#can’t handle that much eye contact and metaphor

[ivan-fyodorovich-k]

Man there’s a lady in my department and every time I get into a conversation with her it’s super obvious that she’s choosing her words extremely carefully but she is also maintaining intense eye contact the entire time—I don’t think I have ever in my life met someone whose wheels you can almost literally see so obviously turning for the entire conversation—and everything that comes out is put in the most delicate and indirect possible way, which makes me feel incredibly self conscious about what I’m saying.

I feel like there is whatever is being said out loud, and then maybe two or even three subtext conversations happening, consequence being I never have any idea what the hell we’re talking about

[imaginedisish]

I'm Not In Love (Logan Howlett x fem!Reader)

A/N: Okay, so this if my first fic in over a year, and it's also my first Wolverine fic...so please be kind. I'm just getting back into the groove. Expect it to possibly be a little rough. This is big time inspired by "I'm Not In Love" by 10cc. This fic is also thanks to a request I got from an anonymous user! Thanks for the idea, anon! Hope it's okay! Enjoy guys.

Summary: After harboring a crush on Logan for months, things finally come to a head while on an overnight mission.

Warnings: SMUT. 18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT. There's like no plot here just smut, Unprotected PIV sex (wrap it up), Oral (f!receiving), AFAB reader, Sizekink!(this was a specific size kink request, and so the reader is therefore described as being smaller than Logan/his shirt being big on her), cursing, praise kink, OOC!Logan (just putting this out there because I haven't seen the X-Men movies/read X-Men comics in forever and I'm probably giving him terms he doesn't use/having him act in ways he might not typically), feelings, cocky!Logan, softdom!Logan, one bed muahaha, probably grammar errors, think that's it?

Word Count: 3,162 I got carried away

He was driving you absolutely crazy. Logan. Logan fucking Howlett, with his cocksure attitude and self-satisfied smile. Maybe it’s the way he thinks he’s always right. Maybe it’s that stupid stubbornness, that prowl he does when he walks across a room to meet you. To mock you. His whole being towering over you—his musky, pine-scented cologne filling your lungs. He’s everywhere—and not just metaphorically—literally and physically. His giant frame shadows yours, and you can’t help but admit that there’s something about it…something about him. 

You want him. Bad. And although you won’t admit it, you’ve wanted him for months. And so, as of lately, he’s not so much a nuisance as much as he’s a distraction. 

You just had to be sent on this mission with Logan—this ridiculous two-day stake-out that you could have done on your own. You’re certainly strong enough; your telekinetic powers and regenerative abilities are enough to handle any situation. And yet, here you are, walking up to a motel with Logan fucking Howlett. 

His frame practically consumes yours as he stands behind you on the sidewalk. You swear you can feel the ghost of his fingertips against your waist, impatient and ready to guide you forward. You silently wish he would—wish he would grab your hips and take you down that alleyway and—

“You okay, darlin’?” His voice is gruff against the shell of your ear. “You seem awfully distracted.”

You swallow your embarrassment and hope he won’t pick up on how fast your heart is beating. “I’m fine, just tired,” you mutter, lying straight through your teeth. You can feel his smirk against the side of your head. He has to know what he’s doing. He has to know how much you want him. 

He chuckles and his chest vibrates against your back. “Too tired for the mission, bub? We’re almost at the motel, don’t worry.” The condescension in his voice is palpable. He knows exactly how to get under your skin. You’re putty in his hands. 

He steps out from behind you, and before you can mourn the loss of the contact, he grabs your hand and leads the way through the doors of the motel. “This okay?” He whispers in your ear, his massive hand giving your smaller one a squeeze. All you can manage is a nod as you approach the front desk. You know it’s just to support your cover—you and Logan are posing as a married couple—but you can’t help but hope it means more. You need it to mean more. 

God, you are so fucked. 

You’re so distracted thinking about how close Logan is to you that you almost miss the moment when the worker at the front desk says the only room left has just one bed. 

You crane your head to look up at Logan, who you find is already looking down at you. 

“That’s perfect,” he says, his eyes still on you. His stare doesn’t budge as the man behind the front desk slides the key towards the two of you. Logan grabs the keys and finally breaks the moment. His hand is still holding yours as he navigates the two of you toward your motel room. 

The room is…small. There’s one queen bed in the center, a bathroom on the other side of the room, and an old box television resting on an even older-looking oak dresser. On the bright side, the place appears to be clean. 

“I should freshen up,” you say, taking off your shoes. Your hand slips out of Logan’s as you pad over to the bathroom with your bag. 

