#but holy PISS its a big one

[fishorse]

the huge ass veilguard spoiler... thank the lord the post here on tumblr was properly tucked in with tags and a read more and everything bc apparently ppl are sharing it without any tags on twitter holy shit

[pantyhosepeepaw]

he also can’t feel bladder pains so imagine hitting his bladder the right way n the moron pisses himself.

In addition to his conditions, one of the many undermined factors is his emotional and mental state. Hyperactivity and intellectual disabilities are common in patients with NTRK1 variant (highly recommend lookin into other variants of CIP if u don't like writing for anhidrosis)

So you’ve got a kid who cannot feel pain, unable to control his sudden erratic movements, AND unable to control his impulses or properly regulate his big emotions. (and attention deficit but thats where i draw the line call me ableist)

not to mention he's probably got osteoporosis so his bones r always cracking n fracturing, n a predisposition to staph infections n god forbid osteomyelitis, bros chopping his leg off at that point

but on account for how hard it is, it’s also really fun to fill in the gaps for how he DIDNT lose his fingers.

its 1994 or so, n ur baby didnt cry coming out the womb and the doctors have no idea why he almost died wrapped in a blanket in his mothers warm embrace, only 31 confirmed patients with 20% of kids not living past 3 years old, what the hell do u as a mother think??

Tobys mom had to b a freak abt keeping him safe and his cipa had to be part of the reason why he was homeschooled and basically sheltered from the world. I read somewhere that some babies had their baby teeth surgically removed to prevent them from chewing off their tongue, idk the repercussions of that kinda thing but can u imagine? That boy would b gums until he was at least 6 LMAOO so no hard foods, all blended veggies and mashed potatoes, and incredibly tender meatloaf. n even once he did reach of age they had to put a mouthguard for him to sleep like a nerd.

n i'd wager his mom loved him enough to do routine therapy to help regulate his emotions, learning herself how to handle the kid cos lord knows she and her husband needed it, so he knows how to self regulate eventually (but does he retain it after the amnesia, up to u)

his sister also had to be aware of how her behavior affected him as well so she got well-versed in taking care of him, cooking for him, cleaning him, being acutely aware of what’s in his mouth and if he’s bleeding, just being super paranoid abt him cos her moms crazy abt him for like her entire life (not to mention she’s like definition glass child but that’s a factor for another day)

And no matter how u view his dad, he also had to get into certain habits to keep his infant/toddler son alive with all 10 fingers n toes. bare minimum of scanning the room for any sharp or blunt objects, double checking to see if the baby’s got any marks, bumps, scratches whatever. (because his dad loved him at some point n he was a decent dad)

so that translates to, Toby is unable to cook as a grown ass man (pathetic) but he can scan himself for any bump scratch wtv in an instant, also methinks he’d b very clean, no skin showing or else so he patches his clothes, and bathes often to warm up or cool down or relax wtv I think being clean reminds him of home (whether or not he remembers that place)

The family wouldn’t invest in sharp-edged tables, desks, dressers, or bed frames. Their cutlery, plates, and bowls are all plastic, except for the cookware but Toby’s not allowed in the kitchen period until he’s like five n that’s pushing it. The house would be insanely minimalistic, bare with little to no furniture to limit as much damage Toby could do to himself and a medicine cabinet stockpiled with expired antibiotics, Tylenol, antiseptic, bandages u name it.

that translates to Toby is great at taking care of himself and is always aware of what’s wrong with him or the potential consequences of his actions. He’d learn to check bones, fix swelling, massage or medicate whatever ails him. he'd also prefer plastic in case he jams a fork in his eye or tosses his plate lol (this is debatable but he could also b maximalist cos his childhood home felt too bare, or he’s a minimalist n gets nervous in stuffy rooms cos he’s not used to it but this is also dependent on the amnesia)

I also think he’s aware of his life expectancy (25 as of) so he lives with purpose cos everyday could be his very last if u don’t headcanon slender immunity n being immortal. (But either way, his age chart was pretty clear on 30 being his last, so fly high ticci toby)

tbh I think I like writing it cos I’m a full time caretaker so I have to think abt these things lol but even tho it’s hard to account for, I think Toby’s character knows how to handle it. Double checking himself, feeling where pressure feels different, aware of how hot or cold somewhere can be and doubling up on what he needs, constant watch and timer for meal time, shit time and sleepy time, just overall paranoid preparing for the worst, never chill. It would also affect anyone else around him (ie the proxies) u would b surprised how quick ppl start to pay attention to their surroundings when the disabled person trips they don’t usually let that happen twice.

I like to think that no matter how u view Toby, being incredibly smart or incredibly stupid, he can definitely take care of himself and others for that matter, despite the circumstances n that alleviates the narrative jus a tad.

I hate Toby having CIPA so much 😭 like narratively it fucks hard bc Toby canonically would antagonize his dad whenever his dad started to get aggressive. to put his dad's focus on him and not his sister or mother. Like literally the youngest person in the household purposely putting himself in physical danger to protect the women in the family because he knew he wouldn't feel the pain. Puppeteer canonically calls Toby "his favorite punching bag". Toby likely thinks of himself and his body that way. he is a punching bag. that's his job.

And admittedly it's terrifying to imagine Toby trying to chase down and kill you, and finally you grab hold of a weapon and stab him, and he has...no reaction. doesn't even flinch. doesn't even notice you stabbed him.

But realistically speaking his CIPA is hell to write for because you have to ignore the fact that Toby most likely would have bitten off his own fingers or tongue as a child because HE CANT FEEL PAIN. And with Tourettes causing his body to move in unpredictable ways no doubt his injuries get even worse!

You wanna know what people with CIPA are most likely to die of? Overheating. CIPA also makes you unable to sweat or feel temperature. HE LIVES IN THE WOODS!!! AND HE CANT SWEAT!!!!! He has NO way to keep himself cool while he's running around trying to kill people

[boneblushed]

And, boy, you got her

synopsis Rafe’s in charge of the pledges during Rush Week. Hazing isn’t a thing. Making you feel so high school is.

wc 3.6K

a/n omgggg Euro Trip Rafe <3333 I was living on pledgetok last week and just couldn’t not write something about it

“Holy shit,” Noah mutters, surveying the crowd over his red cup, “I swear they get scrawnier every single year.”

Rafe nods gravely, taking a pull of his beer. “It’s fucking grim.”

“Like — fuck, look at those two.” Noah gestures toward the shaded veranda, a fresh coat of gloss making its balustrades shine. Huddled in one corner, attempting to take up as little space as possible, two boys donning UNC merch survey the crowd in tandem. “We weren’t that fucking scraggy as freshman, were we?”

“You two weren’t,” Kelce snorts, coming up behind them. Topper brings up his rear, mid-bite of his loaded hotdog. “Thornton definitely was though.”

“Oi!” Topper protests, his words garbled by half chewed sausage. “S’wasn’t that bad. C’mon.” He turns to Rafe then, swallowing his mouthful. “But seriously, you locked in any potentials?”

Rafe furrows his brow thoughtfully, looking back over Delta Chi’s yard. Unsurprisingly, it’s far too early to say. Though the barbecue that they’re hosting is a good way for pledges to mingle, it isn’t exactly hazing material; they’re going to have to get creative.

“Maybe,” he replies finally, shrugging. “We’ll just have to see I guess.”

He tips back his red cup again, swallowing the last dregs of beer before acquiescing. As he’s about to announce his need for a refill, a few pledges sidle up to their group, looking hopeful.

Not overtly, of course. Painstakingly hiding their eagerness behind an armour of insouciance.

“Rafe,” the tallest of the three greets, handing him another red cup. The golden liquid inside it brims to the surface, its white foam dissolving in mocking. “Hey, bro. You need another?”

Rafe raises his eyebrows, hiding a grin. “Shit. Table service already?”

The boy grins in tandem, looking a little sheepish. “Big fan, man. I’m Dylan.” He motions at the two guys on either side of him, wearing matching squints and backwards caps. “This is Rahul and Xav, we’re all here from Trinity.”

“Durham and Chapel Hill?” Noah enquires, whistling approvingly when they nod. “Fuck, we used to love having away games there. Those Trin cheerleaders…”

“Haha, shit, what was that chic’s name again?” Rafe asks then, a pull of mirth as he turns to Noah. “The one you messed around with in junior year?”

“Blake,” Noah answers, groaning in a mock-wistful sort of way. “They didn’t make ‘em like her at the Academy.”

Rafe snorts, sending the pledges a sage glance. “Nah. They made ‘em better.”

Noah raises his eyebrows, his brown eyes glinting with amusement. “Oh, so we are allowed to objectify your girl then, Cameron?”

“Damn, so you’re tied down?” Xavier pipes up, his voice gravelly and low on purpose. Overtly masculine, like he’s trying hard to be red-blooded. “Your girl doesn’t mind you partying?”

Rafe frowns. “Why would she mind?”

“Uh,” Xavier balks, pulling at the bill of his backwards cap, “shit. I don’t know… like, doesn’t she get pissed that you’re constantly around sorority girls?”

“HA —” Topper laughs, and then he falters, thwarted by Rafe’s warning glower. “Uh.” He scratches the back of his neck. “Let’s just say Cameron doesn’t give her any reasons to be suspicious.”

“Because he’s obsessed with her,” Noah adds, unperturbed by Rafe’s expression. He pauses then, an amusing idea popping into his head. “Which means…” he continues, returning Rafe’s glare with a trust me one of his own, “you guys should be too.”

Rafe doesn’t trust him. Like, at all. He sends him a bewildered look, unsure where he’s going with this. “White — what?”

Noah ignores him. He downs his beer and crushes the red cup in his hand, deftly aiming it at the nearest bag of trash. “So,” he says, eyeing the three pledges with interest. “How serious are you guys about rushing Delt?”

“Pretty serious, bro,” Rahul answers, looking to his friends for support. “Think we got a shot?”

Noah throws his arm around Rafe’s neck, his strong bicep taut as he shoots them a grin. “Depends, man, I might know how we could figure that out though.” He begins to steer Rafe away from them, sending one last, faux-somber look over his shoulder. “Be right back, yeah?”

Rafe, whose bewilderment is quickly giving way curiosity, allows himself to be marshalled out of earshot without complaints.

He shrugs Noah off of him once they’re on the verandah, his features ever-bemused as he turns toward him. “The fuck was that about?”

“Bro, I know exactly how we’re going to haze these motherfuckers,” Noah replies, his voice lilted with mirth. “You know… without breaking any rules.”

The bewildered expression on Rafe’s face doesn’t acquiesce. “Okay… how?”

“Instead of getting them to be our bitches,” he answers, a mischievous grin making home on his features. “We’re going to get them to be our girlfriends’ bitches.”

Rafe frowns. “Bro. What?”

“Cameron, it’s perfect.” He swipes Rafe’s beer from his hand and takes a generous pull. “What do frat guys hate more than being called scrawny as fuck?”

“Uh. Doing assignments?” Rafe answers blankly, still frowning. He doesn’t have it in him to think too hard about Noah’s profferance. He’s on hour two of manning this boring event, hour four since he bid you farewell, and all Rafe can bear to think about right now is the imminent taste of your peach-scented lips.

Noah shakes his head. “No, dumbass. Being called a simp.”

“Wrong,” Rafe answers, “I don’t mind that shit at all.”

“You’re the exception,” Noah replies matter-of-factly. “You and Y/N have always been the exception. C’mon, I’m talking about us,” he places his palm over his breastbone solemnly, “mere mortals.”

Rafe narrows his eyes. “Fuck off. How would that even work?”

“We…” Noah pauses to think, a slightly furrow to his brow, “alright, I got it. We assign the pledges to our girlfriends, one by one. Give them a week to make a good impression — you know, carry their bags, buy them flowers, all that sentimental crap you love.”

“You really think the guys’ll agree to this?” Rafe asks, sounding reluctant. “I mean… I don’t know if I’m alright with a bunch of idiots holding doors for my girl.”

“But you’re an idiot that holds a door for your girl,” Noah answers, not missing a beat.

“Fuck off, White.”

“I’m serious. It’ll be funny. And look… if you’re worried about Y/N, I know she’ll find it adorable as fuck.”

Rafe shakes his head. “No way. She didn’t find high-school me adorable.”

Noah raises his eyebrows skeptically. “You’d be surprised, man. Besides, these guys aren’t going to be like high-school you. High-school you was a douchebag.”

“A douchebag who got the girl.”

“A douchebag who got the girl after he stopped acting like a douchebag.” Noah smirks then. “A douchebag who’d give all these fuckers a run for their money if he was pledging Delt this year.”

Rafe grins in tandem, stealing his beer back to take a big swig. “Alright, shit, alright. Harmless shit though, right? Chivalry and all that?”

“Harmless as hell,” Noah agrees. “C’mon. You really think any of these guys has the balls to make a pass at one of our girls?”

“Easy for you to say, White. You don’t fucking have a girl.”

Noah frowns. “What d’you mean? Aren’t we going halves on Y/N?”

“Holy fuck, Noah,” Rafe groans, almost spitting out his mouthful of beer. “If Y/N heard the shit you said when she wasn’t around, she’d probably kill you.”

“Nah,” Noah replies, seemingly unperturbed. “She loves me.”

“Well,” Rafe says grimly, crushing his own empty cup in his head. “She might do now, but she sure as hell won’t by the end of this week.”

—

The first time it happens, you’re understandably perplexed.

You’re en-route to your 9AM, bag strap denting your left shoulder, when a stranger falls into your step and swipes it from your figure. It’s a motion so quick and deft you initially think you’re getting mugged.

As you double back in bewilderment, he proffers, “you alright with this?”

“Uh.” You balk. “What?”

“Your bag,” he answers, readjusting it on his own shoulder. He seems earnest. Nervous, even. “It looked heavy. I can carry it to class for you, if you want?”

You allow a pause to take him in.

“No, I’m…” another pause, more of his demeanour on display. Backwards cap, crisp white polo shirt, smile lines exposing the ghost of a grin on his face. A familiar grin, the kind that pulls a soft, maudlin feeling from your ribcage. “Look, if you’re trying to hit on me —”

“No, no,” he interrupts quickly, his eyes widening in a panic. “Shit — no, don’t tell Cameron I’m hitting on you. I’m just…”

“Wait a minute,” your eyes narrow accusatorially, because of course he’s behind this chivalrous display, “you know my boyfriend?”

The stranger grimaces sheepishly. “Uh. Yeah.”

“Explain.”

“It’s… uh… well — basically, I’m pledging Delt,” he answers haltingly, self effacement juxtaposing his frat boy exterior. “Rafe’s asked us to be all gentlemanly and shit for pledge week, I don’t know. To you guys, I mean. Like… the current frat member’s girls?”

“Oh my god,” you groan. “No he hasn’t.”

“Shit.” He looks far more nervous now that he did five minutes ago. “He didn’t tell you?”

“No,” you grumble, pulling your phone out of your pocket. “No he did not.”

Rafe’s on speed dial. He picks up on the first ring, the way he always does for you.

“Hey baby,” his gravelly timbre crackles through the phone, the low hum of frat house chatter audible in the background. “What’s up?”

“Don’t even. You know what’s up Rafael.”

A pause. When Rafe speaks again, his voice is quick and placating. “It was Noah’s idea.”

“Of course it was.”

“Dylan’s not playing up, is he?”

You raise your eyebrows at the stranger then, assessing him faux-suspiciously. “No way. He’s doing a better job than you ever did in high school.”

“Woah woah woah,” Rafe replies, a playful lilt to his tone. “That fucker’s not calling you dream girl or something, is he?”

“Worse. He’s being respectful of my boundaries.”

“Oh shit. I fucking knew this was a bad idea.”

You shake your head in exasperation, trying not to laugh. The poor stranger’s still standing there at attention, your leather bag looking ridiculous on his arm. “Rafe. Tell me he’s the only one.”

“He’s one…” Rafe starts slowly, sounding sheepish, “of three. Four, counting me.” In the background, you hear Noah pipe up and add, “five, Cameron. How could you forget me?”

“You’re un-fucking-believable, Noah White,” you shout through the phone.

“I love you too, Y/N,” Noah sings, and then he groans, no doubt shoved to the side by his indignant best friend. It’s Rafe on the phone again, voice sweet and thick as molasses as he says, “they’ll behave, baby, and make your life easier in the process. I promise.”

“What?” You accuse, fighting back a smile. “Like you did in high school?”

“Fuck no,” he replies, the grin on his face audible. “They’ll be nothing like I was, sweetheart.”

“What?” You tease. “Absolutely insufferable?”

“And absolutely in love with you.”

You raise your eyebrows. “How can you be so sure?”

“They’re under strict instruction. Have a shiner waiting for them if they pull something funny.”

Another exasperated laugh bubbles out of you, and you begin walking forward again, motioning at the boy named Dylan to follow in your step. “Right. So the boundaries are on purpose, are they?”

