#and he's too stupid to realize he just named himself Afraid

[lotus-duckies]

Gentar ironically means scared/afraid and i havent known peace since then

You're laughing, Gentar's gonna fxckin die and you're laughing /j

[kindacreepy-kindaugly]

haven't been sad like this in a long time

[eph3merall]

can you write something abt loser!reader x fratboy!chris, where reader starts seeing someone else and chris gets jealous. I love your writing sooo much !!!

it's been radio silence from you to chris for about a week now. he's confused, because what the hell? last time he noticed, he was the only guy who ever gave a shit about you. so to see you posting a picture on your instagram with you and another guy made his face twist into some disgusted expression while staring at his phone.

you looked happy. like, happier than you usually were with him. which he found fucking ridiculous, considering for a good chunk of time chris was the only one who put up with your rambling and annoying habits. the post didn't get many likes, barely up to 150. it was mostly just some of your friends who probably thought your new boyfriend was hot and some random people who thought you were pretty, based on the comments.

he doesn't notice the swirl of jealousy unfurling in his chest, a second later and chris is banging on your dorm room door only to be met with silence. his knuckles bang against the wooden door unsteady on it's hinges, jaw ticking and teeth grinding together subconsciously. only again, you don't peek your head out in the crack of your door like normal, you don't come to answer and smile almost immediately as you spot chris.

he's standing awkwardly in front of the door to your dorm, either no one's home and he looks like a fool right now or you're ignoring him. he knows that 'friend' of yours who shares a room with you is out at a frat party tonight, and you don't even go anywhere—so why the fuck aren't you answering?

he's about to blurt out your name but thought against it as the hallway was deathly silent right now, especially so late at night. he'd probably get complaints from whoever roomed here. his knuckles rap against the door again, shifting around awkwardly. a swirl of frustration and annoyance bloomed in his chest, because you couldn't possibly be busy.

he tries the knob—obviously nothing. until the sounds of shuffling are heard inside, and a second later you're standing in the doorway with messy hair and weary eyes. a yawn mixes in with your words, too tired to even realize this is chris. you've been ignoring him for a little now, afraid if your new boyfriend found out he'd call it cheating or something.

chris doesn't say or do anything before shoving you inside and closing your door, met with dim darkness and the only lighting provided from the warm lamp on your desk. your dorm room is a cluttered mess of trinkets and work and textbooks, tabletop a pile of studies and some clothing items littering the floor.

"what's your fuckin' problem, kid?" you stare at him. it's like this for a little, the two of you staring as chris impatiently waits for his words to register in your thick ass skull. you don't really know how to respond, truthfully. lips tugging into a frown and shoulders lifting up and down a little, you take a seat on your bed. the sheets are everywhere, having just woken up.

chris is standing there looking so out of place. he keeps on thinking about that stupid post of you and that guy, forcing himself to try and calm the fuck down. "what, gonna sit there in silence? fuckin' heard me, know y'did. what the hell is goin' on? you've been ignoring me like i have the flu."

the little space is silent, and you kind of hate it. normally, silence comes as a comfort to you. it relaxes your head and makes you much less anxious, but this time it felt uncomfortable. it felt deafening, as you gnaw on your bottom lip until it's started stinging from the constant abuse. "i dunno. i, uh, i got a boyfriend," you shrug, like it wasn't a big deal. because it technically wasn't, you and chris weren't even together.

"oh, alright. whatever, then, so you go n'give me the silent treatment? that's some childish shit n'you know it," he scoffs and crosses his arms over his chest lazily, obviously upset. but why? he was more so upset at you not telling him and forcing him to jerk off into his hand for the past week, than the boyfriend part. he couldn't give a shit if you started dating your best friend.

chris isnt good with feelings. he'll play everything off, ignoring the way his chest burns as you justify what you did. he's barely listening to a word you say, the particular label 'boyfriend' stuck in his head. he couldn't believe someone like you pulled.

"so.. y'know," you've crossed your legs together on the plush mattress of your bed, eyes darting around your littered floor and practically refusing to look chris in the eyes. "sorry. didn't mean to ignore you.." and that's the truth. because chris has stuck with you, while your life turned to practically shit and everyone started becoming someone you couldn't trust. chris just rolls his eyes, scoffing under his breath and starting towards you. he stands in front of you, lip curled in annoyance as he looks you up and down for a second.

"whatever. y'should pay me back for all that lost time though.. so uh," chris' hands are gravitating towards his belt without another second, unsure of how to deal with what he's feeling in his chest every time he hears you mumble the word 'boyfriend' in his mind. it makes him feel sick. he wont ever admit it though.

—

@conspiracy-ash @sturniolosfavkayleigh @lvrsturniolo @st7rnioioss @meatballlover10 @ashlishes @ferdzom @55sturn @chriseatingmeoutin4k @unknvhx @mattslolita @chaossturns @slut4brunettes

©eph3merall 2024

[pretty-little-mind33]

James Potter x fem!reader

Summary: You're a stupid drunk and James Potter is very very bad at dealing with his romantic feelings.

Genre: Angst (happy ending), fluff, hurt and comfort (a little bit of everything honestly)

Warnings: jealous!james, stupid!james, swearing, screaming, arguments, crying, injuries, punching, blood, protective!James, protective!marauders, platonic!best friends!marauders, confessions, dangerous activities (reader puts herself in danger), mentions of dying

JAMES POTTER MASTERLIST

You look towards the ground and your ankle bends a little in your winter boots as you try to control your movements. The cherry liquor you had drank earlier lingers in your mouth and in your drunken haze, the tower you're currently balancing on feels secure as you move forwards and the onlookers below continue to cheer. 

"Please don't stay out too late," Remus warned you.

You blush, shaking some snow from your hair as you outstretch your arms for better balance, biting your lip. You look up at the sky, the stars prominent this evening.

"And don't drink too much," James reminded you with small smile. 

"We'll see you there," Sirius promised.

What the hell did they know? You pout, now staring down at the snow on the ground. They hadn't even shown up!

You hear someone call your name and you look down to see Arthur Brown, a Ravenclaw boy you'd been talking with at a party. He's handsome with a charming smile and as you wave to him, you almost fall over. 

Arthur just chuckles and encourages you to continue whatever nonsense and liquid courage inspired you to walk on the castle roof in the snow this late at night. 

"Y/n?" you hear Remus's strained shout and when you turn your head, you're surprised to see Remus, James, and Sirius rushing over. They aren't dressed for the cold weather and they look extremely shaken and confused. "Come down from there," Remus shouts. You wonder how they'd known.

Sirius looks pale and James is frantically looking around to find some way to help you down safely. He looks more distraught than the others and Sirius has to calm him.

Your eyebrows knit together. You're afraid James might make a scene. Only, why would he? You know he'd let Remus, Sirius, or Peter do this in a heart beat, and he'd find it funny.

Bloody hell, James would probably do it himself so why does he look so worried when it's you?

"Bugger off, she's fine," Arthur interrupts as you take another step. Your boots slip on the snow again but you laugh as you move your arms out further to catch yourself. "See, she's fine. So, stop being her little guard dogs for one second and let her live a little," he says with unnecessary venom. 

"What did you just say?" Sirius barks, grabbing Arthur's collar. He looks furious now. 

"Y/n, come down, please, honey," Remus calls, occasionally telling Sirius to drop it and to concentrate on you.

You frown as Arthur's teasing riles up your friends and the crowd underneath you. Wind swirls around you and you gasp, feeling suddenly even more unbalanced and you start to realize maybe this wasn't the smartest plan.

"You fuckin' prick, don't talk about her like that, you hear me?" James suddenly swears loudly. Because you hadn't been paying attention to the boys under you, when you hear James and look down at him, you see that he'd pushed Arthur into the snow and was pinning him down.

Alarmed by their shouts, you accidentally slip as you turn around to make sure James's is okay.  

You let out a shriek and all the students suddenly look up, seeming to remember your presence. Momentarily distracted by your scream, Arthur slams his elbow into James's cheekbone and sends him falling off him. Chaos ensues as everyone rushes to crowd around both you and James separately. 

Remus kneels next to you, his hand coming behind your head to support you up. You're clutching at your ankle as you wail uncontrollably from the way you had fallen onto the snow. With nimble fingers, Remus cuffs your jeans and sees how swollen your ankle looks. "Oh, honey, that looks like it hurts," he whispers and caresses your cheek with his knuckles. 

From next to you, Sirius and other students are standing around James; James, who has scrambled up from the ground. His nose is bleeding and the crimson liquid stains the snow as he curses at Arthur. Sirius is holding James up by his shoulders and he uses his hand to pinch James's nose as his best friend winces in pain. Arthur, who has a prominent bruise under his eye, is pulled away by his friends. 

"What happened here?" The low drone of the Headmaster, accompanied by an anxious looking Professor McGonagall, is heard and you all turn your heads around.

* * *

Around an hour later, as Madam Pomfrey takes the time to heal your ankle, a disheveled looking James sits on the bed opposite of yours. He's holding a handkerchief to his nose and Madam Pomfrey hasn't tended to his injury yet. To her defense, James still looks extremely pissed and you wouldn't want to approach him either. You won't have that same luxury as the moment Madam Pomfrey is gone, James is staring.  

"What were you thinking?" he whispers, his tone quipped. Still a little fuzzy from how drunk you'd been, you blink at him and shift uncomfortably. 

"What was I thinking? What were you thinking?" you counter, defensively.

"What?" James drops the handkerchief and glares. 

"Why would you jump Arthur like that?"

"Why the fuck do you care?" James hisses, his eyes narrowing. He's your best friend, he knows you hate it when he swears but that doesn't stop him now. "You're fucking reckless, you know? How could you have been so fucking stupid?"

You stare at James as your eyes water painfully. No coherent words form in your head. You're grateful for an escape when Remus and Sirius pile into the room. 

Sirius rushes to your side. "Aw, poor sweetness, does it hurt terribly?" his sentence dies when he sees your tears and he wraps an arm around you so you can hug him. "Y/n, what's wrong?" 

Remus, always more intuitive than Sirius, looks at James and sees James's furious expression. He frowns and quickly walks over to his best friend and holds onto his arm. James pushes him away and you see Remus whisper something in his ear. 

However, Sirius pulls your attention away from them as he wipes your tears with his thumb. 

"I am not!" Your attention is pulled again and you hear James shout as Remus shushes him.

You sniff, and look at Sirius. "James hates me," you say and Sirius's expression falls. He looks behind and sees Remus and James's shushed argument. He turns to you and holds your chin in his hand as his gaze softens. 

"James couldn't hate you even if he'd been cursed to," he says so simply.

You shake your head and bite your lip. "No, he's really mad…like really mad, Pads."

Sirius chuckles and sighs, "Oh sweetie, James isn't really mad at you. He's mad at himself. Merlin, you should have seen him when he first saw you on that roof, the poor bloke looked about ready to faint." 

Sirius continues and turns to Remus and James only to see they've moved further away from you and Sirius, and James looks like he could burst into tears at any moment, "Jamie is madly in love with you, Y/n. Just the possibility of you and another guy makes him go absolutely bonkers. And listen, if he hadn't hit Arthur like he did, I don't know if you would have fallen, doll. James knows that too and he's simply mad with guilt."

You try to concentrate on Sirius's entire story but your mind stays stuck at the words; "James? In love with me?" 

Sirius's lips curl in amusement but he doesn't have the time to answer because he hears Remus shout an exasperated; "Prongs!" as James, his nose still very much broken and bloody, storms out of the Hospital Wing without a second word. Your chest tightens as you watch him and if you could, you'd run after him.

* * *

James has been avoiding you. Or more accurately, he's been avoiding everyone for the last three days. He's never in the common room anymore and he has evening detentions with Professor McGonagall so you don't see him at all outside of classes. Remus, Sirius, and Peter all tell you he's been quiet in their dorm too and that they don't know what's happened with him either. 

Remus won't tell anyone what he spoke to James about that night in the Hospital Wing.

By the fourth day of complete silence, you've had enough. You manage to catch James on his way to detention. You speed walk over to him and cut his path, spinning around to look at him. You gasp when you see him. His face is bruised and his lip is split. "James!" you gasp and stop him. James's brown eyes narrow and he looks angry. 

"Get out of my way, Y/n," he hisses as his fists clench. 

"What happened?" you insist. His burises look horrible, and you think that he hadn't got his broken nose healed properly since he'd stormed out of the Hospital Wing. Why handn't the boys told you James looked like this?

"Are you a bloody insane? What he fuck happened?" your voice comes out stern and James pauses at your curse word, his frustrated expression faltering for a moment. 

"What?"

You hold onto his sleeve and push him into the nearest girls lavatory. James almost trips as you make him lean against the sink. His eyes widen when you pull out your wand and firmly grasp his chin in your hands. You ignore his whinning as you point your wand at his wounds. "Episky—shush be still," you mutter sternly as you heal all of his wounds. "What is wrong with you, James Potter? Tell me who you've been tousling with this instant!"

James scrunches his nose and touches where his wounds had been. He leans away from you. "Nobody," he says, his voice high so you know he's lying. 

"James," you warn. You move away and shove your wand in your cloak. "Please, tell me."

James has never been able to deny you a thing, even at times like this. "Fine, just don't lose your head over it, bird," you scowl at the nickname with an eye roll. "Brown keeps pushing my buttons, is all," he says. 

"Arthur? The same boy who broke your nose?"

"Yeah, that little fucker, I'm pretty sure he's in love with you—or he has some weird obsession because he can't keep your name out of his fucking mouth," James suddenly pinches his nose and shuts his eyes, "Shi-sorry I keep curing, I know you don't like it when we curse." 

Almost like he's sulking, James leans against the sink and stares at you. He doesn't speak. 

"You're such a wanker," you mumble and look at him more closely, "Why are you acting like such a prick since that night?"

"Oh, since the night you almost fucking died?" James raises his eyebrows, his tone sarcastic and you ignore the curse word again. 

"Horrible exaggeration considering all I did was break my ankle."

"Could have been your neck," James deadpans. 

"Well, it wasn't my neck and that's certainly no excuse to be a such a prat," you say seriously. James considers your words and sighs. He runs a hand through his shaggy hair and looks away. 

"What do you want me to say?" he asks. 

You stare at him like he's absolutely mental. "That you're sorry?"

James laughs and you swear you've never met a boy as stubborn as he is. "Why would I be sorry?"

"Are you serious, James?" you whisper and press your finger accusingly on his chest, "Listen to me, I know I shouldn't have been on that roof, that's my mistake, but you know damn well I wouldn't have been on that roof if you'd all come with me to the party like you'd promised!" your voice comes out rushed, "And I wouldn't have fallen if you didn't have to knock down Arthur Brown and make me worried for you!"

James's cheeks are flaming. "You think I, out of everyone, don't know that?" he says, straightening up and moving closer to you, his voice harsh, "do you think I don't lay awake at night, going absolutely insane over every possible scenario that prevents you from falling?" James's voice cracks and he steps forwards again. 

You look up at him, slightly breathless. For someone so angry, James looks undeniably handsome. "I know we should have gone to the party with you, but Merlin, I couldn't bear another one! Another party I would have had to spend watching other boys fawn all over you! Fuck, Y/n, how could I have known you would decide take a drunken nightly stroll on a roof because we hadn't shown up!"

You listen to him, eyes wide, "You don't like it when boys fawn over me?" you whisper. 

James frowns. He bites his lip and squeezes his eyes closed. "Of course I don't," he says, as if it was the most normal thing in the world. 

"Why?" 

"Because you should be mine," James's voice is smaller now, less authoritative, less angry. 

You stare at him and take in his expression with an inhale of breath. "But, James, I am yours."

James shakes his head quickly and tugs at his curls. "No, no. You aren't mine. You're ours. Sirius, Remus, Peter—you're our best friend. And I was okay with that, until I wasn't anymore and now everytime Arthur Brown says he wants to kiss your lips all I want is to punch something." James's fists clench and he looks away from you. 

"You're scaring me," you look at him, whispering honestly but you don't move away from him.

James looks down and this time he looks really remorseful, "I'm sorry, Y/n, I don't meant to scare you. I—"

"So, Sirius was right," you inquire, taking his sudden remorse as a widow for a civilized conversation. 

"Sirius was right about what?" 

"You're in love with me," you don't say it as a question, more like a statement and James's eyes round so wide you're almost afraid they'll pop out of his skull.

James tries to escape but as he backs away, he bumps into the sink and his heart sinks. His eyes are moving so rapidly around the room and his cheeks have turned a less aggressive crimson and into a more lovesick pink. 

"Why does everyone keep telling me that?" he mumbles to himself, feeling warmth on his cheek. 

"What?"

James rubs at his nape and looks less angry and more nervous. You smile. You had been right to strike this conversation now. "Moony, in the Hospital Wing. He said I loved you—which was why I was acting like a prick and I don't," he backtracks immediately, "I mean, I love you as a friend and n-nothing more."  

You expected to feel pain at the rejection but instead, you laugh. You stare at James and laugh harder. So hard, you clutch your sides and James's eyebrows crease with worry as you hyperventilate in front of him. 

"Because you should be mine," you repeat his words through your laughter, "That's what you said and now you want me to believe you aren't in love with me?!"

"What?!" James's crimson cheeks have returned and he sounds annoyed now, "I- listen, sorry to disappoint but I-I am not in love with you!"

"You aren't?" you look at him, your eyes flickering to his lips. 

"No!"

"Then why do you want me to be yours? What does that mean, hmm, James?"

You walk a little closer and your arms rest on the sink behind him. You ignore the way your heart is pounding your chest and screaming at you as you stand so close to him. James is staring down as you look up at him through your lashes. You expect another protest, maybe another incoherent defense, but instead he mumbles, "Fuck it," under his breath and takes your cheeks in his hands as he kisses you. 

Without a second thought, you kiss him back. Your hand tangles in his hair as you press your lips to his. It's almost animalistic the way James is kissing you and it only lasts a few seconds before he's disconnecting your lips and resting his forehead onto yours. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he pants, shaking his head, "I shouldn't have kissed you without asking you—"

     "Oh, shut up," you grumble and kiss him again. He accepts the kiss and spins you around. He uses his arm to hoist you onto the sink and deepen the kiss. You hold onto him and wince when your hip accidentally hits the faucet. James pulls away and looks at you like he can't believe what just happened. 

"Okay, so maybe I am in love with you," he finally admits and his chest is heaving from all the emotions. 

You crack a smile, "I'm in love with you too, James," you admit and touch his cheek. "Only, you can't act like a prick to me when you can't deal with your emotions. You should have told me all these feelings instead of sulking like a child." 

James nods and squeezes his eyes shut, "I was just so angry at myself," he whispers.

"I know, Sirius said that was the reason."

James chuckles with a roll of his eyes, "How does Sirius suddenly know my emotions better than I do? He's usually the emotional wreck!" 

You adjust his glasses a little, "He's just observant," you say, "and you're stubborn."

James pulls you in, holding you close to him as he dips and kisses your neck. He hums against your skin and whispers, "I'm such a fool, can you forgive me?" he asks, basically pleads, "I'm just, I was jealous."

You laugh, "Oh, I know. But, James, you know you have no reason to be jealous of anyone."

James whines and looks at you with his famous doe eyes; "I have every reason to be jealous. I'm jealous of the way Peter laughs at your jokes, or how Remus bonds over books with you. I'm jealous of Sirius and how he makes you laugh, and I'm jealous of every boy that looks your way. And worst of all, I'm jealous of the sun because it shines on you every day and I can't," he sounds like a lovesick idiot. He's barely making sense. 

You look at him seriously, "James. You are the sun. You're my sun." 

James looks into your eyes and bats his eyelashes innocently. He says, "So, you forgive me for being a wanker?" It's obvious he wants to make you laugh and he succeeds as you chuckle and playfully and lightly swat his cheek. 

"I'll forgive you," you say, "for now."

James pouts but he also lifts you and spins you around. He drops you on the ground, his hands at your hips and kisses your forehead. "I'll take it, love. Now, let's tell our friends we aren't mad at each other anymore."

"I was never really mad with you," you point out with a snort as James takes your hand. 

James squints, and looks behind his shoulder at you. "Yeah, you were," he says but when you shake your head he decides not to argue with you and just smiles, "Okay, fine, then let's go tell our friends I'm not being a baby anymore."

"Much better," you beam with a giggle and James realizes with a hopeless smile that he wants to be the only reason you ever giggle like that again. 

Merlin, he really is madly in love with you.

[bokutosbiceps]

don't be afraid to catch feels

eustass kid/monkey d luffy/roronoa zoro/trafalgar d water law/usopp/vinsmoke sanji  x gn!reader | fluff | ~2k words

warnings: some suggestive/18+ themes but nothing explicit

a/n: idk i just really wanted to write so THIS was born !!! how some of the one piece boys realize they have feelings for ya !!  might do this for other fandoms too…actually yeah i will LOL probably if i don’t forget

NOTE: i end them after their confession on PURPOSE so you can choose your own adventure 😆 also there’s more dialogue for luffy’s + usopp’s so they’re a bit longer !!

