#THE SPLATTERS ACROSS HIS ARM AND TORSO AND *FACE*

[krenenbaker]

oh...

oh my...

holy crow.... ♡♡♡♡( ´∀`)♡♡♡♡

okay, this is a beautiful piece, with a beautiful boy, and beautiful scenery!!! ehehe, even just look at the little mushrooms growing on the log!!! so cute!! ♡

UwU

[retiredteabag]

sukuna request 🩷

when sukuna comes home, he sees that we’ve dyed our hair and the bathroom is stained with hair dye

The sincerest form of flattery

Synopsis: Sukuna comes home to a crude imitation of himself, how is it his blood does not boil with distaste?

〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰

It was not uncommon for Lord Sukuna to arrive at the estate covered in sticky red blood. It would often have dried to his robes before he would bathe and rid himself of the substance.

Looking at your reflection now, you are sure the pair of you have never looked more similar.

You had given up on gloves long ago, the red staining your hands in a horrific way, you wondered what the man would say when he arrived at the estate.

Your hair had yet to fully dry, a duller pink than the king of curses, but a mimic of the man nonetheless. He was able to make it work in a way you could not quite understand, spinning in the mirror to see the damage, you begin to feel a bit guilty for the estates service workers.

The walls, the sink, the floor, it all had- well... what appeared to be blood splattered across it. A particularly incriminating towel lay across the counter, dripping onto the tiles below.

Silent giggles escaped you as you tried to wipe the dye from your hands. What would Sukuna say when he got home? You wondered.

You had just started to make headway cleaning the floors when you felt it. He was within the estate.

For reasons unknown to you, you started to become anxious. Cleaning faster, and anxiously checking the mirror to fix your appearance.

It was not long, of course, before he was standing in the threshold of his chambers washroom.

Any other time you might've found it sweet that he came straight to you after arriving home. He would never say it, but he was quite like a jungle cat in his own way, yet loyal as a dog. He would never stray too far from you. Your presence his energy.

But now. Bent across the floor, a stray hair fallen to your face, and the corrosive scent of ammonia wafting through the room, you feel a bit sheepish as his eyes take in the scene.

"What...ever are you doing?" His upper set of arms are crossed, his eyes analyzing the room.

You haven't a clue how to respond. A laugh is bubbling up but you try very hard to keep it down. Your fists are balled in the cleaner of the towels available to you as you glance at the floor and bite your lip.

Sukuna is taking measured steps to you now, his eyes narrowed. From your kneeled position on the floor, he looks even more enormous than usual.

The right words escape you so you build the courage and mutter, "I'm just like you, see?" And wave a hand to the room.

"You... what?" He hisses. Turning to see what you are referring to. Before he looks back to you, you stand, brush your wet hands down the large shirt that has become a blood-stained smock, and grin. You swipe your hands down the length of yourself.

"See? The hair, the... bloody room..."

He is making an odd movement in the muscles of his neck, and squinting at you, "This is not blood. I can tell with certainty."

"Yes, well... that's true, but don't we look similar?" You grin up at the giant, awaiting his response. Perhaps he will roll his eyes and walk to the bedroom of his chambers, or maybe he will demand you clean the mess you have made.

"You cannot possibly believe we look remotely similar." His biceps are flexing and there is a rosiness to his cheeks.

You turn now to look at the mirror, reaching to tug on his lower hand, "Look. I just need some tattoos now."

Sukuna flexes his hand in your grasp and you drop it that instant. He has never been the most physically attuned. Even so, just as you have made to step from him, his arms reach out, grabbing you by your torso and lifting you to his height.

His eyes roam over your hair and your face. There is a little dye on your hairline and he licks a thumb to rub at it.

"Ugh- ew... don't spit on me..."

His eyes squint in annoyance. Dropping you just a hair's breadth from the floor. Just as he is turning to leave you see the tips of his ears burn under the lights in his lavatory.

"You are a ridiculous beast." He finally announces.

"You don't like it? We match now!" You smile, knowing that if he had any qualms he would have said so without restraint.

"You are a filthy beast too. And lucky, lucky a bath is being drawn for me now." He runs a hand through his pink locks, the very hair that you are now sporting.

"And why does your bath make this filthy beast lucky?" You grin, coming to wrap yourself around his forearm.

He lifts you from the ground with the strength of that one arm. Curling you nearer now to his face.

"Because I am eternally gracious and will allow you to cleanse yourself alongside me." He states. Sharp canines glimmer in your eyes and you smile.

"My, that is very generous." You attempt to swing yourself down but his arms wrap around you.

He truly has the perfect anatomy for snuggling, though he hates to hear it. Effortlessly, he sets you upon one shoulder and carried you both to the bathhouse.

"I am known to be." He grunts. "For you." His upper right hand comes to curl a lock of your newly colored hair around his finger, a hidden smile gracing his lips.

[a5tr0n0m1cal]

👉👈🥺 Sebastian patching an expendable up and being grumpy about it?

A stray bullet had ricocheted off the vent and into your side, making you cry out and fall to your stomach, you army crawl as much as you can through the vent before pulling yourself into the blessed safety of Sebastian’s shop.

Sweat beads your brow and you’re high on adrenaline, you sit leaning against the wall, gingerly touching your side just to confirm your fears, you were bleeding quite profusely. Fiery sensations spread up from the wound, all across your torsos right side. You paled, pressing your hand back to the wound starting to panic.

“Ahem.” A voice finally cuts through your panic enough for you to hear. “You going to buy something or are you just gonna bleed all over my floor?”

Right.

In all your panic you almost forgot to acknowledge him. “Sebastian.” You say his name, looking up at the mutated shop keeper. He cocks a brow at you, glowing cyan eyes unreadable. He tucks a stubborn piece of hair behind his webbed ear fins, a movement you’ve become familiar with when visiting him.

“Yeah?” He finally says, sounding annoyed. You’d be indignant if you weren’t so weak. You try to stand up, eyeing a medkit on his tail before feeling pain jolt through you, making you crumble back to the floor, droplets of flood splattering out. This was bad. Serious. You couldn’t die again, you had no more ferry coins.

“Please.” You say, trying to crawl, half scooting across the floor. “I’ll pay. Help me.” You plead.

Sebastian makes an annoyed sound, long thick tail flapping against the far wall in what you assume is irritation.

“This isn’t a nurses office.”

“I’ll give you everything I have.” You say, feeling woozy.

Sebastian sighs, leaning down from the great height he holds himself. Long enough he doesn’t even need to move from his spot to reach you.

Large cold hands seat your hand from your side, claws surprisingly gentle as they probe the wound. “Over here.” He grumbles, not giving you a warning as he hooks a hand under you, lifting you easily with just one palm.

He sets you down on a couple of crates pushed together, pushing on your shoulders till you’re lying down.

You vision is spotty but you catch his focused look behind his dangling esca. He yanks the medkit from his tail, flicking it open and rummaging around before finding something and biting the top off it. He spits the lid to the side and pours something on your side making you jump, pain burning through you.

“What the f-“ he keeps his third smaller arm pressed against your chest, keeping you down easily. “Quiet, I need to focus.” He snaps, threading a needle with his free hands. He meets your eyes briefly, you almost could swear with pity.

“This will hurt.” He says, prying your bloodied torn suit away from the wound.

“No really I had no ideAAAA” you cry out, feeling him slowly start to sew up your wound. It’s agonizing, but his heavy hand on your chest keeps you grounded. “Almost done, you’re doing fine.” He assures, giving you a comforting(?) squeeze. He finally closes the wound, biting the string and pulling out some bandages. You grunt as he sits you up, wrapping the bandages around your waist for you.

He’s very close. You dont think you’ve ever seen his face so up close. You notice small scars on his skin, scales that creep on the sides of his face, even gills that peek out from under his neck scarf. He clears his throat and you realize you’ve been staring at him.

“Th-thank you.” You say, lightly touching your side and feeling the bandages. He did a good job.

“Yeah well…” he lets go of you, leaning back and rising back to his usual height. “You owe me.”

You nod, moving slowly as to not rip your new stitches and retrieve all the data you’ve packed away on this run. You weakly hold it up to him and he takes it gingerly from your hand, claws brushing over the back of your hand. You swing your leg over the side of the crate, ready to leave.

“Be careful next time yeah? I don’t want that medkit to go to waste.” He says, with a lot less bite then you’re used to.

“Yeah. I got it. Thank you.”

He watches you leave, ear fins wiggling slightly.

[darlingdreadwrites]

Halloween (She's So Mean)

THIS IS A SECOND PART OF AN AU. IF THIS IS THE FIRST POST YOU SEE, I SUGGEST YOU CLICK ON THIS (“MAIN STORY”) TO READ THE FIRST PART OF THIS AU!!

pairing: Jeff the Killer x GN!Reader

summary: After arriving at Mr. Mann’s Manor of Frights, you decide to walk around.

contains: haunted house with jeff, scare actor jeff, making out and it’s slightly nsfw (under the red divider!!)

warnings: name calling (slut is used), he’s dressed as a murderous clown with blood on him and a fake knife

word count: 1.3k

masterlist

a.n: don’t be following or shamelessly flirt with scare-actors unless you know them personally and they’re ok with it PLEASE

“I want to just walk around,” you tell your friends. They nodded, walking deeper into the festival grounds.

Every few seconds, screams and laughter surround you – all thanks to the scare-actors scattered about. You feel a buzzing thrill under your skin, a mixture of excitement and nervousness propelling you further. You glance at your left, unaware of a man ready to leap out at you.

“Gotcha!”

You stumble back with a yelp, bumping into one of your friends. The man before you, dressed like a murderous clown, laughs maniacally. His sleek, black leather jumpsuit is zipped down just enough to expose a provocative amount of lean, scarred skin of his torso. Blood is splattered over his pale skin. His makeup enhances his almost-white skin, with dark red eyeshadow sweeping across his eyelids and extending under his eyes. The classic clown look is evident in the sharp diamond shapes that stretch from above his eyebrows to his cheeks. A black upside-down cross is drawn on his forehead, while black face-paint is made to look like his mouth is stretched out. Streaks of dried blood trail from his red lips down to his chin, completing the scary look.

You barely have time to respond before he leans in with a devilish grin – your heart hammers in your chest.  You think he’s about to say something else but he only winks at you. He turns quickly to find his next victim, leaving you bewildered and breathless.

You and your friends continue to explore the festival, but your thoughts are stuck on that encounter. You wander through the festival, trying to shake off the chill that his presence left on you. But it doesn’t matter how many fun booths you pass or how many jokes your friends make, he has carved himself into your brain. You want to believe it was only because he effectively scared you.

You start to lose yourself in the atmosphere, the tension in your shoulders easing. The interaction seems to be behind you and your group has moved on to playing games. You’re standing near a brightly lit game stall, watching as your friend fails to properly throw a ball at a bottle. You laugh as another friend steps up to help – only to fail just as terribly.

“Miss me?” Someone whispers, their breath hot on your ear.

You spin toward him, coming face to face with the scare-actor from earlier. He’s so close that you can smell the leather of his suit and a faint scent of nicotine. He laughs sharply, causing you to shrink back against a wall behind you. When he pulls back his arm way too swiftly, you almost scream.

“You’re so hot!” You blurt out without thinking, closing your eyes tightly. Oh, fuck. You’re supposed to be scared. His job is to scare you, and here you were, declaring how hot you think he is.

Your eyes go wide in horror, and you seem to have genuinely caught him off guard for a moment. His taunting grin falters, and his eyes are just as wide as yours. Your face feels like hot coal when he bursts out into loud laughter. He doubles over, one of his hands pressed against his stomach. Your friends join in on his laughter, and you would have kicked him if your embarrassment hadn’t caused you to freeze.

“Oh, god, you –“ he gasps for air between laughs. “What kinda reaction – Jesus!”

“That wasn’t – I didn’t mean to – “You stammer out. You’re absofuckinglutely mortified.

“Nah, nah, you can’t take that back,” he teases as he calms down. Before you can answer, he grabs your wrist and it’s surprisingly gentle. “Since you think I’m so hot, I’m takin’ you with me. That okay?”

“Okay – “

You barely have time to look back at your friends who are now cheering for you. You’d get them back for this for sure. He’s dragging you through the maze of people, and you have to fight to keep up. He’s leading you toward the mansion, undoubtedly heading to one of the haunted experiences. Curious festivalgoers in lines watch as he skips to the entrance of one.

“C’mon, gorgeous,” he drawls, nodding at the worker who steps to the side to let you two in. he looks over his shoulder to flash you a smirk, but he’s also studying your reaction. “Unless you’re too scared.”

You’re too stunned and excited to resist, following silently behind him. A part of you really seems to like how he’s treating you. It was a strange mix of actions – like he was controlling you, but also giving you a chance to refuse. Not that you would refuse.

The inside of the attraction is dark and disorienting. The lights flicker above and cast eerie shows in the already creepy hallway. Every time an animatronic or an actor jumped out, you’d walk a little closer to Jeff. At one point, he got so tired of you practically squishing yourself against his arm that he just wrapped an arm around your shoulders. He pressed the palm of his hand against the side of your head, pulling you closer to him.

“What’s the matter?” He whispers, his lips lightly grazing your ear, and the warmth of his breath causes your brain to short-circuit. “Scared?”

