#Stain lives rent free in my head all the time

[not-poignant]

I was wondering if Sam and Abigail might such a little bit in Stain! Specifically, I was thinking about why Harvey might be so worried about Alex working for Sebastian. I think all four (Harvey, Sebastian, Abigail, and Sam) go to saloon on Fridays and was thinking that Harvey might have already heard them making fun of Alex's job with the shipping bins or living with his grandparents after Sebastian first got back to town. I could be totally off, but it just occurred to me (and was shown in the snippets/previews) that there are a lot of convos about Alex happening that we aren't overhearing. But someone like Harvey might be.

I love the story so much!!! Thanks for another incredible chapter yesterday!!

Oh yeah, the reason Haley's calling Alex in the first place is because she heard about Alex's change of job from Jodi, and you know that Jodi heard it from Sam, and that Sam absolutely didn't say flattering things about the situation at all.

We're definitely going to be learning that there are a lot of asshole gossips in the town, and Alex is sheltered from almost all of it because he never visits the saloon. What he knows is filtered through Haley's and Harvey's concern, and Alex's assumption that people are gossiping about him because he's known that all his life - people talked about him and his family behind his back while growing up, and he wants no part in it.

I don't know that Harvey has necessarily overheard that much, I think he can pick up enough through just watching Alex with his grandparents in the end of their lives, and realising how much he genuinely cares and how hard he works/worked for them to make their lives better, and then he can sort of compare that to the image that the town has given to him re: Alex and be like 'oh. oh no.' That, combined with Sebastian returning, compounded all of it I think? I like to imagine that Harvey doesn't actually do much at the saloon except talk to Gus and tell himself that one glass of wine isn't unhealthy, it isn't unhealthy, no Harvey it's okay you can have one glass of wine you can even have two you're not like Pam it's okay.

Lol

Sebastian's never loved gossip, but he's definitely involved and around a lot of it, and I don't think he realises how much it's influenced him in the past and still influences him now. I think he'd resent it if he knew, because he's also been poorly affected by gossip in the town.

He's still got this view that many teenagers develop which is like, 'oh gossip is bad but what me and my friends do is fine, it's not like what everyone else is doing in my age group' and now he's an adult and he still holds that perspective. And, ngl, Sam and Abigail can be pretty judgemental and disparaging of other townsfolk when they get together and hang out with Sebastian, because Sebastian's 'fuck the town' attitude enables them into some of their worst behaviours and attitudes about individuals in the town.

I really like the way small town attitudes happen and how they play off the people in the town. It's so easy to get fixed in certain ways of seeing other people, and I'm looking forward to how that will play out.

And, not gonna lie, I'm really really interested to see if/when Sebastian will come to Alex's defence.

(And thank you so much! I'm so glad you enjoyed the chapter!!)

[tenacquity]

stop. i need everyone to witness... carry on

[aboutcustardcreams]

Until next time

Agathario x reader

The scene in the forest where Agatha delivered the baby is living in my head rent free and I just couldn't resist the urge to write an os about it. Rewrite, actually. It's my first Agatha's fic, so I'm pretty excited. Hope you guys like it <3

warning: angst, a touch of fluff

next chapter (time skip)

The baby’s soft cries echoed in the forest, as a reminder that a life has just begun, tender and innocent. Agatha was perched by a tree, only wrapped in a light and crumbled vest. Her cloak dropped somewhere a few feet away. The sweat and the pressure at her lower abdomen finally subsided, making her feel like she could breathe properly again. There was blood between her legs, staining her inner thighs, flooding and then drying out to her knees. Everything kind of hurt, her eyes were heavy, but her senses stayed alert. 

“Move,” the Green Witch muttered in a placid order. 

You looked into her eyes, slowly shaking your head, as you stood in front of Agatha, shielding her and the baby, “No.”

The witch felt a wave of relief wash over her when she heard your simple, yet categorical answer. She was in no condition to fight against Rio on this, despite the fire in her eyes and the weak magic already tingling her digits. 

Rio sighed, “we aren’t doing this. You promised–”

“I know what I did,” you interjected, closing your hands into fists, “But I changed my mind. I am allowed to change my mind,” you pointed out, voice thick with emotion. You couldn’t bring yourself to say goodbye to a child you didn’t even hold in your arms yet. “I-I can’t let you take him,” turning around, your eyes focused on the baby’s tiny head peeking out of the little blanket Agatha wrapped him in. “I mean, he’s innocent. It can’t be his time…”

“My loves–” 

“Just let him live,” Agatha interjected, her voice both exhausted and desperate. She never felt so scared before, “Please, don’t take him from me.” 

When he clasped his tiny hands in her long wavy hair, her lips brushed against his head, “I love you,” she smiled, rocking him ever so gently, “I love you so much.”

Your heart melted at the sight before your eyes. Rio felt a slight indecision tugging at her chest. She never thought the first time she would hold her son would be to carry him in the afterlife. It felt cruel. It was cruel. But he was sick, he could feel his disease, hovering like a shadow around him. 

“I’m not giving up. Not yet,” you insisted. 

“You talk as if I didn’t wish for him to live,” Rio retorted in disbelief. 

“Oh, spare us, Rio!” Agatha snapped. “You’re the Green Witch, it’s not like you’ve got no power at your disposal. And yet you’re choosing the easy way.”

Rio couldn’t believe her ears. “The easy way you say? Are you nuts? He is my son too, Agatha!”

You frowned at their bickering. Last thing you wanted was to indulge in this fight. This moment was supposed to bring joy to your lives. A child was born, your child for fuck’s sake. Why couldn’t you three be happy about it? Why couldn’t you cherish the moment? He was sick, but you could still try to save him. Work together to make it possible. You, Agatha and Rio weren’t common witches after all, and if there was someone able to find a loophole, it would be you. 

“Then start acting more like a mother,” Agatha retorted, voice dropping in a whisper. 

“It’s not my fault I’ve got responsibilities, Agatha. I never asked to be like this,” Rio’s voice wavered a bit, her heart thumping in her chest with painful insistence. 

“My loves, please we shouldn’t–”

The sound of Agatha’s mocking laughter prevented you from finishing off that sentence. “What about the responsibilities towards our son? He should come first.” 

“Our son is sick, and in order for him to live, many will have to die. It will cause absolute chaos.”

“So be it. All I care about is my son.” Her icy blue eyes sparkling dangerously as she said those words with force and a bit of selfishness. 

You considered Rio’s words; a bunch of conflicted emotions passed through you. Rio wouldn’t say those things if she knew there was another way out of this. But maybe if she couldn’t find it, you could, if only you were granted more time to figure it out. 

“If you take him, I’ll hate you forever,” she insisted rather calmly now. 

“Agatha…”

Color drained from your face at those words. You knew she didn’t mean that. She couldn’t. When a muffled sound slipped from Rio’s lips, a mixture between a choked sob and a scoff, you drew closer to her, your hands immediately finding her cheeks. You weren’t supposed to pick sides. You were a family, and it should stay like that. 

“She doesn’t mean it,” you said both softly and firmly, thumbs brushing against her cheekbones. She rolled her eyes and you took a firmer grip on her face, so that she would focus on your eyes, “Rio, listen to me, she doesn’t–”

“I do.” Agatha deadpanned, cutting you off.  

You hissed, “Quiet, Agatha.” 

Rio let out a quiet humorless chuckle, when the other witch grumbled something under her breath. 

“We are just scared, my love. We want this child to live, we need him to, do you understand that?” 

When your voice croaked slightly, her hands tangled in your hair and pulled you closer to her, “I know, baby. I know,” she cooed, getting lost in those wet lashes of yours.

You swallowed thickly, “I don’t want to say goodbye.” 

She leaned in and brushed her lips right under your eye, her magic immediately mingling with yours. Your eyelids fluttered close and you let out a faint mewl. 

“I can only offer time,” she said, once she pulled away, so that she could meet both yours and Agatha’s eyes.

You arched an eyebrow confusedly, “what does it mean?”

“How much time?” Asked Agatha. 

She shrugged, as if she didn’t know or she couldn’t really say. Her behavior only served the purpose of making you more nervous. Crossing your arms over your chest, you knew that you’d have to use this time to master your own powers. To make sure that whenever Rio intended on collecting your son’s soul, you’d be ready to fight. Not her of course, but the process of Death itself. You were a necromancer witch, whose powers were completely opposite to Rio’s. While her job was to keep order between life and death, your powers could easily break that balance if you wanted to. Meaning that you could resurrect life forms.

“You know I’ll still try when the time comes, don’t you?”

Rio looked at you and despite your words, she smiled, “I know, love. Thought I’d hate you if you decided to interfere, but honestly, I hope you win.” 

It was your turn to crack a smile in her direction. “It’s not a competition, Rio. All I want is to keep our child alive.” 

She hummed, without voicing her concerns out loud, not wanting to add more to yours and Agatha’s shoulders, “You two will make a good job.”

You and Agatha exchanged a confused look, “you sound like you’re leaving us behind,” she trailed off. 

When Rio averted her eyes, lips pressed in a thin line, you were sure you felt your heart shatter. 

“No, she’s not-” you looked at Agatha, hoping to have got it all wrong. But when you spotted tears welling up in her eyes, you realized the truth. 

“Rio, please, don’t do this–”

“I must. I can’t be seen around him,” her tone was sad, yet you could still feel the love filling each word. You kept shaking your head in denial. “Might be difficult to believe but there are women above me I respond to.” 

“The Fates have no power if you don’t do your part,” Agatha pointed out, hoping to be right.

Rio smacked her lips in return. “It’s not that simple. Atropos, the eldest of the three, could give me a really hard time if I disobey.” 

You clenched your jaw at her words. The thought of handing your son’s life in the hands of those crones made absolutely no sense to you. They shouldn’t be entitled to take the life of an innocent just like that. You were a necromancer witch, meaning that you could change things. For a long time you buried that part of yourself within you, because of the things you’ve been told all your life. Interfering with the natural order of the things was wrong; your power was an abomination, but at that moment, all those warnings sounded like bullshit. 

Rio sensed your distress, her fingers brushed yours, “I’ll keep him hidden for as long as I can.” 

Then she turned to Agatha and pointed at the baby in the silent, almost timid request to approach him. She still had to see him properly after all. Agatha nodded and moved the child so that he would face her, tucking a bit of the blanket underneath his chin to better expose his tiny face. 

Rio brushed a strand of Agatha’s hair first, “you did amazing, my love,” she praised her, causing a light brush on the witch’s cheeks. She couldn’t quite believe she, you three created such a beautiful baby boy from scratch. 

“Hi” she cooed, now focusing on the newborn. You leaned against the tree, the same tree Agatha was perched by, and looked from above the sweet interaction going on. Rio’s fingertips grazed over his tiny, perfect nose. “I can’t promise you a life devoid of challenges and pain, but I confide in your mothers to always make sure you’re happy and loved,” she lifted her eyes to meet yours and Agatha’s. A watery smile tugged at her lips, “And trust me, you’re so so loved already, little one.” 

You wiped the corners of your eyes and so did Agatha. 

“We should name him Nicholas,” she said after a moment of contemplation.  

Knowing the meaning of the name, you felt like you couldn’t agree more on it, “Nicholas Scratch,” you added, “cause we made him from scratch.” 

Rio turned towards you, while her fingers played with the baby’s tender little hands. “That’s perfect, my love. Isn’t it, Agatha?”

Agatha swallowed thickly, already mourning the loss of Rio, despite her being still there. She nodded, and then she tangled a hand in Rio’s hair, pulling her closer to her face. For a moment she only leaned against her forehead, inhaling her sweet scent of flowers. Then the Green Witch took the initiative and placed her lips on top of hers, savoring with extreme gentleness, the plumpiness of Agatha’s. You ran a hand in Agatha’s hair, fingers stroking her scalp to let her feel your presence too, while your eyes darted on Rio. When Agatha let out a choked sob in Rio’s mouth, overwhelmed by everything that had just happened in such a short time, the other hushed her softly, “it’s going to be okay.”

Neither you nor Agatha were sure about it, but you had no other choice than to believe her. 

“Take care of your moms, Nicky,” she later added, placing one last kiss on his forehead and then on Agatha’s. 

Once she stood up again, she focused her attention on you. In an ideal world, you’d be her enemy, because of the powers you possessed. And yet, against all the odds, you became her lover, one of the most important persons in her life. 

“Don’t be sad…”

You nibbled on your inner cheek so hard you drew blood. With your arms crossed over your chest, you struggled to spill a single word because you didn’t trust your voice at the moment. Your entire body was shaking on the inside. Agatha never saw you look so fragile before. It felt like a stab in her chest to witness her family fall apart like that. 

“You’re asking too much of me,” you kept your eyes down, focusing on the tip of your boots. 

“Nena, look at me,” Rio tried to meet your eyes, but you purposefully kept it down, shaking it stubbornly and hopelessly. She smiled, feigning hurt in her tone as she continued, “You wouldn’t let me go without a proper kiss now, would you?” 

Despite your best efforts, you let out a small watery chuckle at her playful teasing, “I hate that you’re doing this.”

“It’s for Nicky…” She said simply. 

Agatha buried her face in the baby’s naked shoulder, finding comfort in his pure and unique scent. 

“And I am sorry,” when you finally met her eyes, Rio cupped your cheeks, “so sorry you don’t get to be his mother. It’s your right to be.”

But Rio’s lips curled into a reassuring smile, despite her sadness. “Don’t be. I’ll get my turn eventually…  and for now, I’ll be his–”

“Please, don’t say shadow,” you muttered, and that elicited a small chuckle out of the Green Witch. If you turned around you’d see Agatha’s lips stretch into a smile too. 

“Guardian, then.”

You hummed and licked your lips, tasting the saltiness of your own tears in your mouth. 

“Now come here, I waited enough–” 

The witch pulled you closer with ease. Your body crashed into hers but it was okay because she was ready to hold you. 

Agatha could see Rio’s face as she hugged you. She spotted a single tear slip down her eye and her stomach lurched. When you two pulled away, Rio took a few steps back, pulling the green cloak over her head. She lingered a few seconds to memorize the scene before her. You dropped on your knees and landed next to Agatha. Her head immediately lolled on your shoulder, and you turned yours to place your lips in her hair. 

Rio waved softly, then blew a kiss to each of you, “Nos vemos, mis amores.” 

You and Agatha nodded quietly, watching the Green Witch disappear before your eyes. Agatha let out a silent sob when she did; your arms immediately wrapped around her and the baby in a protective embrace. 

“We will be fine, Aggs.” 

When Agatha met your gaze, eyes full of hope and vulnerability, you took a mental vow to protect her and Nicky whatever the cost. 

“Yeah,” she echoed with a smile you immediately reciprocated. She closed her eyes when you leaned in to brush your lips against her still clammy forehead. 

When the baby started crying again, you two pulled away and focused your attention on Nicky. He looked rather pale for your liking, a little warm too. You knew what he needed and so did Agatha. You placed a tender kiss on his cheek, Agatha’s lips curling into a soft smile, while you did. Then you stood, hands on your hips, eyes roaming around your surroundings like a predator looking for its prey. You didn’t want to do this, but you were just a mother trying to keep your son alive. 

When Agatha attempted to get up, you interjected, “stay here for now. Let me do the rest.”

Her expression shifted from confusion to worry, “You shouldn’t be doing this alone.”

“Agatha,” you merely rolled your eyes at that, “You just had our baby, I think it’s not the end of the world if you sit this one out,” your voice laced with a hint of playfulness despite the things you had to do. It’s not that you never killed before, cause you did. Not in cold blood though. You forced yourself into believing that it wouldn’t be much different. Once a wise person told you, a witch must do anything in her power to survive and there’s no shame in that. You were looking at her now, as her attention remained fixed on you. 

“Be careful,” it was supposed to sound like an order, but the softness in her eyes betrayed her. 

You chuckled lightly, “I always am,” you concluded, pulling the cloak up over your head. 

[godmadeaterribleerror]

To Need Somebody

Read on A03!

Tags: Dean Winchester/Female Reader, angst, very light fluff, pre-established relationship, no use of y/n

Summary/Warnings: After a hunt goes poorly, Dean retreats down a well-tread path of self-loathing. You've been here before, and you'll be here again, and you'll stay every time. Self-esteem warning, but that's it.

Author's Note: First Dean fic! A very good excuse to rewatch supernatural and say it's for my own edification as if he doesn't live in my head rent-free.

Title from Renegade by Big Red Machine ft Taylor Swift.

Word Count: 3.8k

The night doesn’t pass as quickly as you’d like it to. It’s long and slow, treelines and yellow grass moving in blur out the window as the stinging, stabbing pain in your leg keeps you awake.

You keep your face pressed to the glass, hidden in shadows and under your makeshift blanket—it’s just a jacket, but it’s Dean’s so it smells like him and might be better than a blanket—so that the light reflecting off your tired, tear-stained face doesn’t catch the attention of the rear-view mirror.

Doesn’t catch the attention of Dean.

He hasn’t spoken since the drive home began. He’d carried you to the car, then into the motel, then on the bed, holding you still while Sam cleaned and sewed up the gash in your thigh. Dean had muttered words of comfort and let you bite down on his shirt through the stitches. He’d told you that you’d done well, and that the kid was going to be fine.

The kid with you was going to be fine. You’d been faster than the demon—but not faster than its blade aimed at your leg—and the little girl who had attached to you was going to be traumatized, but had a lifetime ahead of her to heal from it.

The little boy that had been with Dean didn’t. He was ash scattered over the skyline and stuck to wet grass. And you knew Dean blamed himself, even though Sam had told you in hushed words at a gas station that it there was nothing anyone could have done. The kids eyes had started to go black, and he’d wandered to the window with an expression of wonder Dean had caught immediately, because he was a good hunter and better man.