“The respect, too. No being inappropriate and charming at the same time.”

“And why not?” You ask faux-indignantly. “What if I like being objectified?”

“Can’t have you falling in love with them, can I?”

“Hey,” you argue, frowning stubbornly. “That is not what made me fall in love with you.”

“It isn’t?”

“Well,” you balk, “not solely that.”

“You’re fucking sexy,” he recites devotedly, almost yells, and you can hear the collective groan of his frat brothers in the background. “Are you wearing those Lululemon pants right now? Point is, I’m thinking about your ass in those Lululemon pants right now.”

“Rafe, I was fucking kidding. Stop.”

“No you weren’t.” You know he’s right; you can picture that stupid smirk on his face. It makes your cheeks warm. Asshole. “You’re blushing now, aren’t you?”

“Anyway.”

“Anyway,” Rafe agrees. “No funny business, alright? Just lots of good deeds.”

Good deeds. You suppose you could get used to good deeds, the embarrassment of attention notwithstanding.

You let out a defeated sigh, halting in front of your 9AM class. “You so, so owe me.”

“I so, so love you,” Rafe replies, and it makes your pulse leap; you’ll never get used to this feeling. “See you later, yeah?”

“Uh huh. Love you.”

Dylan waits until you’ve ended the call before saying farewell, dutifully handing your leather bag back to you and giving you a mock salute. The way he does it, all sheepish and genuine with a charming smile on his face, makes your heart twinge in a junior year of high-school sort of way. You’re feeling sentimental. It’s sweet.

You’re reminded of Rafe before he was yours, stumbling over himself to win your favour. Confusing chivalry with courting, objectifying you in the name of flirting.

Insufferable, but sweet nonetheless. You digress.

—

The next time it happens, you’re ambushed at your favourite cafe.

A dutiful Delta Phi pledge has already queued up and purchased you coffee, handing it over to you with a blushing bouquet of tulips.

You raise your eyebrows at him questioningly. “Is that…?”

“Uh, an oat iced coffee with vanilla?” He asks, sounding nervous. “I asked Cameron for your order.”

“Didn’t ask me about pastries, though,” a voice behind you adds, rough and familiar with a sweetness around the edges. Rafe circles your waist with ease and pulls you into his chest, sponging a soft kiss to your temple before handing you a brown bag.

A glossy, Daily Bread sticker shines on its exterior proudly.

Your eyes widen in surprise, and you look up at him expectantly. “Tell me you didn’t drive back home for a single croissant.”

“I didn’t drive back home for a single croissant,” Rafe replies. He grins then, looking that same, sheepish genuine that pulls a maudlin feeling. “I drove back home for twenty.”

“Rafe. Why?”

“Because you like Daily Bread,” he replies matter-of-factly, like it’s obvious.

You shake your head in exasperation, tip-toeing up to press a quick kiss to his lips. It becomes less quick against better judgement. He tastes like spearmint gum and cold brew, the hand he has held to your waist tightening ever so slightly. Slipping under your shirt, massaging the soft skin he finds there expertly, discreetly. Too much for 8am on a Wednesday morning, sans coffee. Your face feels on fire. You pull away in a hurry.

Meanwhile, the freshman pledge balks at the exchange, looking out of place.

Rafe frowns bemusedly at your diffidence, only clocking the reason when you nod over at him.

“I’ll walk her over Ben,” he says, dismissing him. “You’re off the hook, bro.”

“Shit.” The boy named Ben grimaces; he needs to get his hours in, and doesn’t deem this a fair ambush. He scrambles for an excuse. “Right. Can I still give her the flowers?”

“Of course you can,” you beam, accepting them gratefully. You look up at Rafe then, asking, “And if I want to walk with Benjamin?”

Rafe grins down at you, disbelieving. “Do you, baby?”

“As a matter of fact, yes,” you say, wriggling out of his grasp. “He got me flowers.”

Rafe falters, his eyes widening in surprise. “Sweetheart, I got you a croissant.”

“Ben got me a coffee,” you hedge. “And flowers.”

“Y/N,” he placates.

“Rafael,” you echo, unperturbed by his exasperation. You take a sip your coffee. “I’ll see you later, okay? Ben’s ticking off a good deed this morning.”

Poor Ben looks helpless, taking the brunt of Rafe’s glare as you motion for him to hold the door for you.

“C’mon Ben, we’re going to be late.”

“But…” Ben pauses, his eyes flitting to Rafe nervously. “This is fine, right?”

Rafe sighs, drawing his bottom lip between his teeth in defeat. “Yeah, bro. You’re good.” He looks to you, then. “You’re unbelievable.”

You smile sweetly. “I’m wearing the Lulu leggings.”

“Oh I noticed,” Rafe replies, his blue eyes falling down your figure in slow, reverent paces. “It’s why I want to be the one holding the door for you.”

You roll your eyes. “Men only want one thing.”

Rafe grins. “Yeah. You.”

—

By the end of the week, you’re more used to the chivalry than you’re willing to admit.

You’ve enjoyed free iced lattes and filled your dorm with gorgeous bouquets, no door left unopened and no walk to class left unescorted. And really, every pledge you’ve come across has been pleasant and unassuming, albeit absolutely terrified of Rafe and therefore extra obliging on instinct.

They’ve even offered to do favours for you, got you into sought after Pilates classes and done last minute grocery runs on your behalf. It’s put you in this constant state of mild exasperation, like you can’t believe you’re worthy of this much love and chivalry.

It’s exactly the way you felt back in high-school with Rafe, and this revelation pulls lots of funny feelings from your stomach, from your chest. Feelings you’ve forgotten that are all yours and all his. Because it’s strange, having someone other than Rafe taking care of you. (Or Noah.) It’s strange because it makes you realise just how much he adored you back in the day.

These emotions come to a head at the pledge week closing bash, Delta Phi lit up with fluorescent lights in technicolour. Inebriation ensues, beer pong follows, and an impromptu DJ deck plays endless songs with heavy bass.

Rafe Cameron has you pulled close, as always, the taut muscle of his forearm pressing heat to your exposed waist. You’re a few drinks down and hyperaware of his proximity, ankles touching, thighs too, torsos close with your head resting on his shoulder.

“I think I like Dylan the best,” you announce suddenly.

“Yeah?” Rafe asks, kneading your skin absentmindedly.

You nod. “He’s sweet. Told me all about his girl back home.”

Rafe grins then, shaking his head bemusedly. “You’re such a sucker for love, sweetheart.”

“Hey!” You glare up at him faux-incensed, looking accusatory. “So are you!”

“Shhhh,” Rafe murmurs playfully. “Not so loud, you’ll fuck up my street cred.”

You scoff. “Since when do you care about street cred?”

“Shit, you’re right,” Rafe agrees easily, leaning down to draw your lips in for a kiss. He’s all patchouli and musk, beer on his tongue and unchaste intentions in his touch. When he pulls away, his lips are still an inch from yours, his voice rougher than it was a second ago, “I don’t care. Like, at fucking all.”

“Good,” Noah snorts from behind him. “‘Cause you never had any to begin with, bro.”

“There you are,” you say then, eyeing Noah over Rafe’s shoulder. There’s a mock accusatory expression on your face, softened by mirth and the alcohol on your lips. “Have you been hiding from me, White?”

Noah grins sheepishly, taking a pull of his beer. “Maybe.”

You narrow your eyes. “Tell me. When did you become worse than Rafael?”

“I didn’t become worse!” Noah insists. “He just became better. You know, after he got the girl.”

You make a face. “Smooth.”

“Hey,” Noah raises his arms in surrender, looking faux-somber, “someone’s gotta teach the next generation, don’t they? I’m committed to their education.” He raises his eyebrows then, a mischievous glint in his eye. “C’mon, don’t act like you didn’t love it.”

Rafe grins. “She totally fucking loved it.”

You aim a glare at the pair of them, failing miserably at hiding your amusement. “So maybe I didn’t mind it. Sue me.”

“Of course you loved it,” Noah says, throwing his arm around you and pulling you into his side. “You love Cameron, don’t you?”

You narrow your eyes. “Opinions vary.”

“You love me?” Noah tries.

“You fucking wish.”

“Everyone fucking wishes,” Rafe says then, throwing his arm around you too, your figure wedged between the pair of them. Frat boy sandwich, you think tiredly. If high-school you could see you now, you’re pretty sure she’d have an aneurysm. “Especially when you’re in Lululemon.”

“Rafe.”

“I’m kidding. Not really. They all love you, you know that, yeah?”

You look up at him questioningly. “The pledges?”

“Uh huh,” Rafe replies, raising his eyebrows at you. “This is what I was afraid of, you know.”

“What?” You ask, lifting yours in tandem.

“Everyone falling in love with you, like I did in high school.”

You scrunch up your nose at him, your cheeks warming in diffidence. “No one’s fallen in love with me, don’t be silly.”

“I have,” Noah pipes up unhelpfully.

“Shut up, Noah. I saw you talking to Georgia just before.”

Noah grins, pulling away and offering you a mock salute. “Guilty as charged.” He turns to survey the crowd, spotting her figure on the fairy-light lit porch. “Speaking of…”

And he’s gone before you’re able to tease him any further, leaving Rafe to guide you out of his side and into his chest. You wrap your arms around his neck, his hands exerting a warm, steady pressure into the curve of your waist.

“As I was saying,” you continue, frowning up at him playfully. “No one’s fallen in love with me.”

Rafe’s unconvinced. His gaze skates down your figure again, a tortured groan falling from his throat. “Have you seen you, sweetheart?”

You roll your eyes, face hot and self conscious. “And even if they have,” you add, “it doesn’t matter.”

Rafe raises his eyebrows. “It doesn’t?”

“No way. Because I’m in love with you, not any of them.”

Rafe grins then, a devastatingly handsome look on his face. “I’ll never get used to hearing that.”

“I’ll never get used to saying it.”

[puppetmaster13u]

Prompt 257

Now Danny loves space. He loves everything about it, to the point his core quite literally is space. And he’s also a baby ghost, even if he could argue he’s not in human form. But see, being baby has an honestly great consequence once it’s noticed- despite the Observants’ best attempts at hiding it, the assholes. 

Of course he would be far more worried- and even a bit pissed- if his caretaker wasn’t who it was. Look, he’d never met Clockwork’s siblings before, but apparently everyone was really against Clockwork himself adopting. 

But Clockwork as his uncle is fine. Besides, his caretaker is Space! Space itself is holding him, cooing gentle words in the sounds of the very cosmos. And they’re huge, like parts of their body going through portals so they can fit outside Long-Now sized big- and apparently Clockwork can get just as big and they can get even bigger- 

Okay, he needs to take a breath- even if he doesn’t need to breathe- to stop his squealing because holy Realms this is so cool. 

Space is awesome! And he’s getting so much more rest than he did in Amity- and even if Space sort of shrugged at the idea of school at first, they did help him set up online schooling. So there’s that, and it’s just the start! 

He gets to learn so much about space and it’s honestly kind of… nice? To be taken care of? And he can do whatever he needs for his Core and Obsession with only a few interruptions to take care of his living needs. Erm, sort of living needs? 

But even that gets turned into a bit of play or even a lesson too! He’s honestly having such a good time right now! He’s learning so much about spaaace! And dimensions! And interdimensional portals and- oops! No one saw that. 

Ahem- But he’s learning so much about space and getting to explore other dimensions with Cosmos! And sure he no longer looks as human as he once did and all that, but he’s seen so many people who also don’t look human that does it really matter? 

Of course it doesn’t, and he matches his sort-of-dad! Even though the streaks of color in their hair are more of a brown-red like they’re literally bleeding out the cosmos around them instead of it fading to void and space like his own. But still! They match and it’s fun! 

And they’re going to go on another trip from the in-between to one of the dimension realities! He’s going to start a game of tag this time he thinks! But no cheating with portals or bending space! Tag! 

Look, the Justice League? Not paid enough for this. In fact, technically not paid at all due to being volunteers (not that it stopped them from finding money in their accounts) but still. 

There is some sort of figure… being… thing… zooming around the asteroid belt, about the size of Earth itself. Let them repeat themselves. A planet-sized creature (are those hands or paws? Tail or simply its body stretching? Hair or the Abyss-) is currently darting around the asteroid belt like a child running through grass. 

That is, without noticing or caring if something bug-sized might be crushed. And they are very much bug sized, as the governments are concerned about. Like really concerned about. Like talking about trying to nuke the entity if it wanders closer sort of concerned. 

Which they are all very concerned and very much like, against. Because it isn’t seeming to notice the asteroids it’s knocking into their area. It’s like… not a space whale or eel or anything like that but also is something like that. 

And they would also maybe like to see if they can attempt to talk it down first maybe and-

oh. 

Oh. 

That creature is the baby. And mama just arrived, stretching across the entire galaxy, from them to Pluto and beyond, like something took the cosmos and shaped it like clay into some sort of form. Like reality itself has wandered into their galaxy with what they are suddenly realizing must be a very young child. 

Shit, they really have to make sure no one tries to piss either of these things off-

[zylev-blog]

Danny was pissed. He was chilling in the Speedforce, waiting on his dad—the Flash—to show up when he felt something shift around him. He exited the speedforce to find that the timeline had changed again, and he had been written out of the timeline. He technically was a time anomaly now, and didn’t exist. So he talked to Clockwork, a ghost he’d gotten to know extremely well after Danny’s creation.

Danny was a clone of the Flash and Green Lantern(Hal Jordan) as part of an experiment that Lex Luthor had taken prior to cloning Superboy. Lex had wanted to know if the power ring was able to transmit anything genetically (it couldn’t. It was a wearable weapon, not a genetic thing.) but Danny had inherited Flash’s superspeed, so he wasn’t a complete loss. Danny wasn’t sure if he looked more like either man, considering they both wore masks. He had brown hair and green eyes. Beyond that, he tanned well, was tall for his age, and packed on muscle far easier than the Flash did. He hadn’t ever seen either man out of the costume.

After a talk with Clockwork, he decided he was just going to force his way back into his Dad’s life. Both of them, if possible. He arrived years before his creation by mistake, right near the start of the Justice League. By his estimates, the team had only been formed for a year before he’d arrived. It was strange; he both didn’t exist and was from the future. He guessed that it was around nine years before his birth, and since he was technically six months old, he was 9 years in the past. Thinking about this was going to give him a headache.

The Justice League was severely mistrustful of each other. They didn’t go out of their way for teamups, didn’t have weekly meetings, and almost pretended if the other members didn’t exist. The most recluse of them was Batman, of course. If any hero set foot in Gotham, they were booted out before they even got to downtown. Danny highly suspected Batman had the entire city on camera. The situation was weirding him out more than before. What had happened to the team?! He was used to everyone being one big family, and even the sidekicks having their own teams… speaking of sidekicks, why was Robin so small?! Wait a minute, that wasn’t the third Robin that he was used to, that was the first Robin! Baby Nightwing!

Thankfully for him, he still had his costume on this entire time as he zipped around the country, spying on the younger members of the Justice League. It was surreal watching everyone try to capture him, but he wasn’t going to be caught that easily!

Eventually his presence forced the Justice League into another teamup. Batman laid the trap out, and Flash lured him into it. The plan was so beautiful that he didn’t even realize it was a trap until he was caught in it. Green Lantern took off Danny’s mask, and for the first time, he looked at his fathers without a mask. They didn’t make the connection to him right away. It wasn’t until Wonder Woman’s lasso made its way around his wrist that the truth finally came out.

“Who are you?” Wonder Woman asked.

“Oof , hard question—ow ow oww—I’m being honest!” He struggled against the lasso as it started to burn him. “My designation was Dn-y, I go by Danny, though. I’m a clone.”

“Of who?” Batman demanded.

“Flash and Green Lantern.” The lasso was glowing brightly, indicating that he was telling the truth.

“How did you escape?” Flash asked.

He didn’t answer right away. He was trying to think about how to phrase the whole time traveling—timeline erasure thing when the lasso started to burn him again. “Ow ow! Sorry, I’m thinking! Ow! Turn down the settings on that thing, holy shit—okay, okay.” He winced, his words coming out in one breath as he quickly talked, “What do you know about time travel?”

Diana’s eyebrows were rising. “How are you able to resist the lasso for so long?”

“I’m not really resisting it.” He answered, noting the obvious deflect of his last question, “I just-oww—okay! My mind moves too fast for me to put into words sometimes and it makes me stop to think about it, but like, I’m not good at controlling the speed in which I speak all the time—owww make this thing stop burning me! I’m speaking honestly!”

Diana revoked the lasso, and he rubbed his wrist where his costume was starting to singe. He was still trapped in an anti-speedster prison, so it wasn’t exactly like he was going anywhere anyway.

“Why were you asking about time travel?” Batman asked.

“Based on the crickets chirping I heard earlier, that leads me to believe you guys haven’t had any experience in it yet.” He leaned against the wall of the prison, wincing as it shocked him with electricity. “Seriously? How paranoid are you, Batman?” He rubbed his shoulder. “Honestly, I don’t know what I was expecting with you people, but I feel so attacked right now.”

