#Metal Star Trophy | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

nanaslutt · 1 year ago

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Crack smut with the JJK men, using your funny/embarrassing stories :3

incl: Gojo, Geto, Nanami, Choso, Toji, Sukuna

Contains: fem reader, established relationships, pussy eating, multiple orgasms, dirty talk, titfucking, throat-fucking, so much crack, ass slapping, anal (in sukuna's), teasing, first time (in Nanami's)

MDNI

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ

Gojo:

"Oh fuck- Tight fuckin' pussy is suckin' me in~" Gojo groaned, grabbing your hips with both hands as he slammed your ass back against him. He was fucking you SO rough, the bed shaking and creaking with every thrust, your loud moans and his panting only adding to the noise. "Right there- o-oh my god right there-" The tip of his cock was hammering straight against your g-spot, making you see stars behind your eyelids when your eyes rolled back in your head. Gojo bit his lip, feeling himself get close. You arched your back deeper for him, helping the angle in which he was fucking you.

"M-my clit Toru- rub my clit-" You whined through your moans, feeling yourself creep closer and closer to your high. "I got you baby, fucking got you, gonna cum all over my cock? Huh?" He groaned, his hips losing their pace inside you. You let your jaw fall slack, moaning freely into the room as he fucked the both of you towards your orgasms. The shelf above Gojo's bed that housed some of his old trophies from his high school days had been shaking and trembling along with Gojo's thrusts; his hips knocking the bed into the wall repeatedly.

Right before you were about to get pushed over the edge, one of Gojo's solid metal trophies finally had enough; tipping over the wood it landed square on the top of your head, making you cry out in pain, Gojo's cock slipping out of you when your body fell forward, your hands no longer supporting your body as they cradled the top of your head, rubbing out the throbbing pain. Gojo had his head tipped back, so he failed to see what had happened, hence why he didn't stop the trophy when it fell. Safe to say he was a little confused when he opened his eyes, his chin tipping down as he watched you curl up in pain, groaning and cursing beneath him.

"Woah, what the fuck happened?" Gojo asked panicked, holding his hands out in front of him like if he touched you, you would break. "Fuck- trophy Gojo- your fucking- ughhhh-" You rolled over on your side, your eyes screwed shut as the throbbing only seemed to get worse. "Oh shit." Gojo said, his eyes landing on the heavy piece of metal that had knocked you straight on the head. He pulled his lips together, suppressing a laugh as he replayed in his head what it must've looked like when it hit you, the anvil noise sounding cartoonishly in his head when it made contact with you.

"Fuck baby-" Gojo spoke through his giggles, his hands coming to smooth over the skin of your hips and thighs, rubbing you sweetly, "I'm- I'm so sorry, are you okay?" His dick was twitching in synchronicity with his poorly concealed laughs, your eyes squinted as you looked at him from under your arms pressed to your head. "I'm fine but if you don't stop laughing, you won't be." You grit, your eyebrow twitching in irritation. Gojo burst out in laughter, making you kick your leg out at him, only it didn't hit him, it hit something softer. A warm and wet sensation caressed itself on your foot, making your head shoot up in panic, your hands holding your body up behind you as you stared at whatever had just touched you.

A large black dog was sitting by the edge of the bed, your eyes noticed how Gojo's door had been pushed open at some point by the large dog. Gojo turned his head, his giggles quieting as he reached out his hand to ruffle the dog's fur on top of his head. "I didn't know you had a dog, that fucking scared me." You said, plopping your body back down on the sheets, a little too roughly albeit, as the motion made your head throb again; you swore you had a concussion. "Oh, it's just my sons," Gojo said, nonchalantly. You staired at the ceiling for a moment, processing words before your jaw fell open incredulously, "YOU HAVE A SON!?"

Geto:

"Oh fuck- Suguru- right there baby- right there-" You squeezed your thighs around his head, feeling your orgasm creep up on you rapidly. Your boyfriend was kneeling between your thighs on the floor, his head buried between them as he ate you out with vigor, one hand wrapped around his cock as he stroked himself off, the other wrapped around your thigh, keeping you as close to his face as possible.

The two of you were innocently watching a movie, when a very explicit sex scene came on, making the both of you go silent and blush as you watched the two actors make love in front of you. Geto pulled you out of your own head when his big hand came to caress your thigh, slowly sliding up and up and up, until he was rubbing your over your shorts, not acknowledging his actions as he kept his face towards the screen, watching the man go down on his wife as he rubbed your clit through your shorts, feeling a damp spot start to form. Once you had enough and gripped his wrist, whispering out his name, it was over.

He had been eating you out for almost an hour now, you had cum twice and he was steadily working you towards your third. One thing about Suguru is he was going to eat you out until his jaw fucking locked, every. single. time. He shook his head against your pussy, sticking his tongue out as he let it beat against your sensitive clit, licking in your folds in the process, the stimulation making your legs tremble around his head.

Your hands were buried in his hair, tugging harshly whenever he sucked your clit into his mouth. Anytime he felt that burn on his scalp from your fingers, his eyes rolled back into his head, his hand simultaneously picking up speed as it throbbed at the painful pleasure, the dull ache in his balls growing stronger the more you did it. "Sugu Im cumming- fuck baby- cumming again- nghhh-" Geto moaned into your cunt, his eyes squeezing shut as he felt your orgasm crash over you. Your nails dug into his scalp, your thighs snapping shut around his head as you gushed on his eager tongue that was lapping up everything you gave him.

His loud moaning against your pussy was making you see stars. Geto jerked himself through his own orgasm, aided by your mean hands yanking on his hair repeatedly. Hot ropes of cum shot out of his dick and onto the base of the couch, some getting on his fingers that created lewd squelching noises on his flushed cock as he jerked himself through his high. Your hands pushed him away with all the strength you could muster, breathing heavily as your hand came to rest over your eyes as you caught your breath. Geto pulled back, the bottom half of his face absolutely drenched in your juices as he heaved with you, his face bright red from having cum so hard.

As he watched you catch your breath, your legs falling loosely over his shoulders as your body relaxed, he couldn't help but think how cute you looked like this, the skin on your stomach folding over itself as you slouched on the couch, your cute bellybutton looking right at him; there was only one logical thing for him to do. Your arm shot away from your face and down to wrap around Geto's neck when you felt him blow a raspberry into your tummy, the feeling sending you into a fit of giggles as your entire body tensed from the ticklish feeling. "Geto!" you laughed, grabbing his cheeks with your hands and squishing them together you raised his head to look up at you, a funny-looking smile on his face.

"Sorry, your tummy looked so cute." He said, his words coming out mumbly from the way you were squishing his cheeks together. You burst out in a fit of giggles, your head falling back against the cushion as Geto rose from his place between your thighs, laughing with you as he wrapped his arms around your body.

Nanami:

It was time, Nanami was finally going to lose his virginity, and with you of all people, his crush since high school, he thought he was dreaming. Your legs were spread open for him as his large body was slotted between your thighs, his thighs slightly under yours as he sat back on his heels, a condom packet in hand as he ripped it open, readying it to roll onto his cock. You laid patiently on the sheets, one of your hands between your thighs was slowly rubbing circles into your clit, your little hole clenching around nothing for Nanami's eyes as he tried to focus on the task at hand, this proving extremely difficult when your other hand started stroking his thigh softly.

"You're quite distracting you know.." Nanami mumbled, pulling out the lubed-up condom from the packet, and placing the wrapper next to him on the bed. "I can't help it, you're making me feel so fucking needy." You whined, tipping your head to the side against the pillows as your fingers came down to tease at your hole, dipping the tips in slightly. Nanami swallowed whatever saliva still resided in his dry mouth as his eyes darted between your cunt and the condom he had started rolling onto his cock.

"I'm.. not even doing anything," Nanami said, forcing the groan down in his throat that wanted to fall from his lips, a light blush dusting on his cheeks. "You have no idea what you look like right now, huh? Touching your big cock as you roll that little condom on it.. It's so hot Nanami, see how wet I am right now? 's all from you.." You whisper like it's a secret. Nanami griped himself hard at the base when he fully sheathed his cock inside the condom, feeling like he might cum from your words alone. He leaned over you, placing one hand by your head as the other jerked his cock slowly, his hand guiding it to your cunt as your hand made way for him, his mushroom tip rubbing up and down along your folds.

You wrapped your hands around his lower back, biting your lip as you kept your eyes on his serious face, the man biting his lip between his teeth in concentration as he teased your clit with his tip, feeling the little bud twitch against him. "You liked watching me put on a condom that much?" Nanami asked, his eyes coming up to meet yours as he dragged his cock down to align with your hole, his fat tip pressing against it slightly. You nodded, your jaw falling open in a small o when you felt him push against you more firmly before pulling back, testing the waters.

"Mhm.. y-you're so sexy Nanamin~" You whispered against his lips when he leaned his face down to yours, millimeters between your lips. "Fuck princess, you drive me crazy." He whispered, shaking his head as he continued to tease your cunt. You didn't know if he was doing it on purpose or not, but it was driving you crazy, you needed to feel him inside you soon or you were going to lose your mind.

Keeping your eyes locked onto his you slid your hand from his back to between your thighs, your hand wrapping around his cock as you gave him a couple slow strokes, his jaw falling open as you did so. You pressed him harder against you, "Stop teasing me baby, give me your fucking cock~" You whispered against his lips. Soon after you uttered those dangerous words, his tip popped into your hole, making you groan out in unison as his thick cock slid inside you, your mouths opening against one another as you relished in the first feeling.

"Fuckkk- It's so- so tight-" Nanami groaned against your lips, your hand sliding away to once again wrap around his massive frame as you dug your nails into his back, leaving little crescent marks into his pale skin. "Yeah? It feel good Kento?" You asked, kissing the side of his open mouth, his eyes shut and eyebrows scrunched as he took in the feeling of his first pussy. "ahhh- fuck- feels so good sweetheart, so fucking good-" He moaned, his eye cracking open as he kissed you back with vigor, moaning into your mouth as you greedily swallowed up each other's noises.

"Kento- movee.. fuck me~" You whined against his lips, wiggling your hips on his cock, feeling him twitch inside you. He nodded, pulling back his hips he slammed them against your ass, making you moan loudly against his lips as he quickly found a steady pace. Nanami sat up, placing both of his hands on either side of your head as he fucked his large cock into your tight cunt, feeling his orgasm already build up inside him at how warm and wet you felt, combined with the adorable expressions you were making as his tip rammed into your sweet spot.

"Does it feel okay sweetheart?" He asked, steadily humping his hips into you, his waist rolling deliciously as he made sure to aim his thrusts upwards inside your pussy. "Y-yes- ohmygod- so fucking good-" You groaned, your hands loosely holding onto his hips as your head laid back against the pillows, letting yourself feel everything he was giving you. When Nanami looked down to locate your clit, his hand coming down to toy with it, he noticed something.. off, and when he focused a little more, he noticed something felt off too.

Stopping his thrusts entirely he pulled his cock out about halfway, his fingers spreading open your pussy a bit as he looked at his cock. Your eyebrows furrowed in concern; wondering if he had come already, you tipped your chin down to look at him, ready to consol an embarrassed Nanami. You weren't expecting him to look at your pussy with the expression he had on, he was looking at it like it was deformed, making you voice your worry, "Kento? Everything okay?" You asked, sitting up on your forearms, your body folding slightly as you tried to see what had him so concerned.

"Uh.." Nanami said out loud, pulling out the rest of his cock, making you wince in the process. He let his dick bob freely between you, before he spread you open once again, trying to look inside you, obviously to no avail. "The condom.. is uh.. gone." He voices, looking up at you like you were supposed to know what to do in this situation. You burst out laughing, your hand coming to press itself over your chest. Nanami blushed between your legs, his hand resting on your thigh as he almost pouted, embarrassed at the situation.

"Honestly, that's my fault, I shouldn't have been distracting you when you were putting it on." You laughed through your words, rubbing his thigh in comfort. Nanami looked away from your eyes, his blush only growing deeper at the thought that he--a grown man--had put on a condom incorrectly. "We uh.. might have to go on a treasure hunt, sorry." He whispered meekly, his thumb spreading your folds open so he could get a good look at your hole while you laid back laughing, your fit of giggles not even being interrupted when his fingers scissored inside you to fetch the condom.

Choso: (small chested reader)

You moaned around Choso's cock as he fucked it slowly in and out of your mouth, your eyes squinting and coughs forcing their way out around his cock when he fucked his dick a little too far into your throat. You were currently laid out on your back on the bed, tits out, panties still on as Choso straddled your chest, his hands firm on the headboard as he used it to steady himself while he fucked your mouth.

You crossed your thighs together for relief while he used your mouth like a fleshlight, your hands gripped around the back of his thighs for support, your nails digging into his skin when it got too much. "This feel r-really good." Choso groaned, picking up the pace as bit as he shallowly thrust into your mouth, making sure not to go too far as to not bruise your throat or make you gag. You moaned around him, tears forming in your eyes from the roughness of his thrusts. You tried to breath through your nose the best you could when you had the chance so you didn't pass out while sucking his cock.

The vibrations from your moans were going straight to Choso's balls, he clenched his teeth together, the muscles protruding out in his jaw from the force as he tried to keep his composure, his head tipping back as he moaned freely into the room, his eyes falling shut as he let himself really feel your mouth around him.