And it wasn’t Dean’s fault the kid had punched through the window with inhuman strength. You’d all assumed that the crazy fucking ritual was more of an offering than a conversion. If your kid had punched through a window, you would have likely lost her as well.

But you hadn’t. Sam’s hadn’t lost his either. By pure, shit luck, Dean’s was the one that formed a stronger connection. That fell under faster, and died for it.

So now Dean wasn’t speaking to you or Sam. He’d helped you to the Impala, checked that you were comfortable, and set his jacket over your body, even after you told him you were okay. You’d reached a hand up to his face, told him you loved him, and gotten a grimacing smile in return.

You know he loves you. He’s not good at saying it, but you know. You know because he’s driving slower than usual, to avoid bumps. You know because the music is low, and it’s one of his better tapes. One of the one’s you’ve told him you like more than the others, and the one he always put it on when you’re in pain.

There isn’t a doubt in your mind that Dean loves you. And the silent acts of attention and service make the exact three times he has said it all the more meaningful.

The first time, when you’d tried to leave—reaching a breaking point of I can’t keep loving him like this, but I can’t get over him while I’m here—and he’d shot down your every fear with begging words and a confession he’d sounded afraid to make.

The second time, when you’d died. Really died, and Dean had tried to break up with you to protect you when you’d come back. You’d called an idiot, but your idiot, and simply refused to leave him. You’d told him to give you one good reason he wanted you to go, and he’d never see you again. He’d shouted, and you’d screamed, and you think you won. You’re still here, so you won. 

The third time, which you called the good time. Where he hadn’t said it in a shout or plea, or because he was in afraid of losing you in whatever form, but because he wanted to. Dean had really just wanted you to know that he loved you, and now you did. And you’d never doubt it again.

But this still hurts. The wall that forms over Dean—a form of protection from this silent burden and self-inflicted torture you know must be unbearable and heavier than the world, crushing on his shoulders and head and ribs—is like a stray dog that you just have to watch tear itself apart, and hope it will accept your outstretched hand. Offering comfort it doesn’t know it deserves.

You know Dean loves you, and you know he never takes your hand, and it still really fucking hurts. A fight would be better than this. Screaming would be a relief to the heavy silence that had started to form a weight in your lungs. Your head felt like iron, and you were beginning to wonder if your tongue with ever stop being a pointless muscle that was uncomfortable in your mouth. Stop just itching at your teeth and finally become useful. Find the right words that would make Dean do anything, anything at all. Literally anything that wasn’t sitting like a sentry and holding the wheel like—if he choked it and it spat out blood—something would fix itself.

It’s dawn when you hear the engine stop, and you can’t move. A little because you still can’t fully support any weight on your leg, but mostly because moving will be acknowledging that you’re awake. And being awake comes with choices. You either have to look at Dean and pretend you don’t see the way he’s ripping himself apart before smashing everything back together in a way that’s just a little less stable than before, or you have to not look at Dean.

He’ll notice. He notices everything, especially obvious things like you not looking at him. And it will hurt him—make this hole you think lives in his ribcage or spine bigger and more hollow—so no matter what pain it causes you, you need to look at Dean.

You push up your forearms with a groan, and he’s right there. Already watching you, so obviously in pain, and so obviously guarded from it that there’s not much for you to do right now. These are things Dean has to ask you for before you can give them. If you offer kind words, he’ll think they’re tainted with pity and spit venomous ones back. If you offer a body he’ll take it, but then the hole will grow larger as the guilt sets in for using you, even if you were the one that asked.

When it’s like this, all you can do is sit with him. Let him help you into the bunker, and—when he tries to put you in bed—insist he stays here, or you go where he goes.

You can make that about you, about not wanting to be abandoned in the midst of your physical turmoil, instead of Dean. He’ll let you follow him if it’s for you.

“You need to rest,” he grunts your name, and these are the first words he’s spoken in almost twelve hours. They’re almost inaudible, and a little angry, but they’re the most amazing sounds you’ve ever heard. “Been a long night. You’re hurt-“

“I can rest with you.” You whisper, and he looks like you shot him. “I don’t want to be alone, Dean. Please.”

There’s a long, horrible moment where you think he’ll say no. Where he’ll mutter that he’s never a productive in a bedroom setting for anything like resting, give you an empty smirk and a sleep well, Sweetheart before walking out the door and closing it behind him. If he does, you won’t be near him until he comes to bed in the dead of night, finally deeming himself worthy of undeserved luxuries like blankets and pillows.

In that awful moment, you consider crawling to him and dragging the entire bed set with you. Demanding that he gives you just proximity, because you both need it. He won’t have to touch you, or look at you, or speak to you, but he’ll be near you. At an acceptable distance, in case something in him escapes and you need to be there to catch it.

Dean doesn’t help you out of bed to follow him. But he does climb onto the mattress at your side, sitting up at the headboard and resting his hands in fists against his thighs, staring ahead with a practiced, unreadable expression.

You take it. Loving Dean is a lot of taking things. A lot of trying to give things back and having them be refused. It’s worth it, worth every screamed fight and strange, empty moment of only being near him, because most of the time it’s not like this. Most of the time it’s jokes and shared, sparring words. It’s almost all watching him be goofy and charming, and kissing a stubbled cheek when he gets in a mock fight with Sam and loses. Smiling and telling him you’ll get him next time, Buddy.

But these darker, emptier times are an unavoidable hazard of the trade. People who date in offices have to navigate HR, people who date in entertainment have to deal with the media and hunters who date have to deal with the fact that loss is inevitable, and you can’t afford to be attached to anything. On top of that, Winchesters who date have to grapple with their whole… everything.

But Dean is still with you. And that means he’s decided the joy of having you is worth the pain of losing you. It’s why when you slip your hand into his, he doesn’t pull it away. He squeezes it, and clings to it like a lifeline.

Sleep fades in and out in a haze, never long enough to dream or feel rested, but enough to register that Dean is crumbling. It starts with his body suddenly slouched down the mattress, then his legs are tangled in yours. Soon after your face is near his neck, and finally, he’s asleep at your side.

From there the day is traded sleep. You’re awake, and you shift the blanket to cover his body with yours. He’s awake, and suddenly your hair has been brushed from your face. You’re awake, your leg is hooked over his waist. He’s awake, you’re on top of him.

When you’re finally awake together, you just watch each other. You don’t speak first—Dean always to speaks first during these things—but you might have to stay here for a while until he does.

His eyes strained as if something is going to burst out of him, and he’s using every fiber and crevice of his will to keep it in. You don’t want to keep demanding more of Dean’s will. You don’t want to demand anything of him at all. So you just wait for him to fall a little further—keeping a soft, encouraging smile on your face the whole time—until he comes down entirely and speaks again. Light words coated in a pain that makes your head and heart ache, but words all the same.

“How’d you end up there, Sweetheart?”

You shrug, matching his tone but making your face more open. Wide and almost innocent, considering the position of resting over to your sex-god boyfriend, whose hands are wandering to hold you by your thigh. “Not sure.” You lean down, smiling at Dean like you have a secret as your voice drops to a whisper. “Between you and me, I think someone keeps putting me here. I go to sleep and wake up in the same place every time.”

He chuckles. “We should do something’ about that. Tie you to the bed so you can’t be moved.”

“I think,” you kiss his jaw, tangling your fingers in the soft, spiky hair at the nape of his neck. “That might just spur him on. He’d like the challenge.”

You start to kiss over his cheek—because it’s rare you get moment to just touch him without any need to go further, with neither of you asking for more, so you’re taking full advantage—and Dean’s head falling back with a low, long sigh, eyes closing as you continue your self-set task.

“He might.” Dean mutters. “But he also might not let you get to the sleepin’ stage.”

“He would.” You say against his skin, rising back up to watch his face, a strange combination of relaxed pain on his features that you knew too well. Where his brown was drawn but his breathing was slow and easy, and his mouth was parted but in a small frown. “Or he’d end up sleeping on me. The joke would be on him, though, because I love that too.”

“You seem to know this guy real well,” he says your name, dragging his eyes open to hold your gaze, and almost breaking your heart with how tired he looks. How he doesn’t seem to find peace in the truth of the words he’s saying. “He know you?”

“Better than anyone.” You whisper. “And I do know him. I’d like to think it’s better than most.”

“Do ya?”

“I do.” You drop your chin to prop on his chest, and Dean shift up to keep watching you as you speak. “He’s a bit of a goof, but very serious when he needs to be. He’s charming and handsome and a total cowboy, right down to the very odd chivalry and voice.”

“Odd chivalry?”

“He’ll hold my hair back when I’m sick and open every door, but he gets all bitchy when I ask for a fry, even when I offer a blowjob in return.”

“I always give you the fry, even when you just fucking ate all your own. And I don’t take the blowjob.” Dean grumbles, and your smile widens.

“Because you’re a very chivalrous guy, Winchester. Even if you keep moving me on top of you in the middle of the night.”

He frowns, scanning over your face. “I can stop that-“

“Don’t. I think I’ll find my way back here anyway.”

“Yeah? You like it here, huh.”

Dean’s words aren’t teasing like they might have been on another morning, but defeated. All you can do is hold your ground, and stay.

“I love it here.” You hum, playing with his hair under your hands in the way that always slows his breathing and eases the storm in his brain. “I love you.”

Dean sighs, and you know exactly what’s coming before he says it. “Look, Baby-“

“Don’t call me Baby, Dean.” You mutter, continuing your movements. “That’s either a sex name or an apology name, and we’re not about to have sex."

He says your name again, and it’s lower and deeper than before. Like he never wants to stop saying it, but can’t afford to anymore. “You gotta understand that I’m no good for you. Hell, no one’s good for you, but son of a bitch, I’m plain bad-“

You drop your head down to his chest, and take a long, laboring breath. This happens, in some form, every time. You don’t want his apologies or excuses or attempts to convince you to leave. If anything they just cement your place here, because you can be a little spiteful, and you’re not one to give up. As long as Dean keeps loving you, you’ll keep waiting out the darker nights at his side. 

But you’re also a little sick of it. How pointless this is, how it only wastes the finite time life has to offer to anyone, let alone two hunters. How it hurts Dean to say, and you to hear, and he seems to think he’s doing you some sort of favor by pushing you away. That this is saving you and not killing you. Slowly, slowly eating at you until you don’t leave—you won’t leave—but you do start to wonder if it’s you. If Dean just doesn’t trust you or like you all that much, and doesn’t want to hurt your feelings. It’s just as irrational as Dean’s own logic—if only because he’s hurt your feelings a lot before, and always torn himself apart for it after out of love and pain after, making it up to you tenfold—but it remains a little, nagging voice in your head. That people who want you don’t try to push you away. That he does love you, but maybe can’t see a life with you, and just wants you gone.

You try and offer yourself some grace for your doubt, because it’s really, truly, not about Dean. Despite what he seems to believe, you’re not perfect either. You don’t end up hunting because you’re incredibly emotionally stable and have a pristine, joyful past. It just all happened to fall into place that your breaks and cracks line up with Deans. That he can fill in divets and depressions that eat at you—not pretty enough, not likable, nothing anyone could really chose to stay around, always the backup, always the poet and the prophet but never with a name people will remember when you’re inevitably gone—and you can do the same for him.

You need to try to keep doing the same for him. There are parts of you Dean knows that soothing and healing will take time to do, and parts of Dean you’re worried to touch and make worse, but there are also breaking points. Where your words start to spill out in a desperate play to just make it a little better for you both.

This is one of them. And all he’ll have to do is listen.

“You don’t need to agree with me,” when you start your voice is soft but cracked, like a breath you have to fight to take. “And you can even tell me I’m wrong after. But please don’t leave.” 

He looks mostly confused at that, at the sudden shift in the air and spaces between it. Still heavy and clouded with sorrow, but also wired. Detriment. “I ain’t leaving you-“ He says your name, and you cut him off with a sigh. 

“Don’t leave the room. Don’t leave the bed. Just stay here and listen.” 

His frown deepens, but he nods. And now you have to talk. 

It’s not rehearsed or prepared, but it doesn’t need to be. You know what you need to say.

“I’m not going to tell you it wasn’t your fault, because I know you hate that. But I hate when you do this. When you blame yourself, or try to. It’s mean to me.” 

Dean’s hands tense on your body, and he looks like a wounded animal, but you keep going.

“I love you. A lot. And when you tell me I shouldn’t it’s, it hurts.” You sigh, trying to just keep your eyes fixed on a freckle near his nose as you start to choke on your own words and the salty taste they bring. “It doesn’t feel good. It’s like you think I don’t know what I’m doing. Like you’ve tricked me into loving you, when I want to be here. I really like being here, and I know it’s not about me, but I want it to be.” You chance a look at his eyes, and they’re glossy. No tears—you’ve never seen them before, and you likely won’t see them now—but the closest thing you ever get from him. A storm that stays green and trapped, instead of crashing out onto golden, soft skin for you to brush away.

You feel a little selfish, because this is really not about you.

And you can’t really bring yourself to care, or stop.

“I wish you’d let this be about me too.” You whisper, your voice almost inaudible over the lump and ache in your throat. “I wish you’d let me help. I let you help, Dean, and it’s not fair.”

“’S different, Baby.” Dean’s voice is hoarse, and a little unsteady as he shakes his head. “I don’t-“ 

“If you say need help, Winchester, you’re going to need to start rehearsing your speech to convince Chuck to send you back again.”

“You don’t know I was gonna to say that-“

“Yes, you were. And it’s not different. I want to help, Dean.” You’re almost pleasing, and it’s an effort not to crawl up his chest and outright beg. “Let me help, or stop telling me I should fucking leave you. I’m not going to, and I know you don’t really want me to, or we’d have been done two years ago.”

“You shoulda listened two years ago-“

“But I didn’t. And I won’t now.”

Dean shakes his head, huffing a dry laugh. “You’re real damn stubborn, anyone ever told you that?”

“You have.” You let a smile twitch at your lips, but you still don’t relent. “And I’ve told you that you’re no better. And it’s one of the many reasons why I don’t want anyone else.”

“You should-“ 

“No, I shouldn’t.” You give a full, close-lipped smile that’s mostly made of hope. You haven’t fixed anything, but you may have soothed it. Found a way to make his hated a little less consuming, because this is hurting you, and Dean hates hurting you. If he can’t start to change or listen to genuine reason, you can use his own twisted logic against him. “And I’m staying here. Because I love you, and I don’t want to hear about how I deserve better. I know what I deserve, and I know what I want.”

“Me.” 

Dean says his word like he hates it, and you say yours like it’s a prayer. “You.” 

He looks defeated, but not in pain. When his hand wanders up your back, tangling in your hair and tugging it just enough for you to know what he wants, you comply. Falling carefully forward and letting Dean’s lips find yours, allowing him to lead the kiss and decide where it ends. Long and soft and almost delicate, his free hand still rubbing and squeezing on your thigh, but nothing more.

It doesn’t need to be more. Because Dean pulls back slowly, staring at you with a slight awe as he clears his throat, and his voice come out slow, but not forced.

“I,” he swallows, shaking his head at mostly himself. “I love you. And I, uh, I’m glad you’re still here. Glad you’re stubborn.” 

Your smile makes your cheeks hurt, but it’s pain born of joy, so it’s not really pain at all. “I’m glad I’m stubborn too.” You rest back down against him, and know neither of you will move for a long while. “It means I get to stay here.” 

End Note: I'm pre-gaming something. Thank you so, so much for reading!

If you like this story, please reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3

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Taglist

@artemys-ackles

[nishikiace]

Request:

ftm!toji being found and taken in like a stray by dom!m!reader

reader treating him like royalty and allowing him to live far from his previous job of killing

(chubbier dadbod toji due to his new lifestyle)

some breeding kink to get him pregnant with megumi

anon im so sorry i accidentally deleted your request by fucking up my draft 😭 im literally stupid 🥴 those who saw it posted incomplete and broken, no you didn't

tysm for requesting it, i enjoyed writing it too much as u can tell.

ftm! bottom! fushiguro toji

Warnings: top!male!reader, dom!reader - amab anatomy, ftm!character - afab anatomy, nipple play, consensual groping, fingering, cunnilingus, breeding, creampie

p1 [p2] [p3 -tbc]

[masterlist]

you never thought that finding a bruised man asleep in the alley behind your house, would lead to you taking in a stray, rent-free..