“So we have experience with it in the future?” Superman piped up.

“Yeah?” His tone of voice equated to a ‘duh’ tone. “Why would I ask what you knew if I wasn’t from the future?”

“How far in the future are you from?” Green Lantern asked.

“Nine years, maybe close to ten? Timelines are weird. I’m technically six months old, but at the same time I’m sixteen. Cloning is odd, but I was like, the first clone ever, so I don’t really have a basis for this sort of thing, if you catch my drift.” He shrugged. He seemed like he talked a lot more than the heroes did, but he didn’t know if that was because he was a chatterbox, or because they weren’t comfortable in each other’s presence. Either way, the silence was odd to him.

“How did you end up here?” Batman asked.

“Honestly? I don’t fully know. Don’t give me that look, Diana! I’m telling the truth.” He added quickly as Diana fingered her lasso again. “All I know is one minute, I’m chilling in the Speedforce, and the next, the timeline is changed and I’m nine years too early for my birth. You’d think the timeline would at least have the decency to spit me out in my own year, but nooo, it wanted to—“

“What’s the Speedforce?” Superman interrupted.

He tilted his head at Superman’s question, then turned to the Flash. “How long have you had your powers?”

Flash shifted uncomfortably. “Two years.”

“Oh boy.” Danny’s green eyes widened. “You don’t know anything about them, do you?”

“I do know things!” Flash deflected, “My suit doesn’t catch on fire anymore! I can run up to Mach 2! I can get from either end of the country in thirty minutes!”

He groaned loudly. “Oh no. Oh no.” He chewed on his thumb, trying to recall everything he’d learned about his powers from his Flash. While he hadn’t learned his or Green Lantern’s identity yet, he knew almost everything about their hero personas and a lot of personal information. They were just worried of the Cadmus connection and didn’t want their identity to fall into the wrong hands if they still could see inside of Danny’s head.

“What’s wrong?” Diana asked.

“Okay.” He ran his hands through his brown hair, making it spike up. “Hypothetically—“ he cut himself off as Batman glared at him. “Okay, totally real, but uh, Flash, let’s just say that I’m faster than you right now. A lot faster.”

“How much?” Flash took a step forward, obviously curious.

“From what we can tell, I’ve topped out at Mach nine.” He responded with a dry laugh, “But your speed was still a lot faster than mine. You’d never tell me what it was. I’m still growing though, and I’m getting faster. I’m able to beat my precious time by almost double each time we test. But my situation was complicated, and things were happening, and it was a mess.”

“Like what?” Superman asked.

“World war three. I think?” He rubbed the back of his neck, a gesture that he had picked up from Green Lantern, “Things got complicated. That’s why I was going to wait for…” his eyebrows scrunched together as the last piece of the puzzle clicked into place. “It was you!” He turned to Flash. “You!” He jabbed a finger at the speedster. “You set this up! You set ME up!”

The heroes took fighting stances, but Superman took a step forward, blocking them from Danny. “What are you talking about?”

“Okay okay.” He was trying to calm down his anger, but he had been told by Green Lantern in the past that he had inherited the man’s anger issues. “Let me start at the beginning. This is going to be a long story, you might want to take a seat.”

Nobody moved, but everyone was tense.

“Or not. Okay. So my creation starts with Lex Luthor.” He noticed Superman stiffen. “He used me as his trial, if you will. Once he got a successful attempt at cloning—me—he moved onto his real target. Cloning Superman.” Danny’s green eyes hovered onto Superman’s blue ones. “He was successful.”

“What happened?” Superman’s voice was unnaturally quiet.

“Well, at first, Conner wasn’t showing that he had all the powers of Superman. So Lex tossed him aside and tried again. The second attempt was more successful than the first. But cloning Kryptonian dna was hard, I guess.” He shrugged. “The second clone lacked basic emotions. Empathy, remorse… it made him the perfect little weapon for Lex. But eventually, the clone’s anger and Lex’s greed got to a point of no return. Lex was elected President of the United States and uh…you can probably see where this is going, right? While the fighting hadn’t like…’officially’ started,” He used his fingers to create air quotes around the word ‘officially’, “Things were getting tense. See, we couldn’t take the clone down because Lex had wrote out the Kryptonite deficiency out of his weakness. And the clone had all the strength of Superman and none of his remorse…”

Superman looked pale. “I see.”

“So Flash and I came up with a plan.” He turned back to his father, “We were going to travel into the next dimension for help. From what we could tell, that dimension was full of god-like beings, and one of them actually helped me out earlier! But for a lot of them, they ask for a price for their help. But anyway, Flash and I were going to take our case to the King and plead for help. I was waiting for Flash when the timeline reset and I found out that not only did I not exist, but I was nine years too early.”

“What are you going to do now?” Green Lantern asked.

“Dunno,” His voice dropped as the reality hit him. He wasn’t going home—his home didn’t exist anymore.

[bigification]

Careful What You Wish For - M2

The wind felt great on Nate's arms as he sped down the road on his motorcycle. It made him feel badass, swerving through traffic and pissing off other drivers.

He finally slowed down as he pulled into the parking lot in front of his gym. A man needs his workout, otherwise there wouldn't be much to show off while riding his bike. He parked and took his helmet off, ready for his daily workout.

Nate gave a charming smile to the man behind the front counter as he waltzed into the gym. He had a routine, always starting with the same machine. He saw it was free and took his shot to get on it. But just as he was about to get there, another man walked through him like he wasn't even there and took the machine. The man was tall with broad shoulders and biceps the size of melons. Nate's first instinct was to stand up for himself, but as his head turned up to look the other guy in the face, he backed down. The man had a buzz cut and a beard, and looked scary as hell. This was not worth it.

He swallowed his pride and decided to go back to the locker room and wait. It wasn't his proudest moment. He went back to his bag and sat down, but something was different. Someone has been in his bag. Nate opened it to see if anything had been taken, but it was the opposite. Someone had left a weird looking lamp in his bag. He pulled out the lamp to check it out but as soon as he touched it, a purple mist started to pour out of it. He looked around the locker room to see if anyone else was seeing it, but there was no one in the room. The mist swirled into a human-like figure that floated above him.

"I may grant you one wish." It whispered.

Nate just sat there in awe for a moment, unable to react. Then an idea popped into his head.

"I wish I was bigger." He said confidently. No more assholes will fuck with him now.

The mist started to circle him. It felt like a massage as the mist worked its magic on his body. His shoulders started to broaden and his traps grew thick. His biceps exploded with muscle, making him look like a body builder. His pecs thickened until they stretched his shirt to its maximum. He felt his perspective rise as his body grew taller and taller, leaving him at an intimidating 6"5. His hands and feet also grew significantly to match his new height.

The mist then receded back into the lamp. Nate sat in shock for a moment, thinking what happened was some sort of dream. But then he looked down and saw his massive biceps and juicy pecs. He got up and stumbled forward, taking a moment to adjust to his new height.

"Ha... Holy shit!" He said with a chuckle, "I'm huge."

He walked over to the closest mirror and started to flex, nearly ripping through the sleeves of his shirt. He ran back to his bag and took off his shirt. He confidently strutted back out to the gym, making sure to duck under the doorway. He made his way back to the machine he got kicked off of before, and it was empty again. He sat down in the machine, struggling to fit his large body comfortably. He saw the intimidating man across the room and flexed at him.

The man just responded with a confused look, as he could have sworn Nate was half that size just minutes earlier.

Nate set the weights much higher than usual and started his workout. About halfway through the set, he noticed a tingling feeling around his crotch. The same feeling his had felt in his upper body before. He looked down and saw that the purple mist was now circling around his crotch. The transformation wasn't over, there are more ways of being big after all.

Nate's legs buckled slightly as his dick started to grow. 6, 7, 8 inches long, a visible bulge began to form in his gym shorts. He made weird faces trying to hide the pleasure he was feeling. 9, 10, 11 inches, his dick started to slip down the side of his leg. He blushed as he tried to hide the obvious bulge running down the leg of his shorts. This was plenty big, he thought. 12, 13, 14 inches, it wasn't slowing down. It felt so good, but Nate started to panic as his dick was getting close to slipping under his shorts. It didn't help that he was starting to get hard. 15, 16 inches long and nearly as thick as a pop can, it finally stopped growing. He squeezed his legs together to hide the sable that was hiding in his shorts. This was not what he meant when he said 'big'.

He was distraught, but he continued his workout instead. After his set, he sat there for a moment, thinking about what he was going to do. He knew his dick would be impossible to hide when he got up. He thought that maybe he should just go home and buy looser clothes before he embarrassed himself. Though before he could build up the courage to get up, the purple mist returned. It swirled around his midsection and tickled his stomach. He naively thought that this might give him a six pack, but it was quite the opposite. Nate watched in horror as his stomach jiggled as far poured into it.

"What? No!" He cried out as he grabbed his chubby belly.

He got up and ran back to the locker room, hoping no one would see him like this. He ran past the mirror and saw as his beer belly bounced with every step. Even his pecs started to look a little softer. And the sharp V shape on hips was slowly getting replaced by soft love handles.

Nate threw on his shirt hoping it would fit, but it wouldn't get past his belly button. And he had to tuck his dick up into his waist band to stop it from hanging out of his shorts.

He held his bag to his stomach hoping it would hide his exposed belly and the large bulge in his shorts. Then walked as fast as he could out of the gym, hitting his head on every doorway. He made it out of the gym and to his motorcycle with only a few passing glances from other gym goers. He got on his motorcycle and had to sit back to leave room for his growing belly and his massive legs.

He hated how good the wind felt on his exposed belly. And he hated how much his body would jiggle every time he hit a bump.

Nate finally made it home and rushed inside. Finally he was safe from the prying eyes of others. Though he wasn't safe from his main issue, the mist still surrounded his midsection. He managed to find one of his dad's shirts that barely fit him. He couldn't believe he was the same size as his dad of all people. Granted he was now significantly taller than his dad, but there was no denying his belly was getting big enough to rival his father's.

He stood in front of the mirror for what felt like forever, analyzing his body. The undeniable gut that hung in front of him, and the soft moobs that sat on top of it. The double chin that was hiding under his beard. The pudgy fat that covered his thick arms. Even his hands and feet looked swollen. And that's not even considering the problem that is his cock. He pulled it out and saw as it hung nearly down to his knees, it would have gone past his knees if it weren't for the fact that his legs had increased significantly in length.

As he was sulking about his body, he remembered the lamp. It was what caused all these problems for him, maybe it could reverse them. He walked back to his bag and pulled it out.

"I wish to go back to the way I was before." He said into the lamp as he rubbed it.

The purple mist once again poured out of the lamp. This time it engulfed his entire body. He smiled, thinking it would cause all of his problems to go away.

His comfort quickly turned to regret as he felt his clothes begin to tighten around his body. If his gut wasn't bigger than his father's before, it sure was now. Surges of fat poured into Nate's gut, each one adding tens of pounds of fat into his belly. His father's shirt started to ride up above his gut as it began to hang over his waistline. He would never be able to see anything past his belly anymore. His body also began to stretch again, making his shirt ride up even more. The fat also thickened his sides, making his love handles stretch to his back and spill over his waistline. His pecs were on the edge of being considered moobs, but now it was undeniable. His pecs swelled until they started to sag over his gut and into his armpits.

"Please ...ugh.. stop." Nate begged. Barely able to get words out due to the sheer amount of pleasure his body is feeling.

Whatever muscle definition that was on his back quickly got replaced with soft rolls of fat. And you would never guess there was any muscle under the thick layer of fat that covered his arms. His ass was still perky with all of the muscle that laid underneath his fat, but that didn't last. His ass widened as it began to sag under its immense weight. It quickly filled out all the space in his pants and popped the button off of them. A large fat pad quickly engulfed part of his dick, making it appear a couple inches shorter than it was. Though his dick responded by growing a few more inches. 17, 18, 19, 20 inches long spilling past his knees.

His thighs started to balloon, making him have to spread his legs to even walk. And his legs also became longer, topping him out at a monstrous 7 feet tall.

Finally he felt his face begin to change. His chin became three soft chins that connected to his thick neck. Though they quickly got covered in a thick bushy beard. His face widened as his cheeks became round and chubby.

With that, the most finally dissipated. Leaving Nate as the big guy he always wanted to be. Although he is not very appreciative of this.

"What the fuck!" He yelled.

He looked down and all he could see were his fat man tits and his monstrous belly. Though based on how heavy he feels, the rest of him is probably not much smaller. He desperately tried to buckle up his pants, but couldn't. They snapped open every time, sending a shockwave through his blubber.

He gave up and started to waddle back to his bedroom. He stumbled at first getting used to the way his body weighs him down. His gut swung back and forth with each step. He sucked below his doorway and squeezed his fat ass through. Looks like he's gonna have to get his doorways adjusted.

He grabbed a large pair of jeans with some suspenders his father had left at his place. He had to pull hard to get the jeans on and they're not long enough, but they fit better than anything else he has. And he found a black shirt he was going to gift his dad for his birthday. It was bigger than the rest of his father's clothes because he was scared his father would outgrow them too quickly. Lucky for him that made them fit him better, though his gut still hung out the bottom of them.

"You know what, fuck this!" Nate yelled as he angrily waddled back to the lamp. "No more!" He cried out as he threw the lamp on the floor, making it shatter on impact.

The purple mist spread across the room. Nate tried to back away, but was not nearly fast enough. The mist entered through his ears and clouded his brain. His insecurities soon disappeared as his ego inflated. His worries about his hulking body turned to pride, he loved being the biggest man in the room and commanding attention from everyone.

Nate fought the feeling and managed to stumble away from the mist. He coughed as he squeezed into his bathroom and shut the door.

"Good thing I got away." Nate said in a shockingly deep voice. "What the hell?"

He walked in front of the mirror and jumped when he didn't recognize himself. He had gotten so old. His hair turned grey as his hairline receded. His big bushy beard turned white and the body turned salt and pepper. His skin wrinkled and formed sun damage from all the years in the sun.

"Wow I'm looking good, hehe." Nate gave out a hearty laugh, making his body jiggle. "But as much as I love showing off this tank, I should probably get me some clothes that fit. I outgrew my pops a long time ago, so his clothes just won't do." He said as he ordered 6XL clothes online.

[atinylittlepain]

ok so given that the oscars just happened, imagine a joel x actress!reader. before everything went to shit joel was a normal human being who loved watching movies and like any basic person had a celebrity crush. fast forward and the world has gone to shit and joel and ellie (and maybe tommy too) go on a patrol that goes wrong and get saved by miss “i just smashed a guys head in with my oscar” or something like that, just a fluff and fun imagine that isnt gonna break my heart in a million pieces like last nights episode

oh my god, your mindddddd - I love this idea :)

Big Fan

Joel Miller x actress!reader

Joel Miller masterlist

Joel recognizes her right away. After all, she starred in his favorite movie of all time.

warnings | 18+ a little angst, nothing wild, this is fluff through and through

Read part two!

.......................

“Are you–”

“I am.”

“You were in–”

“I was.”

“Well I’ll be damned.” 

“Alright, somebody better start speaking in full sentences, because I have no clue what the hell is going on.” Joel huffs, glancing at Ellie who's looking at him like he’s gone crazy, her gun still cocked at the woman in front of them.

“What? You don’t recognize her, kid? I just showed you Curtis and Viper.” Ellie’s brow furrows, but then she looks back at the woman and her eyes finally widen in recognition.

“Holy shit.” The woman laughs, eyes still focused on the barrel of Ellie’s gun.

“That’s not usually the movie people recognize me from. But I suppose it was my big break.” Joel nudges Ellie, muttering for her to put her “damn gun away, jesus christ,” and she quickly tucks it back in her belt.

He’s trying to not be weird right now, they did just kill five clickers together, but he’s finding it hard not to lose his cool over the woman who had been a silly crush of his since he first saw that cheap action movie as a teenager. He knows she did much better films afterward, remembers hovering behind the couch one night while Sarah was watching one of those awards shows, lingering just a bit longer when he saw her giving an acceptance speech with a blinding smile in a dress that probably cost more than his house. She’s certainly less elegant-looking now, but even after twenty years in a world like this, he can’t help the quick kick of his heart at actually meeting this woman in the flesh.

He clears his throat, also trying to clear his mind.

“Are you alone?” She sighs, wiping the blade of her knife on her jeans before sliding it back into its sheath.

“I wasn’t, and then I was. We were headed toward a settlement we heard about, I think a bit further north from here?” Joel keeps his expression steady, but can feel Ellie glancing at him. Movie star or not, he knows they have to be careful about who finds out about Jackson. But apparently, this woman isn’t just pretty, and she seems to pick up on the heavy pause after what she said.

“Do you two know about the place I’m talking about? Are we close?” Joel, sighs, looking at Ellie before making a decision that Tommy is probably going to smack him for later.