It was so hot and warm, and the way you were licking your tongue around his cock and along the sensitive underside of him, along the big vein that ran up the length of his heavy dick was making him roll his eyes back in his head; he swore he was seeing stars. When he tipped his chin down once more to watch your mouth take him, he was distracted by your bouncing tits, the perky little mounds jiggling with his thrusts, and your hard nipples looked so fucking cute bouncing with them.

His mouth was filling with saliva the longer he watched them bounce; if he wasn't careful he was going to start drooling. Your eyes were screwed shut, so you couldn't watch Choso oggle your tits, but you did feel the way he yanked his cock out of your mouth so suddenly, making you cough and swallow air greedily into your lungs.

Without even saying a word, Choso put more of his weight on your chest, his hands coming down from the headboard as he pressed your small tits together, sliding his cock in between them, trying to titty fuck you. Although he wasn't accomplishing much, your tits were barely able to press around his cock. "Uh.. Choso." He looked absolutely enamored, his hands trying to scoop up more of your breasts to push together as he humped his cock between the small crater he had created.

"Y-yeah?" He responded, his eyes still not leaving your tits as he watched his cock rub back and forth between them, your saliva and his pre smearing along your skin. "I uh.. don't know what you're trying to accomplish but I don't exactly have the.. facilities for what you're trying to do." You said, looking between his solid cock rubbing against your skin, and his face, which was so focused on the task at hand.

Choso finally looked up at you, just briefly, a confused look on his face, like he didn't understand what you meant. This felt good, why would you not have the facilities? What did that even mean? "Huh?" he voiced, before his eyes were once again on his cock, his face flushed red from his ministrations. "No, no.. this feels good, wanna keep doin' this.." He mumbled, groaning as he massaged your small tits in his hands, pressing the skin against him the best he could.

He was clearly enjoying himself, he looked even more pleased than when you were sucking him off. His jaw was slack, his face was beet red, and his moans were steadily rising in pitch, his breath hitching whenever he paused to rub his cock against your hard nipples. You smiled at him, loving how good he was feeling regardless. You giggled internally, watching your boyfriend use your small tits to get himself off. Oh well, if it worked for him so be it, less work for you.

Sukuna:

"Take my fucking cock, fuck- feel me in your fucking womb- haha-" Sukuna laughed maliciously, one of his feet perched on the bed as the two of you layed on your sides, his cock pistoning in and out of your cunt rapidly from how wet you were. His hand was pressed against your pelvis so he could feel himself inside you every time he fucked his too large cock into your tight hole. "O-hmygod Kuna-" You cried, your hand bending behind you to dig your nails in his hair to support yourself.

"Yeahh you love that huh? Love how deep I am- ngh- when I fuck up your guts like this-" He groaned, biting his lip as he fucked you with more vigor, the loud squelch emanating from between your thighs making him feel pussy drunk. He was hitting your g-spot just right, combined with his fingers that occasionally came down to toy with your little clit, you were leaking all over his dick, you don't know if you've ever been so wet in your life. "Fuck- I love it, you're so fucking d-deep!" You cried, your head tipping back against his chest, giving him the perfect leverage to kiss you.

He grabbed your jaw with the hand that was pressed over your tummy, using it to pull your head back more towards him, "Cmere doll," Sukuna groaned appreciatively when your jaw went slack obediently, making it easy for him to stick his tongue in your mouth, tangling it with yours. The two of you moaned into the others mouth, Sukuna's nails digging into the skin of your face as he continued fucking his hips in and out of you an an inhuman pace, his balls tightening with every thrust.

Sukuna liked to pull his cock out almost entirely to the hilt, then fuck it back inside you at once, loving how your cunt swallowed up his dick with no complaints, squeezing around him when he jackhammered into your sweet spot. You've never had any problems with it before, but you've never done it in this position, and you quickly realized why. Sukuna fucked you fast, so fast he lost control over his own body sometimes.

This was one of those moments. He pulled his cock out a little too far, his dick slipping out unexpectedly as his hips kept jerking. His cock curved upwards, meaning when it sprung out, his next hard thrust fucked his big cock all at once, right into your unprepped asshole, making you almost bite his tongue as you yelped, your head snapping forward at the intrusion. Sukuna stopped his thrusting, looking down he realized what he had done, and why it felt so different.

His cock was currently balls deep inside your tight ass, the hole squeezing around him at the same pace as your heartbeat, creating delicious tension in his balls. "Fuck- Fuck Sukuna you're in my ass-" You cried, crossing your legs together as you tried to adjust to the stretch. You were wondering why he hadn't pulled out, instead, he smiled maliciously with a slacked jaw behind you as your asshole clenched and unclenched around his dick, making his balls tingle.

"This might work.." He laughed, rolling his body over yours so you were now laying flat on your stomach, your legs crossed behind you as he held himself over you in the prone bone position. "Always wanted to fuck you in the ass." You whined, feeling your hole start to loosen around him, getting used to the intrusion. There was still a very prevalent painful throbbing deep inside you, but your wetness had eased the stretch, so you weren't left with too much of a burn.

"W-what?" you asked, a slight tremble in your voice, but you weren't completely put off by the idea. "Yeah.." Sukuna responded, rolling his hips against your ass in circles, stretching his cock out inside you. "Doesn't feel too bad now that the worst part is over, huh?" He smirked, laughing at your whine when he pulled his cock out of you only an inch or so before he humped it back inside you. He was right, it really didnt feel that bad, actually.. it felt kind of good.

"Want me to keep going.. hmm?" He asked, pulling his cock out slowly he spit on it, fucking it back inside you slowly, repeating that motion a couple times to tip your mind over into agreeing. "Y-yeah.. feels kinda good.." You admitted, turning your head to watch him smirk down at you. Now given the go-ahead he started to pick up his pace, not nearly as rough as his one before, but one that definitely still had your mind spinning. "Fuck- Kuna.. I feel so much fuller like this.." You whined, clenching your fists by your side.

He gripped your hands together in his larger one, locking your hands behind your back in his iron grip he pressed your wrists together, pressing them down on the small of your back. "Yeah? Gonna feel even fuller when I fill up your ass with my fucking cum." He growled, biting his lip as he relished in the feeling of your tight virgin ass. This is not the way you thought you would try anal.. but hey, it wasn't half bad.

Toji:

Toji was absolutely obsessed with slapping your ass. He had no care in the world about it, zero shame. He would smack your ass in public, with a long line of people behind you as you waited for a concession, he slapped your ass in front of your parents, in the privacy of your own home, every single time you bent over anywhere, or walked in front of him, his hands were slapping your ass.

You decided after almost a year of this, that he needed a taste of his own medicine. Sure, it felt good sometimes, but it was fucking embarrassing, especially when he did it in public. His excuse? "It's mine isn't it?... why wouldn't I touch it?" He definitely needed a taste of his own medicine. You tried to gather up the courage to do it several times, but you always chickened out last minute, or he turned around and caught you at the last second. He never caught on to what you were trying to do though, thank god, you were always able to play it off.

You finally found the perfect moment though. Recently, a pipe in your sink had burst, meaning you called your large, handy boyfriend to fix it for you because a plumber was too fucking expensive when you could just force Toji to learn how to fix a broken pipe so he could do it for you. This meant your mammoth of a boyfriend would be bent over for hours, half of his body under the sink as he dug around with a flashlight, trying to figure out what was what, as his caked up ass presented itself to your greedy eyes, and soon to be, palm of your hand.

You stood across the room, admiring how well he filled out his pants while you took deep breaths, preparing yourself to get body slammed into the floor or chased across the house after you slapped his ass. Slowly, you crept up on him, biting your lip between your teeth as you got closer and closer. "Stupid fucking.. is this is? What the fuck that's the same fucking pipe in the video! Work! Stupid bastard... fuck." Toji cursed into the small space under the sink, some video of a guy showing him what to do playing with him.

You bent down, rubbing your hands agaisnt one another as you braced yourself for what was to come. Nothing would stop you this time, you were going to do it, do it, do it, just- *smack*. Silence filled the room, the connection making Toji go silent, the video playing quietly in the backround. Is this where you were supposed to run? Maybe this wasn't a good idea, fuck, forget giving him a taste of his own medicine you fucked up you- "Babe."....."Yes my beautiful, handsome, boyfriend."

"Did you just smack my ass?"

"......Yeah."

The silence was palpable, you waited for Toji to say something, anything. Every muscle in your body tensed up when his head turned around, a large smirk plastered over his face as he stared at you with dark eyes before he pulled his lip between his teeth. "I get why you like that so much, kinda felt good." He laughed. Your jaw dropped in disbelief, he was supposed to hate it???? This was supposed to be him getting a taste of his own medicine, "I don't like it I-" You started to retort, placing your hands on your hips when his voice cut you off again, his face still smirking at you, "Do it again." He said in full seriousness.

"....Huh?" You asked, your jaw dropping again. "It felt good, do it again." He said, wiggling his ass at you. You pulled your lips between your teeth, inhaling deeply through your nose before you sighed, your hands dropping to your sides. "I can't stand you." You said, turning and walking away while he laughed boisterously at your failure.

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yanderenightmare · 6 months ago

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All For One

TW: nsfw, noncon, yandere, captive reader, mind deterioration

fem reader

All For One has a habit of subjugating you for his own pleasure.

It’s a game he likes to play—quite like chess, only… you start off with a single pawn, and you don’t know any of the rules. And he’s been world champion ten years in a row. And he plays dirty.

Tonight, he’s dressed you up in a costume. Not any old Halloween costume, but a slutty one. Not a playboy bunny or a maid, nor a schoolgirl—this was worse—a sleazy rendition of your old hero uniform.

You’d barely recognized the faintly familiar design when he first laid it out on the bed for you. Silly and naïve, you thought his games of derision would end when you finally offered your submission, but that was a fool’s thought. What fun were you if not proof of his undying victory—a reminder, a trophy, a relic?

It’s beyond degrading. Tight and revealing. Less than an actual costume, it was more something one would wear in the bedroom, cosplaying for some fantasy starring an overly sexualized you. Only God knows where he’d gotten it from.

Your steel armor, once with the dignity of a knight, had instead been swapped out for a silly silver bikini—the shimmery fabric tacky and cheap, allowing your nipples to peak forth. Covering it was a top and a skirt made up of silver chains, which only further mocked the appearance of chainmail—looking more like the jewelry a stripper might wear.

He’d forgone your helmet, boots, and sword entirely. Truly, if it weren’t for the detailing of the pattern making the fabric vaguely resemble plated armor, it wouldn’t have been much different from any other set of lingerie.

And still, it’s just similar enough to make it sting.

“Look at you...” he jeers, his voice sodden with taunt—carmine stare faded and gleeful, thoroughly enjoying it. “What a sight for sore eyes.”

He stands behind you in the mirror, holding you delicately by the hips, intimately close, dressed in another one of his black suits, fully clothed in devastating contrast to you. His smile curls as he roams your ill-covered body, kissed with the flush of chagrin, leering at you in the reflection—his voice slithering right by your ear.

“Though I can’t say I remember it being quite so revealing, can you?” he jokes, running his hands up and down your waist, fiddling some with the intricacies—metal daintily clinking and clangoring. “No, there’s something else that’s different...”

You feel so humiliated, so small—as if he could hold you up by the scruff of your neck with ease. It isn’t just a feeling—you’re well aware that he most likely could.

“Why yes, of course…” he hums with delayed realization—you know he’s faking for anticipation, chittering while wrapping his thick arms around your tiny midsection, giving you a firm squeeze. “You’ve lost all muscle.”

It’s a painful truth. You don’t know how many months it’s been. Perhaps a year has passed already, maybe even more. He keeps you well aware of his triumph in the outside world, but time still eludes you.

You’d tried maintaining it in the beginning, even after he’d taken your quirk. You’d been vigilant, keeping up your workout regimens just as religiously as before. But you couldn’t pick what you ate, nor when—and he’d only feed you cake. It wasn’t long before all your hard-earned muscles had melted away like popsicle syrup off the stick, licked and lapped right up by the man holding you.

“Mmh, yes…” he murmurs gratingly while swaying you back against him, lips pressing against your ear. “And it’s left you oh-so-soft.”

His bulbous crotch slots against your upper ass, resting there as it grows fatter and warm—a sign of his enjoyment. The weight of him makes you feel all but paper-thin.

His voice rasps now. “If I were to give you your quirk back, I wager you wouldn’t even be able to use it anymore—it would sooner rip your poor limbs apart.”

It’s beyond cruel to suggest—as if disgracing your old costume wasn’t enough torment already. You bite your lip, gnaw it harshly—don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t let him see you cry.

“Isn’t that just fascinating?” He gives your earlobe a gentle bite, and the whimper in your throat springs free like prey out of hiding.

A sniffle shortly followed—along the dribble of the night’s very first tears. Your diminished spirit has made you all too prone to cry as if there’s nothing else for you to do but indulge in the small comfort it gives.

“Oh, sweetie—don’t weep over prowess long since lost. It was never enough to challenge me anyway,” he coos, as if consoling you—swaying your smaller brittle body back against his looming chest, a cage that seemed to swallow you whole.

