 

“Does that- fuck!” Adam stuttered, arrogant voice carrying even in the height of his pleasure. “Fucking feel good?” 

You moaned around his length as he hit the back of your throat. Moving closer, you took him as deep as you could, coughing and sputtering as he thrust in again and again. Your lips pinched between the opening and his cock, pain chasing pleasure as your fingers matched his pace.

“You fucking like this, don’t you?” Adam said, thrusts growing irregular and sloppy. You were so close now to your own finish. “Fucking enjoying being a mouth for my fuckin cock, don’t you?” You moaned a gargled yes as he shoved himself back into your mouth. “Want the fuckin dickmaster’s cum down your throat like the needy bitch you are?” 

“Yeaguh,” you moaned, the answer cut off by his cock again. 

“Going to cum,” Adam said as his cock swelled, “down your disgusting sinner throat.” 

That shouldn’t have done it for you. It shouldn’t have been the thing to push you over the edge. It shouldn’t have, but it did. You moaned deeply, breath coming in short gasps in time with his thrusts. Numb legs convulsed, sending you forward. The wall caught you as his cock shoved deeper yet into your throat, hot ropes of cum spewing from the tip in a violent eruption. 

You coughed and choked on the salty cream of him, fingers still lazily stroking your sensitive clit, riding out the aftershocks of your orgasm as he thrust his last few spurts of cum into your mouth before pulling out of the hole. 

With your mouth free, you coughed and sputtered, clearing your throat of the seed that had gathered so that you could properly swallow him. On your knees, palms against the wall, you waited. 

“You’re good at that,” Adam said simply. You watched through the hole as he tucked himself away, working clasps and zippers. “Thank you,” he said simply before leaving. 

You’d find him again, you decided as your own leathery bat wings fluttered behind your back. You would find him and he would see that you belonged to him. He just didn’t know it yet. 

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[kittyofalltrades]

Marc's Thin Ass Sweatpants

Marc and those thin ass sweat pants....Illegal....

Words: 1257

Rating: Explicit 18+ ONLY MDNI

Beta: @welcometostayingawake (THANK YOU!!!!!!!!!!)

WARNINGS: PinV, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it), fingering, clothed sex, thin ass sweat pants

It was your day off and you decided to spend it with Marc, looking forward to some quality time with your man. He’d been grumbling about needing to clean his flat and you were willing to help him. But being the good boyfriend he sometimes was, he wouldn’t hear of making you work on your day off, so imagine his surprise when he opened his front door to find you there in a sundress and holding a book. “I told you that you didn’t need to come help me clean up,” He told you after he pressed a kiss to your cheek and stepped aside to usher you in. “Oh no, I’m not here to clean, I'm here to learn. I brought a book and everything,” you told him while you held up the latest Star Wars book. 

“More Poe?” he asked while he watched you walk to his bed with his eyes firmly glued to your ass. “Why? Are you jealous?”

“I am not jealous of your fictional boyfriend.”

You giggled while you climbed into the middle of the bed to read. Marc pressed a kiss to your lips and started his cleaning for the most part leaving you to your own devices. You’d occasionally look up over the top of your book for a prime glimpse of his ass while he bent over, his thin sweatpants doing nothing to hide his assets from the world. Not that you minded much, he had a nice bum that deserved admiration. You’d just looked over the top of the book again when you saw him stretching, mouth parting at the view. His arms raised, his back arched and a hint of his stomach poked out, making for an excellent view and you couldn’t help it as your gaze drifted down further. 

Oh. 

You knew his sweatpants were thin but you hadn’t realised just how thin. The material hugged his soft cock while he stretched, leaving nothing hidden from your eyes, and making it very clear that he was going commando for the day. You bit your lip trying to contain the desire that was rising steadily at the sight. 

“Something I can help you with, baby?” Marc asked in a teasing tone, a clear sign that you’d been caught.

“Nope, get back to work,” You told him while you went back to your book. 

You kept lifting your eyes from the pages to look at Marc  puttering around in his bedroom trying to find something to clean. After roughly five minutes, his erection was fully visible, pressed against the thin fabric and desperate for relief. A spot of precum even dotted the pants and that was enough to break you. 

“Marc, come here,” you ordered softly, finally throwing your book aside. 

Marc closed the distance between the two of you and you wasted no time in running your hands over his clothed cock. You could feel every inch of him through the thin material, and yet you didn't free him. Instead, you left the thin material in place and kept up your eager pace outside his pants. The sounds he made while you stroked him made you clench your thighs together for some relief. Whimpers and soft moans filled your ears and fueled your need for him.

“Baby, stop…I need to cum and I don’t want to cum in my pants,” he practically whimpered.

“Do you know how hot that would be? And it would teach you a lesson about wearing these thin ass sweatpants,” you told him. You gave his cock a kiss over the material before pulling down the waistband and finally exposing him. 

You stood and shimmied out of your panties, bent over the bed and pulled up your dress exposing your dripping cunt to him. You looked over your shoulder before giving him an inviting wiggle of your hips. 

Marc pressed himself behind you and tapped the head of his cock against your clit, dragging out a wanton moan from you. He lined up with your entrance and snapped his hips forward, filling you in one smooth motion. He drew out almost fully before snapping his hips forward and filling you again while your hands scrambled for purchase on the bed. 

Marc tangled his fingers in your hair pulling you upward and giving him better leverage to fuck you hard. He set a brutal pace into your cunt. The grip on your hair made your orgasm build quickly, while his groans were music to your ears.

