#also please ignore the rushed graphic

[heartshapedmisery]

𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐞 𝐦𝐲 𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡 | art donaldson

summary ― .ﾟ‪‪ ˖ in which you and art can't seem to keep your hands to yourself after your first victorious win in weeks.

warnings ― .ﾟ‪‪ ˖  MINORS DNI ! ( 18+ ) | language, graphic smut, unprotected sex (please stay safe y'all), art references to being turned on by watching reader play tennis, power dynamics?, switch!reader, switch!art, semi-public!sex, praise kink, hair pulling, oral (fem!receiving), obsessive!art (he is literally obsessed with the reader omg), p in v sex, art and reader almost get caught lmao, lmk if i missed anything!

word count ― .ﾟ‪‪ ˖ 3.1k +

pairing ― .ﾟ‪‪ ˖ standford!art donaldson x fem!stanford!reader

PART 2 OF LOOSEN UP!

author’s note ― .ﾟ‪‪ ˖  if you haven't read part one, please do so before reading this! also i am a firm believer in art giving you aftercare after sex, no matter where it is in case you couldn't tell ;) i kinda rushed the ending sorry i just wanted to get it out in time :/ hope you enjoy!

publishing date ― .ﾟ‪‪ ˖  may 17th, 2024 | © HEARTSHAPEDMISERY

A breathy groan escaped your lips as your racket smacked the tennis ball across the net, your final attempt at winning points in the match. You intensively watched your opponent—some hot-shot blonde from North Carolina—as she darted to hit the ball back to you. Your breath hitched as you saw her ankle roll from the impact, making her legs give out beneath her and ultimately miss the ball.

The air was knocked out of your lungs as the ball bounced out of the court. The game was yours.

"Game, (L/N)," the announcer sounds over the PA system, cheers erupting from the stands. Your eyes searched for Art, before seeing him standing on the sideline clapping his hands proudly with a smile.

Ever since his visit to your apartment, the two of you had been inseparable. Your preceding professional relationship had blossomed into a personal one within the blink of an eye, and your once light-hearted repartee had become rather flirty and intense.

He couldn't seem to keep his hands off of you, and you couldn't seem to ignore how much you loved it. Whether it be at his place, in the locker rooms, or even on the fucking tennis court (it was late at night and dark, and of course, art had been adamant to make sure everyone had gone home before he proposed the idea.)

You were addicted to each other. Drunk on each other's touch, and you never wanted to get sober.

"You did great out there. Congratulations," his lush voice cuts into the sporadic ringing in your ears when you finally make your way over to him, your chest still buzzing after your win as the two of you walk off the court.

Your heart was beating out of your chest, and not just because Art's hand didn't leave the small of your back until you were out of everyone's view and walked down the somewhat empty hallway of the athletic center.

"You think so?" you pondered lightly, still trying to catch your breath as you caught his eye. You recognized the look on his face; it was one you had grown to know all too well. The way his lips parted slightly, and his eyes seemed to darken as they drank in your elated state.

It was a look of lust.

"Oh, I know so," he corrected you, his voice low. His arm snaked around your waist as the two of you came to a stop outside the women's bathroom, your chest flush against his as he pulled you into him.

"I couldn't take my eyes off of you," he admitted. "The way you lose yourself when you're out on that court, it's mesmerizing."

His gaze trailed from your face to your chest to your ass, drinking in your appearance. He had always loved the skirt you had decided to wear for today's match; just a simple, white tennis skirt that seemed to be just a little bit shorter than the rest and hugged you in all the right places.

"Oh yeah?" you tested, a small smirk tugging at your lips. A giggle escaped your lips as his hand ran down your hip before settling on your ass, giving it a good squeeze as he leaned into you.

"Yeah," he whispered against your lips, before pulling you in for a hungry kiss by the back of your neck with his free hand. You let out an excited moan from the back of your throat the second you felt his tongue slip into your mouth, completely enveloping himself in you.

"Fuck, you're killing me, sweetheart," he muttered to you once he finally pulled away, grasping your arm and pulling you into the women's bathroom behind him. Thankfully, there was nobody in there, or else it would've made for a very awkward conversation.

"You wanna do this now? Here?" you ask unsteadily as the two of you stumble over to the sink, looking around at the highly impractical place he had chosen to hook up with you.

"You did so well today," he told you sweetly. "You deserve a reward, baby."

The spot between your legs dampened at his words, your thighs rubbing together as he pushed you up against the sink with his hips, searching for any sort of relief.

"Yeah?" your worries washed away. You decided to have a little fun with this.

"You wanna be my trophy, baby?" you played lightly, running your hands through his hair. A slight gasp escaped your throat as you felt his erection press against your thigh, a dazed grin on his face.

"Always," he growled in your ear, his nose nuzzling the soft skin of your neck as he left sloppy open-mouthed kisses along the side of your jaw.

Carefully, his hands ran up and under the hem of your skirt, caressing the softness of your thighs before he hooked his fingers on your panties and tugged them down in one swift movement. A smirk cracked across his face as he tucked them into the back pocket of his shorts, the pale lace hanging out messily.

A surge of excitement ran through your veins as your eyes fell on the unlocked bathroom door. Anyone could walk in on the two of you and see just how well your tennis coach really treats you.

The mere thought itself drove you wild.

Quickly, he set you up on the sink and nudged your knees apart, giving him the perfect view of your soaked core as he sunk to his knees to be level with your lower half.

His eyes poured into yours as he pulled your legs over his shoulders, grasping your thighs firmly to keep them in place. The mere sight of him before you made a shaky whimper blow past your lips, your fingers moving to brush the stray strands of hair that hung over his light eyes.

"So, so pretty," you whispered, his eyes fluttering shut as his lips met your soft skin.

He pressed wet kisses along the inside of your thighs, slowly making his way to where he wanted you most. You shuddered deeply when you felt his tongue finally lay flat against your wet core, his nose budding against your clit as he delved into you as if you were his last meal.

"Oh my g-god," you whined, digging your heel into the muscle of his back, his grip on your thigh tight enough to leave a mark. He held you in place as you squirmed around at his touch. You simply couldn't keep still as his lips sucked at your wetness, his tongue lapping at you mercilessly.

A groan reverberated in his chest when your legs tightened around his head, your ankles interlocking and pulling him closer to you.

"Please," you whimpered, the vibrations of his low moans stimulating your core. Your eyes peered down as his hand moved to the crotch of his shorts, palming the erection he had gotten from the sweet taste of you.

It no doubt sent you over the edge, a moan falling from your lips as you watched him pleasure himself. You couldn't take it anymore; you needed to feel him.

"Art," you breathed, pulling him away from your core. His head lulled back lazily, his pretty eyes meeting yours as a dazed smirk bloomed across his lips. His chin was glistening with your slick. "Please fuck me."

He didn't hesitate to stand to his feet, his lips smashing against yours exasperatingly. Despite how much he loved pleasuring you with his tongue, you didn't need to tell him twice.

You could taste yourself on his tongue as he slipped it into your mouth, moaning against your lips. His behavior was obsessive, grabbing you by your waist and pulling you as close to him as possible as his clothed hard-on rutted against your bare core.

"See you what you do to me?" he whispered to you with a sigh, bringing your hand to the front of his shorts to feel him. You couldn't help but moan, taking it upon yourself to dip your fingers into his waistband and grasping him.

"It's a good thing I know how to control myself when you're the court," he laughed lightly. "Otherwise we'd have a real problem."

You nodded as you gently pumped him, excited at the thought of Art getting a boner while he watched you play. "Yeah? Do you like watching me play, Coach?"

He groaned into your neck at the nickname as you continued to jack him off, his balls stiff and his tip reddened. You were being such a tease and he hated it.

"I like watching you win," he suddenly pulled you off the counter and spun you around, bending your body over the sink.

"And you're a winner, right baby?" lips brushed against your ear as he caged you between his body and the counter. You could feel his dick pressed against your ass, eager to feel you.

"Yes," you whined, white-knuckling the counter as you could feel him moving around behind you, running his tip along your wet slit.

"Yes, what?" he was having fun with you now.

"Yes, Coach," you groaned, meeting his gaze in the mirror. His eyes were dark, and you could've sworn you saw a mischievous smirk flash across his face before he pushed himself into you swiftly.

His hips stuttered at the sound of the moan that fell from your lips, his grip on your hips tightening mercilessly.

You whimpered pathetically as he bottomed out inside of you, his pelvis bone flushed with the round of your ass. You stretched around him sweetly, watching his face contort in the mirror with pleasure.

"God, you're so tight," he breathed out, but his tone was almost desperate. His hips slowly began to move, which you were thankful for. The sweet burn of his cock sliding in and out of you was something you had only dreamed of, especially after the night at your apartment.

His free hand moved from its spot on your hip and reached around you to squeeze your right breast, his large and veiny hand cupping it perfectly. You couldn't help but moan at the dense feeling as it heightened your pleasure, your core clenching around him subconsciously.

"Feels so good," you mumbled as his hand moved from your chest to your hair, his slender fingers combing through it before giving it a harsh tug, the force pulling your back to his chest roughly.

"That's it, baby," he groaned in your ear, not letting up on his rhythmic thrusts up into you. "You can take it."

He watched you through the mirror as your eyes rolled back, his grip on your hair still tight enough to hold you in place against his chest. He took the opportunity to attack your neck with kisses, trailing from the spot right beneath your jaw down to your exposed collarbone.

His lips sent you into a frenzy, the sensation making the familiar coil in your stomach tighten as it mixed with the pleasure between your legs. You wouldn't last much longer at this rate, and Art could feel you coming undone with each thrust.

"Gonna come for me, baby?" he cooed gently to you as he met your gaze, holding it intensely as you nodded lazily. He wasn't far off either, so he quickened his pace to bring the both of you to your climaxes.

"So good," was all you were able to say, the words tumbling out of your mouth in a chant as he panted behind you from his relentless momentum.

Before you knew it, warmth spread throughout your lower belly as he pulled your orgasm out of you with a helpless cry, your head lulling back against his chest as your muscles tensed. An unsteady groan ripped from his chest as he sighed into your hair, his eye screwing shut as his release washed over him as well.

A string of incoherent pleas fell from your mouths simultaneously, the both of you in utter awe of one another. It took a moment for both of you to come back down from your highs, speechless from what had just unexpectedly unfolded in the women's bathroom.

Art helped you look presentable again after he tucked himself away, moving the stray hairs from your face and slipping your underwear back up your smooth legs for you. You watched him with a smile, elated at the way his hands lingered on your hips as he flattened your skirt down.

"Good as new, sweetheart," he placed a kiss to your temple as the two of you moved to walk out the door until it swung open.

You were met with a disgruntled old lady as the two of you stood awkwardly in the middle of the bathroom, unsure of what to say.

Oh shit, you thought. You would guess Art was thinking the same thing based on the deer-in-headlights look that he had on his face.

"Excuse me," she brushed past the both of you with a confused look, before disappearing into one of the stalls. She wanted no business with whatever she had just walked in on.

You looked at Art, finding it hard to hold back the laugh that bubbled up from your chest.

"Let's get out of here before we traumatize more little old ladies..."

[navybrat817]

Navy. We got to cuddle with our florist. Are we also going to cuddle with our tattoo artist? 🥺

Of course, nonnie.

Traditions and Innovation

Pairing: Tattoo Artist!Bucky Barnes x Baker!Female Reader

Summary: Bucky wants to kiss you under the mistletoe, but it doesn't happen in the traditional sense.

Word Count: Over 1.7k

Warnings: Kissing, humor, tension, teasing, inner monologue, slight feels (it's me), Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?).

Previous Part of AU: Rules and Chaos

A/N: Sorry, lovelies. I'm only capable of ficlets lately, but enjoy some Hottie and Sugar. ❤️ Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Divider by the talented @firefly-graphics and Bucky edit by the amazing @nixakimbo .Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

“My poor, shivering Sugar. Don’t worry. I’ll warm you up in no time,” Bucky said as he curled a hand around your hip, feeling him smile when he brushed a kiss against your temple. “It’s a tough job, but I’ll do it.”

An icy breeze crept into your bones through your coat when you rushed over to the tattoo parlor minutes ago, earning a sympathetic gaze from Jake when you walked through the door. It was one of the coldest days you could remember and you couldn’t get rid of the chill until Bucky offered to cuddle with you on the couch in the break room. You weren’t about to turn down his generous offer.

Especially since the guys made the room bright and cozy for the holidays with twinkling lights.

“Yeah, I really had to twist your arm to snuggle with me,” you teased, your heart thudding as you tilted your head back and let his lips skim along the column of your neck. It was almost criminal how soft his kisses were. “And I have no doubt in your abilities, Hottie.”

The man was built like a furnace, his firm body seeping warmth into yours as he held you in his embrace. Heat continued to pulse through your veins as he chuckled low and deep. “If you ever doubt my abilities in anything, I won’t hesitate to tie you to my bed and prove you wrong,” he promised, his voice even lower as it slipped into something more intimate.

You shivered for an entirely different reason now, threading your fingers through his hair and gripping them before his mouth could reach your chest. It earned you a throaty groan in response, one that nearly had you crawling in his lap. Somehow you managed to stop yourself.

“We can’t get too carried away,” you said, as much as you wanted to. You had to get back to your shop and he had a client coming in for a touch-up shortly. “Don’t give me that look,” you half begged, trying to ignore how your insides clenched when he lifted his head and gave you a glimpse of his darkened eyes.

How could you ever feel cold under that heated stare?

“But I want some sugar, Sugar,” he purred, one hand coming up to gently grasp your chin. Warm breath ghosted across your lips as he leaned in. “Just a little taste.”

Oh, how I want him to properly taste me. Make me see stars. Make me cry his name.

It was almost chaste in the beginning, his lips gently brushing against yours before he pulled back and leaned back in. Your lips parted first, silently begging for him to deepen the kiss. He still had his hand on your chin as he took his time, as if he truly wanted to taste what your mouth had to offer.

“You’re so fucking sweet,” he murmured when he pulled back, his gaze dropping to your lips as you caught your breath. That look alone made your toes curl. “I should put mistletoe everywhere just to find more excuses to kiss you.”

“That would be a first for me,” you said before you could stop yourself.

“What would be a first?”

“Being kissed under mistletoe. I’ve never done that,” you admitted with heated cheeks though there was no need to feel embarrassed.

Bucky pulled back a bit further as his eyebrows shot up, taking some of the warmth with him. “No one has kissed you under mistletoe? How is that possible?”

“I guess I haven’t had the opportunity,” you answered carefully.

A lump formed in your throat when he continued to stare and you weren’t quite sure why. Maybe it was because he treated you as if the sun, moon, and stars hung in the sky because of you. Not everyone saw you as anything special the way he did.

No one ever loved or cared enough about you before to try.

He slowly shook his head as if he refused to believe you. “Well, I’m fixing that right now,” he said more to himself than you before he gently put his hands over your ears. “Jensen!”

You smiled at his muffled shout before he put his arms back around you. His voice carried when he wanted it to. “Yeah?” Jake yelled back before he rushed to the break room and stuck his head in through the doorway. “What’s up?”

“Do we have any mistletoe around here?” Bucky asked.

“Bucky, what are you doing?” You whispered.

“Finding mistletoe before you go back to the shop. And, no, I’m not letting you leave until we find some,” he whispered back, waiting for Jake to give him an answer.

“I don’t think we do. Steve mentioned buying some,” he said, fiddling with his glasses before his eyes widened. “Wait! I think Hal has something that should work.”

“Of fucking course, he does,” your boyfriend mumbled affectionately as Jake went to get him.

“You really don’t have to do anything, Bucky,” you told him, turning his face back toward you. It shouldn’t have surprised you that he wanted to. He was a romantic at heart and you secretly enjoyed that he wanted to find some. “I appreciate it, but we don’t need something hanging over our heads for us to kiss.”

“I know we don’t, but maybe I want to give you that opportunity to have that kind of kiss,” he said. Your mouth went dry at his heart stopping smile. “If you’ll indulge me.”

You felt the weight of his tender gaze as you smiled, your eyes burning slightly from unshed tears. Thinking back on dating jerks like Richard, you were thankful for the experience because it showed you how guys should treat you and that you wouldn’t settle for less than what you deserved. It began with loving yourself.

“There’s no one else I’d rather kiss,” you said, resting your hand on his chest before Hal strolled into the room.

“Well, well, well,” he smiled, bringing attention to his hair as he ran a hand through it. As if he didn't turn enough heads on a normal day, he decided to dye his hair red and half green for the holiday season. “I heard you were looking for some mistletoe.”

“Yeah, you have any?” Bucky asked impatiently.

Hal chuckled and lifted his shirt slightly, giving you both a quick flash of his abs. “As a matter of fact…”

“Oh, my god,” you giggled, covering your mouth as Hal gestured to his belt. The hand painted buckle had mistletoe painted on it with “KISS ME” written underneath. “That’s…”

You stole a glance at Bucky and you swore you saw his left eye twitch. He likely had a sweet plan in his mind and got this instead. “What the fuck is that?”

“It’s mistletoe. Just like you asked for. I mean, it’s a form of mistletoe. I have a date tonight with Angel,” Hal explained, pointing at it again. You wanted to wish him good luck with his date, but you couldn’t stop giggling. “Well, what are you waiting for? Get over here, get on your knees, and start kissing. Or should I go over there?”

There was no mistaking your boyfriend’s eye twitch this time as your laughter died down. “I’m not kissing my girlfriend by your crotch. I’d sooner choke you with that belt.”

Hal seemed to consider it before he quickly shook his head. “Nah. I tried the choking thing once. Not really for me,” he said, smirking mischievously as he looked between the two of you. “But if she’s into that-”

Well...

You grabbed Bucky’s arm before he could launch himself at his employee and friend, who held his hands up in surrender. “Here’s a thought. Why don’t you take the belt off and hold it over our heads,” You suggested, hoping to appease your boyfriend as Hal unbuckled his belt with a shrug and removed it from the loops. “It still counts.”

“Not exactly traditional,” Bucky muttered under his breath before you brushed a finger along his chiseled jaw.

“We’ll call this innovative,” you said with a sweet and sincere smile. One you knew he couldn't resist.

“Innovative, huh?” Bucky asked, pulling you close as Hal waltzed over with an amused smile and dangled the belt above your heads.

“Yes,” you smiled as he framed your face. “So kiss me, please.”

Bucky held your cheeks with such care that it sent your heart soaring. This kiss was softer than before, yet full of promise and hunger, deep and thorough. He stole the breath from your lungs until you were left dizzy and wanting more.

It was the kind of kiss that warmed you up all over, like a flame no one could ever put out.

He pulled away first, slowly, but he seemed just as affected as you felt since he let out a shuddering breath and didn't let you go. “Fuck,” he whispered, bringing a smile to your face.

You had to close your eyes again to center yourself, still smiling. “Yeah. Fuck,” you whispered back before Hal cleared his throat.

“I really do adore you two lovebirds,” he began, stepping back to put his belt back on as you opened your eyes. Bucky didn't bother to look his way, only gazing at you. “But before you round the next base, Andy’s still talking about replacing the couch from the last time.”

He'll change his tune if he ever fools around in here with Sunny.

“Thank you, Hal,” you said, bringing a hand to Bucky’s cheek before he could grumble. Your touch was enough to soften his demeanor. “And thank you for my mistletoe kiss. I'll never forget it.”

Just like your first date that didn't go as planned, it made it all the more special.

Bucky smiled before he helped you both get to your feet. You had to get back to work. “I'm glad you liked it, but I’m getting us some actual mistletoe later and putting it all over our apartments. Bedrooms included.”

“Is that innovative?”

“Yeah, it is,” he smiled, sneaking in one more tender kiss before you had to go.

As long as Bucky would be the one to kiss you, he could put up mistletoe wherever he wanted.

These two. 🥰 Love and thanks for reading. ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[honeysickledream]

Who's Who, Darling? Part 2 | Poly141 x F!Reader

Tags / cw: NSFW (Smut) fivesome (F/M/M/M/M), fingering (f!receiving), p in v, protected sex, blindfolds, finger sucking, a bit of spanking, light pussy slapping, edging (ig?), orgasm denial of sorts, birth control (IUD) mention, Reader is referred to as Pet a handful of times (mainly by Price), offscreen masturbation, polyamory discussions and agreements, no use of Y/N, no descriptions of reader | if i missed anything, let me know! MINORS DNI (18+) w/c: ~3.4k A/n: this whole thing got away from me, it’s a long one. I’ve been slowly writing it as life hits me upside the head with a new pan every other day. If parts feel rushed, that’s predominately why. Proofread in the middle of the night so ignore typos, please. Also, happy Halloween! divider by @/saradika-graphics

The guys are making coffee and tea when you manage to pull yourself out of the bed and stumble into the kitchen. You’re flashed a smile by each and given pecks on the cheeks as you rub the sleep from your eyes and try to adjust to being alive and having them in your house—last night seeming like some mouthwatering fever dream. Soap suddenly proposes that he make breakfast for everyone and you whine, knowing just how inept he is in the kitchen. The little kitchenette in the break room on base has been closed down more times than anyone can count because he manages to set something on fire.

Price quickly banishes Soap to the living room and sends you along with him, but not before he hands you a warm mug filled with your favorite drink doctored just the way you liked it. There’s not much room on the couch, not with Soap sitting on the middle cushion with his legs spread out as far as they’ll go. He gives you a look—the ‘come sit on my lap, I don’t bite’ look—and you give in. It’s too early in the morning to be stubborn, to be standing honestly, and you’re chilly despite the heat being on.

His thick arms wrap around you, pulling you as close as they can, and he turns on the TV. You notice as you take small sips from your mug that Soap’s eyes are trained on your throat as it bobs with each swallow. He gives you the sweetest look as he asks—begs almost—to give your throat a kiss. Tells you he’s been wanting to do it for ages now and that he promises not to bite.

Fucking liar he is. One peck to the center of your throat turns into another, then a dozen more with faint nibbles between each one. He licks your throat, too, which causes your breath to catch and thighs to press together. The throbbing in your clit worsens when he noses at your pulse point and whines, hips jerking lightly against your ass.

Ghost’s voice cuts through the faint buzzing in your ears and you wince as your arousal dissipates. He tells you breakfast is ready, but you’re not released from Soap’s intense hold. Ghost gives him a glare and Soap’s hips buck once more in response. You’re given one last nip before Soap lets you push off him. He trails behind you, the hem of your sleep shirt caught between two fingers.

Your place at the table has been set elegantly, as if you were royalty. Price pours you a glass of juice while Gaz pushes your chair in and lays a napkin (really it’s just the second cheapest kind of paper towel you could get) in your lap. Ghost places your plate before you and awkwardly gives your head a pat when you thank him. It’s awfully charming being treated so well by them, but there’s a bit of suspicion lurking in the back of your mind.