The bathroom isn’t horrible either. Dated, but clean. You brush your teeth and wash your face before undressing and searching for your pajamas in your bag—which, naturally, you forgot to pack. 

“Ah fuck,” You mutter louder than you meant to. 

You hear Logan stirring in the other room, his footsteps quickly approaching the door. “You okay?” You can sense the concern in his voice, and you can’t help but smile. 

“Yeah, just forgot to pack something to wear to bed.” There’s more shuffling on the other side of the door. You hear Logan’s bag zip. 

“You want my shirt?” He asks, standing just outside the door now. 

“I’d feel bad, then you—” Your protests are ignored as he opens the door just enough to toss his Calgary Flames t-shirt onto the bathroom sink, closing it tightly once the shirt lands. You smirk as you walk over to the shirt and put it on. The hem lands at the middle of your thighs. Logan really is massive, you think to yourself. 

You take a deep breath, slowly twist the knob of the bathroom door, and head outside. Logan is lounging on the chair next to the dresser, his eyes on you as you place your bag down on the floor at the foot of the bed. 

“Th-thanks for the…” You stutter, trailing off as you nod down to the shirt. 

Logan smirks as he pushes himself out of the chair and makes his way toward you. You think you see him take you in, look you up and down, but that can’t possibly be.

He shakes his head as he stops at your side. You swear you hear him mutter a low fuck under his breath. “You look good.” But he doesn’t stop for long. He pushes forward and into the bathroom. “I’ll sleep on the floor,” he mumbles as he shuts the door behind him. 

“Let’s just share the bed,” you shout back, unsure of where the confidence to say that came from. But there’s no response, just the running of water from the sink. 

You sit on the edge of the bed, waiting for what feels like forever, but Logan doesn’t take long at all. After a few minutes, you hear the sink shut off and the door creek open. 

You shake your head as you stand from the bed to face him. “By the way, you’re not sleeping on the floor, don’t be ridic—” You’re too stunned to say another word. You’ve seen Logan shirtless before, sure, but not like this. Not in just his boxers. Not in a room with him, alone, for an entire night. You need to relax, to calm down, but there’s nowhere else to go, and nothing else to look at. You know he can your heart beating out of your chest now. 

 He steps toward you, engulfing you with his presence. You stare up at him. “Am I really that scary?” He closes the distance between the two of you. 

You try to play dumb. “W-what are you talking about?”

“Every time I get close to you, that little heart of yours practically explodes.”

You swallow roughly. “I d-don’t know what you’re talking about, Logan.” But your shaky voice gives it away. You know exactly what he means. 

His arms snake around your waist, resting on your lower back. “Yeah, you do, darlin’,” he says. “You afraid of me or something?” God he is so fucking cocky, you think to yourself. 

“’M’not afraid of you,” you whisper. “Could never be afraid of you.” 

He smiles and walks you to the edge of the bed, your knees threatening to buckle under the pressure. “What is it then, hm? You like how big I am? That it?” Your eyes frantically search his face for some sort of excuse, some sort of denial. But he can read you like a book. “Yeah, I think that’s it.” He’s towering over you, caging you in. 

“It’s more than that,” you admit. 

He cocks his head to the side. “Oh yeah? What?” He won’t let that be enough—you know he won’t. He’ll tease it out of you. His presence is dizzying and distracting. You’re not even sure you can form another complete sentence. 

“I-it’s just you,” you finally choke out. 

But it’s not enough for him. “What about me?”

Everything, you want to say. You want to tell him how you feel. “Logan, I…” But you can’t. I’m not in love, that’s what you’ve been trying to convince yourself of for months.  

“Go on, say it. What’s got you going?” He tightens his grip around your waist, his thumbs rubbing gently along your back. He leans down, his lips brushing against your forehead. “Use your words, sweetheart.” 

Your eyes flutter shut, and you take a deep breath. He’s everything and he’s everywhere. He’s in your head and in your hands. You can smell the musk and the pine and a hint of mint and that extra thing that is just distinctly him. He’s warm and his breath ever-so-lightly tickles your ear as his forehead rests against yours. 

And then finally, it comes out.

“I want you, Lo.”

You open your eyes and immediately notice the change in his expression. That cocky grin is gone. He isn’t teasing anymore. This is something else. Want. No, stronger than that. Desire. Adoration. Longing. Like those four words undid something in him. Untangled some knot that had been there for far too long. Almost like he thought you maybe wouldn’t want this. That maybe someone wouldn’t want him. 

So, you say it again. “I want you, Logan.” 

He shuts his eyes. “Fuck.” 