(but you can't say you're complaining, you think, watching his dark shirt stretch across his fat tits as he yawns and stretches his arms.)

as much as I want to see this man bent over vacuuming my house and packing my bento, i doubt toji is a domestic god like that. but he more than makes up for it by bending over countertops, and giving you something better to eat every morning

waking up next to him is a soft affair. as youre making out with his sleep-swollen lips, play with his nipples and make his torso shake and curl into you. tease them all morning

and when he's making coffee for you before work, you should hug him from behind and sneak your hands into his tight shirt. grope the softness of his stomach and sensitive chest and kiss the back his neck. he doesn't outwardly react but his red ears and perking buds give him away. roll and pinch his nipples under his shirt while hugging him from behind and force him into a gasping nipple orgasm before you leave the house

weekends with toji are for spending time together too. bring him to the market to help you carry all the groceries with his wide biceps. lead him around with an around around his thin, firm waist, squeezing at the thick fat and corded muscles underneath. buy him flowers and feed him sweets, and when it's less crowded, slide your hand down to dip under his pants and hold onto the fat on his hips and ass

dilf-ication is real and it affects your loved ones

○○○

coming home to see this man laying on your couch is better than any homecooked meal. you walk closer and kneel in front of his spread legs, palming him through his loose boxers and nipping at his broad thighs

spank his ass and slap his thighs just to watch them jiggle with all that extra weight he's put on, in the comfort of your home and bank account. pull off his boxers and hook his knees over your shoulders

"oh f-fuck," toji groans, feeling his thighs lock around your head as you blow a soft breath over his wet folds. "nghh, hurry up."

he grabs your hair roughly with one hand and buries your face in between his legs, his other hand gripping tightly at the sofa to arch more into your mouth. your lips brush against his swollen pussy and you begin licking broad stripes from his ass to his clit. reaching the top, you purse your lips around the nub and suck tightly

toji lets out a wrecked sound, feeling his insides convulse. taking advantage of the moment, you thrust your fingers deep into his gushing cunt and scrape your knuckles against his walls, thumb rubbing at his asshole and mouth worshipping his fat clit

"a-ah! oh shit!" his hand in your hair aggressively digs in to drag your face into his pussy harder with each raw wail and fucked out groan. slick is running down your face and staining the sofa, gushing out with every clench

you pull back slightly, catching his labia with your teeth and pulling before allowing your teeth to scrape over the hood of his clit. feeling him shudder, you pull back the hood and begin rapidly flicking your tongue on the exposed nub

toji swears with a shaky, high pitched voice and stutters into your face, thick stomach clenching and shuddering as he rides out his orgasm on your wet face. the noises he makes have you burying deeper for more

debauched and sweaty, this man is laid out on your couch like a king, thighs open and shining with spit, fat skin creasing between his thigh meat and hip bones that you want to bite on to

○○○

toji has gotten too used to his domesticity and the security of his new life with you - he would want to lock it down. so he likes to lock his thighs around your hips when you fuck, to push your cock deeper into his womb, right before you can cum. the thought of you impregnating him feels so good he gets lightheaded. hold on to his belly when you breed him to really awaken that animalistic urge

a guttural groan leaves toji's lips as you set up a ruthless pace into his hole. his feet curl around your back and thighs twitch every time you slam back into his drooling cunt. you're filling him so thoroughly he can barely think

he's demanding, "fuck me harder" while his muscular body shakes in your grip. the sheets rustle beneath you and bed creaks and bashes into the wall with powerful thrusts. breathless groans and choking breaths leave his gaping lips and he just knows he will be bruised and swollen everywhere tomorrow

you switch to a staccato rhythm, skin grinding his clit and making him arch into you with a gasp. he's getting closer, eyes rolling back into his skull, feeling your cockhead kissing his cervix with a new pace

"s-shit, I'm gonna come!" toji moans loudly. his body tenses as a wave of squirt gushes around your cock. you bottom out your thrusts as he cums hard enough to rattle his body, walls milking you deep

"aah, m-make me fucking pregnant! fill me up!" you push your cum into his womb and claim his red-hot, swollen cunt

"nngh fuck!" he gasps, dizzy at the semen and squirt overflowing from his hole and bubbling and spilling out all over the bedsheets

"d-don't move yet," toji smirks once he catches his breath, hole fluttering around your cock. "I want it to take."

your bedroom forever has a dented wall you hide with the bedframe

[lovelywyenn]

“Man Junk”

★college student! Kyojuro Rengoku x college student fem!Reader★ Synopsis★There was something too sexy about your roommate Kyojuro. You couldn't be blamed for wanting to grind on his meaty thighs.★ Includes★Teasing, Choking, Kissing, squirting, humping, thigh humping, roommate fucking★ ★W.C★3.2k

You were happy as hell to finally be on your own. No longer held down by your parents, free to grow into your own person. To explore the world as a young adult. 

Having gotten into a good college far away from home, you were bonafide by yourself now. Unfortunately that meant financially as well. Your parents gave you a choice. You could either go to college locally and they would help you pay for it as long as you lived at home. Or you could go, and cut off contact. And never see another penny from them again. 

It was a hard choice, but one you needed to make. You couldn’t be under their control anymore. 

So you left, packed all your things and got on a plane across the country. And here you were, at your new university. 

The first few weeks here were….expensive. A little too expensive for the small convenience store job you had. So soon, on campus living turned into an impossible wish. And late nights studying ended up being paired with searching for apartments nearby with tenants looking for roommates. 

It took a while, but eventually you found someone who was offering an affordable amount of rent and who seemed decent. 

A girl named Kyojuro Rengoku. It was a pretty name and the girl sounded nice enough on her profile. So after  a bit of paperwork and packing, you were on the way to your new home and to see your new roommate.

It was early morning when you arrived at the apartment complex. It was just as nice as all of the photos you had seen. Nice brown brick surrounded each complex and the area was nice and gated. You even spotted a pool on the premises. All this for only $500 a month on your part was definitely worth it.

You locate apartment building 3 and use the key you were mailed a few days earlier to head inside. The only bad part about this place was the fact your apartment was on the second floor. You decide to take this one bag at a time. Lugging your first suitcase up the stairs with you. You knock on the door, breathing heavily. You really need to get your muscles up. 

The door opens and you let out a sigh, “Hey girly!, mind helping me with my bags, i packed a shit ton and they’re heavy as-”

“Girly?” a voice says. And it was the exact opposite of what you were expecting. 

You peer up from where you were looking, craning your neck in an attempt to see the entirety of the person standing in front of you. 

Turns out Kyojuro was not a sweet girl. But a big ass man. A hot one at that. And in that moment you wished you weren’t in the baggiest and bleach stained sweater you owned, a raggedy scarf on your head.

This guy had to be a giant, he towered over you. It would have been menacing if his demeanor wasn’t so kind. 

“Kyojuro?” you question dumbly. Who the hell else would be in Kyojuro’s house. 

A deep laugh rumbles from the man, “Yeah, I'm guessing you’re Y/n” he says and you nod. 

“Gotta say, I thought you were a dude little lady” he says, and you gasp in slight offense. You had thought you came off as very feminine. 

“Well I thought you were a girl!” you say right back. 

Kyojuro’s hands reach out for your bag, easily lifting the suitcase as if it weighed nothing. Your eyes lingered alone in his arms. How in the world was it possible for a man to be so strong.

“Thank you” you find yourself saying as he leads you back to where your room was. Your eyes trail along the apartment, taking in your surroundings. Much like the apartment complex, the pictures of your new home were accurate. The kitchen was spacious, with nice brown cabinets. And the living room was cute and cozy, a flat screen mounted on the wall.

As you walk, Kyojuro tells you where everything is. The linen closet is to your left, the bathroom is further down on your right. Finally he passes his room and then makes it to yours. The room already has a bed. The room was pretty plain and it would take some decorating. But your new room was nice, and spacious. You could work with it. 

“Got any more bags Y/n?” Kyojuro asks and you nod, “Yeah, but I can get them-”

But Kyojuro’s already gone downstairs, pulling up boxes and bags you had. You could already tell that living with Kyojuro was going to be interesting. But it would be nice to finally have some form of independence. Plus, Kyojuro seemed like a really nice boy. 

A nice one with strong hands, and thighs that should be illegal.

—--------------------------

Life is a bit easier now. You were actually able to save money and weren’t scavenging for leftover money every month. Plus living with Kyojuro was so easy. He wasn’t a slob, he kept after himself. Washing dishes, cooking meals when it was his turn. He was a sweetheart too, helping you with homework and things like that. 

He was a year older than you, a sophomore at the same university you went to. Often driving you to class and things like that. 

It was stupid, the way you were slowly growing a bit too attached to your roommate. But how could you be blamed? He was too fine. It should have been illegal to look as good as him. You didn’t know you had a thing for bigger guys until you met him. But you had never met a guy built like him in all of your lifetime. 

He had a good foot on you, and never failed to make your neck ache from the way you had to crane it from looking up at him. His hair was long, dyed to mimic the colors of fire. Often, when he was home he let it fall completely down, the wispy hairs closer to the front of his scalp flowing over his face.

But your favorite part was how strong he was. His shoulders were so wide, sloping down into muscular arms and veiny hands. His thighs were so thick they almost beat yours. The only difference being that yours were soft and smooth. While his were heavy and strong. 

How could any girl not fall for him? He was strong, smart, and thoughtful. Triple threat. 

Too bad for you though. Your first crush with freedom seemed to be all but interested in you. It was admirable, how studious he was. But…you wanted his attention to be off his books and on you for once. 

You might have been delusional, some might even call you crazy. But you had a pretty good plan. What man could resist a pretty girl like you walking around in nothing but their panties.

There were a lot of things that could go wrong with what your plan was. Kyojuro could genuinely not be into you and you’d end up making a fool of yourself. Kyojuro could kick you out for being so indecent. 

But whenever you looked at Kyojuro, your care about all the consequences faded away. The possibility of pleasure clouding over your mind. 

So gradually, you walked around in less and less clothing. You even went a little over budget for the month and bought yourself some lacier panties. 

And the games began. 

Kyojuro noticed. How could he not. 

He had a very similar fascination with you as you had with him. When he first saw you, bare faced and beautiful it took everything in him to keep his cool. He had never seen someone as beautiful as you. 

You were short…ridiculously so. It hurt his neck to have to look down at you. But the view was worth it. So worth it. 

Beautiful you were, big eyes that always looked up at him with what he hoped was admiration. You were so gorgeous he felt himself losing his cool around you all the time. Fighting for his eyes to stay on your eyes instead of trailing all over you. He was a gentleman after all. 

Focusing on school and keeping his gaze off of you was the only way to not be distracted by you, constantly in his vicinity.

But that grew impossible, when you started walking around without pants on. At first, Kyojuro thought you were just wearing shorter shorts. After all, he had a few female friends who loved the short shorts and oversized shirt combination. 

Though he was proven wrong when you were carrying some papers back to your room and dropped a few. He meant to stand and help you pick them up but got his breath taken away from the sight of you bending over to pick your papers up. 

You were definitely pantsless. And the underwear you were wearing barely deserved the title of undergarments. 

It was pink, a color he learned was your favorite, with lace along the edges of it. The fabric was netted, see through, allowing a super clear view of…everything. Fuck you had a pretty pussy. He could see you had shaved, pretty lips on display. From this angle he could almost see your clit. And honestly, just the glance had him hardening in his pants. Now he was wishing he had chosen something that would have made his boner less obvious. 

As you stand up you peer back at Kyojuro. And you see his hands shoot to his cock in an effort to conceal his hard on. 

The man swears he sees a small smirk on your face as you strut away.

You have your torturous fun for weeks, always bending ignorant of Kyojuro in a new set of panties that let him get a gorgeous view of your pussy. 

But one day, you take it even farther than any other day. Kyojuro is just watching TV. It’s a bit late at night, and he had just come home from a late night class. All he really wanted was to unwind as today had been a bit stressful. 

As usual, as soon as he was comfortable, starting to relax. You strut in the room. For some reason, your tight pink shorts and even tighter little tank pop is worse than the see through panties. It’s as if everything is on display, yet not enough. 

You don’t just disappear into your room after showing off to him though. Instead you move to sit next to him. The look on your face was ridiculously sweet. As if the sight of you right now wasn’t giving him a boner that was a bit too hard to stop.

Surprisingly, you don’t make a sound, choosing to sit quietly next to him. Watching what he was watching without disturbing him. 

It's when the show ends, however, that you rile him up again. 

And this time is his last straw.

You reach for the remote that was sitting on the coffee table a little to the right of Kyojuro. To reach it you stretch your body, practically over the man’s lap to change the channel. And maybe also to wiggle your ass in his face.

Kyojuro lets out a sigh. This teasing game was getting tiring. Clearly you wanted him just as bad as he wanted you. And frankly, today he was a bit too tired to rub one out in the bathroom to the thought of you. Why do so when you’re right in front of him, begging for it. 

You yelp as a heavy hand smacks right on your ass. It hurts, and it stings, but you swore it was the best  feeling ever. 

You turn around, eyes as wide and innocent as ever as you face him. “Kyojuro, what was-”

“Shut up” he rolls his eyes, “Sit on my lap” he says. 

And you're sat as soon as the words leave his mouth. The tone of his voice made you feel like you were in trouble, like you were in for it bad tonight. 

“Usually I love teasing, I really do. You have a beautiful pussy Y/n” he compliments, “It’s almost as pretty as you”

You’re convinced you need to wake yourself up from a dream as Kyojuro leans to start kissing your neck. Your head feels a bit fuzzy. There was a lot going on, pretty fast. Your brain was barely managing to keep up. 

“But I'm too tired for the games today, so just take what you want” he tells you. 

And you have the nerve to stutter in response, as if you hadn’t been torturing him for weeks, 

“I-I-...I- d-don’t know what to say” you moan as his hands stay firm on your waist, massaging your lower back. 

He rolls his eyes, a hand coming to wrap ever so gently around your throat. The hold doesn’t hurt at all, but it does turn you on. Real bad. Kyojuro drags you closer, so your lips are close to his. “So you can be a slut all the time but not right now, huh?” he says, “That’s  a shame”

You could barely register his words though, trying to lean in to press a kiss to his lips. But Kyojuro uses his hold on you to keep you back. 

“Uh, uh, I don't kiss girls who can’t tell me what they want upfront” he says and you pout. Kyojuro swears it’s the cutest thing he had ever seen. But your cuteness wouldn’t get you out of this. Not now at least.

“You’re mean Kyo’ ”  You whine, hips unconsciously moving from how arousing this whole situation felt.

But Kyojuro just chuckles, “I’m the mean one, but you’ve been teasing me with your cunt for the past week” he says, “A nice girl would've let me taste it ... .play with it” he continues.

“Sounds to me like you’ve been mean” he counters.

His words make you imagine all sorts of things. You might die if he ever played with your cunt, and if he ate it you were sure you’d cum too fat. 

“Fuck, I want that” you moan. “I want it so bad”

“No, didn’t I tell you that’s what nice girls get,” Kyojuro says, “Remind me what you are again?”

You sigh, “I’m mean” you say, and Kyojuro smiles, finally leaning in and letting you kiss him. The kiss feels good, it is good. TO be fair, you hadn’t been kissed by many people before. Or any for that manner. But you liked the feeling, it was exhilarating. His lips were strong, guiding you through the kiss. He could tell by how clumsy your lips were against his that you didn’t do this often. 

But he took care of you, helping you get the hang of kissing until you were confidently pressing your lips against his. He pushed your limits by sliding his tongue into your mouth. It was weird, to have him stick his tongue down your throat. But you liked it. You were sure you’d love anything Kyojuro did to you.

Your hips started to grind down on the man's lap, whining into his filthy kisses. It felt like the hold he had on your neck was keeping the oxygen from itching your brain. Everything was intoxicating, the feeling of him everywhere. His hands on your waist, or really trailing all along your body now. His lips claiming yours in a sweet kiss. His thigh between your legs. 

Kyojuro could feel you grinding against his lap and he shifts you onto one of his thighs. You cry out as he flexes his thigh. And you can feel every vein on the appendage rubbing perfectly against your clit. 

You feel like a dirty whore as you hump against him, huffing into his mouth. It wasn’t even all that much friction, but you could feel yourself soaking your underwear. It was getting to the point that you were sopping through your underwear, your shorts too! And if Kyojuro’s pants were any lighter, there would be remnants of your slick along his thigh. 

“Nasty little girl aren’t you baby” he mumbles into your mouth, “So wet for me”

You grind yourself harder into his thigh as he talks to you, “I can’t help it Kyo, it feels so good”

It was embarrassing, how close you were just from a bit of humping. But something about Kyojuro just filled you with a nasty need. He was so fucking sexy, and you had  wanted him in any way you could get him. 

Just having him now was driving you a bit crazy. 

Your loud whines filled the room as Kyojuro’s hands started  to help you grind. It’s a lot, but it’s good. A little too good. You wish you could prolong the pleasure. Hell you hoped this moment would ever end. 

You press another kiss to Kyojuro’s lips again. It’s sweeter and softer than before. But the hand around your throat that pulls you away reminds you how raunchy this moment really is. 

“You close doll?” he asks lowly. 

“Y-Yeah Kyo, M’so close. I-I think i’m gonna cum” you moan. 

Kyojuro smiles. The sight of you. A whiny mess on top of him was almost worth ignoring the rock hard boner in his pajama pants. Made him wonder how pretty you’d look taking his cock. Would you whine?Would you cry?Would you cream?

But he would save that for another time. 

For now he’d grind you on his lap until he made your sloppy cunt cum. And then maybe. He’d give you what you really deserved.

“What are you waiting for then?”Kyojuro says, “Go ahead and cum”

His words seem to possess your body. And you grip onto the hand squeezing around your neck. Your mouth falls open in a silent cry as pleasure overwhelms you. Kyojuro sees nothing but the whites of your eyes as your pupils disappear into the back of your head. 

He’s made a fair share of girls cum but…never this hard. 

Kyojuro was almost scared you were hurt with how long your body was still. But he lets out a sigh of relief as your body shakes over his. You spew out a flurry of thank you’s and mess up whimpers of his name. 

And for a moment, Kyojuro freaks out a bit at the wetness that spills over his lap. 

He lands a mean slap on your ass and you yelp as he finally lets your neck go. You collapse against this chest, his strong hands wrapping around you, massaging your waist just as he did before. 

Kyojuro thinks you’re spent, how could you not be after how hard you just came. 

But as you pull back in his hold, eyes tired, droopy yet filled with need. A small request spills from your lips, “If I tell you what I really want will you do it?” you ask softly.

And Kyojuro thinks that tonight might be longer than he thought.

~ Kinktober Masterlist|2024

[heian-era-housewife]

Bad Tenants

Kinktober • Week 1

Synopsis | Landlord? What landlord? Living "rent free" takes on a whole new meaning when the guys return home pent-up and red-handed.

Content | MDNI 18+, f!reader x Toji x Shiu, smut, sex, PiV, threesome, blood, assassins being assassins, swearing, use of bitch, use of daddy, fluff??? yeah. Fluff.

Word Count | 680

A blood-stained Shiu stumbles through the door of your shared apartment, crimson smatters staining his suit, his hair more tousled than usual.

"Baby, what-"

"No." He says, quickly bending to pull off his shoes, not bothering to untie the laces.

