#but it is as if you would expect her to move and speak

[anothermaletfwriter]

Don't Climb the Stairs in the Woods

Carter isn’t what you would expect from his appearance. He hated how even in the year of 2025, people made assumptions based on what he looked like. Yes, he was a twink but that didn’t mean he was gay. In fact, he was the opposite. He was the elusive straight twink, having the slender youthful pale white frame often held up by gay men as one of their beauty standards while having only attraction for the opposite sex. He was entirely straight, not even remotely bi-curious. It was a constant social problem but it particularly plagued him in his love life. The hot girls he wanted to bang friend zoned him as they wanted their own little gay best friend. Surprisingly despite his looks, he wasn’t very tolerant of the gays or their lifestyles. Unfortunately, he would learn tolerance and acceptance the hard way.

Today was one of the few dates he snatched with a woman. His tactic of deepening his voice and making his flirting extremely obvious worked this time. He was in the middle of talking to the cute blonde named Carrie at a coffee shop when her muscle-bound gay Asian best friend, Tristan, came along. He sashayed in his walk, wrists limping and hips swaying, as he hugged his bestie. While Tristan’s only direct interaction with Carter was a friendly wave and “Hello, how are you?”, Carter felt the atmosphere had been spoiled. He got sick of the man at first sight and hated it even more when Tristan opened up his mouth and all that came out was his overtly-flamboyant cadence. Carter abandoned his date and left the shop instantly, explaining that he didn’t want to date a girl with gay friends like Tristan.

Now he was walking through the woods, attempting to find a peace of mind like he always did. He took on his usual trail, passing some pine trees and a pond that had geese and ducks. Strangely enough, there were no sounds of creatures. No things hissed or slithered. Even the ducks that honked at him were silent. Everything in the forest was quiet save for the crunch under his feet and the breezy wind that haunted him. Something is wrong here.

He tried to turn back on the trail but the forest had reorganized itself, his path now blocked by a thick brush of trees. It was too thick to get through. He turned forward and a staircase stood there. It was made of concrete with graffiti of rainbows and nets of vines on the side. Chills ran through his heart that warned him to not get on it. He became paralyzed as voices without a source whispered for him to go on it. There was something exciting only seen at the top. No matter how hard he tried to push his legs back, they could only move forward, his body out of his control.

“I don’t deserve this. I wanna go home,” He tried to speak out but his tongue didn’t follow. He hoped that this was all a bad dream and not karma for acting like an asshole earlier.

As his sentient body slowly went up the stairs, the voices got louder. As he got on the top, the voices felt like they were screaming in his ear but with both feet on the final step, only the ground afterwards, it stopped. Everything was frozen in time like someone had paused the channel. The only noises he heard were his heartbeat and stomach churning before it all returned. The trees swayed in the softer wind and the ducks quacked and tackled each other in the pond.

His entire body felt cooler, and he felt his raised goosebumps. He was naked! All of his clothes gone and out of sight. God this was embarrassing. He covered his average-size junk with his hands, realizing he was in control of his body again.

Happy that nothing severely bad occurred, Carter carefully went back down the stairs.

He noticed that the steps seemed lower down than before, as his legs made larger strides. His skin was changing, while initially thinking it was a trick of the light, he finally realized his skin tone was shifting into a darker and tan shade. His flat cardboard of a chest popped up like two meaty balloons as his skinny abs hardened into a vascular 8 pack. His jawline felt sore as it elongated into a more rectangular shape and chiseled out for a more mature appearance. His stick-thin legs became tree trunks. His curly brown hair shortened into jet black and straight short hair dyed with a tinge of brown. On the arms he held on the rail, they exploded with muscle. His bicep grew more prominent with veins that pumped testosterone through out his whole body the closer he got on the bottom. His ass felt heavy as it had expanded with muscle.

After getting off the stairs, Carter ran to the pond and was shocked by the stranger in the reflection of the water. He was a Chinese hunk now!

His member poked out as he became aroused from his own reflection. The more he stroked, the more of his memories transformed. All the nights he spent in his car banging woman turned into Sniffies and Grindr meetups where they flip-fucked in his car. His attraction to woman replaced by an attraction to men, notably Asian muscle men like himself, like a real man. His name was not Carter, it was Cade. Before he could climax, his phone dinged, ruining his streak.

He sighed, opening past the lockscreen off his near naked body in front of a tropical sunset to a Grindr notification. It was from Azn muscle, “U at the trail yet?”

“Yeah. Got so horny I almost got off lol.”

“Lmao save your hot cum for me. Be there soon.”

Cade exhaled with impatience. After a blink, a backpack and bike manifested on the ground next to him. After another blink, a pair of tight white shorts appeared on his body, not leaving much to the imagination. He began to remember that he was biking shirtless as usual to his Grindr hookup spot and passed the time by admiring the gorgeous nature and his handsome reflection.

Once his hookup, whose name was Tristan and was complaining of a bitchy straight white twink earlier, arrived, it didn’t take long for them to get on their knees on the warm sun-heated ground, taking turns as they pounded each other’s bubble butt with their monster Asian cocks. Cade reveled in being used by a fellow muscle Asian, their mouths fondling their asses and cocks. After they filled each other with their hot potent seed, they parted ways, messaging each other to meet at the same spot again next week.

Cade returned to his apartment to prepare for the rest of the hookups for the day. In an hour, he had to meet in the bathroom of a closing down mattress store. In three hours, he was back in the trail. He would finish his last hookup in an upscale luxury apartment at the stroke of midnight before sleeping on the stranger’s bed.

Cade sometimes had nightmares that he was a straight white twink lost in an eternally paused forest but they went away after a few weeks. After all, he had always been Cade and no one else. He was a gay Asian muscle slut and was proud of it.

[nicsnort]

Part of the Family

NSFW 18+ male orc x female reader

Contains: vaginal sex, fingering, size difference, exhibitionism, groping, implied impregnation, implied group sex, poor use of 1920s slang and style by Orcs

Word Count: 4385

Lore/World-building Prompt

Orcs came to defend your town when demons invaded. Now they've settled in, and after years of teasing them, they've finally had enough. It was time to make you part of the family.

~

Your sleepy little town had never expected an Orc tribe to move in a few years ago. Granted, you never expected the world to be invaded by demons, either. You remembered the moment that the Orcs rode into town well. They had been riding massive black horses the size of Clydesdales but with fire around their hooves and sharp meat-eating teeth. The Orcs had worn their traditional war paints and openly carried their weapons. Everyone had been terrified. Would they slaughter you all? Enslave the town?

They had called for the “ruler” of the town to speak with them. You vividly remember watching the town mayor approaching, trying to hide his fear. The tribe leader, Chief Gorim - a battle-scared, dark green, seven-foot-tall beast of a humanoid - slid off his horse, towering over the mayor, staring him down.

“You are afraid, human,” the chieftain commented in a low growl. “No need to be afraid. We have come as protection.”

The chief handed the mayor an official-looking parchment—a work contract. The Orcs were aware that rural regions of the human world lacked protection against the demonic hordes as the governments focused on protecting cities. So many of the Orc tribes, well-practiced in fighting demons and monsters, crossed the rift to provide protection. All the Orcs asked for in return were places to set up camp, provisions they could not gather from the land itself, and access to this world’s weapons and healing knowledge. A reasonable offer for people seeing the logic of their world changing rapidly and no way to fight against the demons otherwise.

True to their word, the Orcs protected your town and several others in the area. Unfortunately, their protection came with many more strings attached than originally stated. It was, for lack of a better phrase - a protection racket. Little did the towns know that Orc tribes were similar in structure and philosophy to the Italian Mafia. A rather ironic twist of fate, given that your little town had been the center of some Mafia activity over a century ago during the Prohibition Era. The small museum in town was a historically preserved speakeasy that told the story about the gambling den, a whiskey smuggling route, and a good old-fashioned shoot-out between the Feds and the gangsters along Main Street.

It was even more ironic that your Orcs - attempting to adapt to this “new human world” - decided to forgo their traditional dress and begin copying the Mafia’s style. The 1920s to 1950s Mafia was their preference. Their bows and arrows were replaced with machine guns. Their leather skirts and vests were replaced with cotton suits and fedoras. They began picking up the slang by watching documentaries and old films. The chief insisted that everyone call him “Godfather” and would tell everyone how the lead actor in that famous film looked like an Orc without the tusks. 

Sometimes, their obsession was more silly than scary. You overheard an Orc contemplating whether to call her future son the short Orc-like Tony or Al’capone after the “great warrior chief.” And seeing a non-warrior Orc in a flapper dress with the warriors wolf-whistling at the “sight of his gams” was certainly something. Who would have ever guessed that Orcs were into cross-dressing? However, given how Orcish genders seemed to be warrior and non-warrior regardless of sex, maybe it wasn’t cross-dressing. The Orcs had decided that warriors wore suits and non-warriors wore flapper or swing dresses.

Even with the Orcs running this protection racket, the town benefited more than it lost. You had all heard the horror stories of the areas first hit by the demons - towns annihilated, mass slaughter, people forced into slavery - compared to that prospect, paying a tribe of Orcs in tomato sauce, pasta, and historically accurate clothing was nothing. Not to mention that just like the Mafia they modeled themselves after, the Orcs started smuggling goods to and from their home dimension. The state and federal governments did not want any trade of materials that could “corrupt” humans (whatever that meant), but if they wouldn’t protect your town from demons, why bother listening to their ban? Magic potions were amazing.

But that all wrapped around to you. The person running the local speakeasy museum that the warrior Orcs claimed as their primary hangout spot. You were a historian and preservationist. While you had always sold alcohol at the museum’s speakeasy bar for those wanting to try moonshine or the local whiskey, it was never supposed to be a real bar. Yet, you had transformed the speakeasy museum into a functional bar at their large, weapon-carrying insistence. Your job had become more bar tender than museum worker, but to be honest, before the demons, your museum hadn’t ever gotten much business. Luckily, the “person in control of the alcohol” was a position that Orcs respected, and as you were the human who ran the “shrine” to the human “warrior tribes,” that respect was doubled.

“Here we go, boys,” you announced, setting five glasses of whiskey in front of the Orc warriors who had just come in from patrol.

“Ah, you're the bee’s knees, doll,” they replied with relief. You had long overcome the bristle you felt at being called “doll.” The Orcs were copying more of the language of the period they idolized. You had asked them once what they thought it meant - a pretty non-warrior - at least they were calling you pretty.

You headed into the backroom to gather more whiskey. Each Orc typically drank half a bottle when they came here after patrol, so you had to grab a few more to satisfy this group. As you were in the back, you could hear the chatter and laughter of the patrol join that of those already a couple of cups deep.

“Shrine maiden,” an Orc called out before swearing in Orcish, “raudt, doll! Bring another round of Oakengleam!”

You couldn’t help but smile to yourself. Some older Orcs struggled with the new slang when drunk and still fell into their old terms. They swore whenever it happened, but the translator spell refused to translate anything inappropriate, meaning you knew lots of Orcish swears. With your arms full of four bottles of whiskey, you returned to the front. The Orc that had called out to you leaned against the bar, putting full weight on the old polished wood.

“I told you, Ozoch, that was the last of it. You’ll have to wait until the runners return from the Rift.”

“Come on, it’s the chief’s - I mean - the don’s favorite. I know you have to have some.”

You raised an eyebrow. “You are suggesting that I use Godfather’s private supply to satiate your already drunk stomach?”

“Don’t try to use the Don to threaten me, weakling.”

Silence began to fall among the Orcs as they listened in. You lifted your head defiantly. The Orcs valued strength. Not just physical but mental. Backing down now would lose much of the respect they held for you. “I’m in charge of the alcohol. Even if I had Oakengleam, I wouldn’t give it to you for that. Get out and dry out.”

Ozoch slammed his fist on the counter, cracking the wood. “Don’t tell me what to do! You ain’t tribe!”

“That don’t mean she ain’t correct,” a low growling voice said behind Ozoch. The older Orc stiffened. Godfather had just walked in the door.

“Chie--Don Gorim,” Ozoch started as he turned around unsteadily. “I didn’t mean nothin’ by it.”

Godfather looked to the capo at his side and jerked his head. “Escort Ozoch out, Taugh. Take a walk, old friend, and consider how I said the dame was to be respected. Don’t make me force you to find that respect in concrete shoes.”

Properly cowed, Ozoch let Taugh escort him out. The old Orc likely would have a ground-down tusk the next time you saw him. It was a common mark of shame.

Godfather approached the bar. He silently examined the damage Ozoch did. A scowl crossed his face before he looked at you with a small smile. Reaching across the bar, he put a hand on your shoulder. “I will see this fixed, doll.”

Your heart rate was returning to normal, but you didn’t trust yourself enough to speak, so you nodded. He squeezed your shoulder lightly before releasing you. “Now, a mug of Oakengleam at my table, please.”

You breathed out slowly and returned his smile. “Of course, Godfather.”

Disappearing into the back where you kept Godfather’s private stash, you heard the conversation in the main room slowly return to normal. Alone among the alcohol, you took a moment to gather yourself. This wasn’t the first time you had to assert yourself, but it was the first time that an Orc had been violent towards you. Seeing them rip the wings off an imp with their bare hands was one thing, but knowing that fist would have cracked your head open was another. Allowing a couple of tears to escape your eyes, you quickly dried them. The don was waiting for his drink.

With a smile on your face, you brought Godfather his drink. While you were in the back, Taugh had returned, new abrasions on his knuckles. Godfather also had his advisor, Kormor, at his table. She was speaking quietly to him, ignoring your presence. 

The night went on as normal for an hour or so. More and more Orcs came into the speakeasy, nearly all of the warriors. You noticed that Kormor began walking around to the tables, speaking with the Orcs quietly. She would speak, they would take a moment, and then some would put up two fingers. It became apparent they were voting on something. You wondered what was so big of a decision that it required the warriors' input instead of the don's unilateral decision. It was none of your business, though.

 The bar's heat rose as the seats and stools reached capacity. It was not a big building, and the speakeasy area could only hold 60 humans or half as many Orcs. Your body was forced to brush against them as you served drinks. As you cleared mugs and glasses, bending over the table, their thick hands reached to steady you. Occasionally, an unknown hand was brave enough to sneak a grope in. Their earthy musk slowly began to make your head swim.