Steering your jaw, he holds your face still before the mirror, unable to look away as the tears dribble down your sorry cheeks—he smears them further with a kiss.

“The world would chew you up as you are now, fragile like glass.” The grin curling his lips makes you resemble prey caught on a predator’s teeth—you can’t help but shiver at the sight of it. You wish he wouldn’t toy with you like food and just kill you already. “Mark my words, hero—the belly of the beast would not grant you as much comfort as I do.”

His other hand slips down to cup your mound—firmly, with a squeeze that has you curl yourself back against him as he presses two tough fingerpads into your clothed clit, rubbing it tightly enough to make your thighs shake.

“You’re better off like this,” he grunts, snickers at how your weak hands clutch the sleeve of his suit, curling the fabric in your palms until your knuckles whiten—watching the furrow further crease between your cinched brows as you try and bite back your pathetic little sounds even as more tears come tumbling down your swollen cheeks. “Mh, my pretty plaything.”

He makes you continue to look at yourself as he simply slides the panty to the side of your cunt. Encouraging you to place your hands flat against the mirror as he bends you forward, then to step back and stand atop his dress shoes.

“Don’t be shy now,” he makes sure to tell you. “You’re as light and negligible as a feather.”

He parts his feet and yours along with them, spreading your thighs enough to accommodate the fat heat he soon slides between them. Rigid and veiny, it competes with the size of your forearm—so thick that when he slaps it up against your slit, your knees buckle from the impact.

His chuckles rumble across your body like an earthquake. You only realize how much it makes you shake when he encloses your hip in his big hand, steadying you. Holding you still as he drags his engorged cockhead through your lips, catching your clit before resting on your entrance.

You’re so sore from prior nights—countless hours locked in this room with his visits the only thing keeping you company—everything has yet to forgive you for the wreckage those visits leave behind. Your sorry little puss rues and dreads another defeat now as he sinks inside the comfort of your battered walls, one unyielding inch at a time.

You wince and tense, shoulders bracing, and yet he pushes deeper, sliding you down his shaft until you rest at the hilt of his base, kneading the tip into your gummy womb, giving it a deep kiss that bulges out from your poor belly.

The sight in the mirror is morbid, even more so than the feeling—the way he molds your insides to fit him, to cater and house his length and size.

“Ah—just perfect, isn’t it, hero?” he purrs, chest resting heavily upon your spine while dwarfing both your hips in a firm grip, chin-stubble scraping along your neck as his voice comes out hot against your ear, “Obedience suits you so well, don’t you agree?”

Your knees buckle once he starts the heavy pace—slowly pounding into you from behind, dragging out and pushing deep in womb-robbing thrusts. You pant from the toll of it, feeling your muscles give—too tired and too broken to continue acting tough. He’s the only reason you’re left upright on your feet—keeping you standing with just his hold on your haunches. It seems like nothing to him, though it feels like the weight of the world to you.

“It’s only a shame it had to come with all these scars.” He clicks his tongue, eyes raking across your body as it takes him, resting on each mark disrupting the otherwise milk-smooth skin. “If only you’d accepted your place sooner.”

The ember burning within you is all but a piece of cooling charcoal now. You feel it diminish every day, leaving you even thinner than before.

“But then again, I quite enjoy you like this—littered with my battle scars from your toes up to your crown. It’s rather intimate, isn’t it?” he hums with a smile. “Proof of all the times I could’ve quashed you beneath my foot like a pitiful bug but decided to spare you. Teach you how to worship like the weak ought to.”

There was a time when you still humored the thought of killing him, even with your quirk taken from you. You thought, in your foolishness, that being this close to him must garner an opportunity, any, however slim, just enough for you to take advantage and finish what you vowed to end so long ago.

Now, you almost don’t care anymore. The world had moved on without you, and there was nothing more you could do about it.

You realize your promise had been as cheap as this outfit.

“The greater the fall, the sweeter the surrender, isn’t that right?” he states. “Doesn’t it feel good to finally accept your place in the world, hero?”

You can only nod your head and agree.

♡ BOKU NO HERO ACADEMIA masterlist

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fangdokja · 2 months ago

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You skate for freedom, but he’s about to make you his trophy.

♡ Book. A Heart Devoured: A Dark Yandere Anthology

♡ Pairing. Yandere! Hockey Captain x Fem. Reader

♡ Oneshot. #1

♡ Word Count. 778

“You should’ve stayed on the ice, little princess. That’s where you belong.” His voice is a low snarl, curling through the stale air like smoke from a fire that’s already consumed everything. His gloved hand clamps around your jaw, tilting your chin upward so you’re forced to meet those dark, piercing eyes. The shadows swallow him whole, but you’re still keenly aware of how his presence looms, heavy and inescapable.

“But it’s too late now, isn’t it?” he murmurs, voice softening to something far more dangerous. “You should’ve run faster. Maybe then I wouldn’t have caught you.”

He’s the golden boy of your university's rival team—the captain whose name makes coaches break into cold sweats and players clutch their sticks tighter. On the ice, he’s relentless. Off the ice, he’s a predator in disguise, all sharp smiles and sharper intentions. He’s seen you skate. You, the delicate little thing gliding like art across the rink, untouched by the chaos his world thrives on.

He hated you the first time. Hated how perfectly ethereal you were, all grace and poise. How unreachable, and seemingly unattainable.

Completely out of place in his violent world.

But now? Now you’re his.

“You skate like it’s a dream,” he hisses, dragging you closer, his breath grazing your cheek. “I skate for blood. And that’s why you’ll never escape me. You’ll never win this game.”

It started with whispers of his name behind you in hallways, a shadow where no one should stand. Then your skates disappeared the night before finals. Your partner tripped during practice, a mysterious injury leaving you stranded on the ice alone. The locker room reeks of his cologne, though you never see him enter.

You do, however, see him in the stands, watching you with eyes that burn like a dying star.

"Don’t act like you don’t like the attention," he growls, his breath hot against your ear. "You think I don’t see the way you tremble? It’s cute, really. Makes me want to ruin you even more."

And always—always—he was there. Watching. Waiting. His eyes burned through the glass during competitions, so focused, so wrong. Like a starving wolf watching a rabbit with nowhere left to run.

“Why do you look so afraid?” he taunted one night, his skates slicing through the ice as he cornered you at practice, his silhouette blocking out the arena lights. The grin on his face held no warmth. “You should be. You know what I want.”

When he finally catches you, when he pushes you back against the cold, metal shelves of the rink’s forgotten storage room, it’s like the world narrows to him and him alone. The blade of his skate brushes your thigh—a silent, chilling threat that makes your breath hitch. His voice dips low, a whisper meant only for you.

“No one else gets to have you. Not your team. Not your fans. Not even the ice. You’re mine.”

Blood on his knuckles, sweat dripping down his temple, he drags an unconscious rival skater out of view. You’re screaming, but it doesn’t matter. "Shhh," he coos, his hands wrapping around your shaking shoulders. "You don’t need them. You’ve got me."

You don’t remember much after that. Just the distant sound of fists meeting flesh, the sickening crack of bone. And him. Always him. His blood-slick knuckles reaching for you, his tone soothing even as the violence still lingers in the air.

“Don’t cry,” he hums, tilting your trembling face to his. “I’m right here. I’ll take care of you now.”

When you wake up, your wrists sting—taped together with strips of white hockey tape. You’re on a bed that smells faintly of sweat and sharp cologne, and he’s there, lounging in a chair across the room. His hockey stick rests casually against his legs, a predator at rest, watching his prey stir.

“You’re awake.” The smirk he gives you is casual, but the darkness in his gaze is anything but. “Welcome home.”

He rises slowly, crossing the room to loom over you. His hand cups your cheek, fingers possessive, unyielding. “You’ll get used to it here,” he murmurs, almost tenderly. “You don’t need the ice anymore. You don’t need anyone. I’m your biggest fan now, and I’ll give you everything you need.”

His lips brush your ear, and the words he speaks are a promise etched in steel.

“I’ll make you love me, ice princess. Even if I have to carve the words into your bones.”

And you know, deep down, you’ll never skate again.

Not unless it’s for him.

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pomegranateandblood · 1 year ago

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The Jacket (part 1/2)

Summary: Alive!reader gets assigned a new locker, finds Wally‘s letterman jacket and decides to keep it

Includes: Wally Clark x reader, smut

A/N: I just love Wally & Rhonda‘s friendship

"This is not what I meant when I asked for a new locker." You said, scrunching your nose in disgust.

„Yeah, it's like they haven't cleaned it in decades" Your friend dusted her hands off.

A comical cloud of dust came out of the locker, when you finally managed to open the jammed metal door. Coughing, you stepped back.

Meanwhile, unbeknown to you, two students were watching. Dead Students to be exact.

„Hey, isn't that your locker, hot stuff?" Rhonda pointed her lollipop towards the situation.

The footballer turned and nearly tripped, running over to you.

„Stop panicking, it's not like you could do anything about it anyway." The brunette rolled her eyes and started following him.

„They promised my my mum they wouldn't give my locker away and now I see some-„ Wally tried to find the right words, holding onto Rhondas arm.

She raised a brow at him „Hot cheerleaders taking over your locker ?"

„I'm serious! All the stuff I have on me is in there, what if they throw it away?" He said, watching you hold up his letterman jacket.

„You're right, they really havent cleaned this in ages." You looked at your friend.

She reached inside, pulling out a blue and white jacket. You took it from her and held it up. „It's cute don't you think? Kinda vintage."

„Oh my god. look." She pointed at the stitching at the right top. ‚Wally' it read in white italic letters. You looked at her. „You think it belonged to the stadium guy?"

„Possible? I mean there's other stuff in there. Maybe he wants it back." Your friend crossed her arms. „We could go to the library at lunch and look into the yearbooks to find out."

The bell rang, interrupting your little locker investigation.

„Sounds like a plan." You said, before walking to class.

—

Wally anticipated lunch break and already waited in the yearbook section, when Rhonda suddenly appeared next to him.

„What are you doing here? Aren't you busy catching gossip in the teachers lounge ?" he asked, cocking a brow at her in question.

She smirked. „I love gossip, but seeing your big star student slash jock ego getting crushed by two human girls is even more entertaining to me"

Wally mocked her smirk and rolled his eyes. He was about to reply when he heard you and your friend entering the aisle.

„1981, 1982- ah here Yearbook of 1983. The trophy cabinet has a table with all, the state champion teams and his name was listed in that year."

Rhonda leaned her head on Wally‘s shoulder, or at least as far as she could with their height difference. „Oh superstar, even state champion? Aww, if I wasn't dead I'd feel sorry."

„Fuck you, Rhonda." Wally scoffed, trying to concentrate on you skipping through the yearbook pages.

„Sorry I'm not into footballers, sweetheart." She sucked on her lollipop again, leaning against the shelf.

Wally took a deep breath. He was a nice guy, really and he liked Rhonda, but sometimes her attitude just got to him.

„Maybe, footballer dick is just what you need to get over your brooding and depressed mood."

Rhonda laughed. „ Ew." She pushed his shoulder.

„Turn to the exceptional students pages." Your friend said and flipped through the book.

There it was, a full double page.

In loving memory of Wally Clark stood under his picture. Fluffy black hair, chocolate brown eyes and charming smile, wearing the exact same jacket you found in your locker today.

„He's dead?" It sounded more like a questioin than a statement coming out of your mouth.

„Sad, he's sexy." You friend stated.

Rhonda nearly choked on her lollipop and Wally swallowed, before a smirk crept upon his lips.

„She did not just say that?" The shorter ghost crossed her arms.

„He is." You agreed before nudging your friend.

„You think he was a fuckboy ?" She laughed and you joined in. Taking the book from you she read the different things written about him.

„Look, this cheerleader wrote ‚He loved eating jelly filled donuts' Oh I'm sure he did" She wiggled her eyebrows.

„Well if I was born back then, I wouldn't mind him tasting my jelly filled donut." you said giggling.

After chattinf some more, the two of you put the book back and left, still giggling about the handsome footballer.

Wally's face burnt bright red and he felt like his cheeks were on fire. He knew that girls had found him cute back when he was alive, but he never heard girls talk about him like that.

„Congratulations stud, now you're a teenage girls' wet dream in two centuries." Rhonda joked and patted his shoulder.

„What do you mean ?" Wally asked nervously.

Of course he had sex before and he did like it rough, but he was in a relationship before he died and even now he only had one partner to relief his teenage hormones. Wally never wanted to use someone for their body, but this ‚trapped in the school as a ghost’ situation didn't really allow any relationships.

„What I mean is, that girls are or were obsessed with you. When you came to this school I couldn't go anywhere without the female students talk about ‚tall and sexy' you are and how hot you look during football practice." She made a disgusted face and Wally looked at her in shock.

„Oh and don't we forgot about your girlfriend back then. She was very descriptive to her friends about your dick and how exactly you used it to bring her to the edge."

Wally now leaned against the shelves, trying not to freak out.

„But that was long ago, most of the ghosts here died after me." He said, trying to make himself feel better.

„I don't know why you're freaking out so much? I should be freaking out. Of disgust." She tried to calm him.

„You're right. I just thought- I can't believe I was so naiive." he said, looking down.