“We, um– we’re from there, actually. If you’re talking about where I think you’re talking about.” She huffs out a laugh, and offers them that megawatt smile Joel remembers seeing on his TV screen. Ellie, meanwhile, scoffs, crossing her arms over her chest as she glares at Joel.

“No shit. Do you think you have room for one more?” Joel’s eyes dart once more to Ellie, just seeing the subtle shake of her head, but he chooses to ignore it. How could he say no to the woman who had, embarrassingly, been one of his first wet dreams?

“You’ll have to talk with my brother, but I’m sure you’ll be welcome to stay on.” Megawatt, megawatt, megawatt. He reckons that smile could melt steel beams.

…

“Joel, what the fuck–”

“Ellie–”

“No, what are you thinking? If not Tommy, Maria’s gonna be so pissed she’ll probably cut your balls off.” He shushes the girl, glancing ahead at the woman hiking further in front of them.

“Look, she’s all alone– hardly a threat– and she’s looking for somewhere to stay–” She scoffs.

“Oh, so this has nothing to do with the way your eyeballs practically popped out of your head just looking at her?” He grumbles, hand tightening around the strap of his rifle.

“You just mind your own business, alright? I’ll take care of it.” Ellie huffs, starting to trudge further ahead of him, but not before muttering out “whatever you say, fanboy.” Joel is stunned still by her words.

“Where the hell did you get that word from?” She turns on her heel, walking backwards for a beat as she smirks at him.

“One of those old magazines. Pretty sure she was on the front page if you wanna borrow it.” Before he can get a word in edgewise, she’s already turning back around and continuing their hike back to Jackson.

…

“Holy shit. Joel, look who it is!” Joel grunts, nudging Tommy out of his starstruck stupor.

“Yeah, I know. Just hiked five miles with her.” Tommy laughs, slapping him on the back before grinning at her.

“It’s real nice to meet you. You know, Joel here had your poster on his bedroom wall–” The nudge he gives his brother this time is a little less friendly, causing Tommy to grumble and rub his arm. She, however, takes it in stride, laughing lightly as she shifts in her boots.

“I’m flattered, really. It’s, um, it’s nice to meet you, Tommy.” Tommy’s eyes go wide.

“I can’t believe you just said my name. This is crazy–”

“Tommy.” Joel cuts his brother off with a hard look before he embarrasses himself anymore. He clears his throat, seeming to get a hold of himself as Joel continues.

“She had been traveling with a group, looking for this place. She’s the only one left though. Was hoping to join the town.” Tommy grins again, glancing between her and Joel.

“Well, I’m sure we can make that happen. I think Joel would kill me if I didn’t let–” He squeezes Tommy’s shoulder hard, willing him to shut his mouth. 

“That little house next to ours is still empty. Why don’t we set her up there?” Tommy’s smile at his brother’s words is all too smug for Joel’s taste, but he still nods, turning his attention back to her.

“If that’s alright with you, ma’am. I’ll let the folks know to turn the gas and electric back on for that place.” She smiles brightly at that.

“That would be amazing. Thank you so much. I owe you all big time.” Tommy snorts.

“I’m pretty sure you can pay Joel back with an autograph, he’d probably cre—“ Joel’s heard enough, resorting to kicking Tommy in the ankle to shut him up. Ellie huffs from where she’s watching their pathetic display.

“Alright, well if you two freaks are done making fools of yourselves, I’ll show her over to that house.” 

…

When Joel gets home, the first thing he does is look at that DVD. He had found it a week or two ago on a patrol shift, left in a hollowed-out RV. Ellie was less than impressed and Maria refused to show it at movie night because it’s so gory, but he held onto it anyways. He can still remember going to see it in the theater with Tommy, both of them too young to get in if not for their friend working the ticket booth. He flips the case over in his hands, and sure enough, there she is on the back cover, looking impossibly beautiful while firing a machine gun. What’s not to like, right?

He’s broken out of his revelry by the sound of the front door opening, and soon enough, Ellie is stomping up the stairs to come looking for him. When she finds him in his bedroom, sitting on the end of his bed, she glances at the DVD he’s holding, a grin spreading over her face.

“Just like you remember, huh, old man?” He grumbles, getting up to set the movie back on the bookshelf before turning back to Ellie.

“She settling in alright?” She hums, nodding lightly.

“Yep, made a beeline for a shower. Told me to thank you. I told her you’d be coming around for your autograph later.” His face crumples in indignation while Ellie lets out a cackle.

“I’m kidding, I’m kidding. But in all seriousness, I think she’s interested– in you– which pains me to even say, but, I figure you deserve to know that the woman of your pubescent dreams was asking questions about you.” Joel’s jaw goes slack, his eyebrows shooting up his forehead.

“She– she was asking about me?” Ellie nods around a smirk.

“Mmhmm. And I told her you’re a grumpy old bum who doesn’t take kindly to strangers.” He huffs, but she laughs again.

“Sorry, kidding again. I didn’t tell her much. Just that you’ll be around. But if I were you, I’d “be around” sooner rather than later, before the rest of Jackson gets a piece of her. Snatch her up before there’s sweeter bait to bite down on, you know?” He thinks briefly that he needs to see just what sort of magazines this kid is reading, because he can’t quite believe what’s coming out of her mouth. He grumbles, shaking his head at her antics.

“There ain’t gonna be any snatching going on. Just mind your–” She huffs, already walking out of his room.

“Mind my business, yeah, yeah, I know. But think about what I said, old man. Better cast your line quick for this one. My guess is you weren’t the only one who had her poster in your bedroom back before.” 

He’s not letting that kid read magazines anymore.

…

When he steps out on his porch later in the afternoon, fully intent on what Ellie has affectionately started calling his “adult nap time,” he’s interrupted by someone calling his name. He catches sight of her sitting on the porch of the little house next door, waving and smiling at him like it’s the most normal thing in the world.

“Hey, neighbor.” He tentatively waves back, but that doesn’t seem to satisfy her as she motions for him to join her. He sighs, rather stiffly walking over to her porch and joining her on the bench seat, keeping a very respectable distance between them. Clickers, raiders, general imminent danger, he can handle. Pretty lady? That’s touchy. Pretty lady who he imagined marrying as a teenager? Just put him out of his misery already. He knows it’s ridiculous, that none of that matters now. She’s just as worn and weathered as the rest of them by this crumbled world. But that smile she keeps flashing him might just bring him to his knees.

“I wanted to thank you– for bringing me along. I was, uh, starting to lose hope back there a little bit.” He nods, glancing at her.

“No need for thanks. Just the right thing to do in this world. I’m sorry– about your group. I don’t know what happened, but that couldn’t have been easy being out there on your own.” She shrugs, waving off his sentiment.

“It was barely a group to begin with. Just some folks who happened to get out of the San Francisco QZ together.” His brain is quickly trying to knit together the movie star he remembers from the past and this woman who sits before him now, an obvious edge to her.

“Were you in California? Back when everything…” She nods, her face set in a grim look.

“LA, where else? Now that was a nightmare. I bet the only worse place to be when everything went down was New York. Bodies everywhere. Don’t think I’ll ever forget it.” She lets out a humorless laugh before glancing at him.

“That movie you like so much? I remember when I got the role, I had no idea how I was gonna pull it off. Grizzled heroine with a dark past and a penchant for violence. I was nothing like her. But now, I feel a whole lot more like her and a whole lot less like me.” She sighs, shaking her head.

“I’m sorry, I don’t know why I dumped that on you.” Joel is quick to shake his head, leaning over his thighs to catch her gaze.

“No, no. I get it– in my own way, I guess. The world changed and– we had to change with it.” That coaxes a crooked smile out of her as she looks at him. A simple silence descends between them as they share quiet smiles. She finally giggles, scrunching her nose at him.

“That girl– Ellie? I think she said something about you wanting an autograph?” Joel can feel the hot blush creeping up his neck as his face goes slack. She just splits out in a laugh, tipping her head back in delight.

“I’m sorry, I’m kidding. But, you know, what I went by, what people still call me, that isn’t my real name.” Joel’s eyebrows quirk up and she sighs, shaking her head.

“Just a stage name. I don’t really mind people calling me that, but can I tell you my real name?” He can feel the smile tugging at his mouth as he nods. Before he knows what she’s doing, she’s taking his hand into her lap, slowly tracing out her name with her finger across his palm. An autograph, of sorts. He’s pretty sure his brain short-circuits, just barely stringing together her name as she finishes. He murmurs it lowly and she offers him her brightest smile yet, still holding his hand lightly in her own.

“And you’re Joel, right?” He’s only a little embarrassed by how quickly he nods.

“Mmhmm. Miller– Joel Miller, yep.” She lets out a breathy laugh, now clasping his hand in a firm shake.

“It’s nice to really meet you, Joel Miller.” 

[doublejango]

Stolas doesn't always read the room. Or, if he does, he sometimes just continues blithely on, doing or saying whatever he feels is necessary. He doesn't always read the room--

But he did in Mastermind.

He read the shit out of the Temple of Justice, and he was amazing. I mean, we all know this, this is just me babbling something we all saw, but I have so many feelings about this episode and need to let them out. Which is kind of funny, because at first I was a little underwhelmed by it--with so long between episode releases and so many months of the plot feeling so damn heavy, I was a little burnt out. But I've watched it twice now, and listened to the song.... er. Let's say more than ten times and call it good. And the whole thing has just grown on me so much and I love Stolas so much, and need to get this out of my system.

Stolas showed up and immediately knew he was fighting an uphill battle. Not just against what was happening, but at the basest level: to get people's attention. He had to capture their attention or nothing he said was going to matter--and not just Satan's, either. Stolas had to turn the entire damn tide here, to make sure his voice mattered, to put everything on this line to save his beloved idiot, and he did it.

He loves music. He loves theatrics. He loves words. And holy fuck, he used them to his advantage so beautifully. Stolas was incredible. He could've come on and done a dry, dispassionate, logical argument, but he knew that wouldn't work. So even though he has been treated all too often as being cringe, as being too much, he stuck to what was true and meaningful for him--the song, the passion--and he went all out. He committed his whole heart (and fate) to this song...

But he didn't leave it at a performance.

Because he read the room.

Stolas kept himself unpredictable. He wasn't just an object for people to watch or a melody for them to listen to. He was constantly moving, mixing magic and physical movement as he shifted all around the Temple of Justice, so that the people who wanted to watch him had to move, too. He was always turning himself as well, so that he was never addressing just one part of the 'audience,' so that he was including all of them in the narrative, making sure they knew that he was speaking to them. They had to at the very least turn their heads, be sharp, be paying attention, just to find out where the fuck he was and to try and figure out where the fuck he was going next. They had to pay attention--which was a fucking feat, considering how desperately so many of them didn't want to. The laziness and apathy of the court is its own whole thing, but Stolas immediately read that and did what he could to deal with that, too. He was brilliant. He barely had any time to plan, and yet he executed all of that so wonderfully.

He's smart. Fuck, he is so smart. And good. And I just. Hi. I really love that character.

And then at the end, that little squishing, grabbing gesture he made at Satan? That was such a beautiful little test, making sure Satan was paying attention, making sure Satan was tuned in to him. It pissed Satan off, clearly, that big ol' beefy chunk of draconic hunk doesn't seem to like when people make that kind of gesture at him, but it worked. Stolas demanded his attention, checked to be sure he really had it and that he really could end this, and redirected Satan's wrath onto himself.

And I just. Hhfjghd. Hi. Guys? I love Stolas. I really, really fucking love Stolas.

[newkatzkafe2023]

What if wukong verse x wolverine reader who said they regenerate faster than a normal human and did not elaborate further until an enemy impaled them with a spear than pulled it out and return to sender

Wolverine is one of my favorite iconic X-man🤩

(Lmk Wukong) I mean that happens to him too but he Genuinely thinks you are joking. Until one day when he was on a date with you, and you both were attacked by another one of his enemies. All large spear was shot though your stomach making Wukong froze pale in his face. His life with you had flashed before his eyes as he watched you fall over with a traumatized look on his face, and he turned to face the Assailant and get complete bloody revenge on them. Although before he can he saw the spear be thrown back at them totally surprising him. After that Wukong vowed never to doubt or leave you vulnerable ever again.

(NR Wukong) WOW really that is quite something, no he totally believed what you told him. Yeah he doesn't totally believe and honestly found it to be far fetch, I mean he knew about your healing but He thought it was for scratches or bruises. Until one night Wukong had brought you out to a nightclub because it was his turn for date night, and soon found these guys Harassing you when he left to get a drink. He saw you growling and was immediately pissed and told them to go away, And It was no time before a fight broke out and one of them stabbed you making Wukong pale and angry. When Wukong ran to help you, you easily took the knife out and brought out your claws and shredded those losers. At the end he was relieved for you to be ok and found your claws to be attractive.

(MKR Wukong) Ohhhhhhhhhh please you don't have to try hard to impress him he loves you already🙄😒. You told him that you have a healing factor and Regeneration abilities one random day, but Wukong had a difficult time believing it but considering You didn't go further With the conversation, He thought you were joking. Until he quickly learn that you weren't especially helping him protect his master, had jumped infront of the monk and sandy protecting the Two and a pair of spears went right though your torso. Scarying the crap out of the pilgrims and making Wukong see black and absolutely murdering the bandits that possibly killed you but he saw the same to spears kill the last two and Wukong looked over to see that you were alive. Well you had Two large holes in your back and chest, but still alive and joined him in the fight after all that Wukong held you very close to him.

(HIB Wukong) You would put so much stress on him with your power and fighting style. You told him about your power of healing and regeneration abilities, but his stupid ass took it lightly. Which was a huge mistake on his part because when you guys got attack by one of those dragons you ran to get silly girl except you were ran though by a large claw ripped though you scaring Wukong and making silly girl cry. But you quickly bounced back and fought and killed the dragon. In the end, you had to calm down both crying daughter and your sweet traumatized husband.

(Netflix Wukong) WHOAAA HOLY CRAP his life with you just flashed before his eyes oh god its Terrible!!!!😨😨😨 you had not gotten around this big dramatic baby that you had regeneration powers especially during battle. Let me explain it happened during a demon attack at his village but unfortunately he was getting out numbered which led you to step in to help his sorry ass. Wukong never like involving you in any of these fights because he scared of you getting hurt or killed, but then you had bought out your own claws to take those guys out. Then suddenly a demon stabbed though you, making Netflix pale and scream at the sight thinking he just lost you when suddenly you yanked the Thagger out and threw it back at him. At the end Netflix never doubted you as he cuddle close to you shooken.

(BMW Wukong) Would absolutely want to test that theory but not at the expense of you life. Wukong was immediately impressed by your so called powers but he makes extra sure that you don't get hurt by himself and his enemies but it didn't stop the idoits from trying. You sat on the side as your husband was yet again challenged by another idoit demon who wants to get famous by being the monkey king. Until one had come with a partner and planned to kill you infront of Wukong, which is why an arrow was shot at you knocking you out of the tree you were sitting in. Wukong blood lost shot though the roof and he savagely attack the demon that shot you, afterwards you came out of the bushes pulling that said arrow our your midsection and your worried husband took you home to heal and rest.

(Destined one) Ohhhhhhhhhh, that's crazy because he can do that too, but really, the destined one gets very wary of your powers and abilities. A lot of it sounds like it hurts. So the destined one made sure to monitor you and would take extra care to make sure you don't overdo it, especially in fights you both would get into sometimes. Until one day their may have been an ambush and you were shot with a few arrows alerting and frightening your husband, and it was one of the rare times you saw him lost his temper and savagely fight the enemies who dare to hurt you. You were also quick to join the fight while pulling out the arrows that hit you and attack them back for scaring you poor sweet husband, at the end the destined one sat close next to you and wrapped you injuries why kissing and snuggling you.

FEEL FREE TO REBLOG

[doctorbitchcrxft]

Nightshifter | Supernatural Series Rewrite | Dean Winchester x Fem!Reader

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Fem!Reader (Eventual ;) )

Warnings: canon violence, canon gore, hostage situation

Word Count: 5149

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You eyed Dean angrily as he flirted with the attractive woman in front of him dressed as an FBI agent. You knew he was teasing you, and it was pissing you off. You had long since finished your interrogation of the store’s manager. Helena had apparently been a patron of the store for years. Then, one day, she went crazy; the police caught her clearing out the jewelry store’s cases and the safe before shooting someone in the face and killing herself in her bathtub after the crime. You had a sneaking suspicion you were dealing with a shapeshifter; a monster that you were quite over dealing with.

Dean approached you, triumphantly waving the piece of paper with the phone number he’d gotten from the woman he was interviewing.

You snatched it out of his hands. 

“Aw, you jealous?” he teased, leaning into you.

You deadpanned, “Keep it professional, Agent Hetfield, wouldn’t want the bureau to hear about this, right?” You ripped the paper up and shoved its tatters into your blazer pocket.