Jeff is relentless, making jokes and flirting to break the tension. You attempt to match his energy, even if it is a bit shaky. A flurry of butterflies weighs heavily on your chest. He leads you down somewhere clearly off of the main path. He pulls back a curtain, revealing a door with a sign that reads “Employees Only.” He opens it with no issue before turning around. He stands in front of the dark corridor, the shadows framing his silhouette. He holds your wrist loosely, giving you another hint that you can stop this at any time.

“Wanna have some fun?” he asks, tilting his head. His tone then takes on a mocking lilt. “Promise I won’t bite… too hard.”

You hesitate for just a millisecond before stepping closer. That’s all the encouragement he needs, his grip on your wrist tightening. Who were you to say no?

“That’s my stupid little slut,” he purrs, walking backwards into the darkly lit hallway and pulling you with him. He looks at you and back to the door – another exit, he seems to be telling you. But you don’t move.

He closes it and the sounds behind it immediately sound muffled and distant. He stares down at you with a charged mischief that almost has your knees buckling. He holds up his prop knife, the flat side of the plastic blade lightly tapping against your cheek. He leans in, his breath hitting your face.

“Last chance to run, sweetheart,” he murmurs, his voice low. He’s surprisingly considerate as his eyes search yours for any hint of uncertainty.

You’re too caught up in the moment to respond as your hands tangle into Jeff’s hair to pull him into an open-mouthed kiss. He doesn’t waste a second, immediately closing the distance. You can taste the copper that lingers in his mouth – fake blood, probably – but it only adds to the intoxicating thrill of the moment.

Your back hits the cold wall, the sharp pain tingling just enough to make you crave his closeness even more. He nips at your lower lip and grips your waist tightly. As his tongue delves into your mouth, one of his knees slips between your legs. He rolls his knee lightly against your clothed groin, the fabric of your jeans stimulating you just right. You moan into his mouth, and he drinks it up greedily, his slippery muscle sliding against yours.

Your hand presses flat against his stomach, the warmth mixing with the heat of your palm. Neither of you seemed to remember – or care – about the blood on his torso. It was dried by now, so, as you trailed your hand up his chest, the substance flaked off onto your hand.

You don’t know how long you had been gone, but all you knew was that you had lots of fun. You just didn’t think what you had done was obvious. That was until your friends squealed when you came back, pointing at and teasing you about the makeup staining the area around your mouth.

[the-kr8tor]

Rose Hips + ⭐️ : Jason Todd and fae!reader in an AU where he and reader have been friends since he was on the streets and wandering forests and reader gives up their immortality to save Jason after he’s been killed by Joker c:

Gasp! A jason todd fic from me?! 😂 Thank you for the request, tony!!! I hope you like it ❤️

Pairing: Jason Todd x fem! Reader

Word count: 1.8k

Tags: no use of Y/N, no specific physical description of the reader (except for vague clothing), reader has a nickname, robin! Jason Todd, can be read as platonic, fae! Reader, CW injury, CW blood, TW death, hurt/comfort.

Katy's one year celebration 🎉

Navigation

Flames lick at your feet, embers crackling as the fire eats away at your home. Animals flee, tails tucked away in fear of it getting singed, but you, with the unshed tears in your eyes, and bare feet running across the glade– you run towards the direction of the searing heat. Its source is a man-made building made of stone and glass, something you thought was invincible. But as you get closer and closer, its destruction becomes inevitable.

All things must come to an end, but you have to try to save him. Jason, the blue eyed menace you've come accustomed to. His smile lingers in your mind, laughter echoing in your ears. You can still remember the day you met him, bruised and battered, skin blooming into crimson and royal purple— a colour you've only seen in flowers. The meeting was bound by fate, like the vines crawling up your arms and around your torso; a fate etched into stone. And yet you once turned it away, turned him away because he wasn't supposed to be here in the dark woods all alone, moreso with a being such as you. You tried to scare him then, made yourself look like a powerful deity of the forest only to be met by a bout of boyish laughter.

“You look like a cheap knock-off of poison ivy!” He once said to you as he clutched his stomach from laughter.

You didn't know poison ivy was a laughing matter for humans when its touch could blossom into boils. It got you curious then, what else do humans think about the world around them? How do they think now that they ride metal horses and run on rubber feet? So you let him go back to your abode, sometimes tending to his wounds with herbs as he talks nonstop about his life outside.

Soon all the monthly visits became weekly, then turned into daily visits. You ask him questions about his kind, and he answers, mostly in a joking manner. You never offered him your food, knowing that he doesn't deserve the life to be shackled with you for hundreds of years. He deserves better. You've only kept him company, a friend for him to talk to, someone to laugh with, someone he would care for and in turn you'd care for him too. Until he disappeared for almost a year, you didn't try to find him then, you only hoped that he's alright, that he's still alive and keeping that smile on him. Then he comes back with less bruises on his skin, no blood splattered on his shirt. And his eyes shine with something anew. Hope. He tells you of a friend, someone who helped him just like you have. Jason seemed happy despite the cracked knuckles, and the ache in his muscles, he found his purpose. And you were happy for him, told him that he's always welcome in your forest if he ever got tired of his bat companion.

Jason was younger back then, toughened to survive the harsh realities of humankind. He still is. While you've survived a millennia from their brutality with a stiff lip, he fought back, ever a fighter, a defender. So here you are, running to fight for him, to defend him when no one came to save him.

You leave the thicket, skin warm, heat radiating off of your primordial skin. The vines snaking around your forearm tightens, a tell of your worries for the blue eyed boy.

The fire devours the stone building, its heat blasting at your face as you try to pass its flaming curtains. With a wave of your hand, you weave a wall of vines, its protruding thorns sharper than teeth. It shields your form from the flames that threaten to bite and nick at your skin. Entering the destruction, your eyes rapidly scan the place, hoping, wishing that you're not too late. You know he's here, but you barely feel his soul anymore. His warmth is tamped down by the embers kissing your flesh.

As you get further and further inside, the more danger you've put yourself in. You might be immortal, but you're not immune to the very thing that could single handedly destroy your home. The vines shield your form, but not enough as embers flicker too close to you. You're not afraid of dying, you've lived a thousand lifetimes, enough for someone to wish for an end. But as death knocks, not on your door but on Jason's limp body— you fear death.

“Jason!” Bolting towards him, you immediately kneel before him, hands patting away the flames eating away at him. Darkened smoke billows out from everywhere you see, and as you cup his cheek, he coughs weekly, eyes cracking open at the familiar sight of you. “Jason. I'm here, I'll get you out.” Before you could carry him, he grabs your wrist weakly.

“M–My mom.” He wheezes, soot covering his face. “Get h–her out first.”

You now notice another form in the building, and you realize why you haven't felt her presence until he told you.

“Jay, I'm sorry, she's gone.” You squeeze him once as tears flow down his cheeks, leaving a clean trail down his face. “I'll come get her out, but you come first.”

“B–But.” He coughs again, dry heaving on the concrete floor, eyes darting over to the limp body just a few feet away from him.

“I'll go back for her, I promise.” Despite his protest, you place your arm under his legs and back, carrying him as if he weighed nothing.

His face is marred by a beating, but under it, under all the caked blood and swollen eyes, he's still the same Jason you know. He's older now since you last saw him, but he's still a fighter.

He clings to you tiredly, fists holding onto a vine weaved across your chest. His breathing slows, eyes darting over to the simple chain of beads around your neck.

“You k–kept it.” It's getting harder for him to talk. You don't waste time sprinting away from the scene.

“Of course I did.” Wind and fire rushes at you, cheeks feeling like it's being boiled, and feet slowly burning away by the heated stone. “You made it.”

“You said—” he coughs, face tucked away on your bicep. “You said it was crudely made.”

“I lied, Jay.” Your eyes stings from the smoke, but you blink it away as you're close to the exit. “Stay awake for me.” Your voice doesn't tremble, but fear ebbs out of you in waves.

Jason manages to smile, patting the necklace weekly. “Liar.” He says, head lolling over your arm.

“Jason!” You wrap him closer, shielding him from a falling beam that's now blocking your path. “No!” Desperation ropes you in place, head craning down to look at his lifeless eyes.

“No.” You refuse for it to end this way.

With a burst of energy, you raise a fist, calling forth a tree to sprout from underneath the cracked concrete. Its trunk gives you enough leverage to make a new path above the flames, giving you a bridge. As you walk over its wooden body, you can hear it scream in agony.

You apologize as it gets snuffed out by the flames in time for you to push yourself and Jason out of the fiery abyss.

You don't waste time in returning to the thicket with Jason in tow, hoping that you have enough time to revive him. But as your knees give out from under you, plummeting down on the forest floor but away from the fanning flames. You realize that you can't keep your promise to him.

Cradling his head, you feel how cold he is under your touch. But there's still a spark in him, enough for you to do everything you can to yank him away from death's cold embrace.

Placing your head atop his own, you murmur words laced with an incantation— one you're forbidden to say. It could mean your destruction, but it could also give him life.

As you feel the air swirling around you, your power seeps out of you like sunrays. Light fights its way from underneath your ancient flesh, cracking you open, burning away the vines encompassing around you, and bathing Jason in its ethereal light.

It hurts more than flames, as if your form is being ripped away from your very being. With a muffled scream, your vision darkens as you fall forward and atop his chest.

Raindrops slowly drip from the above, raining down on both of your forms.

—

Jason wakes up to find you breathing above him, cheek pressed atop the burnt material of his suit. Your eyes are closed, fingers gripping at his arm like he's about to run away from you whilst you slept. His eyes are met with dappled sunlight, and his ears pick up a birdsong as the breeze kisses his cheek.

He blinks the heaviness behind his eyes away. There's no pain throbbing on his face and body, lungs breathing fine, even better than before. It's as if nothing ever happened to him. But when he feels your beating heart from above him, he knows something is amiss.

“Hey,” Jason sits up, hand cradling the back of your head as he tries to wake you up. “C’mon, wake up.”

You crack one eye open, nose scrunching up from the rude awakening. “Jay?”

He beams at you, chuckling at the drool running down your chin. “I've never seen you sleep.” His hands are warm and nice against your skin, so you indulge yourself by leaning against him. It seems that the simple act made him grin further. “Your heart's beating really fast, Grinch.”

You roll your eyes, wiping away at your chin. “You've never seen me sleep because fae people don't sleep.” Moving away and sitting up on your own, you narrow your eyes at his smiling face. “I told you not to call me that sour name.” Despite your words, you smile at him, happy that your incantation worked and he's alive. But there's a gnawing feeling at your chest, a worry that he's a figment of your grief stricken mind.

“Are you real?” You ask, voice small.

Jason takes your hand and places it atop his beating heart. “I'm real,” he notices that your arms are free of any vines binding you. He then takes the same hand and places it on your chest. “And you are too.”

Your eyes widen at the unfamiliar heavy feeling. “I'm—!”

Lunging at you, Jason embraces you on the forest floor as the early morning sun beams down on you. “Mortal.” You hug back, face hiding on the crook of his neck. He mirrors you, smiling against you. “And alive.”

“We both are.”

Support banner by @/cafekitsune

[simplyhughes]

hey hey!!! I hope you're well! I was just wondering if we could get a one shot or even a story if possible about trevor zegras and his girlfriend that has an attitude? I don't know why, but I get that vibe from him that he likes a girl with a bit of attitude 🤭🤭 thank you and have a great day!! ❤❤

Attitude Problem! // Trevor Zegras x Reader !

Quick little write! I hope I answered this prompt correctly! I hope you like it anon~~ <3

WC: 453

Warnings: Suggestive, Swears

The bathroom you share with your boyfriend, Trevor, has been concluded a crime scene. Makeup sprawled across the counter, hair jel splattered and countless cords and hot tools took up the space. You drag your hair wand through your hair, holding it and releasing it to lock the shape. Your eyes trail from your hair to Trevor, who is getting ready next to you. 

“I really dont like your hair like that…” you said with your voice flat. 

“Like what?” Trevor retorts with a little pep behind his words. 

“Like you are about to throw on a pair of skinny jeans and look like a total west coast hipster dork.” You snap back narrowing your eyes. Trevor's jaw falls agape. You continue on curling your hair. “So, are you just gonna stand there? Fix it, idiot.” His mouth curls into a smirk. He drags his hand through his locks, tossing and shuffling it. 

“Babe…” he began, “Any better?”

“Mmm…” You drag out. “Now you just look like a bum.” You state, contorting your face in a disgusted manner.

“Seriously?!”

“Oh just come here dickhead.” You make a hand motion signaling for him to come closer to you. Your hands find themselves on his broad shoulders, applying pressure trying to get him down on your level. He crouches downs meeting you face to face.

 “You are adorable.” Trevor coos while pinching your cheek.  

“You are an annoying prick” You respond, trying to hold back a smile and failing miserably. After you collect yourself, you begin to lather Trevor's hair with product, styling it to your heart's desire. “Jeez, I am way too talented. This is way better.” You say as you release your hands from his hair.

“Baby, I love it when you have your hands in my hair” Trevor says deviously with a major smirk painted across his face. You tilt your head up to look Trevor in the eye. Your face is in a state of deadpan, mouth straight, eyes narrow. Just as you were about to cuss him out Trevor grabs your chin. “Shhh, come on baby you have had your fun.” He whispers just before he locks his lips with yours. His arms loop around your torso and toss you over his shoulder. You flair your limbs shouting out him. “I love your attitude, but its time i set it straight.” Your face heats up and flushes a shade of pink. Suddenly your back hits your bed with trevor on top of you. Trevor leans down towards you, eyes not leaving yours. He nuzzles into the crook of your neck, placing a kiss while hes there.