It’s not your fault the men you’ve entertained in the past have be lackluster in…well, just about every way.

They all sit on the other side of the table, crammed together like sardines in a tin as they dig into their own omelets and hash. Your omelet was the prettiest that’d been made: no tearing along the seam, perfect gold spots across the outside. The seasonings used were light and complementary. Ghost had been the one to cook it, you reasoned. He was a maestro in the kitchen, always bringing in little bits of what he’d cooked the night before to team meetings or sharing his food during breaks in the rec room when it wasn’t under repair because of Soap.

Your appetite quickly fades as you wonder when the topic of ‘Round Two’ will be mentioned, or if Ghost and Gaz’s hints of things turning into something more will be touched on. Both have been sitting in the back of your mind since last night to the point you recall vague dreams regarding them. The anticipation of a talk makes faint nausea build in your belly as your heart keeps wondering and hoping, hoping, hoping—

Price clears his throat and your fork skids on the plate. The screeching of metal on porcelain makes your skin crawl and your teeth ache. All four of the guys look at you with concern and you wave them off, quickly taking a sip of juice. The anticipated conversation begins once you swallow, no chance of any spit takes or choking.

He puts it all very plainly: the four of them do want you. They’d been keen on you for the longest but had all agreed to refrain from making any moves to preserve camaraderie but then you’d gone and complained about your workload and not being laid. The perfect opportunity for them, for you. He tells you they’d talked about how things would go afterwards, the proposition of some kind of…situation or legitimate relationship between you and all of them.

It’s stressed that there’s no pressure, no true expectations of anything—the military’s funny that way sometimes; the expectation for anything to work out often squashed without realizing once it begins to grow. Soap becomes a little pouty when Gaz assures you they’ll all be okay if you decline round two of the bet, or if you ask them to just forget anything ever happened.

That’s when you ask if you can say your piece and you’re given the floor. You find it flattering, and jarring, that they’ve all had their eye on you for a while. You admit you can’t help but pay close attention to them as well. Sometimes you think you know their personalities, talents, and appearances better than your own. And you express that round two is something you desperately want to have happen. But, the prospect of a relationship of any kind between the five of you makes you twitchy despite the last twelve or so house of constant dreamy pondering.

You explain, not in too much detail, that your past relationships and dynamics haven’t been the healthiest. Each one adding a new boundary and expectation to an already long list. Anyone you get with in the hopes of something serious is quickly met with said list because you’ve learned to never assume that people will be good and faithful. You tell them that you’re willing to explore things with them if they’re amenable to be respectful of that list—and of course, you would be be respectful of their limits.

They hear you out when you tell them you’d want something closed, just the five of you. Everyone intertwined in various pairings if that’s what they wanted, but no outside people. Too complicated, too risky in some circumstances. No one throws a fit or even looks the least bit bothered by the boundary which settles your nausea significantly. Slow and steady is your next big point. You want to explore things with them as they come up naturally, be it kinks or troubles or life in general. Rushing to force an experience, you have found, cheapens it and leads to some form of relationship burnout that you don’t want to experience with them or have them experience with you.

It’s all quite formal, their agreeing to what you want and stating their own boundaries—no secrets, the relationship still exists but becomes second place when on a mission or otherwise at work, communication remains at the forefront of everything—which you’re happy to agree to. You’re half-tempted to get some pens and paper to really seal the deal, but you settle for pinking-promising with Soap which seems to be enough for the others.

Breakfast is through not long after, and you work with the guys to put away leftovers and clean up the kitchen. You get a kiss on the cheek or shoulder, a firm hand pressing your back whenever they pass by you. It makes your skin heat, your stomach and heart in some mild flux at the constant sweet attention that is all yours. They receive their own affections from you, a peck in return for a peck, a gentle lean into their side when their shoulders brush yours.

Soap mentions needing a change of clothes—toiletries, too—and the others echo him. They’d be gone for a while, base was a healthy distance from your home which is just how you like it, but you didn’t want to be alone while getting ready for round two. You ask if they can grab some of Price’s stuff to bring back while they’re on base so he can hand around to take part in the prep since he got so little time with you last night.

And that’s exactly what led to you trying to tune out the grating voices of sports casters while being prepped on the couch.

Price has been idly fingering you for the last hour while watching a rerun of a football game he missed during the last deployment. He slowly presses two of his thick fingers into your cunt, keeps them still for a moment or two before he crooks them and you tense around them. Then he pulls them most of the way out while spreading them bit by bit, only to push them back in.

Occasionally he’ll get a text, sometimes multiple at a time and you know it’s from the others because of the little text tones. Whatever they send him has his hips bucking, causing his hard cock to rub against your stomach for a bit of friction before he settles.

You want to bite him for being such a fucking tease but you can’t find much purchase to do so given that you’re draped over his lap and pinned there, face buried in one of your fluffy throw pillows that Soap teased you for owning. You also remember that it was you who asked him to stay behind to prep you and to do it his way.

The front door opens and you perk up to the best of your ability. You try to squirm a bit so you can go greet the others and find out what they’d been up to, but John’s hold on you tightens. He gives your bare ass a light slap, soothing over the spot as the faint burn of pain faded. The others come into view and you whine at them, but they don’t pay you any mind, leaving you to your fate with Price as they go to the bedroom, shopping bags and luggage in hand.

“I didn’t know they were going to the shop, too. What did they get?” you ask Price.

“You’ll find out when we’re ready for you to,” he says as he slowly presses a third finger into you. The stretch is bordering on uncomfortable. His free hands soothes your tensing back. “Three’s all we’ll do—that’s what we agreed on. Relax for me, pet.”

You huff, feigning annoyance while relaxing to the best of your ability. His three fingers are about as wide as your biggest toy. The same one that sits at the back of your nightstand drawer, used only when you have a fully uninterrupted day off, something you haven’t had in ages. It simply takes too long to prep yourself and when you’re ready, you’re too tired—annoyed, too, sometimes—to do more than cockwarm it for a while. It was also hit and miss if penetration did much for you.

Something thuds in the bedroom and you bang your head against the fluffy pillow. “If they break something up there—“

“Nothing’s broken, pet. Gaz probably tripped on Soap’s damn boots, or Ghost’s turned one of them into a pretzel for being annoying,” Price said.

Price gets a text and he pulls his fingers out of you slowly. He’s gentle as he grabs hold of you, a wall of muscle for you to lean on as the shaky muscles in your legs remember how to work. The bed’s been stripped down to the fitted sheet and mattress protector under it, a lone pillow is at the foot of the bed. Water bottles and a variety of snacks have been laid out on your desk, the lights dimmed and tower fan turned on to manage the temperature. Ghost hands you a lilac satin blindfold, a definite upgrade to the sleep mask he’s now tossing in the trash bin under your desk.

A quick refresher of the dos and don’ts and safe words are had before Ghost helps you lay the strip of fabric over your eyes and tie it in place. You casually drop that if the others want to toy around with you while you try to determine who’s fucking you, they should go for it.

Four sets of hands guide you onto the bed and put you on your knees, the pillow secure under your elbows. Belt buckles clank and fabric rustles, you hear whispers before a box is opened and foil is crinkled—condoms. Condoms had escaped your mind but not theirs, and you’re glad. Sure you’ve got an IUD that’s going to need replacing in a handful of months, but it’s better to be safe than sorry. None of you could afford the scare that came along with not using condoms.

The bed dips as one of them kneels behind you and you try not to flinch when a firm hands rests on your hip. You arch your back as his tip presses against your slit with the slightest bit of pressure. It’s when he slowly presses into you that you realize just how necessary Price’s three fingers were. The stretch makes you shudder and clench, your inner voice reminding you relax as he massages your hips.

You give him a quick thumbs up when you feel situated enough. His movements are slow at first, he pulls out halfway before guiding you back until your ass is flush with his hips. You feel unruly hairs scratch your cheeks and shake your head, knowing full well who it is: Soap. You may or may not have caught a few glimpses of his bush, at least the top bit, during the times he stretches his arms over his head after unbuckling his belt post-mission or training.

He reaches around and between your legs to toy with your poor clit that had been ignored by Price for a whole hour. You whine into the pillow as your body shudders with pleasure and your hips jerk to chase his teasing fingers, pulling you out of the steady pace that had been set. You hold off on saying his name because he’s at least trying to be a giving partner, but it stumbles from your lips when his pace gets faster and jostles you closer to the edge of the bed.

Per the rules of the bet, his turn is over. He slips out and carefully pulls you from the edge. You feel a little bad that he didn’t come, but then he groans softly across the room and you know he’s taking care of himself just fine. And probably sitting naked on your leather desk chair at that.

Someone gently turns you onto your back and settles between your legs, cool hands guiding them to hook around his hips. You’re given a bit of time to adjust to him before he’s leaning on his left forearm and thrusting into you firmly. There’s no way to identify him by his manscaping, or lack thereof, and he hasn’t started using his hands or making sounds, which quickly frustrates you.

Patience isn’t your main virtue, you’re learning.

You scrunch your nose and move your brows, trying to get the satin blindfold to shift so you can get a glimpse of something but you hear someone ‘tsk-tsk’. Then a hand slaps your cunt lightly—Price’s hand, it felt the same when he spanked your ass earlier. You writhe and moan as Price occasionally pats your clit while you’re getting fucked, the stimulation causing that dizzying tension in your belly to coil tighter and tighter.

Those thinner, longer fingers that tormented you last night ghost over your lips and you part them. You lay your tongue out flat and then lick the finger that prods at the pointed tip of your tongue. Your lips wrap around two of his fingers and suck lightly, moving your tongue against the undersides. The man doubles over, hips stuttering as he comes. He pulls his fingers free and you wipe the spit from your lips as you say his name—Gaz—softly. He presses a kiss to your lips before pulling away and hopping off the bed.

Either Price or Ghost take Gaz’s place quickly, resuming his pace to keep your arousal from dissipating. You’re hoisted up by four hands and you quickly wrap your arms around the man’s neck. He guides your hips to rock with his as he whispers in your ear before pressing a kiss to your cheek. Ghost lays you back down as you do what he asks and say his name. He wanted Price to have the final go, to have his fun and to make you come.

You latch onto Price like a leech when he hovers over you. That hour of prepping you taught him exactly what to do, where to press and when. As he pulls out, his thumb moves faster against your clit before slowing as he thrusts in, your back arching and body burning. Sweet praise comes at you from all sides, filling your brain with cotton as you try not to let go too quickly but when Price calls you their ‘sweet pet’, it’s all over. You’re coming around his cock, crying out brokenly as hands move across your body to limit the jerking of your limbs. For a moment everything’s quiet, then a heavy and hot weight is on top of you, panting in your ringing ears.

Price pushes off of you and helps you sit up against a bunch of pillows that are shoved under you. A water bottle is shoved in your face right as the blindfold comes off. You sip at it while you watch Soap, Gaz and Ghost bumble naked around the bedroom to find the wet wipes the apparently bought, and your backup sheets and mattress protector. Price is half holding you as he asks how you feel and if everything was done to your liking. You tell him you’re good but tired, and that it was quite enjoyable. You check in with them, as well, getting smiles along with affirmative answers.

The next thing you know, all four of them are filtering in and out of your shower, quickly washing up and helping you do the same before they tap in the next one. Dinner consists of five different pizzas, a shabby blanket fort in the living room, and a campy horror film that puts you to sleep across their laps halfway through it.

What if I put reader on leave with in an array of dildos and a new vibrator while the guys go on a mission…? I’m thinking some thoughts. Anyways, poor Soap. He hasn’t even come close to making reader come and it makes me so happy. He’s the character I love to be sadistic towards. Last time it was Ghost x Gaz who got her off, now it’s Price. He’ll get his turn eventually…

[theprettynosferatu]

CONTENT WARNING. NO, FOR REAL, READ THIS FIRST.

This story contains strong themes and graphic non-consensual sex. If you feel they might affect you adversely, skip this one.

Andrea is being tormented in college by a bigoted popular girl. Her daddy has always helped her... maybe he can help her get some justice...

CW: Incest, non-con, SA, orientation play (F-straight to bi)

I - No Expiration Date

She felt ridiculous. She probably looked ridiculous too, sitting against the wall, grabbing her knees, almost shaking, all in the middle of the hallway. Most made a point to not look at her, rushing to their classes, their dorms or wherever the hell they needed to be with such haste. Well, Andrea knew they only rushed because of her, to give themselves a plausible excuse to avoid doing the right thing and checking up on the poor, weird girl hyperventilating on the ground.

The worst part was that Andrea knew she shouldn’t let it get to her. If anything, it was Kate that should be ashamed of herself, not Andrea- fuck, to say such things in these days was almost quaint in its ignorance, and if Andrea chose to make a stink, grounds for expulsion. Would it be considered a hate crime? Maybe. But going up to the dean or whoever like a poor little victim felt so… humiliating. Perhaps more so than Kate’s constant, whispered words and stories. And some idiots actually listened to her! 

Andrea supposed that was the big perk of having a rich, connected daddy. Even the most moronic and bigoted statements found an audience eager to please, if only for the unspoken promise of future gifts, recommendations, networking opportunities. Shit, even the dean might sweep the whole thing under the rug just to please her family. Andrea could feel the rage building up inside her chest, making her almost sick. Part of it was the stench of injustice that surrounded the whole deal. But most of her anger was directed at herself. It wasn’t as if any of this was new to her: she had come out in highschool. Every insult and every joke and every slur had been thrown at her a thousand times over already. 

But… college was supposed to be different. Even the teachers that saw the abuse in her younger years had told her so. It will get better. You’ll get out of here, and in college all this will be a distant memory. That hope had kept her going even as everyone forgot her name and simply called her “The Dyke” her entire senior year. But those were kids. Kate was a fucking adult. And yet, bigotry seemed to have no expiration date.

Fuck. The bullying wasn’t even fucking accurate! Andrea had been openly bi for years, but apparently the nuances of sexual orientation were irrelevant when it came to making one person the butt of every facile joke, a stepping stone to get some sweet, addicting attention. And Kate loved nothing more than attention. Good, bad, who cared? As long as the spotlight was on her, whatever hole she had in what she called a soul was temporarily filled. Fucking go to therapy, you cunt! Did daddy not hug you enough? Used dollars as a substitute for affection? Boo-hoo. It didn’t justify a goddamn thing.  

Andrea took a deep breath and managed to get up. Her Social Psych lecture was about to start, and Andrea knew she would skip it, even if she tried to fool herself for a moment, to force her legs to walk towards the classroom. Step by step, she headed for her dorm room. Fuck. Another absence. Kate was even fucking up her academic life. But what could Andrea do? Go to the professor and explain that, sorry, I couldn’t make it because the rich girl made fun of me?

She threw herself on the bed with punishing force. A miniature form of self-harm, she figured. Sometimes she hated majoring in psychology: that little voice that analyzed her actions almost made her feel like she was performing her suffering, rather than feeling it fully. And that distancing might also be a defense mechanism. Well, shit. How does one turn their brain off?

Andrea felt a pang in her chest, a familiar longing for home. Sure, it wasn’t a perfect place and money was always tight. Sure, her mother had vanished when she was barely one year old. Sure, the old place was in dire need of repairs and an update. But it was home. Of course, she knew she was lying to herself by omission. She was trying not to think of the one person that made it a home, and inevitably, in trying to suppress the idea, it came to her twice as strong. Daddy. Her father was her home, and it made her feel childish, helpless, as if she was ten and running to him whenever things went poorly. That her mind still went to him filled her with shame.

Oh, bullshit. You know damn well why you don’t want to think about him.

She couldn’t tell when it had happened, exactly. It had been something slow, growing inside her, indirectly pushing her subconscious. If she looked back at her dating history, a pattern emerged, one hidden at the time but blindingly obvious in retrospect: similar to dad, similar to dad… and then, when an errant comment by a friend (“All I’m saying is, like, for an old guy… you’re dad is kinda hot”) opened her eyes, she swerved in an attempt to escape her feelings. Different from dad, different from dad… The problem with “different from dad” was, of course, that those guys were, well, different from her dad. 

The summer before college had been the worst. She did her best to be home as little as possible.

Before she knew it, twin emotions were boiling over inside her. The first made her feel sick to her stomach, made her muscles tense up, made her breathing shallow and quick, as if she was about to leap and bite some animal’s neck. It was rage, pure and shining, clad with the garment of a righteous need for justice. It isn’t fair. It isn’t fucking fair. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. That fucking bitch. She needs to suffer. She needs to be punished. She needs to fucking learn some humility. And at the same time, the second feeling snuck up on her, traveling in the shadow of the first, mingling with it until they became one, like snakes mating. Dad. She needs to suffer, dad. Make her suffer for me. Please. Please, daddy. Do this for me and I’ll… 

Andrea snapped back to reality, horrified. She moved her hand from between her legs, not even knowing when she had started playing with herself. Fuck, she was soaked. Shame almost brought her to tears, until Kate’s sneering face popped back in her mind. She had endured enough for one day. She had earned a little bit of fantasy. Just that. It wasn’t as if she’d ever do anything about… well, anything. But she could imagine, couldn’t she? She wasn’t that much of a coward- she could dare to imagine Kate, and dad, and… 

Fuck it. Who cared if it was wrong. She needed release.

Andrea let her hand go back between her legs.

II - The Call

Mike found himself staring at his phone. His morning coffee had gotten cold, but he took a sip anyway, almost as an automatic action. He couldn’t stop playing the conversation back in his head over and over.

“Dad, I’m on my way. I need your help. I… I’ll explain…”

“Andrea, are you okay? What happened?”

“I… I’ll be there in about an hour. I kinda… I don’t want to talk over the phone. Dad, I… nevermind. We’ll talk when I get there.”

And that had been it. No clues, no hint, nothing to guide him except the tone in his daughter’s voice. She was scared, and she was suffering, and that was all that he needed to know. Whatever it was that was harming her girl, he’d move Heaven and Earth to make it better. That much he knew, deep in his heart. Still, he couldn’t stop picturing the worst possible scenarios.

He tried to remain calm. Sexual assault on college campuses is… 

Mike pushed the thought away.  

Restrictions on reproductive rights have…

Snippets of news stories slapped him. The world could be a terrifying place for a young woman. But that was why they had chosen a college close to home. So Andrea could always come to him if she needed help. And she clearly needed help. Stay focused, old man. She needs you to be strong. Don’t let her see you panic. 

He needed to be strong for her. That was all he always wanted to be, more than anything: a rock, a place of stability, a North Star for the one thing that mattered in his life. They had faced the world together. They had survived poverty together. They had endured the pain of an absent mother and wife together. They had managed a retrograde high school that tormented Andrea together. She had saved his life as much as he had fostered hers. Without his girl, Mike wasn’t sure where he would be- perhaps underground. She had been the reason to dig deep, to find strength, to endure, always. 

Don’t let her see you panic.

Don’t let her see you looking at her.

He shook the intrusive thought off. Andrea needed him, not his fucked up neuroses, not the secret shame the last months of living together had awakened in him.

One hour stretched into a year, and Mike practically leaped out the door as soon as he heard the car pulling over. The first thing he noticed was his daughter’s panicked face, and that alone was enough to make his heart feel like it was about to burst out of his chest. The second thing he noticed was the other girl, passed out in the passenger’s seat. Andrea rushed into his arms, and he held her tight, trying to will some degree of peace into her mind. First things first.

“Are you okay?”, he asked.

“Yes, I’m… I’m fine.”, Andrea sobbed.

Good. Now to do what he did best: fix things.

“Ok, so, your friend…”

“She’s not my friend.”

“What did she take? Did you take anything? Look, I’m not… I won’t get mad, I just need to know what she may have taken… is it just booze? No, couldn’t be… Benzos? Or… Christ, I don’t know what you guys take these days in college…”

“Dad! She didn’t take anything!”

“Are you sure? Maybe she went into some bathroom and did something… okay. First things. We need to call an ambulance…”

“Dad, please! Listen to me! I’ll explain everything. But we need to get her inside before anyone sees-”

“Andrea, this girl is passed out! She needs medical attention! Who knows what-”

“I know what she took because I gave it to her, okay? She’s just asleep! And she should be asleep for… maybe another couple of hours. Daddy, please… I swear I’ll explain. Just help me get her into the house, okay?”

Mike felt dumbfounded. The idea that his Andrea had roofied some other girl was so distant from his image of her, from the girl he had raised, that the contradiction felt impossible to resolve. It was a paralyzing feeling, one he couldn’t entirely put into words. All he knew was he didnt like it one bit. He was a man of action. He needed to do things, more than ponder feelings. And the thing to do, if only to escape that horrid sensation, was to get the poor girl out of the car.

They dragged Kate into the house, and laid her down on Andrea’s bed- a task that, Mike noticed, his daughter undertook with less care than he would have liked. Back in the living room, he looked at his daughter and put on his best stern face. Stern was good. It hid other ideas that came into his mind when he looked directly at Andrea.

“Explain.”

Andrea broke down in tears.

“Daddy, that girl… Kate.. she’s… she’s making my life Hell! She tortures me every day, makes fun of me, spreads rumors about me… people think… I don’t even know what they think about me anymore. So I can’t make any friends. Just like high school. It’s the same damn thing! And they all said… you said college would be different! But it’s not! Maybe it’s my fault. Maybe I’m just… I don’t know. Broken. Maybe people can smell I’m weird, or weak, or… and they know they can abuse me and mock me and… It’s not fair! And I didn’t know what to do, I wasn’t thinking straight… I just put a couple of pills in her tea, and… I freaked out. I needed to feel safe, and I feel safe here… with you.”

Mike took it all in. He had to admit the sight of his precious daughter in such despair was enough to pierce any ideas of being tough he might have. And yes, it wasn’t fair. The world wasn’t fair at all. Andrea was beautiful, smart, creative… but there would always be those people who couldn’t understand someone being different, loving who they loved, being their authentic self. He got the anger. He got the frustration. He hated that Andrea had been driven to this point. But there was a big thing to address.

“Honey… I know… but you can’t just… just… kidnap someone!”

Andrea couldn’t help herself. She ran into her father’s arms, and hugged him tight.

“Daddy… I didn’t know what to do. I…”

She went silent. Mike couldn’t find the words to console her, to lecture her, to say anything at all. All he could do was feel the warmth of her body pressed against him, intuit her soft curves, take in the smell of her shampoo, her skin. It was intoxicating, and for once he let himself feel… whatever it was he was feeling. He let himself enjoy the moment, and even the sleeping girl in the bedroom seemed to fade away from his consciousness. They simply lingered, holding each other, taking it all in.

