#and the rot beneath it all comes to the surface

[stormyoceans]

100 plots are waiting for you. Do you want to elaborate on the topic of murders in a closed school?

I DO MISS MY VERY BAD ATTEMPTS AT THE 100 JIMMYSEA SERIES

i actually did try to come up with a vague plot inspired by the elle photoshoot here, but im not too convinced about it tbh, it just feels very predictable and unoriginal ;;;;;;; i do find the boarding school murder mystery subgenre really fascinating tho, and i know the setting gets linked a lot to ya literature and dark academia, which don't have a very good reputation, however i think there are elements of it that are so interesting if done right, like the school also being a home, the characters’ isolation from the real world, the hierarchical structure and the inevitable rebellions against the teacher and clashes between students that come with it, the unorthodox education, the knowledge of a dark past that lurks amidst the hallways........

that's why i was very into home school the first few episodes, because i still really love the idea of a boarding school where wealthy and privileged parents send their (most of the times) unwarrantedly-labeled 'bad kids', the ones who have fallen from grace or embarrassed their rich families by partaking in some behavior that violates those families' social mores. and i wasn't much into what turned out to be the mystery in the show, nor do i know how would i like to change it for that matter, but i would LOVE a series like this for jimmysea and namtanfilm

like you have the very first episode with, say, jimmy being the new student and coming to this school which is a small society with already very defined groups he does not care to fit in. he dodges namtan's flirting, he shares the same space as film but they don't really talk because she is just like him, he clashes with sea, and during their fight the viewers find out that the school is just a place for the rejected and the unwanted ('you act like you're so much better than everybody else, but you're just trash that was abandoned by your parents like the rest of us'). and the thing is, the students don't really know why the others are there. like some are easier to guess than others, but no one knows for sure, and you have kids who are there just because they're different than what their parents wanted them to be, and there are kids who are there because they robbed a place, or were involved in a drug case, or even murdered someone, and their parents bought off the police and then sent them there to get rid of them

and so when the murders start to happen inside the school, it makes sense for the students to start investigating, because their parents don't care about them, the teachers don't care about them, the police doesn't care about them, if they're dead society just thinks 'good riddance', so if they want to survive they're the ones who need to do something about it

AND THIS IS SO UNNECESSARILY LONG WHILE ALSO SAYING NOTHING AT ALL IM SHUTTING UP NOW

[thesecondhandwoman]

Going off of the injured Ambessa ask, could you do something where the reader is injured. But their a soldier so it’s really bad and their trying to play it off but Ambessa can tell it’s bad. (Maybe throw in a little hidden injury and “who did this to you?)

if your not up for it I completely understand

-🧚

HIDDEN INJURIES

Ambessa x f!reader

Synopsis: You were one of Ambessa’s Noxian soldiers, and the favorite one of them all. However, when you got injured and struggled to hide it, you thought that might title change.

Request: Anon 🤍

The night air was thick with the scent of Noxus and its empire, the distant hum of a city brimming with life. Meanwhile, you did not feel the same life that the other people shared.

You leaned against the stone wall of the barracks, doing your best to steady yourself, breathe shallow, heart hammering beneath your ribs. Your fingers lingered over the bandage, already stained with the remnants of blood that had dried too quickly. The injury was deeper than you’d let on, an ugly gash that cut across your lower abdomen after a clash with a particularly vicious opponent. You’d tended to it as best as you could, but it wasn’t enough. It never was.

The last few days had been a blur of dull pain and the stubbornness that coursed through your veins, a soldier’s pride that insisted you didn’t need help. You knew what Ambessa expected of you, what she needed you to be: strong, steady, and reliable.

You were her pet, her favored soldier, and above all, you couldn’t let that slip away dimpling because she sees your weakness. Not now. Not ever.

But that was growing harder to do.

With a grimace, you pushed off the wall and staggered back into the fortress, your movements stiff and slow, each step a reminder of how much the injury had begun to rot beneath the surface. You’d tried to hide it, kept it covered up, but something had gone wrong. The infection was spreading now, a subtle ache in your bones, a fever that coursed through your veins, making your body feel like it was being consumed by fire.

You hadn’t been able to hide it from Ambessa for long.

She was waiting for you in her chambers, reclining on a plush chaise, the shadows of candlelight casting an amber glow over her striking features. Her eyes, those fierce golden orbs, flicked up when you entered, and for a brief moment, the sharpness softened.

“Come here,” she beckoned with a subtle wave of her hand, her voice like velvet. She knew something was off, something subtle in the way you moved, the way you tried to stand straighter than you could, the way you winced when your side brushed the doorframe.

You swallowed hard, but obediently stepped toward her.

Ambessa’s eyes narrowed slightly, always keen to the smallest detail. She was no stranger to seeing soldiers in various states of pain. You weren’t the first one she’d taken an interest in, though you were the only one who seemed to matter to her in such a way. Her gaze lingered on you with concern, but her lips curled into a smirk as if to mask the worry creeping in. She raised an eyebrow, studying you, her gaze unwavering.

“Are you sure you’re well?” she asked, the softness of her voice belying the tension that was steadily rising in the room.

You hesitated, your chest tightening at the thought of her disappointment. “I’m fine, truly. It’s just a scratch,” you lied, the words tasting sour on your tongue.

She didn’t believe you for a second. Her eyes softened as she stood up and walked toward you, her footsteps like whispers on the stone floor. As she approached, you could feel her presence like a tangible thing, comforting yet demanding, a force to be reckoned with.

Without warning, her hand came to rest gently on your shoulder. You tensed, a sharp breath catching in your throat. She could feel the heat radiating off of you, could sense the trembling beneath your skin.

“You’ve been hiding something from me,” she murmured, her voice a low, soothing hum. Her thumb stroked lightly over the muscle of your shoulder, sending a shiver through your body. “I could hear it in your voice. Practically feel it radiating off of you.”

You bit the inside of your lip, trying not to show the frustration and guilt that bubbled up. “It’s nothing,” you said, forcing the words to sound as normal as you could. “I’ll recover. No need to—”

“Let me see it,” she interrupted, her voice no longer a request but an order.

Your eyes darted down, and for a moment, you felt a surge of panic. You knew she could be patient, but when she wanted something, she didn’t let it go. Slowly, you reached for the sides of your tunic, fingers fumbling for the fabric that hid the injury.

Ambessa didn’t speak, only stood quietly, watching you with those steady, unwavering eyes as you pulled the fabric up. When you turned slightly to expose the injury on your side, she took in the sight of the angry, red, infected wound with a sharp intake of breath.

“Gods, how long has this been festering?” she asked, her voice low and dangerous now, the tenderness gone. Her fingers ghosted over the edge of the injury, and you flinched, unable to keep the hiss of pain from escaping.

You tried to hide it, tried to play it off as you always did. “It’s not as bad as it looks. I’ll be fine.”

Ambessa’s gaze turned hard, and for the first time in days, you saw the faint flicker of worry behind her gaze. Her hand was soft on your skin, but the concern in her eyes was sharp, like a blade waiting to cut through your excuses.

“Don’t lie to me,” she whispered, her fingers now tracing the ugly colored skin around the wound that was farther from the edges, careful but firm. “You should have come to me sooner. You’re not as invincible as you force yourself to be.”

Her words hit harder than you expected, and for a moment, you let the facade slip. The pain, the fatigue, the overwhelming sense of failure—it all came crashing down. But Ambessa didn’t let you fall. She stepped closer, her presence grounding you, like she always did when you needed her most.

“You’ll need help, this wound is far too infected,” she said, her tone brokering no argument. “Meaning you will rest for some time and take a break from your duties for me, hm?”

You were too tired to argue. Too tired to fight against the kindness you didn’t deserve. Slowly, you nodded, letting her help you remove the rest of your tunic. She gently pressed you back onto the bed, her hands so soft, yet somehow so strong. You felt her steady gaze on you as she began to clean the wound, carefully, expertly, removing the infected tissue with practiced hands.

Her voice, as soft as a lullaby, hummed in your ear. “I don’t want to hear about you being ‘fine’ again. You’re mine now, and when you’re mine, I take care of what’s mine. Understood?”

Her fingers were gentle, the motions slow and deliberate, as if every action was designed to keep you grounded. Despite the pain of her tending to the injury, you felt your body relax into her touch, the feverish burn inside of you easing just a little.

“Yes, I understand,” you whispered, your voice a fragile thing.

“Good.” Her voice was low and approving as she finished cleaning the wound and began bandaging it with care. “Now, rest. I’ll stay with you until you’re better, little one.”

You closed your eyes, the weight of exhaustion pulling you down, but her presence kept you tethered, warm and solid. For the first time in days, you let yourself fall into that comfort, that fragile space between pain and safety.

As she finished tending to you, her fingers lingering on your skin with a soft caress, you could hear the faintest smile in her voice.

“Let me take care of you now,” Ambessa murmured, her voice a soft promise. “No more pretending. Not here.”

And for the first time in days, you let yourself believe that perhaps, just perhaps, you didn’t have to be the soldier anymore. Not in her presence. Not when you were with her.

A/N: Sorry that this is so short, I tried to expand it and it just turned into an absolute mess. So I shortened it down just to realize how much I shortened it. But either way, I hope that you liked it and it was okay (if not, I’ll definitely give it another shot)

[crescenthistory]

Hello, I love your writing and recently I’ve been kind of obsessed with Regulus calling reader Amour, so my request would be Regulus x fem!reader where he calls her Amour like a prayer or a mantra while reader kisses his neck, jaw, lips, just loving him. Thank you for your work !

i always write french!black brothers, so regulus will always use the pet name amour for reader in my fics ✊ thank you for requesting babe<3

Words: 2.5k

Warnings: suggestive/steamy (18+, mdni), heavy make-out session, grinding, suggestive remarks, but no actual smut, gn!reader, domestic bliss, established relationship, inappropriate use of the french language, regulus' slutty waist, tooth-rotting fluff

His fingertips trailed up and down the length of your arm tantalisingly; a barely there touch, a brush spelling out the casual love simmering beneath the surface.

With closed eyes you let out a content sigh, leaning further back into the soft cushions of your sofa.

"Alright, amour?"

You could hear the smile in his voice and lolled your head sideways to open your eyes and see it for yourself. Regulus sat comfortably beside you in your shared living room, eyes still trained on the flimsy paperback he had in hand. You both abandoned any professional work you had to get done earlier, and opted for settling into the quiet comfort of the evening, enjoying the radiating warmth and affection from the person beside you.

"Can't think of any complaints right now, no." His eyes flitted up to find the teasing in your own, and let out a small entertained sound.

"No?" Regulus placed his paperback upside down on the armrest, so that he could angle his body more sideways towards you. He already had one arm around your shoulders where he grazed you absentmindedly, but now he placed a purposeful hand on your thigh and squeezed. "What a miracle that is."

"I'll have you know, I am perfectly agreeable," you quipped back, leaning into his touch.

Regulus' eyes flitted slowly between your own as the smile on his face grew steadier. It felt impeccably at home. "You're perfect, alright." His low voice rumbled slightly in his chest on the way out and felt like a soft touch against your eardrums. You sighed again, seemingly melting into him – he readily accepted your weight.

"Not what I meant," you whispered. A steadying hand placed on his shoulder as you mirrored his slow creeping towards you, faces gravitating closer.

"It's what I meant."

The fingertips that had mapped out your arm made their final journey upwards, continuing past your shoulder and grazing a sweet path up to the underside of your chin. With two fingers, he encouraged your chin forward the last few centimetres until your lips met his and you could taste his tranquil smile.

Soft lips meeting each other in greeting for the first time in an hour or two, a coming home of sorts despite having been bundled up beside each other the whole time. Regulus' fingers moved back to splay out across your jaw, settling his pinky on your neck and his middle finger in that lovely spot behind your ear. His grip was firm but still delicate, holding you with conviction and care all at the same time. It brought a smile back to your face as you thought of how his kisses were much the same.

"What's so funny, beautiful?" he murmured against your lips, swallowing your answer before you could give it as he captured your bottom lip between his own.

You fought a giggle at his antics, instead breathing out through your nose and welcoming his continued touches. Your own hands travelled up from his shoulders to his hair, brushing through it and playing with the curls at the nape of his neck. His lips moved leisurely against yours, slightly open-mouthed and sweet.

When you came apart, you kissed his upper lip gently, revelling in the sigh he let out of his own, foreheads pressed together. "I just love you," you whispered.

All at once, the distance between the two of you felt overwhelmingly too large and your body ached to feel his warmth, his touch. You let your arms cross behind his neck, gripping onto his shoulders and pressing your chests flush against each other, while easing one leg out from beneath you to climb onto his lap. Regulus, who had just smiled lovingly at you, let one arm come to hold your hip and help stabilise you as you straddled him, inching as close to him as physically possible. "You love me, hm?" His eyes surveyed yours with a playful undertone.

Once you were settled comfortably in his lap, you nudged your nose into his, humming at the contact. "Allegedly," you said conspiratorially to which he gave a faux gasp.

You were quick to capture that gasp with your mouth.

If the first kiss was two lovers reuniting on the sofa they had been studying on together, then this kiss was a declaration of persevering devotion, a prayer whispered into the embrace of each other. This was deeper, both physically and emotionally as you took advantage of his parted lips to slip your tongue past them, meeting his own with a hum reverberating through you. Regulus groaned in turn, wrapping his arms tightly around your back to pull you even closer, fingers splaying out wide. His back came slightly off the cushions as he leaned against you, chasing your lips with every slight parting, and you couldn’t help the slight giggle that escaped your throat when you noticed.

“You’re acting like you’ve missed me,” you whispered as you parted from the fervent kiss to pepper smaller, lighter ones across his face as you caught your breath. 

“I always miss you, amour.” You glanced at him to see that his eyes had drifted shut for a moment, relishing in your doting affection pressed into every available crevice on his face, paying particular attention to the freckles splattered on top of his cheekbones and temples.

“That simply won’t do.” 

Your heart sang as you found his lips once more, only to find him instantly fighting to deepen the kiss, to have you impossibly more intertwined with him, one hand at last tangling in your hair to angle your head just the way he liked. You took the opportunity to let your own touches travel, dragging your fingertips teasingly down his neck and stroking across his shoulders clad in his sensible jumper. “Mind if this comes off?” you murmured in between open-mouthed kisses, tugging on his collar. 

Regulus wasted no time pulling away and dragging his jumper over his head, revealing his black skin-tight cropped tanktop beneath, though not without lifting a teasing eyebrow in reference to your intentions – which only went higher into his curly hair when he saw how your eyes took in his exposed collarbones and lower midriff. A truly sinful pair of hips on this one.

“Seems like someone’s missed me too,” he said smugly, all the while grasping a handful of the hair at the nape of your neck while dragging your face back towards his. “C’mere, pretty.”

With very little desire in your body to resist his kisses when he looked so domestic and blissed out, you abandoned your marveling of the boy beneath your hands to kiss him even more passionately. Your hands clutched at his jaw for stability when he dragged you back to him, but as soon as you were melting against his measured, satisfied kisses, you let them travel once more.

Your fingertips ghosted across his collarbones, one hand stopping to splay out across his heart and press down firmly enough for Regulus to sigh against you. The other found the v-shape on his hips, tracing them up and down, fingers occasionally hooking into the waistband of his trousers teasingly, a thrill shooting through you at the low groan that escaped him whenever you did.

“Gods, I just love you.” You whispered it against his lips, moving your hands all over his upper body as if you could not get enough; you decidedly could not and knew right there and then that if you were to die in his arms now, it would have been a happy death. “So much.”

“I love you, amour.” His voice was gravelly and breathless, coming apart even beneath such light touches – witnessing the effect you had on him never once ceased to amaze you. 

When you let your lips diverge from his own this time, you did not simply part for breath, instead trailing paths across his skin with the same attention and vigour you had given to his beautiful mouth. He let out a sigh, letting you have your way with him and shower him in the affection that seemed to be painfully bursting out of you, hands settling firmly on your hips to keep you close. “I love it when you call me that.” You pressed a sweet kiss to the corner of his mouth before letting your tongue dart out to kiss at the curve of his jaw, making your way to his ear, no skin going untouched, unloved.

“Call you what? Amour?” His breath stuttered throughout his question. You merely hummed in approval as you kissed the divot at the end of his jaw, feeling his chest rattle as you did so. “I always call you that.” Beneath your lips and fingertips trailing the other side of his face, you could feel his skin moving with the tell-tale signs of his growing smile.

“And I always love it,” you whispered into his ear before catching his earlobe between your teeth. The slight hiss and groan that followed sent sparks through you, and you tugged at his ear with your bite, tasting the metal of his piercings on your tongue. 

“Amour,” he moaned then, and you would be remiss if you did not let one of your hands keep exploring further down, spurred on by his term of endearment for you.

As you moved down the right side of his throat, you kissed and lapped and bit, easily forming evidence of your love across his pale, shimmery skin. The contrast always settled happily in your stomach when you looked at it, purple on white, you on Regulus.

Your hand that had held the other side of his face slid into his hair, grasping a handful at the nape of his neck and using it to pull his head further to the left, allowing you greater access. Once more, Regulus let out a moan at the slight sting and you knew it was on purpose when he whispered another hoarse, “Amour.”

You hummed in appraisal against his throat as you kissed, feeling the vibrations move through him. Your free hand kept toying with his waistband, slipping your fingers just far enough beneath to cause his breath to catch, but never truly doing anything, instead enjoying having your love all to yourself and accepting of the doting you ached to give him. It had been a long journey to accept any form of affection, let alone worship, so now that you had him freely all to yourself, you never passed up the opportunity.

With your hand in his hair, you pulled his head further back, granting you better access to his throat and chest, pressing a soft kiss to where his throat was bobbing as he swallowed at your ministrations. You kissed your way down to the dip between his neck and shoulder, where you gave him a particularly rough lovebite. His hands on your hips jerked towards him, essentially dragging your core across his, eliciting groans from the both of you. “Oh, amour,” he whispered, looking down at you with husky bedroom eyes.

You let your tongue lap over your bite, kissing across his prominent collarbones instead, trailing them up and down with a feverish tongue. With your hand in his waistband, you slipped around to his backside, dipping the rest of your hand in to get a handful of his ass. You used the momentum of his hips bucking upwards to grind yourself down against him, smiling through your kisses at the lovely sounds he was making.

“Amour, amour, amour.” Regulus was chanting your term of endearment as if it was a prayer, a mantra to get you to continue; and you would never deny him anything he asked for. You continued rolling your hips back and forth on top of his, heat pooling in your stomach as you felt him twitch and jerk beneath you. You moved your hand from his hair to settle onto his chest for leverage, palm pushing firmly into his left nipple as your nails buried their way into his skin through his sheer tanktop. All the while you were kissing across his collarbones, nipping and then soothing the skin immediately with your tongue, leaving saliva-covered bruises in your wake. 

“You’re so good for me, my love,” you whispered into the dent between his collarbones, and he let out a sound that seemed to be the mix of a breathless laugh and a sullen moan.

“Told you I missed you,” he managed to quip out, breath hitching once more as you repositioned yourself slightly to roll your core directly against his, only separated by thin fabrics of clothing. “Comment pourrais-je ne pas le faire, alors que tu m'aimes tant?”

Your turn to groan as you leaned your forehead against his slightly slick skin. “Just love you,” you mumbled once more before continuing your attack on his lovely body.

With trembling fingers, Regulus slipped a hand across your cheek and into your hair, encouraging you to let go of the skin right above his tanktop – which you had half a mind to remove, if it didn’t accentuate his waist so beautifully – and brought your face back up to his.

The grin you were met with left nothing to the imagination as to what he was feeling, physically or emotionally. Slowly, ever so slowly, he pulled your face closer and closer until your lips were hovering millimetres above his own that were tilted to the side, ready to accept you in full. “Me laisserais-tu t'avoir, mon amour?”

You shuddered and tried to close the distance between you, but Regulus had regained some control as he regarded you with nothing short of marvel, and he held your head in place. “Hm?” he questioned then, teasing aligned in his eyes.

“I don’t know what you said,” you all but whined, in a quieter voice than you thought possible. Normally, you might have made some quip about it, but at the moment you were pure putty in his hands.