 “TREVOR YOUR HAIR. IM GONNA KILL YOU ASSHOLE!” You exclaim. 

“Shit…” Trevor mutters.

[florrysgf]

NOT PART OF THE PLAN! stu macher x fem!reader

SUMMARY: in which you discover your boyfriend, stu is hiding a dark secret, which leads to you crumbling his and billy’s plan

WARNINGS: swearing, mentions of drugging, manipulation, blood, murder, mentions of death, gunshots, stabbing, mentions of vomit

WORD COUNT: 1.9k +

You muttered a low “Fuck,” under your breath as you forced open your eyes. Your eyelids were heavy. You struggled as you lifted your head up from the pillow, it felt as though it weighed a ton. It took a couple of seconds for your eyes to adjust to the bright light, and for you to realise where you were. The digital clock on the bedside table was the first thing to catch your eye. Shit, how much did you drink? It was past 1AM, and Stu was nowhere to be seen.

You internally scratched your brain for any recollection of the previous night. You remember drinking, a lot, which you presumed caused you to pass out in Stu’s bedroom. But what confused you the most was the fact that Stu wasn’t lying beside you. There was no way the party was still going on. There was a curfew in place, and you distinctly remember having to drag a girl out of the house by her hair because she was so drunk.

You forced yourself up out of the bed and trailed down the hall to Mr and Mrs Macher’s bedroom, where you hoped to find your boyfriend. Instead, when you opened the door, you were met with a rather stomach-churning sight. You let out a gasp, a peculiar feeling growing in the pit of your stomach. Blood. Everywhere. Up the walls, on the floor, splattered across the bed.

“Oh my god. No, no, no.” You repeated to yourself, immediately rushing to sprint down the staircase. If you ran any faster, you’d go flying.

Just as reached the bottom of the staircase, the scene infront of you stopped you in your tracks. Randy was lying unresponsive on the floor of the foyer, blood seeping out from his chest whilst a hysterical Sidney stood over him. By the door, you locked eyes with Billy, but this was not the same Billy you once knew. He stood smirking, scratching the side of his head with the barrel of Dewey’s gun. His white cotton shirt was soaked in blood, and the barbarous look in his eyes was haunting.

You felt sick to your stomach. Was it Billy all along? All this time, your best friend was the one you should’ve been scared of and you were blinded to it. “What the fuck is going on?” You croaked out.

“You know, Y/N. I always thought you were smarter than that.” Billy chuckled, referencing the gun in his hand, “C’mon. Put two and two together.”

You were trying to process too much at once, and it was beginning to get too much for you. The masked killer running around was right under your nose the entire time, and he just shot one of your best friends. Fuck! You trudged your way over to where Randy was lying. The carpet beneath him was quickly turning red with his blood, and his skin was growing more and more pale by the second.

“Is he dead?” Sidney asked between sobs.

You found his wrist, frantically searching for a pulse. You felt the tears prick in your eyes as you were unable to find one. Your emotions built up, a sudden wrath took hold of you, prompting you to pick up a vase that was placed on a table by the front door. You tipped the flowers out onto the floor and ran up behind Billy, smashing the ornament over his head. “You sick fucking bastard!” You cried.

The brunette boy screamed out, using his free hand to grasp hold of your ankle, dragging you down to the floor with him. You whined, trying to wriggle out of his grip, but it was no use.

Instead, you used your right leg to kick him the torso, causing the gun to fly from his hand. A small, yet determined smirk formed on your face as you extended your arm out the grab the weapon, at the hope of freeing yourself. You were so close. Just a few inches fur—

“Bitch.” The Loomis boy spat, stomping his foot on your wrist, stopping you from reaching the gun and causing you to yelp out in pain.

You were forced to put all of the pressure on your other arm as you forced yourself to stand up and attempt to tackle him again. You lunged forward at him, only for the loud ring of his shotgun to fill your ears. You audibly gasped as the bullet tore through your skin, deflecting off your right rib. It felt like your insides were burning out. As though it were a reflex, your hands cupped the bullet hole in your side, your vision blurring at the sight of blood pouring out.

Stu came running into the room at the sound of the gunshot. The beige sweater you once bought him was now red with blood, the cotton torn to shreds. You didn’t even notice the kitchen knife in his hand.

He watched your body collapse against the wall, his face dropping instantly as he turned to the brunette, who looked just as shocked as you did. “What the fuck, man?!” He spat.

Sidney rushed to your side, tearing off her denim jacket and holding it to your gunshot wound, trying her best to apply pressure to it and stop the bleeding. She’d already lost Randy and Tatum, she sure as hell wasn’t going to lose you too.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?!” Your boyfriend shrieked, staring aimlessly at Billy, who simply cocked his head to the side. “We had an agreement, man! You promised me she wouldn’t get hurt!”

The Loomis boy simply shrugged his shoulders. “She got too cocky.” He supposed, “I told you if she got in the way, I wouldn’t hesitate to kill her.”

“You promised, you dick.” Stu whined, dropping the knife to the floor and kneeling down beside you. His hand reached for yours, only for you to slap it away.

“Don’t touch me!” You snapped, causing him to tense up. More tears began to fall down your already stained cheeks. This couldn’t be happening. How could he do this to you? You grabbed the jacket from Sidney’s fingers, pressing it harder to your torso with a wince as you tried to stand up, using the wall to help you.

Once you were up, you stumbled into the kitchen with a stiff Stu traipsing behind you. Sidney tried to follow, but Billy was quick to grab hold of her, pulling her to his chest and holding the gun to her head.

“It was you. It was you all along. It was all you.” You muttered, mostly to yourself, pacing up and down the kitchen. Even saying it out loud, you couldn’t comprehend it. You turned around, gawking at him through glossy eyes, silently begging for an explanation.

Stu frowned, attempting to get closer to you again, but you took a step back, gripping the counter with your fingers. “Y/N, please. You don’t get it.”

“I don’t get it?” You scoffed, tightening your grip on the marble counter as the pain in your stomach started to become unbearable. You weren’t sure how much longer you’d be able to stand. “Then explain it to me, Stu! Explain to me why you killed all those people! Casey, Tatum, Himbry, Randy - why’d you do it?”

The tall, blonde boy was unable to look you in the eye. God, he felt so ashamed. This wasn’t supposed to be happening, this wasn’t the plan. “It was Billy.” He mumbled, causing the brunette on the other side of the room to roll his eyes. “It was all Billy’s idea, he made me do it. I swear it, Y/N, please. You have to believe me.”

Peer pressure? Was that his motive? Did he really expect you to believe that? You knew Stu was easily led, he always had been, but now it all made sense. The sick jokes, the slasher references. There had always been something about him and you were too stupid to notice it. Either that or he was too good at hiding it.

His fear grew bigger as you stayed silent. It made him feel uneasy, he didn’t know what you were thinking and that terrified him. He had to get you on his side. He had to make you believe him. “He promised to leave you out of it if I helped him. That’s why we put you upstairs, to protect you!”

“Oh my god…” you whimpered, tears falling from your eyes as the realisation washed over you like a wave. The beers. Holy shit, the beers. “You— you drugged me.” You whispered somewhat sternly.

Stu’s eyes, too glistened with tears. He shook his head, neither conforming nor denying your statement. “To protect you!” He repeated, defending himself, his voice dropping down to the usual soft tone you knew and loved.

“Is that supposed to make me feel better?” You gawked at him, eyes wide.

“You weren’t supposed to get hurt!” He whined, throwing his arms in the air, eyeing your gaping wound. “You weren’t supposed to get shot, that was not part of the plan. All I wanted was to keep you safe, that’s all I wanted! Fuck, if you had just stayed upstairs like you were suppo—”

You cut him off, almost laughing at what you’d just heard. “Are you saying this all my fault?!”

“Y/N, honey, I love you—”

“You’re psychotic.”

“It’s not my fault—”

“You’re a murderer!”

“I did it for you!”

You let out a groan, clutching your stomach with your arm. Your entire body ached, you were exhausted. “What do you expect me to do, Stu?” You sighed in defeat. “Drop everything and forgive you so we can run off into the sunset together? Act like none of this ever happened?”

Stu ran out of words. He couldn’t think of anything else to say to convince you to be on his side. He didn’t want to lose you, that was the last thing he wanted. You were all he had left. He could tell you were tired, tired of everything. You just wanted it all to stop. As harsh as it may sound, in that moment, you wished you never met him. The boy inched closer to you, holding his arms out. He just wanted to hug you, hold you in his arms and inhale your scent, without a care in the world.

You flinched as his fingertips brushed against your skin. You felt sick. In a panic, you reached out behind you, swiping a kitchen knife from the block on the counter, and holding it out infront of you.

Stu took a rapid step back, gawping at your shaking hand. “Baby, what are you doing?” He carefully asked.

“I said… don’t come… near me.” You whispered. Now Stu was scared. Not because of the knife in your hand, but because you were turning pale. You were sweating. Your entire body was trembling, relying completely on the counter behind you to stay upright.

“Y/N, baby, give me the knife.” The blonde pleaded, looking at you with begging eyes.

Suddenly your eyes felt incredibly heavy. You let out a gasp, your grip on the side loosening. The knife slipped out of your hand with a loud crash, and your body collapsed to the floor with it. “Shit! Shit!” The Macher boy cursed, kneeling down bedside you at an instant. He picked up your head, placing it on his lap. His stomach churned as you began to spit up blood.

Once he was preoccupied, searching frantically for something, anything, to stop the bleeding, using the little strength you had left, you reached for knife, grasping it and plunging it straight into his back. “Bastard.” You spluttered, dropping the knife to the floor, lying back down as your boyfriend face-planted the ground, the kitchen knife poking out of his back.

[revasserium]

could we get a protective zoro pretty please! maybe reader gets kidnapped again and zoro comes to find her but we get the actual fighting and zoro being protective? i’ll take anything you write <3

here are monsters

zoro; 1,737 words; fluff, opla!zoro, shockingly introspective zoro, straw hat!reader, fem!reader, vague gore (but not rly even), just zoro slicin' ppl, established relationship

summary: prequel to this fic right here

a/n: *makes vague uncertain hand gestures at opla!zoro*

he’s always known of the monster inside him — always. he’s always known of the hurricane that spins just beneath the cage of his ribs, the thunderstorm brewing beyond the horizon-line of his heartbeat.

when he sees you bloodied, bruises blooming at the edge of your mouth, something inside him snaps like a tideline, ripped apart by the rage of the ocean slamming against the back of his teeth. there’s a jagged bloodlust curdling in his throat as he narrows his eyes, pulls out his swords and swings.

the shing of metal through air shouldn’t sound like music, the dull thunk of bodies hitting the ground, no baseline beat — the bitten-off screams of men as their throats are cut should not sound like the familiar tune to a life-long melody but zoro can’t help the grin that spreads, savage, across his lips as he leans into the rhythm of the fight and lets his body sing.

it would not be remiss to call him monster, so he thinks as he digs the hilt of his swords into the side of an oncoming thug and hears the sharp crack of shattering ribs. he doesn’t wince at the warm splatter of blood as it paints his cheeks. a wide, manic smile pulls at his lips as he swings both swords around in a wide circle to slice through three oncoming bodies, before bringing them down in an arc to bisect another thug from torso to legs.

by the time he turns back around, most of the so-called pirates have already scattered, but one (the leader of the whole sorry lot) still stands, a blade pressed to the smooth expanse of your throat as he snarls, backing away from zoro, nose twitching like a frightened rabbit.

“d-don’t come any closer! or — or else i’ll slit her throat!”

zoro’s lip twitches, his eyes hardening as he stares at the shaking heap of leathers and furs, too much talk and not enough backbone. it’s people like this, zoro thinks, that give pirates a bad rep.

“i’d like to see you try,” zoro’s voice is iron-hard and steel-sharp, a dull throbbing cresting through his temples at the thought of any more harm coming to you even as he catches your eyes. they’re wide and dark and pleading.

don’t do anything stupid.

he almost scoffs. too late.

and then, almost by second nature, the thought comes to him — well, you started it.

the corner of his eye twitches as he sighs, making a show of relaxing his stance, of standing up straight to slip his swords back into their sheathes. he watches as the last thug visibly relaxes — licking his lips as his own grip on your neck loosens.

“t-there see? that wasn’t so hard, was it? n-now — now hand over all the gold you have and i might —”

thwack.

you feel the man’s grip on you slacken completely as you glance up to find the wadou ichimonji impaled through the thug’s head, right in between his eyes, the blade and hilt still vibrating from the force of the hit, nailing the man to the basement wall. you let out a sigh as you jerk yourself out from underneath the dead man’s arms, making a face as zoro reaches down to pull his sword out with a wet schluck.

“tch. just cleaned it yesterday.”

it makes a soft whoomph as he shakes off the worst of the blood dripping from it’s blade.

“sorry… i’ll — i’ll clean it after we get back —” you push yourself to your feet, dusting of your skirt, but a sharp pain in your side makes you stumble, and a second later, zoro’s arm hooks around your middle to keep you from falling.

the metallic tang of blood and the cold scent of steel arrests your senses. the world spins, the floor beneath you swaying like the deck of a ship even as darkness starts to eat at the edges of your vision. you hear zoro calling your name as if through a long, echoing tunnel and you frown, uncertain why he sounds so frantic all of a sudden.