And then he’s pushing you down onto the mattress. His lips find their way to yours, crashing like the world is about to end. You can feel his hunger, his desperation. He rests one hand next to your head for balance and slips his free hand underneath the shirt he lent you. He’s exploring the curves of your body, the dips and turns, eventually pulling the shirt up and over your head. 

He comes up for air as his fingers play with the clasp of your bra. You watch his Adam’s apple bob in his throat. “This okay?” He asks, waiting for your approval. You nod and the hooks are immediately undone. You arch your back so he can slip the bra off. “Fuck, pretty girl,” he mumbles. “You’re so fucking beautiful.” 

His hands find their way to your chest, his thumbs brushing over your nipples, teasing you, pinching lightly. 

“Lo, please. Need you,” is all you can say. 

He trails a line of kisses down your jaw, your neck, your collarbone, the center of your chest, his mouth traveling achingly slowly until finally landing on one of your tits. He kisses your nipple before taking it into his mouth, biting lightly and licking the hurt away. 

“Please,” you beg again. 

He comes up for a moment. “Please what?” He asks before moving on to the other side. 

“Need you so bad,” You whimper. But he doesn’t stop. “N-need you to touch me.”

He pauses again. “Think I’m already doing that, darlin’. Gonna have to be more specific.” 

“Fuck me, please.”  

He shakes his head. “Wanna make you feel good first, pretty girl.” 

You sit up a bit, ready to protest. “But you are. You’re making me feel so—” You’re cut off by the sight of him staring up at you as he trails kisses down your stomach, stopping at the top of your panties. He grabs your hips and pushes you further into the center of the bed. His fingers slip under the hem of your panties, waiting for your approval. You nod, and he practically tears them right off you. 

Logan kisses the inside of your thigh, slowly charting a path toward your core, his thumb tracing circles on the other thigh. You’re already squirming under his touch. “Lo,” You whimper. “Please—Fuck!” Without warning, his tongue licks a long stripe up your folds to your clit. His lips lock around it, sucking softly, his fingers suddenly teasing your entrance before slipping a finger inside.

“So tight darlin’. Gonna feel so good,” he mumbles against you, the vibrations of his deep voice sending a jolt up your spine. 

He’s taking his time, tasting you, savoring you. His tongue laps at your cunt, licking slow circles as his finger pumps in and out. You need more.

“Lo,” You call out, your back arching in pleasure. But he doesn’t answer. He keeps going as if he’s gotten lost in you, as if there’s nothing that can possibly be said to bring him back. “Lo, please,” you moan again. 

He chuckles against your core. “Please what, pretty girl?” He mumbles. You can feel his smirk against you.

“M-more,” you beg. You can feel his smirk grow wider as his motions stall. “No don’t stop, please don’t stop.” 

He looks up at you, his finger buried deep inside your cunt, his lips just inches from your clit. “Wanna take my time with you, darlin’.”

“Y-you c-can,” You stutter. “W-whatever you want. Just need more.”

“More?” He repeats, arrogantly tilting his head. Your breath catches in your throat at the sight. 

“Yes, please.” But you know by the look in his eyes that you’re getting more than you bargained for. 

He adds another finger, pumping in and out faster than before. His lips latch onto your clit, sucking roughly. It’s overwhelming, and you know he isn’t going to let up. His tongue draws circles around your core, flicking harshly before ruthlessly sucking again. You can feel a third finger prodding your entrance before slipping in and stretching you out. 

“This what you wanted?” He teases.

“Lo, I—” It’s too much, you can’t speak. 

“I’ve got you darlin’. I’m right here. You’re doing so good for me.” His words by themselves practically send you over the edge. 

“’M’so close Logan,” You whimper, spurring him on. His pace quickens; his circles become harder. You can feel your walls tightening around his fingers. 

“I know, pretty girl. Wanna feel you come on my fingers. Can you do that for me?” 

You can’t even speak anymore. All you can manage is a hum that passes for an affirmative. He pumps in and out of you, still alternating between sucking your clit and circling it with his tongue. 

“Look so beautiful like this darlin’. So fucking beautiful,” He husks. And that’s all it takes to make that liquid heat, that tension building in the bottom of your stomach, cut like a knife, pouring out of you. Your vision blurs as you let yourself go. You chant his name like it’s a prayer, a spell, something otherworldly. He finally slows down, letting you ride out your orgasm. 

He pulls out and away from you, crawling up your body so that he’s on top of you. He’s absolutely huge; his arms rest next to your head, caging you in. “You alright sweetheart?” He asks, one hand coming up to cup your cheek as he presses a chaste kiss against your forehead. 

“Hm,” You hum. “Like you like this.”