„Hey Wally, you're a nice guy." she said, making him smile. „Still entitled tho."

He laughed and rolled his eyes.

—

A few days later you were able togive Wally's mother the stuff you found in his locker. She seemed like a nice woman and you felt a little emotional at how grateful she was.

Especially because you decided to keep the letterman jacket. You gave it to the dry cleaners and basically lived in it ever since picking it up. It was slightly oversized on you but extremly comfortable.

But there was also something different since you wore it. You felt... watched. Just like today, when you got dressed after swimming club.

After leaving the shower, you put a towel over the bench to sit down. You took little longer than usual and had the changing room to yourself.

Suddenly, it's like something tickled over your back, down to your hips. A pleasant sensation. You shivered, reaching for the jacket to cover yourself.

You called out for someone. But you really were alone. Your friend had joked earlier that Wally Clarks ghost would come for you, because you didn't give back his jacket. Luckily you didn't believe in ghosts and when you sat down on the bench, yet another thought invaded your mind.

You leaned back and opened your legs slightly. Wouldn't be the first time someone touched themselves in the locker rooms. The boys did it all the time after practice.

Your fingers travelled from your navel down to your already wet heat. Exploring your folds, before finding your clit, you closed your eyes. Wally Clark appeared behind your lids. He kneeled between your legs, strong hands holding your hips.

He kissed the creamy skin of your thighs upwards, the dreamiest of chocolate brown bedroom eyes looking up at you. He licked his plump lips before speaking against your folds, the vibration making you hiss out.

„Quite the unusual offer. Letting me eat you out so I'd forgive you for stealing." his tongue lapped up the wetness of your folds and one of his hands found your breasts, kneading them softly before pinching the nipple. One after one.

„Wally, please." You moaned and circled your clit faster. The feeling of being watched heightened your pleasure from the fantasy.

He sucked on your clit and his other hand also left your hip. Two of his fingers pushed inside you, pumping. „Mmmh" he moaned against your sensitive spot. You shivered and moaned his name again and again.

Goosebumps spread over your skin and you were sure his fingers would feel even better than your own. Shifting slightly on the bench, you were sure the towel underneath you was already soaked. The tight coil in your lower abdomen let you know you were close.

„If you weren't already late I'd edge you. Looking so pretty spread out for me on the bench." His fingers curled up and he switched between sucking and licking at your centre.

You came, biting down on your lower lip, so you wouldn't be heard in the nearby hallway. Opening your eyes, you adjusted to reality again and pulled his jacket together in front of your chest. You felt sick, pleasuring yourself to a dead boy. You decided to sit for a bit before redressing and drying your hair.

Wally still kneeled in between your legs. His lips glistened with your juices and he laughed „So much better than a jelly donut"

Licking his fingers clean, he tried to calm his nerves. His hard cock strained against the grey sweatpants, so he sat up and adjusted himself. He really tried holding back, knowing what he did was technically a grey zone of consent, but seeing you spread out on the bench, naked and wearing his jacket, he just couldn't not help you out. Also, you did say you wouldn't mind a few days ago.

He just wished you could see him. It made him dream on his own, about you two. Maybe on the bleachers or in the teachers lounge. Wally really liked the couch in the teachers lounge.

He watched you get dressed and waited for you to leave so he could take care of himself.

—

The thoughts of Wally haunted you throughout the next few weeks. Maybe his ghost did haunt you. So you decided to help the homecoming committee decorate the school with posters and decoration up until the late night to take your mind off it.

You fell asleep in the Gym. Waking up in the middle of the night on the hard floor you sighed. You were about to collect your stuff and leave when you heard a moan. Looking up, your jaw nearly dropped to the Floor.

Wally sat upon a gym mat, the ghost of a cheerleader who died in the 90s after dropping from a pyramid sat in his lap.

There was an obvious tent in his grey sweatpants. Her cheer skirt was tucked into the seam revealing her bare pussy with two of Wally's fingers knuckle deep inside. There was a wet spot on his crotch and the squishy noise of his fingers pumping at a fast pace hollowed in the gym.

Her moans were swallowed by his lips, hungrily devouring her mouth.

You squeezed your thighs together at the sight. Envious of the girl. Wally pushed a third finger inside, keeping the rough pace. The blonde girl reached down to rub her clit, but Wally slapped her hand away.

He pulled away from her, biting her bottom lip.

„You only get to do that when my cock has been inside of you."

Your head fell back against the wall. God, you must be really going crazy. Hallucinating or dreaming, but you couldn't tear your eyes away.

The blonde pouted. „M'sorry Wally."

He helped her climb off his lap before he stood up on the mat. She was already getting on all fours with spread knees. Meanwhile Wally pulled his sweatpants down, revealing his impressive girth. Getting on one knee behind her, he pumped himself with his head thrown back, before guiding himself inside her.

He started with slow thrusts, obviously not doing this for the first time. The blonde under him closed her eyes, mouth agape in pleasure.

Wally picked up the speed while kneading her asscheeks. Your eyes widened when he spread them, letting a string of his spit drip onto her other hole. He massaged it with his thumb and the blonde responded with screaming his name „Please, Wally. Please Please Please." she writhted under his touch as he pressed down with his thumb.

Your -or more his jacket felt too hot all of a sudden and you felt your hardened nipples against the fabric of your bra. Pressing your thighs together you tried to get some relief.

The blonde bit her lip to silence her pleas buz Wally slapped her cheek „No. No. No. Baby. I wanna hear you. Let them hear you." His hand went back to her ass.

„You can pleasure yourself now." he instructed and her fingers immediately found her clit, circling roughly.

After her first orgasm, he pulled out. His dick dripping with her juices, the head angry and red. Wally helped her turn on her back, legs draped over his shoulders, guiding just the tip inside.

She whimpered. „Please come on my tits, Wally. I want to taste you."

You bit your lip at her voice, full of need and desire.

He smirked and started jerking above her chest. Her hand joined him as he put his abover hers, guiding her how he liked it.

He groaned her name as he came. Thick spurts of his glassy cum decorating her rosy nipples, up to her chin, which she greedily licked up.

She started licking him clean. „Thank you, Wally. Mmmh." He pushed her head down further, and looked up.

You stared at him wide eyed as you made eye contact with him. At first his gaze looked dazed from pleasure, but then he thought you could see him.

But that wouldn't be possible would it? Humans can't see ghosts.

Wally tucked himself away and helped his companion fix herself, but when he turned around you were gone.

He was definitely going to seek you out tomorrow.

A/N: I hope you enjoyed, let me know in the comments & leave me some love 💕

#milo manheim #wally clark #milo manheim fanfiction #school spirits #wally clark smut #wally clark x reader #wally clark fanfiction

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dreamauri · 2 months ago

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♪ — 𝗜𝗡𝗗𝗢𝗠𝗜𝗧𝗔𝗕𝗟𝗘 - chapter one f1 grid x fem! driver! reader ( fluff / angst ) series summary . . . a mortal who dared to defy the impossible. Of grit forged in fire, and dreams that refused to yield. In a world where heroes are born, and few rise to become legends. You are a force to be reckoned with. Unshakable. Unstoppable. Indomitable. (1.8k words)

( fic master list | general master list ) ( requests ) ( next )

I - THE FEELINGS WILL PASS BY YOU Your first year of Formula One, 2012.

content warning . . . ( minor mature themes in the last scene, non descriptive smut, Yn is 19 years old in this chapter )

★ ☆ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The champagne stings your eyes, but it only adds to the surreal quality of the moment. Standing tall on the second step of the podium, you feel the comforting weight of the silver trophy in your hands, its cool, solid surface grounding you amid the chaos of the roaring Australian crowd. Your cheeks ache from the endless smiling, but you can’t stop. The joy coursing through your veins is unrelenting, an electric current you never want to end. P2 in your debut race. It’s a dream realized, a milestone etched into the fabric of your soul.

The cameras flash, capturing every angle of your elation. You can almost hear the headlines being written, the stories being told: the rookie with a star’s debut. Your mind is a blur, filled with a single, resounding thought—This is it. This is everything I’ve ever dreamed of.

Instinctively, you glance to your left. Lewis Hamilton stands on the third step, his claps measured, his expression unreadable save for the tight smile stretched across his lips. There’s a legend standing just feet away, a man you’ve idolized for years, and now you’re sharing a podium with him. The significance isn’t lost on you, and your grin widens.

“We did it, Lewis! What a start, huh?” Your voice is a burst of excitement, practically glowing as it carries over the deafening cheers. You’re buoyant, wanting to share even a fraction of the exhilaration pumping through you.

He nods, the gesture curt and almost too calculated. “Yeah, we did,” he replies, his tone flat against your enthusiasm. His eyes flicker, betraying something you can’t quite identify—a shadow of something restrained. You brush it off, too intoxicated by the moment to dissect his response.

What you don’t see is the way his gaze lingers on your trophy for just a second too long, or the faint downturn of his lips before he forces them back into a polite smile. You don’t catch the subtle clench of his jaw or the simmer of irritation just below the surface. Why would you?

This is your moment. The cameras love you, the crowd chants your name, and the world feels impossibly bright. You’re too caught up in the high of it all to notice the edges fraying in the background, too focused on this monumental step to sense the quiet storm brewing beside you.

Because in this moment—your moment—the only thing that matters is the realization that this is just the beginning. The dream is no longer intangible; it’s here, real, tangible in your hands. And as the champagne sprays, the confetti falls, and the anthem echoes, you make a silent promise to yourself: this is where you belong.

★ ☆ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The Cuban national anthem swells through the air, each note resonating deep within your chest, as though it’s synced with the pounding of your heart. You’re at the top of the podium, the metallic gleam of the winner’s trophy clutched tightly in your hands. It’s heavier than you imagined, but the weight is welcome, grounding you as the reality of your achievement washes over you like the tides.

Tears streak down your face, hot and unrelenting, carving trails through the grime and sweat of the race. You can barely hear the crowd over the rush of your own pulse, but the roar of their cheers is unmistakable. They chant your name, over and over, until it blends with the melody of the anthem, becoming a symphony of adoration.

This is everything you’ve ever wanted, everything you’ve sacrificed for. The countless hours of training, the heartbreaks, the doubts—every single one of them led to this moment. You glance down at the trophy in your hands, its polished surface reflecting your tearful, beaming face. Youngest driver to win a race. The words feel surreal, as though they belong to someone else. But they’re yours now, etched into history alongside the greats.

You lift the trophy high above your head, your arms trembling slightly with the effort, and the crowd erupts in a fresh wave of applause. Your team below explodes in celebration, the vibrant red of their uniforms a blur of motion as they cheer, jump, and hug one another. Champagne sprays into the air like liquid fireworks, and you can feel its sticky sweetness in the air even from where you stand.

In the garage, Lewis watches in silence. P8. His day had spiralled from bad to worse, mechanical issues compounding an already difficult race. His body aches with the weight of frustration, but it’s nothing compared to the bitterness blooming in his chest.

His gaze fixes on you, standing on the podium with a radiance that makes his jaw tighten. Your smile is uncontainable, lighting up your entire face as the cameras capture every triumphant angle, every joyful tear. The commentators gush over your performance, their voices reverent as they discuss your flawless drive, your historic achievement.

And then, they say it. Breaking his record. Least amount of race entries before a race win.

The words sting more than he thought they would. He remembers holding that same trophy, feeling the same exhilaration when he set the record all those years ago in his rookie year. And now, watching you bask in the glory of your victory in your own rookie year, he feels a cold shadow creeping over him. Every cheer for you feels like a blow, a reminder of how far he’s fallen.

But you don’t see him. You don’t notice the storm brewing in the corner of the garage. You’re too caught up in the moment, too swept away by the sheer joy of it all.

Your team surrounds you as you step down from the podium, their cheers blending with your own laughter. They pull you into hugs, their words tumbling over each other in a chaotic symphony of pride and excitement. Someone pops another bottle of champagne, and the fizz sprays over you, drenching your race suit. You don’t care. You’re too busy laughing, too busy soaking in every second of this magical moment.

Lewis stays where he is, his arms crossed tightly over his chest. He forces a smile, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. He’s always known this day would come. He just didn’t expect it to sting this much.

★ ☆ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

You’ve always admired Lewis. You can still picture yourself as a wide-eyed kid sitting cross-legged on the living room floor, watching him cross the finish line to win his first race in 2007. The sheer audacity of his talent, the way he carried himself with a confidence that seemed unshakable—it was mesmerizing. That moment sparked something in you, igniting a belief that maybe, just maybe, the impossible could become your reality.

And now, here you are, sharing the same garage, wearing the same team colors. Sometimes, you catch yourself staring at him during briefings, trying to reconcile the Lewis Hamilton you idolized with the flesh-and-blood teammate sitting across from you. He still carries that air of greatness, that effortless poise, but up close, you notice things you didn’t before—the way his brow furrows when something doesn’t go to plan, the weight of expectation in his eyes.

You try to connect with him, to bridge the gap between icon and teammate. In the brief moments between sessions, you chatter to him, throwing out lighthearted jokes to cut through the tension. When he’s poring over telemetry, you offer quiet words of encouragement. You mimic his relentless work ethic, studying every aspect of his process with the kind of awe reserved for legends.

But it doesn’t seem to work.