Such a moment couldn’t last. It shouldn’t last. Mike forced himself to speak, to say… whatever he could muster.

“What… I don’t know what you expect me to do…”

He felt Andrea’s hands on his back holding him tighter. He felt her warm breath on his ear, sending shivers down his spine as she whispered before the words even registered in his brain.

“Daddy… please… fuck her for me. Fucking rape the cunt… show her her place. Daddy… break her with your cock. For me.”

III - Persuasion 

Andrea couldn’t tell exactly what happened to her, what shifted within herself in that embrace, what damn had finally broken in her mind. Even as her father pushed her away with a horrified look on his face, she could see him- almost as if for the first time. A veil that had been dulling her sight for so, so long had finally vanished. Yes, she saw everything so clearly now, with such simple purity, devoid of fear or shame or silly excuses. It was a bizarre sensation, to finally be able to accept without doubt or hesitation the truth, so long buried.

She wanted to fuck him.

He wanted to fuck her.

So obvious. So simple. So powerful. Andrea wasn’t going to run away from it anymore. And she could see, under the mask of horror worn by her father, beneath the shock in his eyes, something else. Stirring. 

Suddenly, Andrea felt powerful. Immense. Sexy. In control. The fact that she had become one with her secret desires and he hadn’t brought a predatory joy to her chest… and something else, both an anger and a need. In her heart she could see not just what her father was but what he could be, what he could become, what he needed to be. She could almost smell it- the strong, conquering Man suffocated by the dull veneer of morality and social norms. Yes, she felt powerful- but she didn’t need to be strong. She needed to be taken by him. She needed to bring the beast forth, somehow. To make him see himself as she saw him. To make him see her as she wanted to be seen.

She smiled inside, even as her father almost recoiled from her. It was all a game, now. One she intended to win.

In the blink of an eye her entire demeanor, her posture, the way she looked at her father shifted. For a second she was the perfect picture of innocence, of a young woman in need of rescue.

“Daddy… please… I need your help. Won’t you help your little girl? I promise I’ll be good. I’ll be so… so good to you, Daddy. I’ll be your good little girl. Your obedient… slutty… little daughter”, she smiled as she took one step towards her father, her body now swaying like a cat slowly approaching its prey. She took a moment to delight in the confusion in her father’s eyes, the tension increasing almost to a breaking point.

“I… what are you…”, managed to mumble Mike. Oh, it was so pathetic it became cute.

“Daddy… you think I haven’t noticed the way you look at me recently? It must be so, so hard for you… to see your little girl all grown up, and you all alone… that’s not fair, is it?”, said Andrea as she closed the distance with her now paralyzed father. Oh, this was too much fun. “You have been a bad daddy in your mind, haven’t you? That sounds so painful! Knowing it’s soooo wrong to think about your little girl like that… having to pretend you don’t want to… Fuck. Your. Daughter. Oh daddy, don’t blush! Surprised to hear such naughty words coming from my cute mouth? Or… do you like me having such a potty mouth?”

Andrea, in a swift motion ran her hand over her father’s crotch. Yes. She could feel it. So hard. So warm. She was right. He was breaking.

“Feels like your daddy cock likes me talking like a dirty slut! Don’t be ashamed! I love to imagine your cock getting so hard for me… I love to know I can make it so, so happy… And only using my words! Just talking like the hopeless little fucking whore I am… for you… just knowing you can use my tight holes whenever you want… however you want… and I’ll take it like a good girl! I am your good girl, daddy. You made me, after all… you own me… you can own every inch of my slutty, smooth body…”

Suddenly, she took a step back, her eyes almost in tears. She was the very picture of anguish, of despair, of vulnerability. Mike opened his mouth to speak, but he found no words came to him. He just watched, fighting his need to hug her, to protect her, to tell her he would make everything right again.

“Daddy… I’m so sorry… I don’t know what got into me. I just feel so confused, so disoriented, and… I don’t know. It’s like I have all these feelings inside me and they get all mixed up and I can’t really tell what I feel anymore, and it hurts so much. It hurts, Daddy. And that girl… Kate… I can’t tell you how much she’s hurt me, how she has been messing with my mind and making me so miserable… and… and I guess, I’m not sure, just… I thought you could help me, Daddy. You always could help me. You always could make me feel like everything would be okay, that I wasn’t a freak, or…”

“Honey, you are not a freak! You know this. You’ve been so brave, so strong, so true to yourself, even when everyone gave you grief over it!” He couldn’t help himself anymore. He held his sweet girl in his arms.

“But I… I did a bad thing, Daddy. I brought Kate here… I couldn’t think of anything else to do to make her stop, to make her leave me alone…”

“I know. And yes, you did a… wrong thing. But that doesn’t make you a monster, or evil or anything like that, okay? We’ll… I’ll find a way… I’ll help you. I’ll… fix it, somehow.”

“Will you rape her for me? Will you punish her with your cock for hurting your little girl? I’ll be so, so good for you if you do it, daddy… I’ll be the bestest daughter ever for you!”

Mike tried to pull away before he was interrupted by the sensation of warm, soft lips on his own. Time stopped. He felt dizzy, trapped in the feeling, the scent of skin, the rush of adrenaline in his chest. He panicked as he realized he didn’t stop it in time. He didn’t stop it as time stretched. He wasn’t stopping it even as the thoughts flooded his mind. It took Mike every ounce of willpower to push his daughter away.

Oh, it was so fun to see her Daddy so confused, so aroused, so disoriented. But Kate would wake up soon. Andrea needed to land the killing blow on whatever resistance her dear dad had left.

“I’m sorry Daddy… it’s just that I love you so, so much…” One slow, seductive step towards him. “I was bad, Daddy. I shouldn’t have done that, right? Does that make me a bad girl? A bad daughter?” Another step. So close now. “I’m so, so sorry for being bad, Daddy. I’m sorry I made your cock all hard for me and teased you and used all those dirty, dirty words. Will you punish me, Daddy? Will you make me good again, show me my place? I think you should. I think you should take your cock, and-”

One final step, and Mike snapped. For the first time in his life, he slapped his daughter. Horror set on his face, and it became a mixture of bewilderment and fire when he noticed Andrea’s reaction. She was smiling.

“Mmmmh… so strong, Daddy. Do it again. Punish me. Show me you own me. Make me your bitch!”

It was over for Mike. Something primal, something awful had taken hold of him. 

His hand on her neck. Hers rubbing his cock over his pants. Her soft moans. Kisses that turned into bites. His own mumbled, jumbled words. Little cunt. Evil fucking bitch. Her words, playing off his. Your little cunt. Your good little girl. Her face against the wall. Her movements, grinding her ass against him. Her hands on his chest, pushing him back. 

So many lines crossed. Mike knew, deep down, he had broken something inside himself. Or maybe she had broken it in him. It didn’t matter. He looked down at the beautiful, perfect woman kneeling and smiling. He saw his daughter, yes, but his eyes were now different. The barrier that kept the idea of “daughter” and “sex” apart simply didn’t exist anymore. He felt adrift, caught by a whirlwind he couldn’t stop- one he didn’t want to stop. 

Victory. It looked like victory. Victory over herself, over her old fears. Victory over his attempts at doing the “right thing”. Further victory to come, as well. And it didn’t hurt that the cock that made her was a rather large one, veiny and beautiful. He tried to keep herself in check. She knew exactly what to do, which went against everything her body was screaming for her to do. No matter how much she needed to feel that cock deep inside her pussy, no matter how much she longed to taste his cum on her tongue, she would have to wait. She couldn’t risk some post nut clarity throwing further objections to her plan. She kept her mind on Kate as she licked, kissed, loved his member. She was alert, ready to stop before he went over the edge. She did let one hand slide between her legs- just a treat, and a bit of a show for Daddy. She took him deep in her throat, deeper than anyone she’d ever blown. He deserved it. He was her one true love. 

She did manage to stop herself when she felt him getting close, heard his moans getting stronger.

She stood up and simply, gently, gave his Daddy her soaked hand for him to smell. It was a promise of the pleasures to come… if he did as she asked, as she needed him to. She could see it in his eyes. He had been unleashed. Andrea smiled, and with a moan sucked her fingers clean, keeping her green eyes fixed on her Daddy’s gaze.

Punishment would finally come to the one that had wronged her.

IV - Melody of Madness

Slowly, Kate started to regain her consciousness. It was a gradual thing, messy, disoriented. The first thing she noticed was a scent- the kind of smell that tells one they’re no longer home, but in a place inhabited for years by some unknown Other. Her body felt heavy, sluggish, weighed down. She wasn’t afraid, not at that point. She was too out of it to register such an emotion.

Only when her vision cleared a bit and her body started to feel more like her own did the true horror begin. She tried to remain calm. Okay, Kate. Just… try to figure things out. You’re in a bedroom. A girl’s room, judging by the decor. Shit, did you get wasted again? Wait, no… a room, yes, but not a dorm room. Bigger than the dorms. Oh, fuck. Did I party in town? Did I black out and some random girl decided to help me?

A part of her screamed. Assuming that this was just another regrettable morning after too much liquor was only a pleasant delusion, and she knew it. As painful as it might be, she would have to face another possibility. What was the last thing she remembered? She was getting up, ready for class… then she was picking up her morning coffee… a bitter taste, more than usual, and then… nothing. 

Kate needed to get out. Wherever she was, it was not where she wanted to be, that much she knew. She’d have time to figure things out later. First, get out of bed, and then…

She couldn’t. She was bound to the bed by improvised ropes made of sheets. Her legs were open, held in place. She noticed the way the air felt on her skin. She was in her underwear. This final fact froze her for half a minute- thirty seconds that felt like an eternity. 

Finally, she screamed.

“Shut the fuck up, or things will get very, very messy for you. And I don’t want to ruin my sheets, thank you very much.”

The voice was calm. Cold, yet expressing a hint of anticipation. And it was a voice Kate would never have expected to hear in that place, not in a million years.

“Andrea?”

“Oh, I’m ‘Andrea’ today? Are you sure you don’t mean to call me one of your usual nicknames? No ‘dyke’? No ‘carpet muncher’? No ‘cunt licker’? Isn’t it interesting, how something as simple as a little bit of metal and a few sheets are enough to teach you manners?”

Metal? Kate lifted her head as much as she could. There was Andrea, holding a knife. Shit. Shit. Shit. That little, insignificant bitch! And what was it with the outfit? Black lingerie, full face of make-up, devilishly sharp stiletto heels… Kate had never seen the stupid dyke looking anything like a real woman. Huh. So she had curves hidden under her usual baggy hoodies. Good for her. But she was still a fucking loser, and Kate knew how to handle losers.

“What the fuck are you doing, you crazy bitch? Let me go, now! What the hell are you thinking? People will hear…”

“Oh, don’t make a sound. I don’t want my father to…”

“Really? You brought me to your own home? You really are that stupid, huh? Let’s see what your dad thinks of his dyke daughter when she sees what you’ve done! Help! Sir, please! In your daughter’s room!”

Steps stomping outside. A man entered the room. Finally. Victory! Now the crazy dyke would get what was coming to her, and Kate would have a brand new story to bury the little cunt’s reputation even further. Maybe even hold the possibility of jail over her head.

“Andrea! What the hell is this? What are you doing?”, the man said, suitably shocked.

“Daddy! I’m so sorry! I… I just…”

“Didn’t I tell you to let me know as soon as she woke up?”

“You did. Sorry, Daddy. I’ve been a naughty little girl… will you punish me later?”

“Later, yes. Now we have work to do, don’t we, baby girl?”

“Yes we do, Daddy!” she chirped before giving in to a long, deep kiss with the man.

What. The. Fuck.

“Oh, I’m sorry!”, laughed Andrea. “Did you think he would help you? Kate, Kate… Ignorant as always. For one, I’m not a dyke, I’m bi- not that you care, but I figured a little education can’t hurt. And another thing about me: I have the bestest Daddy in the whole world! And my Daddy would do anything for me, because I’m his perfect, slutty good girl… and he’s very, very good at training good girls! Well, maybe ‘training’ isn’t the right word. How about… ‘breaking’? You know, like a horse! And we’ll make you such a good, good girl!”

Panic set in.

“Crazy! You’re both fucking crazy!”

Kate squirmed, a scream dying in her throat as Andrea crawled on the bed, swaying like a terrible feline, giving her dad a marvelous show. She lightly touched the inside of Kate’s thighs as she made her way up… before flashing the knife in front of the poor captive’s eyes.

“If I were you”, cooed Andrea, “I’d be very, very still for this part.”

Kated hated that her body seemed to instinctively do as the fucking dyke told. She froze, every muscle locked tight. She closed her eyes, and prayed to no deity in particular. Please. Please. Make it stop.

Kate shuddered as she felt something cold barely grazing her, almost between her legs. Terrible images flashed inside her mind. I might die here. A second later, she felt air caressing her private areas. She opened her eyes, only to see Andrea’s mad smile as she held the remains of Kate’s panties in her hand, skillfully cut off her body. 

“Not the sexiest of panties, I must say. I’m a bit disappointed! But…” Andrea brought the panties to her nose and took a deep, gratifying sniff. “There’s something alluring there. Oh! You’ve never had the pleasure of smelling a nice cunt, have you? No, you’re so very, very straight… you’d never do that, right? Well, you’ve been missing out. Time to fix that.”

Andrea carefully, almost lovingly, tied the panties around Kate’s face. Every breath now was an assault, a reminder of how powerless she was. A humiliation.

“Better get used to it, you stuck-up slut. You’ll be tasting the real thing soon enough. But…” Andrea leaped off the bound body of her foe. “What am I thinking? You’re straight! So, I take it you’d enjoy a big, hard cock more than my… dyke attentions, won’t you? Well, how about some Daddy cock? Won’t you love that? I know you will.”

Andrea skipped, child-like to her father. He was watching the scene before him, almost panting. A beast ready to be unleashed.

“Look!” chirped Andrea. “He’s so, so hard for you already! You should be flattered! Well, no point delaying the inevitable, I say. Ready to feel this big cock ramming into that tight pussy, you bitch?”

“No… no, please, don’t… I’ll… I’m sorry for… for everything! Please, please, please…”

“A little late for that, you evil cunt! Now get ready to be used like the fucking cumrag you are!”

Kate tensed up and shut her eyes hard enough to make them hurt. She braced herself for pain, for agony. She tried to somehow make her mind escape somewhere, anywhere else. Wasn’t that something that happened in these situations? Some sort of protective dissociation? And yet her mind was nailed in place, as stuck to the bed as her body. She waited, shaking… and nothing happened.

“How rude of me!”, mocked Andrea. “I almost made my daddy take that pussy dry! That would hurt a lot! I could help with that situation, you know… but you’re not a filthy pervert like me, that likes cock and pussy alike… so… I have to say, I’m a bit conflicted! Wouldn’t want to make you a dyke against your will! But you can choose. Dry or dyke? Huh? Too shy to speak now, you cunt? Answer me! Dyke. Or. Dry.”

Kate couldn’t believe her ears. An image of the knife flashed in her mind. Fear took hold. Feel of pain, primal, deep. The promise of less pain seemed like an imperative, and her mouth spoke before she could stop it.

“Dyke…” she mumbled.

“Sorry? I couldn’t quite hear that”, saud Andrea.

“Dyke! Dyke! Dyke, goddamn you!”

“She’s out! She’s loud! She’s proud! Welcome to the club, sister! Now relax and let me introduce you to a brand new world…”

It felt gross. It felt odd. Kate tried to reframe it. It’s just lubrication. It’s just making it easier for later. It means nothing. It’s just a tongue. It’s just…

Andrea was good. Extremely so. She took pride in her oral skills and was using all her talents, all her tricks on Kate. Not because she wanted the little bitch to feel good: simply because she knew that pleasure would make her suffer as much as the pain to come. Every involuntary thrust of Kate’s hips, every muffled moan that escaped her lips was a step towards conquest… and Andrea felt like a warlord, like a terrible goddess exacting just revenge…

“Now that wasn’t so bad, was it?” she giggled. “But we can’t have you cumming like that… not when dear Daddy has been so, so patient!”

Fear crept from beneath the disgust Kate felt with herself. A part of her had enjoyed it, and she hated herself for it. Her body was starting to betray her, and that, more than anything, was terrifying. But now the pain would come. She knew that for a fact.

“Daddy, my sweet, sweet Daddy… break the cunt”, said Andrea.

“Please… don’t…” managed to mutter Kate.

It was in vain.

It did hurt. The man was a beast, savage, thrusting into Kate without the slightest care for her pleasure or comfort, using her body like an object to take out all his messed up frustrations, his fantasies, whatever was mixed up in the storm inside his brain. Kate whimpered and yelped and tried not to scream. And in her ear, a warm breath, whispering to her constantly.

“Good girl… won’t you cry for me? Like you made me cry so many times? You fucking slut… don’t fight it… you know what you are, deep down… don’t you miss my sweet tongue on your cunt? Relax… let it happen… you deserve this… and I’ve earned it… your pain… and what you will be for me later… when the pain is gone…”

Part of her mind was aware enough to realize Andrea was rubbing herself right beside her. But most of her mind was focused on the sensation between her legs, the burning, the feeling she was being torn apart… and something worse, slowly creeping its way into the strange mixture assaulting her consciousness. Andrea saw it immediately.

“It’s better now, isn’t it? You can feel it… it’s okay. You don’t have to lie. Not to me. We are sisters now, after all. I, made by the cock that is remaking you! It’s so… poetic, isn’t it? You are a slut. You’ve always been a slut, deep down… all you needed was someone to prove to you that a slut is all you need to be. All you deserve to be. No more queen bee at college for you! And I know you will be such a good little girl for Daddy…”

“Fuck… fuck you…”

“Oh, you’ll get to do that too! Want a taste?”

Andrea started slowly, kissing Kate’s neck, nibbling it, giving her victim goosebumps. Then she delicately removed her bra, and lips met sensitive skin. Kate’s nipples, hard against her will, were assaulted by kisses, suction, skillful licks. Andrea toyed with Kate, varying the pressure, the speed of her tongue, inserting playful little bites into the game. Measuring. Learning. Deciphering every preference, every weak point. To Kate’s horror, the pain was starting to feel duller, as if coming from far away. The pleasure, on the other hand, was sharper, demanding, a hungry thing coming from her own traitorous body. It was hard to think. Hard to keep any single idea in frame inside her mind. Too many stimuli, coming from too many places, attacking different parts of her idea of self. She felt as if she was drowning in sensation.

Andrea made her way down, slowly, as her father’s thrusts became a bit slower. Stamina wasn’t infinite, but she was quite confident that together they could get the job done. Together, they could do anything. It took a bit of careful positioning, but soon the tip of her tongue was able to tease the little cunt’s clit and even give her dear Daddy a little extra lick when he pulled his beautiful cock out, only to ram it into Kate again. Oh, if only this moment could last forever. Father and daughter locked eyes for a moment, in something that felt like a twisted perversion of love. It was time to move on to the next step.

Kate couldn’t stop squirming. Couldn’t stop moaning. Couldn’t stop her fucking body from reacting to the big cock inside her, the tongue playing her pussy like a violin, her own shame turned into a corruption of pleasure, disgust with herself that swirled and shifted and somehow enhanced the feelings that were eroding her sanity. And then, it snuck up on her.

Kate came, harder than ever in her life. Any pretense was undone at that moment. Her body was too honest. But the fucked up father and daughter team didn’t stop. No, they paused for only a second or two before resuming their work. It was too much. Kate shook as she came again. And again. And again.

She was exhausted. Too exhausted to fight anymore. Too confused to protest anything Andrea said. Her words just permeated, unfiltered, into Kate’s mind.

“...tell you? You can be such a good little whore… and we can be Daddy’s sluts together! Don’t you think he deserves it? His cock made you cum so much… your pain gave it so much pleasure… it owns you now. And you’ll love it, I know you will. We’ll make you love it so, so much, until you forget what a fucking bitch you were before…”

Kate didn’t even notice when the restraints were removed. There were stronger ones in place now, and she could feel them. Inside her head. She had been defeated. She had been conquered. She had surrendered.

“On all fours”, Daddy said. He didn’t have to say it twice. Kate complied. 

“Word on campus is that your little ass is the one hole you’ve been saving up for someone special! Well, I say you’ve met someone very special! So now Daddy will take the last bit of you and you’ll finally be entirely his! Isn’t that exciting? But… what about your poor fellow slut? I mean, I gave you pleasure too! I say I deserve a treat. So… you get pain for Daddy and he gets to watch you eat a pussy for the first time! What a show it will be! And we’ll make it a show, won’t we, sis?”

Yes. Whatever Andrea said. It was easier to comply. Easier to obey. Easier to just accept. It would hurt. Good. If her pain was what they wanted, they would have it. She would have sex with another girl. Good. If they wanted her to dyke out, she would. 

Kate’s screams sent vibrations through Andrea’s pussy, only making Kate’s inexperienced attempts at eating her out so much more delicious. Andrea felt like a queen, being serviced as she deserved. Mike was a beast, finally letting out something that had been suppressed in shame for far too long. Kate let her body take over, turning even pain into something else, something like purpose, or atonement. In a single day, all three had changed. Forever.

The tight, virgin ass, paired with the spectacle of this girl pleasuring his sweet little girl sent Mike over the edge. He barely managed to pull out before cumming with an intensity that shocked even himself. Kate’s back was soaked, and some drops had even landed on his own daughter’s breasts. 

Andrea licked her lips.

“Kate… sis… why don’t we clean each other up for Daddy?”

V - Epilogue

Mike woke up to the sensation of tongues on his cock, as was the norm. He let himself relax and sink into pleasure. To think that half a year ago, the idea of even looking at his daughter had felt revolting! How silly he had been. They loved each other. They made each other their best versions of themselves. Their most perverted versions. 

And Kate… how lovely it had all been. Sure, it had taken a little while for her to fully enter the family, but now she and her adoptive sister were inseparable. They went shopping for slutty outfits, they did their camshows together to make Daddy money… they had even made out in front of the Dean when they announced they were dropping out of college to be full-time whores. It was tender, in a way. Kate’s addiction to pain and humiliation had come as a bit of a surprise, but a welcome one- especially by Andrea, who had started to explore her sadistic side more and more.

Of course, they both adored Daddy. They were always ready, always willing to please him. After far too many years of gray, dull effort and solitude, Mike felt happy. He let himself enjoy that fact.

After he came, the girls licked each other clean, moaning as they savored their Daddy’s cum. With bright smiles, they leaped on the bed with Mike.

“Good morning, Daddy!” they said in unison.

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Every bit helps!