"But you have-"

"I know." He says firmly, peeling off his suit jacket as he makes his way to where you're seated on the couch.

"Shiu, what happ-"

Click click click

He stands in front of you, hands shaking as he tries to light a fresh cigarette. You reach up to steady his hands in yours, helping him catch the small flame. 

"Hahhhhhhhh," he breathes deeply, eyes glazing over in the smoky haze. The day's hot tension pouring off of him with each exhale.

"Shiu I-"

"Uhp-uhp-uhp!" He says, holding up a finger to shush you. "Clothes off for me, sweetheart."

"Seriously?" You gripe. "You're not even going to tell me what hap-"

"Shh...Daddy needs this..." he grunts, dropping his slacks and boxers in one swift motion. Skyward cock colliding noisily with his sweat-streaked happy trail.

You've never seen him like this, so you do as you're told, spreading wide as he plunges his throbbing length deep into your core with a desperate moan. He fucks you thoroughly, sucking away on his cigarette, groaning with every thrust. 

Suddenly, the door swings open as the third member of your trio enters the flat. 

"Not wasting any time, I see." Toji jeers. He, too, covered in blood.

"Does anyone want to tell me what the hell is going on?!" 

"You should have seen it, babe. Fuckin' hilarious." He laughs, stripping off his bloadsoaked clothes.

"What's hilarious??"

"We come home, right?" Toji continues. "Our asshole landlord's just leaning at the bottom of the stairs, all cocky-like." He mimics the landlord's pose. "Then the douchebag stops us and says 'You two don't pay up soon, I'll be after more than just your money. I'll be coming for that little bitch of yours!'"

"What a creep!" You squeal.

"I know, right?" Toji nods. "But here comes the best part!" He crosses the room gesturing to Shiu, still humping the life out of you. "This guy. This guy says 'The only little bitch I see here, is you' right before he pops him!" Toji throws his head back laughing, giving Shiu's shoulder an appreciative clap.

"Pops him??" You ask.

"Yeah! You know..." Toji forms a gun using his thumb and index finger, pulling the imaginary trigger as he holds it to his temple.

"SHIU! YOU KILLED OUR LANDLORD?!"

Shiu looks away, unable to meet your accusing gaze as he snaps his hips up into you.

"Then why were you all covered in blood??" You wave a disgruntled arm at Toji.

"Oh. I had to dump the body." He says simply. "'Mr. Quickdraw' here couldn't even be bothered to finish his dirty work."

"Oh my god..." you sigh, one arm coming up to cover your eyes. "You two are going to be the death of me."

"Yeah, yeah." Toji says, shuffling underneath you as he lays back on the couch, his large hands encouraging you to lay your full weight on top of him. "...Biiig stretch...." Toji bullies his way into your overstuffed cunt from down below while Shiu continues railing you from above.

The two men groan their exultation as they slide past one another. The day's stress melting in your warmth. 

"That's right." Toji says after several minutes. "No one messes with our little bi-"

"DON'T YOU DARE!" You and Shiu cry out in unison before he can finish. 

"What??" His hands fly up defensively. "I was talking about Shiu!"

Shiu's cigarette falters as he tries not to laugh, garnering a snort from you. Soon, all three of you are laughing as Toji wraps his arms around you both and you lay, sandwiched, between your two favorite idiots.

***

Later that evening, a sign appears:

Under New Management

All Tenants, 

Effective immediately, please make checks payable to the order of T. Fushiguro on or before the first of each month.

Thanks,

S. Kong

Property Manager

-----------------------------------

Tags: @queentoji

[ponderingmoonlight]

Shibuya Arc scenarios that live in my head rent free pt l

Getting sealed along with Gojo

Geto awakening by the sound of your voice

Word Count: 3,1k

Warnings: these hurt pretty bad; language

Getting sealed along with Gojo

It wasn’t the easiest task to get this far. The curtains of these fucking curses were not that easy to overcome, let alone unnoticed. But now you’re here. You finally made it to the train track where Satoru Gojo should be found. Satoru, your precious boyfriend of three years. Satoru, the jerk who left you alone at home without telling you a single damn word about Shibuya getting flooded by curses.

Your face is screwed up in nothing but anger while you scan the area for him. He has some fucking nerve. You’re a grade 1 sorcerer, very much needed in times like these. Who does he think he is to simply leave you in the unknown?

It isn’t hard to sense his immense powers. Without any effort, you smoothly glide over what looks like a crime scene. So many corpses of not only curses, but humans. What the hell happened here? And who did all of this?

Time seems to stand still when you finally catch a glimpse of him. Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. This isn’t really happening, right? Your souls seems to leave your body behind, empty shell staring at the scene in front of you.

“Oh, look who decided to join us on this lovely day! Nice to see you again, (y/n)!”

It’s Geto’s voice and his so painful familiar appearance. Salty tears start to sting your eyes, memories of your last encounter begin to flood your mind uncontrollably. As much as you wished this was true, this has to be a cruel joke, an optical illusion.

“What the hell are you doing here, (y/n)? Get out of this place right now”, Gojo yells at you with an aggression in his voice that you’ve never heard before.

You flinch for a second, too overwhelmed by the act in front of you. Why on earth is your boyfriend tied into place and who was even able to do so? What is this thing with Geto’s appearance? What the hell is going on here?

“Oh, don’t be a spoilsport, Satoru. Let (y/n) watch while I seal you. Too bad you won’t see here die then…Well, you can’t have everything at once I guess”, the shell of Geto comments.

“Sealed?”, you repeat incredulously.

Panic crawls through your veins, for a second you feel like fainting. You know all too well what that means. Getting sealed is another definition for getting killed. Even Satoru, the strongest of all…

What if he won’t make it? What if you’ll never see your boyfriend again? The sheer thought of being forced to live without him kills you from the inside and makes your former anger vanish in thin air. You’ve been through hell and back, grieved over Suguru when he died, fought battle over battle on each other’s side, taught the young ones with all your heart. But most importantly, you loved each other dearly every time your hearts beat, in good and bad times.

“Don’t worry about me, I’ll be back”, Gojo assures you, a cheeky smile plastered on his face.

“Do you know what getting sealed means, idiot?”, you cry out, tears now staining your face.

“She’s kinda right, Satoru…”

“It means we might never see again, it means you would’ve left me home alone knowing that this might be the last time you’re stepping through our door.”

The pain that is dripping from your voice is hard to bear for Satoru. He knows you have every right to be absolutely furious at him, that getting sealed is a challenge even for him he isn’t 100% sure about.

“But I couldn’t afford to live with the thought of losing you, (y/n)”, he replies, eyes locking with yours.

“I can’t let you go like that. It simply can’t end like this. I…I won’t let this happen!”, you scream on top of your lungs.

“As much as I enjoyed the show, it’s over now. Good night, Satoru Gojo. Let us meet again in the new world”, Geto speaks out.

Your mind races while the sealing begins to tighten itself around your boyfriend. What are you supposed to do? Are you able to stop it? No, absolutely not. If Satoru can’t stop himself from getting sealed, there is no chance that you can. Pictures of your precious shared moments, of his striking smile and his tight hugs linger through your mind. You can’t afford to lose him, a life without Satoru would be useless. You need to make a decision.

Satoru isn’t even able to react when you start sprinting towards him, vision clouded by pure determination. Just the split of a second before your limbs get cut off by the seal, you are able to press your body against his and get soaked up in the innocent dice along with him.

“(y/n)”, he breathes out.

Slowly but surely, he opens up his eyes. No, this can’t be true, this has to be a bad dream, right? You can’t be with him in this prison, not trapped for eternity. But the way your arms are tightly wrapped around him is proof enough for your presence. You are here. You’ve got sealed along with him.

“Why on earth did you do that?”

“I can’t be without you. I’d rather die by your side than live without you!”, you bawl, pressing yourself against his body as hard as you can.

“(y/n), why didn’t you do what I told you, why did you come to Shibuya in the first place? You shouldn’t be here, especially because you know what being sealed means. I…I don’t have a definite plan on how I’m getting out of here yet! Why did you have to hold onto me!?”, he insists, grabbing your face roughly and forcing you to look at him while the violent tone in his loud voice shatters your heart.

Your whole life was ahead of you. Sure, Satoru would have missed you every time his heart beats, but missing you doesn’t hurt as much as destroying your whole damn life. He would have never asked such a thing from you. Never. And even though he himself wants so spend his so desperately by your side, this surely isn’t what he wanted.

“Because I love you, Satoru!”, you scream out.

He breathes heavy, eyes completely lost in yours while you cry your heart out. Fuck, you shouldn’t be here, this didn’t go as planned at all. He knew about the risks, that this mission will cost countless lives and yours definitely shouldn’t be one of them. He’d rather die himself than taking your life away from you. But now you’re here, sealed along with him.

“I love you too, (y/n). That’s why I wanted to protect you. That’s why I wanted you to stay in our apartment”, he murmurs.

Satoru can’t hold it back any longer. Without thinking twice, he wraps his strong arms around you, holds you close against his chest, strokes your head gently just like you deserve it. This was dumb, this was reckless, this might cost you your life.

But you did it for him. You did it because your love for him is greater than your fear of dying. And that’s probably the biggest proof of love that exists.

“I’ll promise you we’ll make it out of here, okay?”

“That doesn’t matter to me. As long as you are here, I’m happy”, you reply without thinking twice.

He pulls you in for a passionate kiss. Maybe love is the most twisted curse of all, but you’ll make it out together, he just knows it.

Your sacrifice won't be useless.

Suguru awakening by the sound of your voice

You heard rumors in the underground for a while now – rumors about Geto Suguru suddenly being alive again. And even though you would give your very own life for that being true, you just know it can’t be possible. After all, you were there. Back then, when he died through the hands of fucking Satoru Gojo and his student.

You know you shouldn’t be here, that searching at Shibuya is dumb and reckless considering the fact that you’re not bonding with the other jujutsu sorcerers, but also definitely not with the curses that roam around this area either. It’s stupid, but you simply can’t help yourself.

The little spark of hope that the love of your life might still be around haunts you down the crowded streets of Shibuya. You never really had the time to say goodbye to Suguru. After all the things you’ve been through together, building an empire to get rid of all those monkeys, building your very own life together and growing on each other, you could only stare in disbelief at his dead body. So many years. So many years he stood by your side, lifted you up when you were down, cuddled you into sleep, treated you like the most precious treasure on earth.

Maybe he did make it somehow, though. Maybe it was his plan all this time that everyone around him thinks he’s dead. If you haven’t seen it with your very own eyes, you’ll simply refuse to give up the idea of him still walking on this earth.

You just want your Suguru back.

Your ears perk up when you hear his familiar voice and you can’t help but sign in annoyance. Of course Satoru Gojo has to be here, trying to save as many monkeys as possible. But where he is, there’s action. And where action is you’ll probably find Suguru.

With neckbreaking speed you run down the underground tracks, screams and cries of pain and grief ringing louder and louder. Shivers run down your spine before you can stop them, a scenery of absolute horror reveals itself in front of your eyes. Deformed and dead curses plastered on the floor along with a few corpses of humans here and there. You can tell by the look in their frightened eyes that they’ve seen some horrible things. Huh, you couldn’t care less though. After all, you’re only here for Suguru. You don’t give a damn about some monkeys.

“I don’t know who you are, but you’re not Suguru Geto!”

Your feet pick up their pace immediately, heart starting to hammer against your chest. That was Satoru. And he said his name. Is it really possible that your Suguru is here? Are rumors true after all? Until this moment, you never allowed yourself a single spark of excitement. But now that even Satoru said it you can’t help but grin from ear to ear, literally levitating into the direction of Satoru’s voice.

And then you hear it, loud and clearly. The sweet voice of your boyfriend, the love of your life. The voice you never imagined to ever hear again.

“Suguru?”, you cry out.

Time stands still when you catch a glimpse of him. Oh, he looks as handsome as ever, a wide grin plastered on his face while talking to Satoru. But something about his appearance makes your heart drop. You can sense that it’s his cursed technique, your eyes tell you clearly that this is Geto Suguru.

But your heart just knows this isn’t him.

“Is that really you, (y/n)?”, he questions when his brown eyes meet yours.

But they aren’t glimmering in excitement like they used to, his smile isn’t as wide as it was when you last saw him. No, everything inside of you screams in your face that it can’t be him, that this is the shell of the man you used to love. You want to break down and cry, to grieve losing the love of your life again.

But you swallow the lump in your throat away. Whoever this is needs to pay for using Geto’s legacy. And you’ll make sure he will.

“So it’s true, you really are still alive!”, you breathe out while running towards him.

Oh, you want nothing more than to die when he embraces you in a hug, his arms feeling just like they did back then. His smells tingles in your nose, reminds you of the countless nights you wore his shirts to bed and how you always sniffed on his clothing before washing it. You loved this man with every fiber of your being.

“Life itself, darling”, the voice of Suguru confirms, his hand stroking your hair just how you like it.

“This isn’t him, (y/n)! This is not your boyfriend!”, Gojo shouts in your direction, making you almost lose your cool.

You want to scream into his face, want to break down in tears. But instead, you burry your face in Suguru’s neck to stop yourself from crying.

“Shut up, Satoru. You’re ruining the moment.”

Whoever controls Suguru needs to truly believe that you’re on his side, that you are convinced he’s in fact Suguru. If that thing is able to control his body, it might as well be capable of using his cursed technique. And you know that you can’t stand a chance against him.

“I thought you were dead”, you hush, his hand gently lifts your head.

“But as you see, I’m clearly alive. I’m so sorry for not reaching out to you, my love. But this is a part of my plan. I couldn’t afford to get you involved into this mess”, he explains briefly, a warm smile playing around his lips while his eyes lock with yours.

“I’m so glad you’re back…”

“Did I tell you how much I love you already?”

“Go to bed darling, it’s way too late for you to be up.”

“Don’t worry my love, I’ll be back by your side as soon as I killed that boy. Have fun at the night parade.”

You blink away the tears that form in your eyes when memories begin to flood your mind over and over again. This has to end right here and now.

One last hug. You need to hug his body one final time. Just one sweet moment of pretending that Suguru is actually here, that you’re not talking with his empty shell.

“But you aren’t the man I loved.”

 With a swift motion, you pull out your cursed gun and aim for his head, ready to shoot the man you love.

But you can’t.

Faster than you are able to react, he grabs your wrist so roughly that your gun falls deafeningly to the ground. Your heart sinks into your chest, sight clouded by thick anger and hot tears.

“Nice try. But I know you’re usually smarter than that, (y/n).”

“How dare you to use his body like that…I will make you pay for every damn minute that you defile him! Get out of his body!”, you scream on top of your lungs.

Over and over, you fight against his firm grip, try to escape his cruel laughter while his eyes seem to pierce right through you. But he’s too damn strong and you weren’t prepared for something like this.

Violently, he grabs you by the throat, feet floating in the air while it feels as if your windpipe is going to rip every minute. You can’t catch your breath. With every passing second, your body refuses to fight back, vision already starting to get blurry by the lack of oxygen and blood pumping through your veins.

Is this really how it ends? Are you really dying through the hands of your former lover? How pathetic, how bittersweet. At least you’ll be by his side when you meet again, with your Suguru.

“I always loved you, Suguru”, you cough out.

Suddenly, his firm grip loosens and before you can catch yourself, you fall to the ground, gasping for air like a fish on land. What the hell happened? Why did he let go? Through watery eyes, you stare at the scenery unfolding in front of you. Suguru’s hand is wrapped around is very own neck, strangling himself so violently that he gasps for air.

“How interesting, that never happened!”, Suguru’s voice announces.

And then he stretches out his other hand. Into your direction, as if he’s trying to lift you off the ground. Tears start to swell up your eyes all over again as you take it. His fingers gently intertwine with yours, just like they always used to.

“I love the way your hands fit in mine.”

“The whole world should know that you are mine, darling.”

“Suguru”, you whisper with trembling voice.

It’s him. It just has to be him, you can feel it. Tenderly, he caresses your thumb while you completely break down. Fuck, you miss him so much. You want nothing more than your Suguru back. Why? Why did he have to die? Why did you even hope that he might be back? What a cruel joke all of this is, ripping open your party healed wounds all over again.

“I want you back”, you cry out, making even Satoru swallow heavy.

His index finger shakes telling you no before his hand swallows yours one last time.

You know that you can’t stay here like this forever, that Suguru’s remaining won’t be able to fight back too long, so you make the decision that tears you apart.

With one last loving press of his hands, you let him go forever even though it shatters your heart. The man in front of you might have Suguru’s voice, appearance and memories, but this isn’t him. You have to accept that the love of your life is gone.

“If you really think you can control Suguru like that you have to be a little dumb. He’s way too strong to get overpowers by some parasite. I will come back. And I will kill you for what you did to him”, you hiss.

“I’ll be waiting for you, darling.”

Darling. Yes, you’ll always be Suguru’s darling. But that won’t stop you from ripping his body apart if you have to. At least know you know that he’ll always be by your side.

Always.

[pandora-writes-one-piece]

The Warrior's Wrath - Part 1

Source for pic

Word Count: 6644

Tags: Medieval Scotland AU; Highlander Kid; Blurry non-con; Angst without happy ending; Fluff and angst; have I mentioned ANGST? soft Kid; feral Kid; Blood and gore; Killer might have a crush on reader (didn’t notice I did this until I was editing); MDNI!!! 🔞

Special Warning: English is not my first language, I apologise for any possible spelling or grammar mistakes.

Summary: You and Kid, the fiercest worry of your village, get married and happiness is just within your reach. Until Blackbeard, the laird, comes to claim prima nocta and takes you. Somehow, you are able to placate Kid’s anger before you go, yet, when you return filled with marks and bruises, Kid can no longer be controlled.