At first, his responses are polite, if a little distant—a curt nod here, a brief “Thanks” there. But over time, you notice the way his jaw tightens when you approach, the way his shoulders stiffen when you try to lighten the mood.

You tell yourself it’s just his focus, that he’s always been intense, but the truth is harder to ignore. Your optimism, your unrelenting sweetness—it doesn’t inspire him. It irritates him.

Every time you bound into the garage with a smile, brimming with ideas or congratulations, you can feel his patience fraying like a worn thread. To him, you’re too nice, too bubbly, too... much.

And what stings the most, what neither of you ever say out loud, is that you’re outperforming him. Lap after lap, race after race, the numbers don’t lie. The younger, fresher face of the team is rising, and his shadow feels smaller by the day.

He doesn’t lash out, but the tension is palpable. It’s in the way his replies become shorter, his glances sharper. The moments when he leaves the room just as you enter.

★ ☆ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Brazil. The final race of the season. Brazil. The championship isn’t in play anymore, but you still push, still strive for excellence. P5 isn’t what you wanted, but you shake it off. You’ve had an extraordinary debut season, and you’re determined to end it on a positive note.

After the race, you join the team in the paddock, grabbing drinks for everyone, your smile as bright as ever despite the pang of disappointment in your chest. You’re halfway back when you hear voices—familiar ones.

“I can’t wait to move to Mercedes,” Lewis says, his voice low but clear, the relief in his tone unmistakable. “I won’t have to deal with her anymore. She’s too sweet, too. . . annoying. Always smiling, always talking. I just can’t stand it.”

The words hit you like a physical blow. The warmth of the evening vanishes, replaced by a cold, sharp ache in your chest. You clutch the champagne bottles tighter, your knuckles white, your vision blurring as tears fill your eyes.

You don’t realize you’re crying until Jenson finds you, his expression softening instantly. “Hey, what’s wrong?” he asks gently, concern lacing his voice.

You try to shake your head, to brush it off, but the dam has broken. The tears spill faster, and your shoulders tremble with quiet sobs. Jenson doesn’t press. He simply wraps an arm around you, leading you away from the noise, away from the crowd, to somewhere quieter.

Later that night, after too many glasses of wine and whispered reassurances, you find yourself in Jenson’s bed. His touch is warm, his hands steady, and for a fleeting moment, you feel safe. Wanted. Seen. The ache in your chest dulls, replaced by the comfort of his embrace.

But as dawn breaks, you lie awake, staring at the ceiling, your emotions a tangled mess. The sport you love feels different, showing its true nature in the light, harsher, colder. It isn’t just about winning or losing—it’s about surviving.

And as you watch the early morning light seep into the room, you make a promise to yourself.

Because survival isn’t just an option—it’s the only way forward.

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apollowhoo · 3 months ago

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hello!! I love your Alastor x Child Reader stuff you wrote. So can you please write an one shot of Alastor with a child reader who's the oppisite of him? What i mean is, Alastor is lowkey nonchalant but the reader is actually insaine. I hope i explained enough.

soo... you didn't say anything for a plot so i just made them meet, i hope that's alright with you<33

ALASTOR X INSAINE CHILD!READER

Hell was always the same with the chatter of sinners and the painfull screams all around. Alastor, strolled through the streets, his cane tapping rhythmically against the ground. His wide grin never faltered, though his sharp red eyes darted around, observing everything.

Then he heard it—the most evil laugh, high-pitched and absolutely unhinged. Alastor stopped, tilting his head, the sound was coming from an alleyway just ahead. He adjusted his tie and strolled over to the alleyway.

What he found was... surprising.

A small child, no older than ten, stood over what used to be a rather unfortunate demon. The remains were scattered about in a chaotic mess of black goo . The child, held a jagged piece of metal in one hand, the other smeared with the remnants of the "fun." They're wide eyes shimmered with manicness.

"My, my, what a display!" Alastor exclaimed. "I must say, it’s rare to find someone so creative with their time."

The child turns to him, eyes glowing. “Did you see? Did you see what I did?! He said I couldn’t take his hat—so I took everything else!” They gesture dramatically at the mess behind them.

Alastor chuckled, twirling his cane. “Quite the overachiever, aren’t we? But tell me, dear child, what drives you to such... theatrical carnage?”

They tilt their head, clearly unbothered by his casual tone. “Why not? It’s fun! It’s exciting! Don’t you think so?”

Alastor’s smile twitched. “Ah, yes, but there’s an art to it, my dear. A balance. Chaos is like a radio frequency—too much static, and the signal is lost.”

The child seemed unimpressed. “Static is fun. It’s loud, and no one can ignore it.” They grin wider, holding up the bloodied piece of metal like a trophy. “Want me to make some for you?”

Alastor’s chuckle turned into a full-blown cackle. “Tempting! But I think I’ll pass. Watching you is entertainment enough.” He leaned in closer, his grin sharp. “But do be careful, little one. Hell is like an ocean full of fish, and not all of them appreciate someone making such a mess.”

They automatically lean in just as close, their smile never faltering. “Let them come. I’ll make it fun for them, too.”

Alastor pulled back, his laughter echoing down the alleyway. “Oh, I do believe I’ll enjoy keeping an eye on you. You, my dear, are a star in the making.”

And with that, he tipped his hat and strolled away, his cane tapping the same rhythm. The child curiously follows him.

After all, it wasn’t every day they found someone who appreciated their particular brand of madness.

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bleedingoptimism · 2 years ago

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I have a prompt for you! Steve or Eddie finding out that the other one collects something. Maybe it's weird or silly or just surprising. I feel like one or both of them secretly collect stuff.

Eddie collects things, lots of things, he's a collector. He collects rocks he likes, every trinket, key chain, necklace, or ring he finds with a shape of a lizard. He collects dice and zines, cassettes, you name it, he collects.

When Steve realizes this, he starts saving weird rocks he sees to give to him later. They don't really talk about it, Steve never says anything and he actually kind of doesn't notice he's doing it. But sometimes Eddie will get in his car and Steve will tap the headboard and say, "There's something for you there," and Eddie will open the compartment and find a metal pin with the shape of a lizard and grab it a hold it and look at Steve and Steve will shrug, like its nothing and Eddie will continue to stare at Steve for a few minutes while he drives, and he'll pin and long and love him in silence.

He asks him once if he collects anything, but Steve shakes his head no. No trophies, no love letters, no polaroids.

They are hanging out at Steve's one lazy sunday afternoon when he finds it. He was looking for a lighter, Steve had refused to move from where he's lying limbs stretched like a star on the floor of his bedroom and pointed somewhere over his desk when Eddie had asked for it.

He's rummaging through the desk and opens the second drawer, starts moving things around when suddenly Steve is right behind him,

"It's not there! There's nothing there." he yelps, trying to close the drawer, and Eddie laughs and looks closer at the contents, thinking he'll find Steve's porn stash and make him blush a little, but instead he finds a movie tkt, a receipt, a napkin, and other things that don't make a lot of sense until it does.

Because the ticket is from a movie they saw together, and the receipt is from when they went to Indianapolis and ate greasy burgers at a diner in the middle of nowhere, and the napkin is from The Hideout and there's a leaf carefully pressed with duck tape that he's sure is the one he once gave Steve, when they were walking through the forest, sharing a smoke. A leaf, just a silly little leaf, he had grabbed it off the floor because it was brown and speckled with yellows and greens and it reminded him of the color of Steve's eyes when the light hit them just right. He'd given it to Steve without a word and Steve had smiled and twirled it in front of his face and then he had completely forgotten about it and here it was, in a drawer in Steve's room, along with a whole lot of things, mementos, of them.

Eddie looks at Steve, who is standing just to the side of him, completely red in the face and with his hands suspended in the air, either to push Eddie away and close the drawer or hold them up as surrender, he doesn't know.

They look at each other, both searching for something, asking questions, seeking answers. They look at their eyes, roam their faces, and end up on each other's lips, and Eddie smiles, big, happy, and enamored, he slowly moves to face Steve properly, closing the drawer with his hip and holds Steve's face between his palms and Steve leans into the touch closing his eyes for second before going back to stare at Eddie, and shily, he smiles back.

And Eddie dives in and kisses the boy who gifts him weird rocks, lizard trinkets, and dice. The boy who collects mementos. The boy he loves.

#stranger things #steddie #oh wow i fluffed the fuck up uh #i draft something #asks #this one was cute #i wrote something

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sabrondabrainrot · 5 months ago

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🌦️Dark Sun and 🔅Servant Sun

I tried my hand at designing Servant Sun and Dark Sun.

I'm getting more caught up on the lore!! Click underneath for art closeups and more Lore rants and AU idea! Plus, I have sketches and a comic WIP I've been working on.

😉

There will be rambly spoilers to where I am in the Lore.

For Dark Sun I was inspired a lot by the thumbnails, they give him red eyes a lot in the thumbnails and I like the smarmy red eyed look of the guy. Tried to capture his 'regal-holier then thou' attitude in his design. He's still Sun though, so I used OG Sun's palette (my first Sun design!) to reflect the fact they have the same beginnings. I don't trust anything he says but I know something has totally happened to his Moon (I'm really banking on the idea he ATE him/ ATE his intelligence chip) so he carries his Moon's bell and he also repurposed the star pattern of Moon to parade it around as like a symbol his Moon is at his heal. I don't know if I like his final look but I think it's because I gave him dramatically darker shading vs the other Suns.

Servant Sun! Here's my take on him. He's been suffering for over 10000+ years under Lord Eclipse abuse. We saw how he was being punished just because Lore Eclipse was bored! I feel really bad for this Sun, it was hard to draw a design for him. I think despite his servant title Lord Eclipse just keeps him around not only to keep himself sane but also a trophy/slave to show off to Moon and the others in the afterlife. I had this like monologue for SSun basically, "The sound of bells long ago stopped ringing for the daycare attendant turned servant but Lord Eclipse still can hear the sound of metallic chimes when the neurotic servant cleans thanks to his fanciful additions." (aka the chime of chains) He's also got an apron that's falling apart and SSun used random old fabric to patch it up (it wasn't random it was his old clothes). I was really inspired by Meagancandraw's design of Servant Sun!

Here's my AU sketches. I'm planning to clean these up and maybe color them? This is basically just the AU idea that I think Sun is going to somehow get reborn but be a being reborn from star power and negative star power? I don't know if it's possible? He becomes a mix of the two in my AU. I know some current spoilers and basically I know he may be immune to negative star energy? He can also hold Star Power uniquely and it 'taste good to him'. I will never let go of the fact he told Moon it taste nice like dried watermelon. His untrained magical outburst was also compared to be as powerful as Golden Freddy's. There's big theory he's going to die or be sacrificed but I have this idea what if he's essentially remade? idk just rambly thoughts. So yeah, he has a cool new look to go with his magical transformation.

BTW he is very sad cause he can't be near his family in this AU my brain cooked up. He's basically radiation incarnate now <3 His eyes are cracked because they're intensely pouring out Star/Negative Star power. Just a constant pull and push of power circulating in him.

this is the comic idea I have currently. I don't have a ton of motivation so any encouragement to finish this comic idea would be super appreciated! I'm not a comic-type artist so this is out of my comfort zone (I've made a few comics but usually they are pretty janky)

ON TO THE RAMBLES - spoilers BEWARE:

NEW MOON MY BOY PLS YOU ARE HIDING STUFF FROM YOUR FAMILY. BOY NO. HE IS GONNA USE RUIN TO BRING BACK SOLAR?

Blood Moon just took Ruin. Also Dark Sun repaired Ruin after Molten took him to die in the dead dimension?? BOY??? Also, Dark Sun did something to Eclipse??? Bro is plotting. I wish I could get a read on Dark Sun but I don't even know how much of the truth he's been sharing thus far. He has no reason to tell anyone the truth and so far he hasn't hurt anyone just stole a bunch of data from Moon and built a bunker to escape total dimension collapse...He's just a big wild card for me.

Then there's New Moon, He's just actually going crazy after meeting Old Moon. Sun can tell something is wrong with his brother!!! I hope he can help him but spoilers tells me otherwise. The family is trying! Earth heard out Eclipse and Eclipse is getting Earth proof that Moon is currently cray-cray. Lunar is kind of hanging near Sun and Earth because the creator is now actively trying to kidnap him. So much spicy drama.

I don't pay attention much to the Freddy side of the plot but he's also dying?? bro??? What about Francine? The missing mom/wife? Poor Francine's suffering, she needs her mom and dad! I like that Puppet is hanging around her grandchild more it is very sweet. Foxy also got his 'bestfriend' Puppet a house/condo. hmm-Mmmhmm. Definitely no romantic tensions there. Definitely not.

(side bar, I don't ship Kidscove but I do ship the Foxy and Puppet do they have a ship name? Also no hate to Kidscove I just think Foxy treats Sun like a kid a lot. I like the gooseworld Kidscove. Sun laid eggs, so wholesome.)

Lunar is just waiting for news on his trial and I am in suspense hoo boy...Then the stuff with FC being put in a new body and Frank is not happy about it. I def can tell there's big lead up to the astral bodies making a big move I just wonder what the move will be. I feel like now Lunar and FC are going to end up being more intwined then they might think.