He deflated slightly, but still smirked at you. “I’m gonna make you crack, sweetheart, just wait.”

“Mm-hmm,” you hummed, turning away from him and heading out to the Impala. Admittedly, you were strutting a little bit to tease him.

Sam met you at the car, and the three of you drove to the home of the man whose police statement had been a mix of sci-fi nerd gibberish and the only eye-witness account of the incident.

As you approached the small house, Sam began talking about another piece of the case. “Uh, Milwaukee National Trust. It was hit about a month ago.”

Dean raised a brow. “Same M.O. as the jewelry store?”

“Yep, inside job, longtime employee, the never-in-a-million-years type. Dude robs the bank, then goes home and supposedly commits suicide.”

“The guy, Resnick, he was the security guard on duty?” Dean questioned.

Sam nodded. “Yeah. He was actually beaten unconscious by the teller who heisted the place.”

“Jesus,” you grimaced.

“Yeah,” Sam nodded. He knocked on the screen door. “Mr. Resnick?” A bright flood light turned on, momentarily blinding you.

You raised a hand in front of your eyes. “Holy—”

Sam was apparently unfazed. “FBI, Mr. Resnick.”

Through the screen door, a chubby, nerdy-looking man in his late twenties approached. “Let me see the badge.”

You slapped your badge against the screen next to Sam’s and Dean’s. 

Mr. Resnick, whose first name was Ronald, squinted at them carefully. “I already gave my statement to the police.”

Dean chuckled. “Yeah, listen, Ronald, um… just some things about your statement we wanted to get some clarification on.”

“You read it?” He seemed surprised. “You come to listen to what I've got to say?”

“Well, that’s why we’re here,” Dean said.

“Well, come on in.” He opened the door and led you through a narrow hallway to a room cluttered with conspiracy theory paraphernalia.

“None of the cops ever called me back. Not after I told them what was really going on. Uh, they all thought I was crazy,” he rushed out. You were beginning to think the same. “First off, Juan Morales never robbed the Milwaukee National Trust, okay? That, I guarantee. See, me and Juan were friends. He used to come back to the bank on my night shifts, and we'd play cards.”

“So you let him into the bank that night, after hours,” Sam noted.

“The thing I let into the bank…” Ronald trailed off, “wasn't Juan. I mean, it had his face, but it wasn't his face. Uh, every detail was perfect, but too perfect, you know, like if a dollmaker made it, like I was talking to a big Juan-doll.”

You nearly choked on a laugh. “A Juan-doll?”

“Look, this wasn't the only time this happened, okay?” He scrambled through papers on his messy desk and handed you a folder. “There was this jewelry store, too. And the cops, a-and you guys, you just won't see it!” You flipped through the folder; it almost looked like a hunter’s profile of the case. You were half impressed. “Both crimes were pulled by the same thing,” Ronald finished. 

Sam pressed, saying, “What's that, Mr. Resnick?”

He picked up a copy of a magazine labeled “Fortean Times” and held it out to you. The headline read, “Birth of the Cybermen.”

‘Jesus Christ,’ you thought, suppressing a grimace.

“Chinese 've been working on 'em for years,” the man explained. “And the Russians before that. Part men, part machine. Like the Terminator. But the kind that can change itself, make itself look like other people.”

Dean smirked. “Like the one from T2.”

“Exactly! See, so not just a robot, more of a- a- a- a— Mandroid," he said finally, a bizarre twinkle in his eye.

“A Mandroid,” you deadpanned. “And what makes you so sure about this, Ronald?”

He held up a finger at you, smiling a little wildly. Your eyes flicked to Dean’s in concern, and he just wiggled his eyebrows at you. 

The man returned a moment later holding a VHS tape labeled “M.N.T. Camera 4— Juan.” He inserted it into a player, saying, “See, I made copies of all the security tapes. I knew once the cops got them they'd be buried. Here.” He fast-forwarded a bit in the tape. “Now watch. Watch. Watch him, watch, watch! See, look! Th- th- there it is!” He paused it on a clip of the man with a silver in his eyes. “You see? He's got the laser eyes.”

You gave Sam a knowing look that he returned.

“Cops said it was some kind of reflected light. Some kind of ‘camera flare’. Okay? Ain't no damn camera flare. They say I'm a post-trauma case. So what? Bank goes and fires me, it don't matter!” You eyed Ronald uncomfortably as he continued to pace around and rant. “The Mandroid is— is still out there. The law won't hunt this thing down— I'll do it myself.

"You see, this thing, it- it- it kills the real person, makes it look like a suicide, then it sorta, like, morphs into that person. Cases the job for a while until it knows the take is fat, and then it finds its opening. Now, these robberies, they're, they're grouped together.” He pointed at the map on the wall. “So I figure the Mandroid is holed up somewhere in the middle, underground, maybe. I dunno, maybe that's where it recharges its, uh, Mandroid batteries.”

Dean nodded, seeming impressed. You just looked between Ronald and Dean in confusion. 

“Okay. I want you to listen very carefully. Because I'm about to tell you the god's honest truth about all of this,” Sam began.

Your head whipped to him, confused as to where he was going with this.

“There's no such thing as Mandroids. There's nothing evil or inhuman going on out there. Just people. Nothing else, you understand?”

You kept a straight face, but were startled. 

“The laser eyes,” Ronald tried desperately.

“Just a camera flare, Mr. Resnick. See, I know you don't want to believe this. But your friend Juan robbed the bank, and that's it,” Sam mollified.

Ronald immediately became angry. “Get out of my house! Now!”

***

You and the brothers found another tacky, cheap motel to stay in for the time being. You lounged on Dean’s bed in a pair of comfortable sweatpants and an oversized band t-shirt. 

Dean paced around the room, chuckling. “Man, that has got to be the kicker, straight up. I mean, you tell that poor son of a bitch that— what did you say, remand the tapes that he copied? Classified evidence of an ongoing investigation?” He laughed harder. “That's messed up.”

Sam sat on the foot of the bed and inserted the tape into the television’s player. “What are you, pissed at me or something?”

Dean shook his head. “Nah, I just think it's a little creepy how good of a Fed you are. I mean, come on, we could have at least thrown the guy a bone. He did some pretty good legwork here.”

“Mandroid?” you deadpanned.

“Except for the Mandroid part,” Dean added. “I liked him. He's not that different from you or me. People think we're crazy.”

“He’s not a hunter, though, Dean,” you challenged. “He ran into something real and let his conspiracy-theory-brain-rot get the best of him.”

“Better to stay in the dark, and stay alive,” Sam finished.

Dean shrugged, “Yeah, I guess.” He put a paper down on the map on the table and began marking it with a red pen. 

You shuffled forward to Sam and hit the pause button on the remote just as the man’s eyes flashed at the camera.

“Shapeshifter. Just like back in St. Louis. Same retinal reaction to video,” Sam informed.

“Eyes flare at the camera. I hate those fuckin’ things,” Dean grunted.

“You think we don’t?” you scoffed.

“Yeah, well, one didn't turn into you and frame you for murder.”

You shrugged. “Well, look, if this shifter's anything like the one we killed in Missouri—”

“Then Ronald was right. Alright, they like to layer up underground, preferably the sewer. And all the robberies have been connected so far, right?”

Sam nodded.

“With the, uh, sewer main layout. There's one more bank lined up on that same sewer main,” Dean continued.

“Awesome,” you grumbled.

***

Later that evening, you and the brothers headed to the bank Dean referenced, the City Bank of Milwaukee, to see if the shapeshifter would be hitting that one next. You posed as Sam and Dean’s boss, and the two boys wore security camera technician outfits. 

The guard of the bank informed you as you walked along, “Well, we haven't had any flags go up on our system yet.”

You shook your head. “No, sir, this is a glitch in the overall grid. I just need to cover all my bases and make sure the branch monitors are okay.”

“Well, better to be safe than sorry, I guess,” the guard shrugged.

“That’s the plan,” you nodded.

He opened the door to an observation room flooded with monitors for you, saying, “Alrighty. You guys need anything else?”

“Nope,” you replied. “We’ll be in and out before you know it. Just a routine check.”

“Okie-dokie,” he said, leaving the room.

Dean chuckled. “I like him. He says ‘Okie-dokie.’ “

“What if he's the shifter?” worried Sam.

“Well, then we follow him home, put a silver bullet through his chestplate,” the older brother replied simply.

You sat down in one of the desk chairs to watch the screens. You kicked your high-heeled feet up on the desk in front of you, leaning back in your seat. “Anybody got popcorn?” you yawned, preparing for the hours of work ahead of you.

***

You and the Winchester boys were beginning to go cross-eyed after searching for the monster for so long.

“Well, it looks like Mr. Okie-Dokie is… okie-dokie,” Dean commented upon seeing his eyes appear normal in the camera screens.

“Maybe we jumped the gun on this, guys,” sighed Sam. “I mean, we don't even know it's here.”

Something caught your eye. “Wait a minute.” A middle-aged man turned toward the camera, and his eyes flared. “Got him.”

“Hello, freak,” Dean growled.

Sam immediately jumped up, as did you, but Dean lingered behind. “Guys, wait!”

“What?” you and Sam spun around.

You then saw Ronald scurrying up to the door of the bank with a chain and a padlock, chaining it shut.

Dean scoffed. “Hello, Ronald.”

You immediately began running down the hall, ignoring the protesting of the soles of your feet as your heels clacked against the floor. As you approached the main lobby of the bank, you heard Ronald screaming for everyone to get on the ground. And then, gunshots.

“Fuck!” you cursed.

“And you said we shouldn't bring guns,” Dean scolded Sam, nearly bumping into someone fleeing past him.

“I didn't know this was gonna happen, Dean,” Sam replied.

“Just let me do the talking,” the older brother commanded. “I don't think he likes you very much, Agent Johnson.”

You saw Ronald standing in front of a group of people huddled together on the floor. “Now, there's only one way in or out of here, and I chained it up. So nobody's leaving, do you understand?”

Your eyes flicked to Dean concernedly as he stepped forward. “Hey, buddy. Calm down. Just calm down—”

Ronald wheeled around. “What the— You! Get on the floor, now.”

Dean began to crouch to the floor, as did you and Sam. “Okay, we're doing that. Just don't shoot anybody, especially us.”

“I knew it. As soon as you two left. You ain't FBI. Who are you? Who are you working for, huh? The men in black? You working for the Mandroid?”

“We’re not working for the Mandroid!” Sam exclaimed.

Ronald shakily aimed his gun at Sam. “You, shut up! I ain't talking to you. I don't like you.”

“Fair enough,” the brunet mumbled.

“Get on 'em. Frisk them down, make sure they got no weapons on them. Go!” Ronald commanded one of the hostages.

“Oh, hell, no, you’re not fucking touching me,” you struggled against the man as he tried to feel you up. 

“(Y/N), (Y/N), stop, stop,” Sam pleaded.

You shoved the man off yourself. Your struggle was strategic, though, as it kept him from finding the knives you had planted on yourself; one in your sleeve and one alongside your thigh.

The man moved over to Dean and found a knife stashed in his boot.

“Now what have we here?” Ronald’s question was meant to sound intimidating, but his wavering voice gave him away.

Sam shot Dean a look.

“I'm not just gonna walk in here naked!” Dean hissed back.

“Get back there,” Ronald ordered. You did so, following his pointing of the gun to the group of people behind him. He dropped Dean’s knife in the deposit box, and Dean winced.

“We know you don't want to hurt anybody,” he said. “That's exactly what's gonna happen if you keep waving that cannon around, and why don't you let these people go?”

“No!” Ronald shrieked. “I already told you. If nobody's gonna stop this thing, then I've got to do it myself.”

“Hey, we believe you! That's why we're here,” Dean replied.

“You don't believe me. Nobody believes me! How could they?” he cried.

“Come here,” Dean said.

Ronald scoffed. “What? No.”

“You're holding the gun, boss; you're calling the shots. I just want to tell you something. Come here.”

Ronald approached cautiously and leaned into Dean. You assumed he was telling him who the shifter was.

“Why do you think we've got these getups, huh? We've been monitoring the cameras in the back. We saw the bank manager. We saw his eyes,” Dean whispered.

The shorter man’s eyes widened. “His laser eyes?”

“Yes.” Dean seemed to realize what he’d said. “No. No! No, look, we're running out of time, okay? We've got to find him before he changes into someone else.”

“Like I'm gonna listen to you. You're a damn liar,” Ronald grumbled.

Dean stood cautiously, hands out.

“Dean, no!” you said.

“I'll shoot you! Get down!” Ronald ordered, pointing his rifle at Dean.

“Take me. Okay? Take me with you; take me as a hostage. But we've gotta act fast , because the longer we just sit here, the more time he has to change.” Dean paused. “Look at me, man. I believe you. You're not crazy. There really is something inside this bank.”

Ronald finally nodded. “Alright, you come with me. But everyone else gets in the vault!”

You stood on shaky legs as the people around you gasped and cried. You helped Sam herd everyone into the vault, and Dean tried to calm everyone down when Ronald ordered him to shut the door.

“It's okay, everyone. Just stay cool.” He threw a lingering glance to you before locking the vault completely.

A young redhead stared after Dean. “Who is that man?” she asked breathlessly.

“He's my brother,” Sam replied; you could hear the worry in his voice.

“He is so brave,” she practically moaned.

You rolled your eyes and crossed your arms.

The redhead went silent for a few minutes, and you took some time to thoroughly think your situation over. ‘Cops are gonna be all over this place by now. Dean’s been accused of murder, and the three of us have already been arrested once. Dean’s on the FBI’s radar. Surely, after our escape on the danashulps case, the feds are on us again. Now, we’re smack dab in the middle of a full-on hostage situation. And who are they likely to blame? Us!’ Your anxiety was beginning to get away with you as your thoughts began to swirl in your head. You were then acutely aware of how hot the room was, and unbuttoned the top two buttons of your shirt to keep some circulation moving. 

The woman next to you who seemed infatuated with Dean introduced herself to you.

“ ‘Scuse me, sorry. Uh, hi, I’m Sherry,” she said. “You’re, uh, with those guys, too, right?”

You nodded. 

“You known them a while?”

You nodded again.

She grinned. “Oh, gosh. What’s it like being around him?”

You snorted. “ ‘Him’ who?”

“That guy! The one who saved our lives!” she beamed. “What’s he like?”

“To tell you the truth, he’s a pain in my ass most of the time,” you giggled, arms crossed over your chest. 

“Oh, really?” She deflated a bit before her floaty, trancelike inflection in her voice came back. “He just… He seems so wonderful to be around. I mean, staring down that gun. And, you know, the way— he played right into that psycho's crazy head, telling him what he wanted to hear, I mean—” She trailed off, turning her attention back to you. “He's like, a real hero or, or something.” She tucked a hair behind her ear as she continued to gush.

You nodded again, feeling weirded out. 

“Sorry, I just,” she sing-songed, “I’ve never met anyone like him.” She paused, seeming to consider her next question carefully. “You ever… done anything with him?”

You nearly choked at her statement, uncomfortable with the objectification of Dean. “What?”

“Y’know,” she drawled, “How good is he in the—”

You were grateful to hear the vault door unlocking, revealing Dean holding a handgun.

“Oh my god, you saved us! You saved us!” Sherry cheered.

“Actually, I just found a few more. Come on, everybody, let's go. Let's go.” Dean ushered the guard from earlier and a few other people inside the vault.

“What are you doing?” Sherry questioned.

“Sam, (Y/N), look, uh, Ronald and I need to talk to you,” Dean said.

You shot Sam a confused look, and Dean shut the vault door behind him, shrugging apologetically.

“It's shed its skin again,” Dean explained. “We don't know when— it could be in the halls, it could be in the vault.”

“Great,” you sighed. “Y’know, Dean, you are wanted by the police.”

He nodded.

Sam seemed to catch onto where you were headed with this. “So even if we do find this damn thing, how the hell are we gonna get out of here?”

“Well, one problem at a time,” the older brother replied. “Alright, I'm gonna do a sweep of the whole place; see if we can find any stragglers. Once we get everyone together we've got to play a little game of find-the-freak, so… here.” He handed Sam a silver letter opener. “Found another one of these for you. (Y/N), I know you have weapons on you. Best use ‘em.”

You grinned at how well he knew you. You slipped your silver-bladed knife out of your sleeve.

Dean turned to Sam. “Now, stay here, make sure Ronald doesn't hurt anybody, okay? Help him manage the situation.” He turned to you. “C’mon.”

Sam’s voice began rising in outrage. “Help him manage? Are you insane?”

You turned your head to Ronald who seemed shaken, attention caught by Sam’s voice.

“Look, I know this isn't going the way we wanted—”

Dean was cut off by his brother nearly shouting, “Understatement!”

“But if we invite the cops in right now, Ronald gets arrested, we get arrested, the shifter gets away, probably never find it again, okay?” Dean finished.