“I said,” he whispered, using his grip on the back of your head to tilt your head to the side, until it was the shell of your ear grazing his lips and not your own. “Would you let me have you, my love?”

Shivers ran down your spine at his tone, your hands clutching him harder, closer, wanting always to get closer. When he turned your head to meet his eyes once more, his pupils had nearly eclipsed the grey irises you loved so much.

His smile was somehow both devilish and soft at the same time as he took in how breathless he could make you with just a few words.

“Please.”

No sooner had you uttered the word before his lips were back on yours, hungry and loving, his hands moving to your ass to hoist you up into the air and carry you against him to your shared bedroom.

The perfect night of domestic bliss.

[explorevenus]

dirty laundry ♡ re6!leon kennedy x puppy hybrid!reader

nsfw (18+) - minors dni or i will call ur mom. and also the cops

word count: 5.1k

tags/warnings: re6!leon, stubborn/reluctant puppy reader who pretends she hates him, brief chris redfield appearance, forced proximity (kinda), leon pining for u (he wants u to call him daddy btw), hybrid heat cycle shenanigans, thigh riding, dry humping, oral sex (f receiving), fingering (f receiving), no use of y/n

description: leon's had a tough time figuring out his new puppy hybrid roommate... outside of the fact that she's sweet on him, and just won't admit it. lucky for leon, he comes home from a mission to find her airing her dirty laundry.

a/n: this piece was commissioned by my beloved and adored @pupthepokemonenthusiast who is one of MY FAVORITE PEOPLE ON EARTH EVER ?!!!! and i luv yapping w them and that makes collaborating w them such a dream every time....

divider by @cafekitsune !!

my masterlist ♡

my ao3 ♡

fic under the cut, thanks so much for reading and i hope u enjoy ;w;

-venus ♡

Loose gravel crunched beneath Leon's boots, uneven pavement glittering with moisture in the streetlights. It was somewhere between raining and snowing, the wind splattering his rosy cheeks with little drops of condensation, every breath puffing out in a visible cloud, head tilted down at just the right angle to protect the lower half of his bruised face from the cold while still being able to see where he was going.

He didn't have a specific destination in mind, and truth be told, he couldn't really read most of the signage around here anyway-- it was all in Mandarin, and his Mandarin was even less reliable than his Spanish, to put it gently. But he could read what he needed to, at least, enough to find the basics like food, bathrooms, lodging, or hospitals, and more importantly, he could discern the backlit lettering above the shop two doors down; antiques and collectibles. 

That was a phrase he'd familiarized himself with in damn near every language under the sun by now. 

A bell dinged quietly overhead as he stepped into the storefront, grateful that it was even open past 9 o'clock at night. It was only one room and didn't have much space to walk around, but every available surface was stacked to the brim with knick-knacks of all shapes, colors, sizes, and price points under no apparent system of organization. Where some might be overwhelmed or put off by the volume of things to look at, Leon felt his heart skip a beat with excitement. He still had some time to kill before his transport back to the States was due to arrive, and not a single minute of it would be wasted overlooking any potential gems. 

Judging by the horrified stares he was attracting, Leon could imagine he looked fucking insane right now, clothes still splattered with wet, rotting blood and the barrel of his gun practically still smoking in his holster as he towered over a shelf in the back corner, scrutinizing a darling little plush bear in one hand and a set of hand-painted matryoshka dolls in the other like it was the hardest decision he would ever have to make. 

Ultimately, he chose not to decide at all-- money wasn't a factor, so why not buy both? If it weren't for the issue of luggage, he'd just say 'fuck it' and buy out the whole damn store. Unfortunately, helicopters tended to be quite limited in space. 

Self control was a skill Leon used to have mastered, perhaps even too well-- for a long time, every uncomfortable, unsightly, pesky little emotion was pressed down into a condensed cube to be neatly packed away in the very back corners of his brain, boxes upon boxes of dense feelings continuing to pile up and take over more and more space up there until the pressure became too much, the lid blew, and he went off the fucking handle. It wasn't something he was proud of by any means, all those long months blurred into mush through a lens of alcoholism and other reckless behaviors, but what he did try to let himself be proud of was his relative success in making it to the other side. 

That, of course, was a feat he did not accomplish without help, nor would he ever claim to. Chris Redfield was instrumental in his recovery in more ways than one, and at times, without even realizing it. He was a listening ear, a dealer of tough love, a trusted confidant...

...and the reason he had you. 

For obvious reasons, Leon had never gone out of his way to get a pet in his adult life. It just felt irresponsible with the inconsistency and uncertainty of his work situation, even with all the money in the world to spend on trainers and walkers and boarding and... whatever else, but at that point, it would feel less like a pet than an accessory, and Leon didn't have much interest in material. Never saw the need for it. Then one day Chris woke him up in the middle of the night banging on the door to his apartment with a gift he never expected.

"She's a... what?"

"A hybrid. She's a human-canine hybrid, Leon." 

Leon glanced between you and Chris with skepticism in his eyes, only to find the same look peering back at him in you. It was almost kind of funny that he'd have a hard time believing there could be such a thing as a human-canine hybrid, considering all he'd seen in his line of work, a thought that made his shoulders and his expression relax almost instantly. 

You were a real cutie, that was for sure, tucked behind Chris and staring up at Leon through your eyelashes with this grumpy little look on your face, a plush, patchwork bear clutched to your chest. The toy was equally as vibrant and colorful as your clothing, if not a bit worn with time. Your ears were long and droopy, your tail hanging low but swishing side-to-side with cautious interest, and the longer he studied you, the more he became endeared by you. 

"The B.S.A.A. rescued a group of hybrids from an illegal facility a few weeks ago, but finding accommodations for them isn't as simple as it sounds," Chris continued, resting a hand on your shoulder in an apparent move to reassure you. "Long story short, the people who were in charge of that facility aren't too happy about the acquisition, and the hybrids aren't safe at the B.S.A.A. anymore. Would you be willing to shelter her for a while?" 

The firm look in Chris' eyes-- and the fact that he just had to bring this up with you right in front of him-- made it clear he wasn't really asking. No mind, Leon would have done it anyway. It just would have been nice to have had a heads up to rectify the state of the apartment. 

"Yeah, of course," Leon nodded gently, stepping aside to allow you and Chris further into the apartment. "Make yourself at home." He caught the way your head tilted up a bit, as if you were studying the scent in the air, and he supposed it made sense that you likely were.

That was four months ago. And for the past four months, Leon quite enjoyed having you around. You were silly and playful, always bounding around the apartment with a toy clenched between your teeth or lounging in the sunny spots in front of the windows, pawing at him for belly rubs and treats and infinite tug-o-war matches. All that being said, you were equally stubborn, resisting him at every turn like magnetic repulsion, always kicking up a fuss seemingly just for the sake of it.

He wasn't sure. You were tough to read. Not only did some of your canine personality traits make you a bit forgetful and distractible at times, but you were also just terribly inconsistent with your affections, and he wasn't always sure what to make of it. All he knew was that he was determined to win you over in one way or another, and if he was going to do that, he'd have to figure you out first, and so far that was shaping up to be quite the herculean task. At least it seemed you would be here for a while. 

With the way he guarded your little treasures during the flight home, one might assume he was smuggling something, but he just couldn't stomach the thought of coming home without something to present to you. The hardened federal agent was determined to crack a smile out of you on his terms, to get you to admit what you both knew to be true. 

You had a crush on him. A big, fat, embarrassingly all-encompassing crush on him, and you rejected the idea of owning up to it so staunchly that it was turning you into a bit of a brat. That was the one thing he could read about you, and it drove you up the wall. 

He certainly wasn't judging you. It would be an absurd lie to say he didn't have a big, fat, embarrassingly all-encompassing crush on you too-- he'd be insane if he didn't. But the back and forth was far too enjoyable, and Leon was always up for a good natured challenge. 

See, self control was something Leon had worked really, really hard to regain a handle on, and when it came to his drinking and brooding, he certainly had... but when it came to you? Not by a longshot. That being said, he would rather be pouring himself into courting you than pouring himself another bourbon. That's what he used to shut up that little voice in the back of his head that questioned whether or not he was putting too much energy into this, banking too much on it. 

It was innocent, right? It's not like you were a bad influence or whatever. If anything, a lot of nights that he would have spent at the bar were instead being spent at home playing with you. Surely that had to be a net positive, especially considering you would have otherwise been getting poked and prodded at in a lab. 

Stepping back into the apartment for the first time in weeks, Leon hadn't even bothered bringing his duffel bag in with him from the car, the only thing in his arms being the wrinkled paper bag from that antique shop. His own belongings could wait. As soon as he shut and locked the door behind him, stepping out of his shoes, the first thing he noticed was how quiet it was. 

No lively music from the shows you liked to watch, no little bumps or growls from you playing toys, no quiet padding of your feet across the hardwood from you coming to see who was at the door. He glanced at his watch, finding it was only half past nine in the evening, and while you often proclaimed to abide by a healthy bedtime for yourself, you had a habit of napping all day and bouncing off the walls all night. Something was amiss.

Stepping further into the apartment to investigate the scene, Leon peered into the living room. The lights were on, the TV was off, there were a few toys strewn about the couch and the floor, but not a glimpse of the sweet puppy who left them there. Odd. Suspicious. Maybe even staged. 

His lips came together in a whistle meant to grab your attention, knowing your sharp ears would hear it from anywhere in the apartment, even if you were sleeping. When that call garnered no response, he began to wonder if you were mad at him. After all, he was supposed to return almost three days ago, and while Chris had been able to stop by and check on you when he had the time, it just wasn't the same, and you didn't do well with loneliness, and Leon knew that. 

Turning on his heel to head deeper into the apartment, he continued to find you nowhere. Not climbing the countertops in the kitchen, or playing under the dining table, or even reluctantly having a bath. As he reached the end of the short hallway, there were only two doors left to open. 

Leon tried another whistle and called out, "Hey, pup? I'm home!" 

He waited, and listened... and heard nothing. Your bedroom door was closed, and it looked like the light was on in there, judging by the subtle glow spilling out beneath it, but still, no response. 

His bedroom door, however, was cracked open. The overhead light was off but the bedside lamp was on, and his dirty laundry basket was tipped over on the floor. When he stepped forward to turn it upright again, he thought he saw the bedding shuffle out of the corner of his eye. Closer inspection of the bed brought the case of his missing puppy girl drew to a close. Your soft tail was peeking out beneath the edge of the covers, the markings and patterns in your fur being undeniably familiar to him now. 

It was perfect timing, really-- he was just about to tip over into the realm of worrying about your safety, but now he was back to just worrying you were mad at him... and he couldn't help the amused grin that tugged at his expression. 

"Is that a little puppy in daddy's bed?" He asked aloud, his tone taking on a smitten and adoring lilt. Once again, he received no response... at least not verbally. Quietly setting down that paper bag, he stood there and watched with his arms crossed as your tail fluttered to life in response to his tone, the tip silently patting the sheets in a lazy and reluctant little wag that you might have actually gotten away with, if it weren't for the fact that your tail was in plain view. 

He was initially going to try a few more times to get a response out of you, hoping to make sure you were okay and to see if you wanted to talk, but he quickly realized that wasn't going to work with you. You weren't all doom and gloom like he tended to be, you were silly, you were playful, you were fundamentally kind. A lighthearted approach wouldn't work with him, or with most of the people he dealt with on a day-to-day basis, but it would almost certainly work with you. 

"Well," Leon stretched his arms up with a dramatic groan, "Since there's no puppies in the bed..."

And then he playfully toppled over the lump in the bedding, bracing himself on his elbows so as not to actually crush you, of course, music to his ears being the muffled squeal of stubborn discontent that sounded out from beneath the covers.

"Leon!" You whined, arms squirming around beneath him in a desperate flurry of moves to find the edge of the blanket, tugging it down to free your face for some air. Soon enough your head poked out from beneath the covers and your eyes were already narrowed into unamused slits at him. 

But that wasn't really what caught his attention about the look on your face. You were panting for breath, your ears flopped back lazily and your hair an absolute mess, your skin hot to the touch and clammy with sweat. Now his eyes were narrowed at you in suspicion, because you were certainly frustrated, just... not the kind of frustrated he was anticipating, if his suspicions were found to be correct. 

"You look guilty," He commented, brow raised as he took you by the chin and tilted your head this way and that, as though in observation. "Why do you look guilty, puppy?" 

"I'm not," You were quick to defend yourself-- much too quick, in Leon's opinion-- and you stubbornly recoiled back from his hand, continuing to squirm and resist beneath him. "You're squishing me!" 

You planted the palm of your hand dead in the center of his face in an attempt to push him away, the bedding slipping further down in the process to reveal your flushed collarbones and shoulders, both of which were bare. Were you naked? In his bed? 

He took you by the wrists to pin your hands down with ease, staring down at you in scrutiny. "Don't lie to me, sweetheart," He said, tone firm, but not unkind. "You're red as a tomato." 

With a stubborn whine, your ears flattened back against your messy head in what could only be read as shame, and that certainly wasn't what he was going for at all, even with the compromising position he had you in at the moment. It was just meant to tease you, but you looked mortified, and he could only imagine why that might be. 

"Puppy," He softened, letting go of your wrists, one hand taking you by the cheek to gently caress you. "You know I can't help you if you don't tell me what's going on." 

Your mouth fell open and then snapped shut again a time or two, a clear indication that you were tripping over your words in search of the right ones. Finally, you managed, "It's... I-It's hot." 

"Then why are you all bundled up, huh?"

You didn't even really need to admit it at this point, because it was clear as day what was going on here-- after all, Chris had warned him this might happen, that hybrids could have... intense reproductive cycles-- but he also wasn't going to push it if you just wanted to ride it out on your own. He wasn't an expert on this, he didn't know exactly what you needed, and he didn't want to overstep and freak you out.

That being said, the thought that you'd retreated to his bedroom, desperate to surround yourself with his belongings in his absence just to cope with being in heat, was a remarkably good one.

This time you didn't seem to have a retort, still writhing under him and trying to push him off of you, which wasn't new behavior for you, though this time he did take it upon himself to give you some space instead of continuing to mess with you. 

"Alright, alright, relax, daddy's not making fun of you--" 

"You're not my daddy," You interjected stubbornly, but just like always, the rosy, searing blush on your face betrayed how you really felt about the topic, even as you added, "Stop trying to make me call you that!" 

Leon dearly and sincerely adored you, that much was to be sure, but your hard-headedness could run him ragged sometimes, when you'd dig your heels in so hard about things that seemed so innocuous. Whether or not you should be expected to call him daddy-- which he regularly enjoyed teasing you about but would never legitimately force you to do-- didn't feel like the biggest issue at hand here. Not by a mile. 

How was he supposed to focus on that when you were just... burning up? Panting for breath and shaking and whining? Oh dear God, this wasn't good, and for as much effort as he was putting into focusing on your wellbeing, it was becoming increasingly difficult not to focus on the way his pants were beginning to feel uncomfortably cozy in the front. He brought one hand down between you to adjust himself only to find he'd unintentionally solicited a faint, but distinctly needy moan from you in the process, presumably because you'd touched you somewhere he hadn't necessarily meant to. 

"G-Go away, Leon," You insisted, eyes screwed shut as you turned your head to the side and maintained that stubborn frown he knew so well on you. "Get off of me!" 

But your tail was wagging in an absolute blur, thumping mindlessly against the damp sheets and knocking in between his knees at an intensity that was impossible to miss. Leon's eyes narrowed and he bared his teeth in an intrigued grin before finally sitting back on his haunches, still straddling you, but at least freeing your upper half. 

"Leon, quit--" 

You poor dear, you were so, so close to finishing that sentence, if only it weren't for the way Leon swung one leg between your own, driving his knee right up to the apex until you felt the muted pressure lavish your clit. Whatever you were about to say fizzled out on your tongue and instead popped out in a string of whimpers, your back arching up off the bed. The movement caused the bedding to slip down just a little bit further, confirming his suspicion that you were in fact naked, at least from the waist up.

Taking the soft globe of your breast into the palm of his hand, Leon let his thumb brush over your already pebbled nipple and asked lowly, "Oh, c'mon, pretty puppy... you're totally sure you don't want daddy's help? I think you're just being fussy..."

Your chest rumbled with a little growl, but it was more of a moan than that, and the fiery glare on your face was the perfect image of it. You were pissed, and quite frankly, it was a good look on you. Maybe even one of his favorites. Suddenly you were baring your teeth at him too, just pretending it was in the opposite way. You were such an open book to him. 

"You're being mean," Huffed the stubborn little puppy, but of course, Leon could be meaner. 

So he was. Leon snatched the covers off the bed in one quick swipe, and what was revealed to him beneath had to have been a thousand times better than anything he might have expected. You were naked, yes, but tangled between your legs was a pair of his sweatpants, undoubtedly retrieved from the depths of the overturned laundry basket, the grey cotton soaked through in patches with slick all over the crotch and thighs. 

Fucking Christ, you weren't just getting off to the thought of him, but also the scent of him, the feeling of his clothes on your skin, and presumably, an idea not unlike what he was already teasing you with; letting you rub one out on his thigh. 

Squishing your cheeks in one hand, he said firmly, "Look at me. Do you honestly feel like I'm being mean to you?" 

There was a pause while you stared at each other, your eyes searching his own skeptically. It didn't really seem he was messing with you, no, in fact he appeared like he really wanted to help you. The back and forth was fun and he enjoyed the little game you'd made out of getting to know each other, but when it came to your comfort and wellbeing, he wasn't interested in being forced to solve puzzles. You couldn't really blame him. 

"N-No," You admitted. 

"Exactly, so just... simmer down, will you?" 

This time Leon didn't give you another chance to tell him to fuck off. He scooped you up at the waist and pulled you to your knees, drawing your body close to his until you were straddling his left thigh. Eyes wide, you stared at him stiffly, like you were too afraid to move. Huffing out a breath, he rolled his eyes with a smirk and gripped your hips, tugging you down until you were finally bearing your weight on him. 

For as fast as your pointed teeth sank into your bottom lip to quiet yourself, it didn't even matter. You still let out a pleasured whine, ears flat against your head and your tail hung low, the tip swishing in a reluctant little wag that patted the outside of his knee with every other beat. 

"You're too precious for your own damn good," He grumbled, thumbs brushing soothing circles into your hips. "Y'know that, pup?"

Breaths falling short, it felt like your head was full of warm mud, teetering for balance on your neck as your upper body tipped forward to grasp at his arms. As expected, Leon caught you effortlessly, steadying you by cupping your face in his hands so he could look you right in your braindead little eyes, your noses almost touching as your tongue lolled out in lazy gasps.

It was obvious he wasn't going to get much more out of you in the way of words at this point, so it was a damn good thing you had that pretty tail knocking about. He figured all that wiggling was the closest he'd get to a literal window into your mind. 

"Go on, then," Leon smoothed your hair away from your sticky forehead, still mindful to hold you upright. His tone was low and, as always, far too sweet for you... but it was so nice, it vibrated down to the base of your spine and made you dizzier. You were just about to fulfill what he was encouraging you to do when he added wryly, "You've already made such a mess, don't get shy on me now." 

A quiet whimper stuttered from your dry throat-- you couldn't sit still anymore, he was being evil and he knew it, downright evil... and you typically would have stuck up your nose at him and brooded on it for a while, but you didn't even have the strength of mind for that at the moment. You hardly even realized you were already rocking your hips back and forth against the clothed meat of his thigh, nails threatening to snap under the pressure as they begged to sink past his shirt and into his muscles. 

It was pleasant, sure, but it wasn't nearly enough, especially not after hours and hours and hours of tossing and turning in his bed, rubbing yourself nearly numb with your fingers and your toys and his pillows and his clothes, aching for something tangible and warm to nurse the pain away. You let your forehead rest against his own for a moment to catch your breath, hoping to find the right angle, but you just weren't getting what you needed, and the frustration alone made your glassy eyes sting with the threat of tears. 

That just wouldn't do. 

"Oh, you really made a mess, didn't you, sweet girl?" Leon cooed sympathetically, shushing your delicate cries. Thumbs skimming over your burning cheeks, he asked quietly and carefully, "Why don't you let daddy lick it up, hm?" 