Godfather called for another drink. You ducked into the back, happy for the reprieve. Leaning against the cold brick wall, you felt your pussy throbbing. It was a secret you kept hidden from all those around you. You found the Orcs super hot. 

Before the invasion of demons, when all monsters were considered fantasy, monsters had been the subject of your fantasies. When it turned out that all sorts of monsters were real, when the Orcs came to your town, it was a terrifying but exciting moment. Unfortunately, the Orcs didn’t seem interested in humans sexually. Sure, they would occasionally grope you, but it seemed more like a game to them as they never did anything more. You had even started wearing the swing dresses they liked and brushing against them on purpose, trying to encourage them.

There were many times that after a long night of working, you had gone upstairs to your apartment above the museum with your panties soaked. You would take out your monster dildos and fuck yourself, yearning for it to be the Orcs you had just seen.

But now wasn’t the time for that. You didn’t have time to touch yourself. The don needed another mug of his favorite ale. As always, you would suffer through the arousal. As you set down a second mug of Oakengleam for Godfather, the underboss, Sehbuv, arrived. Sehbuv winked at you as he sat down. A faint blush came to your cheeks. He had always been one of the nicest to you and slipped you treats from the smuggled goods. It didn’t hurt that he was definitely one of the most handsome Orcs with forest green skin and alluring magenta eyes.

“Double whiskey, doll,” he ordered, “oh and, for you.” 

Sehbuv grabbed your hand and pressed something long, hard, and wet at the bottom into it. Looking down, you saw it was a tusk. An Orc tusk, yellowed with old age and very recently removed. To grind down a tusk of an orc was a mark of shame, to remove one was saying you did not recognize them as an Orc anymore. You looked back up at him, and he gave you another wink. Clenching your hand around the gift, you stuttered a thank you before running off for his drink.

“Stay a moment, have a seat,” Godfather told you when you returned. “We must have words.”

“Of-of course,” you replied, shocked and a bit worried. Your eyes darted around, looking for a chair. Suddenly, Sehbuv pulled you into his lap. You gasped, but along with sounding surprised, there was a clear undertone of sensuality in it. The Orc chuckled but didn’t say anything. You gave Godfather your attention, trying to ignore how your arousal spiked by merely sitting on Sehbuv’s lap. It did not help that one of his hands rested on your lower back to steady you.

“Doll, you’ve been a good associate of ours for a while now. What has it been four years?”

“Nearly, yes.” The Orcs had been here for a little over five years but didn’t discover their obsession until a year after they arrived; the museum became their hang-out a few months later. Come to think of it, Shebuv had been the first Orc to visit the museum.

Godfather nodded. “And even before then, I remember you. You were the only human brave enough to bring the tribute to our camp by yourself. You were the only one interested in learning about us.”

“I am sure I wasn’t the only--”

“You were. The only one to genuinely be interested, at least.” Godfather leaned back in his chair, taking a long sip of ale. As you waited for him to continue, Sehbuv set his drink on the table, his hand going to rest on his lap but finding your thigh instead. You glanced at him, but his attention was on the don.

“Anyway, what I am getting at is that you, doll, have contributed a lot to this family. Big things like this speakeasy and spreading the knowledge of your past warrior families. And little things like adding our favorites to the tap and our images to the shrine of your warriors.” He gestured to the small section where you had put some photos of the Orcs in action and a group photo of the tribe after they had donned their “human” clothing for the first time.

“You have done all of this for us. In some ways, you are already part of the family. But as Ozoch pointed out, you are not family.”

Sehbuv’s fingers found the hem of your skirt and began inching up your thigh. It was becoming increasingly difficult to focus on the don. “Given all that and what happened with Ozoch, I think it is time to give you an Orc.”

“I appreciate the offer, but I don’t think I need a guard. Unless you are suggesting someone to help out around here lifting barrels and…” It was hard to speak coherently. Your head was swimming from the Orc musk and Sehbuv’s playful touch. 

Godfather’s eyes connected with Sehbuv’s. Instantly, the younger Orc’s roaming hand was on the table holding his drink. The older Orc’s attention turned back on you. “I don’t think you’re following. I mean uvna Orciani tullu--blasted bluenose witch, censoring the translation spell.”

Kormor touched his shoulder to calm him. “Why don’t you leave that for Sehbuv? Explain how things are changing.”

Godfather sighed and nodded. “Long and short of it. The demons in this area have been pushed back, and the Rift is secured. There is no need for the family to be here to protect your town and the others in this territory. My family is going back to our world.”

Your heart sank. All this time was wasted, and now your chance was lost completely.

“We cannot maintain our territory here and the Old World. The non-warriors, on the other side, need us warriors to return. But we do not want to leave behind the luxuries of your world. My family is leaving, but the Orcs staying behind will form a new family with Sehbuv as the don. We will each work a side of the Rift, streamlining our operation.”

From the depths, your heart soared. There was still a chance. You glanced at Sehbuv; he grinned. “Congratulations. I would have gotten some bubbly for you if I’d known.”

“Thanks, doll, I am sure we can find a way to celebrate.” The hand that had been supporting your back slid down and cupped your ass.

Godfather cleared his throat, forcing your attention back to him. “As I was sayin’, Sehbuv will be the head of the family here. This new family will need to put down roots to grow. Find humans in this world to bring into the family as Orc-kin.”

“And I want the first Orc-kin of my family to be you, doll,” Sehbuv revealed. 

Shocked was a tame term for what you felt. There weren’t any Orc-kin the tribe had brought with them, but you had heard of them. You knew becoming Orc-kin, an official member of an Orc tribe, was a massive honor and something not to be taken lightly. They only allowed those who they saw as worthy into the tribe. “I…I am honored…I--sorry, I don’t know what to say.”

“Say yes,” Kormor suggested dryly.

“Yes!” The entire speakeasy, which you just realized had been intensely listening in, cheered.

Godfather let them cheer for a full minute before raising a hand for silence. He was smiling. “Excellent. Usually, we would have a dedicated area for the induction, but I believe this sacred space works…and I don’t think Sehbuv can wait much longer. Let the ceremony begin!”

Another round of cheers. Chairs scrapped on the ground as the Orcs stood. They began moving the furniture to clear space. Sehbuv scooped you up and began carrying you over his shoulder. The Orcs began to separate into two groups: those who would stay with Sehbuv’s new tribe and those who would return to the other world with Godfather.

They spoke in Orcish to each other and began to circle around you. Sehbuv’s hand was solidly on your ass, his thick fingers squeezing your rump. Your arousal was spiking once more. You had to take care of yourself soon, or else you’d be begging an Orc to fuck you, but it wasn’t like you could leave in the middle of something like this.

Suddenly, you were on your back, splayed across a table, with Sehbuv pressing his clothed but very substantial erection between your legs. Through the haze of arousal, it clicked. “Oh, give me an Orc as in--”

“Knock you up, doll,” Sehbuv finished. Not quite what you had thought, but the result was the same. You were finally getting the Orc cock you longed for. Sehbuv slid his hand between your legs. His thick, calloused fingers pushed aside your sodden panties, gliding along your slick pussy. A wanton moan escaped your lips, and your hips tilted up needily.

“Hratz kaara-en olumno,” he said with pleasured surprise. The Orcs around you hooted and stomped their feet in celebration. His fingers began to stroke you slowly as his huge body leaned over yours. “I am going riteh kaar Orciani kaara-en juublern.”

“I have no idea what you just said, but whatever it was - yes! Please!” You rolled your hips, grinding against his fingers. Now that your dreams had become possible, you couldn’t wait any longer. He slipped a thick finger into you. A low moan escaped you; his finger felt as thick as two of yours. 

“How long have you wanted this, doll,” he asked, slowly pumping his finger in and out.

“Ever since you rode into town,” you confessed breathlessly.

“That is a long time.” He slipped another finger into your dripping hole and sped up fucking you with his hand. “Is that why you’ve been teasing us? You’ve been trying to get us to fuk you.”

“Yes! Please! I’m going to…” You gripped Sehbuv’s forearms as a powerful orgasm rocked your body. As you rode out the orgasm, he slowed the pumping of his fingers. Chest heaving, you stared up into his lustful eyes. You wanted more. 

Seeing your determination, a grin came to his face. “Undress, doll, before we tear that dress off you.”

He pulled back, allowing you to sit up. As his hand removed itself from inside of you, he grabbed your panties and, with a smooth tug, tore them from you. You stared at him with surprise. Lifting your sodden panties up, he sniffed deeply, then gave you a wink. Tucking the panties in his suit pocket, he slipped the jacket off and removed his suspenders. 

You kicked off your flats and sat up on the table. Sehbuv’s magenta eyes burned as they stared at you while he unbuttoned his shirt. You stared back, soaking in each inch of dark green skin he revealed. Reaching behind your back, you unzipped your dress. You couldn’t wear a bra with this low cut-off-the-shoulder dress; pulling the dress over your head, you were naked. The Orcs around you grunted and whooped as your body was bared to them.

Sehbuv was only halfway undressed. Your eyes were on him as you ran your hand over your body. Cupping your breasts, you began playing with your nipples. Twisting and tugging at them, releasing little moans as you did. Sehbuv nearly tore his pants in his hurry to remove them. His Orcish member sprang free, causing your pussy to clench at the sight. It was just as you had dreamed. Bright pink glands dripping with precum were proudly framed by the dark green foreskin of his long bulging cock. 

He batted your hands away from your breasts, and his hands took their place. His calloused fingers felt even better against your sensitive skin. Your free hands pulled his head down into a kiss. His tusks pressed against your flesh, his large mouth and tongue quickly overwhelming you.

Pulling back, he was handed a cup. “Drink up, doll.”

Taking the potion, you, without hesitation, drank the vivid green contents. It was a bit sour but had no immediate effect. “What was that?”

Sehbuv grinned. “Mostly an endurance potion.”

You had no time to wonder what he meant by mostly. He grabbed your head this time and gave you another dominating kiss. Pressing you down against the table, you felt his bare erection between your legs. He was about the same size as the largest toy you could fit in you, but the heat of it against your flesh had already surpassed your room-temperature silicone replicas.

“Please fuck me,” you gasped as he pressed kisses down your neck. “I need your cock in me.”

Pulling back slightly, Sehbuv held his cock against your slit, running his glands along it. “Mmm, fuck is same word in Orcish. I learned a little English for this. Doll, I am going to fuck your cunt with my cock now.”

The wide head of his cock pressed against your needy hole. You could feel him stretching you. God, this was so much better than silicone. Your hands clung to his shoulders as he slowly slid himself inside of you. “You feel good. Look at you taking me so well.”

You could feel every inch of his hot, hard cock as it entered you. You needed more, though. You needed all of him. “Move, please,” you begged.

“Whatever you say, doll.” Sehbuv began to thrust. You screamed in pleasure as his shaft hilted and hit every sensitive spot within you. His heavy balls slapped against your ass with each thrust. After a few thrusts, you were already approaching another orgasm.

“Fuck, Sehbuv! I’m already…I’m…”

“Tonight is about you, doll, don’t hold back.”

Another orgasm rocked your body, but Sehbuv didn’t lose pace. He kept thrusting into you, extending your pleasure. As your orgasm ended, he began to thrust faster. Each powerful thrust shook your body. Your legs locked around his waist in an attempt to hold on. Sehbuv began to grunt, and his grip on your flesh tightened. He was getting close.

“Are ya ready for me? I’m gonna fill you up,” he announced with a low growl.

“Yes, yes, yes,” you chanted as yet a third orgasm approached. You needed something else to push you over the edge. You need him to cum in you.

Sehbuv’s thrusts became erratic. Then with a roar, you felt his thick cock swell within you. A scream tore from your throat as his hot sticky cum poured into your womb. Your nails dragged across his back as your body writhed from the pleasure. You swore you knew you were pregnant that instant. Fuck, given the magic potion, maybe you were.

“You good, doll,” Sehbuv asked as your straining muscles slowly released him.

“Yes…” You replied. Actually, you were better than fine. As Sehbuv pulled out of you, your body was already buzzing to go again. That was some endurance potion.

“Good. Cause the next part of the ceremony is about to begin.” Sehbuv stepped away from you. You sat up to see where he was gone and saw that all the other Orcs who had joined his side of the family were now naked and aroused as well. They stared at you with lustful eyes.

“Now that the seed of our new family has taken root, it needs fertilizer, doll,” Sehbev explained, “Orcs believe that power from all those who fuck the mother is given to a child. And you’ve been teasing us for years. You’ll make sure we’re satisfied, right?”

Your body buzzed with energy from the endurance potion. You looked around at the variety of Orc cocks and cunts around you. A grin came to your face. “I’ve been waiting five years for this; you all better make sure I am satisfied.”

______________________________________________________

Other Department of Monster Affairs works

After Party - m!Minotaur x f!reader, teratophilia, breeding, overstimulation.

Hello Neighbor - m!werewolf x f!reader, teratophilia, knotting, heat. One-shot.

Sex Therapist - m!Incubus x f!reader, hypnotism, dubious consent, teratophilia, blow jobs. Part 1.

For other works see my masterlist

[acesw]

Book Recommendations to various R1999 Characters

To celebrate the China release of Reverse: 1999's Artbook, Bluepoch decided to host an offline event where they'll sell the books + hold a book club event. Thus, they've set out book recommendations for various characters here, let's get to know them. :)

Vertin: How to Build a Shed

We hope that Ms. Vertin will enjoy this detailed guide to building a shed. When she's free in the suitcase, she can sit down with a cup of coffee and build a small shed to shelter her friends from the wind and rain in this chaotic era... We're all very much looking forward to Ms. Vertin's woodworking debut!

Lilya: How the Steel was Tempered

The cruelty of the battlefield, the torturous illness, the unyielding bones, the iron will—and the ideals and beliefs that have never been abandoned. The pilot girl from Zeno flew across the white land, and her alcohol jug contained many bitter and glorious stories.