Ronald peered out of the window in plain view of whoever was down below. You snapped, “Ronald! Out of the light!”

Sam scoffed at his brother, “Seriously?!”

Dean sighed. “Yeah, Ron's game plan was a bad plan, I mean, it was a bit of a crazy plan, but right now, crazy's the only game in town, okay?”

Dean slapped Sam on the shoulder and grabbed your hand, bringing you along with him. ‘If only Sherry could see us now,’ you thought bitterly.

Dean looked over his shoulder at you. “What’s that face about?” he questioned.

“Nothin’,” you replied, still grinning in self-satisfaction, scanning the hallway ahead for anyone or anything.

He just hummed at you, turning his head forward again.

“I hate this case,” you whispered after a few minutes of tense walking.

“Yeah, me too,” he replied, still scanning the ceiling. He seemed to notice something, and you followed his gaze upward. A panel in the ceiling had been left askew. You eyed Dean curiously and took the gun from him, pointing it at the panel while Dean dislodged it with a coat rack from nearby. Suddenly, a naked body fell to the floor. Dean turned the body over with the end of the rack.

“Wait, Dean, wasn’t that?—”

“Yeah, I just let that guy in the vault.”

***

You and Dean hurried as inconspicuously as possible to inform Sam of what had just happened. Sam told you that man had been trying to get the front door unlocked and helping Mr. Okie-Dokie who may have been going into cardiac arrest when you and Dean found the body. 

You turned to Ronald and his cocked rifle. “You know what, Ronald? He's right, we've got to get this man outside. Come on. I've got you.”

The shifter tried to help, too. “Yeah, yeah, let me help you.”

“Oh, we got him, it's, it's cool. Thanks,” you replied. You helped the guard out of the way, and Sam took the man’s other side.

“Thank you. Thank you,” the guard told you between labored breaths.

“Sure,” you smiled politely.

You could hear Dean talking to the shifter and a sudden crash behind you. You turned with the guard still on your shoulders at Ronald yelling, “Stop! Come back here!” You noticed a red laser pointed on his back, and your breath caught.

“Get down! Now!” you screamed, but you were too late. 

The bullet from the sniper rifle hit Ronald squarely in the chest. You watched in horror as he fell to his knees before hitting the floor dead.

You took in a sharp breath at the sight, forcing yourself to keep your composure for the sake of everyone else in the room with you.

It was bedlam at that minute. All of the hostages began running out of the vault toward the door. You put Mr. Okie-Dokie on the ground next to you and just kept him talking until something could be done to help him. You weren’t quite sure what Sam or Dean were doing, but you made it your priority to keep this man from going into cardiac arrest.

Dean suddenly came over to you, holding a rifle.

“Dean, what are you doing?” you questioned.

“(Y/N), trust me on this—” he pleaded before helping the guard stand.

“Dean! I can help him, don’t bring him outside—”

“I’m not taking that chance, (Y/N). C’mon,” he told the guard. “I gotcha.” He held the man out in front of him and pushed him out the front door with the rifle at the guard’s back. You stayed out of the light, back pressed against the pillar next to the heavy door. 

“No, don't shoot! Don't shoot! Please!” you heard the guard yell.

Dean commanded, “Don't even think about it! I said get back! Now!” He paused a moment before you heard his voice again. “Okay, go, go!” The older Winchester slipped back inside, shutting the door and latching it.

“We are so fucked,” he mumbled to you, helping you up from the floor. 

“Fuck, why?”

He ran a hand through his hair. “There’s about, I don’t know, eight thousand cops out there. Helicopters and search lights and everything. We are fucked, (Y/N).”

You dropped your head back, groaning, “Great.”

Dean’s phone rang, and you assumed it was Sam. “Yeah?” he answered. “What?... God, it's like playing the shell game. It could be anybody. Again… Alright, you search every inch of this place, we’re gonna go round everybody up.” He hung up the phone.

“I think this is the most stressed I’ve been on a job,” you said as you and Dean began searching for the hostages. 

“Yeah? Even more so than the demons in New York?”

“Oh, definitely. That was just a sad one; not super stressful,” you replied. You noticed a herd of people toward the end of the hall. You gripped the handle of your knife, knowing the shifter would likely be in the mix of all the hostages. 

You and Dean rounded them up; Dean pointing the rifle he picked up from Ronald at the group. You guided them back to the vault.

“And I thought you were one of the good guys,” Sherry, who held up the back of the group, told Dean, who was trailing behind her.

“What's your name?” he asked.

“Why would you care?” she scoffed.

“My name's Dean,” he said. Your heart melted a bit at his gentleness with her.

She hesitated but still answered. “I'm Sherry.”

“Hi, Sherry. Everything's gonna be alright. This will all be over soon, okay?” He assured her, shutting the vault door and spinning the lock shut. The landline of the bank rang and you picked it up. You didn’t say anything when you answered the phone.

“This is Special Agent Victor Henriksen,” a commanding voice stated through the phone. “Is this Dean? Sam?”

You didn’t respond once more.

Dean mouthed to you, “Who is that?”

You shook your head, holding up a finger to gesture for him to wait.

“Oh, or is it that pretty girl? Our very own criminal Jane Doe. Some people have been calling her Ghost since no one can seem to find any record of her existence.”

Your breath hitched in your throat, but you still didn’t say anything.

“Well, whether you’ve got the Bonnie to your Clydes with you or not, it’s my job to bring you boys in. Alive's a bonus, but not necessary. I want you Winchesters out here, unarmed, or we come in.”

You still didn’t say anything.

“I know you’re still there,” he said, almost taunting. “I know everything about you two. I've been looking for you for weeks now. I know about the murder in St. Louis; I know about the Houdini act you pulled in Baltimore. I know about the desecrations and the thefts. I know about your dad.” 

Dean was trying to get close to the phone, but you kept pushing him away because you knew he’d explode at the mention of his father.

“Ex-marine, raised his kids on the road,” the agent continued, “cheap motels, backwood cabins. Real paramilitary survivalist type. I just can't get a handle on what type of whacko he was. White supremacist, Timmy McVeigh, to-may-to, to-mah-to. You have one hour to make a decision, or we come through those doors fully automatic.” With that, he hung up the phone.

You slammed the phone down, cursing in frustration.

“What? Who was that?” Dean asked.

“The fucking FBI agent who’s been tailing us since Missouri,” you replied, beginning to pace anxiously. “He knows everything about you guys, man. Even about your dad. That’s why I didn’t let you talk to him; I knew you would’ve ripped his head off.”

“Damn right,” the man growled. “They have a positive ID on you yet?” 

“No, actually,” you said. “Ironically, some of the feds labeled me ‘Ghost’ cause they can’t find anything on me. Which makes me even more nervous. Anyway, we’ve got an hour till they come in here and pump us full of lead,” you informed him.

“Fuck,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair.

Moments later, Sam appeared at the entrance of the vault room.

“Hey. We've got a bit of a problem outside,” Dean said.

Sam snorted. “We got a problem in here.”

“What?” you questioned.

Sam hushed his voice. “The girl that was gushing over Dean in the vault? It’s her,” he told you. 

“Who, Sherry?” you questioned.

He nodded. “Just found her body.”

Barely needing to flick a glance at the boys, you unlocked the vault.

“Sherry? We're gonna let you go,” Dean called as the door swung open.

“What? Why me?” she questioned.

“Uh, as a show of good faith to the feds, come on,” he replied.

The woman hesitated. “Uh... I think I'd— I'd rather stay here, with the others.”

Dean approached her intimidatingly. “I'm afraid I'm going to have to insist.”

You clutched your blade at your side. After a tense moment, she approached you. Sam and Dean pushed her back to the hallway.

“I thought you were letting me go,” the woman you thought was the shifter said.

Dean shoved her forward, holding her head and forcing her to look at the body of Sherry Sam had brought back with him. She began screaming hysterically.

“Is that community theater, or are you just naturally that good?” Dean gruffly questioned.

“This is the last time you become anybody. Ever,” Sam added.

“No! Oh god!” she cried. She fainted almost immediately.

You stared at the two Sherrys in disbelief. One of the bodies was dressed, the other, half-naked. ‘Poor lady,’ you thought. You took off your blazer and laid it over the woman’s body, trying to spare her dignity. 

“Wait, why did it do that?” you questioned. You leaned over the undressed body of Sherry covered only by your blazer and put your finger on her neck, trying to find a pulse. The body immediately jolted up, grabbing you by the throat. You struggled, stabbing at it frantically. You got a lick in at its upper arm with the knife before it kneed you in the chin and bolted.

You coughed when it released your throat, clutching at your neck and coughing.

“(Y/N)!” Dean cried.

“Dean, no, I’m fine! Follow it!”

He nodded, taking your knife from your outstretched hand and running after it. You kicked off your heels and took another moment before standing and going to follow Dean. Sam had taken off somewhere with the real Sherry. 

You didn’t know what else to do besides stay with the vault and Dean’s discarded handgun, prowling in front of it with the gun at the ready. 

***

You had no idea how long it had been. You just continued to pace in front of the vault, tension overtaking your body and anxiety keeping your eyes flickering across the room rapidly. You suddenly heard approaching footsteps and dove on the ground behind a desk— unsure if it was Dean, Sam, the shifter, a cop— and were panicked at the sight of S.W.A.T. sniper rifle lasers and flashlights on the wall in front of you. Your breath quickened as the footsteps continued approaching you. Then, a masked man ducked under the desk in front of you.

You shrieked.

“Here’s Johnny!” he yelped.

“Dean! Fuck you!” You shoved his shoulder harshly when you recognized his face. He and Sam were donned in S.W.A.T. outfits that they had definitely taken off some poor bastards hidden in a broom closet somewhere. 

“C’mon, we gotta get outta here, now,” Dean told you. You grabbed your heels and followed the boys out of the building and to the Impala. Dean and Sam had their stolen guns at the ready as you sprinted up to the third floor of the parking garage. 

The three of you sat in the Impala, completely breathless, as you grappled with the reality of your situation.

“We are so fucked,” Dean murmured.

You and Sam nodded minutely.

You looked out of the window at the rising morning sun. Exhausted, you let the rumble of the Impala soothe you into a restless sleep as Dean drove you away from the bank. 

Series Rewrite Taglist: @polireader @brightlilith @atcamillanorrman @jrizzelle @insomnia-bookworm @procrastination20 @mrs-liebgott @djs8891 @tiggytaylor @staple-your-mouth @jesstherebel @rach5ive @strawberrykiwisdogog @bruhidkjustwannaread @mxltifxnd0m @sunshine-on-marz @big-ol-boat @mgchaser @capncrankle @chervbs @simpingdeadcharacters @nesnejwritings @stillhere197 @tearsforhan @take-it-on-the-run @iloveyou2mia @maxinehufflepuffprincess @ohgeehowdigethere @seninjakitey @berarenado @s0urw00lf @princessleahorgana @quarterhorse19 @isla-finke-blog @silverdoragon @karacaroldanvers @gayandfairycore @examishbookwyrm @star-yawnznn @real-sharena-h @fandomloverrr @metalmonki @onlyangel-444 @yu-winchester @benniwiththefanni @daisychaingirl @immagods @missmieux @yoongi-holland @littledebbieinabigworld

[postm0rt3m]

mdni!

smut. barely any plot. lol!

crazy eyes.

you’ve seen crazy eyes before. the crackhead down the street, a mugshot on the morning news, an enemy soldier on the battlefield ready to give his life for their evil cause. its nothing that really phases you anymore. living in a random podunk area of manchester, its something you see a lot (and not just on the field) more than most people would think.

but never in your life have you been fucked with crazy eyes before simon riley. and, god, if it doesn’t get you absolutely feral.

simon riley, or “ghost,” as most people call him, is one of the very few people you’re specifically not supposed to have relations with. but… it just adds to the thrill, right?

he’s actually quite sweet, when you get him in private. he’s a nuzzler! he loves to bury his face in your neck, or lie on top of you. so what if you can’t breathe.. he’s basically a big warm weighted blanket! just a 250 pound one!

and the first time you guys had sex, he was as gentle as could be. well.. as he could be.. considering his uh.. massive.. situation..

he’s a big boy! so obviously, you expected him to be big. it just works proportionally. but jesus christ, he’s all of eight inches (probably more, hard to tell when he’s ramming it into your stomach) and thick. like.. stretches you thin, type thick. and thats just soft!

so of course, he tried his hardest to be a sweet gentleman your first time. and a lot of times afterwards! but sometimes.. he can’t control himself. which is where you are now!

you and the entirety of the 141 just got back to base from a strenuous and harrowing mission. many lives were almost lost, and many bad calls were made. “its part of the job,” you tell yourself, and so do most of the other members. because, really, it is a part of the job.

but lieutenant riley doesn’t see it that way.

out of the many bad calls made, he made two. two. simon riley never makes bad calls, let alone multiple on one mission. so, safe to say, he is pissed. and when simon is pissed, there’s no calming him down. only he can calm himself down.

you can barely keep your eyes open, the only thing grounding you being the occasional scratch of the brick wall on your back where your shirt is ridden up and the dig of his nails into your thighs.

you found him pounding his fists into a punching bag in the training room, blood dripping down his knuckles and onto the floor. you felt horrible! you’ve never seen your secret man so distraught after just a few bad calls. truly, they weren’t even that bad! no one got hurt from them!

so, as a good future wife girl would, you offered to help him relieve his stress. in your mind, you were thinking maybe a back massage, a cuddle afterwards! um.. no. you were wrong. sorry.

“fuck, lovie — bloody tight, ain’t she?”

you can’t even get out a verbal response, your eyes rolled back as obscene moans, whines, and just about every noise imaginable escapes your lips. not to mention, the growl in his low, gruff manchester accent just adds to your pleasure and cock-drunk state. although a snarky comment does play at the back of your mind, along the lines of ‘yes, simon, she is tight, because you stuck your cock in me within five minutes of us getting in here.’

his hips are pistoning into your own at an almost ferocious pace, his hands gripping into the backs of your thighs and holding them in place against your chest as he traps you between him and the wall of his room. you can feel the pulsating warmth of his cock, the feral pace he’s set ingraining each vein into the lining of your sopping cunt.

you flutter your eyes open in an attempt to look at him, just for them to cross a split second later and your head fall back rather hard against the wall as a dark chuckle rings through your ears, the vibrations of his chest against yours instantly going south.

once you do manage to finally get your eyes open, you tilt your head down to look into his own eyes. and holy shit.

this man is looking at you like he’s about to fucking murder you. his eyes are widened, pupils blown out, that same intense look you remember oh so well from the battle field. his mask is tugged back down over his chin (although you could’ve sworn you left it up!), so thats all you can see. his eyes. those eyes.

i mean, sure, you’ve had people look at you like that before. its an almost every day occurrence in your line of work. but.. jesus christ.

your eyes almost instantly roll back once more, that familiar pool of heat in your stomach spreading through your entire body.

suddenly you feel his heavy palm slam down on your skin, a loud moan escaping your lips from the schlap! of his sweaty palm against your warm thigh.

“fuckin’ look at me. you tha’ fucked out you can’t keep those pretty lil’ eyes open?”

you hear him growl out, his rough fingers digging so hard into your skin you know theres going to be bruises tomorrow.

a few moments go by before you can actually process his words, your eyes opening as much as you can get them to as you stare straight into his widened and crazed eyes, the intensity of his gaze burning straight through your entire body.

“good girl. look’t you, listenin’ so well even when i’m fuckin’ ya raw, ay?”

he coos, although you can’t really tell if he’s mocking you or actually praising you. to be quite honest, you don’t care either way.

you babble out a response, along the lines of “please!” or maybe “simon!” which prompts another low chuckle in return.

you’re not sure what happened to your sweet love-making simon! you can’t really bring yourself to complain, but the stark difference from those love-struck eyes to these murderous ones just do something to you. (gets you absolutely soaked, plain and simple!)

just thinking about it is what brings you to your absolute train wrecker of an orgasm, staring dead into his gorgeously terrifying eyes until you physically can’t keep your eyes open anymore.

“bloody hell.. ther’ya go, love. makin’ a right mess all over my cock. you always come that hard?”

oh, but don’t worry, you’ll get him back for all that mocking. two can play that game, right, lovie?

—————

🙂

thats all i have to say (why is the emoji so big) (if u saw this post already no u didnt.. i hated the formatting so i had to repost)

actually.. this was inspired by this tiktok slideshow i saw once of this guy with a shiesty and he was showing his crazy eyes and he was sitting on a staircase i think and i was gonna link it but COULDNT FIND THE VIDEO BRUH.

also this has been sitting in my drafts gor weeks so sorry for the rushed ending.. just pretend like they both cum and live happily ever after ya

[simonisferal]

not you again "scaramouche x male reader"

episode two — a man can't punch another man without it seeming homosexual nowadays, can he? 📖

warnings: violence, vulgar language, threats, homophobia?, food play if you think about it, (some) sexual tension/implications

notes: your hand slipped :( 1.3k words

The courtyard was often crowded with students, some eating lunch or studying during their breaks or some skipping their classes and horsing around.