18+ MDNI | under the cut for length

eustass kid is angry. he's angry that he developed a crush on you. it's so stupid, he thinks. so outta character.

everyone on the victoria punk knows it, including you. and much to kid’s dismay, so does killer. killer talks to him about it everyday, trying to coax a confession out of him in the most gentle yet firm way he can. he wants his captain to be happy, and he knows that you can make him happy, because you already do without knowing it.

kid is completely docile in your presence, and protective. he’s more quiet, because he wants to hear what you have to say. he’s around more, because he wants to keep an eye on you. and maybe because he likes being in your presence.

kid tells (threatens) the rest of his crew that, even though they’re like brothers to him, they’ll be ripped to shreds if any of them so much as glance at you the wrong way.

luckily for you and unluckily for him, you’d heard his very public threat to the kid pirates, save for you. 

you ask kid what the hell all that was about and he simply shrugs, rolling his eyes and trying but failing to keep his cool. you scoff and chuckle at his indignance. you continue to press him till he finally gets annoyed and locks eyes with you, his pupils dilated and his lips spread out into a crazy grin.

“jus’ claiming what’s mine.”

monkey d luffy is seeking out the smartest person he knows, and once he sees her, he’s barreling toward her at lightning speed. hands appear, arising from the wood of the sunny’s deck and forming a net right in front of robin, effectively catching luffy and recoiling him flat onto his butt.

“robin! what was that for?” luffy whines, adjusting his straw hat and tilting it back so that he can look at robin.

“i’d prefer to not be crashed into, captain.” robin shuts her book and gives luffy a gentle, almost maternal smile. “now, what has you so excited?”

luffy is thoughtful as he opts to lay back down on the deck, tilting his straw hat over his face to shield his eyes from the sun. he’s not excited, kinda confused, actually. 

he’s good with his feelings, because he knows his feelings. he's familiar with them. but these feelings—the ones he's been feeling for the past couple of weeks or so—are new. he doesn’t know them, but he wants to learn about them. so here he is, ready to learn with the smartest person he knows.

“well…i wouldn’t call it excited, ya know?” luffy stretches his arms overhead before folding them behind his head. robin chuckles quietly, already aware of luffy’s feelings before he'd even realized them himself.

“what would you call it then?” robin asks patiently.

“like…i dunno! it’s different! it’s different with ‘em…” luffy trails off, sinking back into his thoughts.

“different with who?”

“y/n!” luffy chirps, feeling himself smile at the mention of your name. “i’m really happy they’ve joined the crew!”

“happy like…you’re happy that i joined the crew?” 

“nuh uh, like…i always wanna be near ‘em. i like when they laugh, when they’re happy. their smile’s real nice, too.” luffy pauses. “it’s a lot of fun to be alone with ‘em! makes me feel good…”

robin takes her time explaining what these feelings mean, that that bubbly, queasy feeling in his stomach was not, in fact, indigestion. once robin’s words seep into luffy’s thick, rubber skull, he jumps up off the deck and wraps robin in a tight hug, grinning the whole time and whisper yelling i gotta go tell ‘em!

luffy finds you instantly, almost like his body contains a homing device that always leads to you. you notice way too late that you are in the direct path of the tornado that is luffy, and he tackles you, causing you to fall back. luffy is quick to catch you, stretching an arm around your waist and bringing you to his chest, looking at your face with such intensity you can’t keep your face from heating up.

you’re breathless. due to the adrenaline from almost cracking your skull against the wood of the ship, and from the i’ve got feelings for ya! robin says they're love feelings! do you feel the same? that rushed out of luffy’s mouth.

roronoa zoro is confused. honestly, more confused than he’s ever been in his life. then he’s annoyed. why did he have to develop feelings for a crewmate, let alone you? it would just get in the way of everything. he wants to focus on his dream, on luffy’s dream, and sometimes even on sanji’s dream.

he doesn’t consider himself a particularly selfish person, but he wanted to focus on himself first. 

but then he sees you smile. he hears you laugh. he watches you work and hone your craft, a look of ecstatic determination on your face and the tip of your tongue peeking out between your pursed lips as you focus. suddenly, he realizes it’s really not about him anymore. it’s about you.

he starts to avoid you like the plague—he figures that if he can’t see you, you can’t see him. but he’s oh so wrong. 

when you decide you've had enough of this, you stop zoro, your hand gripping his shoulder and pulling as hard as you can. zoro raises an eyebrow at you and turns around, crossing his arms and waiting for you to explain yourself.

“you’ve been avoiding me.” you state, leaving no room for disagreement or excuses.

“says who?” zoro is very good at playing dumb.

“says me. and luffy.” you huff a bit as you remember your encounter with your captain. how his lips had twisted to the side and how his eyes had shot up to the sky when you’d asked what zoro’s problem was.

“luffy doesn’t know—”

“know why you’ve been avoiding me?” you step closer to zoro, your eyes locked on his and staring into his soul, searching for answers. “i’m sure we’d both love to know.”

zoro scoffs and rolls his eyes, taking a step back from you and turning his face to the sea. the cool ocean breeze feels nice against his burning face. he grimaces as he turns back to you, figuring he might as well get this over with.

“ilikeyou.” zoro mumbles, the words rushing out of his mouth and stopping quickly as they had started.

you shake your head and lean closer to zoro, turning your head to the side so his lips are inches away from your cheek. 

“can you repeat that, please, roronoa?”

“i like you.” zoro says the three, short, quipped words. he’s frowning and his arms are crossed and pulled tightly against his chest, in hopes to dampen the hammering of his heart.

trafalgar d water law is no stranger to stuffing his feelings deep inside of his chest and leaving them there to rot. so he’s wondering why in the fresh hell these annoying feelings for you keep resurfacing. they crawl up his esophagus and reflux into his mouth, leaving a bitter taste behind and making him scowl every time he feels them. 

and to you, it seems as though every time the two of you lock cross paths, he narrows his eyes at you and stalks away. he rarely talks to you anymore, although the conversations you'd shared before were usually very short, yet somehow still meaningful.

you decide to confront him about it, byway of bepo, who happened to know exactly why law was seemingly scarce around you. 

“c-captain? our captain?” bepo stutters, bringing his paw up to his mouth and feigning surprise. “wow! i have no clue why he’d do something like that!”

you frown at bepo. it’s painfully obvious he knows everything about the answer to your question. “spill it, bepo.”

bepo starts to make gestures with his hands and little struggle noises with his mouth. he has no clue how to get out of this one. so he does, indeed, spill it. 

a few minutes later, after bepo was done with his rambling and law’s confession, you approach law with a smug smile on your face.

it doesn’t take a genius to be able to tell why you’re smirking like that, and law immediately pinches the bridge of his nose and tilts his head down.

“that damn bear…”

usopp is sweaty. he’s sweaty, he’s wringing his hands, twirling his hair around his fingers, readjusting his goggles on top of his head. he can’t sit still. he’s been thinking about how on earth to deal with his feelings: does he just shove 'em deep down inside or does he shout 'em from the crow’s nest? he hasn’t had romantic feelings for anyone since he left kaya, and he simply cannot deal. 

“usopp…” nami says softly, touching usopp on the shoulder. he jumps, then flinches at his overreaction to his best friend’s simple and gentle gesture. “can you just tell them, please?”

“n-no! why should i?” usopp frowns at nami and furrows his eyebrows, knowing full well that it’d be best for his health and the crew’s sanity to just come out and tell you.

“if you don’t…” nami grins at him, slowly and mischievously, “i’ll tell them myself.”

usopp immediately springs up from his chosen sulking location and mutters an okay, okay! behind him as he leaves nami. he’s back to sweating, wringing his hands, playing with his hair, and fidgeting with his goggles.

you notice usopp looking particularly dreadful and wait for him to get closer to your position on the deck. you reach out and catch his hand, giving it a light tug so that he’s moving closer to you. he seems so deep in thought that he doesn’t even notice.

“usopp?” you tug on his hand twice, trying to get his attention. usopp meets your gaze and stares at you blankly before shaking his head and becoming aware of the situation. he tries to withdraw his hand from your grip but you’re holding on tightly, and he realizes he’s trapped.

“y/n! fancy seeing you here!” usopp laughs loudly, trying to mask the way that he’s absolutely crumbling and melting.

“what’s on your mind, usopp?”

“you.” usopp covers his mouth with his free hand immediately after the words come out of his mouth. what was he thinking, being so forward? he quickly looks away from you, directing his eyes to the clouds above. “i mean, nami was talking about you earlier. that’s why i’m thinking about you. no other reason!”

a small smile spreads across your lips. “oh, yeah. she told me something super interesting about you earlier today…” you say, drawing out the last few syllables and relishing in the way usopp looks at you in utter horror.

“nami told you that i like you?” he breathes.

“no, but you just did.”

vinsmoke sanji is aware that he actually likes you. that you're not just another pretty face he admires. he’s always known you were gorgeous, the apple of his eye, the object of his affection. you never noticed that it different, though. thinking back on it, you’re glad that you didn’t notice, because you might’ve thought it meant something bad. quite the contrary, in fact.

sanji knows he loves you when he feels calm in your presence. when he’s not acting like a fan boy and when he spends hours talking with you while he cooks or does the dishes or plans the crew's next meal. you’re always around, and yet, he’s never nervous. 

when he really realizes it, though, it’s when he catches a glimpse of nami’s naked silhouette through the crack in the bathroom door and he doesn’t even flinch. not a tingle, not a single palpitation. it’s not you, and his heart knows it, so he’s calm. this is when he knows he has to confess.

“y/n…darling…” sanji says, grasping your hands in his own and looking you in the eyes. “i have to tell you something—something i’ve never told anyone before.”

you look at him, an eyebrow raised in skeptical curiosity. sanji looks worried, and he almost never looks worried. your mind is going a mile a minute, your brain flipping through pages and pages of things he could possibly say to you within the next minute. because of this, you miss the way sanji squeezes your hands, and the way he sucks in a deep breath.

“i’m in love with you.”

taglist: @usoppsstar (i literally can’t remember anyone else rn lolol, i just knew i wanted to surprise ya coco) | @kingofthe-egirls | @pileofmush | @anemptypuddingcup

[romana-after-dark]

Dirty Old Man

Dark!Old Man!Logan x fem!reader

Main Masterlist : Logan Masterlist

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Summary: Logan is your driver, and one day he gets tired of keeping his hands to himself. Logan's POV.

Warnings: NON CON! DDDNE!!!!! Alcohol consumption, breeding kink but reader is on birth control. slapping. big, girthy, throbbing, rock hard age gap. crying, dirty talk. Absolutely wild slut shaming and misogyny in Logan's head. Seriously yall he's bad here. Theres nothing redeeming about him.

1.5 K words

Minors DNI, DEAD DOVE!!!

Support writers and artists, reblog and leave comments

He’d been watching you for longer than you realized.

Logan was used to taking odd jobs, having just enough to get by and when he tires of one place or another, he quits and finds somewhere else. But this right here? Yeah, he was sticking around for a bit.

You were a stupid little thing, silly and bubble head with a great pair of tits and a niave view of the world. He was your driver, taking you all around the streets of New York, anywhere from fancy gala’s to Sex and the City style luncheons -wait no it’s called brunch-, Sex and the City style brunches, to sleepovers with friends. Every time you hoped in the pretentious car, you slid in the back with a hello, and hopped out with a goodbye and a thank you. Today was no different.

A little crisp out for such a small dress, don’t you think?

Fall was coming, even if it grew later and later every year for the leaves to turn yellow and the wind to cool around you. Still, it never stopped dumb girls like you from dressing in the skimpiest little things, just tempting nasty old men like him, testing, teasing, until there was a consequence. You really needed to learn a lesson, didn’t you? One by one, Logan dropped off your slutty little friends, all dressed in an aray of orange and red and black and all the fall colors that were fashionable for bimbo’s like them to pay attention to. This wasn’t all your friend he’d driven to the club, some of them probably went off to get railed by some horny college student who just had to compliment them once or twice and they were sliding their underwear to the side.

You weren’t like them. You were wearing white, as pure as the day you were born, your sweet little head too filled up with thoughts of sunshine and flowers to be someone who’d let a man touch you like that. That’s why Logan wasn’t going to be ‘let’, he was going to take.

Drunk like your father every evening trying to drown out your nagging mother, you babbled on about the evening to him after your last friend left, filling him in on all the innocent fun you had at the club. You weren’t like the others, you didn’t grind on men or kiss your friends for attention or snort coke, you were happy with a several drinks and a good time.

“Back home, bub?” He asks you, looking through the rearview mirror.

“Yes, please, Mr. Smith.” You replied with his alias. He wanted to make you scream Logan, Logan, Logan. A pause. “Where are we?”

Logan had pulled into an empty alley, smirking at the knit of your eyebrows in confusion. “Gotta check the back tire, bub. Seems off.”

You were too drunk and stupid to question him. Naive girl, so trusting. He went to the back right tire, near wear you sat, and bent over pretending to look, knowing you well enough to know you’d open the door and peek out.

“Wha- *hiccup* what is it, Mr. Smiff?” 

He chuckles at you slurring his faux name. 

“You can just call me Logan, kid, I told yuh that.” Logan stands, bracing his arm over the car frame, leaning over you. “Everything, I’m afraid.”

You blink up at him in confusion. “Everything?”

“Yeah baby, looks like we’re gonna have to kill some time.” He makes his move, pushing you onto the leather seats and shoving you down. For a moment, you don’t struggle, just a yelp of surprise but Logan can see the realization of what's happening dawn in your eyes. Then, you slap him.

“Big mistake, kid.” Two slaps, one after the other in quick succession, are delivered to your sweet face, letting you know that however you fight, you’ll be punished. “Won’t help yuh to fight, sweetcheeks, only gonna make it worse.” He watches the tears well up in your eyes, your pretty lip quivering, but you don’t fight. You give in. He chuckles. “Well that was easy.”

Logan spreads your legs, grinding his clothed erection over your white underwear, making you whimper. “P-please don’t… I’m sorry, I-I I don’t-”

“Shhhhh, princess…” Logan wipes a tear from your face, nuzzling his beard against your neck. “Just be good for me, this will all be over soon, okay? But be that sweet girl I know you are.”

A dizzy, tired ‘okay’ and Logan leaned back to undo his pants where his crisp white shirt was tucked in. As expected, you simply stayed laid back and didn’t fight or try to get away. Such a good girl. “Take your panties off for me.”

You shake your head. “Don’t make me…”

All he had to do was narrow his eyes at you and you were scrambling to do as he said, making you complicite. 

“See? I knew you wanted this.”

Sliding into you was heaven, feeling you clench around him in fear, the tension of your body manifesting in squeezing him cock even as you got wet around him. He was your first, he knew that. Inside himself, he knew that, even if you hadn’t said. Because of course you hadn’t? Who would share that with her driver?

“Fuck princess, look at you…” Logan grunted as he began to thrust, watching your tits in that braless dress bounce. “Taking this old man cock so good, aren’t’cha? Yeah, just look at you…” He grabbed your hair harshly, yanking you up so you were bent over. You scream in pain, but quickly quiet yourself with little sobs instead as he forces you to watch him violating you, entering and withdrawing and entering again until he lets go, letting you flop back once more.

Logan’s cock slams inside you, and Logan bets you can feel him inside you, feel him prodigy at your womb, ready to be bred like a good girl like your deserves. 

“Are you on birth control?”

“Y-yes” You cry, covering your face in embarrassment. Are you lying? No, no he can see the little rod in your arm. He grab your tender flesh, and you cry out briefly again as he feels the stupid fucking implant in you, thumbing over it as he growls in frustration. He wanted to get you knocked up, make sure you were the stupid girl who got herself pregnant after he ditched town, but there was nothing he could do about it now. 

He gropes your tits through the dress, slapping at the side to make you yelp before moving on downward. You were awfully wet for someone who was crying. 

“Poor girl… is the mean old man taking your virginity? I know, I know, I’m the worst.” He swirls a finger over your slicked up clit, making your body jolt. “Fuck, such a sensative girl around you. Been years since I fucked someone so sweet and innocent, you’re -fuuuuuck, princess- you’re every dirty old man’s dream, you know that?”

He felt your cunt tighten at that, and he barks a laugh. “Ha! Don’t think I didn’t feel that, sweet cheeks. That make you hot? You like knowing old creeps think of our naked body while fisting their cocks?”

You cover your face. “No!”

“Princess, don’t fucking lie to me. Come on.” Logan touched your body, knowing he could bring you pleasure, wanting to feel your first orgasm gushing on his cock. “Give it to me, come on this old man cock, be the dirty whore I know you wanna be.” 

Your cry into your hands as your body betrays you, orgasming hard enough it pulled his own climax out of him. Even though he knew you wouldn’t get pregnant, Logan loved knowing that he was pumping load after load of his hot seed into your virgin pussy, knowing it would leak out of your for days. Morning after morning you wake up to his cum sliding out of your, reminding you that you’re nothing but a dirty old man's whore.

The whole ride to your penthouse, you laid in the back of the car, never moving from where he left you. When Logan pulled up to the building, he put his arm on the other backrest, looking down at you. “You tell anyone about this,” He let his claws fly out of his fisted hand. You could only flinch, your eyes drooping heavily. “I’ll end you, and whoever you tell. Got it?” Logan waits until you nod. “Good. Now get the fuck out of my car.”

Later…

You lay in bed, staring at your phone though the tears in your eyes. A shower couldn’t wash off the feeling of him in and on you, so you just gave up, stumbling into bed with your most comfortable clothes.

Your screen showed a message your forgot to respond to before getting drunk.

Remy Boo <3: Bon soir, cher. Text me when you’re home so I know you’re safe.

 You couldn’t tell him. Logan said he’d kill you and whoever you told… but if you didn’t respond, Remy would pull up to the penthouse and check on you. You did give him a key, and you owed him a response. He was your boyfriend, after all.

You: I’m home!!!! Had a great night with the girls. Im tired. Ttyl.

*************

Thanks so so so much for reading!!!! I might do a part 2 IDK. I kinda wanna see remy finding out what happened and that it was logan of all people.

If you like dark logan, check out my masterlist!

Our Gentle Sins is my logan series rn! I also wrote a lot of joel miller if thats your thing!!!!

Every single like, reblog, and comment means the world o me!

if you want to be tagged in my dark logan, check out my tag list!

If you want more logan bt not dark, check out @romanarose for my normal stuff.

@del-ightfulling @miraclesabound @oldloganslittleslut @shybluebirdninja @hornystan

[pleasantlycrazyworld]

Part two of this Worst!Logan request

A/N: Thank you for all the love on part 1; I hope you enjoy part 2 just as much! I have a lot of request that I am currently working on but request are still open for both Logan and Bucky!

Where we left off:

Logan was left standing in his room with wide eyes. Wade was trying to convince you that he loves you…why would you need the convincing? Obviously Logan knew that he needed convincing, like look at him? Hundreds of years older than you, from a whole different universe than you, full of a dark past and trauma…but you loved him too? Or at least you did before he threw a hissy fit tonight. 

FUCK! Logan yelled out when he realized that he had to go fix this now! 

*********************************************************************** 

Logan had to fix his stupidness. After the realization hit him like a truck he rushed out of the apartment with no shoes on. You only lived down the hall, something Logan was always thankful for, and he was even more thankful for it tonight. He reached your door in seconds and knocked on your front door with such force that he was slightly afraid that he might’ve broken the door. I’ll fix it later. He thought to himself as he tried to catch his breath and fix his hair before you opened the door. 

You opened the door far too quickly for his liking, yet way too slow. He was already in his head trying to convince himself that it was probably better for you to be mad at him, for you to not want him around anymore. That’d keep you safe…it would keep him safe. Feelings can be dangerous, relationships and getting close to someone can be dangerous. But he would die if he didn’t have you in his life anymore, he’s gotten greedy, selfish, he’s gotten comfortable for the first time in a long time and he isn’t ready to lose that yet. He won’t lose you, not when he knows you love him back. 

He was in the middle of fixing his hair when you opened the door, embarrassment flooded his body and he quickly ripped his hand away from his hair. “Logan?” You croaked out weakly, your voice thick with tears. His heart breaks in a way it never has before when he looks you in the eyes and sees the redness, the puffiness, the tears falling freely. “Oh. Oh darlin I am such a fool.” His shoulders fell and his own voice thickens with tears. The shame he felt when you started to reassure him made him want to dig his own claws into himself, he shook his head interrupting you and started going into a rant before he even realized what he was doing. 

“I am a fool! I was so wrapped in my own head that I convinced myself that for some fucking reason you were already taken and I didn’t want to get in between you and Wade-” You cut him off quickly, “Wade!?!” Logan winced when you exclaimed his roommates name, “I know okay! I know how ridiculous I’ve been, I was so blinded by you being close to Wade and all of the whispers and the sharing of clothes and the touching that I didn’t even notice the way you would get up early to make my coffee or stay up late when I had to work a closing shift even though you had to be up at 5 in the morning, I didn't notice that you always asked me how I was doing and never took okay or fine as an answer. I didn't even realize that you only cleaned my wounds and allowed Wade's wounds to get infected if he didn't clean them himself! I didn’t allow myself to see how much you cared about me because I still don’t think I deserve that; I don’t deserve tenderness, the soft caresses and whispers…I don’t deserve you darlin I just don’t.” He ended his rant with a whisper, nearly ashamed of himself for feeling this way and for admitting this aloud to someone as caring as you. 