“don’t… don’t forget… the apples…”

zoro stares, aghast as you go limp in his arms. there’s a wild thundering inside his chest as he looks around, his mind racing to catch up to what you’d just said — apples? what the —

he spots them, discarded in a corner by the entrance of the basement hideout — a rough burlap satchel sagging against the wall, filled with waxy red apples, round as the autumn moon and nearly just as big. he stares at them for a full minute before his eyes slowly slide back to you, still lying inert in his arms, though your breathing has evened out and your cheeks are flushed just the slightest shade of pink.

you’re in no immediate danger, he knows, but there’s an unpleasant darkness seeping into the material of your shirt along your ribs and the thing in his chest stutters, the strange pressure threatening to calcify into something very much like panic.

so he takes a deep breath, because master swordsmen don’t panic. those of a calm mind… or what the fuck ever.

he takes another breath and hoists you onto his shoulder, wrapping his arm around the backs of your thighs as he stands up and makes for the exit, reaching down to snag the bag of apples, grimacing as he hooks them onto his free shoulder. they’re heavier than he’d expected.

he’s halfway to the docks before you start to stir and he slows his pace ever so slightly, careful not to dig his shoulder into your still-open wound.

“have a good nap?”

you groan, and he almost grins as he feels you trying to wiggle out of his grasp. he doesn’t break his stride even as he adjusts you on his shoulder and keeps on walking.

“l-let me down — i can walk —”

“nope. don’t feel like it.”

“i’m sorry, okay?”

you sigh, the tension once again leaving your body and for a second zoro worries that you’d passed out again, but the next second, he feels your fists thumping lightly against his waist.

“hm. don’t remember asking you to apologize.”

but he does slow his step. he steps onto the bustling boardwalk, ignoring the strange, lingering looks of passersby as he hauls you bodily towards where the going merry is docked.

“doesn’t mean i shouldn’t.”

he pauses then, bending down slightly to let you slip from his shoulders, keeping his arm wrapped around you even as you slide down the length of his torso to land on your feet. your palms are pressed to his chest as you look up at him, and for a moment, as zoro searches the depths of your eyes, he isn’t sure if he wants to kiss you for being alright or scream at you for putting yourself in danger in the first place.

like this, he can feel all of you pressing against all of him, and the thing inside his chest still feels like something of a monster but at least it’s no longer tearing him apart from the inside out. it beats, uncoordinated, against his sternum, thumping up till he can feel it at the base of his throat.

he lets himself look at you, lets his eyes roam the planes of your face, lingering on the bruise kissing the corner of your mouth. he licks his lips and looks away.

“what the hell were you doing buying so many apples anyway?”

at this, you purse your lips, your lashes fluttering hummingbird quick as you look away.

“uhm… i — i can’t tell you.”

zoro rolls his eyes as he bends down, and in one swift motion, tosses you back over his shoulder. you yelp in surprise as he starts to make his way towards the ship again, seemingly deaf to your protests as you kick our your legs and thump your fists against his back.

“really, warn me, the next time you plan on getting kidnapped for ransom, would’ya?”

but he can’t help the slight smile that twitches at the edge of his lips even as he carries you onto the merry’s deck, kicking open the kitchen door to set you on the long wooden prep table.

because you’re still here, warm and breathing beside him, a bit banged up and bloodied, sure, but alive nonetheless. he’d gotten to you in time.

the creature inside his chest purrs in contentment even as he schools his expression back into a suitable scowl as you pout at him from the kitchen table, saying something about not planning on getting kidnapped, and he quips back something about all this being a bad idea from get.

he allows himself a secret, relieved sigh as he starts to rummage around for the first aid kit he knows is there somewhere, glancing over his shoulder at the sound of your summer sun laughter, watching as you wince and clutch at your wounded side.

how’s he to tell you that with you, the monster inside him starts to feel like much less monster and much more man? and that the day he met you, he stopped thinking of himself as a natural disaster -- only that he might be naturally a disaster sometimes, but something else in all the moments in between.

so he settles for dressing your wounds instead, pressing his palm to the soft expanse of your skin, holding still the shivers that threaten to shake him to his very bones when his fingertips graze against the ridges of your ribs, his other hand resting on the soft plush of your hip.

he settles for kissing you quiet when you start to ramble, because he can’t let himself think of the other things he might want to do to you if you’d let him. he settles, as the monster in him settles as well.

because with you, he knows he is both monster and man, and he knows — judging by the way you smile at him as he pulls back from your kiss — that you wouldn’t have him any other way.

opla!zoro reqs open!

[huntingingoodwill]

personal shopping (d.b.)

masterlist

pairing: dieter bravo x personal shopper! reader

desc: your newest client, dieter bravo, braves the outside world to flirt with you at the farmer’s market. though it defeats the point of hiring a personal shopper, you’ll let him, ‘cuz he’s cute. you’ll play hard to get though. (and mention that javi gutierrez is your favourite celeb client, just to make him jealous)

“He said he needs someone to ‘deal with groceries and shit’ so he can ‘meditate on his art’, which is probably a euphemism for doing coke and wearing the same sweatpants for a week. Don’t tell him I said that.” Lia sighed.

She had introduced herself as Dieter’s personal assistant’s assistant, which you thought was slight overkill, but you weren’t in any position to judge. You had now joined her in Dieter’s league of many ‘personals’. He had a personal assistant, a personal chef, a personal trainer, and now you were his personal shopper.

She led you through his mansion in the hills, thrusting you into the nucleus of his ‘meditation’: a cavernous living room cluttered with empty liquor bottles and designer furniture covered in paint splatter.

“Lee-uhhhhhhh.” Dieter lay face down on the plush carpet, which you thought was quite an unconventional meditation position. “What time is it?”

You watched as he nuzzled his head into the crook of his elbow, trying to block out the rays of sun that shot through the windows. His soft, unruly curls caught the light, glowing warm in the sun as the nape of his neck prickled with sweat.

“10:30, Mr. Bravo.” Lia said, her voice artificially chipper.

“In the morning?” He grumbled, rolling onto his back.

You caught sight of his face, the skin dipping between his brow as he furrowed it, rubbing a hand across the stubble peppered across his jaw. Despite looking an absolute mess, he still looked cuter than he did in his shitty movies. You admired the curve of his nose and his disgruntled, sleepy profile as he kept his eyes closed against the sun. The tan skin of his bare torso was visible beneath an oversized teddy jacket, paired with sweatpants slung low on his hips.

“Was it really necessary to wake me up at this ungodly hour?“ He blinked sleep from his eyes, the irises dark and honeyed as they glimmered in the light.

He caught sight of you, a sudden glint sparking alight in his eyes. His mouth, set with displeasure only a moment ago, began to break out in a smile. He looked up at you, dishevelled and adoring. “Oh. Hello.”

“Hello, Mr. Bravo.” You smirked, watching him scramble to his feet amongst the clutter of crushed paint tubes. You held out your hand.

“Call me Dieter. All my friends call me Dieter.” He intercepted your hand, fingers lingering appreciatively. “We’re gonna be friends, aren’t we?”

You tried to stifle a laugh. As soon as he looked at you you knew he’d be a relentless flirt. It was cute, in a pathetic way.

“I think I’m gonna be your employee, Mr. Bravo.” You corrected, ever the professional. He was cute, but there was no harm in making him work for it a little. “I was just about to head to the market, so I wanted to ask if you have a budget, or any dietary restrictions-”

“Let Mr. Bravo get back to his painting, I can fill you in on the details-” Lia began.

“I can explain everything.” Dieter interrupted. “I’ll even come along.” He said, shoving off his jacket. You felt heat creep up your cheeks as you eyed the broad expanse of his back, the muscle beneath the skin pulling taut as he searched for a clean shirt, pulling it over his head.

“Doesn’t that defeat the purpose of hiring a personal shopper?”

“We’ll call it a trial run. Just so you know what I like. Or we could call it something else. ‘First date’ has a nice ring to it.” He grinned, slinging an arm around your shoulder, a sensation that felt nicer than you cared to admit.

“You come on strong, don’t you?” You mumbled through a derisive smile, feeling his ego expand as you allowed him to keep his arm around you.

“Always.”

“Don’t you have some artistic meditation to do? Lia said you weren’t interested in ‘groceries and shit’.” You said, sidling through the stalls of the farmer’s market.

The cramped little lanes were filled with people, recognition flashing in their eyes as they caught sight of Dieter, who trailed after you.

“This is artistic meditation. I’m watching my new muse at work.” He said matter-of-factly, swinging your basket, which he had offered to carry for you, in his hand. His rings stood out starkly, flashing against the wicker handle.

You rolled your eyes, biting back a grin.

“Lia gave me a list of ingredients your personal chef needs, but do you have any other requests? Any ingredients for when your chef has an off day?”

“I don’t cook. When he has an off day, I just deliver.” Dieter adjusted his sunglasses, which you were starting to believe were less of a means to disguise himself from the prying eyes of the public and more because his hangover couldn’t bear the light. “Just buy me whatever, as long as it’s organic, cage free, GMO free, chemical free…” He said, taking a sip of water from his bottle.

You internally groaned. Though you were used to these buzzwords being haphazardly thrown about by your other clients without really knowing what they meant, you were hoping he’d be exempt.

“Water is a chemical compound.” You muttered, stopping in front of a produce stall, fruits and vegetables enticingly overflowing from the crates before you.

You could see his eyes widening behind the dark lenses of his shades from the corner of your eye as he spat the water back into its bottle.

“Water is a chemical?!” He spluttered.

You arched an eyebrow. “And I saw five KitKat wrappers on your carpet this morning.”

“We all make mistakes.” He chuckled, wicking away water from his mouth as he watched you reach for a lemon, its peel a vibrant yellow. “But that’s unimportant. Will you go out with me?”

A smile broke out across your face, unable to hide your amusement at his direct nature. You handed him the lemon, admiring the black ink of his tattoos etched across his skin as he extended his arm to place it in the basket.

“I don’t date men who can’t cook.”

“You’ll have to teach me then. It can be our second date.” He ran his hand through his hair, teeth flashing in a smile. His hair, already tousled, seemed to become even more unruly, and you resisted the urge to run your hand through it to help him fix it.

“Not part of my job description. I just help my clients buy what they need. Groceries, furniture, clothes… but I doubt you’re very interested in the last one.” You smirked, pointedly looking at his feet, clad in crocs and socks.

He looked down at the fashion offence he was adorned with, shrugging. “Fashion is a social construct. I’d wear a different pair of shoes if you’d go out with me, though.”

“I don’t go out with my clients.” You said, voice bubbling with laughter.

“But if you had to go out with any of your clients, it’d be me, right?”

“It’d probably be…” You wracked your mind, going through your list of clients to find a suitable candidate. “Javi Gutierrez.”

“That hack?”

“I don’t think he’s a hack!” You laughed, defensive. “He’s a good actor.”

“I’m a good actor.” He exclaimed, only to be met with your raised eyebrows and a shrug as you turned toward the next stall.

“Your silence speaks volumes.” He mumbled, faking a hurt tone as he followed close behind you.

“If you like him so much, some people say I look like Javi. We could always play pretend.” He smirked.

You put down the jar of honey you were examining, scanning Dieter up and down, as if trying to look for a resemblance.

“Hmm… don’t see it.” You sighed nonchalantly, refocusing your attention on the neatly stacked rows of jars before you.

“Since you think so highly of Javi, what do you think of me?” Dieter said, a crush of people moving through the lane forcing him close to you. You tried to keep your cool as you held his intense gaze, the cologne he spritzed on before he left the house deep and musky, the vivid scent clouding your senses. You swallowed thickly.

“I think you’re pretentious and hedonistic.”

“I have no idea what you mean.” He smiled, feigning innocence.

“Are you in denial, or do you just have a small vocabulary?”

“Can’t it be both?” He laughed. He looked around, making sure no one was watching, before dipping toward you, his lips barely ghosting the curve of your ear, his husky voice ringing in your head. “If you think using your big words to insult me will scare me off, you’re wrong. It just makes me more attracted to you.”

“Good.” You said, praying he wouldn’t feel the heat radiating off you, a blush blooming across your jaw. You ignored the playful smile on his face, keeping your hands busy as you aimlessly picked through produce. You bought a ripe apple, wiping it clean on your shirt.

Dieter’s eyes lingered on your lips as you took a bite, the crisp skin breaking beneath your teeth.

“So, you’ll go out with me?” He asked.

He held out his hand, and before you even registered what was happening, you had given him the apple, the red, glossy skin gleaming against his rough palm. He took a bite, the fruit’s flesh crunching as juice dribbled down his forearm, tracing the veins beneath his skin.

“Not happening.”

[dumplingsfordays]

patching you up

blade x injured!gn!reader

genre - fluff

summary - blade patches you up after you got injured while fighting mara.

cw!: mentions of blood + injury, soft-ish!blade, ooc blade?, mention of blade's past life which idfk how it works lmao I should be paying attention to the storyline asjdnb, swearing, mutual pining

note - god damn. soft!blade is living in my head rent-free fr, can't get enough of him <33 I'm not usually an edgy-emo-boy fan but ig blade's just built different 💪💪

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

With each painful cough, more and more thin splatters of blood painted your mouth crimson.

It hurt. A lot. You didn't expect it to hurt nearly as bad as it did when you charged in to fight the Mara that was attacking some people that were making their way through Cloudford, but the spear that their captain had used to stab through your side was probably coated in some sort of poison, because with every sluggish step you took, you felt your body break little by little. Eventually, you collapsed onto the cold ground - your torso was numb and soon your arms and legs would be as well.