Your expression scrunched up in a weak pout and your empty little head bobbed up and down in an airy nod, and just as soon as you gave him that go-ahead, he was moving to make it so. You were on your back in seconds, Leon's broad hands spreading your plush thighs apart to make space for himself between them, and for as cool and composed as he was trying to appear right now, he couldn't help the low moan that made it past him just at the sight of you. 

Sure, he'd seen more than enough by now to guess that you were wet, but you weren't just wet, you were dripping all over yourself. It was all he could do to collect as much of you on his tongue as possible, groaning at the taste and dragging you closer by your hips until he was as close as he could get, the tip of his nose buried against the curls at the lowest point of your mound as he lapped you up with abandon.

You were writhing and crying, legs kicking out at the stimulation before drawing back up to dig into his shoulders and pull him further into you, into the mess of you. He'd managed to find it somehow, to become that something tangible and warm and redefine it, unraveling you from the root with a sanguine sense of desperation that was tempered by his undying commitment to treating you like you were made of glass. 

Your tail was curling up tight against the base of your spine, your chest was heaving for breath, you couldn't keep your eyes open anymore, and he hardly could either. 

But he also couldn't stand not to. If you had the capacity to pay attention to small details, you might have noticed his eyes were just as bleary and drunk as yours were. Leon recorded your every movement in his mind like scripture from this angle, his own hips rutting down into the bed while yours bucked into his mouth, and it was only when he found the strength to pull away for air that he found a moment to reorient himself in reality. 

His lips were puffy, rosy, and slick with you as he caught his breath, two fingers toying with your puffy, aching clit in the absence of his tongue. It was almost like muscle memory for him to reach up with his free hand and pat your belly, an affectionate hum ringing from him at the near-immediate reaction it got out of you, even in a state like this. You were squirming and arching beneath him as your quivering body fought to determine priority over the attention brought by either hand, a rather endearing dilemma to have found yourself in. 

"Oh, my poor baby," Leon preened, lavishing the inside of your right thigh with kisses. "You're so cute..." 

Unable to help himself from letting you have the best of both forms of pampering, he replaced the tips of his fingers with his tongue yet again, freeing both hands to pet your soft tummy. The movements were lazy, but sure enough, your tail was going off as fast as it could while you laid there shivering and whining and clawing at him, tumbling over the edge into release before you could come up with a way to warn him first. 

As if he would have cared anyway. A warning wouldn't have changed anything. Hell, it might have even spoiled what turned out to be a dizzying moment of unabashed indulgence for him. 

Gentle, adoring hands kneading delicately at all your favorite spots, Leon willfully deprived himself of oxygen in pursuit of every drop of your syrup as it flowed from you, knowing he would come to regret being wasteful later if this should turn out to be a one-time thing. He lost himself to the throes of hedonism for several drawn out moments until he was confident you were licked clean, until he came to again and realized you had gone completely limp in the wake of your expenditure. 

Rolling over onto his back, Leon spread out just as bonelessly across the bed as you did, the both of you a sorry sight of sweat and heat. He spent several minutes trying to find a way to break the silence. With the haze of lust wearing off a bit and clearing up space in his mind for more intelligent processes, Leon was already beginning to dread the inevitable conversation this would warrant between the two of you.

Lucky for him, that was so far outside of the realm of your current train of thought... or lack thereof. You certainly felt better, but that didn't mean your brain wasn't mud anymore. Little else mattered to your muggy, muddled mind but the here and now. 

In an unexpected move, you rolled onto your side to rest your head against his chest. The way you struggled to meet his eyes was enough for him to know you were likely still struggling to talk, or maybe you just didn't really want to, but the olive branch you'd extended demonstrated your agreeable state, which was more than he could've said for you half an hour ago. 

Shit, half an hour ago he was still hoping a couple presents from his trip would win your affections, yet here he was with the taste of you lingering on his lips, your naked body curled up to him for comfort. 

Wrapping his arm tightly around you until you were tucked up comfortably into his side, Leon rested his chin atop your head and mumbled fondly, "What am I gonna do with you, huh? Can't even sleep in my own bed after a long mission 'cause this pretty little puppy made such a big mess... I hope you know how to work the washing machine."

[meleeyz]

┈﹒ ꒰ 𝗚𝗢𝗟𝗗𝗘𝗡 𝗖𝗔𝗚𝗘, 𝑝𝑎𝑟𝑡 𝑜𝑛𝑒 ꒱

ekko 𝒙 fem!reader

୨୧ English is not my first language, so I regret in advance if something reads weird or is misspelled

୨୧ Perhaps this is too dramatic for some ;)

₊˚ ✧ ‿︵‿୨୧‿︵‿ ✧ ₊˚

Night in Piltover was quiet elegance, the kind that dripped with wealth and feigned perfection. Stars winked above, their light reflected by the towering spires and crystalline windows of the city. But tonight, amidst the gleaming grandeur, a soft tension thrummed in the cool air. Beneath the golden glow of lanterns, your white dress shimmered like starlight incarnate, its delicate embroidery and flowing silk whispering wealth and purity. You felt like an angel about to take a leap into the unknown—or a cage.

Inside the grand church, the air was heavy with anticipation. The pews were filled with Piltie elite, their fine attire and sparkling jewels a contrast to the warmth you wished for but couldn’t find. Beside you stood your almost-husband, the epitome of Piltover’s carefully curated perfection. He smiled at you, his expression more practiced than earnest, as if your presence were just another acquisition in his long list of accomplishments.

You hated it.

Your heart didn’t flutter for him. It raced for someone else—a boy who shouldn’t even have made it to this part of the city. Ekko. The name was like a secret melody in your mind, one only you could hear.

He wasn’t here yet, but he’d promised he’d come. He’d promised to take you away from this sham of a life, from this hollow marriage and suffocating world of pristine surfaces and rotting cores.

Yet, as you waited, time ticked on mercilessly.

Across the street, atop a marble rooftop, Ekko crouched in the shadows, barely breathing. From his perch, the church looked unreal, like something out of a fairy tale he’d long stopped believing in. And there you were at its heart, radiant in your white dress.

His “Firefly.”

You glowed brighter than anything he’d ever seen in Zaun. Brighter than the neon signs that buzzed and sputtered in the Sump, brighter than the firelight his crew wielded against the darkness. You weren’t just his light; you were his hope. And that terrified him.

What was he doing here? How could he possibly ask you to leave this behind—to leave safety, luxury, and a future so carefully paved for you? What could he give you, really? A life in the Undercity, filled with danger and constant struggle? A target painted on your back because of who he was and what he fought for?

Ekko’s fists clenched at his sides, his nails digging into his palms. He’d planned it all out—how he’d swoop in, crash the wedding, and take you with him. But now, paralyzed by his own doubts, all he could do was watch as your future was written without him.

Inside the church, your heart thudded painfully against your ribs. Every second that passed chipped away at the fragile hope you clung to.

“Are you all right, my dear?” your fiancé asked, his tone smooth but empty. It was the voice of someone who didn’t really care for the answer.

“I’m fine,” you replied, though your throat felt tight, and your words came out more brittle than you intended.

His brow arched slightly, and a polite chuckle escaped his lips.

“Are you waiting for someone?”

You froze, your mind racing for a lie.

“No,” you said quickly, shaking your head. “Just…nerves.”

If he saw through you, he didn’t show it. Instead, he nodded, his focus already drifting back to the priest at the altar.

“Speak now or forever hold your peace,” the priest intoned, his voice echoing through the cavernous space.

Your breath caught, your fingers curling into the delicate fabric of your dress. This was it. This was the moment. You turned toward the church doors, your eyes scanning the shadows outside for any sign of him.

Please, Ekko. Please don’t let me make this mistake.

But all you saw was the flicker of green light, distant and fleeting.

He was gone.

Ekko didn’t dare look back.

His hoverboard zipped through the alleyways, a glowing streak in the dark. Every instinct screamed at him to turn around, to run back into that church and fight for you, to whisk you away like he’d promised. But he couldn’t do it. He wasn’t good enough, wasn’t strong enough, wasn’t enough.

“She deserves better,” he muttered under his breath, his voice cracking. “She deserves better than me.”

His words rang hollow, and the weight of them nearly made him falter. But the hoverboard carried him forward, away from the world you belonged to and deeper into the place he called home.

Your heart shattered, splintering into a thousand jagged pieces as you realized he wasn’t coming. He had left you here, in this gilded prison, to face a future you didn’t want.

The priest’s words barely registered as he continued the ceremony, and when your fiancé slipped the ring onto your trembling finger, you didn’t protest. What was the point?

Yet, as you repeated the vows, your voice was hollow. The promises felt like lies falling from your lips, each one carving another scar into your heart.

In that moment, you hated Ekko. You hated him for giving you hope, for making you believe there was something more, for making you love him so deeply that the absence of him felt like drowning. But more than that, you hated yourself for still loving him, even now.

₊˚ ✧ ‿︵‿୨୧‿︵‿ ✧ ₊˚

[lovelyyandereaddictionpoint]

Platonic Yandere Sea Monster

The ocean is a dangerous entity 

Known for her high waves, immeasurable depths, and eternal mysteries

She entices millions into her cold embrace every day

Many of whom are devoured by said mysteries leaving no trace

One of its greatest mysteries is a creature who’s been roaming beneath the surface of the earth for eons

So it truly is a special occasion that Maelstrom breaks this streak for a feast on a private yacht 

It’s far too easy how this new (to him) bipedal species gawks and helplessly flails while he sucks the bones out of their soft skin

He doesn’t care for the soft innards that the skin holds 

He does like how their screams gurgle and warble as he delights in their crunchy bones

So he makes it his mission to devour or turn into water 

And he’s sure that he’s done so with all of the little crunchy snack bags on the ship

Until he’s led into a cramped little closet with a tiny version of the springy boxes he’d found before

On it was a wailing babe—you

Now that he’s recognized 

Because for all the different species evolution has brought it a crying infant was a common denominator

And you were crying hard

Whether you were the sibling or offspring of some ill-thinking teen or an overworked employee of the crew the one who was going to care for you was gone

And Maelstorm knew that

On the account that he’s certain he’d still be hearing your incessant crying on the entirely silent yacht, he molds his water-like body into something more like the ‘human skin bags’ 

Letting his face bulge and bubble with the vague memory of his meal’s screaming faces until you stop crying

“There…there…my pearl.”

It’s been so long since he’s been awake to have a pet 

Surely it won’t be too hard

…right?

“Aaaaghh!”

“You’re not hungry, you’re not sleepy, you’ve already gone to the bathroom! WHAT IS IT!?”

He’s never been so stressed out 

Stressed out trying to stop your little face from contorting anymore as you empty your little lungs and exhaust your little vocal cords

He eventually decides he does need help and uses one of the less rotted bodies to go on land and learn among these skin bags so that he knows what to do

“Oh poor sir looks like they’re just hungry for some warm hugs.”

“Is that…really all?”

“Why of course! Babies really hinge on your emotions and attention.”

After he takes in the ‘nurse’s’ wisdom he begins to feel something new 

Something full of jealousy that has him snatching your swaddled form before giving a light pat that turns her into a puddle on the floor

Maelstorm easily finds another skin-bag with a nice face to take the body of 

Leaving with a skip in his step while the ‘skin-bags’ authorities baffled over the only remnant of a missing ‘nurse’

“I see now to avoid this awful feeling I must make sure all my affection is being given to my pearl.”

From there you can be sure that you’re entire life will be filled with Maelstorm learning about the negative emotions he can get as you grow

True there will be many positive feelings 

But he learns that to protect those precious new feelings 

Barricading you on abandoned ships and attacking all the skin-bags that come to keep it that way

And even when you grow into the adults he’d previously snacked on

He won’t completely leave humans alone

He pulls back on this snacking habit only because he sees more of you in them

But he’s not going to stop eating them 

Especially when he finds your attention drifting from him as you crave more socialization 

“As far as I’m concerned all we need is each other. Now do I have to eat this entire village or will you go back to our boat?”

[hatsukeii]

tip-toe (take me back to the ground) / timeskip!iwaizumi hajime x reader

genre(s): domestic iwa omg... fluff!! very soft, straight up sensual fluff!! iwa is hot!! iwa is romantic!! iwa is good at many many things, and good WITH many many things too!! im rotting in bed thinking about what could be one day ngl

warning(s): he's very handsy let's just say that... so suggestive warning!! no explicit nsfw, gn reader, but this will get decently/pretty suggestive towards the end u have been warned:)

wc: ~1.4k

tldr; Iwaizumi Hajime wants dinner (you)

Iwaizumi Hajime likes to come home to the golden glow of table lamps, fluttering wisps of fire on the wicks of cinnamon candles on spice shelves, and a vinyl playing beneath the needle of a record player on the coffee table of his living room. It's not an extraordinarily good record player. Sometimes the pitch wavers uncertainly, almost like when the service drops on a video call and the other person's voice suddenly drops half an octave. Occasionally, the needle skips a note and adds a fleeting pop to whatever song is playing on the record, like when a few embers of a fire crackle a little louder than the rest. Whenever he hears the record player, and the muffled hums from somewhere else that fill in the jumps and correct the warped melodies from the grooves of the vinyl, Hajime feels like having dinner.

When Iwaizumi Hajime stands over the stovetop of his kitchen, sleeves of whatever top he's wearing rolled halfway up his forearms, he listens for something beyond the scratchy song from the vinyl across the living room. He squeezes a few rings of oil into a pan, and pretends to press down on the ignition at the sound of carefully muted tiptoes against wooden floorboards. Hajime is unfazed when a pair of arms slither across his stomach, and cross at his chest, but he smiles at the sensation anyways. Beneath the guise of diffused cinnamon candles, he smells soap and laundry. By how a pair of loose short sleeves slide down your arms to bare your biceps to him, he knows that you're wearing one of his freshly washed t-shirts, and pulling his back closer against your body.

"I'm sweaty, love."

"Good, you know I like it."

If you creep up on Iwaizumi Hajime, clad in slippers and his t-shirt, he can blame nothing but his inhibitions when he abandons the empty pan, and lazily turns to hold you instead. Your arms travel up his back now, hands feeling for every groove around his shoulders, the dip of his spine, the hairs that line his nape. Hajime's fingers reach beneath your shirt for your hip bones, and the record player in the background pops a note. He sinks his palms into the flesh of your waist, pushes you close until he's certain you will melt into him. His thumbs massage the outskirts of your stomach, drawing the scales and arpeggios from the song on the vinyl into your skin, and he begins to sway and step in tandem with the music that fills the room. You press your ear to his chest, synchronise your heartbeats with his own that pulses through your ears and sends your mind into a golden haze. Your feet step from side to side with him, and suddenly, Iwaizumi Hajime is slow dancing in his kitchen with you, instead of having dinner like he initially planned to.

"Missed you all day." He mumbles into the top of your head, lips against your hair.

"I know, missed you too, Hajime." You speak it into his heart through his clothed ribcage.

The song on the record player fizzles out into its next track, one that plays out in piano keys that staccato across rocks in a creek, saxophone that glides like a breeze over the surface of still water, barely causing a ripple, flutes that fly past a waterfront like birds that soar above the earth in bimbling chirps.

Iwaizumi Hajime then decides he wants a little more than just dinner.

His hands push past your waist to your ribs, fingers splaying across the two sides of your back and palms lying flat against the sides of your chest. His vision spins and flips when you sigh against his ribcage, whole body flinching at his sudden advance. He relaxes into your embrace even more, shoulders loosening and hunching into you. He feels your body shift by the way his hands seem to move up with you, and your lips leave their mark on the right side of his neck. You nibble at his skin, and the record player jumps a note again, like a flat stone skipping past the surface of quiet waters. Hajime's throat gives out, a full hum vibrating through his Adam's apple, and your lips curl into a smile against his pulse. He thinks he wants this more than dinner.

You don't realise you are stepping backwards until your heel hits the base of your kitchen island, one of Hajime's hands now settled on the small of your lower back to cushion the impact of the cold countertop. It doesn't matter anymore, really, when Iwaizumi Hajime finally dips down to catch your lips in his own, giving his dinner a first taste. Your eyes flutter close, lashes tickling his cheeks as he sinks himself further into you. Your hands grip the edge of the counter now, steadying yourself so your knees don't give out and collapse beneath you. Hajime kisses slow, but pervasive. He finds every inch of your mouth, swipes his tongue across your bottom lip, swallows your stutters by pushing even harder. Something is off with the track in the background, perhaps the needle is wearing out with how every second note seems to warp and crackle. But you're pressed up against the kitchen counter, Hajime's hands feeling for every inch of your body, so you don't really have half a mind to care about the record player right now.

Strong arms pull you up and onto the countertop, and you part your legs to let Hajime settle between them. You sit taller than he stands here, head angled downwards to meet his own. He is completely at your mercy, and he surrenders his control to you. Your hands grab at the back of his neck, pulling him into you as if he can get any closer than this. Iwaizumi Hajime is content with slow dancing, lingering touches, patient kisses. But he sighs into your mouth. You cut him off by nibbling on his lip. And when he pulls away for air, he thinks you've forced him to want more.

The song fades out into the space of the living room. The water is still again, and the moon invites itself into the scene, painting the notes that still hang in the silence a misty silver.

Your vision soaks in Hajime's expression. His eyes are lidded, half-open, yet something glimmers in his irises that travel across every detail of your face. His cheeks are stained red, the tips of his ears even more so. A glossy sheen of saliva coats the entirety of him mouth, and the skin around it too. You bring a thumb to his mouth, and wipe away at the edges of his lips with the pad of your fingertip. Looking down on Iwaizumi Hajime is not something most have the privilege of doing, and you bask in every second that he stares up at you, as if there is nothing in this lifetime that will be better than the view from below. Your hands hold his face now, fingers running themselves through his hair. He shivers at your touch, dips his head into the crook of your neck. You rub and scratch at his scalp, handfuls of soft hair brushing and pressing against your palms.

"So good to me. Too good."

"Want me to fix up dinner for you, Hajime?"

The record player doesn't make a sound. Night has settled, birds hide away in the branches of trees, the breeze smooths over the surface of the water, rocks and stones sit in the riverbed, unmoving, grounded.

When Iwaizumi Hajime separates his face from your neck, he thinks to himself, one day, I'll put a diamond on that pretty little ring finger. You continue to thread your fingertips through his hair, when he pulls you back for another kiss. This is softer, but you can tell that he is getting hungrier. He moves teasingly slow, almost agonising. His lips are hot against yours, warm breaths from his nose fanning across your cheek, and you don't miss the way his hand slides from your waist to the inside of your thigh. A finger slips beneath the hem of your shorts, pinching and tugging down at the fabric. You wrap your legs around his chest, and he pushes them apart again, holding them in place with his rough palms.

Fuck a dinner, Iwaizumi Hajime wants you instead.

"Gonna take you to the moon tonight, love."

author's note:

yall iwa is so sexy... i can't help it... i've never felt compelled to write anything overtly physical or suggestive but for iwaizumi hajime 27 athletic trainer i felt many many things... i need him sb and i hope that you do too after reading this because i need people to understand how FERAL i am for this man ;P

anyways tags!!

@catsoupki @akaakeis @staraxiaa @chuuya-brainrot @hiraethwa @4ngelfries @bailey-reeds @fiannee @stars-tonight @wyrcan

ok love u all bye bye muah see u next fic

[naffeclipse]

Sea Tears

Reader x Selkie!Moon

Commission Info

Thank you to the darling @cipher-the-sidhe for commissioning me to write about Selkie!Moon! The setting and the scenario are absolutely delightful. It's a shame I haven't written a selkie until now but I'm so glad I finally did!

Content Warning for mild injury and blood.

———

You tread carefully through the salt-tinged darkness and listen. A low hum plays along the moonbeams brightening the Salish Sea coast in an ancient voice you cannot translate. The fish and the seals might understand it as it thrums like insects on the wind or the constant, murmuring dance of the waves. You wonder if it is simply the sea. Perhaps it is something hidden along the dark inky waters now softly lapping up in the high tide.

Bends and sharp juts of coves shelter the rocky beaches. Further inland, a dense forest of coniferous evergreens conceal the beautiful shore and thrive in high levels of salt spray. You descend to the water, minding every step knowing that a slick, ocean-stained rock could easily lead you into a stumble and your head could crack open like an egg on the wave-smooth stones. 