6: The Myth of Sisyphus

Even if the boulder will eventually roll down, even if the end of the truth is to be questioned and overturned, at the moment of leaving the philosopher's cave, they've all transcended into their own destinies. Experience the absurd, fight against the absurd, and choose realism in the absurd. Perhaps the hermit watching from the sidelines will choose to nod his head. Sometimes, silence requires more courage than speaking.

37: Peter Pan

We have chosen this wonderful and interesting novel for Ms. 37: Even if she chooses to face this complicated world, we hope that when she turns the pages of the book, her clear mind will be able to return to the "Neverland" in her dreams once more.

Isolde: The Nightingale and The Rose

On a starry night, the nightingale wept blood for the rose under the moonlight. This romantic opera was brought about by death. We chose this masterpiece made by Oscar Wilde and gave it to Ms. Isolde, who has been pursuing art and love, to add color in her dreamland.

Kakania: Selected Stories from O. Henry

We recommend O. Henry's classic to Ms. Kakania, who is keen on interpreting the characters' inner thoughts. The intriguing coincidences, the suspenseful and ingenious structure, the twists and turns of the plot—within reason and beyond expectation, what kind of ending will sincerity and true love usher in?

Tooth Fairy: Doctor Zhivago

In the torrents of time, a doctor went against these tides alone, and composed a profound and moving song of freedom. He never gave up the life of any patient and never hesitated to resist every injustice faced. We believe our Ms. Tooth Fairy would also agree: above the absolute truth, there is the purest humanity.

Ezra: Let's Go Gardening (by Zhang Chenliang)

There's no doubt that every friend that likes planting will have fun in this book and learn more interesting knowledge about nature. We invite you to feel their every breath, observe their growth in every moment, and stay with these silent companions for a long time.

They give out these silly bookmarks when you buy some of the recommended books and depending on how much you spend. :')

[airconditionertm]

Aemond x wife reader pillow talk

Summary: all y/n wants is just a sliver of warmth from her husband Aemond

CW: angst, arranged marriage, arguing

Word count: 1220

“May we speak Aemond before you leave “She pulls the sheets up to cover herself. Aemond was already getting dressed again. “ we can speak I suppose, “ he said bluntly. She took a deep breath “ I know that this marriage isn’t what you wanted and I cannot expect some great love, however I … I want us to have something at least some warmth some comfort anything “. Aemond sat up sharply “ I will do my duty to you as a husband nothing more, “ he said.

“Well isn’t it part of your duty to care for me … I’m a lady I have a need for these things, you can find it elsewhere with lovers and whores but I I can’t I am here away from home and my family and the only person I have is you yet you can’t show me even an ounce of warmth, I don’t want this for me I don’t want this for our future children “ she explained.

Aemond turned to look at her “You shouldn’t solely rely on me for .. warmth “ he said the word like its very syllables left poison on his tongue. Rising from the bed he left without another word.

——

“This is taking awfully long, “ he said exasperated. “I don’t understand people have children by accident!, yet it has been months of trying and I’m still no closer to an heir “. He sat up in frustration messy silver locks adorning his back. “It will happen when it will there’s nothing we can do nature has to take its course” y/n tried to calm him down gently untangling the hair on his back and sitting next to him. “ I just don’t understand why this is so difficult, “ he says.

“ well my mother always said that children will not be brought to an unhappy couple by the gods,” y/n said trying to catch his eye. “ seriously you want to make this about what you want again “ he recoiled from her touch. “ that is not how I meant it and it’s not just about me this clearly affecting you so you cannot tell me that this is what you want out of marriage “ she tried to move closer to him again . “ what I want out of this marriage is an heir! “ he yelled “ I don’t give a shit about grand romance and love and warmth, that was never meant for me “ he continued.

“ I’m sorry I can’t give you what you want “ she whispered standing up for the bed and grabbing her chemise . “ why is love not meant for you Aemond” she asked cautiously looking back at him before she left.

“ you have met me you know why, “ he said “ I’m a kin slayer, I am cruel and cold, and nobody but my family dares talk to me, I was simply not made to do this, we simply both need to do our duties and then the rest doesn’t matter, you cannot change who I am, so stay in your place and do your duty ” he demanded. “ well unfortunately shear dutifulness cannot conjure up a babe ” y/n yelled in return storming out of his chambers.

———

“Where have you been!” Aemond yelled as he found y/n in the gardens. “ here “ she said looking at a flower in her hand. “ You were supposed to be in my chambers I summoned you multiple times “ he yanked the flower from her hands. “ skipping one time won’t make a difference anyway “ she replied. “you have a duty to your husband and to the realm,” he said. “ and what of your duty to me !“ she stood up from her seat to face him. “I have fulfilled all my duties you have a home allowance staff anything you could wish for, “ he said looking straight at her . “ yes I have that but I don’t have the one thing I truly want a husband who cares for me why can’t you understand that this is a need for me” she stepped closer to him as tears welled in her eyes. the others in the garden could here their arguing and began to form a crowd. “ your making a scene “ he said grabbing her arm guiding her away from the crowd.

———

“So what is it you want from me what would make you feel the warmth you need” he had asked sitting up in the bed and getting ready to leave. “Well for a start not rushing away the second you're done bedding me would be nice…. It makes me feel like a common whore“ she said the last part more cautiously. “ I don’t intend to make you feel like that you’re my wife you should be able to feel pride in that “She gestured for him to lay back down which he did. “ you know we have never actually slept in the same bed “ she moved closer to him. “ that’s not too uncommon “ Aemond replied. “Why do you stay in my bed for so long after we lay together” he asked suddenly. “ laying down is supposed to help the seed take, I also like to lay in your bed it’s soft and it smells nice and it’s really the closest I can get to true intimacy with you, “ she said looking at him laying down. “I would consider laying together quite intimate “ he replied, she chuckled “ do you really consider what we do intimate, me laying in bed like a starfish while you.., it feels mechanical to me like it’s just another duty to you, “ she said. “ it is my duty, “ he said bluntly. “ I know but I simply wish you would want to do it and not force yourself, is it that I’m not enticing to you “ she spoke softly.

“ no you’re quite beautiful my lady it's just that I’m not one who enjoys this “ he replied avoiding her eye contact. “ then why do you go to brothels, “ she asked confused. “ I don’t go to brothels I go to one brothel where …. I pay for women to simply hold me, I know it is strange it’s…“he said quietly. “ it’s not strange you’re seeking warmth, what I don’t understand is why won’t you accept mine why do you pay another woman to hold you when I could do the same ” she reaches out to hold his hand. “ I’m your husband it’s not my role to seek comfort from you,” he said as he allowed her to hold his hand. “ marriage is more than a contract and a set of roles Aemond. I know you don’t love me but that doesn’t keep me from caring for you “She moved close to him squeezing his hand. He pulled her in closer she wrapped her arms around him and he buried his head in her chest listening intently to the rhythmic beating of her heart. The two stayed in silence holding each other as they lay in bed enveloped in each other's warmth.

[lv9su]

Everything inside me is stone.

Levi Ackerman x reader

I’ve wanted to write for him for so long this man is so fine💆🏾‍♀️ also this is based on the earlier seasons of aot

Age gap!!! Slightly toxic.. Angst, Forbidden Love (sorta) lots of sexual tension, always use of y/n, Levi being stubborn and you being stubborn back. 💋

~

Right now you weren’t in a.. strange predicament. Were you on top of Eren on the training grounds? Yes, but not in the way you might think. Why? Because you paired up for sparring, and you were very annoyed before this session started.

Let’s take it back to the reason why. The last conversation you had before everyone met for training. Maybe the word argument would be more fitted.

“Why do you keep on pushing me away?” You asked, getting frustrated at the sight of Levi getting out of the bed, cleaning the room you two had left a mess and finding clothes to get dressed. But you were having none of it.

“I’m not pushing you away, I’m protecting you.” Levi said, his back turned to you.

“Yes you are!? You know I can protect myself? You don’t need to isolate yourself from me.” Your voice began raising.

“I’m not the right person for you y/n. Since you’re so smart you should understand the risks of us! Whatever this is.” He turned around, pointing his finger between the both of you. He was self sabotaging because he felt you could do better than an older emotionally scarred man who just so happens to be the leader of your squad.

You felt the anger rise inside, and sure you could’ve screamed and yelled in his dumb face for saying what he said. Instead you were so angry tears pooled in your eyes, and you tried to hide it. Messily putting on your clothes you mumbled enough for him, to aggravated to speak normally.

“Fine.” You pulled on your white jeans.

“Whatever.” You began buttoning up your shirt.

“Just fuck off.” You hissed as his hands reached to help you button up since you being frantic.

You put on your socks and boots, the rest of your uniform in your room. “Leave me alone.”

He knew he’d fucked up. But seeing tears in your eyes, and your bottom lip quivering, he realised that was something he never wanted to see.

But why? It was so wrong. But when it was just the two of you it was so right.

It all started one drunken night three months ago began a kind of relationship you would’ve never ever expected to happen with Levi. Ackerman. Your. Captain.

I mean sure you always found him attractive, and he seemed to tolerate you more than anyone else in your scout group. He definitely did call you a Brat pretty much every day, but he didn’t ever insult you. Everyone else figured it was just favouritism when he’d tell everyone to fuck off and figure out their own shit except when it came to you he spoke in a normal tone. Needed help with the gear? He’d be behind you, guiding your arms and showing you what to do. Wanted to spar with him? He’d teach you new moves and would be very physical but not enough to hurt you, just for the sake of touch. You were thirsty? He’d make tea for the both of you. And so on.

You pretended to be oblivious to all of this, but in your mind you couldn’t help but daydream and zone out imagining what it’d be like with him.

“Thinking about the captain” Sasha nudged your arm as your hand rested on your face. She giggled as she sipped her alcoholic beverage. Yes, would absolutely were.

“No!!!! Shut up.” You slightly chuckled and rolled your eyes, as you began drinking a little more.

“Y’know y/n, if you change your mind and want someone your own age im your perfect match.” Jean winked at you, slurring his words and wrapping an arm around your shoulder.

“You need to sit down.” You grinned at the sight, standing up and sitting him down where you were sat.

You walked out of the tavern and sat outside in the dark, kissed by the moonlight and wrapped around the late night breeze of the summer. Everyone was here celebrating the recent mission, less people killed by titans and an increase in the titans being killed. That’s what it’s all about right? Until the next mission there’d most likely be some intense training so the plan was to try and have some fun while you still could.

“I’m surprised you’re with that lanky piece of shit. Out of everyone.” You heard from behind, not needing to look behind since you recognised the voice right away. He sat beside you, and you hummed questioningly.

“Tch don’t play dumb brat. Jean. The lanky horse-” you laughed and cut him off.

“I’m not with Jean. And it seems, someone was stalking me.” You smirk, speaking with the liquid confidence.

“I’m taking you back to headquarters. You’ve had too much to drink.” He rolled his eyes at you.

When you got back, one thing led to another and the next morning you were tangled in his sheets naked. Before you woke he left to make tea, except you woke while he was gone and assumed he’d just left. So you did too. And when he saw you were gone from his room he realised you might’ve thought it was a mistake. But he couldn’t blame you if you did.. he was older, there was a pretty big power dynamic and he came to the conclusion that is was for the good that he was alone. If he formed an emotional attachment there was always the chance he could lose you.

But you ignoring him? He didn’t like that. He tolerated 1 day of being ignored by you before he hollered you into his office and well.. let’s just say this time you were both sober when you did it.

After that you both said that it wouldn’t continue.. but it did. More often than not. You had fucked in his office, his room, your room, the stables, in the shower, in the forest and empty rooms. But as much as there was lust, there was sweet moments that were dates in disguise. Long talks, walks, rides, play fights, sparring in feilds and then having a picnic, slow dances and admiration. But hey what was more romantic than slaying titans together.

Back in the present.

“Cmon y/n, are you even trying?” Eren mocked as the two of you sparred, except you were thinking about the argument you’d had with him this morning.

So after a swift kick to the legs - which Levi taught you how to do - dropping him to the floor within seconds. And in that amount of time you’d began throwing punch after punch after punch. Poor eren. Too bad he underestimated you at a time like this.

“OKAY MISSY!!” Hange shouted in a high pitched voice as she grabbed the back of your arms and pulled you off of him. “You doin’ okay up there sweets?” She raised a brow moving closer to your face and tapping your head. You nodded and she rubbed your arm before you walked away.

Levi watched you the whole entire time.

Hange walked back over to where they sat. “You outta go get your girl short stack.” She smirked.

He went silent for a second, unsure of how to respond “what’re you talking about four eyes.”

“Oh don’t play dumb. I see that look in your eyes, I know you put up this cold front but seems as though she’s melting it down.” She readjusted her glasses “a little young but hmph! I get it. Better go get her before someone else does.”

“Tch. Shut up.” he abruptly stood up and followed in your footsteps.

Eventually catching up as he found you walking in the hq. “I told you to leave me alone” you frowned.

“I’m the one who gives orders around here brat.”

“Go boss around someone else then” you went to walk away and he grabbed your hand.

“No. You’re gonna stay and listen to me.” He began to get annoyed now. “And drop the attitude brat. You know i care, probably too much so quit acting like I don’t. I shouldn’t have pushed you away but I was trying to do what’s best for you. If I keep you to myself you don’t get a chance with any other guy your age.”

“But that’s my decision Levi, and I don’t want any other guy. I want you.” You interrupted, looking into his eyes. He now grabbed your face, and leaned closer “I didn’t say you could talk.” He then glided his thumb over your lower lip.

“It’s dangerous to live in a world like this.” Her brows lifted then caressed your jaw.

“I don’t care about that.” You batted your eyelashes up at him and he kissed you.

~

[slightly-knot-insane]

Gentleman's Cage (part 2)

Monstertober 2024 - day 29 [ Caged Beast ] by @/ozzgin

[ m!werewolf x fem!reader ]

[ part 1 ]

a/n: thank you @sunndust for the idea of unlocking him with a hair accessory <3 content: nsfw, oral (male & female receiving), p i v, praising

There is a palpable change in the air around you. You slowly look up and notice an entirely different expression carving deep wrinkles around Mr. Werewolf’s snout. There is no more poise and gentleness. He is openly staring at you, a low growl pulsating inside his stomach. "My lady... I want..."