Notes: Highlander Kid lives rent free in my head and I can’t help it. This one got away from me, though. I meant it to be around 5 or 6k words, it turned out to be almost 13k. Historical note, there’s no concrete historical evidence to support the existence of prima nocte, but this story was heavily inspired by Braveheart - God, I love this movie. I do hope you enjoy it! I’m so sorry for breaking your heart again. I thrive on angst! 

PS: Decided to compromise and split this into two parts but posted at the same time!

Tag List: @rosidaze @beachaddict48 @armiliadawn @jintaka-hane

MASTERLIST

|Part 2|

The forest whizzed past you as you raced, your heart thumping loudly against your aching chest, blood flowing so fast and so hard that you could feel it rushing through your ears. Small, insignificant cuts from sharp branches marked your face and forearms, but you did not let that slow you down. 

You were being chased. 

You could hear heavy footsteps approaching fast. Faster than any man of his size should possibly be able to run. Branches cracked loudly under the weight of his heavy feet and you could almost feel the vibration from his growls and grunts. 

There was no use in hiding. Running was your only option. Yet, you were growing tired, and careless. 

Tripping on a tree root made you tumble and roll over twice before you stopped with a whine and a wince. Your head spun for a moment and the greens of the leaves mixed with the grey of the sky and the whites of the wisps of fog. Other than a bloodied lip and a bruised knee, you were fine, so you quickly got to your feet, ready to start racing again. 

You barely took a step forward before a large hand, almost the size of your head, wrapped around your neck and pushed you with your back against the tree. A muffled yelp escaped your lips as your back collided with the harsh bark of the birch tree and you were pretty sure the white of the bark would be stained with your blood. 

“Caught ya, lass.” He growled, red lips curling back to reveal a terrifying grin that turned your knees to jelly. “Almost outdid me this time.” A thin line of sweat coated his hairline, turning the red of his flaming hair into a darker shade. 

Your own lips curled back and you could taste blood on them from your fall. “I don't think I'm getting faster, it's you who are getting slower and sloppier. Maybe you should stop eating so much pottage.”

His laughter came out in a hearty roar as he threw his head back, shoulders heaving and fingers loosening around your neck. You took the opportunity to elbow him in the side of his belly and escape from under his arm with a quick movement. 

Yet he reacted quickly and spun, lacing his arm around your waist and holding your back against his broad chest. “Clever lass.” He snarled against your ear, hot breath bristling all the hairs on your body. “Not fast enough, though.” With another grunt he pushed you back against the tree, chest bumping against the trunk, this time and, using his weight to keep you in place, his one hand wrestled with lifting up your dress. 

His thick fingers found you already wet and wanting, slick dripping on your thighs, and he growled against your nape, teeth nipping your flesh and leaving pinkish indents behind. “This wet already? The run’s got ya hot and bothered, lass?”

You hummed as an answer as your digits found purchase against the tree, reading yourself for what was coming, heat already pooling and gathering in your belly, your core throbbing with desire. 

He pushed a finger inside you and pressed. A small moan left your parted lips and he inserted another one. The thickness of his fingers made you feel stuffed and full and you mewled, eyes rolling back and your nails sunk into the bark. “More.” Arching your back and sticking out your butt, you whined, knowing he wouldn't resist your begging. 

Sharp teeth sank on your shoulder as your head snapped back against his chest and he inserted a third finger, making you roll your hips and open your mouth. “Kid!” 

“Beg, lass. Beg for me.” The vibrato of his low voice made you throb and pant, heart racing in an unholy rhythm, eyes already trembling and starting to see white. 

“Please, please, Kid.”

“Please what, lass?” Yet you didn't know what you wanted. Release from his fingers, or to feel his big, veiny cock inside of you? 

“Please!” You just begged, hoping he would read you and realise what you wanted, because your thoughts were already mush and you were lost in a high of pleasure. And he didn't disappoint you. Rolling his slicked fingers against your clit sent you over and you gasped as a deep crescendo of moans followed it. Kid did not wait for you to come down as he lifted his kilt and sunk his length into you, bottoming out immediately. 

Your moan turned into a sharp cry as he joined you and he shoved his fingers in your mouth. “Hush, lass. Ya never know what is lurking in these woods. Now, lick my fingers until they're clean.”

You mewled and hummed as your hot tongue sucked and licked around his thick fingers, tasting yourself and finding the gesture so deeply arousing that you rolled your hips against him, which earned you a harsh bite on the back of the neck. 

“Steady, lass. Ya can't move until ya lick every drop.” He meant it and you knew it. You could feel his cock throbbing inside you, his chest muscles taut against your back, rippling and coiling, ready to thrust and pound. But where he was short tempered with mundane affairs, with sex he was as patient as it got. He could wear you as a cocksleeve for as long as he wanted and he knew you would break first. Whining, begging and crying for him to move. So you did your best to lick every single drop of your juices from his digits. 

“That's a good lass.” He murmured appreciatively against your ear, his hand wrapping your jaw and turning your face back to meet his lips in an open-mouthed kiss. Tongue sweeping the blood on your lips with the hunger of a starved man before his hand descended, gripping your breast firmly, then wrapped around your stomach and he finally started to move. 

A single thrust got you moaning into his mouth, nails scraping against the bark of the tree, limbs writhing as you tried to ground yourself. He pulled back, almost all the way out and pounded harder this time. Parting your lips, you filled the air with a cry followed by his name, cunt throbbing against his cock, your release just within grasp. 

“Harder.” You barely articulated, eyes shut and hand dropping low, finding your needy nub and pressing hard. “Kid!”

“Yar a desperate lil’ lass aren't ya?” His growls and grunts vibrating against your skin told you he was almost coming. His hand pressed against your stomach, pushing into his bulge and you panted and moaned, a litany or a prayer to gods both known and unknown leaving your open lips. Arms hugging the tree for support as Kid pounded relentlessly. Sloppy, uneven pounds, as he was on the brink of filling you up. “Tell me how desperate ya are?”

But you couldn't tell him, because his next deep thrust sent you on a spiral and you lost touch with reality, falling into the throes of pleasure. Eyes flashing white and legs trembling. Kid followed you right behind, spilling his seed and filling your insides, both of you left panting and gasping for air. 

He pulled out with a grunt and you whined from feeling empty all of a sudden, knees falling down into the damp earth, chest still heaving. Kid sat down next to you, his hand cradled your cheek as he laid a sweet kiss upon your bruised lips. He moved softly now, a gentle caress with his tongue before parting, leaving his forehead connected to yours for a moment, until you were both breathing in tandem, small smiles of bliss on your mouths. 

“Marry me, lass.” He asked for what felt like the hundredth time. 

“We've been through this, Kid.”

“I want to make ya an honest woman.” He pulled back to stare into your eyes and you could see the hints of mischievousness in his orange gaze. 

“That's not possible anymore, I'm afraid.” A chuckle left your lips and you dragged your fingers through his flaming red hair. 

“I still want to marry ya. Do ya want a band? I can make ya a ring out of anything!” You kept chuckling as he started to count with his fingers: “Gold is harder to get, but I can get tin, or bronze. Maybe wood? I can craft something with resin, a flower in the middle. I know ya like primroses.”

Pressing your lips against his as you climbed his legs and straddled his lap managed to shut him up effectively. 

“Aye.” A blush accompanied your whisper as you parted your lips. 

“Aye? To the band? Which one?” He asked as he adjusted himself with your entry, already hard and ready to go again. 

“Aye to the marriage, you fool.”

-*-

The village had been restless for a few weeks. The clan's laird had died and the son had inherited the title. Not everyone on the council agreed to have the infamous Blackbeard Teach as the new laird, but he had threatened to get the votes and secured the position. 

He raised the feudal dues immediately. 

However, your marriage was happening and you could not be happier. Kid had been courting you in his gruff way for a while. Leaving handmade trinkets on your door: little wooden figurines of animals and flowers; grunting and acting jealous at whatever man dared touch you in a more intimate manner at the village dances and festivities; wanting to lay his claim on you, but knowing he had no right because you hadn't yet expressed your desire for him. 

Until you did. Until you pulled him by the hand to a secluded location during a bonfire dance, and you gave yourself to him for the first time. 

And every time moving forward, he had asked you to be his wife. You thought he had only done that because he felt guilty about deflowering you. Turned out it wasn't the case at all. Kid, the fiercest warrior of your village was in love with you. And that thought filled you with happiness. 

Thinking back, you don't quite know why you kept telling him no. Maybe you wanted him to fight for you? Or maybe you wanted to be sure of his feelings towards you? Whatever it was, it is a feeling of the past. You were deeply, madly, desperately in love with Eustass Kid. 

And both your smiles said it all. 

-*-

The day had dawned like many others in the unforgiving Highlands. Dense and thick wisps of fog hovered over the mountains, little droplets of dew freshening your face, forcing you to wake up. But the dim sunlight appeared shyly behind the mist and you were positive the sun would grace your wedding day. 

Your best dress was not new, but it was not muddied or torn and the dark green paired perfectly with the red of your soon-to-be husband's hair. Your friend, Quincy made you a headdress of flowers: white heather and clovers for good luck, primroses and daisies because they were your favourite flowers, meadowsweet to fill in the gaps and finely woven into the headdress, ropes of ivy to symbolise fidelity and eternity. 

You couldn't stop smiling.

There was a makeshift altar draped with a cloth and adorned with garlands of ivy and wildflowers, set in the centre of the sacred stone circle in the forest. Kid and the druid of your community were already gathered at the front. Friends and family sat on rocks and on the ground to witness your union. Your eyes filled with tenderness when you reached Kid’s side. He seemed anxious and you had never seen such a distraught expression on his face before. Your smile helped, though, and he relaxed with a low grunt. 

After a few words to call upon the old gods, the druid tied a cord of woven wool around both of your hands. The soft sound of the piper filled the air, lending the words of the druid a sense of serenity and etherealness, blessing your union with love. When both your hands were bound Kid looked you in the eyes, his imposing figure standing much taller than your own and he said his vows. 

“I pledge my heart to you,” your name came out with a raspy sound and he cleared his throat to continue. “To share in your dreams and to walk beside you through all the paths of life.”

Squeezing his hand, you took a deep, shaky breath. “I pledge my heart to you, Eustass Kid, to share in your joys and to stand by you through all the challenges we face.”

The druid continued to interlace your hands with the wool in an intricate figure-of-eight to symbolise infinity. His lips chanted a beautiful melody, a litany to the old gods. 

Kid’s lip shook slightly. “I, Eustass Kid, take you as my partner for life. By the earth that sustains us and the sky that watches over us, I promise to honour and protect you, always.”

Visibly emotional, you said your name and continued. “I take you as my partner for life. By the fire that warms us and the water that cleanses us, I promise to cherish and stand by you, always.”

You shared ale, drunk from the quaich cup, to represent your joining of families, Kid placed the wood and resin band on your finger, pulling a sweet laugh from your lips, and the druid continued. 

“By the power vested in me by ancient traditions, I pronounce you husband and wife. May your love be as enduring as the mountains, as deep as the lochs and as eternal as the stars. You may share your first kiss as a wedded couple. May your journey be blessed with joy.”

The piper started a happy jig, the crowd cheered loudly, Killer, Kid's best friend proclaimed loudly that he was very proud of his found brother because he had no faith in him memorising his vows and he had proved him wrong. 

You and Kid pressed your lips together in a slow, tender kiss, as he wrapped his arm around you and lifted you easily, so he didn't have to bend down to deepen the kiss. The kiss broke but your foreheads pressed together. “You and me, Kid.”

“Me and ya, lass.”

“I love you forever…” You started. 

“And always.” He finished. 

These vows were meant only for your ears. They were private, personal and meant everything. 

-*-

The party had been moved to the village where tables of food and ale had been set up. Children ran around, screaming and laughing, chasing Heat, one of Kid's closest friends, who laced a garland of ivy around his hair for them to try and grab. Yet every time one of the children came close, Heat jumped and they squealed in pleasure and mirth. 

The piper had been joined by a fiddler, a drummer and a flautist, performing jigs and ballads for everyone's enjoyment. Now and then, a friend joined them to sing a few songs. You and Kid spent your time receiving the well-wishes of your friends and dancing. 

Killer had pulled you into a lively reel, the drummer banging the stretched sheep skin with vigour, making you bounce and laugh as sweat poured from your temples. Your legs nearly gave out from the laughter and exertion and he had to pull you up by the arms to keep you from falling to the ground. Kid appeared to save you and you laughed harder as Killer grabbed Kid's hands and started to dance the reel with him. 

It was the happiest day of your life. 

Before the song ended, however, the sound of a loud trumpet being played - a small fanfare to gather attention - made everyone present turn towards the sound. A retinue of horses with guards came marching down the hill. Blackbeard, the laird, travelling in the middle, using a horse as black as night, a mighty stallion with an imposing trot. 

“What does he want?” Killer muttered to Kid, who had turned his grin into a grimace the moment the fanfare started to play. Heat and Wire ran to their side, passing them their weapons and you stiffened. 

“Your axe, Kid, really?”

Kid grumbled and pushed you behind him in a protective stance. 

“My, my, my. A wedding!” Blackbeard grinned and clapped his hands while looking around. “Beannaichte ur pòsadh. Blessed be your marriage.” The people of the community whispered and stared, an uneasiness in the air that you couldn't quite place, though it was clear that the new laird was disliked and if it was clear to you, it was crystal-clear to him. 

“You're the groom?” He nodded towards Kid as his men scattered around the people in an imposing manner. The scowls on Kid’s face and those of his men deepened. 

“Aye.” Kid's dark red kilt was secured with wildflowers - primroses - so it was easy to tell. 

“May I meet the lovely bride?” The saccharine sweetness of his voice almost made you nauseous and Kid grunted, opening his mouth to bark a resounding no, but you didn't want him to cause any trouble, so you stepped from behind him. 

“Good to meet you, my laird.” You said, meeting his dark gaze. Kid's arm pulled you to him as his fingers pressed into your skin possessively. 

Blackbeard hummed appreciatively as his eyes raked over your body and Kid growled. “Well, I have come to let you all know that there is a new marriage fee you must pay your clan chieftain - me - and it is effective immediately.” He barked a ridiculous amount at Kid and you gasped. 

“We don't have that kind of money! Nor do we have goods to cover it.”

“We just paid yer raised fees, not two days ago! There's not enough time to make more money yet.” Kid said while your friends and family agreed. 

The laird’s laughter started low. A rumble coming from his belly and then emerging in waves from his mouth, leaving spit on his coarse beard. 

“That's your problem, lads.” He cackled as Kid’s hand gripped the axe’s handle and you gasped, lacing your arm in his, trying to prevent him from acting irrationally. “Yet, I am merciful and lenient. I am willing to forget the fees, this time.”

You sighed in relief, a tired smile forming on your lips, but Kid sensed something was wrong as he became as stiff as a board. 

“I will instead reinstate my right to prima nocta - first night - with your lovely bride, here.” Your breath caught in your throat, a shiver raising the hairs on your body. There was a lightness in your head that almost made you dizzy, yet you had no time to worry about yourself as Kid was already readying his battle axe, fire burning in his eyes. 

“No, no! Kid, stop! Kill, help!” You turned to Killer, who grabbed his arm to hold him back, and then Heat placed another arm on Kid’s chest to stop him from advancing. 

The laird’s rumbling laugh had turned into a taunting cackle. “Why are you so angry, young lad? It's just one night. She will be all yours again tomorrow. I'll just have her this once.”

Why was he taunting Kid? 

“Kid, look at me!” You pleaded, arms stretched so you could hold his face, trying to get him to look at you, but he was undeterred. 

“Like fuck ya will! Over my dead body and burned bones! And even then, I'll haunt yer arse!” Kid’s voice was dangerously low, a vicious snarl in his tone as he kept pacing, dragging both Killer and Heat, his muscles flexing and veins popping. 

“Stop, Kid, stop!” You urged as the laird’s men dismounted their horses and you knew that if Kid attacked him, he would be killed for treason. 

“Wire!” Killer called and the tallest of Kid's friends wrapped his elbow around Kid's neck and pulled hard, slowing his approach. 

“Impressive display. Lass, come.” Blackbeard said as his men approached you and Kid roared, Killer being dragged as he tried to raise his axe. 

“Wait!” You screamed, shoving one of the guards and placing yourself in front of Kid, your eyes brimming with unshed tears. At this moment you were fearful for him and for what he would do, not for what awaited you. “Kid, Kid!” You urged. “My love…”

Your sob made his gaze waver and he stopped, looking down at your figure, his face distorted with rage and pain. 

“Let him go.” You whispered to his friends and they heeded you, though they stood close, apprehension written on their faces. Clutching the strap of his kilt and pulling him down, your fingers dug into his chest. 

“Kid… I'll be alright. I promise. I'm strong. It's okay.” You kept trying to pull his face to you, but his eyes kept darting towards the laird and flashing with anger. “Hold me, please.” Another sob left your parted lips and, with a heavy sigh and a grunt, Kid dropped his axe, his arm enveloping you and lifting you up.

Pressing your foreheads together, you cupped his face in your hands. “It's you and me, Kid.”

He shook his head. “No, no. I won't let this happen! He can't do this, I'll have his head on a spike!” His roar made his chest tremble and you settled one of your hands above his heart. 

“This is happening, Kid. We can't do anything to stop it.”

“I can slice him in two!” He spat the angry words between his teeth. 

“You won't. I won't lose you. It's just one night. I’ve got this.” Kid continued to grumble and you could sense rage and anger spewing out of him in hot waves. “You will not think about me tonight. You can't do that.”

His pained wail told you that it was exactly what he was thinking about. About another man's hands on you, another man's lips. And you knew how jealous and possessive he could be and how this would drive him insane. So you pressed your lips against his, tethering him back to reality, to you. 

“It's you and me, Kid.”