These beaches are not for sunbathing and sand castles. They are to stand and admire the great breath of the Salish Sea and the bumps of crags lining the dark teal ocean—if the mist and cold don’t form an avid deterrent.

You rub your arms over the sleeves of your jacket and breathe a crisp scent. Driftwood dots the edge of land and water, and heaps of bull kelp sway farther out in the sea, lurking like guardians just along the surface to whatever might wander from the depths. 

Tonight, the fog is wonderfully parted by the silver-fingered light of the full moon. You scan the crevices in between dark, angled but blunt rocks, seeking the smooth fragments of seashells. In your years, you have rarely discovered a whole heart cockle or horse clam shell. There are only remnants of what was whole. 

The sand is firm and brown. The water gushes between stones before receding gently back with a frothy lace edge, bubbling and tumbling over itself just to do it all over again. You spy a fragment of a castoff shell, bleached and pale. You bend carefully down to scoop up its shard like a piece missing from a puzzle you wish to finish.

You hold it between your fingers. A curve or perhaps half of a spiral of a shell, sculpted by the waves now, softened by the time of being broken. Still, it is beautiful.

Carefully, you straighten while you slip it into your pocket. A soft understanding fills you to the bottom of your rib cage. A kinship, perhaps. You cast your eyes around you for a moment, admiring the moonlight until it shines upon a texture that is not often found here. 

Fur. Silver and speckled in blue-gray, it sits, slumped and hunched between two rocks, lying lifeless.

A seal. The dawning comes upon you in a moment of the rushing tide, and then, your feet are moving towards it. Your heart twists while you watch it sharply. How it could be so still and thin? Is it injured? You don’t have your phone with you—you left it in the car parked beside the oceanside road. Who would you call? Wildlife service? Perhaps it’s already too late.

No. You pray it isn’t.

You weave between sand and stones. Where the unmoving figure lies is thick with rocks, with almost no beach to speak of other than what is buried beneath. Your sandals slip on the slick edges of the rugged terrain. Wobbling, you catch yourself before you sling your body along a craggy boulder. You pass over the harsh edges and corners of the rocky shore, almost within reach. The fur hasn’t moved an inch at your rash approach. Your throat bobs for a moment in the horror of coming upon a long rotted seal—then your sandal-clad foot slips. 

A whip of sea and wind, and you fall. You throw your elbow down to catch you and it scraps sharply down the side of rough rock. You gasp when you bounce and slide, splashing into a thin strip of the tide slipping between cracks and crevices, but hold your chin high, away from any fatal head injuries.

You inhale slowly, eyes wide in the relief that you are not currently dripping your brains out of your skull like spilled yoke. A thin, stinging pain erupts along your forearm. Prying yourself off of the ground, watching where you place your feet, you get back up. A glance at the fur confirms it is still there. Slowly, you twist your arm to examine a fine, ragged cut slicing towards your wrist. A mix of sand, salt water, and blood spread across your skin. 

You breathe as it flares with pain. You close your eyes and convince yourself that you’ll clean and bandage it once you get back to your car.

First, the seal.

You lower your arm. Blood drops into the water as you at last reach the two stones the fur is wedged between, and tentatively, you reach out with the vain hope it might be warm and move with life. Your fingers stroke over the beautifully silver shade of the coat, dappled with blue-gray markings and a few, lovely rings at the end. But strangely, it’s cool with mist and bunched like fabric. Your mind turns the conundrum over slowly as if examining a broken seashell before you tug on it, higher, higher, until you hold in your hand the thin skin of a seal.

A pelt.

There is no blood, sinew, or otherwise, much to your relief. It carries a smooth sleekness on its underside. The strangeness of it tugs at a part of your mind, a memory of folklore and tales spoken around a table late at night. The beautiful pelt fills your vision with its starry silver shade and the Pacific ocean-deep hue of its markings. Carefully, as if handling platinum and sapphires, you caress the fur with the back of your fingers. A drop of blood from your arm threatens to stain it and you quickly shift the hide to your clean arm. You can’t ruin this beautiful coat with your crimson.

You lift your head. You gaze out over the ocean, rippling with the incandescence of the moon upon its onyx surface. Your heart bobs within you. Your eyes seek, and your ears strain.

The hum of the ocean which has filled you since you first arrived in the darkness grows. It is no longer a muffled, soft sound carried from behind closed lips but a soft melody lifted upon a voice. It rises to the sky. Over the driftwood and waves, you turn to face it, clutching the seal skin to your chest.

A man sings.

A part of you, undeniable and filled with longing, strides towards it. Following the curve of the rocky beach, you watch your every step. A plea in your core echoes with the desire to find the one singing. The crystal vibrations of the siren call rings through your bones. 

A rocky cove crops up on the side of a bluff, cutting off the beach but resuming with a swell of the tide into its darkened alcove. Once you near the mouth, you stop to bask in the lovely timbre. 

Then, with your fingers tangled in the soft, sleek fur of the seal pelt, you stand upon a rock just out of reach of the oceanic tide and peer into the cove.

In the glow of the night, a man stands in the icy shallows. You can only gaze at his striking figure wrapped in moonbeams. He steps lightly, his movement rhythm. The water ripples softly underneath him. He waves his arms, his limbs flowing over his head and down, like a wind sweeping the rocks and ushering the mist higher onto land. He turns, and one leg sweeps over the inky surface before stepping back. 

His body is long-limbed and slender, blue-gray like the speckles on the fur you hold. Upon his face is a marking of a silver crescent. His rich copper eyes flash in the dimness and are half-lidded in his homage to the great sea. Your breath stalls in your throat caught upon his visage. His face is wide and flat. Draping behind his head is an appendage much like a seal tail, an even darker blue with spots of glimmering silver-like stars.

His voice carries a song you have no name for but that which you hold only the most reverence in its echo. Your lips part unwittingly in adoration. He sings to himself and dances to an audience of the black sky filled with the moon.

But you twitch a hand forward as if you might catch a note of his lullaby and cradle it close to your chest. The man’s head snaps towards you. You freeze.

In a second of time and starlight, he holds your gaze, and you slip into the coppery irises that fill his wide eyes. His attention slips to what you clutch. You glance down, admiring the fur anew before you find your voice, hollowed and soft.

“Is this yours?” you ask.

The man stares, motionless like the bluffs the waves beat against. A few heartbeats pass within you. The man gently dips his head. The tail on the back of his head sways slightly like a nightcap.

“It is,” he speaks. “Please return it to me. I cannot return to the sea and my brothers without my coat.”

His voice rasps through the salty air and brushes the shell of your ear as if he whispered it to you. 

The word emerges in your mind like the fall of dusk. Selkie. One who has shed his fur to take a faintly human form under the full moon. The tales you’ve caught murmurs of were always of women, beautiful and naked, who begged for their seal skin back but spent the rest of their days held captive by the man who kept it hidden, forced to become a bride and carry his children.

An ache takes over your heart at such a cruel fate.

You answer with a gentle, “Of course.”

You slowly step into the icy waters. A shiver rolls up your body and you catch your tongue between your teeth to keep from gasping out at the shock of the brine. The selkie watches you, his eyes unreadable, his hands poised with his fingers half furled—as if you intend to dangle his seal skin in front of him before yanking it out of reach.

“I’m sorry,” you breathe. You wade far less gracefully in the echoes of his dance and song to reach him under the cove’s mouth, “I didn’t intend to keep it. I only meant to return it to you.”

You find the truth along your tongue. Even if you didn’t catch a glimpse of his beautiful melody, you would have left the coat where it lay, too afraid of stranding a selkie without her or his skin.

He says nothing until you present it to him. Carefully, you hold it out to him and his long fingers grasp it. A soft breath leaves him. His shoulders lower while he turns his coat over and examines it, stroking the fine fur before leveling an unreadable gaze over you. You’re small before his tall figure. You feel clumsy and cumbersome in comparison to his lissom body. 

A true selkie, right before your eyes.

“So you did,” he at last murmurs as if he were dreaming. His copper eyes glide over you. His blue-gray body shimmers with a galaxy-like illumination. He carefully folds his coat over his arm before holding out his other hand and bidding you closer. “Come here. Sit with me.”

You stare at his offered palm. A few thoughts cross your mind of danger and temptation, a selkie ready to snatch away an unwary human, but would he have asked you so kindly? You slide your fingers into his grasp. He holds your hand before gently tugging you down until you cross your legs and sit in the icy cove water beside him.

“Is it true?” you ask, then flush slightly with the bluntness of your voice echoing in the alcove.

He tilts his head at you, the appendage at the back of his head slipping over your shoulder. His silence coaxes you softly into asking, “Do humans really steal the coats of selkies and force them into marriage?”

The selkie’s eyes lower, somber, before he dips his chin. “It is true. But not always.” His eyes find yours and hold them softly.

He has yet to release your hand, but slowly, he lifts your wrist and turns it slowly. You almost forget the sting until the sight of the bloody cut down your arm strikes you once more. Your lips twist at the sight, glancing at the selkie and fearing his judgment. How human you are, bleeding in his ocean.

“What did this?” he asks in a low voice, his eyes outlining the edges of your wound.

“A fall,” you say sheepishly, “I thought your coat was an injured seal.”

A laugh, rolling and deep, loosens from his lips. A not unwelcome shudder fills you in the sound. Mischievous and sincere, all at once.

“You must be more careful,” he says, his laughter dying as he leans closer.

You curl your fingers. Pressing back in the slightest as he hovers over your torn flesh, you hushly ask his name.

But he doesn’t answer. You watch in the quiet of the tide as the selkie blinks, and a tear falls onto your sliced forearm. A soft tingle spreads through your flesh. You glance down, and another tear falls, mingling with the sand and ocean salt, but the tingling becomes a gentle sensation knitting and stitching the skin together. In stunned silence, you observe seven tears in total bind your wound as if you never fell.

“This is my thanks for returning my coat.” The selkie releases your arm to gently wash it with a touch of brackish water. Blood and sand wash away, leaving your skin as it once was. He lifts his head and smiles. “I am Moon, and I must go.”

“Oh.” The sound is so small coming from you. “Moon…”

You echo your name. It feels so weak in comparison to his, but he takes it within his mouth and he sings it once. Your heart bobs within your chest as if floating upon a storm-tossed sea. 

“Goodbye,” he rasps. He holds your gaze, soft as seafoam, and tugs his coat over his body. He slips down into the water. A flick of velvet flippers emerges, and a large seal lifts his head above water. 

You gaze at the beautiful copper eyes of the seal. Whiskers twitch and a wet nose presses closer to you. Slowly, carefully, you stretch your fingers and stroke the soft fur of his head. Your palm runs down the slippery slope of his neck to his strong, blubbered back. The selkie holds beautifully still.

“Goodbye, Moon,” you whisper.

The selkie eyes upturn, somehow grinning in an animal form. In a sharp splash, he turns and dives into the water. The sleek dappled fur of his pelt mingles with the moonlight reflecting upon the black ocean before the waves reclaim one of its own. 

You stay in the cove for a time you cannot account for, watching the waters, wishing to catch the echo of his song just one last time.

Gradually, like the moon beginning to shift across the darkness, you get to your feet. Water splashes back into the cove. Your heart grows heavy and forlorn, and you rub your fingertips together as if still stroking his fur.

Perhaps you might return in search of broken seashells but find the selkie again.

[lethalchiralium]

The Death of Peace of Mind | Happiness Series

a/n: i love u, have some escapism (also PLEASE roast the shit out of this like you’re in my creative writing class, thank u love u)

warnings: violence, blood

PREVIOUS <<|>> NEXT | SERIES MASTERLIST

There’s a stark difference in the snow on the ground in this forest than the snow back home in Maine. When you were little, you used to sit on the stoop of your parents’ house, bundled to the nines and your little hand holding fistfuls of powdery snow. You could look around and see saplings for miles, ready to be chopped and loaded onto a truck that would merrily lead you back to the main city - needles greener than the grass in summer, full of life and dusted with the white snow. Your dad would gently pet your head before sauntering down the steps, getting ready to head to the markets for the day. You waved, snow decorating your hand as you’d watch the old truck hobble down the driveway and disappear into the grown trees.

You used to find the snow beautiful, something to look forward to seeing every year so your mom could decorate for Christmas with the colorful lights you always liked.

All these memories seemed to cling like maggots to rotting flesh, only coming to surface when it finds a new wound to sink its teeth into.

This snow is bitter here, clinging like cigarette smoke to the jacket you snatched from the floor. It danced on your lashes, made its home in your hair, settled softly on your daughter’s head. Your stomach felt like lead, legs ready to give out at any second as you kept going as fast as you could. You used to be able to run efficiently in the snow, but now, you struggled. You ran and dodged low limbs, tried not to tumble down small hills as fear held a tight grasp on your throat.

Lloyd would wake up soon, he would see you gone and raise the alarm. You only had so little time to find some sort of shelter that wasn’t the decrepit cabin you were held in, you had to find a phone that wasn’t busted, you had to just get as far from that fuck as you could. You couldn’t even spend any energy on what almost happened thirty minutes earlier, couldn’t think of anything but hurting your kidnapper; the only strength you had was to make sure Mellie would live. You glanced down at her, her little brown eyes looking up at you with a weak glare that could send you to your knees at home. But this wasn’t home, this was miles from it, and you and your child were only a few hundred yards escaped from death’s door - not under your comforter at home, nursing her high fever. You were desperate for your husband at that moment, begging God with every second breath to bring him to you. He would know what to do, he would take your daughter away from this place.

Snow crackled underneath your feet as you kept going, the brunt of the wind hit your face like a train but you kept going. Your arms were taut around Mellie, keeping the oversized jacket around her whimpering frame. The sky was a light shade of blue, the trees danced beneath its breath, the only shelter you could find was down the mountain. You already felt like you’ve scale half of it, but you were far from close - you coming up to a sloped edge now, your feet slowed so you could peer over the edge. It was steep but you could slide down, there was another ledge, then another stretch of snow covered hills as you descended. You had no idea where you were, but you knew this had to be hell.

Tree after tree, boulder after iced over creek, your exhaustion was catching up but there was no way you would stop. There is no stop. There is no slowing down. There is only your daughter’s escape, even if means you don’t make it out.

Stop it. Winnie and Simon need you too.

What little path you had began to narrow, your fingers felt even colder than before as you came to a split in the road. You went right, knowing any trick you could play now wouldn’t work out because of the damn snow. Breathing harder every second, your vision seemed to fade in and out - Keep going.

The sound of your name being screamed at the top of Lloyd’s lungs felt like a gunshot to the chest.

Every muscle in your body seemed to roar to life, even with the snow slowing you down, you kept pushing on. Mellie whined into your collarbone, your hands burned. There was barely any indication of where the road was, you couldn’t follow the asshole’s car path because they would have been able to catch up quickly. The path was running out of terrain as another edge appeared, this one seemed like a steep drop off. You skidded to a stop, looking to a thick pine tree nearby, looking down at your daughter and making a quick decision to hide her. Ripping off your jacket, you bundled her up, and moved into the tree - digging out a small hole in the small heap of pine needles, you kissed Mellie’s face and sat her there.

There was no way out, you knew that. You would have to fight your way out - the thought clawed at your stomach the same way betrayal felt. Because you were here alone, the promise your husband made left shards of glass in your face and hands.

You will stand your ground if it meant Lloyd couldn’t have your daughter.

“Princess, you need t’sit.”

Simon pushed your frantic body towards the park bench, his guiding hand seemed too warm against your lower back. Sobs kept escaping your lips, even as you were trying desperately to silence them. “I don’t- I don’t know what’s- what’s- happening-“

“Sit.” Following his lead, you found yourself hyperventilating on a park bench after dark with your husband. He tore off his face mask, his hand cupping your cheek to make you look at him. “You feel m’hand, yeah?”

You nodded, a hiccup left your hips before another sob escaped too, your eyes closed as you tried to stop these random tears.

“No, you need to look at me, I can’t help you if you don’t look at me, love.” His voice was calm, a nudge to help you, you opened your eyes with a quickness - lashes fluttering to fight the salty tears. “Good girl. Tell me somethin’ about m’face.”

“Wha-What?”

“Do it.”

You sniffled, trying to take a deeper breath but your chest only seemed to constrict itself. More tears fell as you whispered, “You- You have pretty eyes.”

“Tell me something about m’clothes.”

A glance down, leather jacket, black t-shirt, blue jeans. “Leather jacket.”

“Good girl. How does my hand feel?”

Warm. Comforting. Like if you’d let go, he’d still be there, keeping you afloat. More tears fell. “Like home.”

“What do you hear?”

Dogs howling down the street, the brakes of the tram you two were trying to catch, Simon’s voice.

“You.”

“Good.” His other hand took one of yours, squeezing it. “Doin’ so well f’me. Can you take a deep breath now?”

You followed his command, a sob rattled around your ribcage as you exhaled.

“You can cry, baby, but you need to calm down. Gotta think straight before we get you home, yeah?”

You wondered how Simon would feel, seeing you like this. Back rested on the forest floor, heaving, coughing up blood as your knuckles felt singed by fire - if only it was fire, but it was from beating your father-in-law off of you. The fall down the steep hill onto the plateau hurt a lot more now than it did ten seconds ago, and the man now clambering to get on top of you felt like the bringer of death. Claws made of your bloodied hands, scraping them against his face as he gripped your neck - it seized, pulling up from the snow as you hit and clawed more at him, his hands remained steadfast. Air escaped your body, and no breath could be taken in - panic began to buzz throughout your body as anger fueled it.

Heavy hands that felt like paws, that felt like boulders, that felt like God abandoning you.

Not yet.

You know what to do.

A swift kick from your knee made the bastard wheeze, loosen his grip, and it left only a moment’s notice to grasp the opportunity. You slammed your fist into his nose, feeling the sickening crack before he leaned backwards, you bucked your hips before punching again. He went backwards. Again. He went backwards. Again. He’s on his back. Again. Again. He’s screaming. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again.

It hasn’t even been twenty minutes since you escaped with Mellie, and now you find yourself pumped full of adrenaline, beating your captor’s face in for even daring to try and take your child.

Your hands felt blood. You couldn’t tell if he was dead yet. Make sure he will be.

Three days you spent in that basement. Two hours you spent carefully laying a plan, and one moment to swing that broken bookshelf into your father-in-law’s skull. And you were choosing to ignore the beating you had received when protecting your baby, the beating both of you took as you tossed each other down a steep hill. Brawling like mountain lions - a mother protecting her cub, the other looking to devour you whole.

A scream of pain escaped your lungs, another punch to the bloody face. Another. Another. Another, until you couldn’t tell the man beneath you was the monster who fucked up your husband.

Another hard punch for Simon.

Another for Mellie.

And five more for yourself.

A laceration on your head began to throb as you could finally feel your hand, turning off of the beaten man and onto your back and into the bloodied snow. Facing the sky felt like freedom, the pain in your hand felt like the flames in your fireplace back home, your ringing ears felt like knives inside your skull - but your heart beat without fail, through the agony, through the rage and fear.

A cough escaped your chest, blood leaving with it as you turned onto your one hand and knees, looking up the steep hill which would lead you back to Mellie. The tree peaked over the crest of the ledge, your hands - through excruciating pain - gripped the mud, snow, and ice as you began to push yourself up.

“Melody, Melody Ivy,” Her name groaned from your broken voice, every handful of ice and push from your foot made your head throb more, your balance growing weaker with every push. “Mama’s comin’, Mama’s on her way, fuck.” Your whining eardrums couldn’t hear her, fear and panic still rampant in your veins, your breathing barely escaping your lips without a wheeze.

What would he do if he saw you now? The thought felt bitter, the anger leaving your throat in decibels, a few more feet and you would have to pull yourself up and over. Hike your foot up, pull yourself up with your broken hand.

He wouldn’t be here. A growl escaped you. He would be here already if he cared, if he knew. Does he know?

Does he know where you are? Does he think you’re safe at home, under your favorite blanket with Winnie asleep on your lap, your show playing on the TV? Does he think König and Roach are standing guard, Laswell talking on her phone at the table?

Does he truly believe that?

Do you?