He knows how much you care about him, he knows you won’t judge him or be mad at him for long, but he is so ashamed that he ever doubted you, there’s still a part of him that’s upset with himself for being so mad towards Wade when he thought you were with Wade. Wade deserves someone as kind and loving as you, Logan just wants to be greedy and keep you to himself.  You could tell that Logan was starting to get back into his head, he was starting to get that dazed off look in his eyes, it was like he was in another word when he started overthinking like this. “Logan” You called out to him before slowly touching his arm. “Why don’t you come inside? I’ll make us some coffee or tea and we can talk about where you’re taking me on our first date.” He looked at you with clear shock on his face, he was fully prepared for you to tell him to fuck off. Your laugh ringed through the air making his heart mend back together again. “Come on you fool” You teased him with a smirk and a quick roll of your eyes, he stumbled over his feet and ended up on your couch quicker than he could notice. 

It was the first time he had actually been in your apartment, and he never wanted to leave. Looking around it looked very you, very lived in, very homey. Your warmth surrounded him, your scent enveloped him, it felt like home. It felt like peace. 

You came back with two mugs and handed him his with that soft smile that he fell in love with. You sat next to him and started listing ideas for what the two of you could do for your first date; “We could go to dinner, we could watch a movie, we could go to a museum, we could–” You ended up sitting your mug on your coffee table in front of the couch at some point during your ramble, Logan wasn’t sure when it happen but he is positive that it did happen because he’ll never forget the feeling of your head on his shoulder as you finally decided where the two of you would go this weekend for your first official date. 

Tagging:

@userchai

@mahi-tamashi

@100percentlazybonez

@lanassmarty

@western-pyro

@misscrissfemmefatale

@marit332

@navs-bhat

@fluffy-b33z

@chaimshelii

@aoi-targaryen

@eyes-ofhell

@sad0ni0n

@fries11

@squishyfruitloop

@negan-morningstar

@p3ryt0n

@ayamenimthiriel

[mncxbe]

𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭...

ೀ๋࣭ ⭑𝒄𝒘: pwp, needy/pervy? men, backseat activities, creampie, pet names, not proofread

the 𝐧𝐞𝐞𝐝𝐲, 𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐥𝐲 𝐛𝐨𝐲𝐬 who watch you from the distance, not daring to interact with you in any way. their life is messy, dangerous– violence and death leaving no space for love. and even if he could afford such mundane affections, an angel like you would never turn their gaze on them, right?

well, that's what he thought until you hit him up. walking up behind him and tapping his shoulder with the most innocent smile plastered on your pretty face. "Hey there, stranger. You look a little lost" it's all you say, your voice barely audible over the loud music and chatter in the bar. he thinks you look prettier up close and finds himself unable to reply with any witty or flirty remark. "Not really, it's just not a place I usually go to".

'stupid idiot��' it's all he can say to himself, the fear of coming across as uninterested and pushing you away rooted deep in his bones. but his comment only makes your smile widen. you lean in and he feels his cock straining his pants when you brush your fingertips against his thigh, moving them upwards, tempting him "Then why don't we go somewhere more comfortable for both of us?"

That's how you ended up in the backseat of his car with his hand cupping your panty clad ass "Please baby take 'em off for me, will you?" he pleads and you indulge him, sliding off the lace trimmed panties to grant him access to your cunt before climbing back on his lap.

It feels good, too good, the way you grind on his hand– his fingertips shoved snugly against your sweet spot, causing moans and mewls to spill from your glossy lips as your hands find his belt, skillfully unbuckling it. his cock slides inside you easily, stretching your gummy walls and fuck– you feel just like he imagined.

it doesn't take too long for the windows to fog up– not when he's messily bucking his hips to meet your grinds, panting like he'd just run a marathon. "that's it pretty girl just keep bouncing on me ah fuck— feels too good. y'er sqeezing me so tight–" he whines between shallow breaths, completely lost in the feeling of your walls clamping down on him. he never thought a man like him would ever reach heaven but there he is, buried deep inside your pretty little cunt.

he's not used to the pleasure, really, so it doesn't take him long to reach his high. an unfamiliar warmth pools in his core, making him feel dizzy. he closes his eyes and doesn't even realize that his hands are fiercely squeezing your hips– keeping you nice and steady as he ruts inside you, his leaking tip hitting your sweet spot with each thrust. "fuck, fuck, fuck baby 'm close" he groans and it's like music to your ears.

the feeling is overwhelming, so many emotions swirling inside him all at once– it's like you dug deep inside his soul and opened Pandora's box. guilt, need, shame, bliss, adoration. if it weren't for the tears spilling from his eyes you wouldn't be aware of the effect you had on him.

you smile and gently wipe his tears away, placing little kisses on his cheeks as you cup his face with your hands, encouraging him to keep going "make yourself feel good for me, okay? you deserve it you're doing good. c'mon cum for me, handsome"

and he does— and it feels like heaven. his vision blurs as his cum spurts inside you, painting your gummy walls white. it takes him a while to regain his breath and composure, but even when his calm-and-collected mask is back on the grip on your hips doesn't falter. he keeps himself sheathed inside you as you lean against him, your combined juices leaking down to his base.

"so..." you eventually speak up, your face still buried in the crook of his neck. "you feeling better now?" he only hums for lack of a better response, kissing the crown of your head and wrapping his arms around your waist to keep you flush against his chest. he can't bring himself to tell you he's afraid to let you go, that he wants to stay like this for one more minute– to indulge himself the pleasure and comfort of normality and intimacy. because in the end he's still a stranger to you. still... things may change between you and this luxury he rarely affords could become part of his routine– if you want that too. for now he can only hope for something more and let the rough edges of his soul soften up in your embrace.

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈•ﾟ｡𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒: 𝐃𝐀𝐙𝐀𝐈, 𝐂𝐇𝐔𝐔𝐘𝐀, 𝐀𝐊𝐔𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐀𝐖𝐀, 𝐉���𝐔𝐍𝐎, 𝐓𝐀𝐂𝐇𝐈𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐀, 𝐀𝐊𝐈, (𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫) 𝐊𝐈𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐁𝐄 ｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈•ﾟ｡

[ladykailitha]

The Caged Bird Still Sings Part 1

I am finally ready to show you all the Sugar Baby!Steve/Sugar Daddy!Eddie fic I've been working on. I'm not sure how long it will go, but Steve's going to go on a journey with this one.

But I feel I need to go into the title of this fic a bit, because I feel it’s important to talk about before starting the story.

The Caged Bird Still Sings, because they are well taken care of and has every need met. They will never starve, or thirst or get too hot or cold, they will be cared for if sick or injured. The only price is the cage.

It’s like that owl that got released from that zoo by well-meaning ‘animal advocates’ that died by flying into a high rise building. If it had still been in the zoo it would have lived for another thirty years.

So in this story Steve starts off thinking that Eddie’s love and attention is only temporary and is actively trying to get a job, make money of his own, and move out and away from needing Eddie’s money and gifts to survive so that they can be on more even footing.

But as the story goes on and he can’t get work and he meets Robin, he slips into this melancholy for awhile thinking that if he wants to continue living like this there has to be some sort of trade and thinks it’s about sex.

Which is why Eddie refuses to have sex with him during that time. He wants them to be couple and knows that Steve isn’t there yet.

It’s only at the end when Steve realizes this isn’t temporary, that Eddie isn’t just trying to buy sex from him, that he settles into being taken care of. By Robin, by Eddie, by the rest of the band. Not because they don’t think he can take care of himself but because they love him.

There will be only two sex scenes in this. Once at the beginning before the Arrangement, and once at the end when they are both on the same page and they consummate their relationship.

If you think this isn’t your cup of tea, no problem. Let me know in the comments, tags, DMs, or even asks (I’ll answer privately) and I’ll take you off the list. I already have one that has told me upfront that they aren’t interested and won’t be tagged.

Anyway, I hope you enjoy this little story.

~

Steve sat in his Bimmer, head hung low between his shoulders, tears streaming down his face. Everything he owned was in the trunk and backseat of the car. It was his car. The title had been signed over to him when he turned eighteen.

He was still wearing the stupid little green vest and name tag that bore the name Family Video. A place he no longer worked. He’d have to return them to the store in the morning, but for now, it created the illusion of still being employed.

When he woke up yesterday morning, he had three things; a home, a job, and a boyfriend. And now he didn’t have any of that shit.

All because last night his parents came home to find him and Tommy on the sofa with their hands in each other’s pants. Leaving no doubt about what they were doing.

They kicked Steve out mere minutes after Tommy fled, his father screaming that he wouldn’t have a dirty whoring fag in his house. All while his mother cried about losing her baby to those ‘horrid queers’.

Steve had called around to his friends looking for a place to spend the night, but they were all too afraid of his dad. His father roared with laughter each time a friend turned him down.

“They don’t want a dirty fag in their house either,” he said with a sneer as Steve hung up on his last hope.

“Now get the hell out of my house.”

Steve did as he was told and spent the night in his car in the parking of Family Video. When it came time to open the store, he grabbed his clothes and work vest and got changed in the bathroom.

By noon, his life was over. Keith had sat him down in his office and told him that due to morality clause that Steve had violated, he would no longer be working at Family Video. He handed Steve his last check and told him he had to return the vest cleaned with his badge by tomorrow or he would be forced to pay for them.

Steve cashed the check. It wasn’t much as it was only the beginning of the new pay period and he had barely worked eight hours before he had been fired.

He had some money in his savings account, another thing that had been signed over to him when he turned eighteen. But not enough for a hotel. So he went to the bank and closed out the account. All total it was only fifty bucks. That might get him a night at a cheap motel, but nothing past that. He would be homeless, penniless, and friendless if he tried.

But there was another way to get a warm place to stay at least for the night without spending everything he had.

He got dressed up in the sluttiest outfit he had. He pulled on tight leather black pants and yellow shirt that barely grazed the top of his belly button. He put on a little eyeliner and mascara, then he added strawberry lip balm to make his lips pop.

Steve opened his wallet and pulled out his fake ID. The one he got when he was sixteen off his cousin.

They looked close enough to be brothers and Scott was easy to change to Steve and ta da! He put it in front of his actual ID and drove out to the Hideout.

He parked far enough away from the bar so people wouldn’t see all his stuff in the back and then walked up to the line. He was so focused on getting in that he missed all the signs.

The lack of variety in clothes from those in the line, the bouncer asking for a high cover charge, higher than normal, and the most glaring? The great big fucking stage setup with the huge ass banner that said in bold fucking letters: CORRODED COFFIN.

Nope, it took getting a seat at the bar and the bartender straight up asking if his girlfriend was a fan of the band before Steve realized his error.

He was a prep surrounded by metal fans all there to see Corroded Coffin. Steve was familiar with them. But then again you had to be dead not to know the name of the biggest band to make out of Hawkins, metal fan or not.

Eddie Munson was older than Steve by a decade, so he was only ten when the older man took his band to LA and made it big. Which if you had listened to any of his teachers or even just anyone over forty at the time for longer than two seconds they would rant about how they never thought he would amount to anything. That making music was a pipe dream and to just accept taking his uncle’s place at the manufacturing plant on the outside of town.

He also knew that they made sure to stop and play here at the Hideout every time they did any American tour just to fuck with those assholes.

So he had really picked the worst night to have his life completely fucked over enough for him to even think about coming here to get laid. Because chances were, he wasn’t gonna. He just hoped that someone took pity on him enough to buy him his drinks so that he could shit-faced enough to endure sleeping rough again.

He ordered a dirty martini and hoped to be left alone at the very least.

~

Eddie was in the back tuning his guitar when Jeff came in shaking his head.

“What’s up, man?” he asked looking back down at his sweetheart.

“Some poor bastard wandered in on the night we perform,” Jeff said with a chuckle.

Eddie raised his head and frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Come here, come here,” Jeff said, waving him over.

Eddie set his guitar down and walked over. Jeff pointed at the guy at the bar. Bright yellow shirt and shiny leather pants.

“Ooh...” he said with a wince. “Poor guy. Probably had a shit day and wanted to blow off some steam and now his day is just going to get worse.”

Jeff nodded. “Yeah, I’m half tempted to at least buy the guy a drink for the sheer fact he fucking stayed. The balls on that dude.”

Eddie watched as the guy fondled the stem of his glass. He licked his lips slowly.

“Oh no,” Jeff said, face palming. “I know that look. And absolutely fucking not. He looks super young, Ed.”

Eddie just shrugged. “He’s at least twenty-one, otherwise he wouldn’t have made it past Monty.”

Jeff raised his head and blinked at him for a moment. Monty was a good bouncer who could spot a fake a mile away.

“Yeah, okay,” he huffed. “Objection retracted.”

Eddie clapped his hands together and rubbed them. “Tell Chrissy to start a tab for this guy and have it be in my name and to put the word out that if anyone is seen harassing him will get kicked out.”

Jeff sighed but did as he was told. Eddie sat back down and began tuning his guitar again. He thought tonight was going to blow, but a little yellow canary just made things a hell of a lot more interesting.

~

Steve was sitting at the bar nursing his one drink for the evening and keeping his head down when a perky blonde slid up next to him.

“I need five bottles of Miller,” she told the bartender and then turned and gave Steve a once over. “And something for the fine gentleman here.”

Steve turned to look at her. Her hair was actually closer to red than blonde but she was cute in a preppy cheerleader kind of way.

“All these going on the same tab?” the bartender asked, handing her the five unopened beers.

She smiled up at him. “Yep! And all his drinks, too. All night. Whatever he wants.”

The bartender raised an eyebrow and then looked over Steve up and down. “God damn him. He’s doing it again?”

The woman just giggled and winked at Steve before taking her prizes with her.

Steve wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth so downed his drink and ordered a Tequila Sunrise to replace it.

But curiosity won out. “Do I want to know what that was about?”

The bartender chuckled and shook his head fondly.

Steve thought about saying something bitchy, but he really wanted his drinks for free and poking the bear was not a plan if he wanted that to happen, so kept his mouth shut.

The band came out and Steve knew he was in trouble. He objectively knew what the band looked like and vaguely knew who was who even. But all that blew out the fucking window in the face of Eddie Munson in the flesh.

Tight pants, leather jacket, shredded t-shirt, combat boots, and his hair whipping back and forth?

God, Steve was instantly horny and just as hard. He shifted in his pants and prayed that the tight pants kept his dick from showing too much. Otherwise, this was going be a very awkward evening.

He was listening to the band and bobbing along to the music when some dude over fifty came up to him.

“Name three songs off their third album,” he growled.

Steve blinked at him for a moment and then raised one eyebrow. “Dude, I’m just here for the booze. I’ve had a shit day just want to relax.”

“So you’re some townie who thinks that because this your fucked up hell hole that you can just take the spot of some real fan who wanted to see them more than you?”

Steve really didn’t know how to answer that. Because, yeah. That’s exactly what he thought.

“It’s not that serious,” Steve said, turning back to his drink. “They’re playing in both Indy and Bloomington. They can see them there instead of this dimly lit bar.” He mouthed ‘sorry’ to the bartender, who shrugged and tried to hide his smile.

“And how would you know that, asshole?” the guy growled.

Steve sighed and pointed to the sign behind the bar listing Corroded Coffin’s tour dates.

The guy whipped his head to look at the sign but before he could say anything else, Monty came up to the guy and quietly ushered him away, whispering furiously as the guy’s face paled.

The bartender shook his head. “These dudes never learn.”

Steve took a sip of his drink and set it down. “What’s that?”

“That the guys,” he pointed to the stage and Steve looked over his shoulder at the band kicking it on stage, he nodded, “don’t like it when fans try and gate keep. They can’t do jack shit at larger venues but place like this? They absolutely refuse to let that kind of shit go on.”

Steve looked over his shoulder just in time to catch Eddie winking at him. He blushed and turned bright red.

The bartender laughed before he moved on to take another order.

~

Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17 Part 18 Part 19

Tag List: CLOSED

1- @rozzieroos @itsall-taken @redfreckledwolf @zerokrox-blog @beelze-the-bubkiss

2- @gregre369 ​@a-little-unsteddie @chaosgremlinmunson @messrs-weasley @cryptid-system

3- @maya-custodios-dionach @goodolefashionedloverboi @val-from-lawrence @carlyv @wonderland-girl143-blog

4- @justforthedead89 @irregular-child @bookbinderbitch @bookworm0690 @forgottenkanji

5- @anne-bennett-cosplayer @yikes-a-bee @awkwardgravity1 @littlewildflowerkitten @genderless-spoon

6- @dragonmama76 @ellietheasexylibrarian @thedragonsaunt @useless-nb-bisexual @disrespectedgoatman

7- @counting-dollars-counting-stars @tinyplanet95 @ravenfrog @swimmingbirdrunningrock @lingeringmirth

8- @gutterflower77 @a-lovely-craziness @just-a-tiny-void @w1ll0wtr33

[snickerdoodie]

“Sugar and Spice”

Summary: Everyone knew Jake Seresin was a charismatic player. Whether it was flirting with girls at the bar or charming his way out of any situation. But what happens when the blond pilot finally meets his match?

Pairing: Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin x f!reader

A/N: hey guys..I’m not even gonna lie I completely forgot to post this lmao, I got a liiittle busy with everything and it completely went over my head. But here it is! Finally! After two months. This also isn’t proof read, per usual, so sorry if anything sounds off. Enjoy!

Jake’s chatting along with Rooster and the gang when the door suddenly chimes open, taking a quick glance as any human would, but what he sees isn’t what he’s expecting. In comes you, dressed up in a simple white tank top and probably the shorted daisy dukes he’s ever seen, not that he’s complaining though . His eyes rake over your body before he travels further upward, smirking to himself when you accidentally make eye contact. Giving him a nod and a classic small smile, you make your way over to the bar, soon getting into a quick conversation with Penny.

“Well I’ll be damn,” He says into his beer, taking a long sip before wiping his lips with a grin. That causes Rooster to quirk a brow at the unexpected comment.

“What’s up with you? Find a new pair of tits to ogle at?” He quips, noticing Hangman’s intense stare across the room. Seresin shrugs, a smirk still plastered on his handsome face.

“‘Could say that. Could also say I might have just found myself my girl tonight.” And with that, Hangman scoots himself out of the booth he was sitting in and makes his way across the room, gaze dead set on you sitting at the bar, drink in hand. He ignores the unwanted calls and shouts narrowed to him from his friends, too caught up in his next words. Taking a seat on the empty stool next to yours, leering on your exposed skin before continuing.

“Hey there, what’s a pretty thing like you doin’ here sittin’ by yourself?” You turn your head to the sound of the voice, not even hearing him come up beside you. At first, you do a once over at the man, taking in his striking green eyes and Hollywood smile. Then you take notice in his uniform, his sunglasses perched on the fold of his shirt. Must be one of those pilots you keep hearing about. Turning your upper half to him, you smile.

“Doesn’t seem like I’m sitting alone now, does it?” You quip back, setting your drink down on the countertop. The man’s smirk grows wider as he rests an elbow on the wood.

“Aw, no need to thank me, just doin’ what’s needed of me.” You just now realize his country accent, standing out in certain phrases; it makes you fight back a blush. You raise a brow nonetheless.

“Is that so? Did you magically think I wanted you here, Blondie?” You know he wasn’t expecting the nick name when his brows raise for a split second before shooting back down to their original places.

“Eh, I don’t need’a think, I just know by heart. Y’know, with my magical powers ‘n all.” He imitates quotations at the end of his sentence. You huff out a laugh at his words, eyes cascading down to your watered down drink. Taking a sip, you focus your attention back onto the man in front of you. That stupid grin still plastered on his lips.

“Well can your magical powers tell you the name of the lady you decided to make your next target?” It came out a bit harsher than you intended, almost regretting your words. Truth is, you *were* enjoying his company and that southern drawl of his. He honestly was making your night a bit better than just sitting there alone, drowning in your drinks and mind while some overplayed Toby Keith song played on the jukebox.

“I’m afraid that’s somethin’ I can’t do. Care to help me out here?” Relieved he didn’t say anything about your earlier statement, you bite your lip with a smile, nodding.

“(Y/N),” you state, almost missing the way his eyes light up more at your declaration. “What about you, G.I. Joe? Got a name to the face?”

“As a matter of fact I do, gorgeous. Most people call me Hangman but I’ll make a special case and let you call me yours.” He winks with that cheshire grin. You fight back both a blush and a large smile this time at the cringy and overused line.

“Is that so?”

“I’d sure so hope so, ma’am.”

You both stay silent as you stare at each other. While you bite the inside of your cheek, he scoots himself closer to you, knees brushing against each other. You can smell his sandalwood cologne and the beer he’d been drinking previously before coming up to you. Hangman notices your lack of response and licks his lips, eyes flickering from your glass to your hair then to your lips before continuing.

“Tell ya what, sweetheart” he starts, catching your attention, “You name the game. If I win, you’re buying me dinner. But if you by some miracle manage to beat me, you won’t have to endure my charming company ever again.” He finishes, looking very confident in his proposition. You tilt your head and fully face your body towards him, your legs scooting between his as he widens his stance to make room. You swear you could have seen his adam’s apple bob harshly at the movement but you payed no mind.