Well, at least you were going to die somewhere pretty. The sunset glimmered through the leaves of thin trees growing from large pots, which were scattered across the various bridges of the district. Starskiffs drifted lazily across the sky like regal ships on the high seas and the last thing you heard before you closed your eyes for a while was the sound of crickets and footsteps fading in.

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

"Finally fucking awake."

A harsh voice came from your side as you opened your extremely tired eyes, which were met with dim but warm lighting and a dark wooden ceiling.

"Can't believe you got into this mess," the voice continued as you felt something tightening around your waist. "Didn't think that you'd be so stupid."

His face flashed in your hazy mind and you tried to sit up. "...Blade, I-"

"Don't move. You'll make it worse."

Hands. Ice-cold, gruff, but gentle hands pushed you back into your previous position by your shoulders, and you felt the tightening feeling again shortly after.

"What are you doing?" you whispered, then coughed again. Your throat was so dry - it felt like you haven't drank in decades, and with each cough you swore that your lungs were going to fly out of your mouth at the sheer force.

"Fixing you, obviously."

You raised your neck to try and catch a glimpse of your wounds but saw only the top of Blade's head, his raven hair tied back in a low ponytail. He was bent over your side, and just as you lowered your head back to the pillow a sharp bolt of pain shot through you, making you hiss and wince.

"That hurt!"

"It'll pass," he replied almost too casually. "Deal with it."

An uncomfortable pause ensued, during which you finally figured out that he was bandaging your torso up. You'd never expected anyone to find you back there, much less a Stellaron Hunter that you'd only interacted with five or six times, but thank the Aeons that at least someone did. But you did think it was strange that he was doing this for you, because from all your two-or-three-word conversations, you were sure that he wasn't the type to help an almost complete stranger. In fact, you'd think that he would be the one to cause these injuries in the first place.

While you were staring up at the ceiling in deep thought, Blade was lowkey kind-of admiring your skin. You weren't going to look down at him again anyway, it seems that you'd learned your lesson, but that just allowed him to eye your softness in more detail. This was his chance - he'd been admiring you from afar ever since you first met, and he wasn't about to let this opportunity to see what you looked like close-up pass.

Before he knew what he was doing, Blade's fingers reached out to lightly press onto skin that was near your wound, at which you hissed and leaned away from his touch.

"You sure that you're actually healing me?" you asked.

"Yes. I know what I'm doing, trust me."

He continued to press curiously but gently, making sure not to hurt you on purpose. Your skin was fascinating to him - it was soft, warm, while his was unforgivingly cold; yours had a fascinating shade of life about it and his didn't. This contrast was what made his eyes widen a little everytime he made physical contact with you, and he found small differences like these to amount to vast ones overall. Maybe this is what always made him think that you came from a different world entirely.

Blade then noticed that your hand was trembling by your side - the painkillers must be wearing off. He stood up from the chair beside the bed on which you were resting and reached for a couple pills and a glass of water on a nearby counter, moving them to the bedside table. His hands felt your back as he sat you up to administer the medicine.

You now saw where you were - from what you could tell, it was a small house or apartment somewhere. Dark wood covered the walls, ceiling, and floor, and tapestries and thriving plants littered the environment. You didn't know that he had a green thumb, but now that you did, you felt safer somehow - what if this cold, distant man was more human than you'd originally thought him to be?

His lithe, cold fingers brought you back to reality as they rested under your jaw, pulling it open gently, and your eyes focused on his admittedly quite handsome face again. Crimson eyes, the color of a blood moon, stared intensely at yours in avid concentration before travelling back to his other hand, which was now lifting a glass of sparkling golden liquid to your lips. There was a certain reverence of sorts glimmering in his expression, and this was accompanied by the fact that he was treating you like he would a glass flower. Your lips finally met the rim of the glass and when you finally tasted the elixir, you sighed.

It was cool and sweet, a refreshing sensation that battled the humidity of the room and the pain in your side. You drank the entire glass with ease and after Blade set it down on the bedside table, he wiped away some stray droplets of the shining liquid with a rough thumb.

That was it - Blade had become an entirely person just now. You could see it in his eyes and feel it as he breathed: this was not the same person who happened to be walking by a person on their deathbed and had enough pity in their secluded heart to heal them. He treated you like an old friend or a partner, perhaps, by taking you in.

"You'll experience drowsiness soon," he mentioned, "don't feel like you can't sleep. I won't leave you."

You laughed lazily in return, already feeling the effects of the painkillers. "So you can murder me in my sleep?"

"...I can leave-"

"No, no, I'm just kidding."

You sigh and relax into the pillows beneath you as Blade lowers you onto your back again. His gaze lingers on yours for maybe a second too long but he pulls away, preferring to sit down in a chair by the bedside and stare out at the scenery surrounding the house.

Once your eyes close and your breaths become quiet, he gives it a couple seconds to make sure you're asleep before softly starting to hum. It's an old tune from his past life, one which he used to smith to, and as midnight moonlight begins to stream in through the window, it veils your calm face in a hazy, shimmery glow that rivals even the smoothest of satins. He reaches a hand towards the apple of your cheek, cradling it in his palm as he sighs, a faint smile dancing on his lips.

"You're gonna kill me someday."

[dirtyvulture]

Natasha Romanoff x Male!Witcher!Reader

18+ only, read at your own risk

Requested by Yuni on Ao3: (Translated from French on Google translate, original request below) Hi, I really like your work and was wondering if you can do a The Witcher style male Natasha x Reader covered in scars (one of which is across his face) and tattoos, a mass of muscles and the rest as a result 😳 😅, who returns from the fight and finds Natasha. To this follows a well-deserved part of legs in the air 😆😜. Thank you if you accept, good continuation. (My apologies for so many details)

AN: I've never watched The Witcher, so thanks to @mostlymarvelsstuff for educating me lol.

Original request: Bonjour, j'aime beaucoup votre travail et je me demandais si vous pouvez faire un Natasha x Reader masculin du style The Witcher couvert de cicatrices (dont une lui barre le visage) et de tatouages, une masse de muscles et le reste en conséquences 😳😅, qui revient du combat et retrouve Natasha. À cela suit une partie de jambes en l'air bien méritée 😆😜. Merci si vous acceptez, bonne continuation. (Mes excuses pour tant de détails)

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You shove your shoulder into your door one final time that almost knocks it off its hinges as you stumble into your room. You throw your sword onto the carpet and have the urge to fall with it until you see Natasha Romanoff waiting on your bed for you.

"Nat?" you ask, fighting against the exhaustion seeping into your bones. "What are you doing here?"

"Here to congratulate you after another successful battle," she says. "I already got your bath ready for you--"

"You didn't have to." While part of you is grateful for her help, you also like to maintain your independency and don't like to be waited on very much.

"Come on," she beckons, standing up and offering her hand. You have no energy left to argue and follow her into the bathroom, where true to her word, the enormous wooden basin is filled with steaming water.

You turn around to let Natasha help you remove off your several layers of armor and clothing. Some of it is splattered with your opponents blood, some of it yours, although you had hardly been injured in the fight. Natasha's hand lingers on your chest, tracing the shell of the wolf medallion hanging around your neck. Her hand travels down your ribs, where you have a thin slash from a sword.

"Let me get you a bandage for that," she says, darting off while you stand there naked, taking a moment to admire your reflection in the mirror. The years of hunts had taken a visible toll on your body, with scars littering your torso and limbs. There is a ragged chunk of missing flesh on your left thigh and claw marks raking across your chest to your stomach. Your most prominent scar could not be easily hid with clothing because it was on your face, crossing your left eye from your forehead to your cheek. But despite the damage from an innumerable amount of fights, you were of good health and strongly built, with sculpted muscles that put most men to shame.

Natasha returns with a bandage and some ointment, but requests that you wash off the blood and dirt in the tub first. You are happy to oblige, slipping into the warm water and closing your eyes in bliss as the heat loosens your muscles.

Natasha conjures up a rag and a bar of soap, wetting both and rubbing them together until a white lather appears. You sit back and let her wash your face, arms, and chest, taking the washcloth from her to finish what's left under the water. She eyes you hungrily as you wash yourself, almost like she's jealous she doesn't get to do it herself.

"You'll get your turn," you promise as you drain the tub of the dirty water. Natasha fills a bucket to present you with clean water to rinse off with, and when you're done you stand up, dripping water onto the ground and Natasha not-so-subtly clenches her legs together.

You go back to the bedroom, allowing her to clean and bandage the cut on your side, and even after that she's still looking at you like she wants to devour you.

"Nat," you say, finally ready to give in to her.

"Hold on. Drink this." Out of nowhere, she conjures up a flask carrying a bright-red liquid and holds it out to you.

"Will this heal me?" you ask, hesitant from the potion's flashy color.

"Yes," Natasha says with a grin, "And it'll help you last longer."

It takes a moment for you to understand what she's referring to, but you eagerly down the potion, cringing at the harsh taste. It doesn't make you feel any different at first, but then a hot warmth spreads to your groin and you realize it's because Natasha's taken your cock in her hands and starts stroking you slowly.

You crawl back on the bed, spreading your legs to allow her to join you. She takes off her own multiple layers of clothing, climbing on top of you and rubbing her bare chest against yours. Her nipples are already hard and you grope her breasts roughly. She arches into you and moans, and you hike your hips up to rub your cock along her smooth thighs.

"Fuck, Y/N," she murmurs, her hands roaming your body as much as yours are on hers. Natasha loves the way your muscles shift and flex under her touch. She can practically feel the individual muscle fibers in your chest straining and popping and your thighs are rock-solid underneath hers.

Her nails dig into the curve of your biceps, trying to keep you pinned down, but of course her strength is no match for yours. You wrap your arms around her waist, flipping her over in one motion and kissing her fiercely. You feel her hands grab at your medallion, then going down your sides and gripping onto your muscular butt to guide your hips.

"Inside," she begs. "I need you."

"Not yet," you tease, rolling your hips slowly so the tip of your cock teases her entrance. But you don't think she's wet enough for you, and with your size, you don't want to hurt her by pushing in too early. Besides, it's fun to tease her.

"Please, please," she begs, widening her legs until you can see her glistening center.

You push two fingers into her and curl them against her front wall; she moans loudly and drops her head back into the pillows. Your cock hardens even more at the thought of her walls clenching around you like that. You roll your thumb over her clit a few times, pumping your fingers in and out, until her thighs are trembling and she's panting and gasping for your cock.

"Now you're ready," you announce, taking her thighs in your large hands and pressing them into the bed, holding them wide apart. You position yourself at your entrance and slide right in, moaning at the heat that clenches at you.

"Oh fuck, Nat," you grunt, overwhelmed by the urge to cum immediately, but you feel something in your stomach tighten, preventing you from release. Knowing this is the work of her potion but not sure how long it will last, you start thrusting in long, hard strokes, filling Natasha and pulling out until you see your tip wet with her juices.

"Yes, yes, just like that," Natasha moans, squirming on the bed as you hold her down and jack your hips into hers.

"You feel like perfection," you say, savoring the feeling of her silky walls dragging up and down your throbbing cock. You know when you finally get to cum, you're going to fill her to the brim.

"So do you," she says, trying to sit up and grab onto your broad shoulders to steady yourself with as the bedframe starts to shudder violently from your motions.

"When can I cum?" you ask, as if she holds that much control over you.

"After I do," she replies with a sly grin.

"Okay." You start to thrust even harder, your abs starting to burn from the effort. "Tell me when," you add, noticing her tensing up beneath you. You feel like you're ready to topple over the edge, but no matter how deeply you thrust into Natasha, you just can't reach the peak.

"I'm gonna cum!" Natasha squeaks, her nails digging into your muscles.

You don't stop thrusting even as she's gushing around you, the slickness aiding your strokes, and finally when her body stops convulsing, your cock pumps cum straight into her womb. The orgasm is so intense and sudden you think you pass out for a moment, finding yourself lying on top of Natasha in a sticky heap.

"Oh no, I am so sorry, Natasha--" you say, trying to push away from her but she locks her legs around your hips so you can't pull out.

"Stay," she says, enjoying the warmth of your body on top of her and the fullness of your cock inside her.

"As you wish," you say, in no mood to argue with her now and shifting to get comfortable.

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AN: This was fun to write! Thanks for the request!

Please like, reblog, and comment! Follow for more content. 🥰

[brodygold]

Throwing a Change

Paul Jenkins pulled his coat tighter around his frail frame as he trudged through the park, the snow swirling around him in a flurry of icy flakes. Each step was a struggle, the cold seeping into his bones and making them ache more than usual. At 78 years old, he hated the winter more than ever. It wasn’t just the cold—it was the memories.

Christmas had once been his favorite time of year. He and Margaret had spent hours decorating their quaint little house, stringing up lights, and baking enough cookies together to feed their whole neighborhood. But all that joy had vanished the moment she passed away, just days before Christmas several years ago. Now, every snowflake felt like a reminder of what he had lost.

“Blasted snow,” Paul muttered, his breath puffing out in the cold air. He shuffled along the path, avoiding icy patches as best he could. The park was nearly deserted, save for the faint sound of laughter somewhere ahead. He ignored it, focused only on getting home to his quiet, empty apartment.

Just as he passed a cluster of bare trees, something cold and wet smacked him square in the shoulder. Paul stopped in his tracks, his body jolting from the sudden impact.

“What in the—?” he exclaimed, looking down at his shoulder. A splatter of snow clung to his coat.