You didn’t even notice that you had fallen further down the hill to the bottom, past Lloyd’s body, into a bed of snow and ice. The sky, grey like the ashes in your childhood home’s fireplace, blocked the sun and blue sky above. Your hands were numb, spine tingled with every breath, and your chest roared as it expanded. Maybe you lost your footing, or your hand slipped, or God just believed it was funny to let you fall farther from your child. You were going to die here, Mellie too, and it hurt. It blossomed like a rose, decaying your chest with every brush of a petal, the waves washing ashore and flooding your body with angry salt water. Your body would be found here, bones picked clean by mountain lions or foxes, and she would be safe, nestled beside the tree.

There was no peace here. No mornings in snowsuits on the porch, watching Christmas trees be hauled down the lane, squealing because of the fresh snow. No afternoons sitting by the fire with your daughters, watching an animated movie as they both napped on your lap. No evenings with your husband, talking about some meaningless memory as he brushed your hair cautiously. There was only the sky, the blood that came from your head, chest, back, and hand, and the cries of a mother who can’t do more than cry for her child.

[arcielee]

sinful

Summary: Lucifer shows you what Adam is lacking. Paring: Lucifer Morningstar x Reader Word Count: 2k+ Warnings: 18+, Reader AFAB, sexual discomfort hinted, sexual inexperience, kissing, oral (f receiving), fingering, cunnilingus from the leader of all demons, and also Bible verses being used to create sexual tension?? Author's Note: Well, I have fallen headfirst into the Hellaverse and needed to get this smut out of my system. Bible verses being used are 1 Corinthians 9-10 & Galatians 5:17. This was inspired by the artwork created by cluffy_25 from IG & TikTok. Maybe now I can finally get some sleep. I hope you enjoy! 😭

On that fateful day of your creation, there was a palpable shift in paradise from the jealousy that was sown into the earth. 

Lucifer was first in the shadows, just another specter amongst the watchful wonderment as the rib pulled from Adam was crafted, flesh intricately woven; the sight of you was a holy splendor, surpassing every and any expectation imagined. When it was proclaimed that your image was the likeness of Yahweh, he had scoffed, ignoring the chorus of angels recoiling; the truth–which he spoke out loud–was that your beauty was a novel artistry all its own. 

He continued that nothing, that no one, could even compare to you. 

It did not help that the praises above echoed this sentiment and further seeded a growing resentment, its envious tendrils wrapping and rotting Eden from within. With it, your novelty was peeled away, but Lucifer remained enraptured with your ethereal grace, with your careful consideration you showed to all living things as you learned your surroundings. 

He also saw the covetous gaze cast from the angels and how they poorly masked it with a cold reserve that was met with your every interaction. 

Lucifer saw how it began to chip away at the kindness you gave freely. He burned when he saw the hurt that touched your lovely features, he fumed at the sound of your disheartened sigh of acceptance that this was all you could expect from this life given. 

Your isolation called to his loneliness, and with Lucifer, you found a kindred spirit. You were grateful with how he returned your genuineness, even finding a sense of comfort, of validation, at the tip of his brazen tongue that did not fear consequence. With him, you found your thoughts could be shared, the ones you carefully clutched to your chest, and would not be met with any judgment–your shy whispers on your divine purpose that came knitted with your existence and the gilded cage that it created. 

Though he seemed an empathetic creature, always kind to you, you were also aware of the stories and his lore. You caught a glimpse one day when you let slip the chore required of you to lay with Adam, a duty you tried to complete quickly and quietly when he demanded. 

The air around you thickened, and you saw the demon that thrummed beneath the surface: the flash of red in his eyes, the heat from the flame on his furrowed brow. Something powerful, something dire that came and went with your heartbeat. 

This was an intimate subject that Lucifer always precariously balanced on the precipice of, always alluring to something unknown by you. He hinted at the shrine you possessed, giving you just a taste of something sinful, of something more that was within your reach. He spoke of pleasure that could be found, but when you mentioned this to Adam, he only sneered. 

For man did not come from woman, but woman from man; neither was man created for woman, but woman for man.

“But do you ever wish for more?”

It was another day in the garden. Adam had been swept away by the angels who remained in awe of the First Man, but this never bothered you. You welcomed the reprieve, slipping away to return to the natural arbor by the river weaving through the oasis. 

Here the branches curled overhead, light streaking through and the leaves blanketing the ground. Your legs were stretched to feel the sun that fell through, allowing Lucifer to lay his head on your plush thighs. His eyes were watching you, waiting for your response to his question. 

Your lips pursed. “I already have all that I could ever need.” You were careful with your words, your fingers moving to comb through his golden hair.

He hummed with your touch. “I did not say need,” his eyes were still trained to you, an upwards curl to his lips. “I asked if you wished for something more, for something else.” 

“What else could I possibly want?” Your brow quirked. It was part question, part curiosity. The fallen angel seemed to speak in riddles. 

His eyes glittered. “Free will.” 

“But I have free will.”

“Free will allows you choices all your own,” he argued, still smiling. “Would you have chosen Adam if you had not been given to him?”

Lucifer grinned as he watched his words catch in your throat. It was another intrusive thought he always seemed to uncover, pulling to the surface. Your blood stained the apples of your cheeks and your tongue wet your lips. 

“Adam,” you began, pulling your hands away and placing them at your sides, “was created in the likeness of God.” This was the repeated mantra sung from the heavens, words you spoke now without any conviction. “To not choose him would be to not choose the one true…” 

But it faded to obscurity once you became aware of his close proximity; he pulled himself upright before facing you, leaning in with his intensive gaze. “Adam is not God, but only a man.” His voice was low, fanning against your cheeks, and your skin flushed hotly with his words.

This was not the first time he reminded you that Adam was just a man, merely created from the dust of the earth. You never defended whenever Lucifer spoke of Adam’s failures, his certainty that Adam did not give this pleasure you deserved.

It was a topic that piqued your interest, but you felt too bashful to continue it before. But now…

“Free will should allow you the option to choose for more,” his honeyed tone continued. “Should you not experience all that this life has to offer?” 

For a moment, you could only hear the orchestra life created, the rustle of the leaves with the soft breeze and the water that flowed. You had always thought Lucifer was handsome. There was something captivating about him, and right now, you were entranced with the new emotion that now played in the amber glow of his eyes.

Like what, you dared to whisper, eyes wide. 

Lust of the flesh, he replied with an elegant arc to his brow, with an impish curl to his lips.

You felt your skin prickling, something that flitted along the seams of your being before returning to coil in your abdomen. It was something that pulled you to the precarious ledge he seemed perpetually perched on. 

And you kissed him. 

It was gentle and it was quick, though your heart bruised against your ribs with your bold action. You felt the embarrassment flood your features, but when you tried to pull away, his hand caught the back of your neck, his fingers curling into your nape. His mouth captured yours with vigor and your mind splintered from the softness of his lips, from the warmth of his mouth; a sensation that screamed throughout you, craving for more.

Flesh lusts against the spirit…these are contrary, the one to the other.

He stopped the moment you tensed, pulling back and allowing you a breath. Your lips were swollen and flushed, your eyes glassy as they came to focus on the Prince of Darkness. “This does not have to go further unless you wish it to,” his voice soft with his emphasis.

The choice presented like a thick haze that swirled around you, drawing you towards him again. This pleasure promised trilled your veins, and your hands moved to grasp and pull him closer for another clumsy kiss. 

Your body sang from his touch as his fingers skimmed over to grab into your hips, his warmth alighting your every nerve. His mouth moved to your jaw, to the curve of your neck and lower, nipping at your collarbone. You giggled, squirming against him, and his hold moved to cradle your lower back, a guiding press backwards until you were laying on the grass. 

“Trust me,” he whispered against your skin, his hot mouth trailing lower. 

Lucifer nestled between your thighs, his hands never leaving your body so you were aptly aware of his next movements. His head turned to press a kiss on the inside of your knee, following along with licks and nips of his teeth and tongue, plumes of color following his wake. It was a slow pacing, creeping towards your core, feeling how your blood simmered beneath, your body blossoming with his methodical ministrations. 

Your legs widened, welcoming him and his intimate touch. His fingers pressed a v-shape to spread your folds, his exhaling tickling against your cunt, swollen and glossy with your arousal. He moved closer, a tentative touch of his tongue, and you melted against his mouth. He groaned with your taste, briny and begging for more; his hands curled under your thighs, canting your hips to meet with his lips. 

It was a sensation that seared through your veins, a bolt straightening your spine. You gasped again, your hands grabbing fistfuls of his hair to ground yourself as his forked tongue moved with precision and with purpose. 

He was mindful of your every sound, your bated breath and your sweet sighs, the mewling noises that spilled like nectar from your lips. He pulled you towards a plateau of pleasure that resonated throughout your core, rattling your bones beneath. 

You felt him swell against you, burning between, and your thighs clenched around him. Your chin pressed down to see him, truly for the first time: his horns curling up from his blond hair, the blood-red glow of his eyes pooling onto your skin. 

Your mouth fell open, shock and pleasure twisting from your lungs. 

Lucifer lifted his head, meeting with your teary gaze, his sharp smile gleaming from your slick. “You may grab onto them, if you need to.” His voice was low, husky. 

Your hands trembled to touch and their smooth texture was warm against your palms. You reverberated with his low chuckle as he dipped his head back to the apex of your thighs, his vitality unleashed. He feasted on your essence, and your hands gripped the base of his horns as his forked tongue carved into your sensitive flesh, a pulsing pleasure that poured hotly in your core. You cried out with the prod at your entrance, and he pressed a quick kiss to soothe as his finger curled within you. 

“You are doing so well for me,” he crooned as his finger searched, brushing against a spot that brightened your vision, curling your toes. He hummed again, and you felt his satisfaction curling on his lips. “Can you take another one for me?”

Your back arched with his touch; the tandem of his tongue and fingers thrilled you, the pulsing pleasure coiling so tight it was as if your heart was beating outside your body. It unfurled, a blinding light, a sobbed release, this euphoria wrenching the air from your lungs and your muscles contracting around his digits; and Lucifer continued his come hither motion to your completion. 

You were eventually brought back to your body, feeling a gentle breeze against the sheen of sweat, the grounding weight pressing to the inside of your thigh. You blinked, seeing Lucifer with his head resting against you, his fingers drawing lazy designs on your skin. His wicked grin was splayed, watching through hooded eyes at the slow rise and fall of your chest as you regained your breath. 

You blushed furiously, feeling the dull throb between your thighs, the last remnants of your pleasure he craftily pulled from you. But there was also an ache, a contrast of emotions playing in the haze of your mind: the purpose you were given and this newfound pleasure had. 

These are contrary, the one to the other: so that ye cannot do the things that ye would wish.

The blood drained as you pushed to your elbows, a prickling fear that followed the curve of your spine. You stammered, your tongue sticking to the roof of your mouth. “W-what did you say?” 

Lucifer tilted his head, his brow furrowed, confused. “I only said that you were beautiful,” and he pushed up, moving to kiss you, softly, sweetly. “You are beautiful just like this.”

You allowed his kiss to comfort you, rekindling the fire he had found within you, with the sweet taste of your sin on his lips. 

arcie's masterlist

[angel-of-the-moons]

Desert Heat

Alpha!Cooper Howard x Fem!Omega!Reader

TW/CW: Smut, NSFW, Omegaverse AU, Chem usage, Chems, Heat cycles, Rough Sex, Sex-pollen, Dub-con, Dirty talk, Dacryphilia, Needy!Reader, Oral sex (m + f), Cumming untouched, Biting, Marking, Breeding kink, Knotting, Unprotected Sex, Creampie (Pack your RadAway, kids!)

MINORS DNI I AM NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR CONTENT YOU CONSUME

A/N: Blame @hydraliskisk for this one lmaoooo (And no, I still haven't seen the show... I can't find the time to sit down and relax enough to do it at home) Honestly? No idea what else to say, except I've never written Omegaverse stuff before this, so it was all new to me! This felt like a fever dream 😭 Enjoy this dumpster fire!

Taglist: @anna-n-hetfield

Cooper found himself grinding his teeth yet again, for the millionth time that day as he rooted about the ruins of the little rural neighborhood. He was on edge; his puckered and scarred skin itching beneath the surface, like the bad come-down from a fucked up chem.

He had another argument with you, his "lovely" little traveling companion; the third in the past two days. You had been getting increasingly temperamental. He had to guess you were going through withdrawal; your favorite particular tin case of "Fixer" was empty, so he assumed your newfound testiness was a result of that situation.

But Jesus fucking Christ, you were a bitchy little Beta, weren't you? Certainly had bite when you got pissed off. It'd be cute, if you weren't such a thorn in his side, at the moment.

He kicked over an empty wooden box, frowning at the long-since spoiled jars of preserved fruits and vegetables, his jaw working itself hard with a rough click.

He hoped your search was more fruitful than his own; your supplies were on the iffy side in terms of food and he knew that as a ghoul, he didn't need to eat as often as you did anymore. But you were still smooth and (as far as he knew) un-mutated, so all of your biological needs still needed to be tended to.

It was an irritating hassle, but he couldn't deny how scrappy and useful you were in terms of scavenging and watching his back so he could get sleep when he wanted it--thankful you were also a crack shot thanks to being born out here in the wastes.

Once again, his gloved hand scratched at his neck as he moved on to another house, ready to search for food, water, and Chems, if need be, too. Some Rad-X and RadAway were worth more than water to him, at this point...

You hated this.

Hate, hate, absolutely, unequivocally despised the situation you'd accidentally backed yourself into. You were hoping to keep your secret for as long as possible; but during your travels monitoring your Fixer stash had been almost an afterthought. You took one to one-and-a-half daily, carefully stretching your stash for as long as possible.

You knew your one-month pause in your doses was coming, and you were hoping to get away from Cooper long enough to take care of your problems on your own; but that wasn't feasible given how far out in the middle of bum-fuck nowhere you found yourselves in.

You had resisted the urge to hunker down as long as possible... But your instincts were firing on full-blast.

Your heat suppressants had worn off. And Cooper, unfortunately... Well. He was the only Alpha nearby, and you knew he'd figure it out at some point. You just didn't want him to find out so soon; all because of your shitty planning.

Your feet dragged through the rotting aisles of the small general store, barely paying attention and swiping whatever looked good enough to take into your satchel, some dented cans of unopened cram, a few preserved boxes of stale snack cakes...

You were so out of it, you hadn't even noticed how your hands had begun unwrapping the sweet morsels and eating through the meager rations you'd scrounged up. After swallowing the last cake you had unwrapped, you stuffed them into your bag and willed yourself to stop focusing on them and drank greedily from your canteen.

Fuck. You were already stuffing yourself. You knew what would inevitably come next...

You swallowed hard and returned to your task of scavenging; managing to find a box of .38 rounds, some cans of emergency ration water, and even a small stash of caps that you pocketed to divide later, when you were more in your right mind.

Your eyes, however, lit up when you spotted a cluster of prickly pear growing beneath a blown-out window, the fruit running in mixes ranging from green to mauve to a deep, almost bloody-purple shade. Perfect.

You slipped on your rawhide gloves to protect yourself from the thorns and glochids sticking out so menacingly from the skin of the fruit. As you twisted and plucked each treat from the source, you set each one down in a cracked ceramic bowl lying nearby. You'd need to run them over a flame to burn off the microscopic needles before you could skin and eat them; but right now you were only partially thinking about that.

A shimmer caught your eye, a flower growing at the base of the cactus. The petals were vibrant pink. It almost looked like a Venus flytrap, in the way the spindly, velvety tendrils opened and closed, the stalk expanding in a way that made you think the plant was almost breathing.

You tilted your head, your pre-heat daze almost forgotten as your attention was grabbed by this mutated, alien-looking plant. Despite everything else, even in regards to the thriving cactus it sprouted at the feet from... it was a bright and vibrant green as well, happily nourished in the dry earth within the ruined building. The bright splash of color mixed with the undulating petals were transfixing to your addled state.

Forgetting caution above all else, your fingers began to clasp around the stalk of one of the flowers to pluck it, to examine it closer. But as you did that, the flower had lurched in a way that looked like it was about to vomit.

You fell back onto your butt as it spat out a shimmery cloud of pollen into your face. It burned and tickled your nose as you inhaled, waving your hand in front of your face frantically to clear the air, sputtering and coughing around the choking dust as you wiped your eyes and face, looking at the thin chalky substance that was transferred onto your glove.

And, within the span of a few moments... it was like everything else just... didn't matter. Your goals of scavenging were tossed out of your mental window, your body's reaction like a wildfire in dry brush.

Your brain was buzzing, your instincts overriding your common sense as you stand up and walk away from the bowl of fruit. You raipped off your bag your bag and only half paid attention to the sound of the tin cans clattering and ammo tinkling as it spilled out, the weight of the leather strap had rapidly been becoming more and more uncomfortable, your clothes beginning to feel like sandpaper on your skin.

A bead of sweat trickled down between your shoulder blades, and you shuddered. Your eyes looked around almost frantically. You needed somewhere safe, your instincts screamed mercilessly.

And, by the grace of whatever kind of omniscient being that was up in the sky, you found a basement.

It looked like whoever owned the store had refitted it into some kind of shelter. Or, hell, maybe it was used by some scavver before you had traipsed along. Whatever it had been used for, you didn't care, it was yours now.

It had a bed, a couch, some more supplies half-assedly stacked on a rickety table... your eyes adjusted to the dark, the only source of light you had was the light bleeding from the open basement door, and the faintly glowing mushrooms that sprouted from the basement walls in thick clumps.

The logical part of your brain identified the fungi; you could use them to make RadAway with the supplies you had on hand. Another part of your logic had told you something crucial--that plant; whatevert it was, had spat out a cloud of pollen that had all but skipped your pre-heat, only just barely leaving your basic instincts to nest, and the overwhelming craving to be pinned down to the nearest surface and fucked until you were round with somebody's pups.

The rest of your mind was spiraling so quickly you felt like you were drunk; cramps rippling through your lower half impeded your progress as you ripped the threadbare blankets and cushions off of the couch, piling them on top of the mattress you'd tossed to the floor from the rusted metal frame it had been laid on, pushing them up into a corner that felt the most secure and least exposed, trying to make it as comfortable as possible.

Your clothes had become drenched with your sweat, the crotch of your pants and underwear all but ruined by your excess slick. You growled and grunted as you tugged them off, kicking the offending garments away and sighing in relief at the cool, damp air hitting your hot skin.

Another shudder rippled through you as you felt another wave of cramps hit your abdomen; your pussy fluttering with needy want, making you whine loudly as you pant, crawling back up the stairs to slap the door closed.

You needed to ride this out. Somehow.

The next few days were going to be hell.

Cooper clicked his tongue, spitting out the dry reed he'd begun chewing on as his boots kicked up dust, the rusty spurs tinkling with every step as he made his way to the last place you could possibly be--the ruined general store.

He had to admit, this little place would make a good settlement. He couldn't help but wonder why it hadn't been settled. The river that had--by a chance of dumb luck--kept flowing had allowed the land to grow a steady clump of greens and browns. Cacti and Joshua trees littered the area, more than a few large agave plants had overgrown the smaller walkways; their prickly limbs reaching out like the epicenter of a pale green explosion.

He chuckled at his mental comparisons. Ironic.

But he pushed that thought to the side; he had observed a small flower of some kind. A pair of lizards he'd planned to catch and eat had skittered up to it, drawn by the lure of fat insects buzzing around the flower for a nice meal for themselves.

He watched as one of the little critters had crept closer, preparing to lash its tongue out to snag one of the fat, fluttering bugs. But as it did, the flower lurched, belching a cloud of pollen at it that made the lizard hiss; thrashing briefly in the sand as its companion crawled over to examine its friend.

The male--oh, he was certain it was a male--lifted its head after a moment, the throat sack beneath his throat puffed up, turning a bright shade of red. A mating display, he realized.

Cooper had watched with slight interest; remembering, once-upon-a-time, of a nature documentary he'd watched with his daughter, Janey, of desert lizards. This sort of thing was the closest form of entertainment he had during his traveling, reminding him with a dull throb of nostalgia and grief at the life he had lost, before.

His thoughts were pulled back to the now, as he watched the male lizard chase his female companion around, until he assumed, he tackled her beneath a rocky crag somewhere to mate with her. He'd snorted, reminding himself to steer clear of those flowers.