You narrow your eyes slightly before a small smile stretches across your lips. With the confidence that this man passed on, you carefully lean forward so your palms are resting against his firm thighs. Bracing yourself as you lean in closer. Hangman bites his lip before tilting his head down, his chest heaving in a breath before he speaks,

“You gonna take up on that offer, darlin’?” He drawls out, voice raspy, almost sultry. You look him in the eyes as you lightly squeeze his skin, his smirk growing.

“Y’know what? I will, s’not like I’ve got anything to lose now is there, cowboy?”

I also tried to make my format for my fics a little more..interesting looking. I felt like they’re too boring so tell me your thoughts. Feel free to comment if you liked or disliked something! :)

[maidragoste]

Can you please write a drabble about it being the readers birthday on like maybe December 6th and she requests a whole family dinner amongst her green and black relatives and at this dinner, everyone begins to argue and she leaves upset, but as she's getting ready for bed, her mother (Rhaenyra or Alicent, you can pick) walks into her room to apologize for the disturbance and asks reader if she can follow her, when reader does, her mother leads her to the library where all her relatives are and they all have gifts for her and everyone is getting along and it's a happy birthday in the end. I know you are a very busy girl and you can obviously change the story and stuff, but it'd mean a lot if the date remained the same as that is my birthday and whenever I request a birthday related story lol, no one ever wants to write it which I get, but I'm a very poor English speaker and writer and I am just a poor writer in general so I can only imagine this stuff so it'd be cool to have it written out. Thank you and have a lovely day!!

HAPPY BIRTHDAY! I hope it's still December 6th in your country and I'll feel fulfilled hahaha I hope you had a nice celebration and thank you for choosing me to write something for you in honor of your birthday 🥰🥰💖💖 I hope you like it!

You were upset and disappointed. Nothing like how excited you were when you started the day. It was your name day and you wanted to celebrate. You hadn't asked for anything extravagant like a tournament in your honor, all you had asked for was a family dinner. It shouldn't be that complicated. But with your family everything was. They may not have ended up in war after your father's death but you could still feel the tension between both sides of the family. Your mother still wore her green dresses and Daemon always looked at you and your siblings like they were the enemy. Maybe it was stupid of you to think that they would forget about the feud for today.

You began to take the hairpins out of your hair as you thought about everything that had gone wrong with dinner. First Daeron was too busy in Old Town so he hadn't been able to come; then Aegon while pouring himself more wine had rowed some of it over Jacaerys. Your brother claimed it was an accident and pretended he was drunk but you were sure he did it on purpose after Jacaerys asked you and Helaena if you would dance with him later. Afterwards Aemond in what was supposed to be a speech about you ended up finding some way to “subtly” insult your nephews. Of course, they didn’t stay quiet and so the big fight began. You had left upset while you listened to your mother trying to stop your brothers.

“Mother,” you said, not hiding your annoyance, seeing her enter your chambers, when you were already finishing undoing your hair. “Did someone die while I was gone?”

At your scathing tone, Alicent couldn’t help but feel even more guilty. You had never spoken to her like that, you were always a good daughter to her, sweet and ready to help your family. You hadn’t asked for much and somehow they had managed to ruin your day.

“I’m sorry, my sweet girl. We didn't behave like we should" she sighed. "But your day doesn't have to end like this, please come with me"

You couldn't stay upset with your mother for long, not when she looked at you with pleading eyes and you could see how guilty she felt. The way she moved her hands made her look nervous that you would reject her.

"It's okay" you agreed and watched as she relaxed.

You walked out of your chambers together with your arms linked and you let her lead you through the castle. It caught your attention when you realized she was taking you to the library but you didn't say anything. You looked at your mother confused when she didn't instantly open the doors.

The truth is that Alicent was afraid that the two of you would find that the family was fighting each other again. She made a quick prayer in her head and opened the door.

"Daeron!" you screamed and ran excitedly into your brother's arms. He picked you up and hugged you and you laughed. You didn't know how you had missed Tessarion's arrival but you didn't care. You were glad to have him with you.

“Of course, he's her favorite” you heard Aegon say as Daeron put you down.

“Because he didn't try to ruin my name day,” you said without letting go of Daeron

“For saying such a slander I won't give you my present”

And thanks to Aegon you noticed that one of the tables in the library was full of presents. You were surprised to see so many. You weren't expecting presents that weren't from your siblings, your mother and your grandfather. But clearly, Rhaenyra, Daemon, your nephews, and your cousins ​​had brought you something too.

“It doesn't matter cousin, I'm sure you're not missing much,” Baela said making you laugh.

“I'm sure my present is better than yours”

Of course, as you opened the presents your family started arguing about who would give you the best present. But you didn't care because you could see that this time it wasn't a serious fight. You were happy to see that both sides of your family were sharing this moment with you. Maybe this could be the start of a change in the whole family dynamic, leaving the feuds behind.

[hellshire-harlot]

You’re Supposed to Bleed the First Time | New God!Albert Wesker x Goddess!Reader

They all lied, lied, lied

Why didn’t anyone tell me

Love is like

Being fucked with a knife

————

Reader is a young goddess in a pantheon. Never before has a mortal ascended to divinity.

Until him.

Also available on AO3 here.

Taglist: @gothghostiie @adrianrainesfangs @weskie @destinationtrekk @nomansgunssmoke

A pulsating wave of sickness, of agonizing fire shooting through your body, startles you from sleep. Barely conscious, you tumble out of bed and rush to your bathing room and heave violently into the toilet, your bile stained gold with Ichor. The fluid that is meant to remain in your veins.

As you finish throwing up and take a deep breath, you have your first concrete, conscious thought this morning. Young you may be for a goddess, you are not helpless, or stupid. Something is very, earth-shakingly wrong.

You look out the window, then, and realize it’s not even morning at all- only blackness greets you from outside, stars and moon shrouded in a blanket of clouds. Your Domain, your realm and home, is unnaturally still and twice as silent. Like the forest suddenly going mute before a tornado, the ominous atmosphere does nothing to soothe your nerves. You know you should get back to sleep- the other gods will surely chastise you if they see you with bags under your eyes -but you can’t. It’s like your body was jump-started, all cylinders firing at once, strung tight like a bow in dreadful anticipation of… something. You have no idea what the source of your sudden illness is, or why it’s now just gone. You don’t know why you’ve woken in the middle of the night. You don’t know why this dread, heavy like solid gold, pulls your body downwards. But you have no time to wonder, as your door bursts open.

You yelp in shock as a small group of other deities flood into your room, already attending to various tasks. One helps you to stand up and flushes the toilet, not even mentioning the godly blood you just expelled. One throws open your closet, while another raids your jewelry box like a burglar. Everything moves so fast around you, your head begins to spin.

“What’s going on?” You warble, unsure of anything. You’ve never seen the elder deities this frazzled, and it puts you on edge.

“It finally happened,” one goddess chokes out, face wan with terror as she helps you into a long white dress extracted from your closet, “Just now, the sickness, did you feel it?” Her hands shake as you step into the garment, tying the long sash around your waist while you try not to panic.

“No,” you breathe, your body suddenly feeling very cold. You think you know what she’s talking about, but you’re too terrified to believe it. “No. You’re wrong. Tell her, tell her she’s wrong,” you plead, beseeching another god who runs a brush quickly through your hair.

His face is grim. Pale. Afraid. Your heart sinks. “She’s not wrong, child. Albert Wesker has achieved his goal.”

Albert Wesker. A name you and all the other gods know all too well. Your eyes have been on him since the Arklay incident years ago, when he defied death and became inhuman. Immortal, like you. But not like you, because you are kind and your hands touch with softness, and Wesker is the most wicked man to walk the mortal world. He keeps his hands within gloves so that he doesn’t have to touch the lesser mortals, not even gracing them with the dignity of direct contact when he murders them. He twists everything he touches to fit his own needs. He turned a woman into a puppet.

You feel suddenly very lightheaded.

“What’re we going to do, then?” You ask, words clipped with panic while the gods in your room finish dressing you. You don’t resist them, frozen like a mannequin as they fix your hair and fasten a choker around your neck. You feel like the ground itself has vanished beneath you, leaving you adrift in the void, darker than the blackest night, the same obsidian Wesker covers himself in. The association makes you shudder with dread. “The man hates the divine, you’ve heard him say how much he wants us dead-“

Another god places his hands on your shoulders to calm you, and on instinct, your mouth closes. “He wanted the gods the world prays to dead,” he says, stern and steadfast, “Not us. There is a distinction. If we meet him on equal ground we may gain-“

“Gain what?” You interrupt, shoving him away, hysterical tears in your eyes as the procession begins guiding you out of your safe, dark home and into the terror of the unknown night. Not even the confines of your personal pocket of reality can protect you now. Is this how newborn humans feel, you wonder, taking in the Domain around you with new, frightened eyes, is this what it’s like to be ripped from the warmth of the womb? You suddenly understand why human babies cry when they’re born. You’re crying, too. “Wesker can’t be reasoned with, he goes against everything you’ve taught me! You can’t possibly expect him to honor any sort of agreement or bargain!” Your ranting goes mostly unnoticed as the other gods hustle you to the edge of your Domain. One goddess grips your hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze, and the liquid warmth of divine teleportation envelops you.

You blink, and suddenly the warmth intensifies. You’re here.

The caldera of the volcano is scorching hot, writhing with molten lava and the residual energy of the horror that transpired here just moments ago. The rising sun does nothing to assuage your racing heart, furiously pounding in your chest like the dull beats of the helicopter currently flying away. You envy its passengers- Chris and Sheva, strong and brave; Jill, finally freed from her servitude; even the Captain flying the chopper. All of them are ignorant to the truth. They rest their weary heads, thinking that Wesker has been eliminated once and for all. How would they react, you wonder halfheartedly, if they knew their rockets had turned their nemesis into a deity?

It’s not their strength you envy; you are divine. Strength is something not in short supply. It is their blissful ignorance. You would give up every drop of Ichor in your body if it would save you from the looming consequences of their victory.

The rest of the pantheon, gods and goddesses alike, surround the mouth of Kijuju in a rough circle. Some stand just inches from the magma; it wouldn’t matter if you touched it. You are immortal, after all. But the seething presence of something lying in wait just below the surface makes you flutter back, gossamer dress billowing in the heated wind.

You cling to the hand of the goddess at your side, curling into her. She places herself slightly before you, as if to offer protection you both know she cannot provide. You look at her rounded face, eyes wary. “What happens now?” You ask, voice small and almost inaudible under the burbling of superheated rock.

She looks pained, turning away from your pleading gaze. “I don’t know,” she admits weakly, “None of us do. We can only wait now, little one.”

And wait you do. The anticipation hangs over the volcano, heavier even than the clouds of pyroclastic ash that threaten to stain your dress irreparably. You can’t tear your eyes away from the shifting magma. The liquid stone turning over and in on itself, flowing like water but a hundred thousand times more deadly, moves and dances in mesmerizing patterns. You are suddenly captivated by it. Though your body quakes with anxiety, your mind becomes clear and lucid.

It is these mesmerizing patterns, swirls and whorls of magma, that you blame for the sudden voice echoing in your head.

Come closer, it orders you, stern and masculine, leaving no room for argument. Your breath hitches, unsure of the voice’s origin but knowing that it doesn’t belong in your head. He doesn’t belong in your head, whoever he is. Come closer, now. I won’t ask again.

Against your better judgment, fear makes your bare feet shift. One foot in front of the other, you pull away from the goddess you once clung to. You are afraid of what lies beneath the lava, what lies lurking in your mind. And this is why you approach. Some of the gods notice you, but you can’t care, not with the strange voice overpowering your will with cold, all-encompassing dread. Good girl. You shudder, electric sparks of ice running up and down your spine despite the overwhelming heat. Stop. Kneel, right where you are. You overcome your paralysis just enough to defy him. A rumble of disapproval echoes in your skull, though you try to pretend it’s the volcano. It doesn’t work.

I don’t want to do that, you tell yourself, even mouthing the words to make them real. Maybe if you concentrate, you can resist the pull this entity has on you.

Of course you don’t, the voice sneers, uncaring of your terror. Your lip trembles. What you want is irrelevant right now. Kneel.

The flippant dismissal of your desires is familiar. The other gods are often quick to wave you off and shut you down, too busy or too distracted with their own activities to humor you, and being the youngest of the pantheon, you have precious little leeway to stand your ground. You take a hint of comfort in the familiarity of submission as you slowly fall to your knees against the igneous rock. “You talk to me just like the others do,” you whisper sorrowfully.

At that, the voice is unusually silent. You shift, uncomfortable on your knees. The magma before you burbles and you clench your hands into fists to calm yourself. Once again, the magnetic patterns of the lava captivate you, providing some refuge from your fear. The molten rock folding over and in on itself like rising dough is tantalizing to you, and on instinct, you reach out.

To touch it? To feel the heat scorching against your delicate hands? Even you don’t know why you do this. But you don’t have a chance to retract your hand, because another suddenly bursts from the magma and grabs onto your arm with bruising force.

A scream dies in your throat. The other gods are all watching now, rooted to their spots with anticipation and fear. A choked sound escapes you as you attempt to pull yourself away from the grasp, only to have it pull back. More of the arm emerges from the lava, revealing a shoulder. The second arm shoots out of the fire and finds purchase on the solid rock, only further aiding its owner’s climb to freedom. You try again to free yourself, a scream of confused terror echoing through the caldera, prompting some of the gods to rush to your aid. Hands wrap about your waist, pulling you away, but the stranger’s grasp is far too strong.

With five other gods helping to pull you back, and your own strength and that of the stranger, the task is accomplished. As he is exhumed from the magma, he lets go of you, and for a moment, you are frozen where you lay on the rocky ground.

Standing before you, clad in the same ebon leather that defines him so deeply, is Albert Wesker.

For that agonizing moment, you are held in place by his gaze alone. Though you’ve seen his eyes before, the stark identicality they bear to the lava he was just birthed from makes your heart drop. His pupils are perfect slits of vantablack, dilating ever so slightly as he looks you up and down. While the other gods scramble away, you remain a heartbeat longer. He looks upon you critically, assessing you from head to toe. His eyes rake over your body, your soot-stained dress, the collar hugging your heaving throat; they seem to linger just a little too long in some places. It stirs an odd, uncomfortable feeling in you, but you don’t know why. It’s something you’re used to, as some of the older gods look at you this way frequently. Like they’re hungry.

Wesker looks hungry, in this moment. For some reason it makes you want to cover your body with your arms, like your dress has been burned away entirely, all of you laid bare before him. The moment passes, the suffocating spell is broken, and you let out a horrified cry as you throw yourself backwards. The other gods, the ones who helped you pull him from the lava, catch you, shielding your body with their own. Between limbs, you peek out at the new, vicious god. His eyes have never left you, and they meet yours again easily, even through the forest of gods between you. You squeak like a frightened mouse, ducking your head and squeezing your eyes shut. You dart into the burrow of your mind, hoping that he cannot follow you there.

But you know it’s pointless. You know the voice in your head was his. His fiery eyes finally leave you and assess the pantheon that surrounds him, and his brow furrows. You can practically feel the disdain, the anger, radiating off of him. You hold your breath in anticipation as he begins to speak, his cold, seductive baritone reverberating through the volcanic dawn and into your bones.

“It seems I was correct after all,” he begins, a thin smile on his lips, “look at you- Cowering, backing away, terrified. Weak. The eldest of you, shying away while your youngest is in danger.” He’s referring to me, you realize with a start. You are the youngest god in this pantheon (though in terms of earthly years you eclipse the age of any living human easily, among the divine you are barely a stripling). He knows you are the most vulnerable being here. You don’t like that he knows this.

The shield of gods around you has somewhat dissipated; where once the barrier was three bodies thick, now only one layer of gods protects you from Wesker’s scorching presence. Finally, you have the strength to stand again, swaying like a willow. You feel completely adrift, tossed overboard and into the churning sea with no hope of rescue. The world spins around you like never before, but then again, never before have you been in such acute danger.

Finally, one of the eldest deities among you finds their voice. “We want no trouble from you,” they call, voice proud and courageous despite their obvious fear, “but what do you want from us?”

Wesker’s head snaps around to face the speaker, who doesn’t back down. His face twists into a furious grin, incredulous at the audacity to speak out against him so blatantly. “What do I want?” He echoes, a dark chuckle following. A surge of electric power crackles, invisible, through the air all around you, and it’s not coming from the ash cloud overhead. The other gods seem to notice it too, looking wary. Your entire being is quaking.

Wesker throws his arm in the direction of the gods shielding you from him. In the time it takes you to flinch and recover, five members of your pantheon are ensorcelled in shining black tendrils that rip into their bodies without mercy. In the time it takes you to scream, those five deities are dead. The Ichor spills over the basalt ground, splatters your face and your dress, warm and sticky and horrifying. The other gods scream too, backing away desperately as Wesker retracts the tentacles, and they return to his arm from whence they came.

You know this power of his, another of his twisted creations. Uroboros.

Haloed by the glow of the lava behind him, Wesker looks even more imposing, divinity defined. One of the murdered gods lays, strewn in a contorted position, barely a foot from you, her lifeless eyes staring straight through your own. The very same goddess who held your hand minutes ago. A being who, like all the others, had stood among the divine for time immemorial, killed in an instant by a vicious usurper.

I’m going to die here, you realize with a cold, heavy heart. I’m going to die and Wesker is going to kill me. You desperately want to pretend this is all some sort of nightmare but you know better. The infernal glare of Wesker’s eyes is too potent to be an illusion. His voice, deep and filled with rage, is too loud and too real to be anything but the truth. “What I want is to understand why exactly beings as weak as these-” he shouts, cruelly kicking at one of the dead gods and sending the body rolling several yards from the sheer force of it, “deserve to call themselves divine. Because from where I’m standing, you bleed and die just as easily as any human.

“In fact,” he continues, turning back to you and grinning with sharp teeth and hellfire eyes, “what’s stopping me from killing the rest of you pathetic creatures?” Terrified cries erupt all around you, one of them your own. Wesker tilts his head as he stares down your trembling form, as if daring you to speak up. But it is not you that cries out next.

“No,” shrieks another of the most aged deities, eyes wild and frantic, “Gods cannot fight amongst themselves, the mortal world will be torn apart! You must leave us be!”

The blonde man barks out a laugh. “I don’t recall saying I cared about the mortal world. Were none of you paying attention when I explained this to Chris?”

Another goddess finds her voice. “Whatever it is you want from us, we’ll give it to you! We will not fight you!” Though some of the others look at her incredulously, the consensus is that she speaks true for all of you. Even you find yourself agreeing. Whatever it takes to keep Wesker from slaughtering you on the spot, you will gladly do or give.

“Whatever I want, hmm?” Wesker hums, smiling in cold satisfaction. You almost miss the shades he always wore; at least then you wouldn’t have to suffer the inferno of his gaze. “Fine.

“You, little goddess. Come here.” He addresses you directly. His gloved finger curls in a beckoning motion, and once again his tone lets you know he won’t be asking you twice. But you won’t obey him. You can’t. He can’t be asking what you think he’s asking-

You blink, and before you can so much as shake your head, suddenly he stands directly over you. Your subsequent scream is cut off by a gloved hand gripping your choker and dragging you up until your face is inches from his. Your pupils shrink to the size of pinpricks, your heart pounding like a fleeing rabbit. Everything in you is begging you to get away, but you cannot. Wesker’s grip is steadfast as he appraises you. With the ash and Ichor across your face, staining your once-pristine dress, and desperation blatant in your every cell, you must look a mess. He doesn’t look angry at your infraction, rather mildly irritated.

“I’m sure this is new to you, so I’ll be lenient this once. Disobey me again and I won’t hesitate to discipline you. Do you understand me?” Wesker murmurs to you, hot breath caressing the soft flesh of your ear. His eyes do not leave your face for a moment as he speaks. It’s terrifying, to see such obviously-inhuman features on a man, and yet…

And yet, some part of you stirs. A part you know very little about. Your belly begins to grow warm. It’s confusing and a little frightening, because you’ve never been in this much danger, but for some reason, the heat feels good. You whine, unable to make sense of yourself, trembling before Wesker’s fiery eyes. “Wh- what are you doing?” You stammer softly, referring both to his intentions and the spell he’s seemingly cast on you.

His responding smile is cold and cruel, drinking in your terror and uncertainty with avaricious zeal. “What do you think I’m doing, dearheart?” he retorts, a sound deep and dark in his chest and it resonates in your marrow (the heat in your belly only deepens, drops to your crotch, makes your cheeks flush and warm). The term of endearment makes you feel utterly unsafe, but at the same time, sends sparks racing down your spine. You shudder with unknown, unwanted sensation. You want to run, to get far away from the man pressing you against himself, but there is nowhere you could go. “You’re going to be still and silent for me until I say otherwise. Let your better do the talking.” The anger, terror, and frustration coil within you, and all you can do is weakly nod your head.

The resulting rumble of satisfaction, dark and deep, has you swooning. “Good girl.”