Also I love Dazzle!!! AAAGH! She and Jack are so cute! I loved the ep Sun took Dazzle and Lunar to the store that was so sweet. Can't wait to see more of them! They're such a cute dynamic! I like seeing Lunar put his best foot forward to help Dazzle too.

I can tell Moon is slowly distancing himself from the others but it's like this odd thing where he's no longer obsessed with Solar being back per sei...but he's obsessed over how HE has to be the one to bring Solar back in his way because HE promised and he wants to be better then Old Moon and yeah...he's got a very warped perspective I feel like? But Molten and Ruin BOTH pointed out Moon is being possessed by something so I think he's definitely sick? Or something is keeping him from seeing the error of his way.

Rambles over :)

I do plan to draw Solar and Eclipse and Lord Eclipse next but I'm stuck on what I want to do for Solar's design :P I might make a poll in the future!

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mothiir · 6 months ago

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xenobiology

pov: you’re an eldar, and the human you’re working with smells better each day.

this is the other side of eyes full of stars, told from Taleath’s perspective. fair warning that it will get pretty weird pretty fast, because writing from the pov of a murderous space elf leads to some strange avenues.

—

Whatever process that Cato Sicarius underwent to shape him into a muscle-bound killing machine clearly stripped out his — already limited — social grace and replaced it with battle acumen and bloodthirst. Taleath isn’t complaining — the creature is a worthy ally on the battlefield — but it is vexing to see the Astartes snarl and posture around you, despising how you inspire such rampant sexual desire in him, and thus despising you. It’s such a petty human trouble: denying your feelings, and having them twist into something gnarled and uncontrollable. And human emotions are so base and simple! If Cato were to feel one tenth — no, one hundredth — of the true emotional range of an Aeldari then his tiny, unwrinkled brain would combust with the effort of controlling them.

That being said: Taleath runs his tongue over his gauntlet, tasting where your lips brushed, and suppresses a full-body shiver. Oh how he wants. He’s spent almost a hundred years learning to manage his darker impulses, but before that he indulged them at will, and the hedonistic habits of three centuries are clawing at the edges of his self control. You taste sweet and mammalian. He wants to drink you down to the bone, your hot blood down his gullet, your shining soul sticking between his teeth. As he roles the fragments of you over his tastebuds, the tiny shreds of skin cells and drop of saliva, the taste thins and vanishes, and oh it is not enough.

It will never be enough.

“Come here, please,” he says, removing his gloves slowly, slowly, slowly — meditatively, focusing on the slide of metal over each of his knuckles, trying to use the sensation to ground himself. It works, up until the point when you stand before him, your warm heart racing, echoing in his marrow. His ears twitch to better capture the sound. He places one bare palm against the small of your back, pulling you closer, and declares a personal vendetta against whatever seamstress made your clothes, against whatever beast produced the fabric. He will gut them all, burn their worlds and display their loved ones on spikes, all for having the temerity of separating his hand from your flesh.

His thumb presses at your lower lip. Your flesh is softer than he expected, downed with fine hair that is invisible to a human’s eyes, but he sees it; sees how the light catches on the strands, velvety and exotic. He exerts just the tiniest amount of pressure, willing you to open your mouth, to welcome him inside, to lave that warm tongue of yours over his digit. You don’t, however. You hold yourself there, heart rabbit-swift and skin rosy with arousal, and you defy him. Your eyes fix on his: challenging. Pushing inside your mind feels all too natural; you welcome him in — subconsciously, of course — and he tastes your defiance like dandelion leaves plucked at dawn, your desire a rosy pink sunrise glow on a still pond. By the gods, this is monumentally unfair. He is meant to be reformed. A century ago, he would already have had you a dozen times over, shaping your sweet warm insides to fit him: you wouldn’t be able to move without the remnants of his pleasure leaking down your thighs. He would have braided your hair with diamonds that glittered like caught stars; you would jangle with the jewellery he draped about your throat, displaying the trophies of his latest raid. He would have have branded his sigil between your breasts and pierced your nipples, just so he could string a gold chain between them, and use it to pull you closer and —

Your breath puffs against his flesh, and he can restrain himself no longer. His fingers slot into your mouth like they were destined for it — maybe they were. The Farseers have stranger prophecies than this; it is not beyond the realm of possibility that Isha, in her infinite wisdom, sewed the seeds for your birth ten thousand years ago, knowing that one day you would be here, mouth crooked open, silk-wet and perfect.

He explores your mouth in the same way he removed his gloves: slow, deliberate; an act of meditation. He catalogues the ivory ridges of your teeth; the pillowy softness of your cheeks; the squirming wet muscle of your tongue. He coos with appreciation, his chest vibrating with a sound that few humans hear: the sound of a deeply content Aeldari.

Your drool should revolt him as it slicks between his fingers and drips down your chin — but no, it is not enough. He wants to see it pasted all over your face as you gag and hiccup, clinging helplessly to his boots for support, his cock sliding down your tight tight little throat —

It’s a trick. It’s what they do, it’s what they do. Your thoughts are abrasive: a stone splashing directly into his skull. He probes back into your head, and feels the spiderweb strands of your conviction that this is all a trap, that he is just pretending to desire you for some infernal purpose. Knife-ear, you think, and in that moment he wants to slice out the tongue of every human you have ever spoken to, just so he can mute the bastard who taught you that word.

“Do not insult me,” he growls, his voice slipping lower, losing the artificial Iyanden accent he adapts when conversing with others (once you hear the voice of a Drukhari you do not forget it, and humans often have quite dramatic reactions when they realise what he used to be. Entertaining reactions to be sure, but not ones conducive to diplomatic negotiations.) “I would not need to resort to such base measures to trick you, if I wanted to — if — “

You hollow your cheeks and suck, welcoming his fingers down into your soft palette, Taleath’s vision goes white. When he returns to himself, a fraction of a heartbeat later, you are bobbing your head back and forth, your thoughts pink-red with desire. You want so badly to hold his wrist, to urge him deeper — you are thinking of it so vividly — that for a moment he thinks you have done so. He feels the ghost of your grasp on his wrist, and — no. No, he cannot lose himself in this, he cannot.

I want him to fuck my throat —

Your desires are strident lightning, reverberating thunder. He yanks you closer, thankful that the segments of his armour shield his growing erection. He will bend you over his throne, he will carve his name into your back again and again, until there is scarce any flesh to mark that does not already bear the signs of his ownership —

No. No. He yanks his fingers free, and you mew with distress, leaning forwards after them, lips parted in canine supplication, your feelings spiking in violet defiance: give it back. Not just pleading, but entitlement; you want him, you resent him for stopping.

“I should not be doing this,” he says, swallowing thickly. Think of the ocean, his teacher would tell him when he first joined Iyanden, constantly changing, grey and endless beneath a bleak sky. “You are human.”

Your lips bump against his palm.

“Yes,” you coo, “and you want me.”

His body moves before his higher brain functions can step in; three centuries of slaking his thirst without thought for the consequence triumphing over a century of trying very hard to unlearn the impulse. In that space between one breath and the next he is not Taleath of Iyanden; he is Taleath of the Crimson Talon, kabalite warrior without peer. Your flesh gives way beneath his teeth like warm butter, and he greedily slurps down the blood that spills out. Your little cry of pain is music to his ears, and it will be the first of many; he will wring a symphony from you by the time he has finished. You open your thighs for him — so willing, so obedient — and he fully intends to give you what you both so clearly need. He will fuck you again and again and again, until even that idiot Cato Sicarius sees who owns you, body and bone and soul —

For you, the exchange is less than a heartbeat. For Taleath, it feels like an eternity: he grinds between your thighs, the heat of your cunt pulsing through his armour; he can smell how slick you are, how easily he could push inside. Your blood between his teeth and on his tongue, rich and delicious. He’ll dine on you each morning and each evening, glutting himself, because does he not deserve it? Is he not entitled to you? Sweet, soft human, so frail in his grasp — his kind built an empire whilst yours scrabbled in the mud, and —

He recognises the drift of his thoughts into old, familiar patterns and with a monumental effort of will he hauls himself away. Standing at the other side of the room, he licks your blood from his lips, rolling it between his teeth like he is sampling a fine wine. He wants the flavour to linger forever.

“Taleath —“

Gods preserve him, you smell of prey. Fearful, sweet, confused, aroused: you might as well be a fawn, tottering on long fragile legs before a hungry eagle.

“No. Stay there.”

Your fingers probe the bite mark, and he wants nothing more than to rejoin you, to replace your hand with his own; his fingers would span your throat, your jugular nuzzling comfortably into the webbing between his thumb and index finger.

But he does not move — not to join you, and not to retreat. The old soul-hunger is stirring once more; never quite gone, only denied and starved into submission. Taleath will die a thousand intricate deaths at the hands of a haemonculi before admitting it, but he understands Cato a little better now: one touch of your lips, one taste of your blood, and he is ready to tumble headlong back into the doomed ways of his former kin, willing to embrace damnation as long as he can do it with you warm and squirming under him.

“I hope that this is not a diplomatic incident.”

“No. But it could be. My kind do not engage in carnal pleasures casually — “

“—and not with mon-keigh.”

”Not often. Not usually.” An Aeldari would notice the telltale signs of sexual arousal he’s displaying, and would not-so-gently advise him to meditate until they vanish. His ears twitch; his voice echoes with that damnable coo that only the most practiced of his kind can swallow back.

You are human. You do not understand.

“I do not want you to be hurt,” he says, cursing the limitations of your language. To be hurt: what a limited, idiotic expression. There is no shorthand to specify what sort of hurt — injured pride, perhaps, which can be both a positive or a negative and thus demands at least two tenses; hurt in battle, which can be honourable; hurt in the aesthetic sense, where you view something so abysmally hideous it sears the artistic sensibilities of your soul — and so he must communicate with the linguistic equivalent of a shovel.

“I’m fine. It barely stings. It will heal up soon enough.”

That is not what he means; not even a little. Indeed, the notion of his bite healing up pains him, a searing slash across his chest worse than any bolter fire.

“—I do not want you hurt by anyone who is not me.”

“You — you want to hurt me?”

Again: your language is so limited, so primitive. There is a word in his native tongue that translates as one so precious that only I may flay them and another that means a face so beautiful it is best when attached it its bones and not even displaying it on my finest trophy wall would enhance its appeal.

He does want to hurt you — but it is more than that. He wants to own you. To devour you. To feel the warmth of your body under his, and to see your soul flare bright against the dark. He wants — and wanting, to an Aeldari, is poison.

When he leaves you, it takes more willpower than you can ever understand. And even as he sits alone in his quarters, trying desperately to reach the fathom depths of Craftworld serenity he now carries within him, he tastes your blood on his tongue.

He will be back to you. Of this, he is certain.

#my writing #aeldari/reader #drukhari/reader #implied cato/reader #even in an unrelated fic cato is getting cucked i am sorry

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featherandferns · 9 months ago

Note

3 maybe a fluffy smut

3. Technically speaking, this is not my fault.

Additional ask by same anon: Okay wait I sent in 3 but that has a pregnancy blurb would be everything like smutty fluff

dude this is pure filth, I am so sorry. But hey! Hope you enjoy lol (I'm going to hell)

content warning: sexual content (fem receiving, p in v technically protected) - MDNI; mentions of emergency contraception; unplanned pregnancy

plan b - prompt 3

Thank God the chateau is empty save for you and JJ, because neither of you are being particularly quiet.

You’re practically screaming as he eats you out, a vibrator held steady on your clit. The asshole that he is, JJ has the audacity to laugh at you. He keeps chuckling against your shaking thigh, pressing kisses into the skin because he can’t keep his mouth off you for even a second.

“Feel good, baby?”

He already knows the answer to that. You nod against the pillow, forehead damp with sweat. JJ toys with the settings of your vibrator and another moan racks your body.

“Jesus Christ, why did we wait to get one of these?”

“Fucking do something, JayJ,” is your slurred response.

JJ laughs again, voice deep and husky, before obliging. His tongue slips in and out of your hole, lapping at your wet, parched like he’s been lost at sea. You aimlessly grasp at the ruined sheets, feeling your third climax fast approaching.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” you gasp as it builds.

JJ leans back, replacing his mouth with his fingers. The cold metal of his rings presses at your entrance and it only amplifies everything. A strange but satisfying feeling builds deep inside of you, unfamiliar. Practically seeing stars, you come with a broken moan of his name. But as you topple over the edge, you soon realise that your body is reacting completely different to how it usually does. You lose all control, succumbing to the pleasure. Finally, as you come back down, you can make out JJ’s astounded laugh.

“Holy shit,” he mutters.

Panting, you shift yourself to take him in. You’d squirted. If it weren’t for the expression on his face and the raging hard on in his boxers, you’d be embarrassed. But you can’t find it in yourself to be with the way JJ is looking at you, like he wants to devour you whole.

“Oops?” you meekly say.

JJ flips you over frantically, looming on top of you. His lips crash onto yours, consuming your every sense as he sloppily prods his tongue into your mouth. He grabs at your thighs and shoves your legs up so your knees are practically by your head. And then he’s shoving off his boxers and lining himself up. It’s when his dick prods your entrance that you come back to your senses.

“Wait, wait, wait! Need a condom!”