[retromotherfuckers]

Violet Eyes, Red

Pairing:

rhysand x reader (pretty sure it's gender neutral - there might be a "she" i missed while referring to you from the original draft bc second person pov is not how i write)

Summary:

you and your mate reunite after feyre defeats amarantha and this is the fallout of what the bitch did to him.

Warnings:

aftermath of SA - i can't really tell if it's graphic which tells me it is, loose description of a panic attack, PTSD, please let me know if I missed anything. guys, please, if these topics are triggering for you, don't read this fic. i am not responsible for your media consumption, but i also don't want to throw you headfirst into your trauma.

Word Count:

2,140

A/N:

literally broke my own damn heart with this one. rhys' trauma is so ignored and that needed to be rectified. rhys might be my second favorite bat boy, but he's still a lil baby who needs to be protected

The human girl had beaten her - the woman of his nightmares - once and for all. At the first moment he could, Rhysand winnowed. After fifty years, he knew there was only one place he could go. After all, it was the last Sunday of the month, and that Sunday was the day he and his mate reserved just for themselves. The High Lord and Lady would not conduct any business on that day.

You'd spend most of your day on the balcony. You'd serenade him with the piano. You'd fly around Velaris - creating patterns in the air. You'd cradle each other in your arms. He'd sketch out a new drawing - trying and failing, in his opinion, to encapsulate your true beauty.

One day, he broke that promise, that vow you had made, and went to what he thought was a simple trade meeting. That morning was the last day he saw you, and he still couldn't live with himself.

Those memories alone kept him breathing at times. When Amarantha stole his bed, his body, his hope.

Then the human girl showed up, and he tried to help her. Wanted to give her what she needed to beat the beast he didn't think he'd ever escape. But he had lost the will to pray for it. To the cauldron, to the Mother Above. Despite his pessimism, she persevered. The girl had won. And then he was free.

He was on the balcony before he could even think about it. After a quick glance around, he realized it was empty. At first, he felt a pulse of disappointment, but with the realization of how long it'd been, he breathed deeply. How could he expect you to keep up the tradition? Fifty years of solitude on those Sundays would have made him mad if your roles were reversed.

At the thought, he allowed himself to feel the mating bond. It had gone cold the moment he winnowed away all those years ago, but now it was as beautiful as he remembered. The pull of another person at the end of a tether, forever binding them in the purest forms of fate.

But he heard your thoughts, and he almost broke down in sobs at the sound of your voice in his head. Please come home, my love. I don't know how to do this anymore. Please. The last word, you were begging. Your inner voice, the one he had to get used to living without, was broken. Pleading for him to return - despite everything you'd probably heard.

And with that, he took action, winnowing to every room in the house so he would find you as soon as possible. He knew you were close; your scent wasn't stale. It was fresh, clinging to every piece of furniture you owned together.

It was the last room he checked, his office, where he found you. You sat in his desk chair; the leather more worn than he remembered. But the sight of you stopped him from rushing to you. Nursing a bottle of wine, you slouched on your elbows, hands in your hair, as more thoughts streamed through the bond.

I'm losing myself, Rhys. I don't know how much more of this I can take. I can't let myself believe you won't come back because that- that will ruin me. What she's doing to you, what she's making you do. I don't even know a fraction of it, but I can't stop it. I- I can't protect you. And I hate myself for it. 

He was watching you as you sent the words down the bond, the bond that had been desolate for half a century. You run your hands down your face, not looking up from your wine, the third of many you planned to drown in.

Just get through it. Please just- just survive. Do what you have to do to come home. I'll be here. I love you. My mate.

You'd only allowed yourself to talk to him once a month. Initially, you would try to send him something every day. Thoughts, images, songs you'd learned, prayers for him. You never heard anything back, and it slowly started eating away at you. It shattered your hope every time you didn't get a response.

You'd heard the rumors, Amarantha's whore, he'd been called. Every time you heard it, it ate away at you more and more. As if he would choose that - choose to warm the bed of another when you were waiting for him at home. You knew him better than that, and you winced at the thought. He wouldn't choose it, but would she force him? Was she that much of a monster? 

You had to shake that thought away for the thousandth time that night, downing the rest of the glass. As you reach for the bottle, nearly empty at that point, a hand wraps around your wrist. The touch is gentle but firm - stopping you from drinking more, but not rough enough to hurt. Instead of startling at it, the wine slows your instincts. You can only stare. The tattoos on the dorsal side interweave into vines under the sleeve. Vines you know, vines that you've held, vines that have and will continue to have free rein of your body.

Faster than you thought you were capable of, your eyes flew to its owner's eyes. Violet. The most ravishing violet. Violet you'd feared you were forgetting.

With a new urgency, you pulled yourself to your feet, your hands flying up to his face without thinking. One on his cheek, the other on his neck, pushing, pulling, grabbing, unsure if it was your mind playing tricks on you.

In your desperate touch, you missed the way he flinched.

His hands. Mother Above, his beautiful hands were on your neck too, placed at the sides. When your mind would play you for a fool, it would never let you touch him, let alone allow him to reach you. But there he was, and you could feel him. You tugged at the bond, finally noticing it was warm and delicate and sweet and serene and everything you wished you knew how to describe. 

He breathed your name, barely a whisper. "I'm home, my darling. I'm home."

"You're here." The words barely escaped you, and you couldn't stop the tears. He didn't hesitate a moment, pulling you in for a frustratingly rare and fierce embrace. You clung to each other for dear life, tighter and tighter and tighter, like he'd disappear if you let him go. Frankly, you weren't convinced he wouldn't. "You're really here."

You stood like that for a while, holding each other, when he ultimately pulled away first. "Rh-Rhys, don't go-"

"I'm not," he promised, his voice raw, kissing your forehead. He took in every inch of your face. "I just wanted to look at you. My mate."

Since Rhys had been freed by the human girl, nothing had been normal. Not that you expected it to be, but you didn't anticipate just how awful a recovery for him would be. He couldn't share your bed, and you didn't mean that in a sexual manner. He couldn't sleep with anyone else in his room - if he had even been sleeping at all. He could barely stand to be touched. You knew he wanted to be able to let you, but every time you seemed to blink, he would flinch.

You had suspicions about what went on under the mountain, but you had no idea it would be so evil.

He stood before a cabinet, staring blankly into it, lost in a memory - a memory he'd been refusing to share. You understood why, but something in you told you that you needed to see. Not just for curiosity's sake but to know how to help him. Even if it was past your pay grade.

"Rhys," You called quietly for the second time. You didn't want to touch him, shock him back to reality. The fear of that setting him off more held you back. With a harsh and sudden breath, he fearfully glanced at you and around the room, forgetting where he was for a moment. "You're at home, Rhys. You came home."

"I'm sorry," He rasped, ignoring your words. His hands pulled at his hair, and you were nervous he'd start ripping it out. He backed away from you, so far away he was caught by the wall. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

Your own formed at the sight of his tears, but you couldn't conjure up what he'd have to apologize for. "It's okay, honey, you're safe. It's okay."

"I didn't- I didn't want it. I swear on my life, I didn't want to."

You shook your head, not understanding. But you knew asking what he was apologizing for was the wrong thing to do. You could see it, the shame, the regret, the blame. "I know you didn't."

He squeezed his eyes shut, buried his face in his hands, and sank to the floor. He kept murmuring apologies, pleading for your forgiveness. "I betrayed you, you have to- you have to leave me."

His words shocked you, and now you were the one that flinched. "Rhysand, look at me." He visibly shrunk at the command, pulling his hands away from his face. "As far as I'm concerned, anything that happened...there...is the furthest thing from your fault. I know there are things you can't tell me, and that's okay. I'll be here when you're ready-"

"I can't!" He bellowed. "You'll never forgive-"

"Show me the memory." You demanded, your voice quiet but assertive. But you wouldn't push too hard if he was adamant about keeping you out. You knew. You knew. Based on the way he had been acting, what had happened. But you also knew he needed to show you. So someone, fucking someone, would tell him it was out of his control. He couldn't govern everything, even if he was the High Lord of the Night Court. The words hurt as they left your lips. "Because I can promise you that I will."

You weren't a daemati, but you could see him battling with himself. Debating, if showing you what really happened, would bury him deeper under the surface or pull him back up for air.

Eventually, he released a rare sob and a barely audible "Okay."

He showed you the first time, how he just laid there like a statue as her hands took everything for herself. Then, the fifth time, when she started demanding he respond, pretend he wanted it. Then, the eleventh time, when his body started reacting. Then, by the next time, he had stopped keeping count.

He showed you, whether he meant to or not, how he prayed for it to end, prayed for someone to rescue him.

How he had been praying for you.

With the confirmation of your theory, you squeezed your eyes shut, trying and failing to hold back the tears. The angry tears, wishing you could've been the one to rip her throat out. Tears that enraged you because that was not Tamlin's kill. Furious tears because that wasn't even your kill. Devastating tears because your mate not only had to play a character for so long, but he had to endure being called her whore. Like he had any fucking say. 

Overwhelming tears because your mate was in pain and there was shit all you could do about it.

"Can I touch you?" The question shocks him, but he nods without thinking, confused at the request. You slowly lift your hands to his cheeks, brushing away his tears with your thumbs. "There is nothing for me to forgive you for. I know you didn't want to do any of it."

"But I-"

"Bodies respond to stimulation whether it's wanted or not. It's how we work." You explained slowly and carefully, keeping direct eye contact. "You forget, sweetheart. I can hear your thoughts when you show me a memory."

"I've-" His voice caught, putting his hands on your wrists, rubbing them up and down your arms until they got hot. "I've been so scared. That it's still happening. That all of this is going to go away, that she's not really gone, that I'm not really here, and this is just another tactic-"

You shake your head, finally pulling yourself together to say what you've wanted to say for weeks. "I swear on my life that I will never let anyone hurt you like that again. I will spend eternity protecting you from her and anyone like her. And if you forget that this is real, just ask me. I'll tell you."

His eyes darted between yours, furiously blinking. Violet eyes, red. Pleading craving begging praying.

"Is it?"

[coltermorning]

Of Love and Loss Ch. 17 (RDR2 Fanfic, Arthur Morgan x F!Reader, 18+)

Summary: Out of options, you decide to attempt to save Arthur from the gallows yourself.

Author’s Notes: This is where the graphic depictions of violence tag comes into play. There are some gruesome descriptions of gunshot wounds, a hanging, and death in this chapter. Also, the lyrics in italics are from the song Devil’s Backbone by The Civil Wars. It is so incredibly fitting for these two, and I recommend giving it a listen if you haven’t already heard it. Chapter seventeen of this one.

Tags: Arthur Morgan x reader, high honor Arthur Morgan, minor character death, loss of parents, blood and injury, grief/mourning, survivor guilt, strangers to lovers, slow burn, eventual smut, graphic depictions of violence

AO3 Link

~

Of Love and Loss

Seventeen: Purging Innocence

Word count: 4782

Oh Lord, oh Lord, what have I done? I’ve fallen in love with a man on the run Oh Lord, oh Lord, I’m begging you please Don’t take that sinner from me

~

In the low light of new day, you readied yourself. You remained outside of town, blocking out the cold bite of the wind as you loaded your gun. Nothing mattered but this—the knowledge your father had instilled in you. Caring for a rifle in the same manner of respect owed to the very animal you hoped to bring down. Today’s prey would be a different sort, but you couldn’t think about that. Not as you weighed the gun in your hands, put it up to your eye. All that was left in you was the need to protect and provide. Letting anything else in would result in so much feeling it would boil over, blocking out any chance you had of doing what needed to be done. So you gauged the wind, how it would change your shot. You felt the weight of the world in your hands. And with it and your innocence intertwining, you let them go.

You strapped the gun over your shoulder and headed into town, keeping to the outskirts. With the rifle and the revolver weighing at your hip, you were nothing short of the strangest sight any of these townsfolk had seen of a woman, so you avoided them. You had one more job to do before it was time to set your sights on the gallows, and you wouldn’t let anything keep you from it.

Wearing your hat low over your eyes, you barely caught sight of the very deputy who had confronted you the night before. He was just inside the door of some place with a scantily dressed woman in his lap. The sight didn’t surprise you, and for once, it didn’t scare you either. Your focus was razor sharp, and not toward some deputy you had been worried about only hours ago.

Passing the buildings one by one, you quickly approached the taller, well-kept hotel. After hearing all the marshal had to say about the hotel owner, you felt the need to confront the man. It didn’t make sense that he had been bribed into the marshal’s pocket only to keep from telling the deputy you were a woman. That was a crucial piece of information that would have had you caught within the hour. But he hadn’t said anything, and why? No matter the reason, it was your turn to secure his silence—you couldn’t have him knowing your face, telling the law just who to chase out of town and, God forbid, across the state. If you were to build any kind of life in Nebraska, you couldn’t leave this loose end. That is, if you ever made it out of town alive.

You rushed the steps and pushed in the door, drawing up short when the very man you wanted to confront sat just behind his desk like always. He stared at you, and you stared at him. Then you shut the door behind you and backed into it. You didn’t have much time and couldn’t risk anyone else coming in to hear this.

“Why didn’t you tell them?”

The hotel owner cocked his head, like he didn’t understand. You knew full well he did, but that didn’t stop him from choosing ignorance. “Who? I don’t get your meaning.”

You huffed a breath of frustration. “You know who. The deputy. He was looking for another man to bring in last night.” You took a step closer, being sure to listen for anyone’s approach through the door at your back. “You didn’t tell him he shouldn’t be looking for a man, but a woman.”

He looked a little dumbfounded, then shook his head. “I don’t know what you’re on about, miss.”

Enough of this. For the first time, you took Arthur’s gun out of its holster and aimed it at another human being. He threw his hands up. “Whoa! Now, hold on a minute!”

“Tell me what you’re up to, or I’ll shoot.” You had no intention of doing so, but he didn’t have to know that.

“Nothing! I ain’t up to anything!”

You cocked the hammer. “I know about your little deal with the marshal. If you’re so loyal to him, why didn’t you sell me out?” He hesitated, his face going slack. Caught dead to rights. “Answer me!”

“Okay! Okay, I didn’t…he’s…the man’s a crook. I didn’t want to believe it, but he is. He came in here and paid me to stay quiet about that man you were with being here all night, and I didn’t want to believe the marshal was no better than that brother of his. So I did what he said but…I left you out of it. My way of spiting him for it, I guess.” The man looked dejected despite the gun pointed at his face. You believed him. You brought the gun back down.

“Why just help me? Why not mislead the deputy away from both of us?”

He shook his head. “They would have sniffed that out real quick. Then I’d have the marshal on my tail. And as for you, I’m certainly regretting it now, but I thought you were…you came in here that first day looking- well, looking pretty incapable of something like this. I felt sorry for you. Now I don’t.”

You uncocked the gun and holstered it. “You shouldn’t. But I appreciate your discretion. Can I count on you to keep that discretion going forward?” You stepped up to his desk and lowered your voice. “Or am I going to have to do something much worse than that crook of a marshal?”

His eyes narrowed, but you swore you caught the edges of a grin on his mouth. “You’re certainly not what I thought.”

“Answer the question.” You didn’t know where all this authority was coming from, but you felt it coursing through your veins like it had been lying there dormant all along. Like it took the threat of something much greater than your own life to bring it out. “Because if you don’t keep me out of all this, I won’t be the only one you have to worry about.”

“Your friend,” he muttered. “Just what are you planning?” Shit. You’d said too much. But you couldn’t give in now.

“Something better left unspoken. And I suggest you keep it that way, lest I have to pay you another visit.” You patted Arthur’s gun. “Or worse, my friend does. He won’t be too happy to hear you helped frame him.”

The hotel owner paled a bit. Legitimately paled over the thought of Arthur coming back for him. You knew just how intimidating the man could be, but that look alone had you swelling with pride. And it was time to go keep said pride alive.

“Are we square?”

The man nodded.

“Good.” You gave him one last, long look, then took your hand off the revolver. You turned on your heel and left before he could do anything more to stop you. You would let no one stop you from what came next.

Rushing to get to the place you had decided on, you kept to the shadows of the still-dawning day. In the case the hotel owner did decide to intervene, you needed to be well hidden hours in advance of the scheduled hanging. You also wouldn’t risk any chance of being late, of them moving the hanging up an hour, anything. So you arrived at your decided-upon spot, scaling the nearby building’s stairs, jumping onto the adjacent balcony, and hauling yourself onto the roof. The early hour kept anyone from noticing you, but the gun at your shoulder still weighed you down like a promise of death to come. There would be no relief today. Not until Arthur was free of a rope he had never deserved in the first place.

The hours went by slowly. All you could do was sit in silent stillness and watch the town stir. It was mostly uneventful, but you could tell the townsfolk knew of the hanging. The gallows you’d settled yourself across from drew more eyes than yours. And when the tenth hour neared, a crowd gathered. It was then that your nerves set in once more. That quiet determination that had kept them at bay was a result of the job that had to be done, but now you were thinking of Arthur. Of what these people would soon be cheering for and demanding of that despicable town marshal. It was sickening to think about. Especially because nothing could be done to change their minds, not even the truth. So when words weren’t enough, force it would be. You’d never imagined your life would lead you to an act so savage. In fact, you had been wishing all night you weren’t as savvy with a gun, weren’t as confident in your abilities, anything to get you out of doing what needed to be done. But Arthur would die if you didn’t help him. He may die anyway. All you could hope was that this little bit of skill you had would get you far enough for him to save himself. Whatever came of you was another matter. It would be worth it, to expend your life for his. You wouldn’t even be here if it weren’t for him anyway. So when the nearby jailhouse doors came swinging open and out walked the very men you had been waiting for, you gritted your teeth and steeled your resolve. It was time.

~

Arthur’s mind turned thought over thought like lightning, never stopping its mad descent. He always figured his mind would be blank before his death. He thought he would be filled with determination somehow, that he would go out fighting. Not like this. This was much worse. He had every moment to be thinking about regrets, about the gang and how they would wonder about him, about Mary and his son, about you. About what would happen to you without him. He couldn’t bear it. And yet he found himself complying, walking along dutifully, because what other choice did he have? His hands were quite literally tied, and the only thing that could stop this was a distraction the likes of which his gang used to pull. But there would be no Dutch or Hosea or any of the others to save him this time. There would be death, painful and likely not so swift, and just enough time for him to regret all the hell he had raised, as it would likely shape his afterlife into the very same. If there even was one. He couldn’t stomach that thought on top of everything else, so when he approached the nearing crowd and the gallows, he began to look for you. Even if it was just so he could see you and speak to you one last time when they allowed him his last words, if that piece of shit marshal even granted him that much.

The crowd started cussing at him, spitting at his feet as he walked by, hungry for a guilty soul to punish. It didn’t matter that they all detested George Lawrence just as much as he had. In fact, in searching the crowd, Arthur recognized some of the very men who had glared at the late Lawrence in the saloon just two days ago, all piping mad at him now instead. So be it. So long as he had one person in the crowd who believed in his innocence. Someone who cared for him enough to be here. But maybe you weren’t, and that was probably better for you anyway. Your odds of surviving would go up tremendously if you left him behind. How funny that was, since the opposite used to be true.

Arthur spiraled downward into memories of you, of this harrowing trip made better by your presence. He met the stairs and was led on by the deputies, but he didn’t balk. He didn’t shy away from his fate. He had known it would be something like this sooner or later. And when Marshal Lawrence joined him on the gallows and spoke over the crowd about his guilt, Arthur didn’t fight him on it. He didn’t say a word against the man or even look at him as the noose was slipped over his head and tightened around his neck. It was a suffocating feeling. Arthur panicked, his breathing hitching in his chest—his body’s last feeble attempt at survival. He barely heard when Lawrence asked if he had any last words. But then he remembered you and the slim chance you were watching. So he gathered his courage and looked out at the crowd of faces, only speaking to one in particular that he still had yet to see.

“I’m…sorry. I’m sorry I got us into this.” He couldn’t risk exposing you, so he switched tracks. And said the last words he would ever utter. “May God favor the innocent.” He looked the marshal straight in the eye. The man stared hard back. Fuck that bastard. Arthur grinned.

“Pull it,” Lawrence spat.

Arthur braced himself for the loss of the floor, for the drop, for the pain of a broken neck. He heard the wrenching creak of the lever at his side. Then he fell. The sky boomed with sound, and he never stopped falling until his feet hit the dry, hard earth below.

~

Give me the burden, give me the blame I’ll shoulder the load, and I’ll swallow the shame Don’t care if he’s guilty, don’t care if he’s not He’s good and he’s bad and he’s all that I’ve got Oh Lord, oh Lord, I’m begging you please Don’t take that sinner from me

~

Your gun cracked louder than thunder, making the crowd duck in panic. It left the perfect pathway for you to watch as Arthur’s rope snapped in two—your shot was dead on. He hit the ground below the gallows with half a noose hanging from his neck like a dead limb. He looked around in disbelief for all of a heartbeat before he bolted. Good. You had other matters to attend to.

The marshal was shouting, and the deputies were scrambling, all of their guns drawn. One spotted Arthur rounding the corner of the building and took aim. But you were faster, the gun already at your eye. You put a shot in close enough to scare the deputy senseless. If you could draw their attention to you, you could keep them off of Arthur’s back.

They searched wildly for the source of the second gunshot, either too dumb or too disoriented to look up. So when one made to run after Arthur, you put a third shot in at his feet, drawing him up short. It was then that the marshal spotted you.

“On the roof!”

All heads not busy ducking away under nearby awnings swung to you. You didn’t care. Let them look. You trained your sights on the marshal, ready to kill him if he so much as thought about going after Arthur. The others, Arthur could escape from, but a quick draw would be tricky to outrun. So you had vowed this morning that you would help Arthur escape Marshal Lawrence by any means necessary, even if it meant killing the man. You would do it for Arthur without a shred of doubt. So you kept your sights on the marshal while shots rang out in your general direction and he found cover and barked orders, even when he sent two of his deputies in the direction Arthur had gone. You’d given the outlaw enough time to get away. Those ropes binding his hands would be a problem, but you had no doubt he could find a good hiding spot in the meantime and solve that problem himself. Now, all that was left was for you to either escape or die trying. And from the look on that determined marshal’s face down the spine of your gun, escape would not come easy.

Once you were sure Arthur was in the clear and only had two deputies after him, you shouldered your gun and fled the roof. Instead of going the way you had come—the obvious way—you flung yourself over the back edge of the building and scaled down the steep roof of the first story. You were half-running, half-falling down it when you heard the unmistakable sound of footsteps in hot pursuit from where you had just come.