Getting hot and horny could be a death sentence, out in the wasteland. You could be so caught up in the moment, you could get snuck up on and offed in the middle of the night; your supplies picked from your carcass by who-knows-who...

And he wasn't looking to have his card punched with his cock in hand. That just wasn't a good way to go out.

Cooper's dark eyes lifted up, clicking his tongue at the lilted sign of the shop, stepping over the bleached wood of the door that had long since rotted off its hinges.

The setting sun had put a damper in his plans. He'd wanted to find you and get out of the proverbial ghost town before the darkness had set in. Something about these old buildings had him uncomfortable.

His gloved finger snagged the collar of his faded shirt, tugging on it as he hissed out a heavy sigh. Why was it so fuckin' hot in here? The fuck smelled so... sweet?

His finger pulled the hammer back and his thumb flicked the cylinder release as he crept along the rotting shelves. He'd called out your name once. Upon receiving no answer, his brow furrowed.

"Darlin', now ain't the time to be playing in the dark." Cooper growled, his eyes scanning the shop for any signs of you.

In the setting sunlight, his eyes caught the glimmer of one of your buckles of your satchel. He quickly rushed over to where it had been tossed--maybe in some kind of tussle--and frowned. It was full of freshly scavenged supplies. Guns, ammo... your favorite chem tin.

As his eyes gave a passing scan to your empty tin, his gaze lifted to the cactus you'd been harvesting, the bowl of fruit laying untouched since you'd picked it.

What remained of his nose twitched; your scent was everywhere, tainted with the strangling-sweet smell clinging to the dust in the air. He couldn't pick up anybody else's around, so that ruled out you getting into a fight. So the question remained the same--where were you?

He holstered his pistol when he examined the cactus closer, frowning as the strange plant from before twitched and swayed on its own, lurching and grabbing flies that got too close to the petals of the flower. Cooper grunted, looking down to the dented metal tin still clutched in his hand.

His heart had almost skipped out of his chest as he finally bothered to examine the writing scrawled on the tin in proper detail; among your little scratches and scribbles was the name of the chem it contained.

It wasn't just regular Fixer. It was Heat-Fixer. A common variation of the chem that had been used even before the Great War to ward off an Omega's heat cycles as long as they took it regularly and in safe doses. He remembered once, being in Anchorage and it was revealed that one of his comrades in his unit was an Omega; he explained what exactly the Fixer did to his team over a lull in combat one night.

And you currently had an empty tin.

An empty tin of heat-supressants, coupled with the strange pollen of that flower... it wasn't a good combination for an Omega to be caught out in the middle of nowhere while in heat, not when someone could so easily stumble upon you and take advantage of your crazed and sex-hungry state.

No wonder you had been so snappy and irritable. No wonder you had been so anxious and ready to go to the next town, to hunker down there for a few days. He had assumed you were just being spoiled, wanting to pamper yourself somehow from the tough life on the road.

Now, he realized, you had been hoping to shut yourself in somewhere, to hide the mutated elephant you tried to smuggle into the room. Oh, yeah... he'd have a long talk with you once all this was over with.

"Fuckin' hell, darlin'." He muttered, shaking his head, his jaw clenched tight as he tossed it back into your bag, slinging it over his bandolier as he continued his search for you.

Your scent had him almost dizzy, he had even stumbled over his own feet once or twice as he looked for you. He knew Omegas had some strong instincts; he knew from experience you were going to look for somewhere safe to ride this out, to try and take care of yourself.

But on the off-chance something else had happened to you... Cooper had inwardly cursed at himself for being so worried. You were sometimes a little naive, believing in the best of the worst of people that had been a part of your tribal-turned-civilized home where he'd found you.

You had been an outcast even among your own tribe, most likely smothering your Omega nature by sneaking off under the guise of "scavenging" during your heats and the suppressants you were taking to mask it all.

Aside from finding out you were an Omega, not a Beta like you'd claimed, Cooper had felt a bit of kinship with you in how you were ostracized for how you were, maybe even a bit towards your naive hope that the best in humanity could one day resurface despite everything around you staring you in the face and screaming otherwise...

His mouth had become dry and he swallowed hard, his tongue practically choking him. It felt like he had a wad of cotton in his mouth despite the saliva that had begun to accumulate. The identity of your scent had finally dawned on him. The familiar, comforting scent of something akin to an apple pie; something he hadn't had in a very, very long time. And the idea he might be able to taste it again had consumed a part of his brain.

Your pheromones had all but tainted the stale air inside the small structure; if he still had any hair, it would have been standing on end as each drag of air coated his lungs in everything that was you.

Fuck, you smelled delicious. Good enough to eat.

Cooper gritted his teeth once more, briefly reaching down to press his palm into the rather pressing erection that had become prominently bulged in his old worn trousers. His own Alpha instincts had stirred; they had been almost dormant for so long, he'd almost forgotten them.

But right now, every one of his senses had picked up you. A sweet, perfect little Omega, writhing somewhere on your own and waiting to be bred. He shuddered at his train of thought; reminding himself that he was looking for you to make sure you were okay... to... to make sure you were safe, and to--what was he thinking, again?

Fuck. Right. He was going to find you, and stand guard around wherever you'd nested up and just wait for it to pass. Lecture you when it was over.

But as he crept along the ruined store, he had to stop and slump against a wall, his eyes rolling at the smell permeating the air, your pheromones flooding his bloodstream like the sweetest chem he'd had in a long, long time.

Cooper had managed to drag one foot after the other to find the basement door. Your scent rolled from the wood like the smoke to a powerful fire. You were down there, alright.

And against his better judgement, Cooper twisted the rust old knob and took the first step down, pulling out his old--and by-miracle still functioning--wind-up flashlight, he flicked the switch and walked down, his eyes tracking the glowing fungi that lined bits of the basement walls with a bit of giddy euphoria.

"Cooper..." He'd heard you croak out.

He spun on his heels, the beam of his light eventually turning onto you.

His heart had jumped up into his throat as he took you in; your frantically-made nest, the barriers you'd built between you and the rest of the room... the bare, sweaty skin that glistened in the torchlight he held in his hand.

He shook his head as another wave of your pheromones blasted him full-force. Fuck. What the hell had he been thinking? Oh. Right. He hadn't been thinking. He let his dick do the walking and find you, like some sex-crazed punk Alpha just coming into his nature.

"Cooper." You said again, your pupils blown so wide he almost couldn't see the color of your irises as you looked at him with your hooded gaze, your lips looking all to plush and swollen as you licked at them.

"Darlin', you..." He swallowed hard, his hard cock already bordering on painful, sweat beginning to soak through his shirt beneath his leather duster as his breathing increased.

"Help me. Please." You whined, sitting up more as you crawled over the nest of blankets towards him as your tongue ran over your teeth, your hips swaggering with each movement; reminding him of the scene in a shitty porno magazine he read as a younger man.

"Need something--"

"Shit. No." Cooper hissed, squeezing his eyes shut as he regained a semblance of some control over himself once again; backing up to the stairs, ready to rush back up them and lock you down here until this was all over.

When the stairs creaked under the weight of his first step, you whined, halting any more movement from him.

"Please." You panted, little whimpers bubbling through from between each syllable as you spoke, "Need help... goin' nuts... need you... please."

Cooper had stupidly snuck a glance at you, standing on your knees and leaning forward slightly in the middle of the dusty floor, one hand roughly groping at your own breast and the other snaking between your legs to roll your clit in time with the lazy thrusts of your hips. It was the sexiest goddamn thing he'd seen in his fucking life; a fresh rush of arousal making his cock throb.

"Help me." You whined, your eyes watery and needy as your gazes locked in the darkened space.

His eyes rolled back into his head and Cooper growled, his chest tightening at how you whined once more in submission to him. His feet stomped across the room, and he set his light down on the table enough to illuminate some of the room; namely you.

"Needy little fuckin' Omega," Cooper had spat as he ripped off his excessive bulk. Your bags joined his on the table, the contents scattering across the surface as his bandolier was tossed on top of it all alongside his guns.

"You been thinkin' about getting fucked all day, haven't ya?" He sneered as he tugged his gloves off with his teeth, dropping them as he moved back towards you.

You leaned into his touch as one of his hands cupped your cheek, eyes fluttering closed as he used his other hand plucked the buttons on the collar of his shirt free; his dark eyes taking in your soaked and aroused state as your hand between your legs continued to furiously rub and pinch at yourself for any stimulation--to ease that growing ache in your cunt.

The rough and scarred pad of his thumb swept a desperate tear from your cheek as he spoke; "A needy little bitch in heat, ain'tcha? Fuck, what if it wasn't me that came lookin' for ya?" His hand went from gentle to rough, squishing your cheeks between his fingers as he forced you to look up to him, his lips curling up into a snarl. "Bet at this point you'd go and bend over for any wasteland fuck coming along to bury their cock in you, probably fuck some pups into ya."

Your mouth opened in a breathy little moan, your eyes almost fluttering closed once again as he continued. "Well, fuck that. I ain't letting no fucking scavver take what's mine, got it?"

Your eyes immediately went to his crotch when his free hand roughly worked free his belt buckle, ripping his button open and fly down to free his throbbing cock to you, your mouth watering and your pussy flooding at the premise of him just burying himself inside of you and staying there.

"Now, given all the trouble you've been causin' me... I'm tempted to not give you my cock, got it?" He huffed, looking down at you from the remnants of the bridge of his nose, a sick sense of pride swelling his ego at how your eyes grew wide and panicked; like you were a junkie denied their next fix, so gone in withdrawal you thought you were going to die.

Cooper laughed at you as tears gathered in your eyes at his threat, your pretty little lip wobbling. He could almost hear your heart pound in the sweet little chest of yours. He squished your cheeks once again to snap you out of it, groaning as his hand gripped the base of his cock. "But you've got me in a bit of a state, babydoll." He drawled. "So..."

He tapped the tip of his scarred and gnarled cock to your lips, and grunted when you immediately curled your tongue underneath the tip, sucking him past your plush lips with a loud and grateful moan.

"...you're gonna suck me reeeal good... and maybe, if you're a good girl, you'll get it all, got it?"

You moaned again as you took him deeper, your tongue curling around his shaft as your head moved further down his length, gagging around him as you try to take too much too quickly.

Cooper fisted your hair and yanked you back, his gravelly voice tumbling out of him as he looked down at you, a warning in his eyes. "Don't push yourself, cupcake. Take what you can. I'd hate for you to choke on my cock before I've had a chance to fuck you with it."

You nodded drunkenly, immediately moving to take him into the wet cavern of your mouth once again with loud slurping sounds as you bobbed your head, your fingers rolling your clit in time with the bob of your head and the cant of your hips. Cooper ran his fingers through your hair, petting you as he watches you return to your task with feverish need.

"That's it, babydoll... fuck. You been thinkin' about this for some time, huh? Havin' somebody let you take their cock in your mouth?" He laughed, his voice going tight as you moaned in reply.

"Shit--that's it! Fuck..."

Cooper's heart was pounding in his chest as he feels your tongue swirl the tip of his cock. It had been too damn long since he'd had a good fuck; and you were proving to be a goddamn amazing one, so far, if your tongue skills were anything to go by. His hands gripped the back of your head and he started to arch his back, fucking his cock into your mouth with a loud, pleasured sigh. He wasn't going to last long, and he had disregarded his earlier warnings of taking it too quickly as the haze of his building orgasm began to swell as he began to use your mouth for his own pleasure. Not that you minded.

The moment he felt his cock twitch, he grunted, his eyes rolling back.

"Shit, darlin'... get ready."

You whined around his cock, your cunt gushing around your fingers as you plunged them inside, your lashes brushing your cheeks as you eagerly try to taste every drop he was willing to give you.

The first splash on your tongue had you a moaning mess, arousal burning low in your belly and a bubble that had been swelling was ready to burst. Cooper yanked you back by the hair again and gripped his cock, jerking furiously as each hot volley of thick cum coated your face, splashing on your tongue as it lolled out of your mouth; dripping down your chin and onto your breasts.

Cooper chuckled grimly, "Well... that's one way to mark that prettly lil' body of yours."

He quickly swiped his cum off of your face, earning a complaining whine from you until he crammed his fingers into your mouth, letting you suck them clean; tasting him mixed with the dirt, grime, and gunpowder that clung to his skin. His eyes flashed dangerously as he watched you spasm slightly, eyes rolling back; his taste, the sensations he was pushing on your and the sheer forcefulness of his actions making you climax as you moaned around his hand that was all but choking you.

"Look't you. So fuckin' cockdrunk you can't even fuckin' talk." He mocked playfully, pulling his fingers from your lips with a loud pop.

Cooper kneeled down in front of you and grinned, his teeth flashing that signature smile of his as he practically lunged for you; hoisting you over his shoulder and slapping a palm over your ass, fingers dipping into your sweet cunt to toy with the juices that dribbled down your thighs, making you moan obscenely.

He dropped to his knees and rolled you down onto the nest you'd made in the corner, watching with his grin; twisting his scarred face in a look of aroused glee as you laid back and spread your legs for him, showcasing just how badly you needed him.

"Damn, darlin'... got yourself lookin' like a nice glazed snack, for me." He chuckled, beginning to shrug his shirt the rest of the way off, working his pants down his legs as he blindly kicked his shoes off in the dark. "Makes me wanna fuckin' eat ya right up..."

He tipped his head to the side, one of his hands grabbing his hat and tossing it off somewhere out of sight as he exposed more and more of himself to your hungry eyes. "Actually... that ain't a bad idea, heh."

Your hips rolled and you spread your puffy and swollen lips apart for him with a mewl as he lowered himself down onto his belly and elbows, looking up at you with a glimmer in his eyes.

"Now, I ain't gonna just give it to ya, sweetheart... you gotta tell me. Ask me nice."

"Please. Cooper. Please." You pant. "Please, please, please, please please--"

"Now, now..." Cooper warned, reaching up to slap his fingers onto your clit and watching your body jump at the contact. "That's not what I meant."

Your brows furrow down at him, swallowing the saliva that accumulated in your mouth as your brain tries to process what he meant through the red fog your mind was clouded with.

Finally, it clicks.

"Cooper, please..." You mewl loudly. "A-Alpha, please--"

The sound that comes from him makes your mind blank and your body shudder, going almost slack with relief as his lips closed around your weeping cunt, babbling "thank you's" and frantic, almost incoherent words as he gave you a taste of what you'd been craving.

You were veeeery happy it was Cooper that found you. Right now you couldn't imagine anyone else to have between your legs, drinking you down like you were his first taste of water after being stranded in the desert.

Cooper had laid there for... he didn't even know how long. Tasting you, edging you, biting and nipping your inner thighs, making you cum to the point you felt like you had gone blind had his chest swell with pride and... something else. More than just plain sexual attraction, more than the fact that you were and Omega accepting him as your Alpha right now...

He didn't focus on that too long, shoving those feelings to the back of his mind as he rose to his knees, yanking your quivering hips close to him, his cock slapping your belly as he stared down at you.

"Gonna fuck you now, darlin'. Give you every fuckin' inch of what you've been wanting." Cooper hissed, rolling his cock through your slick folds with a lazy thrust. Your hands reach out to grab at his arms, frantic and wanting as you nodded dumbly, mindlessly.

"Please, please--yes, yes, yes--"

"Easy, now." Cooper chuckled, his voice almost dropping into fondness as his hands gripped and squished your thighs. "Just lay back and let me fuck you like y'need, alright, baby?"

You keen lowly, dropping your head onto one of the pillows as you feel the tip of his cock notch at your waiting hole, your pussy clenching as he pushed in; his pace torturously slow as he sunk himself within your welcoming, tight and wet heat.

He tipped his head back with a pleasured sigh, his voice shaky, as he savored the ecstasy of your body; "Jesus fuck, you feel so damn good... fit me like a glove, sweetheart."

"Fuck me." You mewled, frantically grabbing at whatever bits of him you could to try and urge him on, your legs wrapping around his waist, heels digging into the back of his thighs as you try to encourage him deeper.

Cooper growled at you, leaning down to press his mouth to your ear; "You don't tell me what to fuckin' do. Right now, I'm gonna fuck you so full you're gonna feel like yer gonna pop. Got it? Don't get bossy on me, y'hear?"

You curled around him, clinging to him desperately. "Sorry. Sorry, sorry..." You cried softly. "J-Just n-need... Need you, please..."

"I was just teasin' ya, sweetheart..." Cooper sighed with a chuckle, pulling out halfway before sharply thrusting back in, your breasts jiggling as your body jerks with the effort of his thrust. "Don't be such a crybaby."

Your jaw snaps shut with a strangled moan, your teeth grinding as your body welcomes him eagerly, all the stress and anxiety of your heat melting away in the pleasure that Cooper was bullying into your cunt, sloppy, loud, lewd noises coming from between you as he plunged his cock in and out of you; his skin slapping against yours.

A small part of you right now was vaguely recalling your past heats. How you would scurry away when you couldn't make your Heat-Fixer on your own, or score any from passing caravans; how you would hide in your secret little cave and masturbate to thoughts of having someone just come and take the edge off for you, you just bend you over and fuck you until your mind didn't come back into logical focus for days after the fact--to fuck you so full you were certain "your" Alpha had bred you as your biological needs shouted that you needed.

Your nails dig into Cooper's back, scratching fresh masks into his pitted and wrinkled skin, the texture of his cock making your head spin even more as you breathed in his own pheromones; Cooper's scent had always comforted you. Somehow, the scent that was not unique in the world today felt unique to him, and only him. Gunpowder, petrichor, and sweet honey bourbon.

You didn't realize just how much you loved and craved to have his scent on you until now; a loud moan slithering out of you as he dragged his tongue up your throat, mouthing your swollen scent gland messily, making your hips stutter against his and your breath hitch into a small sob as his tongue laves over the soft flesh.

"Smell so fuckin' good." Cooper growls, his voice sending vibrations through your sensitive skin as he continues to rut his cock into you. The pitch of his tone makes you whimper in submission, rolling your head to the side to let him have better access as he licked and kissed your throat, moving from one side to the other.

"Fuck--" He panted, driving his hips into your again and again, the sweat on your body making it difficult to get a decent grip on your soft hips. Your scent was driving him insane; he was finding himself wanting to keep his face buried either at your throat or between your legs. If he wasn't so pressed to just fuck you, Cooper would have gladly stayed with his head buried between your legs until he got his fill of you.

However, now that he's had a taste of you, now that he's felt you squeezing and milking his dick for anything he was willing to give you... he wasn't sure he would ever get a fill. Your scent was goddamn maddening to him; it made him hungry in more ways than one. He never realized it before, but now that you were uninhibited by the Fixer, it hit him full-force. And just the mere thought of another Alpha putting their hands on you made him mad with... possession?

He swallowed back a mouthful of saliva, clenching his jaw as he panted hotly in your ear, "Feel so fuckin' good around my cock, babydoll."

You choked for air when you feel his knot almost catch, your orgasm dancing just out of reach; walls clenching around him every time you felt it press against your entrance.

"Please, please..." You begged, running your hand up his back, tracing every deep groove and bit of scarred flesh you could; mapping out every inch you could feel beneath your fingertips.

"N-Need..."

One of his arms was currently bracing himself next to your head, which his other hand pawed at your hip, gripping the sweaty, smooth skin so tight there would likely be bruises in the shape of his handprint that would be visible for days on.

His mouth once again hovered over your scent gland, and you pressed one of your hands to the back of his neck to urge you on; "Please..." You begged once more.

Cooper gave you a look out of the corner of his eye, and as you opened your mouth to plead with him once more, he sunk his teeth directly into your throat. Your moan was so loud, he could almost hear the rush of his blood beneath it as the coppery taste of your blood coated his tongue.

"Fuck!" You sob, grinding your hips against his, your spongy walls throbbing almost painfully as you finally feel him force his knot past that last barrier of resistance; feeling it swell and lock him in place, the sensation finally ripping a mind-numbing orgasm from you.

"Shit, darlin'..." Cooper moaned, breaking his lips from around your scent gland, rutting and grinding into you as much as he could, feeling the simmering heat of his own orgasm finally creeping near that precipice. "Squeezin' me so fuckin' good..."