From behind one of the trees emerged a group of young men, their golden jackets gleaming even in the dull gray light. They were tall, muscular, and full of energy, their laughter ringing out as they packed more snowballs.

“Hey, old man! Heads up!” one of them shouted, his voice playful but teasing.

Before Paul could respond, another snowball flew through the air, striking him in the chest.

“Stop that!” Paul barked, his voice trembling with indignation. But then he froze, an odd warmth spreading from where the snowball had hit. It wasn’t just warmth—it was something deeper, something...transformative.

He looked down at his hands, the same hands that had grown knobby and weak with age. Only now, they didn’t look so old. The skin was smoothing out, the liver spots fading away. His fingers straightened, becoming stronger and more agile.

“What’s happening?” he whispered, but there was no time to dwell. Another snowball struck him, this time on the arm.

Paul staggered, clutching at his jacket as a strange sensation swept through his body. His shoulders, hunched and stiff for years, began to straighten. His chest expanded, the fabric of his coat tightening as new muscle filled out his frame. He unzipped it in a panic, revealing a torso that no longer looked frail but firm and athletic.

The young men laughed again, their playful jeers carrying through the snowy air.

“Nice posture, gramps!” one of them called out.

“I’m warning you!” Paul shouted, though his voice cracked in confusion. It wasn’t the raspy, aged voice he was used to—it sounded deeper, smoother, more vibrant.

Another snowball hit him, this time on his thigh. The transformation surged downward, sweeping through his legs. His knees, which had creaked and ached with every step, now felt perfectly fine. His legs grew thicker, stronger, the baggy fabric of his trousers reshaping into sleek, golden pants that clung to his muscular frame. He flexed his legs instinctively, marveling at the power he felt in them.

“Stop this!” Paul shouted again, but it was no use. A snowball smacked him directly in the face.

The impact made him stumble, and for a moment, he stood frozen, hands pressed to his cheeks. A warmth spread across his face, erasing the years with it. The deep lines of age vanished, his sagging skin firming up. His jawline became sharper, his cheeks fuller, and his nose straightened ever so slightly. His thinning white hair darkened, growing thicker and glossier until it was a rich chestnut brown.

He caught his reflection in a patch of ice and gasped. The man staring back at him was young, no older than twenty-five, with bright, wide eyes and a ruggedly handsome face. He touched his cheeks in disbelief, his hands tracing the smooth contours of his new features.

“Looking good, buddy!” one of the young men said with a wink, tossing another snowball his way.

It hit Paul in the chest again, and the final pieces of his transformation fell into place. His old clothes dissolved entirely, replaced by a shiny gold puffer jacket that fit him perfectly. The fabric gleamed in the snow, snug around his broad chest and strong arms. His boots shifted into sleek, athletic sneakers, their soles perfect for running across the snowy field.

Paul flexed his hands, now large and strong, and ran them over his chest and abs. They were firm and defined, like something out of a fitness magazine. He laughed—a deep, rich sound that he hardly recognized as his own.

Brody, the brown-haired leader of the group, stepped forward, tossing a snowball from hand to hand. “Well, look at you now,” he said with a grin. “You’re one of us, buddy. How about you join the game?”

Paul hesitated for a moment, his mind reeling. Just minutes ago, he had been an old man, bitter and alone. Now, he felt alive—truly alive—for the first time in years. He crouched down, scooping up a handful of snow and packing it into a ball.

“You’re on!” he shouted, launching the snowball at Brody.

It sailed through the air, narrowly missing its target as Brody dodged with a laugh. The rest of the Golden Army cheered, their golden jackets sparkling as they dove into the snowball fight. Paul threw himself into the chaos, dodging, running, and laughing like he hadn’t in decades.

The cold didn’t bother him anymore. The snow wasn’t a reminder of loss—it was a playground, a canvas for joy and camaraderie. For the first time in years, Paul felt part of something bigger, something warm and welcoming.

As the snowball fight raged on, Paul realized he was ready to embrace life and all the fun it had to offer. And he couldn’t have been happier.

[tricitymonsters]

DAY 6 - Bladeplay

DAY 6 - Bladeplay

Raath x Reader

Content warnings: violence, power plays, physical danger, mild blood, general Raath Content Toxicity Warning

PREVIOUS

NEXT

“It’s not all that safe for you to be skulking around late at night, little bird.”

It’s the only warning I get before I feel a strong, gloved hand grab my upper arm and pull me off balance.  My heart is in my throat as I’m pushed roughly against the brick wall of the alley but before the scream can burst out of my chest, a hand clamps roughly over my mouth.  Raath’s scarred face and overbright crimson eyes emerge from the shadows in a way that makes my guts turn to absolute ice.

I’m alone, I didn’t tell anyone where I was… No one will think to look for me.

My chest heaves with the sudden rush of anxiety, something Raath tracks with his sharp gaze.  “Don’t worry,” he leered.  “I’m not gonna hurt you.”

His hand tightens warningly.  “Unless you make me, that is.  You understand?”  He stares at me, unblinkingly for a second before a sharp smirk splits his scarred mouth and he forces me to nod.  “Good.”

He pulls me off the wall, pushing my arm behind my back and up my spine in a way that nearly wraps his arm around my waist- a sick pantomime of an embrace- though his hand is still tight over my mouth, even as my free hand strains to pull it away.  He lets me pull it away after a second and I glower at him viciously- it stings to know that he gets to call the shots like this but unfortunately, he is right.  He’s more dangerous than I am.

But all that does is make the fire burn even hotter and I’m so mad at him I can barely see straight enough to see his stupid smug face and sharp smirk.  Then my eyes fall on something strapped just below his chest-  a knife handle protrudes from his torso harness, neatly sheathed for when he decides to terrorize someone with it.  The half-baked idea in my brain fires me into action before I can rationalize what a stupid fucking idea it probably is.  

I lurch into him and grab it.

My heart leaps at the feel of my fingers wrapping tightly around the handle and I pull it back viciously, fully intent on using it and my willingness to go for blood must be evident in my movements because Raath reacts like I’m a real threat.  I lash out- hard- and grunt in surprise when the blade hits home between his ribs, almost shocked by the meaty thunk and the sight of the blade disappearing into his body.

He doesn’t cry out in pain, he doesn’t yell in agony.  Instead, he hisses like an animal and seizes me by the shirt collar, wrenching me in and then shoving me back so that I stumble and fall flat on my ass.

With a thrill of alarm, he’s on top of me a second later, his sinewy torso between my bent knees and his arms braced on either side of my abdomen.  He growls softly through his teeth, watching me with an intensity that honestly scares me more than his usual deranged theatrics.  “That hurts,” he breathes, leaning in so that he’s inches from my shocked face.  I can see every scar carved into him from this close and I can’t help but pant shallowly at the imminent threat I am in for some painful retribution.

He reaches and grabs my hand, forcing it back to the knife handle, gritting his teeth but chuckling slightly as it jostles the blade deep in his flesh.  Without explaining himself, he closes his fingers around my hand, forcing me to tighten my grip, and then with a rough jerk and a splatter of blood, wrenches the knife out of his side.

He adjusts his position, kneeing his way under my spread thighs so that I’m humiliatingly spread and our bodies are pushed together.  Still holding my hand in his roughly, he pulls the blade up to his mouth and drags his tongue along the tempered steel in an absolutely filthy display that shocks me to further inaction.  

He stares down at me with those red eyes and then presses the flat of the blade across my lips.  The faint scent of blood is suddenly overpoweringly strong.  It smells heady and coppery- what I would expect blood to smell like- but there’s an acrid, smokey note that stings.

“Go on, little bird.  You drew it.”

Completely unsure of what’s come over me… My lips part and my hot breath fogs up portions of the metal.  And then… frozen and noncomprehending but completely taken by the notion, I draw my tongue up the blade.

If I thought the smell of Raath’s blood was sharp and violent, the taste is even more otherworldly.  It’s spicy and thick, metallic and yet entirely unplaceable.  I barely notice I’ve gone completely slack until pulls the blade away and traces it down my collar until he can dig the tip ever so slightly into the dip of my clavicle.

[do-not-fearr]

Grabbing the Bull by the Horns - Asterius x Reader - Part 2

Part 1

Pairing: Minotaur x f!reader

Wordcount: 3183 words

Tags: Rough sex, unprotected sex, asterius is sweet but also a beast

Summary: Asterius saves you from the labyrinth, but not without getting hurt. You thank him for saving you, and things escalate a little.

Aster jumped forward, letting loose a battle cry that shook the heavens, tackling one of the twins to the ground without any moments hesitation.

"Run human!" he yelled, "Or you won't survive!"

You were jolted into motion, trying to get past the second guy that was grinning at you and widening his arms to block the exit more tauntingly.

"Come on then," it said, "Run into my arms, sweet thing." The idea alone made you nauseous, and you tried to make your way around it, but it was impossible since the only way to run was towards the exit, and that's where he was. You desperately looked over to Aster, who was wrestling with the first enemy, and your blood ran cold when you saw fresh blood on him coming from a large cut on his chest. The one he was fighting wasn't looking much better, but you didn't have much time to look when you felt arms circle you and pull you backwards. A yell escaped you and you saw Aster look up, seeing you struggle in the second guy's grip.

"You smell good," the man said, face in your neck and inhaling deeply. "I'm still not sure about whether to eat or keep you. Maybe I'll do a little bit of both." There was a cold touch to your skin and you gagged when you realised he had licked you. The moment it happened he was ripped away from you though, by a bristling Minotaur who threw the guy away from you against one of the walls. He stood up way too quickly, but you were picked up and held gently by Aster who checked you for wounds.

"Are you okay?" he asked, sniffing you for injuries and exhaling hot bursts of air against your skin.

"I think so..." you said, a little flustered, before snapping back to reality. "He didn't hurt me. I'm fine Aster, what about you?" Your hand reached out to his chest that you were pressed against, grimacing as you touched warm and sticky blood. 

"It's Asterius actually," he grumbled, "but if anyone is allowed to call me by a nickname it would be you."

You were about to apologise, but before you could he had put you down again, pushing you behind him as one of the evil twins jumped forward quickly, ready to rend flesh from bone. 

The fresh cut across Asterius' chest made you wince, but he quickly grabbed the assailant by the arm as he rushed by, pulling it back roughly. The guy only seemed to frown as his arm was removed from his torso with a sickening crack of bones and a spray of blood that splattered on the walls, Asterius, and sadly you as well. You swallowed back bile that rose to your throat, as you made yourself as small as possible, shuffling backwards as you kept your eye on the other evil twin. Your back was now to the exit, making your way there with slow but steady movement. The moment you reached the threshold you saw both twins rush forward, moving in a zigzagging motion to make it harder for Asterius to grab them. He reached for the slower of the two - the one that was bleeding out from his lost arm - but he couldn't quite grab him, the blood making the enemy slippery as the monster chuckled, slipping out of Asterius' reach. A bellowed curse from the Minotaur, as he turned towards you, seeing you stumble just before the edge of the exit, falling just shy of the threshold.

The feeling of deja-vu hit you like a brick, feeling like the biggest loser as the two twins came at you with frightening speed. They were going to kill you before you could-

Aster was faster, grabbing you and throwing the both of you over the edge at the same time.

- 

Going over the edge was different from what you thought, it was dark for just a split second, and you thought the warmth of Aster left you only to return with more intensity than before. The second you felt the ground under you again the world returned to you with a flash, stumbling to regain control over your limbs. You wondered if you had felt the same nausea as before, when you entered the labyrinth if you had not lost consciousness. The inhuman but pained groan coming from you jolted you from your thoughts. You were just outside of the labyrinth, next to Asterius who was on his knees, holding a trembling hand to his badly bleeding chest. You could see the opening to the maze in front of you, the two twins standing on the other side looking out with frowns on their faces. Panic ran through you, but they didn't seem to follow you to... well, wherever it was that you were right now. It sure didn't seem like home, or anywhere near. It seemed more like a place in between where no one was supposed to be, as if you were out of bounds in a game; grass and some sparse trees stretching out seemingly endlessly in front of you. 

You turned back to Aster, holding onto him as you tried to help him up. He was incredibly heavy though, and he chuckled through wheezing breaths as he helped you pick him up. 

"Where do you want to go, human?" he muttered, warm air hitting your head as he leaned on you lightly. "There's nothing here. I messed up."

You took one unsteady step forward, throwing one last glance back towards the entrance of the maze that had held you trapped, eyes of the twins following you, but they still made no attempt to follow. 

"I should have let you go alone, with me crossing with you we were thrown in here it seems. Not your place, and not mine. Unless this is your place, of course."

You huffed as you took a step towards the sparse shrubbery a couple of meters away. You probably wouldn't be able to carry him much further than that anyways.

"No, sadly I've never been here before in my life, but I do want some distance between me and that labyrinth as I look over your wounds." He helped you, and now you helped him. That was all there was to it now, you told yourself. Though maybe you were also really interested in him, his looks and his story. Why had he decided to help you in the first place? 

He made some sort of shrug, as he stumbled along with you. "Makes sense."

As you sat him down you finally noticed his eyes on you, but you decided to ignore it, too focused on his wounds and trying to get your heartrate under control. As you grabbed your backpack you realized the only useable thing inside were some band aids and tissues, so you awkwardly pat his furry skin clean. The wound had surprisingly already stopped bleeding, and you smiled softly, putting the band aids on the floor. Aster chuckled as he saw them. "Well, those aren't going to do a whole lot," he said, "But maybe you can give me a get well kiss?" 