“They’re getting away!” a man yelled, and it was all you could do not to be overcome with terror when a shot rang out and struck the roof right beside you. You leapt over the edge, your knees buckling completely when you hit the ground just as another shot came raining down, barely missing you a second time. You wouldn’t risk turning and fighting how many men you had seen in pursuit, so you were immediately up again, gun at the ready, keeping under the roofline at a steady sprint. You turned a sharp corner and kept on, knowing all the banking turns would keep that deputy off your back. It really was a shame for the lawmen that they hadn’t built their gallows on the outside of town. Now all you had to do was hide in one of the many buildings surrounding you, stash your weapons and gun belt, and look as frightened as the rest of the town if you got caught.

You made turn after twisting turn, keeping the general direction of where you were headed. You didn’t run into anymore lawmen, just other fleeing townspeople, but you knew this wasn’t the hard part. The hard part would be getting out of town later. So you kept on, head down, hands steady. You could do this.

You heard occasional shouting, likely by the remaining deputies or angered townsfolk, but none too close. You finally found the perfect spot to stash your things—behind a wall that turned back on itself. You got behind it, threw your rifle down, and began unstrapping Arthur’s gun belt when a hand wrapped around your mouth and yanked you backward. You started to scream, panic paralyzing you.

“Shhhh,” came a deep voice you knew, his hand still covering your mouth to keep you quiet. “Just me.”

You spun around and pulled Arthur into you, crushing him to you. He laughed with the same quiet relief you felt. “It’s okay. I got you.”

You savored the feel of him hugging you back, alive and whole. Warm to the touch. You felt tears form in your eyes, spilling down your face.

“I got you,” he repeated. “Thanks for the save, by the way. That was a damn fine shot, hitting that rope.” He pulled away and looked down at you, smiling. It was the most rewarding sight in the world.

“I thought I- I didn’t think I would ever see you again.”

His close-lipped smile turned into something softer, something more caring as he said, “As much as you probably wished I would, I ain’t leaving here without you.”

You shoved him in the chest and laughed. That humor of his you loved so much, still here for you to enjoy. It took you until then to notice his hands were free, and the noose around his neck was gone.

“How’d you get rid of the ropes?”

“An outlaw can’t reveal all his secrets,” he said, winking at you. You felt a familiar flush of warmth within you at the sight. You thought to kiss him but couldn’t before he said, “You got a plan to get out of here, then?”

“I tied up Boadicea and Harriet outside of town behind some shed next to a house. We need to get to them before Marshal Lawrence and his deputies find them. I thought it would be best to wait until nightfall.”

Arthur shook his head. “They’ll be expecting that. And better prepared. I say we go now and hope we ain’t too outnumbered.”

“Sure.” You watched a plan form behind his eyes and felt pride like none other come alive within you. More than pride. Something nearly tangible it was so strong.

“Okay,” he said, his mind made up. “I think it best we-”

You spotted movement and shoved Arthur aside. A man with a badge stood not fifteen feet away, already aiming his gun. You reached for the only one you had within grasping distance—Arthur’s—and shot it at him. The gun kicked, and the man’s head exploded with red, the bullet digging into his eye and out of the back of his skull. You hadn’t- didn’t-

“Shit,” Arthur said, taking the gun from you. Not even a second passed, and the gun was pried away, and the man’s body was falling limp to the ground. There was so much blood. Bits of the inside of his head scattered around him, showering the brick of the building behind where he had stood. Not to mention the awful sound that was ringing through you, repeating, that unraveling of bone and blood and eye that should have been whole. You killed him. You did.

“We need to leave,” Arthur said. You could barely hear him, could barely feel his hand where it grasped your arm, tugging you on. “Now. That gunshot’ll draw anyone near.”

Arthur was right. You knew he was right. And still, you couldn’t pry your eyes away. So he pulled you away himself, grabbing your rifle and starting in a run. It was all you could do to follow.

The sight of the man dying flooded your vision. Arthur shoved your rifle in your hands, but you would be useless with it. He had his own gun back, and that was enough for you to replay that moment over and over again. You could stand to kill that awful marshal, but an innocent deputy?

“This way,” Arthur said lowly, turning a corner. The way beyond revealed the edge of town, and you could hardly believe escape was so close, like part of you didn’t want it anymore. Didn’t deserve it.

You followed Arthur along by more instinct than anything, as he asked you where your mounts were tied, and you couldn’t even say it. You pointed instead, revealing the house midway out of town. He tugged on your hand and headed for it.

The pair of you reached the house without running into anyone else. Arthur was rounding the corner of the house toward the very shed your molly and his mare waited behind when out stepped none other than the marshal, a despicable grin splitting his face.

“Going somewhere?”

Arthur shoved you behind him. All thought of the recent past fled at the sight of the present. From the looks of it, the marshal was alone and thereby outnumbered, but you were too distracted by what you had just done to even think about ending another life. That left the two of them. Arthur was quick with a gun, but quicker than the marshal?

“How’d you get here?” Arthur demanded.

“Seems the fine folks who own this place grew suspicious over the two extra equines behind their woodshed. They were all too happy to pass along the information.”

Time stood still a moment, and that loathsome noise of a skull cracking open began repeating again. But Arthur managed to stall it when he said, “All right. What do you say then, Marshal? Quickest draw walks away?”

“Arthur,” you hissed. Now wasn’t the time for such confidence. Not when all the two of you had risked to get here was moments away from unraveling.

“It would be my pleasure,” the marshal responded, that nasty smile returning. “Or, I could always haul you back in. I’m sure the town would be interested in having you back in its clutches, awaiting another hanging. You and your partner there.” He eyed you for all of a second. “A woman, no less.”

You grabbed Arthur to make him look at you. “Arthur, no. This is exactly what he wants.” But he wouldn’t look at you, eyes set on his opponent, jaw sharp with tension. You had half a mind to cause some sort of distraction no matter the consequence, but Arthur was sealing his fate before you could.

“This is between you and me, buddy.” To prove it, he pushed you away from him, never taking his eyes off of Lawrence.

“Arthur!”

Too late. He had already settled his gun at his side, mimicking the marshal, their stances ready.

“On three?” Lawrence taunted.

Arthur nodded sharply, and all thought of what you had just done got whisked away in the heat of the moment. He couldn’t do this to you. Not now.

You watched without breathing as the marshal began counting. They both stood stock still, waiting. And when three was shouted, they moved so fast that you staggered back, praying for mercy. Especially when two more men came rounding the corner of the woodshed, guns held high, badges flashing in the sun.

Watching, unbelieving, you were taken back to that day on the ridge outside of town, running scared while Arthur took on five men. You were taken back to Arthur mowing down those wolves while you cowered inside a tent. You could see it all clear as day now, because he had done it all, and now you knew how.

Before the marshal could even lift his arm, Arthur’s gun was firing, ringing out another harrowing note for you to dread. But you didn’t have to dread it for long, as any worry that his aim was off was crushed when the marshal went flying backward, that same splattering noise from before resounding. The report of the gun didn’t have a chance to echo before two more joined it, cracking again and again. You watched every moment of Arthur’s absolute determination, his perfect aim. He took all three men down with three shots. None of them had time to pull the trigger.

When the relentless sound ceased, all you could do was look to the three bodies now dead on the ground, in complete awe over Arthur’s ability. He wasn’t just fast—that was the work of legend. That was instinct and skill bound together so tightly no man could ever hope to rival it.

“Let’s go,” Arthur said, already ushering you toward the back of the shed. Every step nearer revealed the sound of nervous horse and mule, but you couldn’t even think about relief. Not as the smell of blood filled your nose, that sound of man dying plaguing you once more.

Arthur had his gun at the ready this time when he rounded the corner, but all that was revealed was Harriet, Boadicea, and three other horses—the lawmen’s.

“Last chance for a horse,” Arthur said, already at Boadicea’s side and digging through his saddle bag.

“No,” was all you could say. You stepped up to Harriet and ran a hand down her neck. She sniffed you in return, her wide eyes at all the commotion calming some. “Easy,” you murmured. And just like that, she grounded you. Centered you within the here and now. For as terrible as the day had been, she was here, alive as you were. So was Arthur. And when you watched him mount his horse and proceed to reload his gun faster than you’d ever seen a man do, you realized it wasn’t fear you were feeling. Not fear, or hopelessness, or even that nagging regret. You weren’t scared of Arthur and the things he could do. You were amazed. You were caught up in wondering how you had ever come across a man as fine and talented as this. And how you had ever won his favor. It lacked all notion of sense. But you shook the feeling off and vowed to put this town and all its evil behind you, at least until you were out of it. You put your foot in the stirrup and swung over Harriet.

“Ready?” Arthur asked, having Boadicea already pointed away from town. Without looking back, you nodded at him. He gave his horse a kick and a loud, “Yah!” and was off. You hesitated all of a breath before following him, wind whipping past, your molly running hard to close the gap between you. Like she knew wherever Arthur and Boadicea were, the two of you would never be far behind.

_________

Chapter eighteen is here.

tag list: @nayomi247 @ultraporcelainpig @photo1030 @spiritcatcherxo @calcarius445 @meet-me-backstage @marygillisapologist @formula1mount @oziozzioslo @lunawolfclaw

[vanilla-rainbows]

Wreck-it Ralph AU - GUARDIAN

Ok, let me preface this by saying three (3) things:

English is not my first language. I’m currently incapable of writing fanfiction in a language that is not my own, so please forgive me. Feel free to correct me if you see any mistakes!

I welcome all kinds of feedback. Just don’t be rude, please TTwTT

This might get long and messy. I haven’t really planned out anything with this AU and all of this is 100% vibes, but I’m open to suggestions and might expand/change/delete things as I go.

The (quite long) premise of this AU is basically this: Turbo survived the events of the first movie (original I know) because he rewrote so much of himself into Sugar Rush that the game now thinks he’s actually part of it. So he respawns, but gets kicked out of the game and is forced to go back to his previous life as a gameless character in Game Central Station. Only difference, everyone this time KNOWS he’s alive and what he did (because Ralph and/or Vanellope explained the whole situation to the rest of the arcade). So everyone basically treats him like shit (more or less like Vanellope). He’s both shunned and mocked by the other characters, and is forcefully kept away from every game in the arcade, to prevent him from “going Turbo” again.

But the thing is, he’s actually powerless now, and can’t actually do anything dangerous anymore. He lost the cy-bug part of his code (sorry kcb fans but the tall menacing cockroach doesn’t exactly give out the pathetic wet cat vibes that this au demands) because of the reset, and even glitches between his Turbo and King Candy model at times. He’s hit rock bottom and he knows it. And obviously he blames it all on Vanellope and Ralph, and wants to take revenge on them. So, knowing how powerful his cy-bug form was, he decides to wait for a chance to sneak into Hero’s Duty and get himself eaten again by one of the creatures. THEN he will be free to wreak havoc on the arcade and happily destroy every single game in it (starting with Sugar Rush of course). And ABSOLUTELY no one will be able to stop him.

So naturally he gets stopped again. This is where I’d introduce the OC I’m planning for this AU. Her name is Luna and she is the titular protagonist of Luna’s Adventure (might change later), a fantasy adventure that resembles the first Zelda game in terms of graphics and mechanics (also might change later). Luna is essentially an optimistic, but not an hopeless one. Being one of the oldest characters in the arcade (she’s from the 80’ as well), she knew who Turbo was back in the day and is fully aware of the situation, but doesn’t really like the “let’s all laugh at him” mentality. So she mostly ignores/pities him, and makes sure he doesn’t try anything funny with her game. That is, until she spots him as he’s sneaking into Hero’s Duty during opening hours. She immediately takes action and follows him into the game. At first she tries to talk him out of it, but her pleads fall of deaf ears, as Turbo is too fixated on his revenge plan to even listen to her. He feels like he has no other options. He lost everything, again. In the eyes of the other characters, he’s but a pest. Better be feared than respected at this point. This desperate attempt (which seems more like self-destructing behaviour) is his last chance.

The heated back and forth between the two grabs the attention of a solitary cy-bug, which immediately attacks them. Luna quickly avoids the creature and safely gets to a hidden spot, but when she notices that Turbo has no intention of running away, on the contrary, he’s purposefully exposing himself like the snack he is, she jumps on him and saves him from the incoming cy-bug attack. So for a few minutes we have the comical situation of Luna continuously saving Turbo and herself from the cy-bug, and Turbo trying so hard to get eaten but getting saved everytime. Eventually the cy-bug is shot to death by Calhoun herself, who IS SO READY to blast Turbo out of existence with all of her arsenal, but desists when Luna explains the whole situation to her. Still, the sergeant has no intention of keeping the glitchy gremling in her game a second longer, and escorts both of them out. Turbo lashes out at Luna for ruining his ultimate plan, but before she can say anything back, the arcade opens. Luna leaves in a hurry, telling Turbo to behave while she’s away because she’s not done with him. So he’s left in the middle of GCS wandering what the hack she meant by that.

That night, all main characters from each game reunite to discuss what to do with Turbo. Felix, Ralph, Vanellope, Calhoun and Luna are all present. Turns out they have no idea how to handle the situation. They can’t let him run freely around the arcade. What would happen if he tried to infiltrate another game? Unsurprisingly, no one mentions Surge Protector. Someone suggests they could simply kill him. He deserves it, after all. Ralph is neutral, Vanellope is slightly against the idea, but Felix jumps up and firmly says that they are not going to kill anyone. If they did, they wouldn’t be better than him. Then Calhoun makes a proposal. Just like keeping the cy-bugs inside Hero’s Duty is also part of her, well, duty, someone should take on the role of a warden to Turbo, keeping him inside their game and out of everyone else’s. Obviously she can’t do it, neither Vanellope, so another character will have to.

The problem is that no one wants to have anything to do with Turbo. They may mock him during the day, but they really are all just terrified by him. The fear of getting unplugged is so strong that no one is willing to take the risk. No one, but Luna. While everyone argues, she slowly stands up and offers herself to be Turbo’s guardian. The room goes silent for a few seconds, but eventually everyone applauds her courage.

Now comes the hard part. Luna has to find a delicate way to break the news to her colleagues. They obviously have A LOT to say about it, but she is able to convince them. Sort of. Things might not be so simple after all. Even though she agreed to keep an eye on Turbo, she’s not sure how exactly this decision will affect her and her game. Was it really the right thing to do? What if he became really dangerous? She’s actually starting to reconsider, when an idea forms in her coded mind. What if… she were to teach him goodness? What if she offered him a chance, instead of treating him like a criminal? All I have to say is that Turbo will definitely take advantage of the situation and play along, all so that he can finally have his sweet revenge.

That’s all for now. I have a few ideas on how the story could continue, and a few interactions that I absolutely want to incorporate as well. Also I already have a finale in mind, and I hope to eventually get to that (the final scene is the one most clear in my mind right now). So, if you actually managed to read all that, thank you! Now I can go back to being a normal human being again (delusional).

[steviebbboi]

Ordinary is Ordinary

Chap 01/02: Steve meets Gem

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader (Gem)

Rating: Teens and up!

Summary: You viewed life as it was: ordinary. To you, life was an endless cycle of simply trying to make ends meet. People work, sleep and wake up to do it all over again. A chance encounter with a certain captain challenges your philosophy of what is considered to be ordinary.

A/N: Fluff on fluff, a meet cute with Steve and Gem! This is a two-parter that I also wrote around 2018. There's not many warnings other than getting ready for some teeth-rotting sweetness from Steve. Hope you enjoy reading :)

Coffee dividers by @thecutestgrotto - Thank you so much for creating these!

Diamond divider by @firefly-graphics - wonderful work as always! Thank you sm!

"Chris, why not?" You asked desperately.

"I'm sorry, but I can't make ten orders of coffee while I have a line of customers behind you." The barista said reluctantly.

"You know that my boss will kill me if I don't get these coffees in by 8:00." You begged imploringly.

Chris responded with a slight tilt to his lips, "I know, gem, but I'm sorry, I can't. My boss already scolded me because of that huge lineup from before!"

"Chris, I'm sorry but please, you know that I need this job," You leaned in close, "Without this job, I won't even get a scolding— I'll just get fired and you know it!"

Chris looked at you sympathetically, "Gem, I know. But if I serve your order again with customers behind you trying to get their own morning coffee before 8, then my boss will kill me and then I'll lose my job. You're going to have to either wait for the line to pass or find another cafe."

You were ready to fight one last time, quite keen on keeping your job, until a voice behind you spoke up.

"Hey, I'll get half of whatever she gets."

The guilt that you were feeling doubled down and you instantly turned around to shoot down the stranger's request until you saw his face.

The man was tall, built and broad shouldered. He had a clean shaven face that showed his cutting edge jaw line. He was rocking a full head of brown-blonde hair and wore a simple dark, navy blue flannel and black jeans. In other words—

The man was fucking gorgeous.

Chris looked as dumbfounded as you did, "Uhh, sir..."

Chris' stammering broke you out of your weird staring contest with the guy’s oddly attractive forearms and decided to shift your gaze to his blue eyes, "Sir, don't worry— you really don't have to do that."

The man gently smiled, "Don't worry, ma'am. Honestly, I don't mind waiting."

Chris finally spoke again, "Sir, that is very generous of you but are you sure?"

You quickly interjected as you could see that the attractive man was about to persist with his request. "Chris, you know what? Just cancel my orders— it's totally fine. I'll go somewhere else."

You gave the guy another thanks, and heard him call for you as you walked to the exit, but you ignored him and walked back outside into the brisk, cold air. You groaned in exasperation, realizing that you were going to have to Yelp another cafe during rush hour.

You waited outside, yelping other locations for about 10 minutes when you heard the front door of the cafe swish open and close. You were so preoccupied with your phone that you didn't feel the towering presence next to you. You looked up and realized that the hot guy was carrying one bag that was carrying three trays of coffee in one hand and, in the other, another tray of coffee.

You looked up from the bag to his eyes and said warily, "Hi?"

The man smirked a bit, "Hey, I know that you said that you'd find another cafe but I saw you standing outside after you left and decided to just buy it anyway." He handed you the bag and you took it wordlessly.

"Why would you buy ten cups of coffee for a complete stranger?" You asked him skeptically. You supposed you should be flattered but in New York, you never know.

"Let's just say that I've been in a position of risk before. From the smallest things, just like needing to buy ten cups of coffee every morning to putting yourself in the front lines. I get it." He smiled and nodded, as if he expected you to understand.

Even more confused, you shook your head, "Well, at least let me pay you back." You reached for your wallet.

"Honestly, Gem, don't worry about it. It was good talking to you." The man nodded and walked away with his tray.

You frowned as you stared at his departing back, noticing that he referred to you as Chris did at the cafe. He must think that’s your name (but really, the nickname comes from chatting up your barista for the past five years). But also– the front lines? Risk? Also, why would a stranger, a hot stranger, buy your job's coffee? You had so many questions and the man just walked away.

Your curiosity getting the better of you, you turned and saw the man walking down the sidewalk before finally turning on Montague street. You quickly made up your mind to follow him while shouting, "Hey, sir! Wait!"

You ran down the block and made the right turn. However, your attempts in catching the guy were futile as he seemed to have disappeared as quickly as he appeared behind you at the coffee shop.

You huffed in frustration and looked at your watch. Grateful to have some time to yourself, you caught a cab to go to work. In the car, you couldn’t stop thinking about the strange handsome man.

Now, you were no stranger to the movies and books showing romantic "meet cutes" and other such notions. When a man buys a girl a drink, alcoholic or not, it's hard to not read between the lines.

"But the way he spoke to me...it doesn't make any sense." You thought to yourself. "It almost seemed like he was genuinely just happy to fix the problem."

Maybe he was just a handy sort of a guy who likes to help others. A "true humanitarian." Then again, he could also be a complete psycho who thrives off helping women in coffee shops.

You shook your head to rid yourself of this morning’s odd experience. "I'm just going to take it in stride. A hot guy bought your coffee, which saved your job, which basically saved your life. Be grateful."

You plastered a smile onto your face as you swiped your ID into the turnstiles and went about your day as usual.

It wasn't until you got home and turned on the news that you saw another Earth invasion—this time with what looked to be transformers.

It wasn't until you got into bed, did you realize who exactly bought you coffee and saved your life.

Your eyes were resting softly as you thought about the news coverage on what transpired in South Korea and Sokovia. The footage showed all of the Avengers fighting as the city of Sokovia floated above the ground.

With a shock, your eyes opened wide at your next thought, "Captain America bought my coffee."

What do we think?? Love a NYC meet cute honestly. Comments/likes/reblogs are welcome and so appreciated, thank you for reading :)

Read the last part here.

Main Masterlist

[fatehbaz]

the very Sacred Oak Flat is in danger of becoming an open pit copper mine. turning a sacred site into a 1000-ft pit. Apache Leap, ancient petroglyphs, extremely important rituals since time began; these things are Oak Flat. the federal government is ignoring many legal protections as well, including 200 yr old treaty promising to protect the land forever, national park designation, and on the national register of historic places. this project is so, so evil. I want people to know about it. Please read, talk, care about it.

Nice, thank you. The impending destruction of Chi'chil Bildagoteel by the US government and one of the planet's most infamous mining companies.

Over the past 3 years, I’ve written here about defense of Oak Flat, also called Chi'chil Bildagoteel by Chiricahua Apache from San Carlos reservation. (A summary of the site’s importance and history. A summary of the legal challenges to the mine. A summary of Apache Stronghold and other Indigenous-led campaigns. A photo collection featuring Indigenous-led actions in February 2021.) But all of these posts predate the developments that have occurred from the beginning of 2022 until now (March 2023). And the legal case, the fate of the site, is about to be settled this very month.

Well, then, there’s Rio Tinto, the copper mining leviathan, despised across the planet, bane of Australia, so-called Rhodesia, Latin America, Papua, etc. They're the second-largest metals/mining company on the planet. For well over a century, open-pit copper mines have been infamous for the scale of their destruction and I like how you describe it: giant pits, gaping wounds. Oak Flat is destined to belong to Resolution Copper, a subsidiary of Rio Tinto. Just before widespread news of Rio Tinto’s interest in Oak Flat, Rio Tinto had earned an especially-notorious reputation for destroying Indigenous/Aboriginal sites in Australia. A summary of the news about the “atrocity” at Juukan Gorge, when in May 2020, Rio Tinto destroyed an important sacred cultural site containing Indigenous shelters over 45,000 years old, and Rio Tinto leaders apparently had foreknowledge of the area’s cultural importance. Here’s a look at what is perhaps the oldest surviving human art on the planet, some petroglyphs and shelters up to 50,000 years old, being destroyed by the truly astonishing scale and diversity of destructive mining operations in Western Australia. And here’s a look at many other ancient and modern Indigenous sacred sites being destroyed by mining in that region.