He leaned back, grabbing your hips in his hands and pulling you against him, staring down at your sweaty and flushed face as your eyes rolled back, your hands clawing desperately at the mattress and ratty blankets beneath you, weakly lifting your hips to try to get him to keep moving.

"Needy little... fuckin'..." Cooper panted, feeling how hard your hot pussy was clenching around his knot. It felt like he was burning up from the inside out, like his blood was boiling inside his veins as his orgasm roiled and crashed through him; hips jerking against yours as his cock twitched, emptying every drop of cum he could fill you with into your waiting and desperate womb.

He ground his teeth as his eyes rolled back and he let the last bits of his climax ebb away.

Cooper let out a long, slow breath, poking down to where your bodies were locked together. Damn, that felt good. It was the best feeling he'd felt in... shit, a very long time. He sighed and pressed his hand down low on your belly, just barely able to feel the outline of himself through your soft skin, muscles and fat.

His gaze slowly slid up your sweaty and twitching body, to the fresh mark he'd left in your throat, and finally to your blissed-out, satisfied face. He knew this state for you was only temporary; once his knot went down, you would be climbing back on top of him for more, wanting to be fucked and bred again and again, despite the face he was 100% positive in the fact that ghouls didn't work like that anymore... But nonetheless you'd be wanting your Alpha to mark you and fuck you again and again until your heat passed you by.

He narrowed his eyes at his own line of thinking. He... wasn't really "your" Alpha now, was he? You were partners, and well, now...

Ah. Shit...

"You alive, darlin'?" Cooper chuckled, pushing aside his line of thinking, to try and focus on the moment instead of his stupid what-ifs.

"Mhmmm..." You answered with a purr, arching you back and stretching, wrapping your legs around his waist once again, opening your stormy eyes to peer up at him, your tongue swiping out at your bottom lip.

"Shit... Give me some time to pull out, you needy little bitch." He chastised with another soft laugh, reaching out to tweak your nipple in reprimand.

Cooper leaned over you, pressing his thumb over your clit, earning a soft whine from you.

"You're gonna be a good girl for me, ain't'cha, babydoll?" He sighed, looking as your face twisted in pleasured agony while he pinched and rolled your clit, feeling how your cunt fluttered around his cock. "C'mon... Answer your Alpha, sweetheart..."

Your eyelids dragged lazily open and you nod, almost jerking your head up and down as a small bit of drool pools at the corner of your swollen lips. "Yes, yes, yes... I'll be a good girl."

Cooper grinned wider, almost predatory in appearance, still tasting you on the tip of his tongue.

"Thaaaaat's right... Now... just lay back and let me take care of ya, babydoll. And once we're done, you 'n I are gonna have a long talk..."

[pretzel-box]

Requests are currently closed, but oh please consider this for the future

Reader is an individual that asked Urbanshade, ON PURPOSE, to make experiments on them so they can adapt to the underwater ambient better. They are someone on a life sentence, they will spend their whole life at prison no matter what, might as well keep coming back to the Hadal Blacksite as the only thing that kinda makes them have freedom again. Sebastian absolutely HATES this particular Expendable, because how they’re even willing to do that to themself?!?!

Would love something a long the lines of them physically fighting, and in the heat of the moment that they’re both too tired to keep going, they have a heart to heart conversation

Tags: Body modification, GN!reader, Sebastian hates on Reader

Words: 1k

The walls of the Hadal Blacksite were oppressively cold, the weight of the deep ocean pressing down on every inch of the facility. The air inside was sterile, a sharp contrast to the dark, muddy waters that surrounded the place. You were back again, your body feeling heavier with each visit, the effects of the latest round of experiments settling in. It was a habit, instead of trying to stay human you let yourself fall deeper and deeper to adjust yourself more to this new home.

Every time you returned, the scientists ran more tests, pushing your body further, breaking you down and building you back up in the hopes of making you a better tool for underwater missions. You’d asked for this—no, demanded it. After all, what did you have to lose? A life sentence, shackled in chains above the surface, or the faint glimmer of freedom deep beneath the waves?

The experiments were brutal, yes, but they gave you something. A purpose. A chance to adapt, to become more than just a prisoner. In a way, the deep black of the ocean felt like the only place where you were free, no bars holding you back, only the crushing pressure of the water and the endless darkness that felt almost… liberating.

But to Sebastian Solace, you were a walking nightmare.

He stood in the dimly lit control room, glaring at the monitor that displayed your current location at the submarine docks. You had just returned from your latest visit to Urbanshade, almost befriending them, and the realization was coming in—You sold yourself to the devil in human disguise. The scientists were pleased. Sebastian, however, was not.

He turned sharply as you entered the room, taking in your changed appearance as the many times before. You looked at him, tired but satisfied. You’d survived again, adapted even more to the hostile environment outside. You were becoming something else, something that could thrive where no one else could.

“Back for more, huh?” Sebastian’s voice was ice-cold, his eyes burning with barely concealed anger. “How many times are you going to keep doing this to yourself?”

You shrugged, unbothered by his hostility. “As many as it takes.”

He scoffed, stepping closer, his tall frame towering over you. “Do you even hear yourself? You’re turning into a freak just so you can get a few more hours outside. Do you actually want to die down there?”

You met his gaze, your expression calm, though your heart pounded harder in your chest. “Better than rotting in a cell for the rest of my life.”

“That’s your excuse?” His voice rose, the anger boiling over. “You let them break you apart and stitch you back together because you’d rather drown in the ocean than live like a normal human being?”

You stood your ground, your voice steady. “I’m already dead up there, Sebastian. This,” you gestured to the facility, the dark waters just beyond the thick windows, “this is the closest thing I have to freedom. The ocean doesn’t care about my sentence. It doesn’t care about who I was. It just… exists. And so do I when I’m out there.”

His face twisted into a scowl, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. “You’re a fool.”

“Maybe,” you admitted, shrugging again. “But what’s the alternative? Stay locked up, waiting for a death that’ll never come? At least down there, I’m not just a prisoner. I’m something more.”

Sebastian shook his head, stepping back, disgust flashing in his eyes. “Something l less you mean. You’re letting them tear you apart like you’re nothing. You’re just another expendable to them, another tool. And you’re fine with that?”

“I’m alive, aren’t I?” You shot back, your tone sharper now. “I know what I signed up for. I asked for this. I made the choice.”

“And that’s what pisses me off!” He snapped, his voice echoing in the cold room. He usually kept his tone normal despite his sassy behaviour, but now it feels like all his nerves died off and the strings teared. He was furious. “You chose this. You could’ve fought back, could’ve tried to escape like everyone else. But you just let them do it. You’re so willing to let them destroy you for a few more dives, for what?”

You stared at him, something tightening in your chest. You knew Sebastian hated you for it—hated the way you willingly threw yourself into the experiments, how you seemed so eager to be used by Urbanshade. He couldn’t understand. To him, it was madness. But to you, it was the only way out, the only path that made sense in the twisted mess that had become your life.

“I’m not like you, Sebastian,” you said quietly, your voice cutting through the tension. “I don’t have anyone waiting for me. No life to go back to. All I have is this. And if that makes me a monster in your eyes, fine. But I’m not going to sit around and do nothing while I have the chance to live, even if it’s like this.”

He stared at you, his jaw clenched tight, the anger still simmering just beneath the surface. For a moment, you thought he might say something else, might lash out at you again. But instead, he just shook his head, the frustration rolling off him in waves.

“You’re already gone,” he muttered, turning away from you. “And you don’t even see it.”

You watched as he stormed out of the room, the door slamming shut behind him. The sound echoed in the empty space, leaving you standing alone, soaked and exhausted.

Maybe he was right. Maybe you were already gone. But you couldn’t stop now. You wouldn’t stop.

The ocean called to you, its dark depths promising freedom that no surface world could ever offer. Even if it meant breaking apart, even if it meant becoming something unrecognizable, you would keep going back. Because, in the end, it was the only place you truly felt alive.

And if Sebastian couldn’t understand that, then that was his problem—not yours.

[starfallforest]

SINGULARITY » 1.9k words tags: NSFW, reader is gender neutral, xavier bottoms a/n: I do not kid you when I say we're jumping right in it babes with that nsfw tag! things might get a little weird. I even did research for this lil guy. a super thank you to my friends (especially @ourlittleuluru and @leaderincrows) for being supportive of my first fic in awhile 💙 ao3: 🔗​link summary: When Xavier orgasms, your combined Evol disrupts the cosmos.

When Xavier cums, it’s a flash in the night—a lighthouse beacon in the storm of you. When he cums, his entire body alights, and with his skin translucent under your wavering gaze, you can count every vein beneath his surface. He shudders violently against you, wet and wanting, as the bones of his fingers bite into your arms like the jaws of a snare.

He didn’t warn you it would be like this. He didn’t warn you he would be like this.

Moments ago, he watched you through heavy lids as you pumped your hips to him. The back of his hand was pressed to his mouth—a self-soothing habit he never quite shook. You listened to his muffled panting, studied the way his knuckles tapped against his lips with each stir of your body. His eyes were black and starless, his mind a void you couldn’t reach. But you were trying. Gods, were you trying.

You bent over him, ran your fingers over the crag of muscle tensed along his neck. 

“Relax, Xavier,” you exhaled over him, as if you could breathe life into the command. Then you paused. 

“Do… you want to stop?”

“N-no—”

It comes out as a quiver, an apology ripe on his tongue. It’d been there all night: a forbidden fruit dangling over the both of you. A sorry, never uttered, in every lingering touch. Overripe. Rotting. 

He seemed to notice your hesitation then, barking out a laugh that was dark and desperate. 

“Trying—” he ground out, voice strained. “This is—” 

The rest of the words were lost when your fingertips reached the line of his jaw.

It happened all at once: the hitch of his breath, the grip of his fingers at your wrist. For just a moment he gaped at you—marveling—eyes glinting wide in the low light. A sigh left the back of his throat as he flicked his gaze downward, turning his head towards the warmth of your hand in a single exhale of uninhibited indulgence. That’s when you saw it.

Your other hand had settled lightly over the confluence of your bodies, fingers pressing into the smooth bumps of flesh there, and like a switch you caught his eyes illuminating with a white, white light. It was gone the next instant with a clench of his eyelids, swallowed down with the veracity of a cornered animal to its prey.

He was holding himself back, you realized. He was afraid.

It made sense when you thought about it. Time was never kind to Xavier. Rather, it acted as a harbinger that took everything he ever loved and, in the cruelest ways, spared himself. How could he trust that this moment wouldn’t also bring him ruin? As if in response to your thoughts, the hand around your wrist squeezed.

You reached out once more with your free hand to drag your fingers through his hair as the realization settled like iron in the knell of your heart. This time, you wouldn’t let him go anywhere without you.

“It’s okay,” you told him, and your throat constricted at the unfamiliar promise. You bent to kiss the corner of each of his eyes, then pressed your forehead to his. For a beat you held him there inside you, breathing the scent of sweat in the space between. His grip on you relaxed.

“Alright,” he finally said, filling the quiet in earnest, filling his lungs with air. “I trust you.” 

When he looked at you, his eyes were brighter than you’d ever seen.

It was reassurance to yourself as well: It’s okay. The two words were a metronome as you dragged your body over his, quicker now. 

He moved his hands to your arms to better anchor himself to your rhythm. You pressed deeper into him, tracing your fingers along the bones of his ribcage and the skin of his neck.  

The air around you pulsed once, twice—a warning. You felt a wind pick up, warm and without origin as it ripped through your hair. Xavier’s movements quickened under you erratically. Long lashes fluttered as his eyes rolled wildly behind closed lids. You could see the light spill out from beneath them, like daybreak through your curtains. Little light particles lit up beneath you like stars.

He was close. 

With furrowed brows, he parted his lips as if he wanted to say something more, but before another word tumbled from his throat you pressed your palm against the hard ridge of his chest. His eyes shot open in an awful mix of fear and wonder and you felt all the breath leave his body at once.

“It’s okay, Xavier,” you said again, a little more firmly this time. Then you pulled your Evol from the deepest parts of you and pushed it into your fingertips.

—

Type la supernovae. Before a star erupts, it pulls the matter from the atmosphere of a nearby companion star until the pressure becomes too much and it explodes. You think he told you this once, some sleepless night on your porch stargazing together. You think you get it now, as Xavier comes apart beneath you. 

And once Xavier unravels, he’s a supernova. All at once, you feel his heat inside of you. All at once, the light of his body envelops you. 

It’s you who was his ruin, after all. It was always you. 

—

There’s nothing but white, at first, and a terrible, discordant roaring of the blood in your ears. Then the pressure in the air shifts, pitching up into an inaudible whine.

The light Xavier emits bends around you before warping out and into a thin line that stretches and settles over the both of you. Time stops. Darkness surrounds your peripheral of white.

Xavier is still beneath you, but something is wrong. His body floats, limbs splayed frozen as if suspended in liquid. Tiny solar flares slough off his skin in waves, rivulets of gold light thread the tips of his fingers and spin reflections in his unmoving eyes. Although unfocused, they remain fixed to your face as if looking through you.

“Xavier?”

At your call, his eyes snap into focus. He reaches a hand out and caresses your cheek, but at his touch, his form convulses. The edges in your vision shift wildly, kaleidoscopically. It’s mystifying, the way he flickers in and out of existence. Each time you blink, he looks different: a new hairstyle, a change of clothes. Yet his face remains the same, unchanging for eons. For reasons unknown to you, you recognize every version of him.

You take the hand at your cheek and wrap your fingers in his, clutching tightly as if he might slip away. You move your hips slightly and realize your bodies are still connected, somehow, as if you were back at home in your bed. 

“I’ve got you,” You’re not sure if he can hear you, but you’re compelled to say it nonetheless. “Don’t go… don’t go off without me again.”

In response, he leans up and kisses you, long and lingering, and the light about him swells—it blinds you, washing over the shadows where flesh meets flesh until they’ve all dissipated and the lines that separate your body from his become indistinguishable. 

You taste his ecstasy in the back of your throat. You feel the blue of his eyes burned onto your skin, your hair. The shape of your name vibrates beneath your tongue like electricity and you know, somehow, that it’s how it feels when he calls to you.

Then your body becomes heavier, unfathomable. When you look down all you see is white, white, white. There’s a coil in your belly, a tightness that drives into the core of you like an anchor. When it releases, you feel a rush of pleasure and shutter the air from your lungs. But you feel alone.

“Xavier?” you snap to attention with a start, crying out to him in the shrill of the silence. 

“I’m here,” comes his response, calm and familiar.

“Where? I don’t see you.”

An echo: “...here. I’m here.” 

Upon his response, you notice your lips are moving. Your entire face flushes hot when you realize this, the back of your hand pressing up against your mouth out of habit. Your breath wavers over the callused skin of your knuckles and your chest heaves with a weight that isn’t yours.

“I’m sorry,” your mouth forms around the words that aren’t yours—are yours. The apology takes shape in front of you. It’s an ugly little shadow amongst the white of the light in your peripheral and it reeks like rotting fruit. 

He’s sorry for not telling you this might happen. He’s sorry for going off without you. He’s sorry for taking from you, even now. Even now, he’s sorry, sorry, sorry.

Stop. 

His wall of his regret crashes against the sharpness of your will and you strike it down. In a rush of determination, you pluck the sentiment out of the air and crush it in your jaws. Lightning arcs off your teeth with a crack. You roll the regret on your tongue, tasting its bittersweet release. After a thousand deaths, after a thousand years alone, it doesn’t matter anymore. You love him—you’ve always loved him—and you will love him until he accepts that he is worthy of it.

Suddenly the relief of forgiveness seizes your body and contorts it. Your stomach drops from under you in a ripple of anticipation. An icy lightheadedness tingles all the way down your spine and as it leaves you, you can feel the sheets of the bed materialize beneath you.

Xavier is propped on his elbows over you, caging you with his forearms. Your bodies are pressed together under a layer of sweat and stardust. Xavier’s neck flashes with a beeping and a warning light. You curl your fingers into the bedsheets now fully formed beneath your palms.

“What just happened?”

Xavier blushes to the tips of his ears. “I don’t know,” he quickly admits. He silences the device at his collarbone and pulls back from you, embarrassed.

 “That’s… never happened to me before. Any of this.”

Still reeling, you sit up and tug Xavier back to you, clumsily throwing your arms over his neck. You don’t even realize your breath coming in shallow, frightened gasps. Xavier’s eyes soften and he takes your face into his large hands. 

“Are you okay?” he asks. Before you answer, he’s already pulling you in, nudging his nose along your cheek soothingly.

“I don’t know,” you answer honestly. You can feel the heat still radiating from him.

“What about you?”

He hums in thought. You feel his eyelashes flutter along your cheek.

“Something feels… different.”

He sighs into your shoulder, his warm breath summoning goosebumps along your skin. He ghosts his lips over your neck, kissing the soft tissue behind your ear.

There’re so many words unsaid between you, but as usual, Xavier relishes in the silence that hangs heavy in the empty air.

“Thank you,” is all he says. You place your hand over his at your cheek, running the other along the hair at the nape of his neck. You kiss him once, twice. When you pull away to look at him, you realize the ends of his hair are glowing golden, backlit by his own luminescence. You chuckle at the sincerity that literally emanates from him. Xavier is unreadable—and yet, somehow, he’s as evident as words on a page.

He catches on quickly to your musing. “I can’t help it,” he relents, “I feel…” He pauses deliberately and leans in to peck the corner of your mouth. 

“I feel… lighter.” His eyes wane to crescents while he gauges your reaction, pressing his mouth to you a few more times for good measure.

”My elusive star-boy,” you mumble back against his lips, smiling, “I’ll follow you to the ends of the universe.”

He laughs.

Thank you for reading! 🌝

[inkwolvesandcoffee]

No thoughts, head empty except for…

The thought of werewolf!Simon asking you to put a collar on him.

CoD ML

Just imagine this rough-looking imposing figure awkwardly approaching you with a collar in his big scarred hands. His palms are marred with traces of all the fights he’s gotten into, but the worst of them betray he’s gone Feral.

Yet Simon tries so hard to stay with you as long as he can.

Despite the terrible craving to let the Wolf take over completely forevermore and vanish.

Before he hurts you in a way that wants to make him eat silver until his lungs rot with the stuff.

“Y/N?” For a moment he hesitates, but he knows it’s too late when your eyes fall on the thick black leather band lined with silver studs. “Collar me.”

“You sure you want that?” You’re more than aware how much pride your recently returned husband puts into being a Wolf. Moreover, collaring is a very intimate experience, almost on the same level as mating. It’s binding.

A level of commitment neither of you had expected him capable of. Yet, Simon craves it even more than the ring on his finger.

That’s what his human side wanted.

But the Wolf wants this.

Needs this.

“Yes.”

He picks you up and plops you on the counter, secretly pleased with the way your boobs bounce ever so slightly as you land on the surface. Also, he simply enjoys displaying his strength so he’s prone to sweeping you up whenever he feels like it.

Simon leans in to give you easier access to his neck. Eyes closed, he loses himself in the way your nimble fingers put the collar on. A low growl escapes him when he hears the click of the lock, the leather flat against his skin.

“I can take it off,” you offer, alarmed by the swift snarl that passes over his face.

“No. Just gotta get used to it yet.” Simon’s features soften as his calloused fingertips brush your cheek. It’s in moments like these, when he notices the sharp sting of anxiety in your scent, that he barely has the courage to touch you at all. “That’s all.”

His eyes wander to the empty pill box behind you. “Need to up the dose.”

“Ah,” you murmur. It’s all you can say, haunted by the visions of him hanging over the loo, sickly and pale. Unfortunately, there’s no other way to keep him here.

Either hope to remain human enough through ingesting wolfsbane mixed with silver only to vomit your guts out or go Feral and lose yourself to the Wolf.

“So it’s getting worse again.”

“Yeah.”

“What’s the last estimate they gave you?”

For how much longer will you be here?

The thought hangs heavy in the air, haunting the silence in your kitchen.

For both your sakes, Simon ignores your question. As per usual whenever his remaining time comes up, the only kindness he can show you is carrying on casually. “I’ll drop by Johnny later. Get the proper prescription.”

“I’ll write a memo.” Lest he forgets.

As he tends to do often nowadays.

“Y/N?”