Flustered you looked up at him. "Wha-"

He covered your eyes with a large hand, so you couldn't notice his own expression mirroring yours. "I'm sorry, I... I've seen humans do it in the maze, it was just a joke."

You sat still for a bit, listening to your own heartbeat in your ears and the slow breathing of the minotaur in front of you who had gotten so injured for protecting you. Without removing his hand from your face you leaned forward slightly, lips pursed as you found the top of his chest where you gave a gentle peck. 

"It's the least you deserve for saving me, I'd say," you muttered as you pulled away slightly, face still covered by a hand that was now a little more sweaty and twitchy as you heard a bristling exhale come from him. 

"I'm not-" you heard him mutter, but the last part of it was huffed under his breath, so you asked him to repeat it. He looked away, and if his skin and fur weren't so dark, you're sure you'd see a blush on his face as he said "I'm not only injured there."

A grin grew on your face as you looked at the behemoth of a man in front of you. Hunched over as if to hide the both of you better in the shrubbery. Strong, muscular legs on either side of you, and oh- you suddenly noticed the way you both were sitting. His legs caging you in as you sat between them, his hooved lower legs firmly crossed behind you. Suddenly you felt so much smaller, almost disappearing in his powerful presence, and instantly you became aware of a dull throb inside your core. The way he eyed you up from a stubbornly turned away head and small puffs of air coming from his large muzzle only served to intensify the feeling. 

You cursed your treacherous body for feeling this way now of all times, but realized Asterius pretty much invited such a reaction from you. Not only was he masculine, powerful but gentle, but he also saved you at the cost of his own well-being. And he was strangely sexy to your eyes as well. His strange looks only made you want to touch him even more, instead of shying away. A small smile grew on your lips as you grabbed one of his arms, he let you guide it to your lips as you kissed the unmarred skin above an already healing gash. "Here," you said as you made your way over to other spots where he was hurt. "Now you'll be all healed."

You hesitated as you reached his stomach where another angry wound had started knitting together, but slowly bend down to reach the skin none the less. 

"You don't have to!" he quickly said between heavy breaths that hadn't calmed down ever since the fight, "I didn't mean for you to-" but you continued on your path anyways, and he didn't stop you, despite his incomparable strength. There was a noticeable bulge in the loin cloth that covered him, and you shivered slightly at the sight. When you finally pecked the skin on his abs you felt it twitch beneath your chest that now firmly brushed it, and you saw his entire body tense up. 

"I want to, though." you murmured against his abs that flexed beneath your lips, and you saw him try to look anywhere but at you between his legs. His legs had opened up as you had moved down, hooved feet now on either side of your hips as you were practically laying in front of him.

Almost shyly you reached your hands down to rest on his thighs, feeling the coiled muscles beneath slightly furry skin as you slowly leaned down to hover your lips over his erection. You could make a mention about some injury or maybe something about this being your way to thank him, but words seemed to flee you at the sight of him. Skin peeked out from under the now ill-fitting cloth as his large cock strained against it, almost as eager to escape the constraints as you were to touch it. He didn't stop you as you gave the tip a peck over the fabric, a warm wetness gathering under your lips as you kissed it once more. Your tongue peeked out before you noticed your reaction, and you almost felt ashamed at how eager you were to put your mouth on him, if his hand fisting in your hear semi-gently didn't give away Aster's eagerness as well. His rough exhales moved your hair and tickled you as you slowly put a finger under the only fabric covering on his body.

"May I?" you asked, looking up to see desperate black eyes gaze back at you. His mouth was wrought in a desperate grimace as his fingers flexed in your hair, desperate not to hurt or scare you. 

"Please," he huffed, growl tinging his words and noticeable twitch in his dick as you pulled the loincloth away to reveal his naked form. He was beautiful and strong, all muscle and veins and power, and his dick was no different, standing proud before you as you slowly licked a stripe from bottom to tip. 

You had started out slowly, but the second you had his tip in your mouth all pretence of gentleness or patience seemed to evaporate like sweat off his glistening skin. A keening sound was all your warning as he suddenly moved you under him, hips already bucked up against your ass, as you lay in a sprawl under him. 

"Sorry," he said, nuzzling your neck as heavy exhales made you shiver under him as your legs were quickly placed on either side of him. 

His heavy rutting against you made you whimper and squirm as both of you worked to take your jeans and underwear off. In case you needed to run off again quickly it was better to not undress fully, but in truth it was just because neither of you could wait any longer to have him sheathed inside of you fully. The moment his hot flesh touched your lower lips you gasped his name, not realizing how wet you'd gotten. "I should save a human more often," he said as his cockhead caught on the hood of your clit and a jolt went through you. "If this is the reward I get."

The words didn't even register when he rubbed against your clit again, legs pressed against your chest as he pushed you down fully against the ground. It was cold against your back, but his skin was almost burning your front and you shivered between him as thick fingers found their way between your bodies, entering you one at a time. 

He mentioned something about how warm and wet you were, but he was running so hot against you you were sure you must've heard wrong. Sweat almost seemed to come off of him in steam, as your hands found his shoulders, holding on as he pushed a second finger in. Pumping slowly to stretch you enough to take his huge cock that he was still thrusting against your pussy lips and stomach. 

"Asterius, I want you inside of me," you gasped when he added a third finger, deciding that you were stretched enough, and he licked your neck in response. Blunt teeth worrying at your skin as he removed his fingers from you to do as you asked. 

His leaking cock prodded at your entrance, and you squeezed your eyes shut as you stretched further open to accommodate him. He stopped moving, and you felt him shiver above you, slowly opening your eyes to see his large bull head thrown back, eyes shut. He was obviously straining himself not to hurt you with his size, and as you looked down you realized he wasn't even fully in yet. 

"Asterius," you moaned, after getting used to the stretch, and he replied with a groan. "You can move. Please move." You needed him to move, otherwise you were going to go insane. He started moving in a jolt, muscles under your fingers flexing as he started a brutal rhythm, pushing you up against the tree you had been hiding under earlier. It seemed he held back until a certain point, and then his restraint snapped instantly, jackhammering inside of you as if he had something to prove. Forcing the gasps out of you with every thrust, as wild eyes stared into yours. 

His groans were guttural, almost animalistic, and your eyes rolled back into your head as you felt an orgasm washing over you at the sight of him above you. He barely slowed down as you squeezed tighter around him, walls fluttering around his twitching flesh as his balls slapped against your ass with every forceful thrust. 

He was enormous, and his thrust were both painful and pleasurable, his hands gently wiping away a tear from your eye as his lower body moved in rough, pointed rhythm. It was almost like he was contradicting himself in how he fucked you, like his beast and his human half were both fighting for control, coming out at the same time to make you see stars. 

"I'm gonna- " you moaned out between gasps, drool and tears leaking from you as you barely felt how a hand behind your head stopped you from hitting it against the rough bark of the tree you were pushed against. Another orgasm washed over you and he practically howled as this one pushed him over the edge as well.

Pumping you full of his seed he turned you around, now face first into the tree as he continued his movement. Cum leaking out of you with every thrust he crowded you against the tree, body covering yours entirely as he fucked through his orgasm, pleasured groans mouthed directly into your ears. His thrusts grew more shallow before getting more powerful as he barely grew softer before pummelling his dick inside of you again with the same speed and strength as before. 

"Just a little more," he groaned in your ear, and you could only take it as his hips snapped against yours with the same desperation as before. Your fingers grasped against the tree bark, pieces crumpling under your strength, but never falling to the ground. The only thing moving in this place between worlds were the two of you, desperately chasing after yet another orgasm. You cried out his name as a third orgasm was wrung from you, and this time when he came with you he finally slowed down. 

Asterius slowly lifted you off of him, gently laying you against his chest as he reversed your positions again. His back once again against the tree as you were cradled in his arms. 

"I, uh... I wanted to be more gentle," he murmured in a low voice, head turned away from you as nerves made his soft ears flick. His outline was fuzzy to your bleary eyes, but you smiled against his warm chest. "But I couldn't hold myself back. I hope I didn't hurt you."

"The only thing you've done today is the opposite." you murmured back, lips tickling his pecs and his head turned back to you, a small smirk stretching his mouth. 

You weren't sure about later though. After the adrenaline from the romp and the day itself had worn off. Moving yourself back home on your own legs might be out of the question, and you weren't sure if Asterius was able to carry you to your dimension himself, but you weren't opposed to the idea of showing the large minotaur around. A small chuckle escaped you as sleep pulled you under, the minotaur of the labyrinth watching over you with a gentle gaze. These were worries for another day, for now you were here. Safe in his arms as you drifted off.

 ------

@stygianoir

[stuck-writing-sickos]

Lucid (prologue)

(Yandere reader insert)

[Series Link]

[A/n: can be a standalone series. Mermaid (?) AU for In Poor Taste. I dont... know if I'm gonna include Lukas. But dw, that means there will be rooms for new characters.]

If you want to run away, why not come into his arms?

You didn't know how to stay away from water. Something about its shimmer reeled you in. You particularly loved the ocean - cool and blue like liquid diamond, its depth called for you like an aching lullaby. Your intrigue was barey cocealed, so it came as a surprise for no one that you took diving lessons the moment you moved to your seaside apartment. Sure, it was hard work for your body who took the brunt of your day job as a bankteller, but your pursuit for the deep was restless.

You weren't by any mean a natural, but you were a resilient learner. Silent like a stone, you geared up and followed the elegant movements of your teacher. You were clumsy at first, taken by surprise upon the strength of the water, but once you got the hang of it your heart beat in a melody unheard. The cold water, the coral, the bustling marine life... you were enchanted beyond saving. Abandoning your social life and any prospect of romance, you let yourself be entranced by the ocean's glamor.

Something that your instructor neglected to tell you, though, was the call of the deep. She likely assumed that you were too serious and cautious to do deep dives. After all, you were not one of much words. You didn't even realize that you were swimming downward. You saw blue, and you saw darkness. You felt air bubble floating against your momentum. Yet, a gear in your head still turned to push you forward. You remembered the unprecedented euphoria you felt before the strong arm of your fellow diver, Jung, caught you mid-torso and pulled you backward. In a trance, you were blindsided as air hit your face. Jung's voice sounded far away when he cussed out "fuck, you scared me bad with that one".

You didn't dive for a while after as per his recommendation. The ocean was going nowhere, Jung said, but you might. To distract you, he took you to art galleries and painted with you in your free time. He was a poor painter, but he would do it for your sake. You asked if he wanted you to write prose with him in return, to which he laughed and said there was no need, and that you ought not to peruse his manuscript anyway. Plus, he liked being around you when you painted - he affirmed - your shades of blue were haunting, in a good way. You asked what he meant, but all you got back was "it's good inspiration for my novel".

Jung wasn't vocal about his works. He never let you know his pen name. You tried to respect his privacy, but your curiosity got the better of you. During your time spent away from the ocean you dug for his works. It was only by chance that you managed to get your hand on them. In secret you snooped around his apartment when he invited you over for dinner and found his own signature in a book. His pen name was Haiyang. You supposed that was within reasons - he too loved the sea. Purchasing a physical copy behind his back, you decided to read it to get your mind going. Then, you understood the secrecy: he was still in the closet. His writing, dealing with themes of body horror and doppelganger, betrayed an exasperated effort to overcome self-hatred.

You wanted to let him know that he had your support, but instead you didn't say anything - you breached his trust by reading his novels. Quietly sticking by his side, you tried to find the right time or the right word, but before you could, he had vanished into the sea.

The news spread like wildfire, and with that came the uncovering of his identity. His readers pieced together that the missing person whose body never resurfaced was the author of their beloved books. Online you saw thinkpieces, video essays, and truecrime podcast episodes on the matter. His face splattered across billboards and campaigns for a search. The mystery manifested, flooding the internet for months before a documentary on his disappearance dropped.

Chaos.

Letters from his fans. Invitations to interviews. Emails from news broadcasts. You got them all. Who was Jung? Who was Haiyang? What was he like in real life? The global sensation sent tsunamis of attention your way - you, a friend from his diving classes. People scoured for a glimpse of Jung's shadow in you. They put your face in conspiracy theories as well as juvenile video edits. Their morbid curiosity drove them to flood your town like packs of bloodhounds searching for rabbits. You refused to entertain their psychotic thirst for "the truth behind it all", sealing yourself up in masks and sunglasses whenever you needed to get out. You grew to resent their narcissistic needs to insert themselves into Jung's narrative - complete strangers clawing through his doorway crying as if they knew him, as if they ever spent their Sundays on his motorbike rides down the coast or get piss drunk at the beach while hanging on his shoulder. He never walked them home when it got dark. He never bought them canvases when they would tear up their painting in a fit of painter's rage. You grew colder and harder, turning to hate the world.

Everyone was stupid and selfish.

You grinded your teeth through it alone. Your paintings grew from blue to black and red. You locked them away, unable to look at them once done, unable to throw them away. Stuck, you tried to find solace in the ocean view from your apartment.

That was until your job fired you. You were bad PR, you knew, even when they danced around it. You didn't bother to hear their excuses. That morning, you packed everything on your table into a carton box, your head feeling emptier than ever.

You were supposed to drive home, but instead you found yourself going down the coastline with your window down, salty ocean wind going through your sleeves and collar. You couldn't tell what it was that you felt. You only knew your insides felt hollow enough to manifest an illusion of freedom, yet your corporeal body was heavy and sluggish. Driving all the way up the cliffside where you braked to watch the glimmering blue sea, you found yourself hopping out of the car and walked toward the edge.