Between the speed with which he maneuvers you to press firmly against his side and the coiling serpent of unknown emotion making its home in your being, your head has begun to spin. His hand moves from your choker to keep you held to his hip, pressing into the divot of your waist with such force you wonder if it will leave a bruise behind, a brand of Wesker’s cruelty. Nothing makes sense. What is wrong with me, you ask yourself, what’s happening to my body?

Frustrated and confused, betrayed and conflicted, your eyes shine with unshed tears. In so little time, your world has been completely upended. Wesker raises his voice once again to address the other, cowering gods, and the increased volume combined with his vitriolic tone makes you flinch and whimper. Inadvertently, you wind up curling further into his hold, which tightens as if to keep you this close. “This goddess belongs to me. Give her to me, and I’ll spare the rest of you. That is my only offer; I’d suggest taking it.”

The outcry of the other gods at this is expected. You’re their youngest, the most precious among them- you know they’ll protect you, as they always have. Against Wesker’s command, you wiggle in his grip, anxious to get away from him, if only to stop the infuriating heat in your core. He seems to be the one causing it- is that one of his powers? You wonder silently. Whatever it is, the growing warmth and unnatural need within you is alien, and you want it to stop.

While you continue to squirm, Wesker’s hold only tightens, making you hiss in pain. It hurts, the bruising force with which he restrains you, but you have to get away from him. He has to be the one causing this reaction in your body. But the pain is more unbearable than the heat, and you have no choice but to cease your struggles. You go still in his hold, and blessedly, his grip loosens to a far more comfortable pressure. The satisfied hum he gives you at your capitulation only makes the heat worse- so it is him!

Focused on something other than pain, you’re able to listen in on the deliberation of the gods. It’s an unpleasant surprise- you’d expected this to be no difficult decision, that they’d refuse Wesker instantly. Evidently, you’re wrong. “We can’t,” one deity insists, “she’s the most vulnerable among us, you know what he’ll do to her. How can we in good conscience sacrifice her, or any of us?” You pray the final movement is in your favor.

“What choice do we have?” Hisses another, far older god, crossing his arms, “He’ll kill all of us if we refuse, including her! We have to prioritize the greater good!”

“What use is the greater good if we lose more of our own to perpetuate it?” Yet another speaks up, “He’s already taken five of us, plus the countless mortals! It’s our duty to protect her!”

On and on the argument continues, but the heated tone dies down. They seem to be reaching an agreement, and your mouth goes dry as you see that it isn’t the one you want. “He won’t keep his word,” one goddess reminds the group, stern face pained and angry.

“Of course not,” dismisses an elder god easily, “but her sacrifice will buy us time to make a plan. This is what we must do.”

You expect to feel angry. You expect to feel rage the likes of which you didn’t think possible, sadness, bitter fury, betrayal at this condemnation of you at the hands of those you love. But instead you only feel hollow. Every interaction you’ve had with one of the other gods plays through your head, stained cold and bleak with the knowledge that when push came to shove, it took them less than five minutes to trade your life for theirs. Five minutes of debate, and not particularly intense debate at that, is all you are worth to them, when they once looked you in the eyes and told you that the wonders of the universe were yours by birthright.

Was all of it a lie? Did none of them ever love you? You think you wouldn’t be so wounded if they had been truthful about how little you meant to them. Maybe then you would have seen this coming. Maybe then you wouldn’t feel like your heart has been ripped from your chest.

You’re unsure of what exactly to express, how to react to this. The gods look at you, their scapegoat, their sacrificial lamb, and you see in their eyes your own judgment of death. “No,” you choke out, and you just now realize you’re crying. Your throat feels tight and hot and your vision grows watery. “You can’t do this to me! You swore you’d protect me, you promised! You promised!” You’re shouting, hysterics making your body quake even with Wesker’s steadfast grip on you. The man you’ve just been handed to tightens his hold just a bit, but you can’t bring yourself to care. You refuse to walk to the gallows without a fight. “I was your daughter,” you continue, great heaving sobs ripping from your throat as you see that some of the gods look upon you with sympathy, with pity, and yet make no move to save you. Their apologetic stares only make you more angry; how dare they look at you that way when they’re complicit in this madness all the same? “You were my family!”

The eldest of the gods surrounding the caldera furrows his brow. “Gods have no family,” he says, only stone-cold firmness to be found in his eyes, and then turns to address Wesker with the same grim tone, “She is yours. We expect you to hold up your end of the bargain.”

Your final cry of no peters off into a desperate sob, though it has no time to echo throughout the volcano, as your body is engulfed once more in the liquid, warm sensation of teleportation. But unlike the natural, seamless transition of the one that brought you to Kijuju, this feels like a violation, hot and uncomfortable, the magic sticking to your skin unpleasantly and itching as if you’ve been burned. Like Wesker forcibly displaced your being. In a way, you realize, he did- you subconsciously resisted his pull, but your power is nothing compared to his.

Why me, you wonder mournfully, why not anyone else? You are his opposite in every regard- in human years, you’re older than him by more than a century, yet by human standards he’s far older than you both in mind and body. The other gods often called you radiant, pure, full of light and soft warmth, though in hindsight you wonder if they meant a single syllable.

Wesker has killed more humans than possibly anyone else ever has, and has done the unthinkable; a human becoming divine, spilling divine blood. Every touch he gives you is harsh, unyielding, and cruel. He is a void into which you have no choice but to fall. Maybe, you think, that’s why he chose you over any of the others, deities far older, more beautiful, more powerful than you.

In any case, escape is not a possibility. If you have any hope of a quick death, resistance will snuff it instantly. Not that you could resist, not in this state. You feel lightheaded, lopsided, like you’d faint if not for the girding support of Wesker’s grip. Gone now are the high walls of the volcano, replaced by a vast, ominous sanctum. The transition gives you pause, and your wailing ceases for a moment as you take in this strange new place. Wesker, too, looks curiously at the location he has dragged you to, obviously unaware of where exactly he is.

It’s his Domain, and like all Domains, it is a reflection of its master. Wesker’s section of reality fits him perfectly, you admit; it is grandiose, elegant, sinister, and yet fascinatingly complex. Supporting the high, vaulted ceiling are a series of carved onyx pillars, sprouting from the ebony floor and engraved with intricate depictions of serpents coiling into themselves. It is a room far too grand for any one man. But Wesker is not just any one man, and once the shock wears off, he seems to realize how befitting a Domain he has been granted.

Suddenly, the man turns to you, expression stern. “What is this place? Tell me, little Endling.” As ever, it is not a request, but a demand, one your sense of self-preservation forces you to oblige.

Somehow, you force your throat to produce a weak, hoarse response. “Y-your Domain,” you answer, trembling under his gaze, “your- your home.” You can’t provide more than that, your remaining courage finally exhausted. Please don’t ask something else, please don’t ask something else, please don’t ask something else-

Wesker hums, satisfied with your timid response. “A Domain, hm?” He muses aloud, “I can work with this.” Your entire body sags with relief at his acceptance, this tiny sliver of mercy, though dread begins to creep in as you ask what exactly that ‘work’ is. Your lip wobbles, and you hold your tongue while fighting back tears. Speaking would do nothing for you now, except maybe anger him.

When he begins walking again, you stumble, and he doesn’t waste a moment before a mass of Uroboros coils around you, pulling you back to him. The slimy, unnatural sensation is horrific, and you bite your lip until you taste your own Ichor. This time, he pulls you fully into his arms, bracing them against your upper thighs and pressing your body into his shoulder and torso. He is warm, feverish, even, and the radiating heat has you instinctively curling into him. The position, as oddly uncomfortable as it is, gives you the little blessing of being able to hide your face from him, one you make full use of. Silent tears travel from the edges of your eyes down to the tip of your nose, falling to the polished floor below with each staccato breath you take. A disconnection between your mind and your body sinks its claws into you, dulling the sharp edge of your sorrow into something of an unpleasant ache.

You pass from the entry sanctum into a more reasonably-sized room, with a floor made of dark basalt and walls with inset shelves holding opaque, geometric bottles of who-knows-what. You finally gain the strength to look around again, letting out a soft gasp as you take in the mist-filled chamber Wesker has carried you to. It’s a bathing room, lit with floating candle-flames that hover around a large, rectangular tub connected to the far wall. The sound of gently-running water soothes your frightened mind, an aperture above the tub filling it with steaming water while decorative aqueducts carry runoff back into the walls, rills traveling through niches carved into the tub.

Wesker huffs, a simple sound that nonetheless has you shrinking back into yourself with a startled peep. Once he’s done taking in the room, he lowers you to the ground, allowing you to finally put distance between yourself and him. Immediately, you stumble backwards until your legs collide with the tub, bracing your hands against it so that you don’t fall in. Your eyes, filled with fear and uncertainty, flicker up to meet his, glowing with disappointment. They pulse with magmatic fire, absolutely inhuman but beautiful in a way that you cannot describe.

Breaking the short moment of silence, he gives you an order. “Strip.”

Purely on impulse, your hands dart across your bust, clinging to the soiled fabric of your dress. Your Ichor runs cold at the thought of taking it off. “…What?” You murmur dumbly, unsure if you’ve even heard him correctly.

A blur across your vision, and he stands inches away from you, just like before in the caldera. Another frightened noise escapes you as he boxes you in between the tub and his own immovable body. “Take. Your clothes. Off,” he repeats, voice lowered and patience obviously running thin. You tremble, arms clinging tighter to yourself, attempting to turn your head away to escape his burning gaze. A firm, gloved hand grips your chin with bruising force, dragging you back to face him. He leans in, his face close enough that his breath warms your nose. “Or do I have to tear them off you?”

Your response is immediate and frantic. You shake your head, a choked no leaving your mouth, and your leaden arms fumble with the dress keeping you hidden from his prying eyes. After barely a second that feels like a year, you manage to yank the dirtied white fabric over your head. As you pull it off, you undo the clasp on your choker, removing it from your neck and bundling it with your dress. You can’t help but hold the bunched-up fabric tightly to your body, though, keeping your breasts hidden, at the same time as your thighs press together to hide your crotch from his view. You’ve never been naked in front of another before. It feels dirty, vulnerable, and tense, and you understand now why the other gods always insisted upon you wearing clothes and keeping your chest & crotch hidden. How can anyone enjoy this?

At your shyness, Wesker tuts, taking hold of the dress and pulling it from your unresisting arms. “Ah ah, none of that,” he chides, “you can’t hide from me, little one. I’ve already seen you at your lowest. Let me see my prize.” You’re unsure what exactly he means, but you’re too shaky to ask and for some reason the way he speaks makes you want to sob. You allow him to toss away your filthy dress and you force your arms to rest at your sides, quaking in place as you feel him taking you in. Again, he hums, a long and pleased sound deep in his chest, and it makes you shudder in something that definitely isn’t fear. “There we are,” he croons, “oh, you’re filthy, pet. In the water, now.”

Without waiting to ensure your obedience, the man turns on his heel and gives you space, presumably to enter the bath. Though the rising wisps of steam entice you, you’re far too on edge to risk submerging yourself in his presence. But he’s correct; your face is splattered in ash, Ichor and dirt from the caldera. The Ichor, particularly, makes you sick. The knowledge that the proof of the weakness of the gods, of your own weakness, paints your face is enough to have you cupping the warm water in your hands. You raise your dripping hands to your face, rinsing away the day’s violent events. The sight of the luciferant golden Ichor blossoming as it drips into the tub, exploring outside the veins of its former host, makes you swallow. Though it is gone from your flesh, the echo it left will never truly fade.

Against your better judgment, you look over your shoulder, watching as Wesker shucks off his long coat and gloves, tossing them aside as he did your own raiment. He doesn’t spare you a glance, only striding to one of the shelves in the wall and picking up a couple of containers. When he turns to walk towards you and notices your staring (and your being outside the water), he says nothing of it, only placing the containers on the flat rim of the tub and bracing his hands on either side of you, pressing against you, his own crotch flush with the small of your back. You shudder.

His closeness, his aura, his persistent and greedy gaze- whatever it is about him that is making your body react this way, you need him to stop. It’s too much, too unknown, and the tension curling in your belly is too scary for you to stay silent any longer. “Please, stop.” The words leave you in a shaky whisper, and even that has you bracing for a punishment for speaking out of turn. But when nothing happens and you look behind you, you find only Wesker looking at you in what you could only describe as confusion.

“Stop what?” He echoes, almost seeming genuine, “I’m afraid you’ll have to be more specific, little Endling.”

Your frustration finally shows on your face, and you glare up at him, pouting in despair. “My body,” you plead, “whatever you’re doing to me, I- I can’t take it, please…”

One of his sculpted eyebrows raises. “Your body?” he trails off, taking hold of your chin with forefinger and thumb to force you to look him in the face. You wither beneath his studious eyes, the way he gazes right into your soul, burning through everything else until he reaches your very marrow and feasts upon it. “Hmm. Tell me, dearheart, what am I doing to your body?”

The inquisitive question throws you off. You assumed he would know, that he would have some inkling of his divine powers over others despite his recent apotheosis. Your tongue darts out to wet your trembling lips, and you don’t miss the hungry way he takes it in. But maybe if you say the words aloud, it will break the spell. It’s worth a try, so you summon your self awareness and beg it to tell you what’s happening. “…Feels hot,” you finally say, shivering as you unveil even more of yourself to the man that will undo you entirely, “and tight. I’ve never felt it before. My Ichor feels like- like I’m sprinting.”

Wesker nods thoughtfully, never once taking his eyes off your heated face. He hums, and you can feel it resonate within you from where you are pressed to him. “What else?” He prompts, “do you feel nervous? Anticipatory, perhaps?”

Somehow, he’s describing exactly what it feels like. Your stomach drops out, a heavy, hot stone weighing it down in your body until it feels like you’re burning from the inside out. You nod. “Y-yes. But it feels almost… good.”

At your final admission, Wesker’s lips curl into a warm, satisfied smirk. His pupils dilate, expanding into black holes that threaten to drown you in their vantablack depths. He tilts your chin to the side, leans in closer just to hear your breath hitch. “I think I know what you’re feeling, little one,” he murmurs, dark and deep, and it only makes the burning in you that much more intense and hungry, “It’s called arousal. And I’m not doing anything. It’s all you.”

Arousal. You finally have a word for this hot, insatiable feeling curling in your core. But contrary to your hopes, the arousal doesn’t fade. The knowledge that Wesker is not directly responsible for this curling, scorching serpent in your belly makes you even more mortified. You feel shameful, disgusting. Your hands tremble. Part of you is thankful that he continues, sparing you the need to force your tongue to break the silence. “You’re a strange little thing, aren’t you, dearheart?” His gaze is softer now, almost pitying. He is no longer disappointed in you, now merely inquisitive. “Tell me, how much did the gods teach you about this?”

The feeling of his bare hand groping the apex between your legs, fingers resting atop the soft, velveteen flesh of the little slit lying there, has you freezing. All at once, your thoughts come to a screeching halt beyond the sensation of his deft fingertips idly kneading the meat of your pelvis. The arousal intensifies, and you finally pinpoint where the heat is strongest. It’s there, in the unassuming flesh of your crotch, pulsing and pleading for something you cannot name. It’s the same place your heart and stomach drop to whenever Wesker’s voice drops to that particular dulcet octave. His touch feels at once wrong, like a violation of the highest order, and so unfathomably right. Never before has another touched your crotch in this way- you have, for grooming and cleaning, of course, but you’re fairly certain none of the other gods have ever even seen it. And yet the intoxicating warmth of his palm against the vulnerable flesh has you melting, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Somehow, the answer slides from your tongue without meaning to. “N-nothing,” you keen, resisting the subconscious urge to grind your crotch into Wesker’s wicked hand, “They only told- told me that it’s bad, to touch here. But why-“ you pause to hitch in a breath as his pointer finger slowly passes along the folds of your slit, making you shudder “why does it feel- feel-“

“Good?” Wesker finishes for you, humming knowingly as his finger pets over the delicate flesh. Somehow, he knows what he’s doing to you, what this hot arousal in your core truly means. You need to know, you need to understand why your body is doing this, why something supposedly bad has your mind melting in pleasure.

“Yes,” you moan, the word stretching as his finger presses deeper, gliding through the slick folds of flesh. Why would the other gods keep you from exploring this part of yourself? You realize, in this heated moment, that their motivations must have been selfish- they’ve already demonstrated how little they truly cared for you. Why would this be any different?

Wesker groans, a soft, low sound deep in his core that intensifies the pulsing in your own. “I didn’t anticipate you to be so innocent,” he says, his hand’s movements never pausing, “you really don’t know anything, do you, little Endling? Do you even know what this part of you is called?”

You can only shake your head. In your mind, and in your studies, it has only been obliquely referred to. It’s your crotch, your pelvic area, the place where urine (and Ichor, roughly once every two months) comes from. That’s all it’s ever been to you, and nothing more. But the way Wesker speaks of it, like it’s some grand, delicious secret he’s about to let you in on, makes you desperate to know. Desperate for him to tell you what this soft flesh, wet and pulsing with pleasure and desire, truly is.

His deep chuckle, satisfied and anticipatory, only makes the soft skin of your slit pulse further. “Oh, you’re too delicious, pet. This,” he grips the meat of your crotch again, making you let out a sound of painful need, “is a cunt. Your cunt. Plenty of humans have one, too. And it’s probably my favorite part of human anatomy.”

Cunt. Another new word, short and simple to describe what has been hidden from you. Hearing Wesker speak, hearing him praise your cunt so highly, makes it swell with warmth. Everything he’s doing feels entirely too good, dare you say even sinful. Part of you wants him to stop, but another part, one much larger and more convincing, hungers to know more. You are bare before him, vulnerable and weak. He could kill you with no effort. But the thought of his hand wrapped around your throat, holding you in place while he devours you with his eyes, only makes your arousal worse.

So lost are you in the moment and the overwhelming sensations racing across your skin that you don’t notice the uncanny sensation of him teleporting the both of you out of the bathing room. Sleek, cool fabric meets your bare back as he lays you down horizontally, and you realize you’re on a bed. His bed. The silk underneath you is a relief to your feverish skin and you arch into it, basking in the sensory delight of both the sheets and Wesker’s hand still groping your cunt. His fingers work through the soaked folds, exploring you until they find one particularly sensitive spot.

You jolt as two fingertips massage that very spot, rubbing it back and forth, sending shockwaves of pleasure across your body. Your legs spasm uncontrollably in time with his ministrations, and thankfully you don’t have to ask him what exactly this new part of you is, because he beats you to it. “And this is your clit. Feel that, dear? Like a little button beneath my fingers?” He gathers the swollen bud between thumb and forefinger and pinches just so, but even that relatively gentle touch is enough to have your mind whiting out with undiluted pleasure. He takes your ensuing silent scream as an answer. “Another favorite of mine. With just a bit of attention to such a small bit of tissue, your body becomes putty in my hands. So pliant, just how I like my playthings.” While one finger remains to fondle your clit, two dart down and begin pressing into you, finding the same hole the Ichor spills from every two months and delving inside it.

It’s unlike anything you’ve ever felt. It’s sublime, blissful agony and agonizing bliss. You need more, but just those two fingers, barely inserted, fill you and stretch your cunt to an uncomfortable degree. You want it deeper, though you don’t know why, but what if your little body breaks under his? What if you can’t satisfy his curiosity, and he discards you like he did with the other gods?

Self-preservation becomes the new catalyst to your need, knowing that if Wesker is angered, it could spell your end. And besides- your hole pulsing around his fingers as they slowly inch deeper within you, clenching on them while he plays with your clit, is too delicious of a feeling to lose. You try to buck your hips up, try to take more of him into you, but he retracts with a chuckle. “Look at you. I bet you don’t even know what you’re so desperate for, what your body needs. But I’m not a heartless man, pet. I know what you need. All you have to do is answer one more question for me.

“Can you do that? Hm?” His enthralling voice, dripping with confidence and seduction, is the single most addictive thing you know of. You’re so caught up in the heated glamor he has you in that you nearly miss the words themselves. But you’re not entirely lost, not yet, and you manage to frantically nod your head. Whatever he wants from you, you’ll do, a mixture of fear for your survival and desperation to ride this mounting pleasure for as long as you can driving your obedience. You manage to hiss out a verbal response, to which he chuckles, satisfied. “So eager for something you can’t even name. Now, tell me- did the gods ever teach you about how humans reproduce?”

That shakes some clarity back into your muddled mind, and your eyes fly open, body going somewhat stiff atop the gossamer sheets. “What?” You breathe, taken aback. It’s not something you know much of, to be honest- you’ve heard it referred to as lovemaking, but the other gods always obscured the details to you. The end result, however, you’re familiar with; the bloody visual of a mother pushing a baby from her shattered body haunted you for countless nights after you saw it. Why on earth would Wesker summon that sobering memory to your mind now, in the throes of pleasure, with his fingers still digging slowly but surely into your cunt? “I- Is that what you…? I don’t understand,” you stammer, backing up across the plane of the soft bed.

The feeling of Wesker’s delicious touch leaving your core as you move away from him is agonizing, and the pleasure that once bloomed in your cunt now begins to wilt. You shrink under his infernal eyes, watching his brow furrow infinitesimally. He moves as well, coming closer as you move away, matching your motions. His fingers are shiny, glistening with the shimmering slickness of your cunt. He looks down at them briefly before bringing them to his mouth and allowing his deft, long tongue to clean away the remnants of you. He lets out a shuddering, pleased groan at the taste, and you find yourself unable to look away as he devours your slickness until his fingers are clean. When he looks back to you, his pale face is smattered with a relatively faint (but noticeable) blush.