He can't speak coherently, so he places a hand on your shoulder, as if he's afraid you'll run away, and with his other hand, he unbuckles his pants. All you can do is lick your lips, excited about the new experience. 

"You... locked yourself?" You really weren’t expecting that.

He exhales a frustrated growl. "Yes... And I left the key at home."

"That truly is unfortunate," you say and look at the massive swollen phallus. "But all is not lost." You move your skirts so that you can bend down with more ease and push your finger between slim metal bars of his cock cage. His foreskin is so soft, moist, and smelling of sex already.

"My... lady..." he whispers, and tentatively takes your locks between his fingers, gently caressing temples with his knuckles.

"This will be a challenge," you tell him before leaning forward and placing the tip of your tongue on his foreskin, tasting him. He hisses, surprised. "Oh, you are delicious, Mr. Werewolf." You push your tongue against the metal bars, wriggling it around them and exploring his swollen cock. You can feel it getting bigger as it becomes easier to detect his pulse through his protruding veins.

"My... lady... aaaaaah..." His panting is making you wet. He is holding your head gently but trembling from the force of his self-control. You lick and suck every little piece of his skin you can find, moaning against his foreskin and fondling his heavy balls. "My... lady... I will..."

He pushes your head away and ejaculates inside his cage, his long and frustrated snarl escaping through his gritted teeth. "Fuck!"

You look at his seed dripping through the cold metal, soaking the ground around your finest slippers. A few drops land on your dress.

"Oh, dear. I've been marked by a werewolf. How dreadful." Your playful tone is clear, and he doesn't miss the rose in your cheeks or the strange dimness of your eyes. Not to mention the intense smell of your lubricated sex.

"Marked - yes," he says. "But no self-respecting werewolf would mark a female and not properly satisfy her." He makes a step toward you, almost double your height, and his golden irises flash. "My wonderful lady, do I have your permission to satisfy you?"

***

You are not entirely sure how you ended up losing all your underwear and garments, left solely in your chemise and dress, sitting on a gazebo railing. Even your bodice is loose and undone after the hungry snout dug in between your breasts. Now you're holding for your dear life, your fists full of long fur, while Mr. Werewolf is kneeling between your legs eating you out, slurping and rubbing his nose against your cunt.

There is a slight worry sharpening your senses about someone deciding to enjoy the cool night air and finding you two in a deviant act. At least Mr. Werewolf took you (or rather jumped with you) right to the center of the hedge maze, so there was not a lot of chance drunken guests would stumble upon you undetected.

Mr. Werewolf kneads your hips and pulls you upward so that he can push his entire tongue into your cunt. You moan and grab his back neck hair, overwhelmed by the sensation. He growls right into your violated hole.

"Don't stop," you can barely talk. "Don't... stop... It's so good..."

Mr. Werewolf's snarls become more intense, strained, and hitched, and soon he... he stops? He emerges from underneath your skirt, completely disarrayed, breathing hard, baring his teeth in a grisly way.

“It hurts too much,” he almost whimpers. He looks at you helplessly. It takes you a second to realize how awful his trapped cock looks. It is now bright red, like a ripe tomato.

“You need help now!” You slide off the railing and take out your metal comb from your hair. When you were a teen, you were able to lockpick your sisters’ treasure chests with one single bent comb prong and unravel some dirty secrets more than once. Maybe you could unravel another dirty thing tonight?

“Stay still,” you give an order to the drooling beast above your head. Aside from breathing heavily, he truly doesn’t move while you work. “Good boy…” You praise him without thinking. Unfortunately, despite all your efforts, the lock won’t budge. “I’m sorry, I just—”

“Say it again.” He picks you up again and places you on the railing. The wild fire in his eyes makes you tremble. “Say it again. That I’m a…” He takes the lock on his cock cage into his fist vigorously staring into your eyes.

You smile and bite your lip. “Such a good boy…”

His fist clamps, the metal scrapes, and the unfortunate cock cage breaks and releases its prisoner right in-between your legs. 

You’ve never heard a happier and longer groan of relief in your life. You’re sure everyone on the estate heard him. But, only a breath later, he is all over you, his cock pressed against your pussy, sliding up and down, impatiently. Somehow, he is composed enough to look you into your eyes and ask: “My lady… I would love nothing more than to satisfy your desire… if you desire me in this state still?”

You pull his lower body toward yourself with your heels pressed just below his tail. “Well,” you grin, “are you a self-respecting werewolf or not?”

With a wide, toothy smile, he pushes his glans against your entrance, penetrating you with some difficulty. You moan into his fur, his size painfully stretching you. “I’m so sorry, my lady. I’m too… eager…” He positions your legs and himself differently, and the next thrust is just perfect. “Is this better?”

“Yes… yes…” and that word becomes your chant between your moans and panting, as his cock slides in and out your cunt. His fur tickles your naked legs and ass, and once your tits fall out of your bodice completely, your hard nipples get delightfully stimulated by his chest hair.

“Am I…” His growls somehow form human words, barely articulate. “Am I a good boy? My lady’s good boy?”

You continue chanting, your eyes rolling backwards. But you somehow manage to utter: “Good boy… fucking me so well…”

He lays on top of you, holding your back, pressing you firmly against his chest as he pounds into you with all he’s got. The wave of your pleasure washes over you, and you scream into his fur, begging him to hold you, not to stop, not to ever stop, breathless, breaking apart in his hands. 

“Never, my lady. As long as you’ll have me, I’m not stopping.”

And he truly doesn’t. Not until you’re completely spent, aching, skin red and clammy and throat sore from screaming. Like a gentleman he is, he doesn’t finish inside you, but into his hand, trying to keep his seed from soiling the gazebo. A few drops fall onto the boards. He looks so utterly disappointed in himself that you can’t help but heartily laugh.

You get closer to him and kiss his hairy cheek. “And please don't ever lock yourself like that. Or rather..." You smirk. "Not until I tell you to."

[atleastpleasetelephone]

Number 35, kissing bruises and scars with Walter Gulick, and I want it dirty, please!

A/N: Happy Birthday @sissylittlefeather!! 🥳

I hope you don't mind me outing you, but here is your request! 💕 I really hope you enjoy it.

Kiss it better

Pairing: Walter G x ring girl reader

Word count: 2.8K

TWs: Bruises and blood (from Walter fighting), size kink, smut.

You’ve never seen a fighter who’s taken so many hits without getting knocked out. It’s actually unbelievable. But there he is, bruised and bloody and somehow still conscious, and the referee is holding his arm up in the air in a declaration of victory. You walk out again with his score on a big card, holding it above your head and spinning around, grinning. You're not sure you like this job - parading around in your underwear celebrating men being punched in the face - but you need the money so you do it anyway. And try to keep smiling.

Walter grins through the pain. He's sore, and he knows he's in for a cracking headache later. But another win means more badly needed money. He takes a bow and then heads for the dressing room. On his way he looks around at the cheering crowd, holding a hand up and doing his best to carry on grinning. That’s when he spots you, with your lovely figure and little smile. This whole ring girl thing is new and it would be silly to say he doesn't like it. Who wouldn't like pretty girls wandering around in bikinis between rounds? It's a little distracting, but he'll take that. Since things didn't work out with his last girlfriend he's been trying to enjoy the single life, although he’d prefer to settle down sometime soon. He’s just been struggling to find the right girl. 

You watch one of the boxers walking away to his dressing room and find yourself with the strangest urge to follow him. Okay, so maybe it’s not that strange. After all, he is very good-looking. And you like his name - Kid Galahad - it makes him sound noble and chivalrous. You can’t remember his actual name right now, you weren’t really concentrating when they made the initial announcements, but that shouldn’t be a problem, you’re sure he’ll tell you. Your feet seem to move of their own accord, ducking into your dressing room first to pull on a robe. It’s probably not appropriate to talk to him dressed as you are, even though that would be a sure fire way of getting his attention. You can hear the other girls tittering about him and how handsome he is, so you get back out again quickly, trying to avoid them asking what you’re up to. Dashing across the corridor, you find yourself in a room filled with people and him at the centre. They’re taking his gloves off, unwrapping his hands, dabbing at the blood on his face with a wet cloth and someone is even taking off his shoes. You weren’t expecting quite so much hubbub, so you stand awkwardly in the corner hugging yourself, your initial bravery starting to wear off a little. What were you thinking, coming in here, exactly? 

Walter spits out his mouth guard and finally looks around him a little. His robe is thrown loosely over his shoulders, but he’s starting to feel the chill of sweat drying on his skin and so he starts to pull it on properly as he scans the room for something, or someone, interesting. Eventually his eyes land on you, tucked away in the corner of the room, looking awkward. He immediately recognises you from earlier, but you seem shy for someone who was just wandering around in basically her underwear a few minutes ago. Waiting to catch your eye, his fingers drum impatiently on the table. Eventually you look up and he smiles sweetly at you, and is gratified to see you smile back. It lights up your face and he’s suddenly desperate to speak to you. He gives you a little encouraging head tilt, and when you just keep looking, uncomprehending, his smile turns into a lopsided grin and he holds up his hand, extending a long finger and curling it towards him in a come hither motion. 

You blush when you look up and realise he’s been looking at you, but he’s smiling and you can’t help smiling back. After all, you did come in here to get his attention, didn’t you? And now you have it. It takes you a while to realise he’s trying to signal for you to go over, and even when he literally beckons you, you still put your hand on your chest in surprise and mouth “me?” as if the room were full of women and you could’ve mistaken his advances. His enthusiastic nodding finally gets your legs working, and you make your way through the thinning crowd of men over to where he’s standing.

He’s even cuter close up, big bruised lips and long eyelashes, and a brooding sort of expression, when he’s not smiling. Which he seems to do often. 

“Hi there, honey,” he drawls, softly. “I’m Walter.” 

Walter. That was his name. It comes back to you now and you smile, giving him your hand which to your surprise he raises to his lips, pressing a gentle kiss to the knuckles. The combination of the touch and the way he’s looking at you, coupled with the fact that he seems to be getting more handsome by the minute, has your voice trembling a little when you tell him your name in return. 

Your nervousness doesn’t last long, though. His easy manner has you enjoying talking to him almost immediately, conversation flowing between the two of you without you having to worry. He asks you about being a ring girl and you both giggle about your similar outfits. “Your robe is almost as nice as mine! Maybe you should moonlight as a ring girl in your free time.” And you ask what it’s like being a fighter and how he can cope with being hit so many times. “I ain’t got much brain to begin with, honey.” All the while, everyone else is slowly making their way out of the room, congratulating him with a word, a slap on the back, or both. Suddenly, you turn and realise that the room is empty, save for the two of you. He notices too and smiles. 

“Looks like I got ya to myself.”

He’s been picking up your hand and playing with your fingers periodically throughout the conversation, and now you’re alone he takes hold of it properly, resting his other hand on your hip and looking down into your face. 

“It looks like you do,” you reply, smiling up at him. 

He’s so easy to be with that you’re eager to kiss him, and it seems like he can tell, leaning down and gently pressing his lips to yours. His lips are soft and you want more, but he moves back quickly, wincing a little.

“Sorry, honey.” His tongue pokes out and gives his lower lip an exploratory lick. “Guess he musta split my lip.” 

Reaching up to stroke his cheek, you notice the area around his eye starting to swell. 

“I could kiss it better?” You suggest.

He smiles instantly, nodding as you press a delicate kiss to his lip. Continuing your way over his cheek and up to his temple, you hear him hum softly in appreciation as he bends down to make it easier for you to reach.  

“Mmm. You’re a good little nurse, ain’t ya?”

You wrap your arms around his neck and smile back at him. “I’m glad you think so. Where else are you sore?”

Walter’s smile turns a little wicked, feeling his dick stir at your words. “Think we better close the door if you wanna find that out.”

You both giggle, and you nod enthusiastically. Your shyness is completely gone now, and you’ve become very aware of how scantily clad you both are, feeling your nipples harden through your bikini top and the thin robe. When he comes back from closing the door you run your hands from his shoulders down his chest, letting them come to rest on the tie of his robe. 

“You mind?” You ask, and he shakes his head. 

“I don’t mind at all, honey.”

Untying it, you let it fall open, exposing his chest. You slowly push it off his shoulders, revealing numerous cuts and bruises just waiting for your healing touch. He watches you with interest as you trace the scars on his body with your fingers and then press your lips against the bruises and cuts you can reach. But he’s much taller than you, so you struggle to reach the bruise just above his collarbone, even with your heels on. 

“You’re too tall!”

He laughs and walks backwards a few steps until he reaches the armchair at the side of the room, and then he sits, spreading his legs wide. Now you’re effectively looking down on him, you notice his erection for the first time. It’s visible even through his baggy boxing shorts, and you nibble your lower lip thinking about just how big it seems. Moving closer, you step between his legs and return to your kisses, feather-light over the purple bruise on his shoulder. His hands find their way to your hips and hold them gently, enjoying the feeling of your silken robe against his skin. 

“Mmm honey, that feels good,” he tells you, as you kiss from the base of his neck to his ear. 

“You sore anywhere else?” You ask.

He smiles. “I don’t think so.”

“No… aches, anywhere?” Your hands move to his thighs, slowly making their way up them as you continue kissing his neck. 

His breath hitches as your hands get perilously close to where he really needs them right now. He hadn’t been sure that you’d be up for this with someone you’d just met, but your touch is so gentle and loving he’s really hoping it might extend to somewhere else. 

“Well, maybe one… little ache…” he mumbles.

He’s not expecting you to drop to your knees between his legs, and he gasps when you pull his half-hard length from his shorts. You make a little involuntary noise too, it really is big, bigger than anything you’ve ever seen before, the thing has weight to it and it makes you a little nervous. 