The dizzying view downward made your stomach churn. You felt the hypnotic pull of the water even from way above. Your eyes were fixed on the foam that licked at the rocky edges, your heart drumming to fight against the sublime temptation. You thought about how if Jung had been near, he would have told you to stop being silly and driven you to the local grocery store for a strawberry cream pop. Upon that thought, you felt your cheeks wet from tears.

He would have wanted you to live.

You were staring at the rocky beachside transfixed when something hooked your attention. You thought you saw a person at first, half naked , sprawling against the wet rock. Knowing how deep the water went there, you felt your chest twisting into a knot as you stared in horror seeing them lying their motionless. Yet, something was not quite right about the scene. Even in disarray, you couldn't help but took notes of their abnormal size - they were much bigger than the average human. The rocks looked ... small against their form. Squinting to get a clearer picture, you failed to figure out what they were wearing. Something like a frilly white dress with a translucent veil draping over them? A runaway bride? - you wondered to yourself, trying to make sense of what you were seeing but couldn't.

For the life of you, you could not see their legs.

Your head spun. You stood in silence, trying to calculate the fastest route you could take to get to that beach. It was not private property, that you knew, but it was secluded, which guaranteed a long walk from where your car would be. From your estimation, you could reach them in at least one and a half hour, which was better than nothing, you supposed. Adrenaline pumped through youe veins as you rushed back to your car, your feet barely touching the ground. Your car's engine reeved atop concrete as you drove down the coast again, your heart thumping in your chest. You knew you were doing something impulsive and stupid. You knew that it was the self-serving part in you that wanted to be a part of something important and unusual to take your mind off reality. Still, you drove on in silence and felt the winds against your skin.

[deepdisireslonging]

A Throne Fit for a Queen

The Reader escapes her own birthday with her lover to see what gift he’s hidden away for her. They put it to use, learning together only the beginning of its capabilities.

Pairing: Finn Balor x Reader

Warnings/Promises: SMUT, sex chair, oral (female receiving), creampie, cw Food mention

Word Count: 2500

Note: Happy birthday to my writing bestie, @neversatisfiedgirl! This was going to be a quick smutty fluffy ficlet… and then I fell down a research hole. Happy reading!

It had been a well-meant gesture. Kenny had planned everything. Had been since the beginning of the year, seemingly more excited for your birthday than you or your own mother. We’re talking the venue, the cake, the pile of presents in one corner. And what felt like hundreds of your closest friends and family from across multiple wrestling companies. All gathered together for you. The extravagance awed you.

“I just completed another orbit around the sun. I’m not retiring,” you muttered under your breath. Still, a smile wasn’t far off as you watched the master of ceremonies pelt Damian with a series of streamers, hopelessly entangling his victim. You giggled behind your hand as Rhea tried to help him out.

Then warm hands slid around your middle. A lingering kiss nestled into the curve of your neck. When you hummed and leaned into the strong torso behind you, a growl answered.

“How’d you know it was me?”

“As if anyone else would dare to hold me like this.” You turned in his arms, draping your own across his shoulders to play with the short hairs at the base of his neck. “Finn, darling, what are you up to?”

He pursed his lips and looked up at the ceiling. “I can’t wish my best girl a happy birthday?”

“I suppose.” You dragged your teeth over your bottom lip. “Your best girl, huh? How many girls you got in reserve there, Cassanova?”

“Ha. Ha.” He gave your hips a squeeze. “Just one. Even if I tried to have other girls, they’d always be jealous about how much time and affection I lavish on you.”

“Good to hear.”

Finn smiled into the kiss you gave him, smirking when a few whistles and hoots tried to distract him. “Looks like this party’s in full swing. Would you like your present before Kenny pulls us back into the fray?”

You rolled your eyes. “You already gave me my presents. They were lovely. I really don’t need anything-“

“I know. But,” he bobbled his head with a sparkle in his eye, “I’ve got something else that I hope you can use year-round.”

Intriguing. All of his other presents had been wonderful. Just what you wished for. Apparently, he had been keeping a list whenever you mentioned needing or wanting something, and taking note of things you let linger through your hands while out shopping. You wondered what this one could be, and when you had wished for it. “What is it?”

“Do. You. Want. Your. Present?”

With a big sigh, you dragged out your answer, “yes.”

Off to one side, a flash of red hair darted behind Kevin Owens. A slice of cake splattered all over his face a second later. You’d have to find out later if it was Becky or Sami from one of the closer witnesses. If anyone hazarded to squeal. Finn used the distraction to his advantage. He took hold of your wrist, deftly dragging you through the crowd of laughing and partying guests, until you made the escape to a back hallway. Like a child about to get into infinite trouble, he looked both ways before crashing through a door with you.

The lighting was dim. But candles flickered all around the small space that was probably nothing more than a large closet.

“How-“

Finn cut off your question with a smoldering kiss that made your knees wobble. “Kenny asked me for tips about celebrating you, of course. Originally planned today as a surprise party-“

“Oh, dear-“

“Exactly. But I talked him out of it. And set up my own party space while he was directing everyone else.” His hands lingered up your sides, leaving tingling, hot trails in their wake. You whimpered into his mouth as his touch toyed with the flowy hem of your party dress. “Liking everything so far?”

“Mhmm.” You caught his bottom of lip between your teeth, sucking on it till he pulled himself away to bury his face in your cleavage. “So… I get to use you year-round?”

“Mhmm.”

Then you caught sight of what was in the center of the room. You had wondered if a “pinned-to-the-wall” quickie was the present. Not that it was a bad thing, but not usually Finn’s detailed style. But the centerpiece, that made a lot more sense. How in the world had he gotten that thing in here without anyone noticing?

Finn felt your breath stutter under his ministrations. He followed your gaze. “Oh, yes. That. You are always welcome to use me all year, but I figured maybe you could use and be used on something ornate enough to enthrone my Queen.”

It was a King Edward chair. You knew the one. Designed for the “playboy prince” of the Victorian era. Scholars still didn’t know all the positions that could be accomplished on it. Now that you had your own, and a willing partner to experiment with, maybe you could find out. Already your imagination was swirling with the possibilities. How Finn could take you with you spread across it. Or vise versa. Whereas the original was in white and gold with floral cushions, this one was black and silver with red cushions. The perfect private throne for a Demon King or his Queen.

But Finn wasn’t letting you move. He sank to his knees, pinning you against the door by your hips while his head disappeared under your dress. You covered your mouth as his nose pressed into the front of your sensible undergarments. He nipped your inner thigh for it.

“Everyone’s at the party. No one around to hear you.” With a chuckle, he peeked out from under the fabric. “Unless we really get into it.” From one kneecap to the next, he placed a gentle kiss on your skin. “Don’t hold back, m'aingeal. It’s your day and I want you to feel everything.”

You nodded, letting your hand drop to his hair. With the other, you held back your skirt to watch what he was doing to you. With a pleased hum, he again pressed his nose into your sex, nudging about before catching the fabric waistband with his teeth. His nails and teeth lightly scraped against your skin as he desperately worked to bare you to him. The sight of your slick made him ferocious. He hiked one of your legs over his shoulder. Then, he really began to work. Tongue and fingers. Humming and sucking. You leaned your head back against the door, panting and doing your best not to thrust into his face.

All the while, you could see the chair. A pleasurable threat. A dangerous promise.

“Getting close, féileacán?”

You were. But all you could do was moan an affirmation. Your release was approaching. Fluttering nearer with each curl of his fingers, or jolting you with a nip to your thigh.

He added another digit to the ones already stretching you out. Then, when his mouth enveloped you, you fell apart. Your fingers shakily dug into his scalp, making him groan and prolong your pleasure with the vibrations. Those vibrations told hold of your whole body. Your lungs quaked in their cage next to your frantically beating heart, aiding the spotting of your vision. Your other hand dropped your skirt, reaching above you to claw against the door. You were aware of his movements to bring you down slowly, and to bring himself back into the flickering light. But mostly you were trying to remember how to breathe.

Then he was kissing at the underside of your jaw. He smeared your skin with the essence he had just drawn from you.

“We-“ you licked your lips, “we need to go back-“

“Do you really think I was going to show you your present… and then not use it with you at least till one orgasm? Oh, leanbh,” he tugged on your waist, “we’re just getting started.”

That promise dragged a whimper from your soul.

But once you stood in front of the chair, you had to wonder: how were you supposed to… mount this thing? Tilting your head, you considered a few ways. Maybe if you climbed up on it first, you could rotate to lay on your back?

You had just leaned over it to do just that when Finn flicked up the back of your skirt and began to knead the globes of your seat.

“Forget that iced monstrosity out there,” he gave your ass a slap, “I’ve got the sweetest treat right here.”

Another few slaps helped you up, where you could turn to lay on your back. The foot rests (stirrups?) did help you keep your position instead of sliding off. But they also arched your legs *way* open. Finn’s brilliant blue eyes were enraptured by the sight. Unblinking, he ran his hands up and down your thighs. Like a moth to a flame, he drew closer until the bulge trapped in his jeans was close enough for your sex to feel the heat. He took hold of the grips standing up next to your ribs. His knuckles turned white, the only evidence how much this man was holding back from blowing his load from the view alone.

You sat up. And reached for his front button. His hands met yours there. Together, you raced to release his cock into the open. When it finally sprung free, he gave a gasp of relief. The eagerness of it, warm and stiff in your hand, made your mouth water. But leaned over you, making sure to place your hands on the grips firmly enough to tell you that you needed to hang on.

Murmuring filthy Irish curses under his breath, he toyed with you further by sliding his cock through your slick. The head bumped your clit from time to time, making you whine.

“Please. Don’t make me wait.”

“Of course not, Love. I just- hmm. I can’t get enough of you being so wet for me. So ready. Making those sounds of yours. Calling out for me like you do when you beg. But you’re right. I can’t make the birthday girl wait.”

Inch by glorious inch, he filled you. You fully leaned back into the chair, hanging onto the grips for dear life. When he was fully seated within you, and panting with the feel of you around his length, his own hands joined yours on the grips. Thankfully, he started slow. You would have flown apart instantly at that angle if he’d pounded into you immediate like he wanted to. Faintly you could hear the music of the party still going on beyond the walls. But soon, all you could focus on hearing was the slapping of Finn’s hips colliding with yours. His grunts and gasps as he speared deeper and deeper. Your own cries and jumbled words as you pleaded with him to move one way or the other. And the creaking of the chair. The faster he went, the more his hands slid down the grips until they rested over yours. That slightest contact of skin dazzled you.

“Please, please, please-“

Whatever you were begging for, Finn answered in full force. It didn’t take long, despite feeling like you’d been dangling on the edge of a precipice for an eternity, before Finn’s thrusts stuttered. He reached for your clit, thumbing over it until you were weeping his name. He watched, enraptured, as you came apart. Chest heaving. Hair plastered around your forehead. And he watched your lips murmuring like he was waiting.

Your grip on the bars faltered as he kept moving, chasing his own release. “Come on, mo rí diabhal. Fill me, possess me, like only you can-“

With a roar, he did just that. He pumped all he had to give into you. When he was finally spent, he fell over you, his head resting on your breasts.

Again, the distant drifting of the party sounds found you. And, despite the incredible desire to stay just where you were, curling your fingers into his hair, you eventually made the first move to leave. He groaned, irritated when he had to pull himself out of you. He fixed his pants, but stood in the way of your dismount. You cradled his head to your shoulder, wondering if he could still smell the post-orgasmic kiss he gave you earlier.

“We need to go back.”

“Yeah.”

“We smell like sex.” You shot him a playful frown when he seemed unperturbed. “What are going to tell people when they ask where we’ve been?”

“The truth.” He held your chin between his thumb and forefinger so you couldn’t avoid his gaze. “I had to give the birthday girl her present.”

Your eyebrows raised. “Oh? Just like that?”

“Just like that.”

“And if they ask what the present was?” You gripped his wrist, but he refused to budge.

“We’ll tell them, ‘what do you think’ and leave it at that.” He quickly kissed you before letting you go. “You don’t think I’d tell them about our new toy, did you?” He helped you off the chair and back into your panties, not missing an opportunity to feel you up again. “I would never. It’s our secret. Though we’ve got to end this shindig quick. I’m not through with you.”

You rolled your eyes, starting to wonder who the present was actually for. “No?”

“Not in the slightest. And it’s portable. I’m thinking about attaching wheels to the bottom so we can move it around.”

You startled. Then grinned. “It might look a little odd… rolling this thing around the airport.” You giggled when his surprised face matched yours at what he had insinuated.

“I was thinking-“ his voice cracked. After clearing his throat he tried again, “I was thinking about moving it to different rooms in the house.” He stepped close, once again pinning you to the door so he could whisper in your ear. “Perhaps tie you down to it. Cover those pretty eyes of yours so you’re disorientated. Only able to think about what I’ll do to you.” He snickered and stepped back. “But I like the way you think. Maybe I can borrow someone’s jet sometime and really take you higher than the mile-high club. Remember that flight to Toronto?”

Your pussy threatened to gush again with the memory. “Maybe.”

A wicked gleam filled his gaze. “Then let’s finish up this party quick so I can get you home.”

___

Masterlist

Wrestling Masterlist

Other Finn Fics:

Fright Club (Fluff)

The Forbidden Door (Stripper!Balor, Smut)

Dangerous (Smut) [Prince Devitt]