“Your body craves what all other mortal bodies do, little Endling. Don’t deny it. I can sate that hunger if you just submit.” His temptations are ever more powerful against your weakened resolve, but you hold fast, bringing your legs closer to yourself. You simply can’t fathom it. Wesker wants to reproduce with you? To make love with you? It’s impossible, it has to be. The man is incapable of love (even as you form the thought you know it’s false. You’ve seen the way he’s looked at other mortals before, you’ve seen the unmistakable desire in his eyes when he gazed upon Chris). To think he wants that from you, to teach you how humans reproduce in the most personal possible way, makes you shudder in disbelief. Eventually, your back hits the wall, and you can flee from him no further. He returns to his place over your smaller body, bathing you in his shadow, forcing you to breathe him in.

But you can’t. Whatever he means to do, you can’t. “I- I’m not ready,” you plead, eyes wild, “I can’t, we can’t! Gods don’t- we don’t-“ you can hardly bring itself to say it, your face feeling aflame with humiliation. Gods do not reproduce, you and the others all simply are. You fell from the stars exactly as you are now, physically speaking. You are not born, and you do not die.

Or, at least, you didn’t.

But with his apotheosis, Wesker has shaken everything you thought you knew about godhood. He did not fall from the heavens, he clawed himself from the molten earth. He murdered gods, something you presumed impossible. He was born, and he made gods die. So what, you wonder frightfully, is really true about divinity? What does it mean? Can you truly produce an infant in your belly the same way mortal women can?

Do you even have a choice in finding out?

Wesker’s murmur, face inches from yours, snaps you from your racing thoughts. “Gods don’t what?”

Your eyes dart away, unable to maintain contact with his as you finish your sentence. Your voice is barely a whisper, tongue hesitant. “We don’t… make love…” saying the words aloud, you feel almost dirty. Guilty. Silently, you yearn for the blind pleasure he offered just moments ago.

To your surprise, Wesker begins to laugh. It sounds both warm and cold, both endeared and cruel. He looks at you with a condescending glint in his burning eyes, smiling, baring his inhuman teeth. “Oh, my precious little Endling,” he sighs, chest still shaking with laughter, “Is that what you think this is? I’m not going to ‘make love’ to you.” His words should bring you relief, but his merciless eyes and the fingers prodding once more at the entrance to your cunt only make you more nervous. “I’m going to fuck you. And you will learn everything that was kept from you.”

Another new word. Your vocabulary becomes more complete, more vulgar, by the moment in his presence. Cunt. Clit. Fuck. The last one sounds like the opposite of lovemaking- it sounds brutal, cruel, and wicked. Like a gnarled bramble bush compared to a flowering lilac. Part of you wonders, frightfully, if the analogy is a little too spot on, and you’ll feel the pain of those brambles as he fucks you.

A breathless noise escapes you as Wesker once more coaxes two fingers into your clenching cunt, your body eagerly welcoming him back. That coiling pleasure begins to build once more, dulling the edges of your terrified musings. His face ducks down, buries itself in your neck, and he takes a shuddering breath, drinking in your scent as he deftly thrusts his fingers in and out, in and out. “See? It feels good, doesn’t it? You want more,” He whispers, a heated promise against the shell of your ear, amplifying your growing pleasure. Your body sings at his words, reacting just as it did back in the caldera, cunt clenching and drawing him further in. You don’t know just what it is about his voice that has such an effect on you. All you know is the pleasure pulses, heavy and warm, every time he murmurs in that dark baritone.

Your mind is not gone just yet. You’re fraying at the seams, but you haven’t completely unraveled. You grit your teeth against the building, burning pleasure inside you and force your eyes open. His mouth is latching onto your skin, nipping the delicate flesh with his canines until Ichor is drawn and then lapping it up like a starving man. You can’t help but cry out at each attack, keening against his mouth as he presses his lips to the now-bruised skin, treating the wound with smothering kisses. You feel so helpless, a slave to your body’s alien desires, unprepared for the onslaught Wesker forces upon you. Not for the first time today, you lament the other gods and their lack of transparency. What reason could they have to leave me this vulnerable?

You force yourself to put aside your anger and fear for the moment. Biting back a moan as Wesker attacks a particular spot at your neck, you attempt to speak up. “Are-“ as if he’d timed it, the man laves his tongue over the weeping flesh of your collar, forcing you to taper off into a desperate, pathetic noise halfway. He chuckles, deep rumbling laughter that reminds you of how much he enjoys pulling you apart, piece by piece. It carries the sinister promise of more to come, and so you attempt to continue. “You- are you going to- to hurt me?” You’re terrified of what the answer may be. What he’s doing right now feels good, yes, but will it always feel good? Is the night doomed to end with you curled in on yourself in agony, or spread out on Wesker’s bed while he drowns your mind in euphoria? You’re almost as scared of the answer as you are of the question itself. But the words have already left your mouth, so you brace for the response, whatever it may be.

Wesker hums neutrally, a sound that answers none of your questions and only serves to make you more nervous. His body, pressed firmly over yours, prevents you from shrinking away. After a moment of contemplation, he finally speaks. “Not intentionally,” he murmurs, pressing a soft kiss to the shell of your ear (an unexpected action that makes your breath hitch and your heart flutter), “It will hurt, of course. Not unbearably, and not for long. But it will.” Languidly, he scissors his fingers inside you, stretching you open with an expert ease that tells you he’s done this before. You don’t know whether the knowledge that he has experience in this area makes you feel humiliated, or relieved. He may not keep his word, obviously, but all that matters to you is that you aren’t doomed to a night of pain. As long as you are pliant and obedient, you will survive. You suppose that’s the best you could have hoped for. “You’re thinking awfully loud, little one,” he clicks his tongue, tapping your forehead somewhat roughly with his free hand, “stop it. There’s nothing of use to either of us in that sweet little head of yours.”

You whine, your face growing hot and eyes growing teary at his degradation. It settles unpleasantly in your belly, but against all odds, the humiliation mingles with the arousal he fills you with. The two sensations, equal and opposite, suddenly clash and become one, something unspeakable and stronger than both on their own. Involuntarily, you clench hard around him, drawing a strangled breath from Wesker and a strained cry from you. Your traitorous tongue, perhaps hoping to cut off whatever belittling he intends on next, takes the opportunity to make itself useful. “I was- I was scared,” you admit weakly, wincing in pain as a third finger joins the two already inside, and pleasure claws its way up your body, “I thought you’d- you would hurt me, or- or kill me.” After that, you purse your lips shut with a humiliated whine to keep yourself from digging your grave any further. But the damage has been done, and another condescending laugh rolls over you like thunder from his chest.

“Poor, dumb little thing,” Wesker coos, and your eyes fly open at the insult, tears overflowing, “for all you know I am hurting you. You don’t even know what it is I’m doing, just that it feels good. Isn’t that right?” He leans in closer, his reptilian eyes burning you with their mocking glare. It’s true, though- aside from the words he’s given to name these sensations, you have no idea what he’s doing. It is one thing to read the word ‘dog’ in a dictionary, and another thing to see the creature apart from its name, and yet another entirely to understand that the word and beast are one and the same. You may have the words to name his actions, but you don’t have the context to understand or comprehend them, and it frightens you to the core.

Said core is currently being violated, three deft fingers pressing deeper and deeper into your cunt, rubbing against a particularly spongy and sensitive spot just behind your clit that makes your brain short circuit. Wesker continues to strike down your ego, each wicked word chipping away at your mind. “That’s all you are, dear. A dumb little Endling, daring to call herself a god. Innocent, precious. And all. Fucking. Mine.” Each hissed word is punctuated by a deep thrust of his fingers against that spot inside you, and you’re only just now noticing but the pleasure is in your lungs and it’s suddenly hard to breathe, and you writhe against him, grinding your clit on the heel of his hand as his heated gaze melts your resolve completely-

Suddenly, an unspeakable ecstasy crashes through your body. More potent than anything he’s done so far, it ricochets across your soul until you can barely see. You’ve never experienced something like this, this profound euphoria ripping through your veins like floodwater after a typhoon. All you can do is arch your back up into Wesker’s waiting embrace with a loud, lewd moan, your head pressing back into the soft bed beneath. It’s so intense that it’s almost frightening, but as the aftershocks wash through you, you find that all the tension you’d previously harbored is completely gone. Whatever just happened, whatever Wesker just did to you, it’s left you utterly boneless. You sob in between gasps for air, barely registering Wesker’s satisfied chuckle above you. His voice drops to a delicious whisper that only enhances the dregs of ecstasy flowing across your body.

“And just like that, there you go.” His breath is warm, soothing, against your face, and the incomprehensible urge to kiss him makes itself known to you. His lips have already graced your neck, your ear, and felt so good, you know they’d feel utterly sublime on your own. Kissing is something you’re familiar with, though you’ve never done it yourself- the other gods did it sometimes, and you’ve seen humans clash lips more times than you can count. You always wanted to try it, and if you are to die at Wesker’s hand, you suppose this is your last chance. But his pleased smile, the crow’s feet it gives his eyes, has you too enthralled to act on that urge. “You’re going to cum many more times for me, pet. That is what your body craves. That’s what I’m going to do to you, what I’m going to give you. And you will beg for more.” You’re struck by the realization that either he knows what his voice (like ebony silk and thick, rich wine) is doing to you, or he simply enjoys hearing himself speak. Whichever is the truth, you don’t care. You can’t care, not with the way each word drags you further into the decadent oblivion he offers.

The hand that wasn’t buried in your cunt rubs soothing warmth into your side, up and down, relishing in the softness of your skin and the layers of plushness beneath. Your chest heaves, diaphragm rising and falling as you attempt to come down from the height of cumming. Your eyes, hazy and wet, blink slowly in response to Wesker’s voice. His lips, thin and smooth, are so utterly enticing. Against your will, you voice your innermost thoughts. “I want to kiss you,” you breathe softly, barely a whisper on the heated air. But, of course, he hears it very well.

He raises a sculpted brow and tilts his head. “Is that so? How bold of you, pet. Ask properly, and I’ll consider it.” In response, you whine in frustration, left wanting and needy for his affections. How are you supposed to know what asking him properly even means?

“Please,” you beg, fixing him with your best doe eyes, “please let me kiss you, I- I’ve never-“

A finger, still coated in the evidence of your release, drives itself into your open mouth, cutting you off. You nearly choke on it, face heating up even more at the taste of yourself, and you nearly bite him in your confusion. “Try again,” Wesker orders sternly, “address me correctly.”

A charm of resistance, buried deep within, awakens at his cruelty, and you respond in kind. Your teeth come down onto his finger, though not enough to hurt; merely a warning that you can bite harder if you choose. You glare up at him, indignant at being denied what you know you’ve earned, what you deserve. He’s taken you prisoner, unraveled your entire world, and covered you in the blood of your fellow deities. The least you’re owed is one small request. Denial is an unfamiliar, unpleasant sensation. Very rarely were you ever refused a request, especially if it was for lessons or material comforts. The other gods were always eager to shower you in beautiful gifts and teach you the secrets of divinity. The few times you were shot down in your requests stung, making you angry and indignant. Once, you even threw something in your frustration.

Here and now, though, the denial feels even worse. You feel like you’ll die if he doesn’t at least give you this one thing. It’s never been so profound, this yearning in your core. You want to grab him by the hair and pull him down, force your lips onto his and take what you’re owed, but you push that thought away. If I did that, you remind yourself, I would be no better than him.

Despite the gentleness of your bite, Wesker’s temper flares, and he bares his sharp teeth down at you. “Spoilt little slut,” he growls, a dangerous edge to his tone. You hope the anger in your expression hides your burgeoning terror, but in all likelihood, it doesn’t do much. You can’t help but whine lowly in the back of your throat, and your jaw drops open in an attempt to appease him. Immediately, he pulls his finger away and his hand lays a cruel slap to your cheek. It’s not as harsh as you expected, and the site of the blow merely tingles instead of burning. A warning, just like your bite. Still, it makes you yelp, and you try to cradle your cheek with your palm, only for Wesker to pin both your wrists beside your head. His hands dwarf yours, a terrifying reminder of the difference in power between you. His pupils are dilated, eclipsing his irises in vantablack, belying just how much he’s enjoying this. You don’t know whether to be flattered, terrified, or enraged, and so you settle for a healthy mix of the three.

“You want me so badly, hm? Fine. I’ll indulge just this once,” Wesker sneers, and you barely have time to register his words in your brain before his mouth comes crashing down onto yours and he’s ripping the breath right out of your lungs. It’s utterly unlike any kiss you’ve ever witnessed, any kiss you’ve ever fantasized about having. It’s cruel, all teeth and tongue, as he forces his way into your mouth and claims it as his own. And yet, his lips are still as soft as you pictured, though it’s hard to focus on them when he laves his tongue across every inch of your mouth and presses your own tongue down flat into submission.

The sensations are overwhelming, and more than a little frightening. But still, you’ve gotten what you asked for, what you begged for. You try, hesitantly, to return the kiss, whining into his mouth when he forces his weight down onto you, keeping you prone and still. He groans, a deep-throated sound that makes you swoon, but the pleasure of his voice is ripped from you when he sinks his sharp teeth into your tender lip. You cry out in pain, attempting to pull away, but his hold on you is steadfast. He full-on moans as he tastes your Ichor, sucking at the bite with vicious purpose. Pain, like denial, is an unfamiliar sensation, and you don’t know how to cope other than through the tears that stream down your temples.

Finally, blessedly, he pulls away, leaving a long thread of Ichor-stained saliva connecting the two of you. He nips at it, cutting it out of the air, and you flinch at the close snap of his fangs. Face flushed, his tongue darts out to the corner of his mouth to lick up a trace of your Ichor, savoring the taste. His eyes never leave your shuddering form, and you hate the deep, sharp pang of arousal that echoes through you. His hand grips your chin, forcing your attention to him. “That’s enough. Now apologize.”

His grasp loosens, just a little, but it’s enough for you to find your voice. “‘M sorry, I’m sorry,” you croak desperately, “Please, I- I only wanted-“

“What you want is irrelevant, Endling,” he reminds you coldly, hips thrusting slightly against yours as he hisses the epithet, and you feel something firm and warm rub against your cunt, something that has your mouth going dry for a reason you can’t name. You squeeze your eyes shut, allowing more tears to fall, wishing desperately that this is all simply a nightmare that you’ll wake from any minute. “You. Belong. To me,” he says, free hand punctuating each pause with a light slap to your cheek, drawing pathetic whines from the base of your throat, “You will take what I give you and nothing more, am I understood?”

Once again, Wesker’s hand loosens around your jaw, allowing you to speak. “Yes,” you rush out, pleading for his cruelty to end, “yes, I- I understand, I’m so sorry, I-“

“Master.”

“Wh- What…?” You whisper dumbly, caught off guard by his interruption.

“Call me Master,” he orders, leaving no room for argument.

A dull, heavy stone of despair roots in your chest. He’s never going to let me go, you realize with a lull of sorrow, not even after he’s fucked me. Though he only became a God a short while ago, his power far outclasses your own. It will be many years before you’ll be able to escape him, if ever. You’re no longer a goddess; you’re his prisoner. With no other option, you close your eyes against the fresh wave of tears that threaten to escape. You inhale a shaky, weak breath. “…Yes, Master.” And suddenly you hate yourself far more than you hate Wesker, because as you say the word aloud, the pulsating pleasure in your core only deepens.

Your self-hatred thickens even further at the way you keen under his response. “Good girl.”

You can’t bear to open your eyes. But you nearly do when you register Wesker’s wicked tongue lapping against your cheek, languidly licking up your tears before moving to your other cheek and doing the same. It feels strange, unnatural, and almost pleasant. It leaves a tacky, uncomfortable trail of his saliva on your face, but the warmth of the non-violent touch is too addictive. One moment, he is cruel and unyielding, the next he touches you with such deliberate tenderness that your heart flutters like a swarm of butterflies. And somehow, neither sensation makes your body recoil; your cunt only aches with need, regardless of if Wesker is caressing your face or slapping it. But at least the (relative) softness is easier to allow yourself to enjoy.

His hand has left your face, though the phantom memory of his grip haunts the tender skin. “You’re not ready yet,” Wesker murmurs to himself, appraising your hapless body underneath him. The same hand that slapped you now gently tilts your head from side to side, and you force your eyes open to see him studying the mess he’s made of you. “Normally, I would prepare you with my mouth. But you already had my mouth, didn’t you?” You ignore the rhetorical question in favor of opening your mouth to ask him what exactly he’s preparing you for, but he cuts you off before you can start. “So instead, you’ll have this.”

From his wrist, coiling around his hand, come the tendrils of Uroboros. The very same horrible creation that allowed him to slaughter five of your fellow gods right in front of you. You don’t have time to protest the idea of those things going anywhere near you, as one thick tendril darts down to your cunt and pushes inside without preamble. The stretch is difficult to bear, plenty thicker than his fingers, but Wesker gives you no time to adjust. The tentacle is slippery, coated in a thin layer of something you don’t even want to imagine, allowing it to slide into your cunt with relative ease. A choked cry escapes your throat, and on instinct, your hands press to his chest in an attempt to push him off you. Wesker clicks his tongue condescendingly, shaking his head as another set of tendrils slither across your arms and force them down to the bed. “Behave,” he orders as the Uroboros pins your hands to either side of your head, keeping you pressed down firmly. Helpless against him.

As much as you remind yourself how vile, how terrible, the thing inside you is, you can’t prevent your body from reacting to it. Each languid thrust pushes the rounded tip of the appendage a little deeper into your cunt, its smooth surface caressing your inner walls and sending waves of pleasure through you. Already, you feel the sublime ecstasy of before mounting deep inside, your peak fast approaching. The dregs of the last time you came still haven’t left your bloodstream, and the thought of even more rushing through you makes you uneasy. It’s too much, too fast, but with your hands pinned and body helpless, you can’t do anything to stop it from creeping closer.

“No,” you blurt, gasping for air against the serpent of euphoria constricting your lungs, “it’s- it’s too much, too much, I can’t- I can’t cum again, please-“ you hesitate before saying the dreaded word but if you don’t, you know things will only get worse “-M-Master, Master please, I can’t, please stop!” Your wide eyes stare up at him, while his are fixated on the tendril pounding further into your cunt with each passing second.

He doesn’t look at your face when he responds, humming in satisfaction. “Yes, you can,” he tells you casually, flexing his wrist and making the tendrils pulse, both squeezing your wrists and whiting out your vision with pleasure, “Go on. Cum for me, my little Endling.”

And with a resounding sob of pleasure, you do, a stray tendril flicking over your clit finishing you off. It burns, like the sun itself is caressing you, but even through the agony of overstimulation it feels so supremely good. A piece of your soul bursts, leaving you writhing in your living binds, hips bucking in an attempt to escape the onslaught. Self-loathing buries itself in your core just as the tendril retracts, allowing you to release a breath you didn’t know you were holding. Euphoria washes through you, drowning you in liquor and honey until all you can breathe is sin. And it is sinful, this- you know for certain if any of the other gods could see you now, they’d call you vile, a useless creature, a broken thing. You try to rationalize it, try to remind yourself that the word of the other gods means nothing to you anymore, but it’s easier said than done. You’ve had your whole life to live under their thumbs, and only a few hours to adjust to their abandonment. It may take time for you to accept that they never cared for you, but until then, you can’t help but envision their disappointment as your soul pulses with the aftershocks of pleasure.

The Uroboros is slow to retract from you, familiarizing itself with every inch of your cunt. It drags against your sensitive inner flesh, taking an agonizingly long time to finally pop out completely. You let out a shuddering sigh of relief, hole clenching down on nothing and wrists finally free. You wipe the tears from your bleary eyes, gazing up at the divine man whose body presses yours to the bed.

Wesker watches the slick tendrils of Uroboros slide back into place, concealed within his flesh, before his eyes flicker back to you. The aggression is gone, and you feel a bit of your fear fall away. He chuckles softly, taking in the ruined expression on your face. “Look at you, dearheart,” he coos, hand cupping your cheek in mock tenderness, “what a dumb little mess you are. I think you’re more than ready.”

You wrap your arms around yourself in a makeshift hug, desperate for any scrap of comfort to cling to. Your entire body feels sapped, broken, like Wesker has drained everything you have from you. You’re shaking, trembling softly with fear and the remains of your climax. “Ready for what?” You whisper, voice choked, “what more are you going to do to me?”

He closes his burning eyes as he removes his shirt, his belt, and finally his sleek pants. The more of himself he bares to you, the more your mouth goes dry.

Wesker reminds you of the many statues placed around the Domains of the other gods, of the paintings of baroque heroes in the nude. His torso is finely carved as if from marble, muscles rippling with untold strength just beneath the skin. You can’t take your eyes off his arms once they are revealed to you- the same hands that murdered millions, including gods, have brought you to mind-shattering ecstasy, and will do so again. He pauses in his disrobing, noticing your rapt attention, and a slow smile comes to his face.