“Honey, ya don’t haveta…” he begins, awkwardly. “I know it’s… girls have said it’s too big…”

You look up to see him blushing, and then you look back down at his dick and wonder exactly how big it will be when it’s fully erect. You also wonder just what it would feel like inside you. Moving closer, you dip your head down and set to work kissing every inch of it. After all, he had said it was aching. He moans, head lolling back on his shoulders, overwhelmed by the physical sensations and the sight of you on your knees, worshipping his dick. You kiss his balls too, and by the time you’re done he’s even more flushed and his eyes are shining brightly as they look at you. He’s positively smoldering, and you can’t resist him. Shimmying your panties off, you get onto his lap and hold his dick against your pussy, rubbing yourself up and down his length. 

“Shit. Honey,” he mumbles in surprise.

His big, gentle hands grab you just a little more determinedly as his mouth falls open and his eyelids half-close. You feel so good against him right now. He could probably cum from just this. 

“I don’t think you’re too big,” you whisper, continuing to move, feeling yourself getting wetter and wetter. 

He whimpers softly and one of his hands moves to the back of your head, tangling in your hair. “Ya don’t?”

You shake your head, turning your head to kiss the inside of his forearm. Then, as if to illustrate, you pause your movements and get up onto your knees on either side of his hips, teasing your entrance with the head of his dick. 

“Oh God.”

It’s been a while since he’s done this. Towards the end of his relationship, his girlfriend had stopped wanting to make love because it was still so uncomfortable for her. And probably because she’d fallen out of love with him too. Anyone he’d seen since tended to look so worried when they saw the size of him that he just went down on them instead. All he’d had for a while now were handjobs, which were no better than his own hand and often worse. But here you were, with barely any foreplay, trying to sit on it.

You stop teasing and start to guide him inside you. The tightness makes him see stars and you keep having to remind yourself to breathe as you take him further. It hurts, but once the head is in it’s suddenly much easier and you slide down the rest of his length, settling yourself down and letting out a long breath. The way he’s stretching you feel so damn good you think you might lose your mind. From the sounds of it, it seems like he feels the same. 

“Shit. Fuck. Honey. Ohmygod.”

You put your hands on either side of his face, kissing his lips gently again. Forgetting his split lip, he returns the kiss enthusiastically, his tongue pushing into your mouth, moaning as you start to rock your hips. 

“Baby, I ain’t gonna last long…” he mumbles against your lips. “Let me…” he trails off as his fingers find your clit and start to rub there. 

The sounds of your moans mix in the air, mumbling each other’s names between hurried kisses. His fingers are working their magic, and you feel yourself getting close now too. Your orgasm comes quickly and intensely, washing over you as you bury your head in the crook of his neck. 

“Ohhh. Walter.”

He lets out a loud groan at the feeling of you squeezing him, and then his hands are under your ass and he’s fucking you on his dick, picking you up and throwing you back down as he chases his own high. The intensity of it seems to prolong your orgasm and you keep moaning until he cums too, snapping his hips up into you with a satisfied groan. 

Sighing, you rest your head on his shoulder as you listen to the sound of his breathing coming back to normal. You lick your lips slowly and taste something metallic. Opening your eyes in confusion, you see blood streaked across his lips, like badly applied lipstick, and realise what must’ve happened. 

“Oh, your poor lip,” you coo. 

He looks down at you and giggles. There’s blood all around your mouth. “Looks like ya really messed up your lipstick, honey.” Licking his thumb, he drags it over your lips to try and remove some of the blood, but he only makes it worse. 

You giggle too. “Think we might both need to get cleaned up before we leave…”

You ease yourself off him, standing up to pull your panties back up and properly do up your robe. He gets up too, looking around for something to clean you both up and make you respectable again. He eventually finds a cloth and some water and you help each other get rid of the blood. His gentle touch is enough to make you melt, in stark contrast to the feeling between your legs. You know you’re going to struggle to walk tomorrow. It’s a good job you have a day off. 

“I um… I should go and get changed,” you tell him. You’re not sure if he wants anything more than what you’d just shared, and you don’t want to push him. 

“Oh… uh… sure, me too…” he replies. 

You smile and give him a quick peck on the cheek. “This was fun.”

“Sure was,” he mumbles, watching as you start to walk towards the door and out of his life again. The way his stomach flips at the thought of not seeing you again makes him realise that he has to say something.

“Hey, uh… w-what are ya doin’ now? Tonight?”

You stop and turn back towards him. “Not much. Why?”

“Ya wanna… um… g-go for dinner?” He doesn’t know why he’s stumbling over the words, so nervous asking you to go for dinner when he’s just had his dick inside you. 

“I’d love to!” You reply, a grin breaking out on your face. So he is interested, then. “Just let me get ready and I’ll meet you back here?”

“Sure.”

You pause, wondering whether to say anything, and then you decide you may as well. “I wasn’t sure if you’d want to see me again.”

His eyes almost pop out of his head. “Are ya kiddin’ me? Couldn’t let ya get away. Not a girl game enough ta…” he blushes. “Well, ya know.”

You giggle. “I like a challenge.” Your eyes flick around the room, again wondering if you should carry on, but you don’t seem to be able to stop your mouth running away with you. 

“Maybe next time I’ll see how much I can get in my mouth…”

aglist:

Please let me know if you want to be added or removed:

@arg-xoxo @from-memphis-with-love @msamarican @blursedblegh @returntopresley @eapep @everythingelvispresley @i-r-i-n-a-a @sissylittlefeather @arrolyn1114 @jhoneybees @polksaladava @lookingforrainbows @jkdaddy01 @epthedream69 @lustnhim @elvisslut @pomtherine @that-hotdog @ladelinee @angschrof @fairybloodsucker @deltafalax @makethemorning @elviswhore69 @ilovequeen978 @wildhorseinkansas @pocketfulofpresley @dkayfixates @iloveelvisss @kxnnxy @presleyhearted @lvrdollep @nebulamorada @iloveelvis2 @18lkpeters @elvisbdoll

[lilbabypanda-blog2]

Hello, hope it's fine if I request more than once!

How about a Brant x Reader where she ended up as a Pilgrim herself and endured very traumatic events before being found and saved by Brant and the Troupe. As a result of said events, she never spoke so everyone assumed she was born mute until she eventually speaks to Brant due to feeling safe around him. How would he act before that (thinking that she's mute) and how would he react when hearing her voice for the first time?

Hello 👋

It's fine. You can send as many requests as you like ♡

Brant x (fem) reader

A silent voice

The moment Brant saw her, huddled among the wreckage of yet another forsaken Pilgrim’s Sail, he knew she had suffered greatly. She was thin, her clothes torn and ragged from the unforgiving trials of Penitent’s End, and her eyes—haunted, wary—spoke of horrors she would never utter. Or so he thought.

The Troupe of Fools had found her on one of their rescue missions, bringing her back to the hidden refuge of Fool’s Elysium. Like many before her, she was taken in, clothed, fed, and given a space to heal. But unlike the others, she never spoke a word. Not even in pain, not even in comfort.

At first, Brant assumed she was mute, like some of the others who had survived the journey. Many who faced the Dragon of Dirge lost more than their voices—some their minds, others their very will to live. Yet, despite her silence, she was strong. She adapted, she learned the unspoken rhythms of their troupe, and she carved out a place for herself amongst them.

Brant, ever the performer, took it upon himself to entertain her. Whether it was through grand gestures, exaggerated tales, or whispered stories in the quiet glow of the cavern fires, he would always find a way to bring some light into her somber eyes. It became a routine—him speaking, her listening, her presence a comfort he never knew he needed.

Still, the silence lingered, an invisible barrier between them. A part of him ached for her, wishing he could ease whatever suffering had stolen her words. But he never pushed. He never asked. He simply stayed.

Until one night, when everything changed.

The storm raged outside Fool’s Elysium, the entrance sealed with heavy tarps to keep the howling winds at bay. The firelight flickered, casting shadows against the stone walls, and Brant found her in her usual spot—knees drawn to her chest, staring into the flames. He approached as he always did, settling beside her, his warmth a familiar presence in the cavern’s cool embrace.

“I suppose you’re waiting for another tale,” he mused, voice tinged with the soft lilt of amusement. “Or perhaps a song? Something tragic and romantic, fitting for such a dreadful night?”

She didn’t move, but he felt her gaze shift toward him, the weight of her unspoken thoughts pressing between them. He exhaled, leaning back on his hands. “You know, I always imagined my soulmate would be someone loud. Someone who could match my theatrics word for word. But here you are, proving me an absolute fool.”

A small, almost imperceptible twitch of her lips. Not quite a smile, but enough to make his heart lurch. He continued, emboldened. “But I don’t mind. You don’t need to speak for me to know what you’re thinking. It’s in your eyes. Always in your eyes.”

For a moment, there was only the sound of the storm outside, the distant echoes of laughter from the others deeper within the cavern. And then—

“…Brant.”

The voice was soft, hoarse from disuse, barely more than a whisper. But it was there. Real. Hers.

Brant froze, his breath catching in his throat. He turned to her, wide-eyed, as if he had imagined it. But she was staring at him, waiting, her fingers curled into the fabric of her sleeves. Her expression was uncertain, hesitant, like she had just crossed an invisible threshold and feared what lay beyond it.

His heart pounded. Of all the things he expected in that moment, hearing her voice—hearing her say his name��was not one of them. He opened his mouth, but for once, words failed him.

“Say that again.” His voice was barely above a whisper, a fragile plea carried by the firelight.

She hesitated, then, softer this time—“Brant.”

It was his name, just his name, but it was everything. A single word that shattered the silence, breaking through the walls she had built around herself. And it was for him. Only for him.

A sharp breath escaped him, and before he could stop himself, he surged forward, wrapping his arms around her in a fierce embrace. He felt her stiffen for just a moment before slowly melting into him, her head pressing against his shoulder. He held her tightly, as if anchoring her to the present, as if trying to shield her from every nightmare she had ever endured.

“You spoke,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “You actually spoke.”

She nodded against him, her fingers curling into the fabric of his coat. He could feel the slight tremble in her hands, the way she clung to him like he was something solid in a world that had once been cruel and uncertain.

He laughed, though it came out choked, overwhelmed. “You… you have no idea how much this means to me.”

She pulled back just enough to look at him, her expression softer now, less guarded. “I… feel safe,” she admitted, voice still rough but steady. “With you.”

Brant’s breath hitched, and he cupped her face gently, his pink eyes searching hers. “Then I’ll make sure you always are.”

The storm outside raged on, but inside Fool’s Elysium, wrapped in Brant’s arms, she felt something she hadn’t in a long time—home.

And for the first time since she had arrived, since she had endured the horrors of the pilgrimage and found sanctuary in Fool’s Elysium, she felt something close to peace.

Brant didn’t let go of her hand for the rest of the night.

[moonmunson]

don't stop (thinking about tomorrow)

wc: 2.3k

cw: live!reader who can see wally, fun little meet cute that freaks wally out, tw for two sentence mention of harry potter, set in 2023 but nothing with maddie happens, and as always i am writing with a plus size!reader in mind, but this one is gender neutral!reader as well so far

a/n at the end!

pt. 1 - pt. 2 - pt. 3 - pt. 4

masterlist

He was never supposed to find out that you can see him. 

You could see all of them - the beatnik with the sour expression plastered on her face, the sweetheart in the jean jacket, even the blonde dude who’s always at the pottery wheel during your second period ceramics class.

You’d spent the last four years perfecting walking right past them, not looking up, not laughing at the jock’s jokes when you’re seated near them in the library.

Your ‘gifts’ are too confusing to explain, and even if you attempted to confide in someone about them, you know it would be too hard to believe.

It freaked your parents out when you were little - your comments about how Grandma talked to you long after her passing, how you waved to people on the street that nobody else could see. They never took you to be tested -  worried too much that you’d get taken away or put in psychiatric holding. 

So if you came home looking tired and drained, or sometimes, a little scared, your parents understood. 

When you started high school, you hadn’t expected there to be so many dead people. It was so weird, seeing people your age walking around stuck in the clothes representative of their times. 

You’d told your mom about the kids as you distinguished them from the living ones -  sadness in her eyes growing when you’d mentioned the lanky one in 80s athletic gear. She’d gotten her own Split River yearbook from the shelf, flipped to the memorial page and pointed at Wally. 

“Is that who you’re talking about?” 

You’d nodded, confirming her suspicions. She’d been in his graduating class, though not in his social circles. He’d been your stereotypical jock when he was alive, for all the pros and cons of it. King of the ragers thrown after games, not always a bully, but often a bystander. Gone too soon, but quickly forgotten in the grand scheme of things. 

For your safety, you’d agreed that you wouldn’t ever speak to any of the ghosts. Your mom had clocked the dreamy glaze in your eyes while looking at Wally’s picture, and while she couldn’t stop you from talking to him, she’d told you what you already knew. It wasn’t smart, and it wouldn’t end well. 

In your mind, letting any of them know that you could see them would be more cruel than just letting them go about their usual business. Even if you made contact, spoke to them - hung out with them - you were leaving after graduation, and they’d be alone again, without any contact with the living world. It seemed unfair; pointless. 

It’s not Wally’s fault he’s so fucking pretty. 

He moves about the school the same way you do - not looking at or paying attention to the people around him - because he has no reason to believe he can be seen. It’s worked out entirely in your favor thus far, because you can stare at Wally Clark for small periods of time without him noticing. On the occasion that he turns his head in your direction, a shift of your eyes to the right or left has him believing you’re just staring off into space. 

He’s so nice to look at. His slightly curled waves of black hair, gold chain gleaming under fluorescent lighting. There’s depth to him, too. When he’s around his friends, he’s energetic - bouncy, cracking jokes and patting people on the back too hard. When he’s alone, though, he seems calmer. More reserved. 

You get bolder with it, the staring, lulled into a sense of safety because you’re just another face in the ever-rotating crowd of high schoolers that pass through Split River. He’d seen forty generations of kids move on at this point, stuck as a fresh 18 year old with dreams and aspirations he’ll never be able to achieve. 

It must suck, having to stay behind and watch as other seniors get a chance to do what he never did. You wish you could comfort him, maybe even help him find a way to move on. It’s harder for the people who die traumatically. 

So much unfinished business and pent up emotions make it difficult to find the peace needed to pass onto the next plane. It’s easy to tell -there’s always a certain aura around the sad ones. Like the air around them is heavier, darker. 