JJ groans, annoyed and impatient. He rifles through the bedside drawer, his frown growing deeper and deeper with every passing second.

“Shit, there ain’t any,” he mutters.

“Please tell me you’re messing with me,” you beg, hands coming to cup at your face. It’s ironic you saying that when he’s the one that’s been patiently holding out for the last hour.

JJ gets to his feet and turfs through the door thoroughly. Nothing. He goes through his wallet, his short pockets, your bag. Nothing. Cursing up a storm, he shoves his way into the bathroom and turns the place upside down. You hear a loud whoop when he returns, holding the packet up like a trophy. You sigh out a laugh, elated with relief. With that, JJ doesn’t waste another second.

He fucks you hard and fast, holding out longer than you expected considering the edging torture he’d undergone whilst praising your body like a temple. It was an unspoken agreement that this part was more for him than for you. Besides, you’re so wound up that it hardly takes anything for you to come again.

The post-sex bliss is short lived though. After JJ peppers your body with groggy smooches, he moves away with a promise to grab a flannel to help clean you up. But then he stops mid-sentence. You crack open an eye, smiling doppily as you take in your boyfriend. His expression kills the joy.

“What? What’s wrong?”

JJ stares at you, wide eyed. “The condom split.”

You jolt up in bed. “What!?”

“It must have been an old one or something!”

You scramble for the packet and look at the date. Expiration date: 2017. Your mouth slowly falls open. Wordlessly, you hand it to him.

“Shit. We gotta get that plan B pill now,” JJ says.

You agree. Legs wobbly, he helps you dress and the two of you head out to the nearest pharmacy. Morning after pill equipped, you take it and put the whole nightmare to bed as a lesson learnt. Crisis averted.

Easy to say your victory was far too early. So, four weeks later, as you and JJ stare down at the positive pregnancy test in his bathroom, he sheepishly smiles at you.

“Technically speaking, this is not my fault.”

#jj x reader #jj maybank x reader #jj maybank #jj #obx #outer banks #outerbanks #jj drabble #jj maybank drabble #jj x reader drabble #jj maybank x reader drabble #prompts

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gaytffun · 24 days ago

Text

“I think coach will listen to us, the weed’s not yours and you guys are star players!” Brody said confidently, Sam and Caleb looking despondent.

“Dude, you don’t get it. Coach is so ruthless. We’ll be lucky if we even make it out of this still on the team.”

The two college seniors didn’t have the heart to tell the freshman that they’d be lucky to even just get cut from the team. They’ve seen these meetings happen with other members of the team, even if they were innocent of whatever coach accused them of, and they know this will be their last moments as free humans most likely.

Brody grew concerned, and then coach came in.

“Boys, you probably know why you’re here. Brody probably doesn’t, but he’s going to learn like the rest of you today. I’m so disappointed in you two, my star players. But a lesson must be learned.”

The two started sobbing, and Brody went to comfort them saying it’s ok, they can always move on from this.

Coach just laughs, snaps his fingers, and forces the three boys (and their dicks) to attention. Brody is screaming internally, not knowing why he can’t control his body or why he feels like he’s getting a blow job. He just wants to stop.

“We’re going to teach you three some lessons. Brody, I want you to watch as Sam and Caleb learn first. You two should know better, so you’re going to learn by being Jake and Paul’s shorts. Forever. You can give them knowledge and strength while playing.”

Coach snaps, and the two boys start exploding cum through their shorts as Brody stares horrified at what he’s seeing. The two men shrunk down, until all that’s left of them is shorts covered in cum. Seniors Jake and Paul suddenly walk in the door and pick up their new shorts, seemingly unbothered by what’s going on. Paul leans into the freshman’s ear and says “sorry, we needed our rivals gone so we had to plant that weed on them. Didn’t know you hung out with them, oh well! Enjoy yourself” and walked to the side of the room, Sam over his groin while Brody could see Caleb vibrating over Jake’s dick.

Coach looks at Brody. “Freshman, you’ve seen what happens to members who cross me. I’m going to have to punish you, too. You’ve not been playing well at all. A year as a fish in my office should be fine, enough to give you swimming skills to put you on the swim team your sophomore year after this gap year. Hopefully it’s not enough to break your brain like the last guy. Poor kid, had to use him as a mindless house slave after turning him back. He was cute, though.”

Coach snaps, and Brody starts cumming hard as his dick inserts into him, still moaning as he grows scales and fins off his head, his eyes preparing to go to the sides to accommodate his new body.

Jake and Paul smirk, but before they can leave, coach says “by the way Paul, I heard you say that to Brody here before I took his humanity from him. I’ve already taken it forever from my best players because of your lies, but I have to punish you both too.”

Jake looks at his friend horrified, and Paul starts begging for them both to be spared. He says that Jake didn’t know anything and it was all him.

Coach snaps, making them freeze while hard, moaning hard.

“Sorry, I just can’t trust either of you after this. I’ve already sealed the spell for Sam and Caleb, and Brody was failing anyway. You two will be trophies to honor those two great players, and I’ll keep them as shorts to give them the pleasure they deserve after what you’ve done.”

He snaps again and they cum hard, their jock bodies hardening into metal as they suffer the same fate as Sam and Caleb.

Brody watches as coach goes to store the shorts and trophies in his closet, ready to display them all later. “Power always goes to so many heads, such a shame when it gets abused. I’ve lost more good players that way. Oh well, hopefully I’ll get a new swimmer out of all of this.”

“Good thing Paul was stupid enough to say that, Brody, otherwise this would probably be your new home forever!” Coach just laughs, and picks up his new pet. He can’t wait for the year to be up to see if he gets a swimmer or a house slave! Either way, coach’ll be happy!

#permanent tf #inanimate tf #unwilling tf #shorts tf #animal tf #statue tf #trophy tf #fish tf #original content

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sissyhopes · 4 months ago

Text

The Trophy

Imagine a gilded cage. Like, really picture one in your head. What do you see?

Me, of course - but what else?

Anything? Some cushions, a little blanket? Entertainment? No? Just a little golden cage, and me?

It's not that different, then, from a regular cage, is it? Just some metal bars, and me - trapped inside.

When I first started working for Harrington & Co, I was eager, hungry for success, and completely unaware of the path life would take me down. I had always known my boss, Max Harrington, by reputation - he was a titan in the finance world, a man whose mere presence commanded respect. I turned down higher-paying jobs for the name recognition alone, hoping his renowned ferocity and charisma would rub off on me.

So, when Max took a special interest in me, I saw it as the break he had been waiting for. Exactly what I deserved.

At first, it was subtle. Appropriate, even. I was a kind of protégé, some middle-ranking grunt he'd seen something extraordinary in. Nobody really questioned it.

Max invited me to dinners with important clients, praising my quick thinking, my easy charm, and how I could hold my own in conversations that usually left junior associates gasping for breath. I felt like I was being groomed for leadership, rather than groomed for submission to him.

I was intoxicated by the attention, the warmth of Max's approval. He had grown up in a modest family. He was just like me: always striving for more. He knew as well as I did that Max Harrington represented the “more” I'd craved my entire life.

I suppose you don't get where he has in life without being able to turn opportunities to maximum advantage. Soon, the invitations became more frequent. Dinners at high-end restaurants turned into weekend getaways to exclusive resorts. He spared no expense, ensuring I experienced the luxury that came with being in his orbit. It was exhilarating at first - flights on private jets, tailored suits, five-star accommodations. I assumed this was part of grooming him for a bigger role in the company. After all, the closer you got to power, the more you absorbed it.

But something shifted. He went distant. Suddenly, I was back at my desk, with everyone else, working hard, with no attention from the big man upstairs. My middling salary couldn't stretch to the luxuries I'd tasted, and I felt the dull thud back to reality daily. Every bland, cheap meal. Every bus journey home from the office. I hungered for a return to the life I had savoured, if only for a brief moment.

I poured over everything I'd said, every action and decision, wondering what I did to lose his favour. I resisted the urge to try to contact him, making myself look needy, powerless - to make him think I'd done something wrong.

One night, after a few too many glasses of wine, and weeks of misery in my boring life, I felt the bravery I'd been lacking. "He'll appreciate me being direct," I told myself. "Just like he is." I texted his personal number, asking if I'd done anything wrong, and imploring him for the chance to prove I was worthy of my place under his wing.

He never responded. It was a bitter defeat, a rejection that undermined my self-confidence totally. I tried to maintain my work, but I was distracted, ashamed and disappointed. My supervisors noticed, and my appraisals reflected that. I knew Mr Harrington read every staff members' appraisals religiously, and knew I had once again let him down. It was a total humiliation - I knew exactly where I belonged.

One evening, after a particularly lavish dinner held to congratulate the management teams for a good year, Max avoided looking at me all evening. Knowing I was the lowest-performing in the team, I felt so unwanted I tried to sneak away earlier. And there he was, at the door, as if he'd anticipated my movements before I'd even decided on them.

He offered me a gift: a custom-made Rolex. “To show my appreciation,” Max said, his smile dripping with an affection that felt almost too personal, too intimate.

I accepted - what choice did I have? - though unease simmered under my gratitude. I brushed it off as some kind of imposter syndrome.

Surely, this was normal. If I wanted to rise to the top, I needed to embrace these perks, right? In any case, it reflected the faintest creaking of the door of opportunity. I knew I had to run through that door while it was still open. I might never get another chance.

The watch was embossed with pink stones around the face, and the band was engraved 'Pretty Baby'. I suppose it was originally a gift for someone else - it wasn't quite my style, and yes: it was a little embarrassing to wear it. But wear it I did: every single day. I wanted everyone else to know that the boss was looking out for me.

Then came the more personal requests. Max asked me to accompany him to exclusive events - not as a colleague, but as his plus-one. I found himself standing at Max's side during charity galas, private art showings, and high-society functions. At first, I convinced himself it was still part of the job, that these were networking opportunities, moments to rub shoulders with the elite.

But over time, I realised something. Max never introduced me as an employee. There was no mention of my work or my potential career progression. Not even my name. My presence became decorative, my role as silent as it was visible. The compliments Max lavished on me became more personal, less professional.

“You look just stunning in that suit,” Max would say, his eyes lingering just a little too long. “You're the perfect companion for these sort of things. I think we can assume - if you're willing, of course - that you'll be accompanying me for the forseeable. I'll have my assistant arrange for some wardrobe support for you. Maybe a stylist. Let's make sure you always look your very best.”

I blushed. It was the first thing he'd said directly to me all evening - the first thing anyone had, in fact. I felt cared for, but not respected. The words flashed across my mind, for the first time in panic. Pretty Baby.

Before I knew it, he was spending more time with Max outside the office than within it. The boundaries had totally blurred without my realising it.

My friends noticed the change. “Man, you've really hit the jackpot, huh?” one had commented, eyeing my expensive, feminine watch, the designer clothes Max had picked out for me as a "reward for all the hard work.”

But inside, I felt a growing discomfort, a sense that something had gone terribly wrong. I guess it was from the discomfort, actually. My suits were increasingly tailored away from my personal style - cinched waists, skinnier trousers with high waists and raised ankles - in pastel colours like baby blue, mauve, and a dusty pink. They felt feminine to me, and the discomfort pulsed through my body. At least nobody expected me to say anything. Just stand next to Max, smiling.

I had entered into this personal relationship with Max - because by now, that’s what it had become - thinking it would propel me forward in my career. But now, two years later, I wasn't any closer to that promotion he had been promised. If I asked, he would just wave away my concerns, like they didn't matter.

"No, no." he'd say, without looking at me. "I don't want you working more. You have an important role to play here."

My 'role' was clear: I was Max's accessory. Some kind of power symbol for him to show off.

The realisation hit him hard one night when they attended a high-profile charity auction. I had spent hours getting ready, picking out the right suit, ensuring my hair - now growing longer, as Mr Harrington instructed - was perfect. As they entered the grand ballroom, heads turned, and Max soaked up the attention as usual. But when people approached them, it was me they noticed.

“You two make such a handsome couple,” one wealthy and highly generous woman said with a wink.

I forced a smile, my stomach knotting as Max wrapped an arm around my waist, pulling me closer. It was a gesture too intimate, too possessive.

I wanted to pull away, but the weight of everything Max had given him, the lifestyle I had become so accustomed to, pinned me in place. I realised that somewhere along the line, I'd forgotten how to say no to him.

Now, he knew that too.

In the quiet moments, I wondered when it had all changed. Had there been a moment when I could have stopped this? Should I have walked away before Max’s gifts became chains that bound me to this life? Or had I been a willing participant all along, seduced by the promise of wealth, power, and status?

The trousers were replaced with demure, knee-length pencil skirts. My shirts finally crossed the line into blouses. I wore court shoes, with two inch heels, into the office. My stylist taught me to apply makeup in two styles - office and formal.

Maybe that sounds like the moment I should have jumped off this runaway train, even if it hurt. The thing is: I was so far gone, I already knew my moment had passed. I didn't even know who he was anymore. So I kept letting him tell everyone else who I was, and contorting myself to fit the image.

The eager, ambitious man who had walked into Harrington & Co. two years ago had vanished, replaced by someone who wore expensive gowns, lived alone in a penthouse Max had insisted he move into, and played the role of the doting, adoring partner - though they never acknowledged the term aloud.