“Enjoying the view?” He hums, pupils blown wide with lust as he surrounds you with himself. You are. The sight of him makes your mouth water and your cunt leak with desire.

But you’ll die before you admit it, and so you bite out a retort. “Answer the question,” you demand, shrinking into the bed away from him.

“I already told you, pet. I’m going to fuck you. Now you tell me- do you know what this is?” The question, hissed through gritted teeth, is punctuated with a harsh thrust of his hips against your own. That tantalizing hardness in his pants throbs against you, and your mouth goes dry. It feels like a dark promise, like the executioner letting you caress the edge of the axe doomed to separate your neck from your body. Somehow, twin ropes of dread and excitement spindle their way up your spine. You shake your head, tongue useless and limp. You don’t know what that thing is that he conceals, but you’re terrified of it, and of what it represents. Your unmaking at Wesker’s hands.

He laughs darkly at your innocence, lowering his body until you can feel the warmth he radiates just above you. “I didn’t think so. This is how I’m going to fuck you, dearheart. Now watch.”

Slowly, teasingly, he pulls away his pants, revealing his strong, bare legs- and a long length of flesh standing at attention just between them. The sight of it makes your throat close up, and your stomach drops out as you realize he intends to put that thing inside of you. Your eyes meet his, beseeching him to see reason. “That won’t fit,” you rush out, closing your legs to hide your cunt from him, “whatever that is, it won’t fit inside me, you- you can’t-!”

Wesker merely laughs, shaking his head, condescension radiating from him. “Keep telling yourself that, little Endling. Now, relax your body for me- it will hurt less.” He looms over you like a predator cornering his prey. And you lay before him, helpless, a doe left to bleed out and gasp her last breath around sharp teeth in her throat. You try to follow his advice, you do, but it’s far easier said than done. Despite your best efforts your body continues to tense and tremble, little whimpers escaping your parted lips.

He takes notice of your failed efforts to lay limp, it seems, because he sighs. His hand, so much larger than yours, takes your wrist and brings it to the thing he intends to force into you. You gasp at the sudden contact, but it’s such a new, foreign sensation- warm, velvety, and firm in your palm. He pulses in your grasp and lets out a hitched breath at your touch. “That’s it,” he groans, clearly pleasured, and lowers his head to rest in the crook of your neck, “familiarize yourself with my cock. Worship it. Worship me.” Wesker’s breath is hot against your throat, and everything begins to blur into a haze of intoxicating sensation.

You move your hand carefully around his cock, clumsy and unsure of yourself, but certain that such a sensitive part of him could be very easily hurt. Briefly, the thought of taking advantage of that arises, but you push it away. Attacking him, especially like this, would only make things worse. And besides, knowing that you hold his most delicate component in your hand, bringing him the same pleasure he soaked you in, makes your heart flutter. The flared head calls to you, a bead of opaque liquid forming atop it, and you carefully rub a fingertip against the smooth skin. The resulting moan, baritone and delicious, makes your cunt pulse in turn. His pleasure, you realize, is as addictive and terrifying as your own.

Your hand falters in its movements as you feel Wesker’s mouth against your heated skin again. This time, his touch is deviously soft, sensual. He laves his tongue over the sensitive parts of your neck, presses hot kisses to your sternum, tastes your flesh with deliberate tenderness. He hums in satisfaction at your taste, making you squeeze your thighs together, chasing any hint of pleasure. “You taste divine, my dear, has anyone told you? Maybe if you’re good, I’ll sample your cunt directly. Mmm, I can only imagine how delicious it is.” His murmurs are seared into your tender skin, praise that makes your soul feel full and needy for more. With each kiss, each warm press of his body against yours and each buck of his hips into your hand, you fall further and further into submission. Your body begins to relax, tension sapped from your bones and distilled into pure serenity. You try to remind yourself of the pain he brings, the ways he has hurt you, but it seems so trivial in comparison to the hazy almost-bliss he lets you fall into. Lazily, you move your hand up and down across his cock, gentle strokes that make him hum long and low in the base of his throat.

Suddenly, he pulls away from your heated skin. “Stop,” he orders, and on instinct, you do. You pull your hand away, cradling it to your chest like he burned it. “I’d much rather cum inside you. Now breathe deeply, little Endling. In and out.”

Your traitorous body, relaxed and warm beneath him, is all too eager for him to enter you. Wesker moves slowly, surely, aligning the tip of his cock with your fluttering hole. You whine as he taps it against the sensitive flesh, hips twitching in want. Anticipatory nerves flare through you, but your desperation for pleasure wins out over them. To brace yourself for him, you grip the sheets beneath you in tight, trembling fists and take a deep breath.

Your exhalation is cut short, morphing into a strangled gasp as Wesker’s cock pushes its way into you in one smooth thrust.

In perfect synergy, pain and euphoria fill your body like two streams confluencing into a pond. Your core sings at being filled, stuffed to the brim and then some- but at what cost? Wesker lets out a choked moan as he sheathes himself fully in your heat, pressing his hips flush to yours. As he does, you feel something within your cunt stretch, and then snap. It’s a sensation that overpowers everything else with cold terror, as more sharp agony tears through you, radiating from your cunt.

Something must be wrong, something must be broken. You attempt to pull yourself together, to push away from the man on top of you, but his weight is too much. He snarls at your apparent refusal, a hand around your throat forcing you to lay back down. “Be still,” he orders, gritting his teeth against the pleasure your fluttering walls inflict, “don’t make me discipline you again.”

Helpless beneath him, you can only let the excruciating pain wash over you in fiery waves, clenching down around Wesker’s cock as you heave. He remains still, thankfully, allowing you to adjust to the sensation; a small shard of mercy you take gladly. After a few moments (stretched by the pain into lifetimes), the discomfort becomes familiar, and something in you changes. Lodged deep inside you, his cock prods against your innermost flesh, taunting your wanton core. You need more from him, you realize as the pain becomes bearable, you need him to move.

No sooner do you think that than Wesker decides to move, languidly pulling out and smoothly thrusting in again. The fluid movement punches the air from you again, and you let out a choked moan as something eases his reentry. Peeking down, a stream of gold catches your eye, radiant and bright against his hips. Ichor.

You are split in two, now. One half of you feels sick, just like you did when you first woke up to his apotheosis, horrified by the knowledge that he’s drawn your Ichor, and from such a delicate place. And the other half somehow curls in desire as your lifeblood lubricates his cock, allowing him to spear you even more easily. Every act of violence only draws you closer to him and the forbidden euphoria he brings. A long, drawn-out oh escapes you, choked with hiccuping cries as pleasure is punched into you. Evidently, your turmoil shows on your tear-streaked face, because between smooth, experienced thrusts, Wesker leans down so that he’s nearly kissing you again.

“Stop. Thinking,” he orders, punctuating each word with a particularly-deep thrust of his hips. His cock slams into that spongy spot just behind your clit, flooding your nervous system with pleasure, so much so that you barely register that he’s spoken. You let out a pitiful cry, a moan like an animal, and he laughs in cruel pleasure at the mess he’s made of you. “That’s it. Think about this instead, hm?” He hisses, sending a tendril of Uroboros down to assault your throbbing clit, “You know why I call you an Endling? Go on, answer your Master.”

The question comes out of left field and you can’t do much but let out a confused whine in response. You shake your head fervently, unsure if you trust yourself to do anything but moan out a stream of Please and Wesker and any number of incomprehensible sounds. But he has other ideas. “You have a tongue. Use it,” he demands, petering off into a deep moan as he humps your helpless body.

After much effort, and at the threatening way Wesker’s hips suddenly slow down, you force your mouth to work. “N-no, I don’t- please -I don’t know why,” you keen, tacking on a weak Master at the end in response to the expectant look he gives you. It’s somewhat a lie- you can hedge a bet. But you don’t want to entertain the thought until you have to. It makes you sick just considering it.

Your worst fears are confirmed when his lips curl into a wicked grin, full of malice and bloodlust. “It’s because I’m going to slaughter them- every last one,” he promises, his eyes burning, “until only you and I remain.” His vow made, the dark god once again forces his mouth down onto yours, swallowing your cry of horrified ecstasy.

He’s much gentler this time, and you sob into the kiss as he passionately entwines his tongue with yours. You throw yourself into the decadent sensations, desperate to ignore the terrible fate he’s condemned the ones you once called family to. Most of all, you’re desperate to ignore the vicious, angry part of you that can’t wait for their demise. Maybe they deserve it, that part screeches like a mournful eagle, maybe they should all burn for abandoning me. That dark part of you is unfamiliar and horrifying, and you weep harder against it and the pleasure Wesker fills you with.

The two sensations- euphoria and horror -should be completely antithetical, completely separate. But somehow, they entwine like his tongue with yours, like two snakes wrapped around a Caduceus. The intensity doubles as the emotions mix, battling for dominance in your mind and your body. Ultimately, inevitably, it’s pleasure that wins, and you abandon any fear in the face of that all-consuming heat.

As Wesker steals every breath you take, smothering your mouth and punching the air from your body with each deliberate thrust, your impending climax only grows in scope. Between kisses, you cry out to him in desperation. “Please,” you sob, “please, Master, I want- I want it, I want to- to cum, please make me cum-“ you trail off into a scream of pleasure as the tendril fondles your clit just right, sending you hurtling closer to the edge. He chuckles in response, devouring your submission with eager hunger, drowning you in himself.

With each heated press of his lips to yours, all your thoughts cease to exist. With each moment you spend being lavished and ravished, you drift further and further into the depths of submission from which there is no return. But then again, what do you have to return to? The answer, of course, is nothing. The gods cast you aside, gave you to Wesker like a war prize, and ignored your pleas for mercy. You have no place among them. For better or for worse, your new life begins here. With Wesker.

It’s with this reluctant conclusion that the stars align. Pulling just a hair’s breadth away from your kiss-swollen lips, his voice is like liquid fire. “Then scream my name, little Endling.”

And you do. By your own name and by the names of every god who abandoned you, you do. It feels like true apotheosis, like you’re only now being truly born and everything before was merely a hollow imitation. On instinct, you wrap your legs around Wesker’s waist, pushing him further into you and keeping him locked deep inside your core. He seems to have no complaints, giving a glorious moan into your mouth as his cock twitches and his thrusts begin to halt. His hips stutter, his voice even breaks, and he refuses to pull away. Between the eden of his touch and the ambrosial afterglow of your orgasm, you squirm in confusion as you feel something fill you from the inside. His cock pulsates, shooting a warm liquid deep into your cunt, and it feels strange but at the same time so profoundly right. Like this is merely how it’s meant to be.

For a while, everything is still. There are no sounds except your racing heart and your shared panting. As the tide of pleasure draws back, you start to feel a bitter self-loathing creep in. You try to cling to the warmth of before, but that crawling thought of what have I done what have I done what have I done coils around you like a snake. Your breathing picks up and you feel you’re about to cry again.

Seemingly, Wesker notices your deteriorating state, pulling away languidly from your body and looking upon you with sated eyes. His breathing is still deep, still winded from finding his release in you. “Perfect. My little plaything, broken and bred, all for me. You and I will start a new era of divinity; our bloodline will reign supreme.”

Your voice is wet when you speak up. Your vision is misty. “Our- our bloodline?” You croak, hiccuping as you try to hold back the tears.

His gaze softens, as does his voice, as he takes in your wrecked body. “Yes. You’ll bear my children. That’s what this-“ he gives one lazy thrust, forcing his spend deeper inside and making you yelp “-is for.” He watches your lip tremble for a moment and sighs softly, a sort of pity on his face. “Go on, little one. Cry if you need to.”

You don’t know what it is about him giving you permission that sets you off, but it does, and you do. You squeeze your eyes shut, letting out a weak sob, which only grows louder at the endeared chuckle Wesker makes at the sight of you. You feel utterly wretched, like the pleasure of before has taken a terrible price in return. Against your better judgment, you wrap your arms around your captor and pull him closer, desperate for any sort of comfort, even if it comes from him. Mercifully, he obliges, one broad palm cradling the back of your skull and allowing the embrace. You shudder, weeping softly but no less forcefully in your exhaustion. All the while, his softening cock remains lodged within you, keeping his seed safely inside. You want to go home. You want to travel back in time to before this day, to before Wesker was even born, when you were happy and pampered and accepted among the pantheon. You wonder if you’ll ever even see your Domain again, with its comforting familiarity and soft light, and the thought of never sleeping in your own bed again makes you wail into Wesker’s warm chest.

Blessedly, he offers no platitudes- no false notions of everything being alright. He merely allows you to find solace in his arms and cry yourself out. You don’t know how long it takes you to calm down, but by the time that hot metal ball in your throat has dissipated, your eyes are dry. Once your cries have finally abated, Wesker gathers you further into his arms and gradually slips his cock out of you, an awkward sensation that makes you cringe. Your lips part to ask what he’s doing, but a tendril of Uroboros presses softly against them. “Hush, pet. I’m going to clean you up.” That’s all the warning you get before that same syrupy feeling of teleportation overtakes you, and suddenly, you’re both in the bathing room again.

The sensation of hot water on your tender skin is unexpected, and you seize up in caution until you realize he teleported the two of you directly into the tub, your head the only part of your body not submerged. After getting your bearings, you let out a deep sigh, relaxing into Wesker’s hold. The heat of the water feels utterly heavenly, seeping into your bones and chasing away the awful drop you just experienced. He, too, relaxes, letting out a deep groan of relief as the bath soothes his body. You can’t bring yourself to move even a little. He has ripped away all your strength and left you boneless, pliant. He encounters no resistance as he sits you up in his lap and begins slowly washing your hair.

The peaceful, pregnant silence is broken only by the gentle sound of flowing water. Occasionally, Wesker will extend an arm, and Uroboros will retrieve a container from the far shelves for him. You say nothing as he massages some kind of shampoo into your hair, his fingers pressing against your scalp. As he cups his hands to wash away the soap, he sighs. “There’s something on your mind, isn’t there,” he murmurs, brushing your locks with his fingers, “You can ask whatever questions you want- but I might not answer them.”

Slowly, you blink, emerging from the warm pool of beeswax your mind was within. You don’t turn. Your voice is soft, sated, and sleepy. “You’re really going to kill them?” You whisper, almost terrified of the answer.

You can almost hear the soft smile on his face. “I am. Do you object to that, dearheart?”

Your silence, choked and shameful, is his answer. You don’t object. Or, more accurately, you can’t. You are too broken down to deny that vengeful little part of yourself any further. You grow teary-eyed again at the realization that even if you could, it wouldn’t make any difference. You are, as always, powerless in the face of divinity far superior to you.

Wesker senses your inner despair, pulling you back into his chest. His body radiates a comforting warmth, pulsating into your own. “Hush. No more tears, now,” he says, hands rising from the water to wipe away your sorrow. Even this banal touch is electrifying upon your delicate skin. He leans forward to whisper in your ear, lips caressing the shell. “If you behave,” he promises, “I’ll teach you everything they neglected to. I’ll give you the answers you need.”

It’s a promise you’ll hold him to. You want the words to explain to yourself what he’s doing to you. You want to know how to articulate the agony (and the ecstasy) of this day. If he can give you that much… well. The thought of captivity doesn’t sit well with you, but in the end, have you not just traded one cage for another? At least, with him, you can see the bars for what they are. At least, with Wesker, you know where you stand.

As you fade, exhausted, into sleep, you take comfort in knowing this much for certain: there is one good thing that separates your captor from the gods you once called family. With the way he holds you to his chest and reminds you that you are his, you know that he would rip the earth asunder to ensure you stay with him.

It’s enough to almost make you smile as you close your eyes.

[just-jordie-things]

hello,,,, could you do 21 for gojo? 🤭

21: Kiss On A Dare ___

satoru should really learn to shut his stupid mouth. because as soon as he says it, he wishes he hadn't. he realizes his mistake instantly. his mistake being that his friends were relentlessly cruel assholes.

the four of you, satoru, suguru, shoko, and of course you, had thought it would be fun to have a little sleepover in shoko's room. complete with snacks, movies, and currently, truth or dare. a game you were all familiar with and loved to play during any free time you could find. mostly because you and shoko loved making satoru and suguru do wild and silly things to embarass them, and satoru and suguru loved making you and shoko admit your deepest darkest secrets to embarass you.

but it had always been in good fun! it was always just a way to pass time through laughter.

but no, they had to go and be assholes, satoru thinks bitterly now.

not you- never you, you were too much of a sweetheart to be as cruel as your counterparts. but then again, as you smiled at satoru with a genuine excitement for him to receive his dare from shoko, he actually relaxed a little.

and shoko's scheming, he can see it in her face, after he'd opened his stupid loud mouth, she's looking at him with torture brewing in her eyes, while she conjures up a plan to ruin him. he tries to look to suguru for help, but he's sporting a mad grin as his eyes widen with a similar look of mischief, before he's leaning over to whisper in shoko's ear.

"hey that's not fair!" satoru whines. "no scheming on dares!"

beside him, you nod along in agreement. how kind of you. so true to your agreement when the four of you had first started playing this game.

"we're not scheming!" suguru defends himself, hands in the air in mock surrender.

"yeah, and you're the one that said you weren't afraid of doing anything!" shoko reminds him of the words he so desperately wished he could take back.

because he already had an inkling of what they were going to make him do. and he had a feeling it had something to do with a little secret he'd indulged in them about just a few days ago.

he sneaks a glance over at you, curious to know if you looked as in on this plan as shoko and suguru seem to be. but your eyes are curious as they flicker between the two, just as intrigued by what they were whispering about behind their hands.

okay, at least they didn't go and spill the beans, satoru feels a glimpse of relief. it's short lived.

"i dare you to kiss the person you have a crush on, satoru~"

shoko sings his name with amusement and delight, a grin spreading across her face, one that suguru mirrors when satoru looks to him for some kind of help out of this.

before he can say anything, you're coming to his rescue.

"well that's boring, it's just us here," you say.

sweet, kind, naive you. satoru thinks he's going to spontaneously combust. shoko and suguru think they've finally found this god-like idiot's weakness. and how entertaining to find out it's you.

sweet, kind, naive you, with your adorable smile and bright eyes. you were so soft on all of them, it was amusing for it to turn out this way, for you to be the one to bring the over-zealous gojo satoru to his knees.

no one responds to your statement, which has you furrowing your brows as you tilt your head at the snickering pair across from you, before you're turning to satoru, tilting your head.

and then all too slowly, your eyes were widening and your lips were falling into a small 'o' shape. he thnks you've figured him out right away, and he feels his face begin to burn.

but then you're looking to suguru and shoko, your lips curling into a grin of excitement.

"no way," you say, a fit of giggles taking over as you glancing between the two, and then looking at satoru- who's face is now positively pink with embarrassment. "no way!" you repeat.

"yes way!" shoko declares with her own cackling.

satoru thinks her laughter sounds evil compared to the sweet sounds of your bubbly giggling. but he might be a little more biased than usual right now.

"yeah yeah, quiet your laughing" the white haired sorcerer waves a dismissive hand, before leaning forward over his legs, turning your direction.

you meet his gaze with nothing short of bright curiosity- and for a second when you lean towards him, he thinks you're going to beat him to the dare.

the next words that come out of your mouth silence the room, stunning everyone equally.

"who is it?"

you're whispering, as if his secret hadn't just been forced into his hands by the assholes sitting across from you. his jaw slacks, his eyes widen a bit as they stare at you, wondering if you were messing with him just like the other two, or if you were really this oblivious.

when you raise an impatient brow at him and shake your head a little, satoru realizes it's the latter. you really have no clue.

shoko barks out a laugh after a beat passes, but before she can blurt out the first comment that comes to mind suguru is grabbing her by the elbow and hauling her to her feet.

"come on zombie girl, let's go for a smoke" his offer is more of a command as he's dragging her along with him out the door. they dont fail to send satoru obnoxious winks and outward sticking thumbs before they're out of the room.

you watch as they leave you and satoru, before turning back to him, silently intrigued while you waited for him to break the silence.

satoru lets out a huff. his fingers are tugging at a loose thread in the rug underneath him. if he tore it up and ruined the seam, shoko was bound to be upset, but neither one of you paid it any mind now.

"can you, uh," he starts but hesitates, unsure of what to say now that it's all so obvious and out in the open. "can you close your eyes?"

you blink at him, once, twice, and then you give him a small nod before your lashes flutter shut against your cheeks. even without your gaze piercing through him so hard he felt it in his soul, he can't help the nerves eating away at his insides.

he leans closer to you, with every intention of kissing you quickly, just a simple peck, so fast maybe you could forget about it and never speak about this again. but as he enters your personal space he can smell your shampoo, and see the corner of your lips is tugged into the smallest of smiles.

"satoru," you whisper when you sense that he's leaned in closer. despite your eyes being closed, he finds himself staring at them, giving you his full attention. "do you have a crush on me?"

you can't help the way your smile stretches a little more, heart eager at the mere idea of him having feelings for you.

satoru watches as a blush spreads over your cheeks, as well.