You’re not complaining, though, as fucked as that may sound. Especially not when you’re lounging under a tree near the football field, not so subtly watching as a shirtless Wally picks up replicated footballs and throws them aimlessly in different directions. If you hadn’t been daydreaming about being able to talk to him, you would’ve noticed the ball soaring towards you. 

You look up, just in time for the phantom ball to hit the ground next to you, bouncing to land at your feet. Absent-mindedly - and almost jokingly - you kick it away from you, suddenly aware the ball was solid against your foot. In the time it takes you to realize you just interacted with a phantom football, it's faded away into the ground, and its sender is staring at you wide-eyed. 

There’s a beat of stillness, soundtracked by the cicadas and other teens on the field before you begin to move. 

You scramble to throw your shit into your bag, and speed walk back inside. 

“Holy shit? Wait! Hey, wait!” 

He follows you, because of course he does, and you try your best to ignore the panic and guilt rising in your throat. You just keep walking, hoping that he’ll give up. He doesn’t. 

“Can you slow down please? I know you can see me!” 

Wally catches up to you, jogging a few paces ahead to try to cut you off. You’ve never been this close to him - you have no idea if he’ll pass through you the way you’ve seen the other ghosts pass through living people before or if you'll make contact like you did moments ago with the ball he had thrown. 

It blows your cover even more than kicking the ball away, but when Wally goes to stand in front of you, you attempt to veer out of his path. And then he grabs you. Or, he tries to, anyway. He’s not fully solid, not enough to place a firm hold on you, but enough for you to genuinely feel it. 

His hand does go through you, but there’s resistance to it. It makes you shiver, the ice cold sensation of his palm trying to hold your shoulder but not being able to fully grip it. 

“What the fuck?” He looks down at his hands, then back towards you. 

He’s caught off guard enough for you to truly get away this time. Rest of the school day be damned, you make a break for it and throw yourself into your car. 

The stale air does nothing to help your nerves, your shaking hand turning the ignition to blast AC at yourself. You lean forward, resting your head on the steering wheel and try to breathe through it. This is bad. Like, really fucking bad. 

You don’t know much about him, but you seriously doubt that this is the kind of thing he’d just let go. 

You’re in it now, for better or for worse. 

You can’t tell your mom. It’s selfish, and misguided, and you hadn’t even said anything to him, but it was something. It was yours, and you don’t want to share. It makes the guilt worse, and your drive home is spent in dissociated silence. 

When you get home, your mom is in the kitchen, bouncing around to 80s music and chopping onions. The slam of the front door alerts her to your presence, and she pauses her music, concern etched in her features. 

“Hey, sweetheart. Everything okay? You’re home early.” 

You don’t want to lie. 

“Yeah, I’m alright. Just got a headache, that’s all. Thought I should come home and take a nap.” 

-

Spending a few days at home would probably be for the best - it would give you time to come up with some sort of plan on what to say to Wally. You have no idea what the best course of action is. He knows you can see him now. You can’t take that back and make him forget it, and you don’t even know if you’d want to. 

Instead, you barrel into school the next day, head down and earphones blasting music. Your eyes don’t leave the linoleum floor except to put your bag in your locker. The grumble of frustration and annoyance that leaves your body when three Tears for Fears songs play in succession draws the attention of other students in the hallway, but you pay them no mind. 

You don’t even make it to third period before you see him. 

Sitting in the corner of ceramics class, shaky hands denting an already uneven vase, the slam of the classroom door makes you jump - effectively destroying the soft clay cradled in your palms. 

“There you are! Dude, I've been looking all over for you.” He sidles up to you, plops down in the seat directly to your right, the heat of his gaze burning into the side of your face and making your cheeks hot. You sigh, squishing the clay down and shaking your head. 

“That’s fine, you don’t have to talk. I can talk for both of us. I can just talk, and talk, and talk, and-” 

Your hand shoots into the air, a frantic “Can I use the restroom please?” leaving your throat. 

It’s your worst nightmare and a dream come true, being alone with Wally. He walks next to you in the hallway, and when you pass the bathroom he pauses. 

“You’re not going in? I thought you needed to go.” He’s teasing, you know he is, but you still huff at him. 

You keep your pace, calling out behind you, “No, Wally, I don’t need to use the bathroom.” 

You don’t turn around to see it, but you can hear the slightly shocked giggle that leaves him. 

“Oh, c’mon, really?” 

He catches up to you, and when you crane your head to the side to make eye contact, he sucks in a little breath. It’s the first time you’ve actually looked into his eyes. It throws you off kilter a bit, and you feel the need to make up the difference with a quip. 

“What, you’re Moaning Myrtle now? You feel like talking and hanging around in public restrooms?” 

The laugh that leaves him surprises you, Your eyebrows raise, not expecting him to understand the reference. 

“Ms. Williams plays the movies during finals week like every year,” he shrugs, “I’m dead, not blind.” 

You’d taken your things with you - skipping the rest of your class to spend time with him, to answer the questions you know he wants to ask. You go back to the football field, under the same tree you’d been under when you kicked the football away from you. 

He’s waiting for you to speak, to help him understand what’s going on, but the words are caught in your throat, cheeks hot and skin itchy. Your hands fidget, picking dried clay from under your fingernails and flicking it onto the grass nearby. 

You look at him, trying to decide where to start. 

“I’m not really supposed to talk to you.”

“Why not?” He laughs then, shakes his head a little. “It’s because I’m dead, right? Do you have a problem with dead people?”

“No, I-” You start on the defensive, but soften when you see Wally’s smirk. He’s a little shit, you should've known. You roll your eyes, “You’re not supposed to know I can see you for your own sake. What good would it do? Hanging out with me for the next three months until I graduate and you can never see me again? It’s unfair.”

He looks away from you for a second, sly smile wiped off of his face, replaced with a sadness you hadn’t seen from him before. You reach out, trying to make contact, and your hand just meets the air. When he’d tried to grab you yesterday, he was slightly more solid than he is now. You don’t know why. 

“Yeah it is unfair,” He turns to face you again, brown eyes glassy and tear rimmed, “but you can see me, and that’s the most exciting thing that’s happened to me since I’ve been here.” 

Something in your chest stirs, and you know there’s no universe in which you would’ve been able to stay away from him. You’re worlds apart, or planes apart, but it doesn't seem to matter as much as you used to think it did. 

“I think it’s the most exciting thing that’s ever happened to me, too.” 

You spend the rest of the school day - without being caught, thankfully - in deep conversation. The shrill ring of the bell signaling the end of the day cuts you off in the middle of a sentence, and you stand from your place on the grass, dusting yourself off and gathering your things. 

The silence between you is comfortable now, as he walks you to your car. He can’t step off the curb - he’d explained the boundaries of the school to you, that he’d be thrown back to the field if tried to leave. You hover together, not wanting to part. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow? We can hang out more, I have study hall during 5th period.” You tuck a stray hair behind your ear, and he follows the movement with his eyes. 

“Yeah, see you tomorrow.” 

You blast your 80s playlist on the way home, while you’re in the shower, while you’re doing homework. 

Wally Clark is gonna be the death of you.  

a/n: hiii i feel like this part was a little lackluster but !!!! i have a whole plan for what i want to do with this fic and i'm really excited about it. it should be four parts, but that's subject to change as i keep writing.

if you liked this and want to read more of my little stories, my masterlist is linked at the top! if you have ideas or just want to chat, my inbox is always open!

pls don't forget to like and reblog! love you mwah

[v6quewrlds]

Need even just a blurb of angst and miscommunication Justin

She stared out the window of the sleek dark sports car as it inched through the congested LA traffic. The neon lights of the city reflected off the gleaming hood, painting the car in a chaotic dance of color that did nothing to improve her mood. She had been looking forward to this night for weeks—a chance to relax and enjoy her boyfriend's company after a particularly grueling work week. Now, it seemed as if the universe had conspired to ruin it with a multi-car pile-up on the freeway.

"I can't believe this," she said, more to herself than to Justin. "We're going to be stuck here for hours."

Justin shook his head, his eyes still fixed on the road. "Red lights everywhere, it's a mess." He glanced over at her, her expression tight with frustration.

"Hate this LA traffic." She huffed, her gaze remained out the window, arms crossed over her chest. "We were having such a great night."

Justin's jaw clenched. He knew she was just letting off steam, but her complaints were beginning to annoy him. He reached out and put a hand on her leg. "Babe, it's not like we can do anything about it. We just gotta sit tight."

Her eyes snapped to his hand, her voice cool as she shifted her thigh away from his touch. "I know we can't do anything about it, but maybe if we'd left earlier, we wouldn't be stuck here now."

"Well, you're not exactly helping, babe." Justin snapped, his discarded hand finding its way to the steering wheel again. His knuckles turned white as he squeezed it tightly. "All you're doing is complaining. It's annoying." The last part was said under his breath, exasperation leaking into his tone.

Her eyes narrowed at the accusation, the tension in the car thickening like the late-night fog outside. "And what would you like me to do, Justin? Sing a song to entertain you?" she retorted, her voice laced with sarcasm.

"That's not what I meant, and you know that," Justin replied firmly, his own frustration rising to match hers. "Just chill out. Stop finding something to be miserable about." With that, his right hand moved towards his phone in the cupholder, the blue light illuminating his features as he began to scroll through his music playlist.

The car remained silent, the tension palpable as she continued to glower out the window. The throb of the bass from the car stereo soon filled the space between them, a clear message that Justin was done discussing the issue. She felt her anger spike at his dismissal, her foot tapping angrily against the floorboard.

Justin began to sing under his breath, his head bobbing to the beat of the music. She leaned against the car window, feeling a headache brewing with every pulse of the music. She took a deep breath, trying to calm herself, exhaling out the irritation that was bubbling within.

After her third exhale, Justin's eyes cut to her reflection in the rearview mirror. He saw the tight set of her jaw, the way she held her shoulders. "You could lose the attitude," he muttered, hoping the music would drown out his words.

But she heard him. And it was as if his words had shattered the last of her composure. She turned to face him and for a moment she didn't speak. "Excuse me?" she said, her voice measured and cold.

Justin's eyes flicked to hers for a brief second before returning to the road. "I said, you could lose the attitude. We're both tired, but that doesn't give you a free pass to be like this."

She felt a flare of anger. "Like what? Tired and upset? Last time I checked, that's a pretty normal human reaction to being stuck in traffic after a long day."

Justin's eyes met hers briefly, the blue of them flashing with annoyance. "Whatever you want, babe. Just don't expect me to sit here and be miserable with you."

Her response was a frigid silence that stretched on until they finally pulled into the driveway of their home. The moment the car stopped, she gathered her purse, phone, and the heels she had discarded hours ago. Without a word, she opened the door and stepped out, slamming it shut behind her. Justin watched her stalk up to the door, forcefully tapping in the code as he locked the car behind him.

Inside, she made a beeline for their bedroom, shedding her dress on the way. She showered first, unwilling to give Justin even the smallest chance to join her as he usually did after a night out. The water was scalding, as if she could wash away the irritation that clung to her like the sticky residue of LA smog.

Her mind was racing with thoughts of their argument, replaying each word like a sports reel in slow motion, looking for a moment she could pinpoint as the exact start of their discord. But all she found was a blur of frustration and misunderstanding. Part of her knew she was being a little dramatic, but she couldn't shake off the way Justin snapped at her. It was unlike him, and it stung.

Justin waited in the bedroom, already having brushed his teeth and stripped down to his underwear, as he busied himself with the tidying of the bathroom counter.

By the time Justin exited the shower, trading his towel for sweats and a t-shirt, she had already changed into her pajamas and was curled up on her side of the bed, her back to him. The room was dimly lit by the glow of the charging lamp, casting long shadows across the plush comforter. He couldn't suppress a roll of his eyes before lifting the comforter to slip in next to her. The mattress shifted slightly as he settled in, and she felt the warmth of his body radiate toward her despite the space she had put between them.

Justin cleared his throat. "Look, I'm sorry, okay?" he offered tentatively. "I know I snapped at you in the car. I had a long day too."

She didn't move, didn't respond. The silence stretched out, growing tighter with every heartbeat. Justin sighed and slid into bed, his hand reaching out to touch her shoulder. "Babe," he whispered, his voice soft with apology. "I didn't mean to upset you. Can we just talk about it?"

Her body remained stiff, the only indication she heard him was the slight hitch in her breathing. Justin could feel the anger rolling off her in waves, and he knew he had to tread carefully. He leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to her shoulder. "I'm sorry," he murmured again, his voice barely above a whisper. "I messed up."

She stiffened under his touch, and for a moment, she didn't move. Then, with a heavy sigh, she rolled over to face the ceiling, her eyes still sharp with lingering irritation. She pursed her lips as she avoided meeting his gaze.

"I'm tired, Justin," she said flatly. "Can we just go to sleep?"

He slid closer to her, his hand finding its way around her waist. "Sweetheart," he murmured, his thumb tracing soothing circles on her skin. "We're both tired, but we can't just let this go. We need to talk about it."

She sighed, feeling the warmth of his embrace but not yet ready to give in. "There's nothing to talk about," she replied "You were rude and dismissive. That's all."

Justin's hand paused in its gentle stroking. "Baby," he said, his voice earnest. "I get that you're upset, but I didn't mean it like that."

Her eyes searched the ceiling. "How else am I supposed to take it?" she asked, her voice strained. Justin didn't respond, his hand continuing to move in slow, comforting circles. The silence grew heavier until she felt it pressing down on her chest, making it hard to breathe.

Finally, she turned her head to face him. "I don't want to fight with you," she said, her voice cracking with weariness. "But I can't just ignore how you spoke to me. Just give me some space tonight, we can talk in the morning."

Justin's eyes searched hers, the regret in them palpable. "Okay," he whispered, his hand lifting away from her waist. He rolled onto his back and stared up at the ceiling, his arms folding behind his head. The quiet between them was now filled with the distant hum of the city and the occasional sound of a car passing by outside.

They remained like that for a long moment, the quiet stretching out like the vast emptiness of the unseen sky outside their bedroom window. Justin resigned to closing his eyes, hoping that in the morning, they could find their way back to each other.