He shook his head, eyes squeezed shut, his hand gripping your waist so hard that you knew he would leave marks and bruises. 

“Kid… say it. It's you and me!” You whined, tears streaming down your face. 

“It… It’s me and ya, lass…” 

His voice was barely audible, but you took whatever he gave you. 

“I love you forever…”

Kid's silence nearly broke you as you saw him stifle a sob. You could sense him tensing his muscles to stop from heaving and you knew for sure that once you left he would be breaking a lot of things. 

“Kid…”

“And always…” He finished. 

You nodded, shaking your head to drive away the wetness of your tears. Then you circled your arms around his neck, losing yourself in his kiss, turning sorrow into promises of a brighter tomorrow and the beginning of your lives together, with the possibility of leaving this hindrance behind. 

He set you down again, and without taking your eyes off his gaze, you made a plea. “Kill, Heat, Wire, please, please, don't let him do anything rash.” The snarl that left Kid's mouth was a warning. Either to the laird and his men, or to his own men. He should be left alone for the remainder of the night. 

Inhaling deeply you gave him another peck on the lips and turned to walk away from him. But his hand grasped your wrist firmly, fingers clenching, tighter and tighter in a fierce grip. He did not want to let you go. You knew deep down that this man, your husband, would rather die than let you go. “Kid,” you pleaded. “I want to have a life with you, you cannot get yourself killed today. I vowed my lifetime to you. You vowed the same. Fulfil it.”

Lacing your tone with authority you did not have and courage you did not possess, you hoped that tugging at his heartstrings could do the trick. 

Your wrist hung loosely after he opened his hand and you walked towards the laird’s horse, without sharing another glance with your husband, for you knew if you looked into those raging orange eyes, you would not be able to leave him behind, and he would die protecting you. 

A guard hoisted you onto his horse and, as you were leaving the village, your heart ached with the rage-filled roar that filled the air, turning sleeping birds into a frenzy and shaking the very leaves of the trees. 

-*-

You were intent on distancing yourself from the moment when the laird took you. You focused on your wedding, on your husband, on the moments you shared with Kid and on your future. Especially your future. 

How cute would it be if there were a tiny baby with flaming red hair on your husband's very large shoulders? Or a beautiful little girl, swearing as loudly as Kid, but as beautiful as you?

These were the thoughts you meant to focus on when the time arrived. And this anticipation was driving you crazy. The laird had sent you dinner but you barely ate. You just wanted to get this over with. So you could go back to Kid. 

How broken he must be feeling now. You could barely imagine his hurt and pain.

Suddenly the door to the chamber they had placed you in opened and Blackbeard came forward, clad in only a linen tunic, his sickly grin in place, sending shivers down your spine. 

“Ah, there you are lass.”

Gritting your teeth you held back a snarky reply. Where else were you supposed to be if not here? Perhaps by your husband's side, as you were meant to be? 

He sat on the bed and patted the place next to him softly, but you stayed near the window, where you had been staring before he arrived. You wondered if Kid was watching the same sky as you or if he was simply staring at the bottom of a mug, ale filling his belly. 

“Sit, lass.” He commanded. You had the urge to ignore his order, to rebel against him as you and Kid could not in the village. Yet, you didn't want to make things harder on yourself, so you took two strides and sat further from him than he intended. 

“You are a very pretty little thing.” approaching, he placed his stumpy fingers on your leg. The laird started to crumple the dress in them, making it ride up, and you closed your eyes. It was about to start. You prayed to the old gods and the new that he would be fast and get this over with. So you could go home. 

To your home. 

To Kid. 

Thinking about your husband brought out a sob and a heave and you could barely contain the tears gathering in the corners of your eyes. You could bet he was feeling devastated by now, just willing the night to pass so he could see you again. 

The laird misinterpreted your tears. He chuckled softly and started to coo at you, his heavy hand tracing circles on your back in what was meant to be a soothing motion. “Hush, little lass, all is well. I will be very gentle with you. A sweet little thing, being touched for the first time…”

You snorted as a mocking laugh escaped your lips without your permission. You were too consumed by your own pain to stop it and now it was too late. 

“Something funny?” The soothing motions stopped abruptly. Yes, something was funny. Touched for the first time? Gentle? You just wanted to cackle in his face like a wild banshee. 

“No, my laird.” You said humbly, though, but he didn't buy your innocent act. 

“You don't want me to be gentle? Or is it not your first time?” Your eyes remained fixed on the floor. There was a crack in it, a big one. 

“Yes, my laird. I want you to be gentle.” You could not confess that it was your first time, as you would not bleed, and he would be able to tell. 

“Yet it is not your first time? Little whore.” He grumbled as he pushed you by the shoulders and you fell onto the bed. “I'll give you something to play with, then.” His whole demeanour changed and you realised he had been excited by the fact that you were a virgin, now that he knew you were not, it seemed as if he was turned off. 

He removed his tunic and barked at you to move to the centre of the bed, which you did. All the while repeating in your head that it would soon be over. 

Soon. 

Soon. 

“Take off your clothes, whore.” You started to undo the straps of your dress, but he did not have the patience to wait. He reached over and, with both hands, ripped your beautiful wedding dress to pieces. 

“No! My dress!” You whined. You had meant to cherish it, perhaps pass it on to a child someday in the future. Yet now it was unsalvageable. He couldn't care less about your protests as he did the same to your chemise. The lump in your throat made it hurt and burn as you kept your sobs trapped, not willing to give him the satisfaction of your misery. 

“Poor whore. I'll make you forget your dress and your husband!” He then removed his undergarments, revealing his hard cock for you to behold. This time you did not stop the cackle that bubbled up your throat. You felt hurt and dejected and could no longer contain your fiery nature. 

“You'll have no chance to make me forget my husband with that tiny little thing, my laird.” The curl of your lip was quickly erased as he slapped your face with the back of his hand, making you gasp and taste blood from biting your tongue. 

“You'll learn your manners, whore, and when I return you to your husband, you'll be a submissive little bitch. He'll thank me in the end.”

There went your chance to have this night pass by quickly. You had made the laird mad, and now you were going to pay dearly for it. You should've just kept your mouth shut. But you had to be stubborn and wild. All the qualities your husband loved about you. 

This time you made no effort to hide the tears, though it was very hard to focus your thoughts elsewhere. The laird did not strike your face again, yet he left markings all over your body. Bruises, bites, scratches and even some cuts. It wasn't the pain that was making you cry. Not even when he took you by force after inflicting all that pain. It was the fact that you knew Kid would be devastated when he saw you. And you could not hide these bruises from him. 

He would demand blood. 

And you feared that his would be the one to be spilled. 

-*-

The laird had spent the entire night with you. You were lucky he barely had the stamina to get his cock up twice, but he continued your physical abuse in other painful ways. You would be scarred. Mind and body, and he had made sure of that. Just because you couldn't keep your mouth shut and told him he had a small dick. 

You had been dumped outside the keep with a tunic and your shredded clothes. No one took you back to the village so you were left to walk the distance that separated it. Luckily, it wasn't that far and you reached it before mid-morning. Your whole body ached and you craved to cleanse yourself by the lake, letting it soak and soothe in the icy-cold waters. 

But you needed to go to Kid, first. And that thought was making you both miserable and excited. 

You entered through the south side of the village, hoping to find Killer first - since he was usually stationed there - and you breathed a relieved sigh when you saw his golden mane in the distance. 

“Kill!” You urged with a whisper. He, a trained warrior, heard you immediately and rushed to meet you. 

“You're not on a horse? You came on foo-... What the fuck is that on your face?” His voice dropped dangerously low, and you flinched. If this was Killer's reaction to the bruise on your jaw, how would your husband react? 

“Kill…” You urged again, your filthy hands grasping at his, fear in your gaze and desperate pleas leaving your mouth. “Kill, please I need your help. You need to sedate Kid. Use nightshade in his ale, or the red-capped mushroom. Kill! Please.”

“That's not the only bruise, is it?” You could practically sense the murderous vibes seething through his body. Of course he would guess why you wanted to sedate and placate Kid. 

So you shook your head, confirming his fears. 

“Fucker!” He growled and you flinched again, your nails still digging into his hands. 

“Killer.” You begged, tears in your eyes and a grimace turning your lips down. “If he's reactive when he sees me… Kill, he'll want to hunt for blood. And the laird will kill him!” Sobs climbed up your throat in ragged breaths. “I can't lose him! I can't! I refuse.”

Killer sighed as he wrapped his strong arms around you and pulled you into his embrace, his face brushing against your hair. You winced at the touch because you were very sensitive due to some bruises, but it was comforting and you cried into his chest. 

“I'll go do it.” Killer sighed and patted your hair softly. “We can sedate him as much as you want, but he's still going to kill the bastard. You can't sedate him forever.”

A glimmer of hard resolution made your eyes shine. “Just watch me, then.” Even if you had to spike every meal your husband had until his rage receded, you would do it. You would stop him from getting himself killed. 

You just couldn't lose him. 

-*-

Kill made good on his promise and after a while he came back saying that Kid was sleeping heavily on your shared bed. The bed you hadn't yet shared, actually. 

You thanked Kill when he brought you a dress and decided, since Kid was fast asleep, to take a quick dip in the lake to scrub off most of the dirt and dried blood. Maybe the coolness of the lake would also help soothe some of the worst bruises. 

It didn't. 

Yet you were now cleaner and more presentable and Kid was probably still asleep, so you trekked home, trying to avoid most of the people because you simply didn't want to either answer questions or endure their pity. You made a quick stop by your garden, harvested a handful of yarrow and another of knitbone, and sped through the door. 

As soon as you entered your home, you were overwhelmed by a sense of familiarity. You could hear Kid’s loud snores, his axe was by the mantle, your herbs and vegetables tucked neatly in the kitchen, and the musky scent of your husband’s sweat from the tunic draped across one of the chairs, almost brought tears to your eyes. 

But you shook your head and with it the feelings too. You still had some things to do before Kid started to rouse and you had to get to it. Opening jars that were lined up perfectly across the mantle, you found the one you were looking for: honey. Then, quickly, you chopped the leaves from the knitbone and crushed the yarrow into a bowl and added the honey to create a sticky poultice which you applied to your bruises and cuts, hoping against all hope that it would accelerate the healing. Most of the bruises were covered by your dress, but there was nothing that could be done about the one on your face. 

So, you covered the rest of the mixture for later use and went about staging your wonderful performance: you turned a chair upside down and broke a leg for good measure, then threw the wooden bowls and dishes to the floor to make a ruckus and break some, faking a loud wail and sprawling on the floor as if you had fallen from the chair. 

Kid drowsily blinked his eyes as he stirred in bed. As soon as his foggy eyes fixed on yours, he rose, placed his hand on his forehead and slumped back down again.

“Lass! Fucking headache!” He cursed loudly as he shook his head, trying to regain his bearings. “Yar back! Fucking arse! I should not have drunk this much. For fuck’s sake.”

He finally got up as you hissed and pretended to be hurt in places where you knew you already had bruises, and when he knelt next to you, it was with a loud thump of his knees and a string of curses. 

“Ya fell?” He asked as he looked you over, eyes still very glassed over as he blinked to try to regain his focus. You kept trying to turn your head so he couldn't see the bruise. 

“I did. But I'm fine. I might bruise, though. It hurt.” You winced as you pressed your hands over your chest. 

“What's this?” His palm pressed against the bruise on your face and you clenched your teeth at the small pressure. 

“Oh, I hit my face on the floor.” You said with a shrug, setting your hand over his to reassure him. 

“Lass, yar lying. This bruise is purple already. It wasn't made just now.”

His voice was laced with worry, anger, curiosity and a hint of protectiveness. So you needed to steer him away from it. Fast. 

Wincing, you sat on his knees, legs apart as you took his face in your hands. Pressing your forehead against his, you smiled softly. “I missed you, my love. So, so much.”

He tried to stay angry at you, to keep the scowl on his face and you were sure he still wanted to press you about the bruise on your face. But it was a sigh that met your ears, a deep relieved sigh as his hand climbed from your waist to your neck. His fingers entwined with your hair as he pulled you to him in a kiss full of longing and yearning. 

You ignored the pain in your bruised jaw as your lips parted to allow him entry. You brushed away the wince you meant to utter as Kid’s fingers tugged your hair a little harder, your scalp still too tender and sore from the laird’s rough handling. 

But you could not ignore the way Kid's love and hunger were making your heart melt and heat pool in your abdomen. What you also couldn’t ignore, was the fact that he wanted you now. And that couldn’t happen because he would see all the bruises. 

“My love,” You said, parting with the kiss. “I really hurt myself when I fell. I'm going to apply some poultice I was making to my knees and chest and we'll continue this later.” You pecked his nose with your lips and got up, leaving him no choice but to watch you go, a slight pout on his lips. 

It was a great fortune that he was still heavily drugged and relaxed, or he would've noticed something wasn't right as you never refused him. He mumbled some annoyed words and lay back on your shared bed, restarting his snoring immediately. 

You could do this. He would be fine. You would be fine. Everything would be fine. 

|Part 2|

[fleet-off]

From a chat I had with lu @lu-sn months ago, an idea that’s been living in my head rent-free. ❤️

They’re packing up Vegas’s room at the minor family compound—Pete on the floor with the boxes, Vegas on the edge of the bed and a dozen ugly outbursts.

(It is pain and presence and all Pete’s patience in the face of Vegas’s uselessness; it is a fragile, defensive rawness and a loving, too, and all of it bound up in grief and grievance.)

The packing goes more tolerably than it has any right to. Porsche never pokes his head in. Pete follows Vegas’s terse directives unerringly, sees too much but asks few questions. Three boxes and four garbage bags are filled in short order.

And then Pete comes upon Vegas’s drawer of trophies.

Not spelling bee trophies, you understand; these are the tokens of theft and successful exploits.

So here is the ring Vegas wore to visit Tawan. A forgotten earring. A pair of briefs, abandoned by a nameless squirrel-faced little twink who dangled off Kinn’s arm and Vegas’s every honeyed word.

Gifts, too: a set of ornate golden cufflinks, an enormous and tacky wristwatch. A dozen expensive baubles Vegas never used but forever gripped tight.

Here is a collection of meticulously labeled disks—one bears the squirrel-faced twink’s name, not that he’s aware—and Vegas knows the moment Pete picks up the oldest and glimpses its significance, because the corners of his mouth tighten a fraction. He sets down the disk and lifts Tawan’s ring instead, inspecting the empty promises engraved on its inner edge.

“Drop it,” Vegas bites out.

And Pete nods, and drops the ring back in the drawer with precisely as much consideration as Tawan deserves, and they move forward.

Or so Vegas thinks, except the next item Pete produces is a second ring. Gold and jade, a gift from some big-mouthed triad boy with his tongue hung so loose he ultimately lost it. “A shame,” Vegas had told Kinn at the time, airily—“It was a talented tongue, wasn’t it?”

There are at least four rings in that drawer.

The physical evidence of everything Vegas won over Kinn once brought him a mangled satisfaction. Now it is as if Pete is raising his mutilations to the light. He clung to them—they are his, as very little has been—but they are not of him.

“What,” he says sharply, “you want it?”

Pete raises his eyebrows. “I don’t think it would fit me, if I did.”

“Don’t get fucking jealous.”

Pete tilts his head. Looks up at him, thoughtful. “You’ve been a lot of different things to different people,” he says. “Did they fit you?”

(And here is the truth: sometimes, they did. Sometimes it was the wind in his face and a motorcycle engine revving under him and a rush of pure simple abandon. Sometimes the success of the lie overtook him and he became it; sometimes he ached with fragile pride for his meager wins.)

(Some nights he lay in bed with the smothering heat of a body against his back and cold sweat on his bare skin, and only his fingers dirty from touching Kinn’s leftovers because there was nothing left inside him to hold the stain.)

“It doesn’t matter anymore,” Vegas says. His voice comes out strange and hoarse. “I don’t know what you want me to say, Pete.”

Pete crawls over. He picks up Vegas’s hand where it lies limp on the bed.

Despite everything—Vegas’s chest catches, watching him slide the ring onto his finger. He loathes—loves—his lungs are shot, can’t drag in enough air.

The ring dangles off his finger. Triad kid assumed his size, thought him grander than he was.

It looks gaudier now than it did the one time he attempted to wear it. Maybe it’s the absence of the family ring.

The tat and trinkets were designed for tawdry shapes, molds into which Vegas contorted himself. He is no longer capable of the imitation.

(Pieces of him continue to wear those shapes, still and forever. This alien body is an inescapable thing.)

Vegas watches his own hand clench into a fist. The urge—to unmake, to smash himself open—this too is inescapable. Easier to extract what is genuine from the beaten pulp than from the shell.

Pete knows this too, but he bows his head against Vegas’s arm before Vegas can even try. His forehead is warm—his hair soft—underneath, his hands hold Vegas’s wrist like a precious thing. Clumsily, Vegas’s free hand finds Pete’s nape.

“Be the parts that fit,” Pete tells him. “Hold what you want to keep. The rest will fall away.”

Here on his finger, a part of Vegas forcibly made native; here in the stretched-taut tendons of his forearm, the rot that is all Vegas’s own. Pete is careful with the invasive patchwork of him, but the specific gentleness he offers Vegas’s putrid inborn mess is fury and comfort in equal measure.

He strokes Pete’s hair. Slowly lets his fist unclench.

The ring clatters to the floor, bounces somewhere under the bed. They do not retrieve it.

[orgverse]

I saw your response to the San hard thought and can’t get it out of my head. But make it Yunho with someone who has bigger thighs, a tummy and big boobs. I read somewhere that someone said Yunho is the type to be attracted to plus size figures and it lives rent free in my head. Yunho with a size kink and he loves to show off how strong and tall he is. But he also just adores the love handles and all the stretch marks and he thinks his plus size s/o is the most precious and also sexiest person he’s ever seen.