Sacred Land Film Project put together some informational graphics:

Anyway, a basic summary.

Originally, this mine was kinda known as, like, “the John McCain Land-Grab Deal” because Senator McCain sold out the state of Arizona and Indigenous people by basically promising a formal transfer of land and the creation of what would become a major mining site at Oak Flat. Mining in the Oak Flat area was technically prohibited decades earlier by an Eisenhower presidential/executive order, but in December 2014, McCain sneaked a hidden last-minute rider onto a must-pass defense spending bill.

In May 2020, Rio Tinto gets caught destroying those sites at Juukan Gorge.

So, in October 2020, Indigenous activists discovered that the supposed date of the land transfer finalization had been quietly and suddenly moved up like a full year, meaning that the site might have become a mine beginning in December 2020 or January 2021.

At this point, the Oak Flat mine was becoming known as, like, “Trump’s Rushed/Hurried Mining Deal,” since the Trump presidential administration seemed to want to quickly act on the mine before any potential presidential transfer of power might occur in January 2021, “just in case” they lost the November 2020 election.

So this is when Apache Stronghold and other Native advocates really started finally getting national recognition in headlines. They organized a Day of Action and statewide events around the Solstice in 2020, and by January 2021, they had forced the case into court.

In the January 2021 case of Apache Stronghold v. United States, an Arizona judge ruled against Native advocates, but advocates got the case heard by the 9th Circuit Court of Appeals. While the case was being argued, in February 2021, Apache Stronghold also participated in a newsworthy relay from Oak Flat to the courthouse in Phoenix, when Native advocates held a candlelight vigil.

But in March 2021, the US Forest Service announced that it was temporarily withdrawing its environmental impact assessments for the land transfer, putting the mine on hold.

In October 2021, the three judges on the appeals court ruled against Apache Stronghold again.

Over a year later, in November 2022, the court then announced something unusual: The court was willing to rehear the case en blanc (before a panel of all 11 judges).

And now, “Biden’s attorneys” will be arguing against Apache Stronghold and for the land transfer.

Throughout this entire process, Apache Stronghold has consistently been vocal, active, and dedicated to stopping it.

Here are some headlines from the past couple of years:

And from March 2023, this headline, one more time, for impact:

So, beginning on 21 March 2023, the case is being heard, again, for what is presumably the final time, with US government attorneys arguing that the land will belong to the mining companies by summer 2023.

[towriteloveontheirarms]

Safe and sound (Halsin Silverbough x reader)

synopsis: It had been a rough fight. Rougher than the ones before, coupled with many feelings of guilt afterwards, but may everything holy be damned if Halsin wouldn´t be there for you.

warnings: hurt/comfort but more comfort than hurt, afab reader

word count: 1.2k

taglist: @hopelesswritergall @foxyanon

(If you want to be tagged for a specific character/fandom or in general let me know in my asks, comments or DMs)

Dividers by @firefly-graphics

You had failed them. You had failed all of them. The thought ran in circles around your brain as you dragged yourselves back to the camp, where help would be waiting. Karlach was hoisted up by Gale and Wyll, the three of them quiet as they walked in front of you. And all the way up front, Astarion and Lae´zel, who somehow still found the energy within themselves to bicker about your current predicament. A predicament that was your fault. You decided to infiltrate the base of the cult of the absolute. You had made the plans. You were so sure you would be more than capable of defeating them. And you had failed them. The cult almost ended the journey for your party. How could you not obsess over it as you all limped back to where Shadowheart and Halsin were awaiting you. The two of them immediately rushed over to tend to the most severely wounded party member first. Which gave you enough time to make your escape. As much as you could count yourself lucky that you had been wounded relatively little, it was also source of most of your distress. Ignoring Scratch, who happily jumped around you in an attempt to lighten your mood, you walk away from the camp to a little clearing, where you let yourself slide down against a tree. Which is where Halsin finds you. With closed eyes and trying to take deep breaths to calm your thoughts once and for all. What´s done is done now. Next time would go smoother, you´d be smarter, you´d be the one to protect them and get hurt, if need be, instead of the other way around.

Lost in your borderline obsessive thoughts, you don´t recognize the pattern of the steps that break twigs and crunch leaves.

“I know what I did wrong, Lae´zel. I should have listened better to all of you.” You concede to the presence that looms over you, which you assume is the Githyanki fighter.

The words provoke a heaviness in Halsin´s heart that he wants to believe he hasn´t felt in a while, as he stood there. He understood that you had a lot on your shoulders and that wasn´t always easy, if it ever was, but he admired you for having taken it on so selflessly at the beginning of your journey. It was rare to find someone with as much determination to face the uncertain. Not to talk of the adversaries that somehow only seemed to grow in number as you went on. Even Halsin, in all the wisdom he had to offer, knew that even the strongest of individuals had their limits and he dearly hoped that this wasn´t yours.

“Lae´zel is resting in her tent at the moment, but if you wish I could tell you what you seemingly want to hear so badly.” He tries to lighten your mood with a joke that arguably does not land well with you and a small, comforting smile on his lips. However, it does coax your eyes open and up to meet his worry filled ones.

“I must apologize. To you. To everyone. I was foolish and put everyone at risk.” Your voice wavers as you finally speak the thoughts that have tormented you this entire time.

“May I?” The druid points to the spot on the ground next to you to which you simply nod once as an answer. “You have nothing to apologize for.”

“I-…“ You try to speak, but are soon disrupted.

“Let me speak, please. Make no mistake, what you have done could have been planned more thoroughly mayhaps. However, it is inevitable as well. Everyone is bound to make mistakes during their lifetime.” Halsin´s voice is so calm and comforting as ever that you almost want to hate him for being the one to come after you.

Lae´zel´s or even Astarion´s criticism would have been much preferable than the very right words, that make you bite your inner cheek as your eyes begin to sting and your breathing falters around the knot that builds in your throat.

“I feel like a complete fool.” You hide your face by leaning your forehead against his shoulder. “I almost lead all of them all straight into a massacre and I am the one least wounded. I panicked and stayed back. Only to watch them almost die.”

The only reason why you stop the onslaught on yourself is because the tears start to choke you up and you have to stop to concentrate on not breathing yourself further into panic. Only to have it falter once more, when your companion lays a finger underneath your chin to pick it up so gently, it´s as if he fears you will shatter like an expensive porcelain plate under his touch. Halsin´s sage eyes are so soft and accepting as they look you over, no doubt searching you for any wounds that need attention before anything else. Either way, they make you want to break down under the stress. A fact that doesn´t go unnoticed by the druid in front of you.

“Look at me. You are a fierce leader, who cares deeply about their companions. One moment of panic will change naught about that. So, take a moment to breath with me.” Halsin takes a deep breath in through his nose and lets it out through his mouth. You watched his strong chest rise, mirroring his actions when he takes in another breath. Together you repeat this a few times until the air around you begins to calm down. Guiding your head closer by the finger still under your chin, he presses his lips to your forehead.

With your inner turmoil now much calmer and Halsin assured that you didn´t need any immediate medical attention the two of you sink back down. The druid with his back against the large tree and you with an ear over his heart. Your companion kisses the crown of your head ever so often when you stir lightly, but otherwise calm silence settles for the first time that day.

But the peace doesn´t last as long as you wished it would as through the silence your thoughts return to the chaos from before. Tears sting in your eyes once more, this time flowing over to run down your cheeks and drop onto Halsin´s clothes.

“The worst thing is, I was so scared of coming back to you alone or even worse not coming back.” You cry into his chest. Holding him as close as possible.

“Shhh, it is over now. You are safe here.” He murmurs against the crown of your head, holding you just as tightly with his strong arms.

Even though it takes your body much longer to realize that the danger is far away from you now and the two of you walk back to camp to face the rest of the party who have lit a fire and started doing their own thing as they waited for Gale to call for dinner, you breathe in Halsin´s warm scent. For the moment it would seem the best idea was to just let it all out in the safety of your druids arms.

[medicinal-doll]

Sugar Rush.

Daddy!Syverson x little!reader

Summary:You're feeling sleepy and exhausted from the throbbing between your legs but don't worry Sy will make sure you get your fill

Warnings: slight dubious consent, overstimulation,daddy kink,brattiness,mean Sy,degrading,p in v sex,ddlg themes,cursing,graphic depictions of sex/fluids,pet names,teasing,choking

A/N Thinking about writing more fluffy ddlg things

*Please don't repost without permission If you use my writing as inspiration please ask first and credit me

.........

You were feeling extra small today, Sy knows this.

And whenever he's around you hide your baby cunt away from him. which means you're also in heat. you're a cranky little thing when your cunny is all sensitive and swelled.

You use your grumpy demeanor to hide the fact that you just want to be pounded deep inside your womb.

"Hey sweetie" Sy enters the room with your favorite sippy juice and some apple slices. you look at him with a disgruntled pout and bury your self further into the sushi roll you've made for yourself. you feel the bed dip as Sy sits beside you making it increasingly difficult to ignore the throbbing between your legs. you're cranky from the lack of sleep so you don't feel like the exertion of sex which makes you sexually frustrated, which also makes you cranky.

Tired and horny is what Sy can assess from your behavior.

Things would all be okay if you just let him take care of you but your heat also makes you stubborn.

"C'mon darlin" he coos in that southern drawl that makes you drip for him.

"Eat up honeybun you need your strength"

Well you are hungry...

Meekly you uncover yourself making sure to avoid the captains analyzing glare.

He sets the tray in front of you watching as you take baby bites of the apples and sip lightly at the juice.

You manage to down half of the snack too exhausted to finish the rest.

When you're done you try to retreat back into your blanket roll but Sy is quick to stop you.

"Oh no you don't sugar" Sy scoops you into his big lap setting the tray on the dresser as you try to struggle out of his grip, but the blanket wrapped around you makes it difficult.

"Whats wrong sugarbutt hm?"

You can smell him.

You can't think straight all because you can smell him.

Light teakwood mixed with his natural musk.

The cool spearmint on his breathe.

It's driving you crazy, you bury your head in the blanket trying to get a hold of yourself.

Sy's hold on you tightens as he starts to bounce you in his lap.

"C'mon baby bun look at me"

Sy speaks in a gentle tone encouragingly.

"Oh angel you can't look at your daddy,

Not even a little peak?"

You blush scarlet hiding yourself further from his influence.

"Pretty please baby..pretty please with sugar on top"

"Let me see those little baby doll eyes of yours" he says voice deepening drastically.

You feel his beard brush against your ear along with his sultry voice. you can't take it anymore

Tired or not you need him in you.

Sy starts to coax you again but pauses in his tracks as you lightly start to hump against him.

"Daddy..." You whimper as you brush your damp petals against the blanket barrier between you and sy's meaty cock.

You salivate just thinking about it. So fat and girthy, so good and it's yours.

He's all yours.

"Aw my little girl needs her daddy doesn't she"

Your pussy feels tingly as the condition of the fire in your loins is only spurred on by Sy's comments.

You nod still refusing to look into his siren like eyes.

"It just aches and aches doesn't it baby..." he whispers lowly

Sy rubs a soothing hand up and down your back as your humps become more aggressive.

They soon start to get uneven and your breath becomes scattered. This makes Sy grab your hips holding you still.

"Daddy!" You chastise lifting your head from the blanket with an angry pout dawning your expression.

"Did I say you could cum sugar?"

Now you just look guilty.

"N-no but-"

In an instant his lips are on yours. you moan into the kiss the softness of his plush pink lips putting you in a trance. you open your mouth practically begging for his tongue to be shoved down your throat, and Sy is happy to oblige. hot and heavy his tounge slivers down your throat. As you try to keep up with his you feel him peel the blanket from your form. Sy rubbing his big hands all over your warm ass, massaging it with his cold ones. you moan into the kiss loving how rough he's squeezing your ass. you whimper into the kiss when he starts smacking it aggressively your eyes roll back into your head. you pull away with your face flushed and pussy drenched "Please daddy fuck me" you plead

"Please fuck your pussy Sy I can't take it anymore"

Sy looks at you blankly deciding if he wants to make his girl suffer just a little bit longer.

"Papa please" you pout at him rubbing your hands up and down his chest.

Sy kisses you on the lips sweetly.

"Get my cock out baby" he smiles

You immediately go to fumble with the button and zipper on his cargo shorts. Sy chuckling at you being so sexually frustrated you can't get it open.

"Here honey" Sy undoes his button and zipper for you then lays back with his hands resting comfortably above his head.

You look lost on what you should do next. Sy knows you forget how to have sex when you get extra tiny.

Sy grabs your hip with one hand then pulls out his dick with the other.

"Daddy!"

You yelp in a high pitched tone as sy connects you both in one motion like a puzzle piece.

You moan lightly from his girth stretching you out shuddering everytime you move slightly as he fills you to the brim his cock already threatening to reduce you to a mess

"Move sweetie" Sy snaps you out of your daze

You gulp and swallow nervously as he eyes you coldy

You work up enough courage to bounce on his cock lighlty trying to maintain some sense of grace and composure

Sy's brows furrow in disappointment, if you didn't know him you'd think he looked kind of pissed. a strong calloused hand takes a rough hold of your neck. you squeak out at the pressure of his grip. Sy leans up bringing your face in direct contact with his ear groaning lowly as he speaks "when I tell you to ride me baby you fucking ride that cock till you pass out you understand me?

" I don't want those poor ass little baby bounces I want you to lose your fucking mind on it

" Now are you gonna be my good little pornstar or are you such a baby you can't even manage that

"No Sir! Daddy I can do it I promise please-"

"Show me" Sy commands, his rough glare making you melt under his watch and something tells you he has no intention of letting go of your neck.

"N'you look at me when you do it okay sugar"

"Yes daddy" you say ever so eager to please him.

......

You start your pace again roughly, it already being too much for your sensitive body to take.

Daddy!

You scream out as you can feel sy's cock pounding deep against your spot

Your eyes roll back as you grip the captians shirt for dear life

Your hips automatically snapping against him

You pussy clenching involuntarily as your juices drip onto the captains balls

"That's right sweetie fucking milk me" Sy encourages, loving how you tighten around him just from the sound of his voice

"I know you want my baby batter baby don't fight it"

He kisses you gently with a tinge of roughness

"Don't fight it"

Sy! You whine as your eyes water from him fucking into you so good the stimulation driving you over the edge

"Daddy please! I can't take anymore!!"

Your thrusts get sloppy and uneven as you near your 3rd orgasm

You feel yourself getting fuzzy and losing control of your body

"Did I say you were fucking done little girl"

Sy's threatening expression snapping you out of your daze

"No I-"

"Then keep going "

Sy leaves no room for argument

You whine thinking you'll break if you have to take another inch of his dick

You go to get off but Sy immediately grabs you turning you into the reverse cowgirl position only he's forcefully holding your hands tightly around your back

"Sy no!" You yell at him fearfully

Feel him grab your hip with his other hand sinking you lower till your flush against his balls

Your body already threatening to spasm again

"Daddy no I can't take anymore dick please!!"

"You're gonna be a good little girl for me and take your daddy's cock...I'll make sure of it"

Sy says sinisterly as he starts kissing your hands

"Bounce" he commands but you start to throw a tantrum again shaking your head No at the threat of even more overstimulation to your trembling pussy

"No....Ah!!"

Sy tugs you harshly by your arms while delivering a particularly devilsh slap onto you ass

"I don't like repeating myself darlin"

You sniffle lightly hating how part of you is shaking in fear while the other part aches in lust

and don't think your increased wetness or the fact that you've been clenching on his cock during your whole defiant outburst went unnoticed

you both know at the end of the day you're sy's little cock whore

you love it when he uses you till you break

you crave no you need it, you need sy to drive you over the edge

You start to rock your hips back and forth tears still staining that perfect little angel face of yours but your mouth chokes out whorish moans as your tongue hangs out like a puppy in heat

Daddy!....Daddy you choke out strangles cries to your owner

Sy watches you, in awe at his perfect little creation

He lets go looking on as you ruin yourself on him all at your own volition

You hear a faint deep groan as you ride your sir

But are only alerted when you feel white ropes of hot cum shoot into your walls

You whimper at the sensation but your hips still don't stop moving themselves on top of him

Sy let's you go for a little while longer before sitting up to bundle you in his arms

"That's enough sugar" Sy says in a soothing tone

He wraps his arms around you comfortingly

Smiling internally when he feels you still bouncing

He chuckles deeply

"C'mon now honey that's enough "

Sy holds your legs firmly to him stopping you from moving any further

He pretends not to hear the upset grunt

Sy holds you close to him as he lays down pulling the covers over you both

You whine as you feel some of the cum escape from where you're both connected, but Sy shushes you with sweet tender kisses as you both settle your heart rates

Sleep takes ahold of you both

You drift off contently as Sy is buried in you to the hilt

You both can sense you're far from done, you're just saving your energy

When the two of you awake, you'll start on eachother all over again.

[breyito]

Fear your sins, not your monsters: Part Three: Paths Converging

Continuation of Day 1 and 2 of @painlandweek

Part 1 Part 2 Chapters: 3/5 Fandom: Dead Boy Detectives (TV) Rating: Mature Warnings: Graphic depictions of violence Relationships: Edwin Paine | Edwin Payne/Charles Rowland, Edwin Paine | Edwin Payne & Charles Rowland, Edwin Paine | Edwin Payne & Crystal Palace Characters: Edwin Paine | Edwin Payne, Charles Rowland (DCU) Additional Tags: Protective Edwin Paine | Edwin PayneUnhinged Edwin Paine | Edwin Payne, Violence, Torture, Hurt Charles Rowland (DCU), Sickfic, love language: acts of service, painlandweek, BAMF Edwin Paine | Edwin Payne, Angst with a Happy Ending

Here on AO3

A/N: Hello! I'm so, so sorry about the delay! My ADHD has been kicking my ass for the last couple of weeks and istg i feel like i can't do anything. Anyways. I had to split this chapter in half, cause it was getting ridiculously long again, and I wasnt going to finish the rest of it today. (I have this new app on my phone that is voice-to-text and it changed my life! All the dialogues i keep forgetting bc of lack of energy to write i can just *dictate* and it feels so good lol. It also lenghtened this quite a bit, tho.) No moodboard for this one either, not yet. I'll try to make one tomorrow (or in a few hours, as it is, once again, 5am). No beta and English is not my native language, so any mistakes please point them out. I hope you enjoy this one! I'm very curious about what you'll think of this one ;P Oh, WARNING:This contains violence, threats of rape towards Charles and other children's souls, etc.

Part Three: Paths Converging

They headed back to the office. On the way, Crystal with her phone in her ear, Edwin had explained the general gist of things to her. Mainly that the other ghost hadn’t known the location of the lair of the witch, but had visited a few times. To allow him to travel there via mirror, she had given him a token attuned to him and his energy. They could use the token, but not to travel with it more than once; and definitely not to escape the place. (Not to mention that Crystal would have never let Edwin go on his own alone, without even the possibility of helping him. She was glad, still, that the ghost boy had not even suggested that.)

“So how can we use it?” she asked, looking right at him, as she plopped down on the couch. They were inside the office now and nosy taxi drivers couldn’t watch her suspiciously anymore. Also, she was exhausted and couldn’t bother with more acting for a couple of hours.

Edwin had gone straight to the massive pile of books on top of every single flat surface, including boxes full of files. He had looked at the books covering the desk for a full thirty seconds and then sent a wave of the black smoke at them, and they actually began moving on their own towards the floor. Crystal was…ignoring that for now, for the sake of her sanity. (How many things was she already ignoring?)

“I think I can combine a couple of rituals to create a sort of…tether, between Charles and myself.” he replied to her, as he removed his outer layers. “This would, basically, allow us to communicate with him and follow his energy to the place where the witch has absconded him.”

“Don’t tethers usually need something more physical to work?” she questioned, curious. At least that’s what the book she had been reading before their last case went wildly off course had said. Maybe the black smoke allowed him to tweak the limits?

“I have something more physical of his.” Edwin said, touching Charles’ necklace still around his neck. ”And for me, well, some blood or the ghost equivalent should work.”  His eyes showed his mind went far, far away for a couple of moments. She said nothing, remembering the sudden rush of cold, dark, wet she had felt the last time she touched it. Edwin eventually shook off the melancholy and straightened his posture.

“I will need to compile the different arrays and rites I need to build this ritual. It will take me at least a few hours, so I suggest you rest up.” 

“Are you sure I can’t help you…?” she asked, despite knowing he probably wouldn’t let her. Building rituals from scratch was a whole new area and she had exactly zero experience with that.

“Crystal.” He sighed, already spreading an alarming amount of books on the now clean desk. “I don’t mean to be rude, but unless you have a working knowledge of any of the Celtic languages, Aramaic, Latin or Fuþorc Runes I’ll ask you to keep out of it.”

“Okay, okay.” she rolled her eyes. Kicking her shoes off, she got comfortable on the couch and covered herself with the blanket.  “But wake me up if you need to leave, alright?” she mumbled, half asleep already. “I don’t wanna panic if you’re not there when I wake up…”

Several hours later, Edwin shook her awake. Still woozy from sleep, she understood he needed a specific kind of knife he didn’t have but knew where to get. And that he had to travel by mirror to the place. She mumbled her understanding to him, and he left. 

It was only when she was about to drop back into a deep sleep that her brain actually zoned in to the important part. She sat up on the couch so suddenly she felt dizzy.

“ Esther Finch’s fucking house!?” she yelled at the flat mirror, frustrated beyond belief. “Are you shitting me , Edwin!?” she cursed at the empty office. She creamed into the pillow a bit more, then got up. At least this should give her time to shower.

—-- —-- —--

—-- —-- —--

Edwin really doesn’t want to go back to Port Townsend. The place was bleak, damp and filled with memories of suffering. Whether it is mental, emotional or physical; he’d experienced more pain in that little town in a single month than in the rest of the world in the last fifteen years. 

But Charles was missing. Taken by another witch with a penchant for sick, twisted games and children’s pain. The ritual he came up with was novel and needed every single element to work. The dagger was fundamental. Edwin could not risk wasting more time looking for another knife with the same qualities when he already knew the location of one.

So he travelled to Port Townsend via mirror. He landed in Crystal’s old room above Jenny’s shop, and walked up to the house in a disguise. It was better than trying to travel directly inside Finch’s house, which surely had enchantments against ghosts using her mirrors that way.

As soon as his feet landed inside a ten metre radius, he could feel the repellent wards telling him to go away. This magic felt different than Finch’s. Probably the Cat King, then. Or maybe Tragic Mick? He ignored the compulsion, and kept walking up the path into the porch. 