You were waiting on Tartaglia who said he'd be there and cancelled his afternoon wrestling practice to be there. It was terrifying how he managed to remember everything but chemistry-related things. Your food was also getting cold with every passing minute you didn't see a ginger.

Your phone lit up multiple times and you chose to ignore it. No way someone was actually talking about you behind your back, right? Maybe after you tweeted that but no way, right? You sigh, maybe you shouldn't do irrational things now that you're a senior...

Your chin meets your palm as your elbow presses against the wooden bench's warm table.

Ajax wasn't coming any time soon so why not eat? You lift up a spoonful of food to your lips, opening your mouth slightly to eat it.

But, it never happened. Instead it fell onto the grass. And you felt a slap to your face.

(Scaramouche wasn't one for violence. He'd rather mentally or psychologically torture his opponents as they either move away with their parents or just grovel under his feet to get away from his constant degrading. But that never happened with you.

You didn't beg for his any of his attention like his usual fans and admirers, you could barely admit he was attractive! Not like he cared but seeing someone's eyes not on him... it kinda hurt.

But, it's fine! Nothing a little rivalry couldn't fix, right?)

You freeze, feeling the hot sting on your cheek burn by the second. That shadow that managed to hover over you was unfortunately familiar. He can't seem to leave you alone huh?

Your fingers carefully glaze against your cheek, brushing against and past the red mark Scaramouche had clearly left on your face. Your day was going so well too... You look up at him from sitting on the bench as he leaned on the table, as if looking for your reaction. He had a smirk painted on his lips that you couldn't wait to wipe off his face.

You only realized that yes, he did just slap you purposefully, and yes, other people are watching. I'm rational, you tell yourself.

"And who are you?"

His smirk widened and you swore he was actually a bitch. You noticed the little crowd forming around you two, students standing up from their seats to watch, others coming close to you to hear the conversation, and even some of them began filming. You didn't ignore Scaramouche's quick glance to the crowd, like he was waiting to act out a little performance.

He looked back at you, confidently. "You know who I am. Don't be dumb Y/N." He was somewhat joking. He already thought you were dumb. You loathed him.

"Yeah, sure, anyways! To what do I owe the pleasure? You know, besides already being subjected to your little torture methods?" You glare. Your food had begin to lose its warmth as you ignored it, sitting like a holy grail right in front of you.

You weren't cracking like he thought would happen. You always manage to be a few steps ahead, not any long stride but tiny, small tip-toes around his theories and plans. But not this time. Not under his watch.

"No, I'm actually starving!" He pouts like a child and leans even closer. He eyes your food carefully, a bowl of spaghetti with some red 40 as tomato sauce. "Do you think you'd give me some?"

Before you can even respond to his ridiculous request, Scaramouche is already a step ahead of you. Gripping his hands around the pasta, he smears it on your face, leaving a big stain on your shirt and tomato sauce everywhere.

The people watching let out laughs and silent gasps as they watch everything unfold. To say you were pissed was an understatement. To add fuel to the fire, you watch as he drags his finger across your face to get some sauce on his finger and lick it off clean right in front of you. The smirk on his face said it all.

"Not bad. Not bad at all." You weren't really sure what the fuck he was talking about but it seemed like someone else didn't either as you heard students watching move aside to let someone pass. Tartaglia.

"Scara, what the fuck are you doing?! Get your nasty hands off him." Ajax pushed him away from you, his bigger frame protecting you from Scaramouche's. Yanfei comes up from behind you, handing you napkins to clean the sauce off your face.

Even teachers began watching but it's not like they were gonna do anything. One reason you hated Scaramouche so badly was because his mother managed to scare anyone who got into her son's way, including adults. It was unfair, especially to the people who work hard!

Scaramouche smirked, standing up straight from the bench to see Tartaglia eye to eye. "Aww, is the little fa—"

Ajax stops him before he finishes that word. It wasn't necessarily a secret, most people already knew he had a boyfriend but using it as a insult is just fucking rude. "Don't you fucking dare."

"And why not, Ajax? Scared your little boyfriend'll hide his tail in between his legs and scurry? I sure would." Scaramouche crossed his arms. Tartaglia paused, attempting to calm himself down but to no avail. His fist ball up and Yanfei tries rubbing his shoulder in sympathy.

It was scary honestly. Seeing someone so happy and easy-going as Tartaglia so mad and anxious. You didn't ignore the way his hands trembled nor the way his eyes had began teary. If Yanfei had taught you anything about this school was that playing fair never works. You have to get your hands dirty.

You stand up from the bench, gently rubbing Tartaglia's shoulder. You lean into his ear and whisper, "Let me handle this, okay? I got it from here." He didn't bother looking up at you when you signaled Yanfei to take him away carefully.

She did so, glancing back at you as she and Ajax walked further into the crowd and away from Scaramouche.

You still had some sauce on your face, wiping it off of your face with your thumb and balling your fist. He noticed this. "What's wrong? Cat got yo—"

As usual, being interrupted for the plot! You don't hesitate to just fucking punch his ugly ass face before he finished whatever metaphor, idiom, onomatopoeia thing he had going on.

The crowd surrounds you two as they start chanting to fight. Scaramouche recoils back, holding his nose in his hand as velvet blood ran down his hand and dripped down on to the grass. "Bitch," he muttered, wiping his nose and ignoring the pain.

"You're gonna pay for that."

Like he mentioned previously, you are indeed not paying for that. Some blue-haired girl, Xingqui, and some teachers had to pull you off of Scaramouche as you pinned him to the ground. "Fucking asshole!" You attempt to land another punch but miss as you get dragged away from the bastard you were plotting to kill.

Everyone groaned as you got dragged away (probably to the principal's office for causing a ruckus), sad that there wasn't anything entertaining to watch anymore.

Mona and Kazuha ran up to Scaramouche who was lying on the grass, nose broken and maybe some ribs and his throat bruised. "You idiot! What were you thinking?!"

Scaramouche closes his eyes and sighs. "Shut it. I need a favor." As the crowd disperse back to their original duties, Kazuha raises an eyebrow. "What for?"

"I... need new pants."

masterlist — prev — next

taglist: open! bold means i can't tag you

beginning with... @mizumetamorphosis , @wawanluvr , @shutingstar , @pookiemax , @chemiru , @scaradooche , @swivy123 , @yangbbokari , @academiq , @thystarsshine , @zoropookie , @notrsz , @justyoureader , @mercy-not-merci , @kiekole , @kazumiku

(@simonisferal 2024)

[sexiestpodcastcharacter]

Sexiest Podcast Character — Unscripted Bracket — Round 4

Propaganda

Moonshine Cybin (Not Another D&D Podcast: Bahumia):

She's a hot elf with mushrooms growing on her. She has 1 level of barbarian. She's bisexual. She shapeshifted into a dragon and ate a god.

how tf does the post not mention Moonshine’s giant boobs her greatest asset

Moonshine has canonically gone down on a woman for a solid hour without asking for anything in return. Moonshine edged a dryad just by kissing them. Moonshine faced down someone being controlled to kill everyone in his path and told him if he still wanted to hurt her, she would take his blows as a friend. Moonshine makes jambalaya for her family and friends. Moonshine mispronounced someone’s name for a month and that woman still wanted to hook up with Moonshine. These are just a few of the reasons why Moonshine is sexy.

shes illiterate

canonically huffs dirty water from a bong

has big tatas

wears a belly chain with a demon trapped in it

almost became the queen of hell

ate a god

turned into a pregnant moose & gave birth

Amber Gris (The Adventure Zone: Ethersea):

Middle aged woman who punches sharks to death. My hero

If you love me you'll vote for amber gris I swear to everything holy on earth amen

Amber is butch, instant win

Amber Gris has a negative charisma modifier and she pissed her pants on purpose in order to trick a guard and knock him out. She tied up a dude. She once killed an evil magic shark (they're out for murder. not like real sharks) by punching it and then picked it up and smashed it into another shark, also killing it. She talks in a southern accent. She calls people guppy because it indicates a lack of respect. She has a big pair of magical green arms that come from her stomach. She got a fancy jacket and immediately ripped its sleeves off. She has a gay thing going on with one of the political leaders in the city. She gets in fights with people and doesnt do vulnerability and tries to lay low and not get in any social trouble she doesn't have to. She jumped through a portal into a new world because she could. She's now the god of said world, alone with only afformentioned political leader, who was previously possessed and she had to fight. She spends her time in a bar called the Cloaca. She calls people she doesn't like claspers, because it means shark penis. She and her friend, an old man named Uncle Joshy, sneak attack each other and yell VIBE CHECK! She tries to talk fancy to impress people and she's really bad at it (verily).

She’s everything and more. She’s irreverent. She punches sharks for a living. She becomes God. What more do you need in a butch.

amber gris propaganda: she is straightup the physical embodiment of "women want me, fish fear me." also she's an appalachian post apocalyptic sea captain. that's just objectively cool.

Art of Amber from @cookie-nom-nom.

[eddiezpaghetti]

Okay, so my experience with Stranger Things is a weird one.

I didn't care when it first came out, started to watch it out of "might as well" in 2020, wasn't interested in it enough to make it past S2, forgot about it outside of going "oh, hey, cool, there's a lesbian in it now, I guess," in S3, got really annoyed when "Running Up That Hill" got popular from it because it was a song I listened to on fucking loop after one of my best friends died in high school and I fully expected its appearance in the show to ignore the whole survivor's guilt theme of the song (and was very happy to learn later that it did the exact opposite of ignoring the lyrics), saw people drawing Eddie, suddenly got a lot more interested, watched just the fourth season like a fucking psychopath because I was seriously only there for Eddie, then got interested enough to start the show over properly, having mostly forgotten what I did watch of the show before.

And let me tell you something from the perspective of someone who started with the complete fourth season, who wasn't there from the start, who wasn't tainted by ship goggles or this internal battle of hope and despair, who wasn't theorizing about what the painting could be or expecting Mike and Will to kiss when Volume 2 happened or rooting for Mike and Eleven's relationship to go down in flames or whatever the fuck. Just someone who went blind into Season 4.

It's really fucking obvious that Will and Mike are gonna be endgame.

Like holy fuck. It's so fucking blatant I don't even know why people are nervous.

No sane fucking person would shoot this scene this way if they wanted the audience to care about El and Mike as a couple. Despite being all blurry in the background, Will's reaction to what's happening here is smackdab in the fucking middle, clearly showing that the important part is what's going through his head here. What he's feeling. It's like the opposite of that scene from Kingdom Hearts II where Sora and Riku reunite and Kairi just fucking vanishes into the aether while it's happening because, despite the fact that she was standing between them when the scene began, she doesn't matter to the scene, so she's just kind of gone when the camera angle changes. Will could have been behind one of their heads, or so far in the distance he blends in with the background, but he's not. He's so obvious that despite being massively blurred out, he's still the first goddamn thing you look at. What, you think that's an accident? You think he's in the middle of this dramatic fucking scene because of a mistake? He basically has a big flashing neon arrow pointing at him with "THIS IS THE POINT" being screamed through a megaphone.

And then this?

They're paired up like they're taking fucking prom pictures. Each one of these pairs is so fucking close to one another and so fucking far from everyone else. It's not, "Oh, they're standing vaguely near each other in a group shot," it's fucking Noah's Ark out here. Again, there's no way to take this as an accident. It's not just a framing issue. If they wanted to make the shot look balanced while still not hiding anyone else behind El, they would have scattered people around much more naturally. Even if they wanted to keep Nancy with Jonathan and Hopper with Joyce, there's so much room on that hill for three people to stand on El's left and three on her right. But they didn't do that. They put Mike and Will together on purpose in the most obvious way possible.

Like I get that coming up with crackpot theories is fun in and of itself and I'm not blaming anyone for having fun. I totally get the appeal of arguing a point and reaching for every stupid little thing to pull into it because it's like a game, okay? I've done that. But if you're trying to actually convince someone (whether it's someone who wants to believe or someone who's pissed at the very idea that Mike and Will could be in love), stay away from blue and yellow lights, stay away from costume design, stay away from the existence of closets in backgrounds. And don't worry about whether Mike's gay or bi when he's in love with Will either way. I'll give you a little tip about persuasion: You're only as strong as your weakest argument. Even if you've got strong stuff in there, too, the person you're trying to convince is going to dismiss anything you say as complete insanity the second you start going on an entire tangent about the shape of a character's fucking pocket.

Sometimes, clothes are just clothes. Sometimes, there's a closet in the background because it helps establish that a character is in a bedroom. Sometimes, blue and yellow are just a couple of colors that look nice together. And sure, it might be set designers and costume designers and cinematographers smirking and winking at the audience from behind the camera. But if the show was just those things, instead of those things in the context of everything else, they wouldn't be saying anything of note.

But this?

This tells a story all on its own. Someone with no context can look at this and automatically assume that each paired person is standing with someone they care about deeply, seeking comfort as they watch some sort of disaster unfold. And yeah, romantic couples usually come in twos, and we live in an amatonormative society, so that's going to be the first association anyone makes seeing a bunch of people paired off.

It's the same reason you look at this

And go, "Oh..."

"Those two are probably a couple."

And I genuinely don't understand how people could have watched S4 Vol. 2 and gotten scared. Because as someone who went in with no investment whatsoever, I just looked at these two--

--and went, "Oh, those two are a couple. Good for them." And I moved on. Shut up about the trees for five seconds and just see the forest for what it is.

Oh, and if you're still nervous? Little thing from a storyteller here: You don't leave a hanging thread like "Will confessed his romantic feelings for Mike by projecting them onto El, but Mike either didn't understand or at least didn't say he understood," without coming back to that later. That's Chekov's gun hanging on the wall, babes. It's gonna fire at some point. If Mike was going to reject Will's feelings, if they weren't relevant, they would have had that discussion in Argyle's van. There'd be no reason to leave you in suspense.

[milkpup]

｡⋆ʚ♡ a bitch meant for breeding

›› nsfw 18+ jjk oneshot!

art by the amazing @g00miato !!!!!!! literally my fave artist (uncensored is on her twitter and it's wowza holy moly)

FULL SPICY UNCENSORED VER IS ON @g00miato twitter! i am BEGGING u to look!!!

ʚ ao3 ɞ / ʚ kofi ɞ / ʚ fic masterlist ɞ

›› zenin naoya x y/n ›› 18+ f!reader ›› wc: 3,207

‹𝟹 summary: you’re naoya’s wife, and he’s determined to treat you like the pet he believes you are. he takes your sex life up a notch, showing you how he really feels about you:3

‹𝟹 fandom: jjk, jujutsu kaisen

‹𝟹 genres / warnings: petplay, assault / impact play

‹𝟹 tags: au- no powers, spit kink, spitting, breeding, degradation, name calling, pet play, puppy play, light praise, slapping, spanking, choking, rough sex, misogyny, owner / pet dynamic, leash + collar, naoya has a big dick, light biting, light blood, cum swallowing, rough fingering, finger fucking, orgasm denial + delay, throat fucking, mating press, doggy style, missionary

‹𝟹 notes: typically i see naoya more as someone to be subby (bc i wanna put him in his place). but one of my fave artists posted the pic above + the uncensored one, and i went fkn FERAL. like i would be naoya’s dog frfr. i wanna be his pet frfr. this is completely self-indulgent and pure smut. enjoy the ride:3 i made naoya a bit mean, but ultimately i made him a lil nice at the end. my fic and i want nice naoya rn >:(((( (even tho we all know hes a certified misogynist lolol)

!! - again, PLEASE READ TAGS BEFORE CONTINUING - !!

! - ALL CHARACTERS ARE 18+ - !

The Zenin clan was known for its harsh treatment towards the women of the clan. They don’t allow them to educate themselves and they are forced in domestic roles and used to make children. While it gives the woman’s family a good reputation to marry into the Zenin clan, her life usually got worse as a result.

Marrying Naoya Zenin was no exception to this rule; if anything, it was actually worse in comparison. As much as Naoya makes your blood boil, he makes your pussy drip even more. You can’t stand to be around him. His personality is insufferable and he’s a misogynistic asshole, just like everyone else in this hellscape of a family. And despite this, he knows exactly how to pleasure you in ways you never thought you’d be into.

It started out as normal, vanilla sex even before you two were officially married. He never tried anything too crazy, just using your body like he owned you, but never taking it anywhere. Over time, you put up less resistance when he told you to do things for him. While it pissed you off sometimes to be his basically his servant, he always rewarded you in the end and you couldn’t deny how amazing it was every time.

One night, after he had been out late drinking with buddies, he comes home with a shit-eating grin plastered on his face. You greet him at the door, taking care of his coat and belongings. He’s looking at you like a predator. He scoops you up, trailing kisses from your chin to your lips. Naoya bites your bottom lip slightly, drawing a hint of blood as he pushes his tongue into your mouth, meeting yours. He’s tasting every part of your mouth as he carries you to your room.