This lives rent free in my brain 😭

yunho would love to run his hands up and down your body. squeezing your plump thighs, groping your boobs, and kissing over every single stretch mark.

you would make an offhanded comment about yourself and something in yunho would just... snap. like he would tower over you before he's pulling you up and trapping you against the nearest wall. would kiss and left marks everywhere. all over you body before he's dropping to his knees to be eye level with your cunt. he would strip you of your bottoms before he's kissing your pussy. you would feel so flustered as you watch him make out with your dripping cunt.

he pulls away and his face his covered in your juices and his spit. and then he's leaving open mouth kisses all your thighs. leaving you breathless before he's standing back to his full height. towering over you once again. he removes his own pants, letting them pool around his ankles, he takes your hand and places his on his hard cock.

"do you feel that, princess? its hard because of your body," he tells you before he's guiding your hands to remove his underwear. he also lets them fall to his feet before he's kicking them away. his hands come around to squeeze your ass. he grabs a handful of it in both hands before he's effortless picking you up and trapping your even more between his body and the wall.

you moan when he enters you and he lets out a low groan as you clench around him. he fucks you hard and good, letting your eyes roll into the back of your head. his leans his head down just enough to take one of your nipples into his mouth and sucks on it. you let out a few gasp here and there as your run your fingers through his hair and gripping the strands.

"fuck– you take my large cock so well, princess," he says as he's moving you both away from the wall and he's caring you over to the couch. but instead of placing you on the couch, he keeps you held in his arms. bouncing you continuously on his cock. your large breast bouncing heavily thanks to his action.

it doesn't take long before you're coming around his cock, squeezing him nicely, and its only then does he lay you on the couch. he grips your hips, once again squeezing your soft flesh as he pounds into as a feverish pace. then he's stilling inside of you, a loud moan of your name leaves his lips as he paints your walls white. your body twitches in overstimulation as yunho kisses all over you body once more.

he latches onto your nipple once more, sucking and licking it. you can feel him grow hard once again and you're shocked by how quickly it happens. slowly he's pulling out of you. both your juices running out of your pussy and onto the couch, staining it you're sure of it. you're surprised when moves up your body and you think he's about to fuck your throat when he stops at your chest. both his hands coming to grope your boobs, squishing them together tightly before he's slipping his cock between them.

yunho looms over you, looking down at you with such adoration and love for someone who is fucking your boobs. but the look in his eyes makes your heart skip a beat known the less as he uses your body to get off a second time. you can't help but touch yourself. your hand coming to rub furious circles into your clit. your fingers are nothing compared to yunho's, but they will do in order to get you to come again.

you open your mouth, tongue sticking out as you await for yunho's cum to squirt out. he lets out a small chuckle before he's stilling and allowing for his cum to paint the top of your breast, neck, and neck. some of lands in your mouth and you swallow it happily.

"my pretty princess," he says as he collects the some of his cum before he's rubbing it over your nipples and even pinching them, making you yelp in surprise. "now why don't you sit on my face. its only fair you come a second time to."

[planet-dusk]

i have so many pervy jisung thoughts 😵‍💫 about things he does to his girlfriend while she’s sleeping. the way he touches her, touches himself. a dubcon pervy sungie lives rent free in my mind

feel free to share them with the class, anon. perv!jisung is so so good. honestly one of my favorites. and when he's a bit subby...

🏷️ perversion, dubcon/noncon, panty stealing and sniffing, masturbation, unprotected sex, somnophilia

he'd promised he'd be your good boy. and he tried. he really did. but he'd broken a rule and now he's suffering the consequences: he isn't allowed to touch himself for a week.

it's torture for poor sungie. he's always horny, needs to be inside your pretty cunt as often as he can and on the days you don't have time for him he jerks himself off until his balls are sore.

he steals your panties from the laundry basket sometimes. loves sniffing them while he fists his cock. he likes the lace ones the most; they feel rough against his swollen tip, almost painful when he rubs himself until he cums all over the fabric.

you've noticed your underwear disappearing and when you catch him in the act your punishment is more severe. no more pussy for jisung.

for an entire month.

if he thought not being able to jerk off was bad enough, not being able to get off by himself and not getting to be inside of you is like hell on earth. he'd rather die. but he made a promise. he'll show you he can be good for you.

not even two weeks in and jisung is getting desperate. he isn't allowed to touch you but your body feels so warm lying next to him at night. he can see the outline of your shape in the darkness.

his cock leaks painfully.

your chest rises and falls with every breath, slow and steady. you'll never find out if jisung touches himself a little, so where's the harm in playing with his balls for a bit? he won't cum. he can be strong.

it takes him less than a minute to blow his load.

now the floodgates have opened and things are quickly spinning out of his control. at first it's enough to tug his aching cock while you are laying next to him.

and then it isn't.

so he starts touching you. he slides his slick cock between your thighs and fucks them slowly. he's careful not to wake you even though the friction isn't enough to make him cum. he just needs to feel you.

slipping his cock into your warm, wet hole is only a small step up from the shameful acts he has been indulging in at night. he's lucky you're a heavy sleeper. sometimes he can only get the head in, staying there with his throbbing cock lodged inside your cunt. unmoving. what if you wake up?

he can only imagine what punishment you'd come up with this time.

one afternoon you'd fallen asleep on the couch. your lips were slightly parted, a small puddle of drool forming on the throw pillow underneath your head.

jisung hadn't been able to stop himself. he'd rubbed his cock on your lips, staining them with his precum. he'd nearly blown all over your face when you had suckled on his tip in your sleep. the involuntary reflex made him groan and he'd dashed off before you'd opened your eyes.

one more night left.

he didn't plan on touching you tonight; his punishment would be over tomorrow. he could go one night without. no need to pursue the risk.

but the thrill feels too good.

so here he is again, cock slipping in without resistance. how is he supposed to stay away from you when you're always so wet and warm? even in your sleep.

you're lying on your back while he kneels awkwardly between your legs. adrenaline and arousal runs through his veins as he sinks into you slowly.

just a little deeper.

jisung freezes when your hand suddenly comes up, grabbing him by the throat and squeezing hard enough to have him gasp for air.

"you've been using me as your fucktoy for long enough, baby. now it's my turn."

[love-toxin]

(cw: stepcest, steddie, cucking)

ok but someone sent me an ask with a similar presence recently and it's living in my head rent free but. cannot shake the image of stepbro!Eddie being so obsessed with his stepsis that he's so protective over you when you start dating Steve--and while he really doesn't want Steve messing around with you and hurting your heart, he also sees you as being his and doesn't want to let you go so easily. which results in you getting totally ruined every time your boyfriend Steve is away, having your stepbrother come over while you're housesitting and humping you in Steve's bed just so he can leave cum stains on it. Eddie likes to cut it close so he's got you teetering on the edge just when Steve's getting home, so he can slap a hand over your mouth and mock you for how loud and wet you are when he's right there, while he lays out on top of you and fucks you into and right through your orgasm until the very last second. and worse is that you have no idea if Steve's caught on to Eddie's unnatural clinginess, whether he's too oblivious to notice or he just thinks you guys are super close. but one of these days he's gonna lead you into bed and hover his face just over your pussy, his breath warming the soft, slick flesh, and you're gonna notice far too late that you've got another man's cum spilling out of you that you thought you'd cleaned up before your boyfriend got home from work. but all Steve does in retaliation is moan, and lick a fat stripe up your pussy lips all the way to your clit, swiping up all that bitter, sticky cum that he knows isn't his and sucking it down for you to watch and quiver with need. Steve's so nice, but you're realizing that his one flaw is that he's just as gross as your jealous pervert of a brother is.

[celestiaras]

as a kakegurui enjoyer, ur xsoleil kakegurui au nsfw fic is the fic that lives rent free in my head all day…… i hope there will be a part 2 where they have you as the center of attention in a gangbang having their sweet time spoiling and ruining and mindbreaking with their personal housepet >____<

ft. doppio dropscythe, kotoka torahime, ver vermillion, hex haywire, meloco kyoran x f! reader — xsoleil, nijisanji en

╰₊✧ xsoleil spoiling & overstimulating their cute housepet┊0.5k words

contains: smut!! dom doppi, koto, ver, hex, melo & sub reader┊gangbang/5vs1, overstimulation & dumbification, fingering, biting & marking, competitiveness, mention of nipple play, recording, mentions of breeding

➤ author's note: me too

you squirmed from their lustful gazes and touches, throat raw from so many cries of pleasure and eyes clouded over as you felt yourself climax for the -nth time from their assaults. how you made it this far without blacking out is beyond you, but you weren’t sure if you could keep it up for much longer with their relentless paces. you can’t even see them, just barely out of the corner of your eyes that are forming even more tears from overstimulation.

oh, they will still fight to get you to moan their name even though you're so far gone that you don't even know whose hands and lips are running over your skin as you whine incoherently. they'll spoil you with any luxuries money could buy if you could just come for them one more time, does that sound good? their words and coos sounded so gentle in contrast to their harsh actions— fingers relentlessly pushing into fill your used cunt with bites, lipstick stains, and bruise marks all over.

doppio is biting into your shoulder, sinking his fangs into the soft flesh before licking at the new wound with his tongue. he’s impatient, desperately wanting just to take you for his own right now, but he knows that all the attention is for you right and that you’ll have to make it up to all of them later. he’ll get his turn just like everyone else does, even if it’s last because he’s the youngest (besides, if he loses control now, he’ll be laughed at by the others for weeks).

meloco and hex are softly praising you, their voices and words being one of the only things keeping you from getting sent into heaven. with their sweet voices and your jumbled mind, you can’t even tell that they are gritting their teeth and looking at each other with mild annoyance at best and flat-out scowling at worse. they are both possessive people, but it takes one to know one, causing them to just take it out on you and your poor pussy. honestly, the two of them are the cause of most of your orgasms on their own out of sheer competitiveness.

kotoka is practically vibrating from excitement, bouncing off each of your reactions with giggles as she plays with your perky tits with one hand and films it with the other. she can’t help herself, not only is she a phone addict, but she feels like your expressions and choked whine while your hips rut into the second years’ hands is too beautiful to capture! this might be her favorite one yet, you know, she can’t wait to show it to you during class and watch your thighs subconsciously rub together at the memory of this fun night!

ver is holding you gently, placing kisses on your head, and running his fingers through your hair while watching in amusement at how you fall apart at the hands of the student council. it’s his favorite thing ever because he just loves seeing you go all dumb and pliant with glossy eyes, he just wants to see like that all the time so that’s why he enlisted the help of the student council to help him take special care of his precious housepet when he’s busy being the president. he doesn’t mind sharing when he’s the one who gets to breed you in the end after it all…

[bit-dodgy-innit]

Heaven Sent You to Me

Pairing: Apollo (who happens to look exactly like Orestes in Agora) x fem!reader

Rating: Explicit, Minors DNI!

Word Count: 3.8k

TW/CW: umm we all know Greek Mythology is like screwed up right? So there’s mean patriarchal men in this, a bit of power play between Apollo and reader, innocence!kink, oral (f!receiving), PinV sex, loss of virginity, talk of pregnancy

A/N: YES I AM AWARE THAT I SHOULD BE WRITING THE MORE THE MERRIER OR ANSWERING THE OTHER 87 ASKS IN MY INBOX BUT MY MUSE IS FICKLE OKAY? She said “Oscar as Apollo or no words at all” so here we are 🤷‍♀️ I watched The Two Faces of January last week and kept thinking that Oscar looks like a Greek god and @lovely-cryptid ‘s greek mythology AU lives rent free in my head and I couldn’t help myself…

Also the title is a lyric from an Ariana Grande because I have fully reverted ten years writing a Greek Mythology AU for my fandom du jour with a song lyric title bc I'm ~artsy~

You should have known he was a god. The way his fingers seemed to fly over the strings of his lyre. That enchanting, mellifluous voice. The smile that shone brighter than the sun itself. You’d encountered him in the woods behind the temple consecrated to him for Zeus’s sake.

Though who could blame you for assuming he was a mortal man? What would a god, an Olympian, want with you – an unimportant peasant in a small, unimportant village? He’d appeared to you as a mortal, a beautiful, alluring one, but a mortal. In fact, he’d been rather short in stature. Apollo’s affairs and exploits were famous, nay infamous, and even now it seemed impossible to reconcile the man who had spoken to you with such sweetness, who had wrung ebullient laughter, as well as previously unimaginable pleasure, from you was the mighty god you and your family had worshiped since time immemorial.

The revelation that you had lain with the god of light, music, medicine, the averter of evil, had been one that raced your head endlessly over the past few days, but it never failed to send a shiver down your spine. You instantly conjured the broad, chiseled planes of his body, so starkly contrasted with the gentle way he’d made love to you. When you revealed that you were a virgin, he was tender with you. Fragments of memories flashed in your mind’s eye but the one that oddly lingered the longest, and the most vividly, was the sweep of his thick, dark lashes across his high cheekbone when his eyes fluttered shut in ecstasy as he met his release. He had been the portrait of pleasure and beauty. You were truly a naive fool for not realizing the divinity in front of you in that moment.

“We must pray that you conceive,” your mother had declared. “You have already secured our family great status, but a demigod? Dmitri, can you imagine?”

Despite her praise, your cheeks burned in shame when she turned to your father for his reaction. You detested how openly and calculated this very intimate, typically private event in your life was being discussed. No one was supposed to know. Yet your sister had found the blood stains on your chiton while laundering it, and she’d coaxed the details out of you.

“Did it hurt?” she whispered.

“No.”

Her brows furrowed, “But you bled. It always hurts. It hurt my first time.”

“I…I don’t know. It didn’t. There was a–,” you blushed bright red and lowered your voice even further, “–a stretch, but it was pleasurable. I didn’t notice the blood until you did.”

Your sister was not willing to let it go. A trait among the women in your family that you’d failed to inherit.

“Well, how large was he?”

“Caris,” you urged her to stop. Yet, you knew your plea was useless, so you quickly approximated your lover’s size with your hands.

“Oh that definitely should have hurt!” Caris squawked in disbelief.

“I’m not talking about this anymore!” you proclaimed.

And that really should have been the end of it. Yet when you, Caris, and your parents made your weekly tribute at Apollo’s temple the following day the priests and acolytes were all abuzz. The god had appeared yesterday.

Initially, you had been as exhilarated as the rest of them, yet your stomach dropped and face blanched as the priest who had seen Apollo described him. Inky curls, olive skin, dark eyes with a strong brow and prominent nose. The god possessed an undoubtedly commanding presence, but there was a playfulness, an exuberance to him.

You and Caris traded bewildered glances. The priest’s depiction of Apollo matched up rather perfectly with Phoebus, the young man you’d stumbled across when you’d decided to take a walk through the forest rather than immediately returning home after your visit to the temple.

“It’s him,” she asserted lowly as you all headed back home.

“Shhhh,” you tried to speed up and away from her, a stupid idea because Caris had longer legs than you. When she inevitably caught up with you two seconds later, you insisted, “Don’t be silly.”

“Apollo is the god of healing and diseases. Is it really so far-fetched to believe that he could minimize any pain for his lovers? Especially the virgins?”

“Caris! Enough!”

The vehemence of your demand had caught your mother’s attention. While in the moment you were able to extinguish any suspicions she had, eventually Caris’s big mouth betrayed you. You had expected her to rage. To punish you. You, an unmarried, unbetrothed woman, had engaged in an activity that was the most important gift in your dowry to your future husband. You readied yourself for the insults and reproaches your mother would hurl at you for becoming damaged goods as a marriage prospect.

Yet, she all but kissed your feet when she found out. She rejoiced, then immediately marched you back to the temple to meet with the clerics. That was when the humiliation began. You were examined to ensure that you had in fact been deflowered. As if that hadn’t been degrading enough, you then were stripped and prayed over for hours, leering men begging Apollo for a sign to confirm that you were indeed the one the god had chosen to ravish. The manner in which the priests brusquely groped and prodded at you couldn’t have been more different than the way the deity himself had treated you, the god they claimed to serve.

When a sign didn’t immediately appear, doubt had set in. A mortal woman winning the attention of their patron god was the most momentous thing to happen in your village in generations, so if you were lying? Eternal shame. For you and your family.

You were kept overnight in the temple in a nicely appointed room, but forbidden to see anyone. You cried yourself to sleep, yet much to your relief, at dawn, Apollo provided the confirmation the priests needed and you were allowed to go. Of course, by the time you returned home, everyone knew.

After having a bit of time to contemplate it, you realized that it wasn't so much the fact that every single person in your life began treating you differently that unmoored and overwhelmed you, it was how swiftly it had all happened. It hadn’t been your choice.

You were required at the temple daily now for rituals. Thankfully, the fact you’d lain with a god disqualified you from becoming an acolyte, you were still needed for “veneration” purposes. You soon deduced this meant that the priests simply wanted to keep you around to curry favor with Apollo.

You hated it. You were the only one present in the chamber currently who had ever meaningfully interacted with the deity, yet you were reduced to a glorified altar ornament for their rites.

The only way to weather these hours-long sessions was to recall what brought you here in the first place. You retreated into your memory of that fateful afternoon when you met Apollo.

It’d been a beautiful day, and you were more at ease in nature. The hustle and bustle of the village and the imposing columns of the temple felt suffocating to you.

You’d heard him first before you saw him. The most beautiful music wafted toward you. You couldn’t have turned away if you’d wanted to. It was as if the mixture of the melody he played and the tune he sang had entranced your feet to carry you to the source of the sound. You hadn’t heard the song before, but inexplicably, it had an odd air of familiarity within your ears.

The sight of him initially seemed to be a joke. He had to be a mirage of some sort. A song so gorgeous coming from a man who was even more dazzling? Had you tripped and hit your head on your stroll from the temple? Surely you were dreaming.