He wasn't sure how much time had passed before she was asleep, her body subconsciously moving closer to his. He waited until her breathing grew even before he dared to pull her into his arms, her head fitting into the crook of his shoulder as if it were made to be there. He could breathe easier now, the tension in his chest loosening slightly.

author's note⠀⁎⠀could've made this way more angsty lol

[belit0]

Glad you're back😊😊, how would some Uchiha clan members like Madara, Izuna, Obito, Shisui, Itachi and Sasuke deal if they were to fall in love with a member of the Uzumaki clan? She is a relative too close to Hashirama and Tobirama, general of the clan, in charge of diplomacy, strong, who keeps up with them in combat and excellent user of sealing, and too close to Tobirama or failing that too close to a member of the Nara clan.

Thank you!!

Madara

Madara would despise how it happens. He has spent years considering the Uzumaki too closely tied to the Senju, and yet here he is, enthralled. (Y/N) is infuriating; fierce, unyielding, unafraid of his presence. She wields words like a blade in diplomacy, and seals like an artist in battle, matching him strike for strike. The worst part? She stands beside Hashirama without hesitation.

–You would have made a fine Uchiha,- he tells her one evening, after their spar ends in a draw. There's something sharp in his voice, something that almost sounds like regret. But when she only smirks, eyes glinting with unspoken challenge, he knows.

He's already lost.

Izuna

Izuna doesn’t think much of her at first, just another opponent, another name to keep track of. But the more he faces her, the more he hates how she gets under his skin. She doesn't fight like an Uchiha, relying on genjutsu and calculated strikes. No, she’s wild, her movements fluid, her seals relentless. And she’s infuriatingly good at throwing his own taunts back at him.

–Do you ever shut up?- Izuna grumbles as she outmaneuvers him once again.

–Admit it,- she teases, grinning, -you like the challenge.-

He scowls, but the flush in his ears betrays him.

Obito

Obito is doomed from the start. He falls fast, completely, without any hope of recovery. (Y/N) is everything he admires; strong, unwavering, determined. But it's the way she sees him that destroys him, like he's more than just another Uchiha, more than just someone destined for war.

He watches her work tirelessly for her clan, balancing politics and battle like second nature, and all he can think is: She deserves better than this world.

–You’re staring again,- she notes one day, raising an eyebrow.

–I— Obito stammers, rubbing the back of his neck. -I like looking at you.-

She blinks, before laughing softly. -You’re an idiot, Uchiha.-

He doesn’t even mind.

Shisui

Shisui approaches her like he does all things: with charm and amusement, but beneath the teasing, he’s fascinated. (Y/N) doesn’t just keep up with him in combat; she anticipates his moves, counters with a smirk, dares him to try harder. Her mind is just as sharp as her technique, and he lives for the challenge.

–You know,- he muses, dodging one of her seals at the last second, -you’re dangerous, (Y/N).-

–Afraid?- She taunts.

–Oh my, not at all.- He grins. -I like a woman who can keep me on my toes.-

And he means it.

Itachi

Itachi doesn’t fall easily. He is careful, reserved, always weighing consequences. But (Y/N) is different. She listens when he speaks, challenges his views without dismissing them. She stands strong, not just physically, but in her convictions. And despite their clans being at odds, he finds himself drawn to her.

He notices the way she works tirelessly for her people, sacrificing sleep for negotiations, for battle strategies. He understands that weight. And before he realizes it, he starts making sure she eats, rests, that she doesn’t carry it alone.

–You don’t have to look after me, Uchiha,- she murmurs one evening.

–Perhaps not,- he replies softly, -but I want to.-

Sasuke

Sasuke doesn't want to feel anything. He has spent too long consumed by revenge, by rebuilding what was lost. But (Y/N) doesn’t let him wallow. She challenges him, pushes him, meets his anger with sharp wit and unimpressed glances. She’s annoying. And yet, he can’t stop thinking about her.

She doesn’t treat him like he’s fragile, doesn’t pity him. Instead, she expects things from him, expects him to be better, and damn it, he wants to be.

–You’re sulking again,- she remarks, sitting beside him.

–I don’t sulk,- he mutters.

–Right,- she smirks. -Just thinking very intensely while looking tragic.

He exhales, shaking his head. She’s unbelievable. And yet, somehow, he doesn’t mind.

[vshiftsss]

DREBOURNE, THE KINGDOM OF DREAMS - (ROYALTY DR)

LET’S SET THE SCENE. . .

you are a weary traveler, your shoulders heavy with fatigue while your horse trudges along a dirt road. with how badly your eyes want to close, you can only hope to find some semblance of a resting place for the night. this journey you’re on to finally find the kingdom of dreams, the place where all your desires come true in a snap—it wasn’t easy. with steep mountains framing the outskirts of the land and paths so windy one could easily end right back where they started, it’s clear whoever founded this city didn’t want it to be discovered.

it would be naïve to put everyone’s dreams come true in the open, wouldn’t it?

drebourne is only meant to be found if you are meant to be there. and as your horse reaches the end of the dry soil leading you forward, you realize that you’re one of the chosen. the pristine cobblestone roads and ethereal landscape sitting before you beckon you in, welcoming you into a kingdom that seemed nearly unreal.

this is drebourne, and you’re about to have the best time of your life here.

it’s a shame the joy will be short-lived.

a certain newsletter aims to tear down every idea of serenity the kingdom holds—and they’re starting with the royal family. the people who built this kingdom from the very earth your steed stands on.

all you can really do is wait and see what happens. maybe you’ll get a kick out of some of the gossip that’ll come about…

VESTELE CHARBONNEAU. . .

the last thing vestele expects to see on her 20th birthday is a gossip column claiming she’s “mingling with the rival kingdom”. her mother brings it up over breakfast that morning, hiding prodding questions underneath the veil of chipper small talk.

of course, vestele clocks it immediately. her mother isn’t known for being subtle, after all.

“please. show me this newsletter. if this is some sort of joke, you did a horrible job of entertaining me, mother.”

in big, bold letters, the title of today’s segment read:

“charbonneau heir fraternizing with the enemy? princess vestele caught locking lips with prince cassius of the windermere family”

when she first glances down at the slim slip of paper, she almost laughs at the absurdity of the baseless claim. who would even dare to tarnish the charbonneau name like that, especially when vestele will be inheriting the crown in only a few years? it’s a bold move—a move one would only take when their identity isn’t known.

“mother, how can you believe something so…juvenile? i wouldn’t step near that prince if the crown depended on it, and you know this. i’ll speak with the head of security to figure out if we can resolve this issue.”

vestele’s calm expression doesn’t falter, though her fingertips crease the paper from how tight she’s gripping onto it. she shouldn’t be perturbed; this is just some failing journalist trying to get a juicy headline at the end of the day. no one is going to genuinely believe it.

except her mother did believe it for a minute. as if vestele would do something so…rash. so careless. so unbecoming.

she can’t believe this. what will the public think?

who is behind this newsletter?

and how the hell did they find out about her secret lover?

divider / divider

[xo-myloves]

🧛‍♀️-YOU HAVE TO DO A PART 2 TO DADDYS GIRL, IT WAS SO FUCKING GOOD

Like maybe london gets really pissed and storms off and like the reader is super emotional so she can't really think straight and Slash kinda takes advantage of that and fucks her (like filthy smut) and then at the end it could be like fluffy with slash being like I love u or whatever (Once again only if u wanna)

𝙿𝚊𝚛𝚝 𝟷

𝙰/𝚗: I will say I didn’t add slash taking advantage of her, because that felt kinda wrong, but I hope this works y’know? I just didn’t feel comfortable, and when I tried to write it, it didn’t fit. Sorry <3

༞༞༞༞༞༞༞༞༞༞༞𝚌𝚊𝚗𝚝 𝚋𝚎 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚕༞༞༞༞༞༞༞༞༞༞

The air in the room felt thick, suffocating.

London’s voice still echoed in your ears, sharp with rage, betrayal dripping from every syllable. He had stormed out before you could say a word, the front door slamming so hard the walls seemed to shake.

You were frozen in place, heart hammering in your chest. Guilt crawled up your spine like ice, settling deep in your stomach.

“Fuck,” you whispered, your voice barely there.

Behind you, Slash exhaled slowly. “Yeah.”

You turned to him, eyes burning. ���What the fuck did we do?”

His jaw tightened, fingers running through his wild curls. “You don’t need me to answer that.”

Tears pricked at your eyes, a wave of emotion crashing down all at once—shame, guilt, but worst of all, that lingering, undeniable desire still humming under your skin.

“I—I should go after him,” you muttered, but your legs wouldn’t move.

Slash stepped forward, watching you carefully, his expression unreadable. “He needs space.”

“He hates me now,” you choked out, wrapping your arms around yourself.

Slash sighed, stepping closer, his voice softer. “He doesn’t hate you.”

You laughed bitterly, shaking your head. “How the fuck would you know?”

“Because I know my son,” he said simply.

Tears finally slipped down your cheeks, hot and relentless. “God, I’m such a fucking mess.”

Slash hesitated for a moment before reaching out, his rough fingers brushing against your arm. You should’ve pulled away. You should’ve hated him for this.

But instead, you collapsed into him.

His arms wrapped around you, pulling you against his chest, his warmth seeping into your bones. You felt like you were unraveling, and he was the only thing holding you together.

“Hey,” he murmured, tilting your chin up so you’d look at him. His dark eyes searched yours, intense and unreadable. “This wasn’t just you. Don’t take all the blame.”

You swallowed hard. “But he—”

“I know,” he said, his voice low, calm. “But I’m not gonna let you fall apart over this.”

His thumb brushed away your tears, lingering just a little too long. The air shifted again, thick with something dangerous. You were vulnerable, cracked open, and he was standing so fucking close.

“Slash—”

“I got you,” he whispered.

And then his lips were on yours.

It wasn’t rushed like before—it was slow, deep, intentional. His hands slid up your back, pulling you even closer, like he needed this just as badly as you did. Like he needed you.

You whimpered against his mouth, fingers gripping his shirt like it was the only thing keeping you from falling apart completely. His touch was different now—not just lust, but something deeper, something that made your chest ache.

“Let me take care of you,” he murmured against your lips, his breath hot against your skin.

You nodded, unable to speak, unable to think.

Slash guided you toward the couch, easing you down with a gentleness you didn’t expect. He kissed you again, slower this time, like he was memorizing every inch of you. His hands traced over your skin, soothing, worshipping.

And for a little while, you let yourself get lost in him.

☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆

The quiet hum of the city outside filled the room as you lay tangled together, your body pressed against his, your breathing finally steady. Slash’s fingers traced lazy circles on your back, his other hand resting in your hair.

“You okay?” he asked, voice rough with exhaustion.

You didn’t know how to answer.

Before you could, his phone buzzed.

Slash groaned, reaching for it lazily. But the second he saw the caller ID, his body went rigid.

Your stomach twisted. “What?”

He hesitated, then answered. “Yeah?”

Silence.

Then, his face paled.

“What hospital?”

Your heart dropped.

Slash shot up, grabbing his jeans in a hurry. “It’s London,” he said, voice tight, controlled. “He’s been in a car accident.”

The world tilted.

You barely registered Slash helping you up, grabbing your jacket, rushing you toward the door.

The guilt, the regret, the fear—it all came crashing down at once.

And you had no idea what the fuck was about to happen next.

[holyraconteur]

Okay, but here's a dark au where Spider drags Quaritch from the water and promptly kills him, and now no one knows what to do with this human child soaked in the blood of his own father. Blood is thicker than water, right? Why would a son kill his own father? Pandora's greatest enemy is dead. The scourge of the Na'vi is gone.

So, what is this feeling of discontent?

-) The moment Spider pulled Quaritch from the water, he made a choice.

-) The once-mighty colonel was barely clinging to life, his body battered, his strength drained. Weak. Helpless. A man who had terrorized Pandora, who had burned forests and spilled the blood of Eywa's children, now lay before him, gasping, vulnerable.

-) The knife in Spider’s hand felt light. The motion effortless.

-) One swift drag across the throat was all it took. Just like Neytiri would have done to him. 'Do you see me now?' Spider thinks. 'See me. See me. SEE! LOOK AT WHAT YOU HAVE MADE OF ME!'

-) Quaritch barely made a sound, just a wet, choked gasp as his lifeblood spilled into the water, dark ribbons mixing with the lapping waves. His body seized, his fingers twitching—but Spider only crouched there, watching, waiting. He waited for the flood of emotion. For the relief. The triumph. The guilt. But there was nothing. Just… numbness.

-) The monster was dead. The one responsible for so much suffering, for so much destruction, for everything—gone. And yet, Spider felt nothing. His father’s glassy eyes stared up at him, lifeless. Eywa’s grace had abandoned him long ago. And with any luck, Quaritch’s soul would never find peace. Never find acceptance. Spider exhaled slowly, running his tongue over dry lips, blinking at the bloodied body at his feet. His hands weren’t even shaking.

-) It was done. His brother avenged. The souls of Neytiri's family are avenged. His debt to the Sullys was paid in full. Everything is calm.

-) A soft rustling pulled his gaze upward. His father's Banshee crouched a few feet away, its golden eyes locked onto Spider with an eerie intensity. Spider tensed, half-expecting it to lunge, to attack, to avenge its fallen rider. But it didn’t. It simply watched. And then, without a sound, it lowered its head. Acceptance. Recognition.

-) As if possessed by something beyond himself, Spider stepped forward, his hand outstretched. His fingertips brushed against the creature’s snout, and for the first time that horrible day, he allowed himself a small, hollow smile. Perhaps it was a good thing that Quaritch never truly bonded to this one.

-) The rest of the Na'vi find him hours later, and Tonowari approaches first, his large shadow stretching over the scene, but he hesitates. The Metkayina chief has seen many battles, many bodies. And yet, this is different. This is a child, soaked in the blood of his own father. Why would a son do this? Spider meets his gaze, his expression empty. He waits for judgment. Condemnation. Something.