“Marc… please…oh fuck…please I need to cum,” you whined while you worked your hips back against him furiously.

“Who were you going to teach a lesson to?” He growled while he shifted his hand from your hair to your throat. 

“You…” you whispered as his grip shifted to gently wrap around your throat while he railed you. His hand and harsh pace were starting to make you feel like you were floating free of your body from the pleasure.

Your orgasm took you by surprise, hitting you like a bus and slamming you back into your body. Only his continued grip on you, while still thrusting raggedly from behind, kept you up upright while your orgasm wrecked your body. 

“That’s it baby, you’re so good for me,” Marc  groaned in your ear. His cock twitched inside you, releasing ropes of cum deep into your pussy, filling you up. He pulled out and watched his seed drip from you before scooping it up and pushing it back into your sensitive  hole with two fingers, making you whine. He made a soft shushing sound and kept fingering you, making sure you didn’t lose a drop of him. 

“Marc…” You whined softly, but you rocked your hips back onto his fingers all the same. 

“You gonna cum for me again, baby? These sweatpants got you that hot and bothered?” 

Marc applied his thumb to your clit working the sensitive nub while he fingered you. You whined softly and you could hear the smirk when he spoke his next words.

“Oh baby, you don’t like it when I tease, do you? Maybe this should be a lesson in not teasing me either, hmm?” he asked. 

“I’m sorry, please… please let me cum…” you whined while you rocked against him faster, seeking your release. 

Marc grinned but did as you asked, quickening his pace and curling against your g-spot. He could feel your walls tightening around his fingers and he gripped your waist with his free hand. The extra touch of his hand made your knees buckle as you wailed out your second orgasm. 

Marc kept his fingers working into you at a steady pace, working you through the waves of pleasure with sweet words of encouragement. Once you slumped forward bonelessly, Marc pulled back the cover and helped you into bed. He pulled off his clothes and climbed in after you with a smile. 

“So… sweatpants, huh?” He asked with a grin. 

“Please tell me you haven’t worn those out of the house,” you murmured while you settled against him. 

“I have, why?” His tone shifted from teasing to slightly worried.

“Babe, going commando in those sweatpants leaves nothing to the imagination and everything to be desired,” you told him. 

Marc nodded thoughtfully, he could never wear those sweatpants out again. But now he knew how to win an argument with you or get your attention. He cleaned the apartment, got to see his girl, got to fuck his girl and now had a new secret weapon. 

Today was a good day. 

[tomorrowusa]

Project 2025, written by members of the Trump administration and Trump's political cronies, wants to get rid of NOAA which includes the National Hurricane Center. They are hardcore climate deniers who wish to erase all evidence of climate change to protect the fossil fuel industry.

While no two hurricanes are alike, there is something potentially worrisome about Category 4 Hurricane Helene. It has been the latest in rapidly intensifying storms. The era of rapid intensification probably began in 1992 with Cat 5 Hurricane Andrew. But Helene moved through the Gulf of Mexico at a rapid rate for a hurricane at such latitudes. At one point it was moving at 24 MPH/44 KmH. What that means is that its momentum took it further inland with less loss of intensity than a slower moving storm.

So at 2 AM Friday, Helene was still a full-blown hurricane well into inland (as opposed to coastal) Georgia.

People in Savannah were probably astonished to have a hurricane 150 miles to the west rather than one 150 miles to the east.

With rapid intensification AND rapid movement of hurricanes, areas further inland are now in greater danger. The Trump/Project 2025 destruction of our ability to monitor cyclones would do to climate and meteorology what the destruction of Roe v. Wade has done to reproductive health.

[itcars]

First Look: The Hennessey H850 Mustang Dark Horse

Hennessey Performance, the world-renowned Texas-based hypercar manufacturer and high-performance vehicle creator, announces high-performance supercharged upgrades for the all-new, seventh-generation 2024 Ford S650 Mustang Dark Horse. The comprehensive turn-key package dramatically boosts engine output and enhances the appearance of the latest iteration of America's iconic pony car.

Ford's completely redesigned 'S650' Mustang Dark Horse is fitted with Ford's naturally aspirated Gen-4 Coyote 5.0-liter V8. The automaker upgrades the Dark Horse with GT500 connecting rods and a dual throttle body to earn a factory rating of 500 horsepower. The 2024 Dark Horse may be ordered with either a Tremec 6-speed manual (3.73 gears) or with Ford’s 10-speed automatic (3.55 gearing). Regardless of transmission choice, the track-focused Mustang features upgraded multi-piston Brembo performance brakes on both axles.

Hennessey's experienced technicians, who have been 'making fast cars faster' for 32 years, fit the Mustang's V8 with a high-performance supercharger and a high-flow air induction system, upgraded fuel injectors, and a new fuel pump. Calibrated with an HPE Engine Management software upgrade, the ‘H850’ Dark Horse produces 850 horsepower and 650 lb-ft of torque – a 70 percent increase in power!

To complement its potent powerplant, the Hennessey 'H850' Ford Mustang Dark Horse is visually enhanced with a stylish carbon-fiber front splitter, carbon-fiber side skirts, and a carbon-fiber rear spoiler. Completing the exterior cosmetic enhancements are a set of stunning forged aluminum alloy wheels. Hennessey's embroidered head restraints are fitted to the seats, while Hennessey's badging and script adorn the quarter panels and rear fascia. Unique 'Heritage' graphics are optional.