He took off his glasses before reaching the stairs, and became his true self again. A loud caw immediately greeted him. He paused and looked back,  and saw Monty in his true form on a tree branch. The pause allowed the crow to land in the handrail of the porch, exuding an air of disapproval. Edwin sighed. 

“I need to get something from inside this house.” he said, focusing on one of the crows’ eyes. “I’m not going to-” he paused before he promised something he couldn’t keep. Because he couldn’t promise not to hurt someone with what he took from inside. “I’m going to get something from inside this house.” He said instead. “And you are not going to stop me.”

Monty lifted into the air, agitated, cowing. His wings produced so much wind that Edwin took a step back, but then straightened up and pulled his notebook and held it open with one hand.

“I don’t want to hurt you, Monty.” he stated. “But I will if you try to stop me.” His other hand opened and a bright orange flame erupted, tinged with wisps of black. An alarmed cry made Edwin feel like garbage, but he held the flame on his palm. In control, but ready to attack.

The crow flew off then, shrill caws on his way. Edwin took a deep breath and extinguished the fire, wiping his hand on his coat. He pocketed his notebook and climbed the stairs. Fortunately, he went in as easily as he had done for Becky.

By the time Edwin had found the dagger, and snatched a book that looked like it had been involved in the creation of the ghastly machine that so much pain it had caused him; it was already too late. He felt a pulse of energy from outside, and cursed under his breath. He could try to undo the spells on the mirrors of the house, but that would take too long. So he sighed and marched outside. 

“Edwin, Edwin, Edwin. You don't write, you don't call…” the Cat King said with a fake moue. Edwin looked up and saw Monty flying in circles above their heads. Little snitch , he thought, resentful.

“Cat King.” he said, nodding in respect, trying to walk around him. “I'm just leaving.” But diplomacy never worked on him. 

“Tsk, tsk, tsk.” The other man clicked his tongue, stepping in Edwin’s path. The ghost boy stopped where he was, not willing to get closer.

“What do you think you are doing, entering the house of the Wicked Witch of the West?” The shapeshifter asked, sauntering around him. He was wearing heeled boots, and it added a little height difference that irked Edwin.  

“I already have what I came here looking for. Now, if you please, I'm in a hurry.” Edwin tried to give another step, but the Cat King walked closer again, forcing him to step back. He was not putting himself in reach again. Monty cowed, flying faster, agitated.

“No. I don't think I please.” he tilted his head. “Knowledge like Esther's is dangerous. And I just can't let you leave with something dangerous.” The trickster’s tone was still playful, and it was grating on Edwin’s nerves.

“Knowledge is just knowledge.” the detective said, exasperated. “And I'm not asking you for permission.” he countered, snappish, head held high. “You're wasting my time .” The Cat King’s eyes shone.

“You should always have time for me, dear.” he said, smile cutting. “I can always just trap you here again, Edwin.” He offered, the smile still on.

“...And I can always start killing your subjects until you let me leave. But we are not doing that, are we, Thomas? ” he smirked back, biting. There was something cold in those green eyes that made the shifter want to shiver. The faint wisps of black coming up from the ground were certainly unnerving. Monty screeched in alarm and abruptly landed on a branch several metres down. 

“You know my name.” the Cat King realised, stepping back. 

“I do. I know a lot of things about you now.” the ghost added, taking a step forward. “You like to play games . But I already knew that, from last time.” Edwin took another step closer. “The difference is, Charles is not with me right now. And I don't have a lot of patience for games when he is in danger.” he snarled. 

“So that is why you're doing this? For him? You came all the way to America, to the house where you were tortured in, just for him ?” Thomas asked, indignant.

“I would do many more things for him.” Edwin stated, staring right into those yellow eyes, daring. The shifter scoffed, leaning closer, looking down at the ghost.

“Like threatening me?” The man asked, incredulous.

“I'm not threatening you. I'm warning you.” Edwin said, looking up, teeth bared. It looked more like a show of aggression from a cornered animal than a smile. “You're either on my side, or standing in my fucking way. And I'll get through anything standing in my way to get to him.” Their faces were only a few centimetres apart now, noses almost touching.

Thomas knew, in that moment, that Edwin was being completely honest. He seemed not to care a single bit what could happen to him as long as he could leave to go help his little friend. Nor what enemies he could leave behind. The Cat King felt a bit peeved about it, quite hot under the collar, and a lot jealous. That kind of loyalty to another person, to the point of detriment to yourself? He’d never felt it nor had he had it. It was alluring , damn it.   

“Deathly little thing, aren’t you?” he whispered to this mysterious boy, unwillingly feeling more attracted to him still. The tension between them finally broke when Edwin’s lips formed a teasing smile and his eyes softened a little.

“Only when I have to.” he whispered back, before breaking his gaze and pressing the faintest of kisses on Thomas’ jaw, surprising him. He then sidestepped him and walked out of the yard. 

By the time the Cat King turned around, Edwin was already jumping into a puddle, travelling to where he needed to be. Monty cowed twice and Thomas felt the hidden amusement.

“Oh, shut it, bird-boy. Like you didn’t defy your witch for him, even after he rejected you.” he snapped. 

—-- —-- —--

—-- —-- —--

Charles woke up all at once, gasping. He was sopping wet and chained to the ceiling. The metal of the chains was iron, and they were burning every part of his body that touched them. He was still only wearing his trousers, felt his extremities numb with cold and some of his curls had crusted over with ice.

When his eyes got used to the dim room, he could see it was the same basement he had been trapped in since the beginning. The only real difference was that he wasn’t alone this time. There was a woman on the corner, deep in the shadows. For what he could see, she was pretty fit. Charles might have looked twice if he had seen her on the street.  But with her wild blonde hair, tight red dress and tall boots; she looked like she was wearing a halloween costume that couldn’t decide if it was vampire or witch. A large white spider, with its eyes closed, peacefully placed inside her hair didn’t help matters. He had almost missed it.

“You’re finally awake!” she cheered, getting closer. “Now we can finally get started .” her grin was dangerous and the boy felt a shiver go down his spine.

Taking advantage of the fact that his feet barely touch the ground, she spun him around, making him lose balance. His knee buckled under him and his whole weight was left suspended from his shoulders until he managed to find his footing again. He was trembling even worse  after that, and tears of frustration began leaking from his eyes.

“Are you crying? How cute .” she cooed, grabbing his face and licking the trail the drop had left on his cheek. ”I’d give you a comfort kiss, but I don’t snog anyone that’s not my man.”

“You. Are. Crazy.” Charles said, leaning away from her. The spider opened its eyes and winked with half of them, waving two of its legs. The shivers got worse.

“Don’t be like that, poppet. Everything I’m doing is for love.”

“ Love ?” he repeated, sceptical. 

“Yes! I’m gonna get the love of my life back, and you’re gonna help me.”

“I don’t know anything about love potions or spells; we don’t mess with that shite.” Charles explained, weary. The witch snorted, the spider wiggled, like it was laughing too. (Was this her familiar? Did it share the same amount of sentience as Monty? Somehow, that thought was terrifying).

“Pffff, I don’t mean like that . My boo and I were tragically separated when he was killed by the police and then he got dragged to Hell! ” she huffed. “Like, what even? I just want him back .” 

Usually, Charles was willing to give everyone a chance to explain themselves. It’s not like the system was flawless. Good souls could be sent to Hell, like it had happened with Edwin. 

However, since he was still shivering from the literal torture this woman had put him through (torture she implied her ‘boo’ would enjoy); he would go out on a limb an bet the bloke completely deserved his tenure in Hell.

“And why was he killed by the police?” he asked anyway, already tired of dealing with this. The chat was a step up from the freezing water, but the talk itself so far was three steps down from the earlier solitude.

“Because his stupid best friend and he decided to rob a bank!” she exclaimed, clearly miffed. This time, when she grabbed him to spin him around, her nails left deep scratches, burning and bleeding. This bitch had iron in her nail polish, apparently. “They were caught doing that. I mean, you have to give it to the pigs. They really messed up on that one.”she laughed. “They were caught and got done in as fucking robbers. They didn't even search their flat! They just killed them and left them at the morgue.  They never found out that we were the ones dropping the mangled bodies everywhere.”

“You're sick.” Charles said, swallowing, as he found his rooting again. 

“Oh, baby, of course I am. Didn't I tell you already? I love making people break, playing with them.” She licked her lips, seductive. The ghost boy just felt nauseous. “What I love even more is watching my man do it for me. And that's why you're going to help me bring him back.”

“From Hell ?” He asked, incredulous. “Even if I wanted to, I couldn't help you. Edwin is the one with the knowledge of Hell and its paths, not me. You chose the wrong one of us to kidnap.”

“I don’t think I did. Word is, you are the one that I saved him from hell this time.” she smiled.  She put her extended arm on his shoulder and placed her weight on the claw-like nails sinking in the muscle there. He felt blood dripping down his back. The spider began walking down her shoulder and onto her arm. Leaning in until their faces almost touched, she looked him dead in the eyes, despite his efforts to keep the blasted thing in his line of sight. 

“I did, yeah.” He admitted. “But I had help. I had someone else, much more powerful than I or you ever could be. They opened a portal down to Hell and they kept it open until we got back. You can't do that.” He swallowed. “Can you?” he couldn’t stop himself from asking, now looking at the spider.

Cursing, she pushed him back and started roaming the room, hands wildly gesturing. The spider had quickly climbed up to her head again. Charles had lost his balance and was spinning again, but at least that beast was not near him. He took her cursing as a negative to his question. Charles wanted to believe this was good news (he dreaded the thought of that man anywhere but Hell), but you never knew how others were going to react when you didn’t give them the information they wanted. This woman? Completely bonkers. Hopefully she would just let him in here, until Edwin rescued him. Suddenly, she stopped in the middle of the basement.

“Hmm, maybe I can't open up a portal. But I can make a deal with a demon so that I can get into hell.” She was smiling again. “And you will help me find my way out.”

“A deal with a demon is a terrible idea. Besides, lady, even if I tell you all I know about hell, which I won’t do. The level Edwin was at? It was terrible, but it wasn't that deep. The level your boo must be in… it has to be one of the deepest and darkest ones, just based on what you describe me you two did, to people.”

“I can think of a few things I can offer the demon so that he helps me.” she countered, now pensive instead of agitated.

“Like what?”

“Like you, your soul. Essence, whatever. Or one of the others’.” Charles was almost afraid to ask.

“Others?”

“Oh, yeah. I've been collecting little souls as gifts for my boyfriend when he comes back. Since, you know, he won't be able to interact with the living now he is dead and will become a ghost.”

“... Little souls?” he asked again, disgusted. He tried leaning away, but she plunged her nails into his face to keep his eyes on her. 

“Yeah, the souls of little ones!” she smiled, and it was a terrible smile. A wild hunger seemed to seep from her feverish eyes. “He's not that much into kids. He prefers young people, teenagers, you know.” she winked at him, suggestive.

“So he's a paedophile, but not that much of a paedophile?” Charles mocked, deciding to ignore the implications. 

She let go of his face only to slap him hard, hard enough to leave deep gouges from the iron on the nails she wore.

“He hates that word!” she screamed, offended. “He just… really loves young people.” The sheer incredulity must have shown on his face, because she just continued. “Anyways, I was collecting these souls so he could play with them when he comes back, you know? I bet he will be in a foul mood, and I just thought 'well what better way to cheer him up than letting him blow off some steam on a couple souls he will find pleasing?’ ' I took great care in ensuring they were innocent, as well. The responses to all the pain and the bit of little pleasure here and there that we can teach them are always the best .” she sighed, dreamy. “And ghosts are so much more resilient! We can play with you and play with you and play with you until you break.” She said, eyes evaluating him up and down. “And then we can start all over again!” she laughed.

Charles puked all over the floor.

"You truly are," he said in disgusted awe " the most despicable person I've ever met. And a few months ago I was at the mercy of a witch that cannibalised little girls. "

“Oh, cannibalism.” she hummed. “That sounds fun, doesn’t it, Ari?” she cooed at her familiar, reaching for the thing. “You have to get me her number.” she said to him.

Charles spat at her. It barely touched her face before she shrieked and sent him crashing to the back of the room. The chains had fallen from the ceiling and onto his torso, burning him terribly.  

“And you need to learn some manners." She said as he screamed from the sudden agony. Then she turned her back on him and walked towards the door. "I guess I will just leave you to repeat the cycle until you have had enough."

Charles’ last coherent thought before he was dropped under the thick frozen layer of water of the lake instead of through the ice as always, was that Edwin and he would absolutely need to save those poor spirits.

—-- —-- —--

—-- —-- —--

“That took longer than you said it would.” Crystal said as soon as he stepped through the mirror into the office. “Did the house not let you in?” she asked, remembering how they had just phased through the walls last time.

“The house gave me no problem at all.” Edwin answered, placing the knife on the desk. “It was Monty, actually.” he explained, with a grimace. “I had an encounter with the Cat king,” Crystal’s eyebrow went up “but not much came out of it. He was very insistent about not letting any kind of knowledge leave that witch's house.” He took off his coat and his gloves and, uncharacteristically, threw them onto the couch. It was the only free surface, she supposed. “Which would normally be a good thing, but in these circumstances, I could not abide by it.”

“And did he give you any trouble?” she questioned, sceptical. 

“He tried to threaten me, so I just…threatened him back.” Edwin said, unbuttoning his cuffs and rolling up his sleeves, trying to play it off as unimpressive. Yeah, Crystal was not gonna let that one slide.

“ You threatened the Cat King?” she said, incredulous. “He left you trapped in Port Townsend for weeks!”

“Ah, but I didn't know anything about him back then.” He countered. “And I wasn't dabbling in anything more dangerous than usual. And perhaps the most important thing of all…” Edwin started, leafing through his notes.

“...It was you in danger, not Charles.” Crystal interrupted, finishing the idea.

“Exactly.” He said, pleased that she understood this about him by now.

As they began prepping the materials for this massive ritual, she managed to corroborate that it was far beyond anything they had shown her so far. The ritual seemed so complicated. Beyond the dagger that he had to pick up from the other side of the world, it required them to move every single piece of furniture against the walls, then grabbing the bathroom mirror for a later use. 

After that, they placed a bedsheet on the floor, drawing a big circle on it with black chalk, and drew a set of runes inside it, near the centre. Then Edwin grabbed Charles' backpack, and took out a bottle full of a viscous dark liquid. He then lit a dozen candles inside the marked circle, each one in its specific place. A wave of different smells assaulted Crystal’s nose. She supposed that ghosts weren’t bothered by it since they couldn't smell much. She tried very hard not to sneeze.

Edwin retrieved two different cups from a cupboard, one made from silver and one from crystal, and poured the liquid from the bottle inside the silver one. For the other, he took out Esther’s knife from his pocket and sliced his forearm with it. Blood tinted with ectoplasm began to pour inside the empty cup, and once it was three quarters full he removed the wound from it to avoid overspilling. He slid two fingers over the wound and the black smoke that was becoming familiar to Crystal ate up the blood and sealed the wound. Then, he reached for Charles' chain around his neck and took it off. Gently, he let it fall inside the cup that had his blood. He took a big piece of parchment paper, those old ones that you see only in movies, yellowed with age, thick, and coarse to the touch. 

With a grimace, he sank his fingers into the first cup. A low hum came from his throat, sounding almost like words but not really. He began writing symbols with the blood onto the parchment. With the other hand, he began tracing the same symbols again, on another blank sheet of parchment, on top of the first one. These symbols were mirrored, and written with his own blood from the second cup. Once he was done, a string of Latin came out of his lips, and the second set of symbols lifted up in the air, glowing golden light, and fused into the first set, on the first sheet of parchment. The other parchment disintegrated as soon as the last trace of blood left the paper. 

Edwin let out a breath Crystal hadn't noticed he was holding. Done, he took the parchment, and began ripping it in pieces, keeping each symbol inside its own square of paper, and placed the symbols inside the circle according to the instructions written down by his own hand. The bloody symbols then sank through the paper and sealed themselves to the linen fabric. Edwin waved his hand and all the blank pieces of paper flew from the array. Then he took the necklace from inside the second cup and put it into the first cup. 

He took the bathroom mirror, and placed it in the middle of the circle array spell, then took the necklace out of the cup and flicked it in the air where it remained still, frozen in place at about two metres high. The symbols on the bedsheet and the blood on the necklace pulsed with golden energy every couple of heartbeats.

“I need you,” he started to say, very clearly, “to not, for any reason, enter the circle.”

“All right” she said, heart beating like crazy. 

“Whatever I ask you to bring me, you will put it inside the circle without touching inside it.”

“Okay.”

“Okay.” Edwin repeated, breathing deep. He knelt beside the foggy mirror on the floor and began writing on it with his finger. At the same time, he spoke up, to keep her in the loop. “Charles? Are you there?”

Charles

are you there?

[xxnghtclls]

Permission

Chapter 4

(Chapter 3; Chapter 5)

True Form Sukuna x Reader

Rating: Explicit

Warning: Graphic Depiction Of Violence

Please see Chapter 1 for tags!

The Sounds Of Sex

Tapping on the cold stone floor, you slowly you make your way through the halls of the shrine you call your home for the past month.

After visiting the kitchen you had to bare the presence of the mean bitch, who was ordered to prepare the food for Master Sukuna.

“Don’t trip and spill it.” she remarked in a mocking tone. You ignored her and watched her putting a covered plate on a cart.

Pushing the cart before you, you peek at the covered plate.

It’s heavy and smells raw. Bloody. You wonder if it’s human, female.

After all you saw, him feasting on a woman, him supposedly feeding an old man to crows, you concluded his favourite meat must be that of a woman. Pictures of your first encounter with him still linger on your mind like it was yesterday. You’ve become a grown woman since your eyes first met and the question if you or one of the other maidens working there will be his next meal did cross your mind not just once and yet you’re about to walk into his chambers.

Alone. Brave.

You can’t deny that you are nervous, in a negative but also in a positive way. He’s the reason you came here after all and after one long month you finally have the chance to meet him. Well. Kind of.

I will not look at him until he said so, I will not speak to him, until he said so. I will bow to him as the King he is, your mind recites countless times.

Your way leads past the sliding door that is your room. Uraume instructed you to walk past your door and turn right on the next corner. Doing exactly that, you see another sliding door. A fancy one. Pretty, expensive wood. Another thing you notice is, there isn’t another room except this one.

Have I been sleeping in the room right next to him the whole time?

Your face heats up a little at that thought.

Uraume instructed you to softly knock three times before entering. You race your knuckles, ready to knock.

There it is, the energy. You almost waited for it to crawl back to your throat. Blood is pumping, heart starts racing again. You breathe deeply and

Knock

Knock

Knock

You wait a moment to hear if he’s answering. Nothing. Going down on your knees, you grab the door and slowly push it open, keeping your head lowered at all times. His energy becoming more heavy in the moment the door opens. Sliding in with your knees, you stand up to pull the tray in.

You turn around, on your knees again, to slide the door back into its closed position. Heart is still pumping fast. You almost can hear the blood rush through your ears. After standing up again you go to the tray to push it further into his room.

It’s dark in here.

On the floor you can see the moonlight painting blue shapes on the ground. It smells like smoke, a pipe. Slowly walking in, your body decides to move for you. You peek and there he is.

He’s standing at an opened sliding door that leads to the garden you worked a whole month in. You didn’t notice that there was another door. He was there all along and you didn’t notice. You let your eyes wander from his feet up to his hair. Bare feet on the wooden floor. Tattooed ankles, you remember them. Eyes wander up further. He wears a white kimono, with dark blue edges. His back is facing you, broad shoulders painting a dark shadow on the floor. His left hand holding a kiseru, his remaining hands, as far as you could see, rest cross armed inside of his kimono. Pink hair being illuminated in a blue tint as the moonlight falls upon it.

He’s so tall.

Your eyes jump back to your hands pushing the cart and slow down. Uraume told you to just push the cart five steps into his room and leave. You notice this incredible silence in the room, only hearing some crickets from the garden and the soft dabble from the pond. It’s peaceful. You didn’t feel this much piece in a long time. Well, actually never. His energy, as much intimidating as it is, it also wraps itself onto you like a warm blanket. It’s confusing. You wouldn’t expect that from a creature that you witnessed murder from. Taking another breath you turn around silently to go back to the door you came into.

“You’re new.” A voice.

His voice. Calm.

Your heart jumps a beat. Your feet stop moving. A warm feeling inside you.

He didn’t even see me. How can he know?

The sound of his mouth taking a puff from the pipe reaches your ears.

I will not look at him until he said so, I will not speak to him, until he said so.

You decide to move on quietly until you reach the door, kneeling again to push it open, eyes fixated on your hands as you crawl through the opened space to push it shut again.

Standing up, you start to run in tiny steps until you reach the door to your room and enter it. Breathing heavily you lean against the door you just closed shut. You try to comprehend what just happened. His voice was so calm and deep. It didn’t sound at all like the laugh you’ve heard so many times. It was just so peaceful and yet people always said he was the devil himself.

How can his voice be such a soothing sound?

Bringing him his dinner was your last task for today so you slowly make your way to your bed and lay down. His voice still replaying in your head countless times. Just like the pictures in your head from a woman being eaten would not leave your eyes, his voice would not leave your ears. The only thing bothering you is, that it just doesn’t add up. You softly tug at the sheets of your bed, completely lost in thought. Lost in thought about him.

I need to hear him again.

With this as the last thought on your mind, you consciousness wanders into the realms of shadows and dreams.

You’re new.

His voice being replayed by your mind wakes you up in the morning. You stay in your bed a few minutes more than you normally would, thinking of what happened last night.

Hopefully Uraume will order me to bring him his dinner tonight too.

Getting up, you notice you didn’t change your clothes last night, you slept in your kimono. Completely lost in thought about him. Giving yourself an eye-roll, you walk out of your room. Eyes shooting to your left. On the opposite corner of your room, that’s where he stays. You grow excited and rush into the hallway you clean day after day since you came here.

Uraume did not ask you to bring him his dinner this day. You spent another two days of just cleaning and gardening. Gardening was much more of an exciting task now that you knew he could be there, watching you maybe. You caught yourself peeking into the direction of where his door must be a lot of times. It wasn’t really visible but it must be there.

The days went on without much happening. The other maidens going on with their tasks like usual. Once you heard the mean bitch mocking another girl in the hallway. She made you angry. She remembered you of the people you had to endure while you were living in the village you grew up in. What she said to you on your first day implied that she already met Master Sukuna. You asked yourself what he could’ve said to her, when they first met. Was it as peaceful as your last encounter with him? Did they talk at all?

Three days passed. You mindlessly cut some dead ends off a plant in the garden, still sometimes thinking of him, as Uraume approaches you.