My career had become a shadow, something I barely thought about now. I wasn't obliged to come to the office anymore. My days were filled with social obligations, dinners, and luxurious trips with Max. On the outside, it looked perfect - he had everything he had ever wanted. But the cost had been higher than he realised. I had no independence. I had no status of my own. I just hung on his arm, silently, as an object of his power.

Somewhere along the way, I had become a trophy. I could see it in everyone's eyes. Elite circles are small, and so they'd all watched me closely over the years - from a confident, ambitious man, to a demure and silent pet. I knew what they thought of me.

It wasn’t just my professional ambitions that had died. It was my sense of self. The reluctance, the embarrassment that now consumed me was kept buried deep inside, masked behind the practiced, doll-like smile he wore in public. Max never asked if I was happy; he never questioned if I wanted this life. That didn't matter to him, so long as I knew my place and played along.

Now, every morning I wake up in the sprawling penthouse, looking out at the city skyline, and wonder how to pass the time. No work, no real friends, nothing to achieve. No hopes or dreams. Money helps, but the truth would nibble at my flesh constantly - I had traded the man I could have been for the guarantee of luxury, for comfort, for the hollow promise of a womanhood I never wanted, and that depended entirely on his whims.

And in the silence of our opulent life together, in those intimate nights when Mr Harrington accompanies me to my penthouse, in the deafening shadow of the whispers about me from the edges of ballrooms and galas each night, I had come to accept my role: Max’s trophy. Nothing more.

---

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lou-struck · 4 months ago

Text

Ghost vs Monsters

Meguru Bachira x reader

Flufftober Day 2- Ghost Tour

WC: 2.5k

~You and Bachira go on a tour of your city's "paranormal underground." But when your experience with the tour guide goes sour, he shows the group that it's not ghosts they should be afraid of, but Monsters.

~a/n: this one was challenging for me to complete but I did it! I had to cut it short because I have 31 of these to do and my imagination was working overtime.

It's one of those evenings where you aren't quite ready for dinner, but you are craving a little something to keep you going. That something… an egg on toast.

Just as you slide the fried egg on top of the still-warm bread, two hands reach out from behind you to cover your eyes.

Guess who?" a lovingly familiar voice coos from behind you, bringing a genuine smile to your face. It doesn't take a rocket scientist to figure out that the voice belongs to your boyfriend, Meguru Bachira.

"Hmmm, is it the Pizza delivery guy?" You ask innocently, playing along with his usual shenanigans.

"Nooo, try again.." the soccer star chuckles, pressing a soft kiss to your shoulder.

"Ghostface?" You say with a hopeful lift in your tone. This answer is nowhere near correct, but it sends him into a fit of laughter.

"No, but you would like that, wouldn't you?" he laughs softly into your ear as he spins you around. His cheeks are pink from the fall air, and he is still in his practice clothes, but you think he has never looked better.

"How was practice?" you ask, wrapping your arms around his midsection. he hugs you back with all the strength of his right arm, but his left is tucked suspiciously behind his back. You can tell from the eager look on his face that he is hiding something from you.

As subtle as you can, you try and peek behind him. But you are no match for a professional athlete's agility; he seems to be three steps ahead of you, his eyes daring you to ask him what he's hiding.

"What you got there?" you ask, finally giving up trying to outmaneuver him. His grin is victorious as he removes his arm and eagerly whips out a bent white envelope, holding it up in the air like it's a trophy.

"Look what I won for us," he beams, lowering the envelope and handing it to you. You open the previously ripped seam and see that there are two long black tickets printed with bold white lettering.

'Admission for 1 to the Underground Paranormal Investigation Tour'

'Arrival time 9pm'

"What are these?" You ask, furrowing your brow as you read the address on the back of the ticket. You may not know many street addresses by heart, but you think that it belongs to one of the warehouses down by the docks.

"Aren't they cool?" He says with his usual elated grin. "I won them at the program's fundraiser the other day and finally got to pick them up. Have you ever been on a ghost tour?"

"No, I can't say I have." You admit, and you aren't sure that you would do this on your own. If the paranormal exists, it seems that voluntarily seeking it out is something straight out of a horror film, but when you look at Meguru and see the excitement on his face, you know that you will be clearing your calendar for Friday night.

You've never been to a warehouse district at night, but the whole place is set up like some kind of sheet metal labyrinth; if it weren't for the smell of the salt and sea invading your nose, you wouldn't believe that you are so close to the ocean. The thick fog that rolls off the water doesn't help your visibility as Meguru leads you confidently through the alleys to the tour site, there is not a hint of fear or apprehension on his face.

"It looks like we are getting close. Are you scared yet, y/n?" he asks, giving your hand a squeeze. If it weren't for his constant touch, you doubt you would've made it this far, especially after researching the details of this tour…

After a little search of The Goog, you find out that this district is historic, and many years ago, the whole place was destroyed by a devastating fire. After the tragedy, the city just built on top of the ruins like nothing ever happened. Today, you two, aligned with your guide and a few other groups, will be exploring the underground tunnels that connect the surface to the old underground warehouse district's ruins.

To be honest, the idea of climbing down some kind of rusty metal ladder into god knows what is kind of freaking you out. Even if there aren't any ghosts in this tour, who knows what kind of rats or creepy crawlies are down there just waiting to lunge out and bite your ankles.

"A bit," you admit. "I just hope we don't see any rats down there."

"If we do, could I keep one as a pet?" he asks, brightening up at the prospect. Before you can object, you come across a small group of people standing outside of the warehouse you are supposed to be meeting at. You can tell by the headlamps on their foreheads and their ghostbuster attire that they must be there for the tour, but you can't find anyone who looks official, like your guide."

"It doesn't look like our tour guide is here yet," you say to your boyfriend, who nods and looks around at the wannabe ghost hunters.

"It looks like we may be underdressed; I left the ghost vacuum in my other jacket." he chuckles lowly, nudging you softly with his arm. You struggle to contain your laughter when, suddenly, the static recording of a pipe organ begins to play. You look around just as thick fog pours out from underneath the partially opened garage doorway. It smells artificial and super stinky; you cough and cover your nose as your boyfriend tries to shield you from the putrid mist.

"Oh boy, what do you think we've gotten ourselves into?" he asks, fully amused by the theatrics. Squinting your eyes, you see a figure, a grown man, squeeze himself between the pavement and the garage door just as the music dies out.

He coughs and bats away the smoke around him as he steps into clear view of the crowd, dressed in a similar ghostbuster jumpsuit as the others in the group, but now, his is smudged from being on the ground.

Through his thick goggles, a pair you definitely remember seeing in a minion costume set at the Halloween store, he scans the group, eyeing the two of you with interest. "Welcome, brave souls." He says, "It looks like we have some new blood joining us this evening as we venture between our world and that of the spirits. Follow me, and we shall begin our adventure."

He's got some groupies," Bachira says, noting the way the others in your tour group follow him. Clearly, this isn't their first rodeo. You and your boyfriend take up the rear as you walk through the warehouse to the very thing you were weary of, a sketchy-looking metal maintenance ladder that descends into utter darkness. You watch as the guide instructs each member to climb down to the burned ruins below. And no one bats an eye as the ladder squeaks and rattles.

By the time it is your turn, you look at the guide, "Are you sure this is safe to use?"

"Of course it is," he scoffs.

"This is your first time, isn't it? Don't worry, I am an expert, this thing is completely safe. The only thing that may get you is the spirits; they tend to get aggressive when it comes to non-believers." Ignoring his weird little comment, you squeeze Meguru's hand with a vice-like grip. Even in the low lighting, you see the compassion in his gaze. "We don't have to go down there if you don't want to."

His care for you tugs are your heart, but you know he is really interested in this little tour. Love is all about sacrifices, and you love him more than just about anything. Sure, the climb may take a few years off your life, but you'd gladly do it for him.

"No, it's alright," you say, taking a deep breath. "Besides, they didn't have us sign any waivers, if that thing breaks on us, we'll make bank."

"Huh, waivers." the guide mutters, fanning the flames of your fear. "That would be a good idea."

"Then I'll go first, so you get the emotional distress payout," your boyfriend says with a wink. He grabs both sides of the ladder and slides into the darkness.

"don't worry, it's really not that far," he yells from the bottom; you let out a shaky sigh of relief as you start to go down the ladder. Hearing a strange little chuckle from the guide as you begin your descent.

Which seems pretty rude since you are just being cautious. You climb down carefully until you hear your tour guide yell from the top. "Oh no. It looks like we have angered the spirits with our presence tonight."

You don't know why his words make you feel so uneasy until you feel the ladder shake. You tighten your grip on the metal as you look up and see your tour guide purposefully shaking the ladder to scare you.

The squeaky ladder rattles dangerously, and on the wrong, just below you, a screw wiggles out of the side and falls to the floor. The crowd below murmurs in excitement, happy that they witnessed something paranormal.

What would've happened if you were on that rung?

"Cut it out," you yell at the strange man. "It's not safe."

"It's not me," he laughs, his hand still obviously shaking the ladder. "It's the spirits."

You feel as if your stomach hit the ground before the rest of you did. Your legs shake, and your palms have angry indents from how tightly you were holding onto the metal as Meguru watches you slowly climb down from the pavement below. He has a rare scowl on his face as he looks up at the guide descending just above you.

"Are you alright?" He asks worriedly, his long arms holding you as tightly as they can. "What happened up there?"

"He was shaking the ladder like an idiot." You say as he guides you away from the site of your almost untimely demise. As mad as you are, you truly don't think that the tour guide meant to cause you any physical harm. But his negligence has pissed you off.

And judging by the way Meguru's eyes darken when he reaches the ground, he is also pissed off.

He walks over to the man and stares at him with a monstrous glare. "Are you insane?"

" I don't know what you're talking about," your tour guide says, raising his hands to play innocent.

Bachira's smile never leaves his face as he leans in closer to the guide. "Because I am.."

"Look, I warned you that the spirits were active tonight; your partner over there just chose not to listen." nervously, he backs away from the athlete, clears his throat, and turns to address the rest of the group. "These spirits are angry; it is important for everyone to stay with the group as we continue our tour."

He starts to walk ahead with the group, explaining the history behind the dozens of charred, abandoned structures around you as well as the background of the 'spirits' that haunt this place, but you are too pissed off to listen to that performative man-child. You walk slowly, looking at the fascinating walls that time seemed to have forgotten about when Meguru grabs your hand, a much softer smile on his face as he leans and softly whispers into your ear, "Don't worry, y/n, there may not be any ghosts on this tour, but there is a monster."

"Wait, what?" You turn your head to ask him what he meant, but he has disappeared.

The tour guide lights his headlamp and tries to show the returners how to use their ghost-catching devices, which he apparently sells on Etsy, but you aren't paying attention to his sales pitch. Instead, you are wondering where your boyfriend wandered off to, you know he has something planned, but he can be unpredictable, just like his footwork on the soccer pitch.

As your guide leads you into the ruins of an old bunkhouse, The door opens with a creak as the group steps onto the stone flooring. While everyone snaps pictures of the room, you notice a shadow moving along the wall.

"And it was in this very spot that Minato succumbed to the injuries inflicted upon him by his wife's lover." he says dramatically, pointing to a spot on the floor. "it is said that on quiet nights, just like this one, he rises, ready to inflict that same pain on whoever he comes across."

Suddenly, the door to the bunkhouse slams shut, and everyone flinches and snaps their heads toward the sound.

You catch a glimpse of Meguru's two-tone hair sneaking under the window and have to cover your mouth with your hand as if you are terrified. "Is the door stuck?" you ask, adding a slight shake to your voice. That gets everyone's attention as they look towards the door nervously, pointing their glorified vacuum cleaners at the entrance.

"Of course not," Your guide says with a nervous laugh. "It's just an old door, it shuts sometimes." He pulls on the handle, but the door does not budge at all. As the group watches him struggle, the sound of nails against glass can be heard from the other side of the room.

"Oh no, it's Minato." a lady cries, looking to your tour guide for any kind of guidance, but he just stands there terrified. He honestly looks like he is about to piss himself.

"That's impossible." he stammers. "W-what are we gonna do?"

"Suffer…"

The room erupts into screams, and you start to wonder if maybe Bachira has gone too far. But as you look at the tour guide hunched in a corner, you don't feel any pity for the man.

"I wanna go home," he cries when suddenly the door opens, and the room goes quiet.

"Oh, it looks like this is a push door, not a pull door." your boyfriend says with a syrupy sweet smile. "No wonder you guys couldn't get out of here."

"Shall we continue on with the tour? I'm having such a great time." He holds his hand out for you as the other guests rush out of the boarding house. On his way out, the tour guide, still as pale as a ghost, glares at you, leaving you and your boyfriend alone.

"I don't think they are gonna invite us on the next tour," you laugh, leaning up and pressing a thankful kiss to his smiling face.

"That's alright," he chuckles, "we'll just have to find another adventure to go on together.

"One with less ladders please," you shudder as he slings his arms around your shoulders.

Tagging: @pixelcafe-network @ambiguouslady42

#blue lock #bllk fluff #bllk bachira #meguru bachira #meguru bachira x reader #Bachira x reader #Bllk x reader #meguru x reader #bachira meguru #x reader

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