His song ceased when he sensed your presence.

“I’m sorry,” your apology tumbled from your lips at once. “Please don’t stop on my account, I didn’t mean to–I’ll leave. I apologize for intruding.”

Before you could tuck and run, he called to you.

“Don’t! There’s no need.”

You froze, and slowly pivoted back to face him. He’d gotten closer to you, which was terrible for your clarity of mind. In addition to his good looks, he radiated an irresistible air of power, and his proximity only compelled you to submit to it more.

“Thank you.”

Suddenly, the man before you turned boyish and shy before he queried, “Would you like to hear more?”

“Please.”

It was the first time you were treated to his smile. It reduced you to a blushing fool with a startling amount of efficiency.

He motioned to a nearby boulder for you to take a seat on. You obeyed instantly. He took his place on a nearby log and resumed plucking at his lyre.

His song was haunting, beguiling, and hopeful all at once. His voice lilted over the lyre’s strings. He sang in a language you didn’t understand, and couldn’t begin to identify, but you were captivated all the same.

You were slightly embarrassed, though not at all surprised, that there were tears staining your cheeks when he concluded.

He grinned dopily when he saw you dabbing at your eyes, “That bad, huh?’

“Stop,” You chuckled through your tears. “You have a gift.”

He shrugged off your compliment with a frustrating amount of nonchalance.

You needed to know more about this mysterious man. “I’ve never seen you before.”

“I’m merely passing through.”

“Are you a minstrel then?”

He smirked as if you’d said something inadvertently humorous to him. “I suppose you could call me that.”

“Well, what should I call you then?”

“Phoebus.”

“Have you traveled much, Phoebus?” you inquired.

“I have.”

“Could you tell me about the places you’ve been? I’ve never left this utterly boring village.”

“I will, if you tell me what keeps you here. Is it your village’s association with the deity?”

You cocked your head in confusion. It was an odd question to you. You strove to answer diplomatically, “While I wouldn’t say that Apollo is driving me away, I wouldn't say he’s keeping me here either.”

Again, that secretive little smirk tugged at the corners of Phoebus’s quite luscious mouth. “I see. He’s vastly overrated isn’t he?”

“Oh I wouldn’t go so far to say that!” you attempt to course-correct. “We’re blessed with his patronage.”

A mischievous glint danced behind Phoebus’s dark, magnetic eyes. “Say no more. Now, where do you want to hear about first?”

He proceeded to regale you with tales of the most wondrous places. Of seas and mountains and monsters and the divine. You got lost within his stories. You wished you could live within them.

It had seemed like the most natural thing in the world to accompany him on a stroll when he suggested it. Typically warnings would blare in your head - you must not stray any further with this handsome stranger, he could sully you, or worse, harm you, but you felt entirely safe with Phoebus. At the time, it had been impossible to put your finger on why you’d felt so. Now, it was abundantly clear: you’d been in the presence of one of the most powerful creatures in all of existence. Still, he chatted and wandered with you in a remarkably similar manner to mortal men your age.

When you two came across a river and Phoebus proposed a swim, your cheeks had burned with sheepishness. He hadn’t mocked or derided you, he simply offered to turn away while you undressed and submerged yourself into the water to afford you some modesty. However, Phoebus hadn’t been quite as bashful as you had been when disrobing. In fact, the flourish with which he all but flung off his chiton led you to believe he wanted you to watch him, rather than avert your eyes like you immediately did once you realized what he was doing. You hadn’t been quick enough however, and had caught a delectable glimpse of his toned chest, thick thighs, and what you deduced was a well-endowed groin.

You only dared look back up when you heard the splash signaling his entrance into the river. He resurfaced with his black curls matted and slicked back against his skull, an impish grin on his lips. He reached for you and you floated to him without hesitation. The feel of his bare skin against yours was intoxicating.

“I want to kiss you,” he murmured, even though you two were the only people around for at least a mile.

“You may,” you granted him permission in a similarly hushed tone.

Your lips drifted together, and then it was as if you had become a feral animal let out of its cage. You couldn’t get enough. Your lips moved against his ravenously, your legs wrapping around his torso on instinct when he moved toward the river’s bank. While the press of his arousal against your hip was certainly a foreign sensation, you weren’t afraid. He deposited you on the warm silt for a moment before retrieving your tunic and laying it under you, a makeshift bed for what was about to come.

It was then that you confessed. You didn’t know what to expect once the words left your mouth - judgment, indifference, a perverse excitement - but Phoebus smiled softly, and nodded his head, as if he’d expected it.

“Then I shall show you how beautiful pleasure can be,” he vowed.

He took his time, dipping his head between your breasts to mouth at your pert nipples, then lower to between your legs. When the tip of his nose drew a featherlight line along the seam of your sex, you gasped. You may have been a virgin, but you weren't totally naive. Caris had been betrothed recently and regaled you constantly about her rendezvous with her soon-to-be husband, but she had never mentioned this. It was as if Phoebus was sending you flying through the clouds, straight to Olympus, with only his tongue. Your fingers had wound into his damp curls to hold on for dear life as you fell apart for him.

It wasn’t until your pleasure crested that he slid a thick, suspiciously uncalloused finger through your folds and pressed it inside. He cooed comforts to you when you tightened around him, your body’s first reaction to try and expel the intrusion. One digit became two, and after a while, he guided your hand to manhood, showing you how to grip him, coaxing and coaching you on how to bring him back to hardness.

Caris had always advised you to shut your eyes and not to look at a man’s member for too long, since it wasn’t the most pleasant of sights. She was wrong in this instance. Every bit of Phoebus was mesmerizing, and his erect cock was no different from the rest of him. His encouragements echoed in your ears as if he was speaking them to you in the present.

“Yes, that’s it sunshine,” he’d panted, “You can grip me tighter, oh, that is lovely. You are a fast learner, aren’t you? I’m going to make you feel so very good.”

Becoming one had been the most intense sensation you had ever endured. It was all too much, yet you wanted more. You keened when Phoebus had draped your legs over his broad shoulders to penetrate you deeper, your skin suddenly feeling too tight. It was too much, it was too much, you’d chanted to yourself. Phoebus’s girth was unrelenting, but at the same time you never wanted it to end.

Your lover was an attuned one, so when he observed that the position was perhaps too vigorous for his little virgin, he’d rolled you over so you were straddling his ample hips and speared on his desire.

“Here, grasp onto my shoulders,” he instructed you, “so you can control the depth and the pace, yes?”

Phoebus had long fucked the words out of you, so your reply came as a breathless, frantic nod. You wished to thank him, truly, you couldn’t have asked for a more considerate man to share this with for the first time. Instead, you did as he said and found a tempo and pattern of undulating your hips against his that suited you.

Phoebus couldn’t help himself, he began meeting your pelvis, thrusting up into you. You howled in pleasure, and his gaze instantly searched out yours to confirm those were good sounds instead of pained ones. He didn’t look away once he had found the answer he was hoping for in your eyes. Those deep brown irises had bore into yours, and the longer you looked into them, the more convinced you were they held galaxies.

You were so caught up in Phoebus’s gaze that you didn’t notice he’d snuck a hand in between your bodies until the pad of his finger connected with your sensitive bud.

“There you go sunshine, let go for me, you can let go.”

You felt as if you were going to explode out of your body as Phoebus continued to repeat those sweet-nothings as if they were a prayer.

“Let go for me darling, I know you can, let go–”

“You may go.”

The high priest's imperious tone snapped you out of your reverie. No longer were you in the forest with Phoe–Apollo, but rather the towering temple consecrated to him. Your relief that you could leave superseded your annoyance at being interrupted. You desperately needed to return to the privacy of your bedroom for a bit of self-relief.

Perhaps it was because you were in such a rush that you didn’t initially notice him as you flew out of the side entrance of the temple. It was his voice that stopped you.

“You’re not with child.”

“Holy Hera! You frightened me!” You put a hand to your chest to calm your beating heart.

“So you can stop fretting." Clearly, Apollo wasn’t particularly remorseful about the scare he'd given you. "Though to be honest, I’m surprised you’re relieved. Most women, beings far more divine than yourself, are usually thrilled to carry my offspring. They clamber for the chance and flaunt their bellies if they conceive.”

“I…I could not withstand the attention, I do not think. Nor the pomp and the responsibility.”

“The priests would help with the burden.”

“Yes but the child’s father wouldn’t,” you pointed out. “As great an honor to mother a demigod would be, I would prefer a…someone to experience it all with.”

Apollo nodded. “That I could not give you.”

“I know,” There was no resentment or disappointment in your voice. “I would never expect you to.”

“That must be why I yearn for you still,” Apollo mused, “why I cannot stay away.”

“I...my family is expecting me.”

Apollo was not accustomed to being refused. He fixed you with a look of amused incredulity after you spoke.

“I do not want them to know. Or anyone for that matter.” You realized how ungrateful you sounded. To spurn a god was to write your own death sentence. “Not that I don’t desire you, or that I wish to disregard your desires–”

“You want me all to yourself.” When you opened your mouth to amend his statement, he stopped you. “It’s alright. I want you all to myself too.”

“You have me,” you averred. “However, when the priests and my mother get involved…”

“I understand. I do not wish for fanfare either.” He pulled you close to him. Your breath hitched at the press of his hardness into your hip through both of your chitons.

Your mouths were millimeters apart. Instead of closing the distance, you asked, “Why did you tell me a false name when we first met?”

He smiled that bright, beatific grin that warmed you from the inside out. “I suppose for the same reason that you want to keep this a secret. If you believe your family is meddling, then mine is…”

Apollo didn’t need to finish his sentence for you to understand. You giggled, a sound he much enjoyed. At last, he captured your lips with his. Kissing Apollo melted you, you became a molten, liquid being when he pressed his lips to yours.

As transcendent as the kiss was, the god could feel that you were holding back. “What’s wrong, sunshine?”

You were not proud of the flip your stomach did at the pet name. Once you regained control of yourself, you replied, “Nothing, nothing at all. Forgive me.”

“Don’t apologize, simply tell me what is bothering you,” he countered, brushing a stray lock of hair from your face.

When you hesitated, his fingers tilted your head up so your eyes met. “I won’t be angry.”

Still, you couldn’t bring yourself to voice your complaint. It was funny, you’d spent your entire life beseeching Apollo for this or that in the temple, yet when he was standing right in front of you, eager to know what troubled you, you couldn’t find the words.

“Why me?” It was a deflection from Apollo’s question, but still a valid inquiry.

He chuckled. “You’re asking me to apply logic to attraction, something inherently instinctual,” Apollo pointed out. “Though if I had to try to put reasoning to it, I would say it was because you are kind, beautiful, you have a tight, juicy little cunt…” he cupped your mound to demonstrate his point. You gasped at the contact. “...and when I’m with you, I feel the most like a mortal that I've felt in decades.”

Mortal? Was that a bad thing? Were you unintentionally insulting the deity?

Apollo was quick to assuage you, “I enjoy it, sunshine. The immediacy, the urgency. It’s refreshing. You’re refreshing.”

“Thank you,” you murmured. You sought to return his kind words but what was there to say? It was obvious why a mortal such as yourself would fall for a god.

“Now, I won’t ask again. What vexes you?’

“I…after we…our first meeting,” you struggled to select the right words, “the priests wanted to corroborate that we’d lain together, and their methods were…they were not very gentle.”

Your lover’s eyes turned stormy. No sooner had you told him did a crack sound from what you guessed was inside the temple.

“No, please! Don’t hurt anyone!” you begged him just as swiftly.

Apollo’s face softened slightly. “Even after they violated you, you show them compassion. I swear to you I won’t, however, I must ensure that you, and by extension, myself are treated with respect.”

“Of course,” you acquiesced. Gods were not known for their mercy, so the fact he was willing to compromise with you at all was a victory.

Apollo pulled you into another kiss that stole your breath. “If I cannot have you now…then tonight. When the moon peaks in the sky.”

“How will I find you?”

A smirk played across his lips. “Don’t fret, sunshine. I shall ensure it.”

A/N: Sooooo…what do we think?! 🫣 A little more flowery than my usual but I just had too much fun with this and now I have ideas for a few installments 🤦‍♀️

READ PART TWO

Tagging a few folks who might be interested:

@bitch4marvel @luciannadraven33 @oof-its-roobi @twwcs, @ninebluehearts @damnzelsoul @missmarmaladeth @welcometostayingawake @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction , @romanarose @dameronscopilot

[8-rae-rae-8]

could i request cg!mactavish comforting a reg!simon on his period? craving some fluff for these two plus trans simon lives in my head rent free 🫡

you didn't specify so you're getting 2009 ghost and soap

(soap isn't referred to as johnny in 09 so,, beware)

CW Periods, minor dysphoria

1.1k words

Read on AO3

He's icky. The cramps started late in the middle of the night. Simon thought it would be okay to sleep. A mistake on his part, a big mistake.

Simon's seen blood before, cleaned it off of weapons and patched up too many wounds to count, but pulling himself from blood-soaked sheets always had the same, deep-seated sickness coursing through his veins. There's no possible way to miss the way blood drips down his leg, soaking through his shorts.

Another thing he ruined by his own negligence. He didn't think ahead, all he had been concerned about was being comfy in bed once his pain medication kicked in. He should have thought ahead. Now, it was either the walk of shame, or trying to clean up his mess here. Shame was already in the front of his mind, mocking and mean. He thought he'd get used to feeling like he wasn't a real man, but it burns deep. There's not even water to put out the fire. He has to simply shake it off and hope the fire doesn't scar him again.

Icky. The sheets would have to be tossed, along with the stained shorts, does he even have any pads in his room? He seemed to remember running out of the ones in his bathroom weeks ago. All of it felt too heavy on his mind, painful and too much.

He doesn't make it to the door before he's curling up on the floor. The smallest whimpers rumbling in his chest the longer he's sat there. It hurts. It hurts and he's so icky. Simon doesn't hear his own cries when they bounce off the walls, only the ringing in his ears and the sounds of gasping breaths.

Any surrounding sound falls on deaf ears. The knocking, or the buzzing of his phone; he doesn't hear it. Much to focused on the pain, the fear, the blood cooling on the tile. Everything blurs together, feelings blending until it's all just miserable. His legs pulled up to his chest, head tucked between his knees in such a way that burns his back—he doesn't move from that position. Too much.

Even as gentle hands settle on his shoulders, he doesn't move. Just the slightest shake of his shoulders.

"Riley..?" His mind screams that it's warm and safe. "Si, can ye look at me?" A warm hand settles on the back of his neck, smoothing out the sweaty curls at the nape of his neck. The voice soft, with that gravelly twinge that was perfectly unique to Mactavish. To the man he knew as comfort and protection.

It feels like such a big task, just something as simple as looking up at him. But he can feel the eyes watching him. So gentle, never with the overwhelming expectations when he's like this. Small, scared and hurting. He struggles far more than he should, but eventually his tear-stained face meets John's. Breaths coming in quick and strained.

"My love…" Mactavish hums, moving the hand on his neck to gently cup Simon's tear-dampened cheek. "We gotta clean ye up, huh?" He says it like it's the easiest thing in the world, like he's happy to do the rotten work.

Simon sniffles. He can't find it in himself to do anything but agree. Getting out of what felt like a puddle of blood underneath him would have to at least help a little.

All of the work he had to do was quickly diminished to a whole ton of absolutely nothing. Strong arms picking him up without missing a beat, no hesitation to get blood on his clothes. Ratty and old or clean, Simon saw the same thing, clothes he was ruining by just being offered help.

"Lay on me, aye? Gonna get ye in the shower and I'll get you fresh, warm clothes."

Simon didn't quite expect that Tav would be the one holding him up gently to wash away the blood. There wasn't any hesitation, just a gentle 'can I?' before washing off the delicate spots. He even took care of Simon's sweaty hair. Taking the time to dry him off and blow-dry his hair too.

Saying he was just small after would be an understatement.

'Teeny tiny Simon Riley.' He heard once or twice.

Simon certainly feels it now. Any sudden cramp, or heavy pain making him whimper and look up at John as if it would suddenly make it any better; depending on his caregiver for anything he could possibly do.

And Mactavish tries to fix it. He takes the work load off his little's shoulders and focuses on making him feel at least a little better. It's not like he doesn't see the way Simon shies away from looking at himself, the way his hand sleepily traces the scars on his chest. Whatever John can do, he'll do it for his boy.

"Almost done." He smiles at Simon while he unfolds the pad for him and gets quite literally everything else done for him. Redressing, then the sheets, then making sure Simon takes his medicine… For the longest time, Simon didn't understand that when Mactavish meant he'd help with everything, he would genuinely help with everything.

Simon nearly falls asleep on his shoulder when he's lifted back up. Steady, gentle steps to not upset his already hurting tummy. The second he goes to chew his lip, a pacifier is placed at his lips. Everything he needed was there for him before he could even ask. He loses track of how long they've walked, and before he knows it, the room smells different—warmer—and they're slowing to a stop. For a moment, Simon thinks he'll be laid down and left alone.

"All clean, dove, all done." John coos as he sits down, his little one in his lap. Again, Simon's head rests on his shoulder, soft eyes blinking with the effort to stay fully aware. Despite how small he is, despite everything feeling so big around him.

"'ubba…" He mumbles behind the pacifier shield. The aches dull just enough for him to wiggle into a much more comfortable position. His eyes briefly scan the room, different, but not unwelcome. John's room, safe and sound. Away from the icky mess.

"Bubba's here." Tav says it like a promise; he won't let go, he won't leave. He's here, holding his love so very gently. Simon takes it for what he understands it to be—he's not leaving this time.

After all the tears and unrelenting pain, he can't help but close his eyes. Sleep doesn't come, he doesn't expect it to, but he can simply rest. That's what he needs. Focusing on his bubba's gentle hums and just breathing.