-) But when Tonowari speaks, it is not with anger. "The demon is dead." A statement. A fact. The warriors behind him exchange uneasy glances, but none argue. Some murmur in agreement; others simply watch. None move to comfort the boy who did the deed. Perhaps they do not know how.

-) The Sully are more horrified than relieved. Even Neytiri, who should feel the greatest relief of all, does not celebrate. Her bow hand clenches, fingers twitching as though her body is caught between two instincts. To praise him… or to fear him. She does not understand. She had thought she knew hatred. She had felt it burn through her when she held the blade to Spider’s throat on the Sea Dragon, her grief drowning out reason.

-) Jake had told her stories—of how humans could be cruel to their own offspring, how some children were beaten, abandoned, even killed by those who were meant to love them. How those same children woke up one day and decided to kill their parents. She had never believed it. Not until now. She watched Spider wipe the blood from his blade with mechanical precision, his movements too calm, too practiced. There is no triumph in his face, no relief, no sorrow.

Just a hollow emptiness.

-) Something dark and quiet has settled in the boy’s chest, a coldness that should not exist in one so young. The boy named Spider died on the Sea Dragon. Drowned beneath the weight of Neytiri’s hate, choked on the understanding that he would never belong. And what remains in his place is something else. Something Tonowari's people and the Sullys do not understand. Something they accept but fear all the same.

-) Jake takes a step forward, but Spider lifts a bloodied hand, stopping him before he can speak. "Don’t." His voice is hoarse, flat. "Your son has been avenged. The debt is paid. I am done. We are done." Jake stares, tears in his eyes, something unspoken hanging between them. "Kid, I never wanted this--" Spider turns his back, mounting the ikran with the ease of someone who had done it a thousand times before. And then he was gone. The wind howled as the graceful creature lifted itself into the sky, carrying Spider higher, farther, into the unknown. Jake’s voice rose behind him, calling his name. Kiri's voice is the loudest, crying and screaming for him, but he hardens his heart. They call his name. Spider does not return. Spider does not look back.

[rarepairdumpster]

Tattoo Artist AU Part 2

Part 1

Pairing: Viktor/Silco (Arcane) Rating: M C/W: Tattoo Artist Silco, Modern AU, Everyone is Tatted, Teasing, little bit of tattoo fetish

Silco is a consummate professional and there is no outward indication that he relishes the weight of Viktor's hand in his as he helps him up onto the table. No indication that he adores the heavenly softness of Viktor's skin as he encourages him to part his legs and rotate his thigh to the right angle to allow him ease of access. 

Viktor however is not a consummate professional and his face is flaming and he's already half-hard and the tattooing process hasn't even started.

Silco fights every temptation to kiss the porcelain skin presented to him, but takes his time placing the stencil and smoothing it out along Viktor's thigh. Lets his fingertips push a little harder and linger a little longer than he would usually.

Viktor slips a hand upwards and bites lightly at his fingers, glad that Silco's hair has slipped to act like a curtain between him and Silco's face.

Silco can't help himself when he takes off the contact paper and blows softly on Viktor's skin to dry the stencil ink. He takes a moment to admire the goosebumps that pop up in the wake of his breath. 

A giggle from Sevika's station knocks Silco out of his thoughts and he frowns a little.

He had tried hard to have the shop empty but Sevika insisted on coming in for a regular client. All he could hope for now is that she made it quick and left him and Viktor alone.

The parlour is at least large enough that Sevika and her client are at the far end of the room and not virtually up his ass while he works.

He'll take the small mercies.

"How is the placement?" Silco asks as he turns to prepare his gun and ink. 

Viktor sees that Silco is turned away and takes the chance to look at his leg. He knew that he liked the design but he didn't realize just how it would look on his body. (Blue and indigo irises and orchids with fractals hexcore vibes) Viktor knew he made the right choice with Silco as his artist. 

"Yes, it's perfect," Viktor finally replies with a breathlessness he wasn't expecting.

Silco grins to himself as he hears the praise. Its always nice to have his work complimented, but hearing Viktor say "perfect" in that breathless way makes it feel more....intimate.

Primal, even

"Good," Silco said in a low tone, causing Viktor to shiver a little. "Are you ready?"

"Yes, Sir."

The words are a faint whisper.

But Silco catches them and feels his own worn leather pants tighten.

Pauses to steady himself.

Slowly turns and presses the switch with his foot and brings the tattoo gun to life.

Viktor is almost frustrated when Silco starts down at his knee but realizes it's probably for the best. With other people in the shop, Silco was probably just being considerate. 

As if reading Viktor's mind, Silco speaks up. "They should be finished and gone by the time I'm higher up on your leg. I prefer to have little distraction when I'm working in such a sensitive area."

Silco already knows he's going to be distracted enough by that gd serpent in Viktor's briefs

The higher Silco goes, the more sensitive Viktor gets, and Silco can hear him work to breathe through it.

This time, when Silco murmurs "Good boy", he does it on purpose.

And Viktor's cock twitches visibly, making the sheet move, even while the rest of him starts to go a little mellow

The pain of the needle distracts Viktor from the usual pain of his hip and back. Even in this position, he's able to let everything else fade away and focus on Silco's soft words and firm grip.

"You're doing so well."

"Beautiful. Your skin was made to be inked. It takes the colour wonderfully."

"I know, it hurts. But a good hurt, hmm?" 

All of these are things Silco has murmured while he works on Viktor's leg. He murmurs that last one sometime after Sevika leaves for the day. 

By the time Silco finishes, Viktor is woozy from being hard for so long, and the extended chemical release.

Silco gives him a few moments to adjust to the gun not being active, and then cleans him up and covers the tattoo.

He helps Viktor sit up, keeping him steady, and offers him water and a bowl of jelly sweets.

Silco is experienced enough to know most people forget to bring water and snacks with them, and those are important for a big tattoo

They only took a few breaks and most of the time it was because Silco was switching colors or his own wrist got tired.

or Silco had to stretch out his own legs and hips, because ugh he's not as young as he used to be

"You sat so very well," Silco purrs, looking down at the tattoo again. "Just as I knew you would."

"Thank you," Viktor mumbles between sips of water and munching on jellies. His senses still feel jumbled, but he's at least feeling less woozy

"When you're healed, I have more ideas," Silco offers as he cleans up his station. "But before that, I think I'd like to take you to dinner."

Viktor is sure he is hearing things due to the disorientation and how offhandedly Silco mentioned it. "Did you say dinner?"

"Any meal, really," Silco smiles as he turns back to Viktor. "Breakfast is a bit early for me though."

Another one of those charming hehehs escapes Viktor as he realises he did hear correctly.

God, Silco wants to kiss him right then, but he contains himself.

"I...ah...I'd like that." Viktor tucks a lock of hair behind his ear, almost reflexively. He sets the bowl of jellies down and eases himself down from the table, reaching for his clothes and pulling out his wallet. "But before I forget..." 

And Viktor pulls out a wad of cash. More than enough to cover the tattoo and then some.

"You deserve a good tip."

Silco blinks, takes the wad of cash and flicks through the bundle, before giving half the tip back 

"Put it towards your next tattoo, darling." 

And Silco winks at him.

Viktor shivers at the name and is very glad he's holding his khakis in front of his crotch. 

He licks his lips and lets his eyes trail to Silco's partially inked and lightly pierced mouth, wishing he could feel it on him anywhere. 

"You'll still work on me? Even if we..."

Silco's eyes darken even as his voice stays relaxed. "I wouldn't stand anyone else touching you."

Viktor's eyes flick up to meet Silco's 

"Good."

Viktor goes to take the money from Silco's hand and Silco holds him there with his other hand as he steps forward into Viktor's space. 

"As much as I'd love to be unethical right now, as your tattoo artist, I must insist you go home and rest."

Viktor swallows.

"Presumptuous to think I wasn't going to do just that."

Silco smirks but restrains himself from reminding Viktor that his crotch was in Silco's face for half the night. He had a fair inkling of what the boy was thinking.

"Get dressed and I'll call you a cab," Silco lets go of Viktor's hand and steps away towards the front desk.

Silco takes him to dinner a couple of weeks later. Collects him personally.

And Viktor jokes that he thought Silco'd drive a motorbike.

And Silco smirks as he pops open the car door for him.

"Oh, I do, but I don't think it would be too comfortable for you to sit on."

Viktor lets out his small hehehh as he eases himself into the passenger seat. Silco hands Viktor his cane and smiles, somehow enjoying that laugh more every time he hears it.

Silco's fingers linger against Viktor's for a moment too long and then he shuts the door.

Viktor feels his breath hitch when he realises that Silco moves with the same confidence as he did in the parlour

Later, when Silco brings him back home and walks him to his door, the tension between them is palpable.

Silco smirks softly, and teases the tip of his finger along Viktor's jawline, before stepping away.

And Viktor blurts, "Aren't you going to kiss me?"

"No." Silco's smirk softens into a smile and he steps closer, tilting his head and leaning in until the two of them are almost kissing. "Because the night I kiss you," Silco explains, the movement of his lips ghosting against Viktor's, "will be the night I fuck you. And I'm not going to risk damaging that beautiful tattoo of ours."

And then Silco is moving away, steps a little jaunty

Viktor can't help but chase Silco's lips, breathless at his unshakable confidence. As Silco walks away and the words sink in, Viktor's face and groin heat up. Not only was Silco going to kiss him, but he was going to fuck him and all Viktor could do to hasten it was curse his body's slow healing.

Silco absolutely beats himself off that night, imagining that stunning canvas naked on his bed

Arch + Woods

[cakeinpants]

Previous

***

He, Pat, a Mudokon, stood right in front of the CEO of the Palace herself.

"So, Oddett... I've heard you and Mr. Jabodo got into a bit of a.. disagreement. And that preparations for your next performance aren't going so smoothly..." The Oktigi inquired. "I would like to hear what you have to say about that..."

Her drone companion, Maximus, stood by her side as always. He avoided eye contact with the dancer and looked pale.

Overwhelmed and intimidated by talking with a person of such authority, Pat tried his best to keep composure and sound clear and confident. He was in disbelief that Delvona actually decided to hear him out. He had nothing to depend on but his words now, and there was nothing left for him to do but to speak his truth, and hope that his value to the Palace might help him be heard.

"Madame Delvona... I sincerely hope for your understanding. I can not continue working in the conditions that Mr. Jabodo is putting me through."

"Jabodo is a respected art director and trainer of the Palace." Delvona argued. "There's never been any problems before." (At least, problems that weren't covered up for him, but she wasn't going to mention that, of course.)

"The things he's asking from me are far beyond what I'm willing to do. Not out of selfishness, but out of respect for my art and for what my Master taught me..."

The Qktigi thoughtfully put a tentacle to her cheek.

"Now... I want to give you a chance to come to an agreement. I'll ask Mr. Jabodo to be.. easier with you." The Oktigi offered. "I suggest you go back to training and we forget about this little misunderstanding. It'll be for the best for all of us."

"I'm sorry, Madame Delvona.. I don't think I can accept that offer."

Delvona's eyes narrowed.

"What are you expecting, then?"

"I-if..." That was a bold move but he had to try. "If you could grant me the permission.. I can work for the Palace as an independent contractor."

"Absolutely not. That's out of the question." She declined sharply barely letting the dancer finish speaking. "A Mudokon can't be working here on independent conditions."

"But it's possible-"

"Not in practice, it's not."

"I can make it work! It won't affect preparations for concerts. I'll still be attending the same rehearsals.. All I'm asking for is some freedom of action and I will give you results in return-"

"I said it's NOT an option. I can't have that kind of reputation for the Palace."

The dancer swallowed nervously.

"In that case the only thing I can suggest is that you let me go. I'm ready to resign from my duties as the Palace's Principal Dancer."

For a split second Delvona's face lost it's imperturbable expression.

"Resign?"

"Yes. Send me wherever else. Sell me to a different owner or company.. I know there's people who are ready to offer a lot."

"If you think things are bad for you here, you're not ready for how they'll be if you leave." The Oktigi warned. "Are you trying to bargain with me?"

"Not at all. Whatever your decision, I will accept it humbly, even if you find my behaviour prompts punishment.. but the only thing I will refuse to do is continue my work in current situation."

Madame Delvona went silent, seemingly pondering something. She then calmly exhaled.

"Now you will listen to me, and you will listen carefully. I offer you two options...

Option one — you will return to your duties as normally and we forget this conversation ever happened. You will perform and you will never speak of this again.

Option two..." She nodded somewhere to the side...

The dancer's blood ran cold as he felt the cold touch of steel against his head.

"... you're not leaving this room."

Gun.

One of the guard Sligs held a gun to the dancer's head.

Maximus flinched and almost yelled out at the slig to stop. But Delvona's ties were stronger than instinct. He stopped himself, staying quiet by the Oktigi's side with a terrified look.

"You see, Patrick, I can't let you get into anyone else's hands. Not to mention what news of you leaving to work for someone else will do to our reputation... I'm not dealing with all that trouble.

It will, on the other hand, be much easier to make it look like an unfortunate, tragic accident...

A brilliant dancer lost to grief for his Master not long after the tragedy... devastated devotees competing for last records of his dancing in Palace's possession... And the rebels are to blame for it all." She painted an imaginary picture.

"The Palace won't ever let you go.

Do you understand?"

The mudokon stood frozen, unable to utter a word.

"Take off your shirt."

With shaking hands, the dancer unbuttoned his shirt. The cloth dropped to the floor, revealing the pale skin of his torso and a serial code tattoo on his lower back...

"ODDTT001VL"

Property of The Palace.

"First position." The Oktigi commanded.

The mudokon complied, taking the ballet stance.

"Perform the White Bird variation."

His body started mechanically reciting the memorised movements. His hands trembled, and his eyes were full of fear and defeat, yet even in this moment it showed how perfected his technique was. But it looked so wrong. Unnatural even.

Delvona watched attentively. She waited for the dancer to complete the whole variation before she spoke again:

"Very good. That's much better.

Now. You have a fitting scheduled in a few hours with our new buiseness partners... You're going to go, get yourself together and get ready. You're going to show up and act normally. And you're going to look good.

Instructions clear?"

"Yes, Madame Delvona..." The mudokon bowed.

... He lost.