“Hm?”

Simon takes your hand and hooks one of your fingers beneath his collar. Making use of your puzzlement, he cups your cheeks and gently presses his lips on yours in a tender kiss. “This means something. Fucking everything. I love you.”

“I love you too.”

In all his forms.

Ghost.

The Wolf.

Simon Riley.

[muldermuse]

two sinners (Gator Tillman X F!Reader)

ok so this is feral and I wrote it in a day bc I could feel it rotting away in my brain

Gator Tillman is a horrible guy and reader wants to get him back.

18+ only!!! Smut below. Smut includes piv sex, infidelity (pretty big thing), Gator is mean but so is reader, oral (f receiving), rimming (m receiving), slutshaming, mention of anal (f receiving), mention of cuffs used as restraints, brief nipple play, use of the word whore/slut, spitting, dirty talk, praise kink, stalking???. If any of that makes you uncomfortable, please do not read.

this could be a multi part fic. It was fun to write and I enjoy the dynamic so lemme know if u enjoyed!!!

He’s barely out of you by the time he says it this time. “That’s the last fuckin’ time I do this shit, we’re done”. He spits it at you like it’s acid on his tongue. 

You’re lying on your bed completely naked as his come is slowly dripping out of you onto your linen. The first few times you’d done this, you put on fresh linen and lit a floral candle. He never appreciated it so you stopped. His statement would hurt you a lot more if this wasn’t becoming a regular occurrence. It’s become a routine; something it was never supposed to be. 

He visits your home, fucks you however you want him to, makes you come as many times as he can, he feels guilt as soon as he finishes, he splashes cold water over his face in your en suite bathroom (leaves it in puddles across your tiled floor and organised surfaces) and then grabs his things and storms out. He’ll be back before the end of the week- he always is.

You’re getting tired of it. It should be harder now he has a girlfriend and you’re seeing a few guys from the local area. But it isn’t. You’re unsure why.

He tells you he hasn’t slept with Glenda yet. His daddy loves her, thinks she’s the sweetest thing he’s ever seen and he’s been vocal about his dislike of you. You think he’s a fucking idiot so you guess it’s good that the feeling is mutual. Gator can’t be with anyone his daddy doesn’t like, you’ve heard him brag about how he could get any gal he wants but you know it’s not true. You’re pretty sure that Gator knows that as well deep down. 

You were sleeping together before he got with Glenda. Glenda is a church girl and his daddy’s protege. Roy sets them up and tells Gator he’s been blessed to have Glenda enter his life. Whereas, Roy thinks you have sin in your heart and you know that you do. You believe him that he hasn’t slept with her yet, if he does- it makes the whole relationship real. This is something that you know Gator is trying to avoid. His head is buried deep beneath the sand and he’s trying to find air holes to catch his breath before he suffocates. 

You’re sleeping with other people, like Jax from the local store and Steve from the bar. Neither know about each other or about your Gator situation. Jax and Steve take you out on dates and fuck you in their cars and their homes. It’s passionate and sweet. It’s filled with promises and hope. Gator fucks you like he’s trying to get expel something deadly from his body. Gator’s a terrible person and you know that you are too. This is why you’re done with him, not for Glenda or Roy Tillman. Certainly not for Jax and Steve. You’re done because you want him to want you more than he ever has before. He’s an asshole and you want him more desperate than ever for you. You hear him spit in your sink as he comes back into the bedroom. 

“You say this shit all the time Gator. What if I’m done with you huh?” You’re still naked and you can feel his cum drying on your inner thighs.

“You’re the one who always comes crawlin’ back to me remember? Jus’ a fuckin’ whore- that’s why I liked usin’ you though so don’t take it personal”. He giggles cruelly as he shrugs his jacket back on. 

His words don’t hurt, a few months ago they would’ve made your stomach drop and tears prick in your eyes. But now? It just fuels you. 

“Go back to Glenda, Gator”. That will hurt him. You never say her name, you only do it because that sentence is the equivalent of a scorching red hot poker branding his sensitive skin. 

“Don’t say her fuckin’ name”. Anger flashes across his eyes. “I am so fuckin’ done with you and I mean it”. You want to laugh at how powerful he perceives his words to be. 

“You say fuckin’ shit you don’t mean all the time Gator. It’s like breathing to you”. You wrap a bedsheet around you and get up to stand in front of him. 

“That’s it then, you’re done with this right?” He nods. “I don’t wanna see your fuckin’ face or hear from you again. Don’t text me, don’t casually come into my work and don’t fuckin’ turn up here.

Get the fuck out of my fuckin’ house, Gator”

***

Two weeks pass with nothing. You can’t say you’re not impressed. He doesn’t glance at you when you see him on the street. He doesn’t call or text. 

Glenda shares pictures on Facebook of the pair of them. She looks happy and he looks uncomfortable. You think that that sums up the entire relationship. You know he’s going to break and speak to you; it’s just waiting.

You carry on seeing Jax and Steve. Jax takes you to a drive in movie theatre and goes down on you on the backseat for the entire movie. He buys you your favourite candies and chips for the ride there and back. He makes you laugh and asks if you want to make it official- you tell him you don’t. He asks when he can see you again. 

Steve takes you to a new steakhouse. He gets you a bottle of red wine and when you don’t like how your steak is cooked; he swaps your plates. You go back to his place and ride him on the couch in his living room. You spend the entire time thinking about how you couldn’t do this with Gator because he lives with his daddy. Before you leave, Steve gives you a necklace with your birthstone on. He tells you how much you mean to him, you thank him and drive home. 

You don’t miss Gator. You don’t feel positively about him at all. You just like that he wants you and you like the power you hold over him. If you wanted to ruin his life you could. You could tell his daddy and Glenda that he loves fucking a sinner. That he’s fucked you in every possible way they could imagine and he loves it. You could tell them about how he’s been that pussydrunk on you; he’s told you he’s in love with you. Or maybe about how after you ate his ass on his daddy’s dining room table, he told you he wanted to run away with you and that he’d already looked into it and started storing money away. You didn’t say anything back to him, you just stored away these love drunk confessions so you could use them against him. 

Gator Tillman is the worst guy you know.

And he makes you feel fucking powerful.

***

It takes 4 weeks in total for him to break. 

[received on Monday at 04:32] Gator🐍💩: are u going to the church potluck on Saturday

[received on Monday at 10:12] Gator🐍💩: just bc u went last year, know it’s not ur scene tho. 

[received on Monday at 15:05] Gator🐍💩: im goin with Glenda so just don’t want it to be awkward

[received at Tuesday at 01:54] Gator🐍💩: ?? Do you have a new number? 

He calls you three times on Wednesday. 

You ignore every text and every ring. 

His patrol car is parked over the street from you on Thursday. He knows you leave for work at half 6 in the morning. You know you’ll see him again, probably during lunch as he is so fucking predictable. Every Thursday, you go for a bagel at a local deli because you love the mid week special. You can already picture his car parked outside there on the curb waiting for you. So you know it’s a great time to invite your new, very handsome, colleague called Jenson along. Jenson is new to the department and is a quarterback for a local team. He’s made his attraction to you pretty clear, he brings in a coffee for you every morning and has asked you out for drinks before. 

You offer to drive Jenson to the deli and, of course, Gator’s car is parked out front. He sees you but you don’t look at him. You can feel his eyes burning into you and Jenson. You grip Jenson’s bicep and throw your head back in a giggle and something mediocrely funny that he said. As you get closer to Gator’s car, you politely smile at him and squeeze Jenson’s arm tighter. 

[received on Thursday at 21:45] Gator🐍💩: Jenson Ackerley????? really??? that guys a fuckin asshold

[received on Thursday at 22:35] Gator🐍💩: *asshole

Instead of replying to Gator, you spend Thursday evening exchanging flirty texts with Jenson. You invite him to the Potluck on Sunday and ask if he wants to come back to your place for dessert. 

***

He reaches new levels of desperation on Friday.

“Hi, it’s Joe on reception. I’m really sorry to disturb you on your lunch. I have Sheriff Tillman here and he just wants to come to your office if that’s okay?”

You’re sat alone preparing for the rest of your day when Joe’s call comes through. Jenson has finished early for the day and gave you a bouquet of flowers before he left. He smiled when he gave them to you and said he couldn’t wait to spend the day with you on Sunday. 

You’re excited as well but for a different reason.

“Hi Joe, I’m sorry but can you tell Gator that I’m just having my lunch with Mr Ackerley so I don’t have time for a chat”

You can hear Gator speaking in the distance after Joe relays your message to him.

“He says it will only take a few minutes”

“Can you apologise for me Joe and tell him that Mr Ackerley and I will see him on Sunday at his Father’s potluck”

You hear Joe recite the message verbatim for Gator. Although you can’t see it, you can imagine the look of disgust on his face and it makes you grin.

You spend Friday evening texting Jenson and telling him in detail what you’re going to do when you get back to your home on Sunday. He asks if you want to ‘skip straight to dessert’ and miss the potluck. You tell him you can’t because you’re planning to see a friend. You don’t tell him who it is.

***

You wear an outfit you know Gator will love on Sunday. It’s a pale green flouncy dress which pushes your tits up and looks amazing. Your hair is half up half down and your make up is dewy with a strawberry scented lip gloss brushed over your lips. You text Jenson and ask him to bring an extra coat for you to wear because you’ll be cold. He doesn’t ask why you don’t just wear your own.

Jenson tells you how beautiful you look on your doorstep and he hands you another bouquet. It’s white peonies and he says it nearly matches your outfit. As you laugh at him, you pull his face to yours to kiss him. He drives to the potluck in his truck and you listen to a country album he’s been telling you about. You haven’t brought a meal but Jenson’s mom has made some pasta salad so you’ll pass that off as your own. His hand stays on your upper thigh the entire ride.

The first person you see at the potluck is Glenda. She looks great, you have to admit. Her blonde hair is in a tight bun sitting at the nape of her neck. Her dress is long, black and covers her body. A diamond crucifix hangs around her neck and you know that Roy made his son buy that for her as a token of his love for her.

You and Glenda don’t get on. You know she doesn’t suspect anything about you and Gator; her mind wouldn’t even dare think about it. You’ve known her since high school and you could lie and say that the only reason you don’t like her is because you existed in different social groups. It isn’t because of that. It’s because Glenda is a truly and fundamentally awful person. You recognised in your younger years that she enjoyed making people miserable. Shaming people about their relationships to god and judging everyone from afar.

She smiles politely at Jenson as he puts his hand on your lower back. She tries not to scowl at you as you hand her the dish of pasta salad. You know she thinks you look like a slut, she’ll definitely run to her friends and tell them about how disgraceful it is that you’ve come into a church community looking like a whore. You smile harder when you think about how Gator has fucked you in his patrol car whilst you wore this dress.

Jenson goes to the grand table in the centre of the hall. As he’s pouring a cup of punch for both of you, he gets accosted by two of Glenda’s friends who take their time complimenting him all the while smirking at you. You feel a presence next to you, you cross your arms to push your tits higher as you turn around.

“Oh, hi Roy, didn’t hear you sneakin’ up on me”. Your grin to him is saccharine and he snarls in response.

“I don’t remember invitin’ you to this, for the church community only. A community you are not part of so it’s time to go”. His voice is gruff and as you go to respond; you see Gator.

You make eye contact across the hall. He looked stressed and then as soon as he saw you; it flickered to what you can only imagine is rage. Glenda is talking away at him and he’s not looking at her. His eyes are trailing up and down your body. He recognises the dress. Jenson obscures your view as he stands in front of you holding out a cup of punch. He wraps his arm around you and whispers lowly in your ear that he’s spiked both of your cups with liquor from his flask. You giggle back at him, get on your tiptoes and press a soft kiss to his jaw.

Although you think it would be hilarious, you want to avoid an interaction with you, Jenson, Glenda and Gator. At this point, you’re unsure if Gator’s heart could take it. Jenson gets pulled away by Glenda’s friends to help arrange the plates for the potluck dishes and of course he does it. He kisses you before he goes and as your lips touch; your eyes never leave Gator’s.

***

It takes twenty minutes for him to grab your wrist and pull you into an empty room. Everyone is too preoccupied with grabbing plates to notice you both leave.

“Real fuckin’ nice. Comin’ here dressed like a fuckin’ slut and can’t keep your fuckin’ hands off some shitty quarterback. You know what people think of you, right?” He’s in your face, the spit from his lips is hitting your mouth and cheeks. 

He’s so mad.

And, of course, you fucking love it.

“Surprisingly Gator, I don’t give a fuck what your fuckin’ church girl or asshole daddy think of me…I know what you think about me though”. You move in closer to him and he doesn’t try to back away. His eyes bore into yours and you can hear him try to steady his breath. You can imagine his heart thundering away in his chest. You rest your hands on his vest and slowly unzip it.

“You think I’m a good girl. You’ve said it before- remember? You’ve said it when you fucked me in your patrol car…”

Your fingers move to unbutton his shirt.

“You whispered it to me when Glenda was downstairs and you had me on my knees sucking your cock in your daddy’s bathroom…she had no idea we were in there did she?” You giggle lightly as you feel his heart rate thumping quickly under your fingers.

“And you definitely thought I was a good girl that time you fucked my ass in your bed. Remember? We used the handcuffs, I think you called it me a few times…yeah you definitely did. You said I was such a good fucking girl”.

His shirt is half unbuttoned and his chest is basically heaving under the strain of his rapid heartbeat. You can feel his hard dick pressing into you, you smile at him and take a step back.

“I gotta go though, Jenson is probably waiting for me. We’ll probably shoot off soon, he said- he said, ha, that we’d have dessert back at my place. Who knows? Maybe he’ll get lucky tonight…he probably thinks I’m a good girl too. Maybe I can be his good girl from now on”.

He storms past you, his shoulder barging into yours on his way past and for a second, you’re devastated. Maybe you pushed him too far? Are you going to have to wait another four weeks for him to cave.

But he doesn’t leave.

He just locks the door and pushes a table against it as quietly as he can.

***

He grabs your hips and pulls them towards him.

“You fuckin’ feel that right? You feel how fuckin’ hard you make me. I’ve had this since I fuckin’ left your place four weeks ago. I fuckin’ hate you…I’ve fuckin’ missed you”. You’re not sure you would classify it as a kiss, it’s more like he’s shoving his face against yours.

He runs his hand through your hair and grips it; the power of it forces you to open your mouth. You stick your tongue out and give him your best doe eyes. He smirks and nibbles your jaw. Hard but not hard enough to leave any kind of mark. You maintain eye contact as he spits in your mouth. He raises his eyebrows at you and you swallow without objection. He smirks as you open your mouth and stick your tongue back out.

He kisses your neck and bites it lightly as you fight the urge to run your hands through his hair (Heaven forbid you mess up his slicked back hair).

“Baby, we gotta be quick. They might come lookin’ for us” he mumbles against your neck.

You go to bend over the table pushed against the door but Gator stops you before you can flip your dress up to grant him access.

“No baby, I need to see you. Missed your fuckin’ face too much…wanna watch you get e’en prettier when I make you come” 

He kisses you hard as he pushes you down against the table. He gets on his knees in front of you like your pussy is a biblical experience. He kisses your clit through your lace underwear and gently nips it with his teeth. 

“Gator, we don’t have time to tease” you try your hardest not to moan outwardly as you speak. You can’t let him know how much he’s affecting you, even though how wet he’s making you has completely given it away. 

He rips your underwear off and pulls your tits out of your dress. He takes them between his hands and rolls your nipples with his thumb and forefinger. You can hear him mumbling under his breath but you can’t work out what he’s saying. He always gets transfixed with your boobs. 

He doesn’t warn you as he notches his cock into you. You’re wet enough that he slides in with one motion. He’s on your mouth before there’s a chance for a moan to slip out. He thrusts into you slow and deep, he nudges your g spot and your eyes roll back into your head as he slips his tongue into your mouth. 

The only sounds filling the room is the soft rhythmic creak of the wooden table, the steady thrusts of Gator’s cock into you and the stifled moans slipping into each others mouths. It’s all too much, the noises, Gator’s cock perfectly grazing your g spot, his tongue in your mouth and the thought that he’s doing this mere feet away from his daddy and girlfriend. Your orgasm hits you out of nowhere and as you squeeze his cock, Gator puts his hand over your mouth and shushes you but he doesn’t stop fucking you. Your eyes roll into the back of his head as you hear him curse above you. This is the most intense sex you’ve ever had with him. 

It is so worth the wait.

You know he’s getting close; he has obvious tells that you could recite perfectly. His left leg starts to twitch, his mouth slightly hangs open and his eyes glaze over. He also either gets sentimental or speaks like he’s in a shitty Brazzers porn video. This time it’s a mix of the two. 

“Take my fuckin’ come, you take it so fuckin’ good. It’s all yours- it’s all yours”. He thrusts hard inside you twice before he stills. He rests his forehead against yours and presses a soft kiss to your lips.  You allow yourself a few seconds to enjoy his tenderness. 

You readjust your dress as Gator moves the table away from the door. You slip on Jenson’s coat as you walk over to the locked door. 

“I meant what I said y’know…I’ve missed you”. Again, you’re back in the routine. You know it well and you can’t deny how much you enjoy it. He’s going to ask to fuck you tonight, he’ll promise that it’ll be special- that’s what he usually says. 

He moves to interlock his pinky finger with yours. 

“Get rid of Jenson and let me come round tonight. Tell him you’re sick or somethin’. I wanna…I mean… I gotta to make it up to you. I’ll tell Glenda that I picked up an extra shift. That gives us all night an’ we can take our time”. 

As you open your mouth to respond, you hear a knock on the door and Jenson’s voice calling out. 

“You in there hon? I think I’m gonna head out…really fancy dessert. Y’know, if you catch my drift”. 

*** 

You tell Jenson in the car that you’re not feeling well. He’s a good guy and offers to stay and look after you. When you say no, he asks for a coffee date later this week and you agree.

As you see his reverse out of your driveway; you text Gator that he can come round if he’s here in the next hour. 

He’s back in your bed in less than forty minutes.

[merakiui]

omg i just watched damsel on netflix (i recommend it’s so good!!!) and i just imagine octo azul who dwells at the depths of the ocean. every year, a sacrifice must be made to him so he won’t destroy the kingdom!

this year, they send y/n down to be eaten, but instead of eaten, he falls in love! this hardworking and diligent person is so different from all the other princesses.

little angelfish is trying so hard to escape and go back to the surface but its okay!!! tako azul will do everything in his power to ensure you are safe and sound. maybe even stuff you either babies to keep you entertained ><

Omg omg I've seen it as well!!! What an exciting film!!! >w< I could absolutely see this same concept with Malleus. 👀 but that is a brain rot for another time hehe.

Throwing you to the tako... >_< you find yourself trapped in a complex cave system. The only way out is up, as the ocean is everywhere below. It's where the beast lurks, sliding soundlessly through submerged tunnels while you walk over precarious ledges and peer off of dangerous precipices, eyeing the severe drop to the water below. You're walking with a limp, pain and betrayal set deep beneath your skin. It hurts, but you have to keep moving. Otherwise the beast will catch you and you'll lose your life like the many princesses who came before you.

You managed to narrowly escape him earlier, when he ensnared you and you swiped at him with your dagger. He had been so caught up in you, watching with wide eyes, his horizontal pupils studying you intensely, that the momentary distraction allowed you to slip out of his hold. Now you're doing all that you can to survive and escape. You're determined. You won't die down here!

You put up a valiant fight, but Azul has done this one too many times. He knows these caves like the back of his own hand. It was only a matter of time before you found yourself in his grasp once more. You fight him, kicking and screaming, as he drags you into the water. He assures you he won't hurt you. You're unlike the previous princesses he's encountered. He's fallen in love with you! So please don't struggle. He intends to make you his bride. You can live down here with him! He won't destroy the kingdom now that they have so generously provided him with a lover. Besides, why would he bring harm to the body that will bear his clutch? :)

You may object now, but he knows you'll come around eventually. Now that you're soft and round with his young and he's been nothing but patient and kind, you'll reciprocate soon enough. Once that happens, the two of you can finally put aside your differences and live a happy life together! Just the both of you and the fry. He's the last of his kind, but now that you're here, his beloved, sweetest mate, that can change. <3