“Master Sukuna was pleased with your service three days ago. You will bring him his dinner tonight as well.” they said in their usual monotone voice.

Hearing their words let excitement grow in your stomach once again, catching yourself to peek at his door again.

“If you do well tonight, you will be allowed to bring him his dinner more frequently.” they added and left.

You noticed once again, that Uraume isn’t much of the talking type, very strict and motivated to keep everything in order.

It was around noon so you had to go on with your tasks until the night approached. Apparently that’s the time he usually eats. After cleaning the hallway, you made sure to eat a few fruits and vegetables before you were on your way to the kitchen to get the tray with his food. No mean bitch this time.

Thank god.

It was another young woman, she was nice to you, even giving you a piece of fresh onigiri she just made. It was filled with salmon. You devoured it hastily, not wanting to be too late and soon you were on your way to his chambers once again.

Walking along the halls, your heart started to get nervous again. I wonder if he’s gonna say something this time.

Passing the corner that leads into the hallway your room was located in, you catch yourself smiling.

What if he isn’t so bad?, you think to yourself, your mind rejecting every bad thing you witnessed so far.

Passing the door that leads to your room you listen to the sound of the soft squeaking of the cart rolling onto the stone floor, waiting for his energy to embrace you again. Then you notice another sound. It’s getting louder the more you reach the corner you have to pass to get to his chambers. It sounds like heavy breathing. Almost like someone is in pain. Approaching his door, your feet slow down. Down on your knees, curious ears reach his door.

Moans. Grunts. Skin clapping.

Fucking.

You heart jumps, your blood rushes to your face. Ears as red as a rose. You have to suppress a squeal, your hand rushing to cover your mouth.

A slap followed by a loud moan stings into your ear.

It sounds erotic, but aggressive. His energy creeping from under the door right into your lap. You feel your heartbeat start to throb between your legs. It’s not like you never touched yourself, you just have never experienced this kind of intimacy with someone. Your imagination starts to grow, remembering that you often heard people in your village having sex, fucking, sometimes in corners of the streets.

A low groan.

That’s him. His voice.

Wetness forms between your legs, making you press your thighs together.

The sound of slapping skin increases. Faster. Her moans become louder. His groans deeper.

How am I supposed to walk in there? Should I walk in there at all?

“Fucking slut, louder!” he growls, followed by a loud squeal from her.

Your face starts to burn.

Did he just call her that?

Your kimono sits tight. Thankfully. If not your hand would’ve decided to touch your cunt here and then. In the hallway. Sitting in front of the door of his chambers.

Your clit is throbbing. Hearing sex, hearing him fucking. It turns you on. So much. But what about your task? You decide to wait a bit.

Maybe they will stop soon.

After waiting for another 30 minutes you figured they wouldn’t.

With wetness between your thighs, you brace yourself. Rising your knuckles once again to knock. Heart racing, pussy throbbing. The nervousness is way worse than last time.

Knock Knock Knock

Your hand is shaking. The sounds continue. They either ignored you or didn’t hear it, which wouldn’t be a surprise. Carefully and as silent as possible you slide the door open, the smell of sex and sweat reaching your nose. Sounds turning louder as soon as you open the door. It doesn’t help your composure, your arousal increases.

Carefully sliding in, you stand up to pull the cart in. Kneeling down again to shut the door, your mind focuses on the sounds again. Raw sounds of lust behind your back. You feel as if you could fry an egg on your face. You slide the door shut silently, eyes fixated on your shaking hands. You stand up and it feels like your juices are already smeared on your thigh. Suddenly you feel eyes piercing into you. So intense. Like a weight on your back. This time however, you don’t dare to take a peek.

A hard thrust, a loud squeal.

You even close your eyes.

I will not look at him until he said so.

Five steps. The squeaking of the cart seems to be unbearably loud. The sounds of sex however, even louder.

One.

Two.

“M-Master.. ugh” she moans desperately.

Three.

Four.

A deep growl.

Five.

“Cum!” he commands.

Hearing it, you feel like it goes right into your already dripping cunt. She cums. Hard. Screaming. You feel like you almost do, too.

The five steps back to the door felt like walking a mile. You rush to your knees, slide out and shut the door behind you. Happy to have this situation survived until now, you run back to your room.

In the desperate need to take care of the feeling between your legs you hurry out of your kimono and let your naked self fall onto your futon. Feeling your ridiculous wet core, while remembering his voice and grunts and commands, your fingers don’t take long to make you cum.

Hard.

[owl127]

Can youuuu…mayyybe…please write something containing a 🗡️ character and a jockstrap. Ugh something about jockstraps, mouth guards, and feminine girls doing masculine things is so hot🥵

read on Ao3

Reading @lexa-griffins talk about wanheda’s dagger got me inspired, so… *throws confetti in the air*

Lexa’s boots kicked dirty on her way to the bus stop.

“Lexa!” The cries behind her continued, along with the annoying click of cleats against asphalt. “Lexa, wait!”

Ignoring the girl running after her, Lexa climbed onto the bus without looking back. The driver looked her pursuer and rolled her eyes, signaling for the dirty athlete to hop into the campus bus.

“Thanks, Carla!” Lexa heard, and of course she would be friends with the bus drivers, because apparently, Clarke Griffin is very friendly with people. Girls in particular.

Lexa looked straight ahead as Clarke Griffin, captain of the soccer team, president of the debate club, LGBTQ+ alliance vice-president, and a fucking player sat next to her. Clarke swore at the mud tracks following her and lowered her socks with a long sigh.

“Lexa—” Clarke tried, but Lexa mmf-ed and turned her back to the alpha. “Okay, this is getting ridiculous.”

“You’re the one tracking mud on school property.”

“Brittany is like, nothing, she’s—”

“Have you slept with her?” Lexa turned to look into Clarke’s eyes, searching for honesty, trust, anything that would make the last three months she dedicated to this woman worth it. She found honesty, yes, but regretted it immediately.

“Not recently!” Clarke defended. “She likes to cheer in every game, and she keeps saying we’re seeing each other, but Lex, I haven’t been with her since before I met you!”

Lexa squinted her eyes, watching a bead of sweat forming on Clarke’s forehead.

“Okay, maybe once after we met, but we weren’t exclusive back then!”

The logic part of Lexa’s brain argued that Clarke had a point, and even Lexa had been on a fruitless date after she met Clarke. Had she thought about Clarke all the time? Totally. Did it in the end it help her see she was actually into the charming athlete? Yes, but irrelevant at the moment, since now the unreasonable part of Lexa’s brain kept replaying Brittany’s voice: “And that’s Clarke, number 10. She’s the captain. She’s also delicious.” A pink tongue over lipstick gloss had accompanied that statement, and a graphic image of that girl on her knees for Clarke had made Lexa escape the match as soon as she could.

Clarke had seen the iteration from the sidelines and had abandoned the bench in obvious pursuit.

“Are we exclusive?” Clarke asked when Lexa refrained from commenting. “I… I thought we were.” The girl swallowed, setting her face in the same hard angles as when she kicked a penalty. “I want us to be,” she said, extending a hand between them.

Lexa signed and took the offered hand in hers, feeling how warm it was, despite the fall leaves rushing past the bus window. She loved how warm Clarke’s hands were, a dichotomy to her always freezing extremities. Lexa mumbled something, and Clarke leaned closer, asking, “what was that?”

“Maybe I overreacted,” Lexa confessed, the almost empty bus a witness to the fact. “I hated seeing that girl talking about your dick like she owned it.”

Red crept into Clarke’s cheeks, making its way to her ears. “Well… she doesn’t,” Clarke said, one hand around Lexa’s waist. “You do,” she whispered, and Lexa’s face flushed with heat. “I want to be exclusive. If there’s any girl out there bragging about my dick, I want it to be you.”

“How romantic.”

“You’re into it,” Clarke argued, her bright eyes following Lexa’s scarf until it hid inside her jacket.

Logic once more piped up in Lexa’s mind that the girl had a point. The thong she had worn to celebrate Clarke’s game dampened with proof.

“You didn’t bring your phone or anything?” Lexa asked. “You just ran after me?”

“Of course. I couldn’t let you go looking pissed like that! And Octavia will pick up my shit.”

“So it’s not the first time you abandon your team celebration to pursue a girl?”

Panic flashed in Clarke’s eyes and Lexa felt merciful. “I guess from now on you’ll only be doing this for me.”

“Yeah.” Clarke kissed Lexa’s cheeks, sighing in relief. “My apartment is not far from here,” she said, the kiss lingering. “And I’m in desperate need of a shower.”

“Oh.” Lexa’s heart picked up, her cold hands warming up in her fingerless gloves. “If it’s out of desperation, we need to stop.”

“You’re so kind.”

With Octavia and the rest of the team still back at the football complex, there was no reservation for stripping as soon as they stumbled into Clarke’s apartment. The spare key with her neighbor was worth it (the assistant professor had looked the couple up and down and threw the key in their direction before closing the door and turning her TV colossally loud). Clarke’s shirt and cleats didn’t make it to the hallway, and Lexa’s pants puddled by the bathroom’s door. Lexa pulled the athletic shorts down and met the hard resistance of a jockstrap cup.

“Isn’t it uncomfortable?” she asked, drumming her fingers on top of the hard carbon fiber.

“Right now it’s pretty uncomfortable.” Clarke chuckled and kissed Lexa’s neck hard enough to bruise. “But that’s your fault.”

Lexa focused on Clarke’s high ponytail next, letting the blonde tresses free under the white light. “Yeah,” Lexa said, “it is.”

“Feeling possessive, huh?” Clarke nipped at the soft skin under Lexa’s chin while stepping out of her shorts, completely nude. Clarke moaned at the hands exploring her broad shoulders, digging into her trapezius, and scratching her deltoids. Lexa admired Clarke’s curves, but she salivated at her muscles.

A moan froze in a gasp as Lexa felt for Clarke’s erection, now free from the confines of jock straps and tight, athletic shorts. “Very possessive,” Lexa said, moving her hand in deliberate slowness, pushing eager hips back when Clarke tried to increase the pace. “You can be the leader of your team, but here” — a strong squeeze that made Clarke whine — “I’m captain.” The exhale on Lexa’s shoulder was nothing but a moan.

“Fuck,” Clarke said, her head surrendering to Lexa’s biceps as she mercifully started moving her hand.

Clarke smelled like sweat, and heat, and vetiver, and Lexa had it all for herself. She inhaled deeply, her brain creating a new pathway for that scent of love, need, and lust. Lexa prided herself on being an omega in full authority of her body and desires, but as Clarke groaned on her neck, Lexa surrendered to the primal need of control.

“Come for me, babe,” she said, softly albeit with a command, and poor Clarke followed like a trained puppy.

Lexa held her close as Clarke trembled, expending the last of her strength over Lexa’s olive skin. When Clarke’s knee threatened to buckle, Lexa guided the exhausted girl under the hot shower stream.

“I’m sorry.” Clarke mumbled as water covered her mouth. Lexa distracted herself with shampooing Clarke’s hair, and the fresh scent of mint and vetiver filled the fogging air.

“About what?”

Clarke turned to look Lexa in the eyes, all half-lidded and yawning. “I’m sorry for not being clear about being exclusive before. I was afraid.”

Lexa nuzzled the shampoo suds away from Clarke’s cheek. “Afraid?” she asked.

Clarke hugged her under the water, their wet bodies molding together. The water soothed Lexa’s skin, but Clarke remained her major source of warmth. “I was afraid you’d say no.”

“How could I not?” Lexa kissed her girlfriend — seemed safe to call her that way — until they were out of breath. “I hate sports, and you got me outside in a chilly morning just to watch you kicking some balls.”

“It’s one ball.”

“Whatever. Come here.”

Clarke obeyed, her hand sliding down beautiful curves to elicit a moan from Lexa. She responded in kind, hardening between them.

Octavia was pissed when she arrived home from their game and there was no hot water.

[midwestmade29]

Protective 🩵

To Anyonymous: Thanks for sending in your request! I hope you enjoy what I came up with 🥰 Word count: 957 Divider by: @saradika-graphics GIF credit: @cowboyshit Original Anonymous Request: can you please write an Christian Cage X Fem Reader Story where both are dating and she's also an Wrestler in AEW, but their relationship is secret due to their age gap, while reader is on the way from her locker room to the ring an production dude came pretty close to her and made some offensive comments because of her revealing gear which makes her uncomfortable and he witnesses it and he runs to her to guard her and make sure she's save and says something like "leave my girlfriend alone you perv" and when everyone is looking at them after he said that Reader confirms they are dating and she kisses Christian. Reader's best friend Anna Jay comes up and said "you could tell me he's an good catch, i'm happy for you" Disclaimers: Harassment. When Christian rushes to your aid, the both of you accidentally oust your relationship...

You had just gotten changed into your new ring gear when there was a knock on the locker room door.

“Come in,” you called out.

Christian poked his head into the room, making eye contact with you and smiling. “Are you alone?” he asked softly.

You nodded your head, and he closed the door behind him before making his way over to you. He grabbed your hand and spun you around slowly, admiring his girl and her new gear.

“You look incredible baby! I’m glad you went with your original design, it suits you,” he complimented sweetly. “I’m a lucky guy,” “You’re sure it’s not too much? It’s a lot more revealing than I thought it would be,” you asked sheepishly.

Your self-consciousness suddenly kicked in, but Christian put your mind at ease when he wrapped you in his arms and kissed you.

His lips were next to your ear as he whispered, “It’s perfect, Y/N. You’re perfect. All that matters is if you like it and are comfortable wearing it. Anyone else’s opinion is irrelevant,”

A smile covered your face as you nuzzled in closer to him, reveling in the way he was holding you in his strong arms. A knock at the door interrupted your sweet moment, bringing your attention to the clock on the wall.

“Shoot, I’ve gotta go baby. Thanks for stopping by, seeing you was just what I needed,” your words sincere and full of appreciation.

“Of course! I’ll be backstage watching on a monitor, cheering you on the entire time. Knock em’ dead baby,”

With a final kiss, you exited the locker room, Christian lingering there for a while longer to keep his presence unknown to anyone nearby. So far during the course of your relationship, the two of you had been successful at keeping it hush hush. Your age gap didn’t bother either of you, but you didn’t want the rest of the world judging it or sticking their noses where they don’t belong. It was yours and Christian’s little secret, making your relationship feel that much more intimate.

Your least favorite production team member was waiting for you on the other side of the door. Most of the time you were able to avoid them, but it looks like tonight luck wasn’t on your side.

“Why are you here? I didn’t see your name on the list earlier,” your words laced with annoyance.

“Not happy to see me princess? I sure am glad to see you! New ring gear tonight?” he replied, making your skin crawl.

After rolling your eyes, you ignored his questions started to walk away.

“Oh, don’t be like that! Although seeing you walk away in those skimpy little shorts of yours is making me forget all about your attitude,” You stopped in your tracks, whipping your head around in the creep’s direction, trying to fight off the intense anger you were feeling.

“Excuse me?!” you shouted. The eyebrows of a few people passing by you were raised, but they kept on walking. “You’re a real piece of work, aren’t you?” There was a wicked gleam in his eyes when he moved in closer to you, making sure to block you when you tried to move away.

“Hey, no need for this hostility sweetheart. I’m just admiring the goods. And boy do they look good! You should make all your gear this low cut and skimpy,”

Just as you were about to respond, the sound of footsteps rapidly approaching caught your attention! Christian came into view and shoved the production team member out of the way.

“Leave my girlfriend alone you pervert!” His protectiveness over you shined through as he turned to face you and asked if you were okay.

Christian rubbed your arms soothingly, only breaking eye contact with you for a moment to address the creep once more, “If I ever hear you talk to Y/N like that again, I’ll break your jaw so you won’t be able to!” Much to your dismay, a crowd of people had gathered due to all the commotion, their eyes large with confusion and intrigue. After the production member ran off, Christian embraced you tightly, holding your head against his toned chest. Your mind was still reeling from the events that just played out, but you were thinking 100% clearly when you pulled away from him and placed a hand on each one of his cheeks.

“Thank you,” you whispered against his lips before crashing yours against them. The kiss was filled with so many emotions that it left you breathless when it eventually ended.

Someone standing behind Christian cleared their throat, so he moved to the side so the both of you could see who it was. Your best friend Anna was revealed, her face unreadable as she stood with her arms crossed.

“Um, could you give us a minute, baby?” you asked Christian, feeling bashful all of a sudden. He kissed your forehead before taking a few steps down the hallway, still keeping his eyes on you. “You know, best friends usually tell each other things,” Anna said flatly.

You shifted on your feet, nervousness bubbling to the surface while you tried to think of something to say.

“You could’ve told me, Y/N. Christian is a good catch! I’m happy for you,”

Relief washed over you when she pulled you into a hug, all tension leaving your body.

“He really is, isn’t he?” you smiled. “I’m sorry for not telling you sooner, we were just enjoying it being our little secret for now. I guess that cat’s outta the bag now though,” With your arms intertwined, you and Anna walked over to Christian, and the three of made your way backstage for your match.

[jacksdinonuggets]

Permaregressor Vaggie trying to prove she is big enough so she can watch a horror movie with her sisters? Clara and Odette know this is a horrible idea so thdy try to convince her to watch something else but baby Vaggie is stubborn?

Finally did it!

Tw: panic attack i think? Vomitting

Shouldn't have Saw

Vaggie walked downstairs after trying to sleep, still rubbing her eye and yawning. For some reason, she could just not go to sleep. Maybe it was because Carmilla grounded her with an earlier bedtime but she also just wasn’t sleepy. So she decided to see what her sisters were doing downstairs. She saw that they were making popcorn and getting some kind of movie set up in the living room. That woke her up. She didn’t want to miss movie night! It was a good thing she woke up when she did. 

“You guys are watching a movie?” She asked. Clara, who was sitting on the couch, ready to press play, jumped a little, not seeing Vaggie. Odette was in the kitchen, making microwave popcorn.

“Hey, Vags. Yeah, Me ‘Dette were gonna watch something,” Clara stated, “You want popcorn?”

Vaggie shook her head, “Wanna watch with you guys,” 

At this moment, Odette walked in with two big bowls of popcorn. She had heard Vaggie and sighed as she plopped onto the couch.

“Sis, it’s not appropriate for little kids. You can watch it when you’re feeling above 16, but that likely won’t happen any time soon. Also, didn’t Mama give you an early bedtime?” Odette asked. Vaggie ignored the last question.

“Please can I watch wif you guys? I’m a big girl! I promise I won't tell Mama,” She begged. 

“You can take a bowl of popcorn up to your room and try to go back to bed,” Odette stated. Vaggie whined and stamped her foot. Then, she had an idea. The one thing that usually always worked better than tantrums. She put on her pouty lip and looked up at her sisters with the most pitiful yet cute look in her eye ever. 

“Let her watch, Odette. It’s not that bad a horror film. Besides, she’s a “big girl”,” Clara said, falling for the puppy dog eyes. Odette sighed,

“Fine, but when she goes running to Mama, you’re taking the blame,” She told her sister. Vaggie cheered and climbed up onto the couch and wiggled in between her sisters. They turned off all the lights and hit play.

As the movie started, Vaggie started to get this weird feeling in her chest. It was like…fear. Wait, what kind of movie did Clara say this was? 

It started out kind of fine. It was about two men trapped in a dirty bathroom? The start definitely confused Vaggie but she shrugged. It wasn’t too scary. Her sister’s were being so overdramatic! Maybe they were the ones that were the scaredy-cats!

Then the torture scenes started. The flashbacks of old victims, a lady cutting open her boyfriend and digging through his intestines, more blood and insanity. Vaggie could hear her own heartbeat pulsing loudly and rapidly. These scenes were so graphic and scary! She wanted to curl up and cry. And that was what she did. She hadn’t even realized she started doing it before she was sobbing and hyperventilating into her sister's shoulder.

Clara immediately paused the movie. Odette gave her a look that said “I told you so”. She just rolled her eyes and tried to comfort Vaggie.

“Hey, sis, it’s okay, it was just fiction, it’s not real,” She tried to tell her. However, that didn’t help at all. Vaggie couldn’t breathe, or well, she was breathing too much and too fast. She sobbed and cried loudly. Clara and Odette winced, knowing it definitely would alert their Mother and they would be getting a huge lecture.

Sure enough, footsteps rushed downstairs. Carmilla ran into the living room where she saw Vaggie hyperventilating and bawling. She looked at her daughters, and then the Television, and then back her daughters. She gave her eldests a glare, telling them they were in big trouble later. 

Carmilla picked Vaggie up and held her with her head resting on her shoulder.

“Shh, Mija, take some deep breaths, you're gonna make yourself si-” too late. Vaggie heaved over her shoulder, a little bit of bile and juice from earlier coming up. Luckily, it wasn’t much, only about as much as spit up. Carmilla cringed though. She hadn’t even thought about getting the spit-up rag. She’d just need to wash her cardigan later.

Carmilla rubbed Vaggie’s back and continued to show her more breathing exercises. Odette and Clara went upstairs to their sister’s nursery and grabbed her bottle, blankie, teddy, and her paci. They had a feeling she was younger than she was before.

It was taking a really long time for Vaggie to calm down. The gorey scenes were just way too scary for the poor baby. It definitely didn’t help that her brain kept replaying the torture scenes in her mind.

“You’re safe, sweetie. Jigsaw isn’t going to hurt you,” Carmilla rocked her back and forth.

“N-n-no! B-been B-b-bad! H-he go-gonna get m-m-me!” Vaggie could barely form that sentence, her uneasy breathing and hiccups made it difficult.

“Bebe, He’s not real, He won’t get you. You’re safe with me, I promise” Carmilla continued to rub her back and soothe her.

Finally, after what felt like an hour, Vaggie calmed down. She gladly accepted the bottle of ice water and her stuffies. She had exhausted herself out so much that she was starting to get sleepy. Carmilla sighed and walked over to the stairs with vaggie in her arms.

“When I get Vaggie to bed, you two are in big trouble, If I can even leave Vaggie’s side now. You guys are really lucky I don’t believe in la chancla or spanking.” She quickly scolded her eldests before heading upstairs.

The rest of the night, no matter how tired Vaggie was, she refused to go to sleep, even with Carmilla by her side. She refused to even be left alone. Carmilla went to use the bathroom and Vaggie cried her heart out again because she didn’t want to be left alone. There goes Carmilla’s privacy for the next couple of days.

Both women didn’t get any sleep that night. Vaggie, because she was terrified, and Carmilla because Vaggie didn’t let her sleep. She was too scared that if she went to sleep she wouldn’t be able to protect her. Clara and Odette were going to be getting the biggest lecture from their sleep deprived mother.