Despite his drunkenness, his coordination when tossing you onto the bed was surprisingly swift. He pushed you against the bed with such animosity it was like something had possessed him. He starts nipping at your neck, leaving a trail of kisses and spit along your jawline before meeting your lips once more. He twirled his tongue around yours, sucking every part he could. He pulled his lips away from yours, a string of spit connecting you two. “Open,” he commanded. And you did just that. You opened your mouth as he spit into it, telling you to swallow it after.

He watched with satisfaction at your instant submission. You were like his pet. And he wanted you to know that. He kissed you once more before pulling apart and walking over to a drawer, opening it and pulling out a leash and a collar. You were only slightly able to make out his figure, his form quite hazy in the darkness of the room, but you could hear the jingle and clank of the collar.

He walked up to you, a hand offering the collar to you. He had it engraved with your name beforehand, saving this for the right moment. “Will you be a good bitch for me, ____?”

You were looking up at him, eyes wide with a blush creeping across your face. You nod, squeaking out a quiet “Yes sir” in response to his question.

Naoya grinned as he reached to buckle the collar around your neck. “Good girl. Such a good little puppy for me, huh? I’m honestly a little surprised you raised no objections. Such a dumb little puppy, aren’t you?” He buckled the collar and moved his hand to your cheek and caressed you softly right before he pulls his hand away and slaps your face.

You gasp at the impact, looking up at Naoya with a mixture of fear and arousal. His hand snakes its way up the side of your face, before resting on the crown of your head and gripping you by a fistful of hair. He gently tugs your head to meet his, kissing you once more. “Be a good girl for me and I’ll make it worth it, okay?” He says as he pulls back, hooking the leash to the collar recently buckled around your neck. You only nod up at him, eyes saying everything you can’t with your mouth.

He rubs your head a bit, praising you. “Good pup.” You blush at the pet name, feeling heat spread in your body. “Take my clothes off, sweetheart. Be a good bitch and prep me after too, yeah?” He finishes by tugging your head slightly, just enough to add some pressure.

Your hands meet his waistline first. You tug at the drawstring of his sweats, pulling them off. His briefs follow suit, exposing his thick cock. You never would have guessed when you first met him, but he had a piercing going through the tip of his cock. It always added an extra sensation, and it was interesting to look at. You always wondered how painful it must have been.

Naoya’s cock bounces out of his sweats, precum already leaking from the swollen, angry looking tip.  He’s looking down at you, expectantly. You don’t immediately budge, and so Naoya pulls on the leash attached to your collar, pulling you up to meet his cock. “Suck it, slut.” He commands as he’s tugging your head closer and closer.

You meet the tip of his cock, kissing it lightly, trying to be cute. Naoya grunts, pushing your lips open with his thumb and forcing his cock into your mouth. You barely have time to prepare yourself before Naoya is shoving his thick cock down your throat, still tugging at the leash and bringing you even closer into him. Your hands are trying to push away as his cock is pushed deep into your throat, cutting off your air. You can barely breathe through your nose as you struggle to push against him, but this only makes Naoya snaked a hand through your hair and push your head against his cock even more. “I know you can handle it, whore. I thought you’d be a good girl for me, so why are you resisting?” He taunts as he fucks into your throat causing drool to drip from your lips down your chin.

Tears were forming at your eyes as you look up to see Naoya fully immersed in his pleasure, head thrown back as he throat fucks you. He can see the tears starting to form at your eyes, only serving to turn him on more in a sick, sadistic sense of pride. He releases his grip from you momentarily, allowing you to catch your breath for only a few mere moments before resuming his rough abuse of your throat.

He picks up speed, not allowing you to get used to his erratic rhythm as you feel his cock start to twitch, warning you of what’s to come. You don’t really like swallowing, not that Naoya gives a fuck whether you do or not. Naoya does as he pleases. And right now, he would enjoy watching you swallow his cum. He likes the idea of fucking his cum down your throat, but he wants to watch you swallow it instead. Thus, he warns you before he’s about to cum and pulls out. “Open wide for me, pup. Time for your milk~” He purrs as he strokes his thick cock, shooting thick ropes of cum into your mouth.

The taste is horrible, and there’s so much it’s spilling out your mouth, just how Naoya wants you. “Swallow it, slut. Drink it like the good girl you are.” You swallow everything before opening your mouth and showing Naoya. He praises you, before bending down and spitting into your mouth following it with a sloppy kiss. He pulls away before pushing you onto your back on the bed. He pulls your top off first, watching the way your tits bounce when the shirt comes off. He trails kisses down your abdomen before reaching the waistband your pants. He tugs at it with a finger before completely pulling them off, leaving your panties on.

Naoya pushes your legs apart before positioning himself between them. He spits on one of his fingers as his other hand meets your clothed cunt, before pulling the panties to the side. His other finger rubs your slit, feeling how utterly soaked you are from just being teased and facefucked. His long, slender finger slides over your hole before making its way up to your clit, rubbing small circles around it. Naoya can hear your pathetic attempts at stifling your moans like you’re embarrassed, and he makes it one of his goals to make you louder. He wants everyone to hear what a dirty whore you are.

His finger makes it way back to your tight hole, slipping itself inside the wet and warm entrance. Naoya feels you immediately clench at the intrusion, hearing your cute moans as a result. “Good girl, let me hear how much you love me doing this yeah?” He encourages you as he pushes his finger all the way in, before immediately pulling it out and fucking you with it all over again. He wastes no time in adding another finger, trying to stretch your tight cunt open as much as he could. His fingers are drilling into you, making lewd wet slapping noises that fill the quiet room. Your soft moans betray how aroused you are.

Naoya pulls out to your chagrin, before rolling you over onto your tummy across his lap. He spreads your legs open once again before forcing his fingers back into your needy hole. You yelp out in surprise as his fingers slip inside, scissoring themselves and spreading you open. Naoya uses his other hand to spread your ass open, giving him a close up view of your weeping hole taking only 2 of his fingers and already struggling. “You’re taking it like such a good slut, yeah? You want me to stretch you out after?” He asks, feeling you clench around his fingers the moment he finishes his question. He laughs a bit. “I guess that’s your response, huh pup?”

It's that damn pet name again. You moan he lifts his hand to slap your ass. Naoya does not hold back in the slightest, repeating his slaps until he’s satisfied with the redness spreading across your ass. He pushes in another finger, this time feeling your stretch cunt at its limit. He pulls your body up into a sort of doggy position, you on your knees face down onto the bed. His fingers are slamming into your cunt, your juices dripping onto his hand and wrist then onto the bed.

Naoya bends down beside you, purring into your ear. “You’re such a good whore, aren’t you?” Your cunt clenches in response to his praise-degradation and he chuckles beside you. “I love bitches who make messes so easily, and you’re just like that. I bet you’re already close just from me fucking your tight cunt with my fingers.” He smirks at his taunt. You’re moaning into the bed, drool spilling from the sides of your mouth as his fingers continue their relentless assault on your cunt. He brings his other hand to your clit, thumb circling the sensitive nub as he brings you one step closer. Naoya was right, you were close, and he could tell just from your body how desperate you were to cum and make a mess right in front of him.

“You gonna cum, baby? Gonna make a mess for me, yeah?” You could only whine into the bedsheets, face pressed against the mattress as you felt Naoya bringing you ever so closer to your release. His thumb pressed harder onto your clit, rubbing it with more intensity as his other three fingers fucked into you with ferocity. You were drooling all over the sheet as you whined, feeling yourself tighten up around Naoya’s fingers as you feel that knot in your stomach start to snap—

And then Naoya pulls away both his hands, right as he felt you about to be pushed over the edge. You lift your head up, whining as you pout and look at him. He has the cheekiest grin plastered on his face as he brings his fingers to his mouth and cleans your juices off them. “Sorry, pup, but you don’t cum until I tell you to. Got that?” Your pitiful whines come out as a response, still squirming under Naoya at the loss of touch.

You softly squeak out, “Yes sir.” In response to Naoya’s question. You would do anything for him in this moment if it meant he would let you cum all over him. Literally anything. You would bark for him if he asked; he probably would like it given the puppy stuff anyways. Fuck, you’d even do tricks for him if he really wanted to, anything if it meant he praised you and helped you cum.

Naoya smiled even wider, setting a hand on your head and petting you. “Good girl,” he coos. You feel your heart melt and your pussy throb at the praise. He’s making it painfully slow for you, taking his time before he’s going to touch you again.  He pushes your face back into the mattress, scooting your ass closer to him in the process.

Naoya parts your thighs ever so slightly, giving him better access to your sloppy cunt. He lines his thick cock against your hole, pushing his pierced head in ever so slightly. Even with his three fingers fucking your cunt and spreading it out, his cock was still a tight fit for you. He grips your hips with his firm hands as he pushes into you in one sadistic push, bottoming out into your tight cunt. You yelp out in pain as he slams his thick cock into you, feeling every ridge, vein, and especially his fucking piercing. You didn’t think it would feel extra good, but it’s an added sensation that you can’t get from anything else, and it feels fucking amazing.

You moan against the bedsheets loud enough for Naoya to hear as he pulls his cock out and slams it back in. “Fuck, ____, your cunt is so tight. It’s like it’s made just for me, yeah? A hole meant for me to breed, isn’t it? You’re just a bitch meant for breeding, aren’t you?” Naoya asks as he roughly spanks your ass in tandem with his thrusts. “Answer me, pup, what are you?” Naoya demands an answer as he hardly tugs at the leash, pulling you up against him.

The collar is pushing against your airway as he tugs at the leash supporting your weight. Because of this, you can barely choke out the words he was expecting to hear from you. “I’m a bitch… meant for breeding...” You sputter out as his thrusts increase in velocity and force. You moan against him as he pulls your body fully against his, fucking into you from behind.

“Good girl,” Naoya coos  as he places a gentle kiss on your neck before biting down hard in the same spot. He draws a bit of blood, licking the area clean and kissing it once more before he lets go of you and pushes you onto the bed again.

Without breaking contact between you two, Naoya expertly flips you onto your back. He never stops his rhythm fucking into your abused cunt while moving your legs. He fucks you a bit in a missionary position, looking down into you as tears are forming at your eyes. “Fuck, Naoya, it feels sho fucking good~!!!” You slur your words out as you look into your eyes, his thick cock never relenting. You reach your arms around his neck as you pull him down to you into a quick kiss.

He pushes away from you, but not before gently biting on your lip first. He pulls his cock out momentarily as he places both your legs onto his shoulders. He pushes his body fully into yours, trying to feel every inch of your body. He slams his cock back into your messy hole as you moan into him. You can feel his warm breath as he trails kisses from your jawline to your neck, biting you in almost the same spot as before. The sharp pain only adds a distinct sensation that enhances your pleasure.

You can feel the knot building in your stomach again, threatening to snap at any moment. “Naoya, m gonna—m gonna cum, soon!!!” You stumble out your words, trying to warn him in advance so this time he can reward you.

Naoya grins and fucks into you harder, drilling his thick cock into your tight cunt. “Good slut, cum for your owner, bitch. I own you and this cunt, don’t I?” He taunts you as his cock hits your g-spot, hitting that bundle of nerves in such a way that has you seeing stars.

“Th-thank you!! Yesh, yesss you own me Naoya!!! I wanna be your dumb pet pleaseee imgonnacum im gonna cum!!!” Your words are stumbling out now, unable to control any of them as you feel the knot in your stomach break and you get not pushed over the edge, but metaphorically kicked into your orgasm. It feels like you’re crashing into the pleasure that is Naoya’s cock as you basically scream, feeling yourself squirt and make a mess around Naoya’s cock and the bed.

He reaches a hand to grip around your throat, cutting off your loud proclamations of pleasure. “Be quiet, bitch” He spits his words out as he rams into your cunt. You can feel his cock twitch and release his thick load, grunting as he fills your womb to the brim with his cum. His grip around your throat releases as he pushes himself off of you, pulling his cock out. Some of the cum overflows from your cunt, dripping out of your hole. He reaches a finger down, lapping up some with his finger and pushing it back inside, placing your panties back in the same position as before.

“Don’t let any spill out. You’re my bitch that’s meant to be knocked up by me. I’m sure you’re so excited to be a mommy, aren’t you?” In your fucked out state, all you can do is nod in a stupor as you try to catch your breath.

Naoya lifts your head and props a small pillow behind it as he climbs to in front of you, cocking staring straight at you. “Be a good girl and clean me up, pup.” You look up at him with half-lidded eyes, still reeling from your mind shattering orgasm mere moments before. Naoya’s thumb opens your mouth as his cock meets your lips. You stick your tongue out, placing kisses on his cock and licking his cock clean.

Once he’s satisfied with your cleanup, he moves beside you and kisses you. He pulls away and looks into your eyes as he caresses your cheek. “I love you, ____. You’re such a good girl for me.” You look into him and grin, as he playfully smacks your cheek. He places a kiss over the slight red mark he leaves before getting up to gather clothes for you.

‹𝟹 notes: how this fic got me feeling:

but frfr this pic got me going crazy im like feral and unhinged. i rly am a monkey. i think geto suguru was on to smthn frfr. i see hot jjk men i start fucking hooting like a monkey, going crazy when i see their bananas frfr

- if u wanna be tagged in my works / updates, pls lmk :3c!

‹𝟹 notifs: @vvxxccaa @arylaa @starshipxoxo

ʚ join my notifs ɞ

(･ω･)つ divider creds to @/cafekitsune and @/eloquentreverie

[hetaherr]

spending habits

:wriothesley modern au!

:fluff, crack, mentions of swearing, gender neutral

i thought this would be pretty funny, a little ooc and definetely self indulgent because i love recieving stupid gifts- hell i love buying myself stupid things from aliexpress LOL. and for those with gift giving as your love language, NO SHAME!! don't feel bad about it, ur deserving of all your cute little presents and trinkets, anyway ily <3 reblog to win ur 5050s

"holy shit"

wriothesley raises an eyebrow as he flips through a few documents in bed, he looks your way with anticipation. he watches you blink at your phone, proceeding to look back up at him, then back to your phone in utter disbelief, eyes wide and mouth agape, he can't help but chuckle.

"i just got some email confirmation, of- hear this, three hundred, three hundred fucking dollars."

you say, shoving the phone in wriothesley's face. he squints at how your phone is set at a level of brightness that put even the gates of heaven to shame. he stays quiet as he barely skims through the email before shrugging.

"yea i know, i paid for it."

as he says so nonchalantly, he sees your face distort into that of pure horror. what does he mean by, he paid for it?

"you really don't remember?"

he laughs. the sound of his voice usually makes you feel various emotions, all dancing around the themes of love and passion, but now you would have to add straight terror to the list as your heart sinks to the depths of your stomach. his big hands let go of your phone, and make its way to cup our cheeks.

"when i picked you up last night, you were pissed drunk-"

he chuckles as he interupts himself. his thumbs caressing your plump and soft cheeks. you await him to continue, dreading to hear what ridiculous scheme you managed to come up with while drunk.

"and though i'm not sure where you got this idea from, you kept insisting that i wasn't spending enough money on myself-"

"no...."

you interupt, gasping as you realise where the conversation was headed. wriothesley smiles at your reaction. clearly he doesn't feel like the situation is that big of a deal and it leaves you baffled at the fact he seems to be taking it so lightly.

"i simply said i'd rather spend my money on you and i really don't think i've seen you look so excited in my life. we spent the evening browsing your wishlist, you certainly had some odd things saved might i add."

he laughs again so unphased, while you were absolutely destroyed and horrified by your actions you were visably shrinking under the covers.

you couldn't bare to look at him, face red and the feeling of guilt was so heavy, not to mention the embarrassment you felt. you were really going through it... once again his warm hands make its way under the sheets and snaked around your waist. there's a soft hum of your name and as relieved as you are that he doesn't seem angry at the three hundred over dollars missing from his bank account, you simple can't bring yourself to look him in the eyes as he joins you under the blanket.

"my my, aren't you cute."

he says in that awfully familiar tone, the one he uses when he knows he has an advantage over you. he looks at your flustered face, the same face that manages to tug at his heartstrings everytime he sees it. you mutter countless apologies and promises that you'll definetely pay him back, as you bury your head into your hands.

"hm? i'd much rather you didn't sweetie, no matter how much money you decided to milk out of me it'll never reach the extent of which, i love you."

bonus: you decide not to look through the list of items that drunk you had insisted on getting and throughout the next few weeks, you and wriothesley would find packages addressed to you on the doorstep. it feels sorta like christmas and you open it together, some items are so ridiculously niche and some even straight up useless. you both have no idea what to do with it but it does do a good job at making the both of you laugh. wriothesley's favourite is when a piece of clothing comes, obviously he asks you to model it for him, spinning you around and even going as far as whistling at you when it's something excessively skimpy.