"well i'm not kissing suguru am i?" he retorts, his instincts telling him to joke, to play it off, hoping that will ease the tension. but his voice is quiet and low, and it's missing that teasing lilt. you give him a small chuckle anyways. "smells like cigarettes all the time now anyways, since he started smokin' with shoko"

blindly, you press forward, placing your palm on the floor in front of you to help steady you. you can't quite tell how close he is so you hope you don't go crashing into him as you lean in. to your luck, you don't. but you're close enough that your nose ghosts over his. he doesn't retract from the feeling.

he wants to say something, he feels like he owes you an explanation, a proper confession, but with the way your breath fans over his lips in soft, minty puffs, satoru finds that he just can't stall any longer.

so he leans forward, maybe a little too fast as his lips crash into yours at first, kissing you excitedly. but just as quickly as the kiss was initiated, his mouth softens as he parts his lips over yours. his movements are gentle as he explores what kissing you is really like.

it's warm, it's sweet chapstick, it's gentle. it's your timid lips touching his carefully as you navigate him in the same way. you share a few more sweet pecks, just because you're not quite down with your exploration.

when you part, you're all heavy eyes, rosy cheeks, and lazy smiles.

now you both know you should say something, because that was certainly more than a truth or dare kiss called for. but your friends would be back from their smoke in a few minutes, and satoru must've also thought that time was of the essence, because he's taking your face in his hands and leaning in and kissing you again. ___

a/n: this is ooc but ONLY bcuz gojo would kiss suguru any day of the week NO questions NO hesitation and ALL tongue. but you've got him whipped and nervous and i wanted to keep it that way :) xoxo ~ jordie

[reflections-in-a-critical-eye]

Are You Sure?! - Episode 5 observations

7.5/10 ☆

A couple fights over nothing in front of other people, creating an atmosphere full of tension. There's questions in the back of the audience's mind. What is underneath all that bickering? What lies under that perfect initial façade of a couple who knows everyting about what ticks the other one? They are rude, sometimes loud, sometimes they forget there's other people there. It makes a guest uncomfortable. So much so that the guest would rather leave than spend one more second there.

Is this Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf or Are You Sure?!

The Jeju trip has now ended. On a rather anticlimatic note, but a result of a day in which the need to actually stick to a format of a travel show went directly out the window. Another filler, in which the guest was ready to leave from the moment he woke up (which he did).

Episode 5 did not nothing but merely reinforce what we saw the previous day in terms of relationships dynamics. Which was to be expected. People don't change over night and they weren't put into situations that might allow for other facets to rise to the surface. Once again, Jimin and Jungkook are going about their day as a duo, as a team, as a couple, as bj brothers, you name it. The show had already been establishing that from day 1 of their trips around the world. There's the everpresent "we" and then everyone else surrounding them. From conversations at dinner, to spending time together at night, getting ready to go out or just staying indoors while one of them is taking a nap while the other is cooking nearby. Snapshots of a couple life.

One that bickers because of very stupid and silly reasons, but being together on the joke and knowing each other's boundary. A lot of people can spend years together and still wouldn't care when they cross the line.

I wanted a real fight and instead all I got was nonsense over spam or pink sausages. But I won't dwell too much on it because it's not necessary. Although it did add to the neverending list of Tedros not being able to understand the mood. He takes Jungkook's reaction seriously, he doesn't understand what Jimin is trying to say when he calls himself weaker on the boat (when Jimin did nothing but reveal his strength kink). It simply shows that his humor is not the same. And perhaps current mean spirited voices are a mirror of him, unable to take a step back and realize the nuances and meanings behind what people do and say.

There are now five weeks since AYS began. And somewhere between 5-6h of footage of Jimin and Jungkook which come after a long time of not seeing them together, despite knowing that they are together and have been throughout some major events in the last couple of years, which culminated with their joint enlistment (they might be forced to go, but it was a relief to hear them having a laugh about it in late September).

It is a shame though that the result of this show, which for some of us is a real treat as we finally get to see Jimin and Jungkook outside the specific type of silly BTS content, has also become an opportunity for complete denigration of this pair. In part by their own so-called fans. No one is forced to watch it. If the need to look for clues that reveal imaginary conflict or lack of closeness is the thing that gets them off, I'd rather not see it. Unfortunately, it is inescapable. These are people that do not deserve anything nice.

I'm excited for the final segment of the show and I want to cherish those next three weeks, even though it will all be over then. I hope there's a real return to the intimate component. Which doesn't meant fairytale happiness. It just means a glimpse into the last days of youth and freedom to be together in a way that had then to be put on hold as the harsh reality of forced "military adulthood" came knocking at the door.

[ilwonuu]

got a thing for you.

↬ kim hongjoong

❋ pairing- roommate!hongjoong x fem!reader, softishdom!hongjoong x sub!reader, fboy!hongjoong x fem!reader, roommates to fucking????

❋ summary- you roommate sorta has got a thing for you,,,

❋ warnings- protected sex (everyone is shocked), oral sex (m receiving), joong is kinda a tease, kissing, riding, cum swallowing, dirty talk, pet names (sweetheart,baby)(joong), lmk what else !! MDNI

❋ a/n- i literally wrote this when i was high asf,,, i was thinking abt hongjoong so much (i still am) and i liked how this turned out so lmk what you think<3

hongjoong liked to think of himself as cool and calm. never get upset or anything from what you can tell. but he did give himself a reputation to be a well the campus fuck boy.

he didn’t really care that much though. if anything hongjoong truly owned up to his name. until he met you. he started seeing differently, he doesn’t even know why. you make him feel so good and he hates it.

you haven’t even touched him and he thinks he’s in heaven. having you as a roommate makes hongjoong happy but he also feels bad. how could he be roommates with someone he’s fucking his fist to every night.

he never wants to look you in the eyes because of it. you’ve started to notice his eyes shifting from you as soon as you look at him. you shrug it off but hongjoong don’t want to let his self control go too quickly.

he’s afraid he’s doesn’t know how long that’ll last though, especially with you coming into the kitchen around midnight in your loose pajamas. the two of you having the same idea to get a midnight snack.

“oh shit you scared me for a second.” hongjoong is shocked before he relaxes to your presence. “sorry i was trying to be quiet.” you giggle grabbing some water.

“what are you doing up?” his eyes are making direct contact with yours. it has you blushing, you hope the darkness is helping you so he doesn’t see.

“just couldn’t sleep. what about you?” you set your water bottle down shifting your attention to him fully. he nods slightly.

“yea me too- just been watching tv.” he smiles at you, you just want to kiss him so bad. it’s almost like he hears your thoughts. “if you want you can come up to my room? if you’d like that.” he says the last part as he moves a little closer to you. he rubs his hand against yours as you smile.

“mm yeah i would like that.” you bite your lip at how close he his. you both want each other more than you realized, as you follow him to his room. you forget about the water that you came for.

you have never been one to sleep around or hook up but maybe you’ll start now. but only because it’s hongjoong. your roommate draws you in, he’s sweet but mostly to you. his messy hair from sleeping you assume, looks so sexy. you just want to mess it up more.

“something you thinking about sweetheart?” that stupid nickname that he would call you gave you so many butterflies. of course you wouldn’t tell him to stop. the name coming from his voice made it even better. “nothing- just thinking about homework.”

your lie works but hongjoong still smirks to himself. “what?” you question his expression as you sit on his bed. he just shakes his head.

“just thinking why we haven’t hung out in here before.” he sits next to you as the show that he was watching plays on his tv.

“yeah i don’t know.” you look at the boy next to you with a half smirk. “what do you want to do?” you ask trying to break the silence for a second.

“can i kiss you?” he looks from your eyes to your lips as his face inches closer. you nod slowly as his words catch you off guard but you want that more than anything.

“please.” you breathe out quickly. he grabs your face to kiss you passionately. you respond instantly, trying to pull him closer to you. he smirks into the kiss as the two of you find a rhythm.

“you don’t know how bad i want to do that every second.” he kisses against your neck as let out a soft whine. “you’re so beautiful sweetheart. you know that? just want you to myself.” his whispers and kisses are gentle but your skin is burning from want.

his voice sounds a little raspy and it’s got plenty of arousal pooling in your panties. “get on your knees and use that pretty mouth hm yea?” you should be embarrassed at how fast you nod at him, but you have no shame.

“get to work sweet thing.” he rubs some of your hair back as you get on your knees. you grabbing at his pants, pulling them down. hongjoong just watches you with so much lust. his eyes dark as he sees your hands move to his boxers, tugging them down. your mouth waters at the sight of the pre cum leaking at the tip.

“just gonna stare baby?” he smirks down at you teasingly. “mm so big-“ he looks down at you in such a intimidating way. your panties are completely ruined at this point.

“yea? spit on it sweetheart.” he smiles at you as you spit on the tip. you spreading it with your thumb causes him to hiss. you lick at the side slowly as you look at him.

“shit-“ his mouth falls open as he watches you suck on the tip. you humming making him laugh in disbelief. “just- like that. fuuck- how are you so fucking g-good at this?” you moans making him start to fuck your mouth. he fists some of your hair in his hand as he thrusts with your head.

“you take it so- oh fuck.” he throws his head back as you start to gag on it a little. you pulling away you spit on it just to go back to your movements.

“gonna cum in your mouth- shit sweetheart. a-ah god fuck- baby.” he is beyond shocked as you sloppy gag on his cock. there’s spit and pre cum all over your chin but you don’t care.

“i’m coming- fuck fuck!” his hips start to fuck into your mouth roughly after a couple thrusts his cum fills your mouth. you moan at the warm liquid. hongjoong just watches as you swallow with his mouth open. you show him your clean tongue giving him a smirk after you hear him curse.

“can i fuck you now sweetheart?” you bite your lip a little as you nod. “can i ride you joong?” you ask with a smile as you see him slowly nod. he lays back against the bed as

he watches you take your clothes off. he throws his shirt off not wanting to waste any time. he thinks he’s in heaven when he sees you crawl to him on the bed. he’s thought about you like this before but you’re way dirtier than he imagined. he loves it.

his dick all the way fully hard as you crawl on his lap. “you’re so good for me huh sweetheart? show me baby.” he grabs a condom out of his drawer before rolling it down on his dick. his vision is somewhat blurry as he watches you grab his dick lining it up with your entrance. you lower yourself onto him with a gasp.

“so big-“ your eyes roll back as he starts move his hips up. your arousal dripping making noises that has him groaning. “s-so fucking wet-“ your moans getting louder as you start to grind to meet his thrusts. he kisses your neck softly as he fucks you rougher.

“h-hongjoong- yea fuck me! p-please don’t stop o-oh.” you whimper at the softness of his hand on your hip. he fucks you at a perfect angle causing your legs to shake a little.

“don’t run from it baby. feels so good huh? you’re riding me so well sweetheart.” he plants a couple kisses on your neck as you start to bounce on him quicker.

“l-love your cock! o-oh my god! so deep joong- i’m g-gonna cum- ah please!” you moan as you feel him start to rub your clit. “cum on my dick sweetheart. this perfect little pussy is all mine now huh? gonna let me fuck you nice and full every day now?” he smirks as he feels you clench around him.

“you like that? fu-uck best fucking pussy i’ve ever had. squeezing me so fucking tight baby.” your whimpers are starting to sound more like cries as you see stars and cum hard on his dick. still grinding slightly through your high.

“you’re so pretty-“ he cuts himself off by pulling you into a kiss. he comes hard into the condom, your kiss being enough to bring him to his high. you lift off of him with a whine.

“i can understand why you have girls lining up- that was too fucking good.” you giggle as you rub at some of your cum leaking out of you.

“don’t fall in love now.” he says playfully as he kisses you again. you roll your eyes but slowly melt into his kiss.

“oh you wish.”

[tsukimefuku]

old regrets and guilt ridden pasts (2) ꕥ higuruma hiromi

part 1 → this part → part 3 (soon) | mdni!

summary: you get home, only to find that hiromi is there ready to talk after your failed attempt to open up about your past. he intends to confront you on that, among other things.

tags: +18!, non-explicit! sex scenes, implied smut, f!reader, established relationship higuruma x reader, little to no cursing, reader is kind of emotionally stunted, romance, mentions of death, grief, angst, fluff, hurt + comfort (a lot of comfort, this is healing).

wc: 1.8k

notes etc.: heavy spoilers for "sand and snow" readers. this might be the loveliest thing i've written to date. thank you so much @redlikerozez for betaing it 🧡 written to the sound of running up that hill (kate bush) and heart skipped a beat (the xx) - the second one is the song that inspired the main scene. as always, i write flawed characters that can (and will) sometimes be assholes, but they're trying their best.

ꕥ collection of stories: "jujutsu partners au" → masterlist for fics listed in chronological order of events

When you came inside your apartment, there were no lights on. However, from the open door to your bedroom, you could see that Hiromi was laying down on your bed, probably fast asleep by this point.

Defeated, you left your things on the table and silently got in the room, stepping inside the bathroom to wash away all the grime and dirt (and hurt) from a godawful day.

'Godawful day' is definitely a good name for having memories of people long gone stirred up and thrown at your face, reviving your grief all over again.

You were still feeling guilty for not having talked to Hiromi about it, unable to not shut him out, yet again.

Why do I keep doing this? I'm such a jerk.

Upon finishing your shower, you came back into the room, and slid yourself into comfortable clothing before laying down beside him. Hiromi had his back turned to you, but he must've felt you on the bed, because he didn't take long to roll himself on the mattress and look at you.

He seemed upset, and with good reason.

"You could have entrusted me with your pain too, you know," Hiromi began, not giving you much time to muster up anything to say. Not even a good night.

You exhaled slowly, trying to collect your thoughts around it all. This day was an absolute rollercoaster of emotions.

"For you to learn my pain, I’d have to explain it, and I just... It is hard to explain exactly what happened and remembering that day," you offered. "Aside from me, Nanami is the only one who also saw it happen."

Hiromi considered what you said for a moment, but you could see the resolute way in which he softly shook his head.

"Still. I can’t fight you every step of the way for you to let me in. I’m your boyfriend."

The word lingered in the atmosphere around you.

He was, in fact, your boyfriend. You had been dating for a while then.

"We’re supposed to share these kinds of things so that we can be there for each other," he stated, a chide with a plead for understanding, while his thumb came up to press softly against your chin.

"I… I know. I’m sorry."

And you were, truly and deeply sorry, for everything. For pushing him into going along with that stupid idea of letting you inside his domain to get rid of your cursed technique temporarily, for retreating back into yourself when things grew dire, and for not letting him in when he expressly asked you to.

"What are you so afraid of?" Hiromi asked, in earnest.

You took some time to think about his question.

What were you so afraid of, after all, that you couldn't let him in — or at least felt like it, many times? 

Then, you realized.

"I'm scared that… That you will leave me too," you began, "I'm terrified that I will have opened myself up, all vulnerable and shit, and then for some reason, I'm left alone again. That's a recurring theme in my life."

"My love, in case that ever happens, keeping me at arms length won’t make it hurt any less."

You chuckled bitterly.

"Funny you should say that. I said the same thing earlier today."

Hiromi edged himself closer softly under the covers, approaching you gently.

"It takes one to know one, right?" he offered, in a kind and loving voice.

"I guess it does," you answered with a minute smile on your face.

"So, will you let me in now?" he inquired, holding your gaze. "Please."

You knew he'd surely be aware of at least the gist of the story, due to the evidence inside the envelope he never got to open before you confessed to your brother's "murder".

Still, it was different. He had to hear you say it, tell him the whole story.

So, you inhaled deeply, ready to dive in the murky lake of your past, before proceeding.

"My brother. He was…" considering for a moment, there was no word that could really convey it. Not entirely. You settled for "everything."

A sigh.

"He was… The sun to my moon. My brother was the laughter, the joy, the silly jokes, the shoes thrown around the house, the noise, the annoyance, the smell of curry in the kitchen, the helping hand, the coming home to, no matter how dire things got."

Silence.

"And then, in one night, there was… none of him anymore. Nothing, just his cold dead body laying on the ground."

A moment that felt like ten.

"I… We were twins, and a part of me, I guess… just died with him. I don’t think I’ll ever get it back. So here I am, still living with this hole inside me, where some piece used to be. His piece."

Hiromi stayed quiet for a second, pulling your knuckles kindly against his lips.

"My sun is gone, and I'm drifting, untethered. I…" You took a heavy huff of air inside your lungs. Yet, you were still breathless, the ache weighing on your thorax like a hydraulic press.

"This grief is like a tar pit, and no matter what I do, this faceless monster just keeps sucking me under." 

Your last words dropped to the drum of a eulogy, the one you never got to do.

His palm descended lightly on your cheek as the night breeze gently brushed over the window. The room was dark, dimly lit by moonlight and streetlamps bleeding through the curtain, but it became remarkably quiet. Silent.

Cotton filled ears while the world stopped moving for a second, waiting under a muted heartbeat.

One. Two. Three. Four beats.

His gaze softened — rather than darkened — as his lips approached, all pacify, and yearning, and empathy, and commiseration. Upon contact, your eyes fluttered into a deeper dimness, letting your mind drift around, away and back again, as he began his first attempt to tether you.

You may have lost your sun, but you wouldn't keep drifting away, not anymore.

He wouldn't let that happen.

My love…

Yes?

Eyes on me.

One. Two. Three. Four beats.

Okay.

Dexterous hands pulled you back to Earth, drawing you deeper into his orbit when they fit themselves securely and unfaltering against your waist.

Warm digits kneaded over the celestial wanderer drowned in the tar pit of painful remembrance.

Your senses thickened, your pupils grew wider, and your touch found the nape of his neck, seeking the halo of his comfort.

He was always so comfortable.

Just like coming home to.

He felt at home in you, too.

Another kiss. Gentler. Kinder.

The dark against your fluttered-shut eyelids didn't steal you away from him again, though. He had placed himself firmly around you, with an inevitable gravitational pull, all understanding, warm and welcoming, with the soft press of his entire body against yours.

Your senses heightened — you smelled him, touched him, heard him, felt him. The rhythm of his breath, now softly hitched. His chest, up and down, pulsing with longing. His skin, silvery glow under the moonlight. 

Hiromi smelled…

Well, he smelled like Hiromi.

The best smell there was.

Earthly bound, finally.

His mouth, teeth, lips, all made their way to slit themselves against the edge of your jaw.

May I?

Please.

One, two, three, four beats.

A sharp exhale leaves your lips as his teeth sink against the softness of your chin, crawling up to your mouth, hot breaths mixing with one another, two stardust clouds melting together.

He bit your bottom lip and let it go, then brushed his own mouth against yours. So feathery. So delicate.

Another kiss.

You lock against each other with little to no exploration — you've walked these paths before. You do so with the soft embrace of familiarity. The velvety reassurance of known lovers.

All to the gravitational beat that surrounded you both.

You grasped each other's hands against your clothes, and gentle as could be, the fabric slowly unraveled itself from your bodies, sliding their delicate way down the floor, forgotten.

Hiromi began nosing his way down your skin, but your hands cupped his jaw, pulling him back.

A pause.

Four heartbeats.

Eyes on me, remember?

A huff, almost a laugh, and the kindest peck.

Okay, my love.

His hand made its way under the duvet, all electric, and liquid, and cold, and hot, pressing the air out of your lungs. He was happy to inhale you in, open-mouthed and muddy, as you hitched and whimpered to his rhythm.

You were quick to fall apart, undoing to him, arching your entire body. Almost losing yourself.

But he pulled you back, the other hand resting over your shoulder blades, remembering you.

Eyes on me.

As you tried descending yourself, he held you back. 

This time, it would be all about you.

Gently pulling you under, his thumbs brushed against your shoulders with tenderness. His eyes flickered with trepidation and affection, as your foreheads pressed to one another. Hiromi pushed and sunk slowly into you, hooked nose snuggled beside yours.

To say he was making love to you wouldn’t be wrong, but paled in comparison to this.

He was loving you tenderly, honestly, just so you could take some of that love he poured into you and give it to yourself, filling the gaping hole left behind by an abrupt absence. The forever and always empty seat in the front row of your life.

He pleaded internally, please, may this be enough.

He was loving you so wholeheartedly, giving you all the warmth you offered to most people but yourself, that you could’ve wept — you probably did, the dampening on his cheek brushing against yours made that evident.

"Touch me." Love me.

"Yes." I do. I will.

Hiromi tried, kind and gentle, loving this grief into vanishing, willing it into non-existence. 

My love. My whole, entire love.

But he couldn't, it was engraved in black all over your flesh, your bones, and your soul.

Each kiss while he wrapped his arms around you, tucking you underneath him, was an attempt at chipping away on your armor of pain and loss.

As he rocked your hips gently, he imprinted on your skin every inch of affection you needed to soothe yourself, but you were finding it difficult to pick up these pieces and ensemble the puzzle.

You found it hard to let all your guilt go, after all. It was already an old companion of sorts.

Drinking your voice in as you tipped over the fall, he thought for a moment, could I steal her pain away?

He'd do it in a single heartbeat if he could, if only to repay you for saving him after he had gone past the point of no return.

Some days after that, coming back to this moment, you would finally understand other people's shortcomings from a deeply personal and subjective perspective.

It was hard, after all, being forgiven without forgiving yourself.

Tag list (that I keep forgetting, sorry): @yammy-yammy-yama @g-kleran @otomesass

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