There’s that cocky smirk again. “Like what?”

“O-on top of me,” You admit freely now. Your arms come up to wrap around his shoulders, but he quickly pins them above your head.

He smiles widely, his forehead coming down to rest on yours. You can feel his erection press against your core through his boxers. And—fuck—he’s big. “Gonna fuck you like this then, okay pretty girl?”

“P-please,” you stutter. 

He sits up, pulling his boxers down, revealing just how big he is. You swallow harshly, sitting up and watching as he casts his boxers to the side. He doesn’t let you watch for long. He pins you down again, one hand keeping your hands above your head and supporting his weight, while the other guides his cock to your entrance. His slides against your folds before slowly sinking inside you. You can’t help but arch your back to meet his chest. 

Everything is slow. He’s taking his time again, letting himself feel every inch of you, giving you the chance to adjust to the size of him. His free hand reaches in between your bodies and finds your clit, drawing slow, gentle circles. 

His forehead rests against yours as he thrusts into you. “Wanted this for so long,” he confesses, his thrusts growing faster. “Always wanted you, darlin’.” You can feel your heart burst in your chest as his lips meet yours. You can feel his hunger, his desire. 

“Wanted you too,” You whisper against his lips between kisses. 

His cock rubs against your walls, hitting that sweet spot every single time. He’s massive, stretching you out with each pump. He builds speed, his thrusts growing rougher as his fingers circle your clit faster. 

He whispers praises in your ear. “You feel so good, pretty girl. So fucking tight. Need you, darlin’. Always.” 

Always. 

It’s all too much. The words, the vulnerability, the feeling of him rutting into you with no end in sight. The promise of something else, something more. 

“Logan, I’m gonna…” You trail off, your walls tightening around him. It’s all so overwhelming. But if you’re being honest, you never want it to end. This. This feeling. Him inside you. Him around you. 

He curses under his breath, his thrusts becoming sloppier and faster as he chases his orgasm. “I know darlin’. Wanna feel you come on my cock.” He keeps his fingers steady on your clit, circling roughly, chasing your orgasm too. 

“Lo,” You mumble. “It’s so good. Y-you’re so good, so b-beautiful.” You’re a bumbling mess, but you want him to feel good too, to know what he’s doing to you, to know that he deserves this. Deserves to be wanted. 

You feel wetness on his cheeks as he buries his face into the crook of your neck. “Always wanted you,” he whispers again against the shell of your ear. “Always gonna want you.” 

The tension snaps, and you feel blaring white heat ripple through your body. Logan somehow buries himself deeper inside you as you come, your walls squeezing him tighter. 

“F-fuck,” he groans. “Where do you want—”

You cut him off this time. “Inside, please,” you pant. “Safe.” He curses under his breath and calls out your name as he fills you up. 

“So perfect,” he whispers. “So fucking perfect.”

His thrusts slow down as he finishes, and he slowly pulls out of you. But he doesn’t pull away. He keeps you close, moving you both towards the headboard. It takes a minute, but he manages to keep you close to his chest as he undoes the covers and gets you both inside them. 

Logan holds you tightly, peppering kisses against your temples every now and then. 

He’s the first to speak. “When I said always…” He trails off. You brace yourself for the worst. It was just the heat of the moment, bub. ‘M’sorry I said it. This shouldn’t happen again. It was a one-time thing and I—

“I meant it.”

You look up at him, eyes wide. He smiles. But it’s not that cocky smile, not that self-satisfied shit-eating grin. It’s that other thing again. Longing. 

“I meant it, too.” 

tags: @cypherpt5fttaehyung

[rithalie-sideblog]

“Tell me I’m wrong”

Reagan picks her head up from where she’s been slouching over in the helicopter seat, scrunching her eyes up at her husband. It’s been a rough week, hell, a rough two months that led up to this moment. She isn’t exactly in the mood for a guessing game.

“You have five seconds to specify, or I swear Staedtler…”

“Tell me that the fucking epicenter of the Anomaly is not in Gravity Falls.”

Reagan blinks, tired and confused. She looks at Brett, peering over Ron’s shoulder from where he’s seated next to the man.

“Um, pretty sure it is, handsome. At least it was the last time I checked.” Brett takes the tablet from Ron’s hands. Reagan can’t help but notice they’re shaking slightly.

“Yup, Gravity Falls. Little town, a few incidents in the past with time travel, some Bigfoot sightings. Nothing big until today.” even Brett’s smile looks strained as he chuckles humorlessly. “A perfect place to open a door to the other dimension and unleash the apocalypse. When, exactly, is the cavalry coming?”

“We are the cavalry,” Reagan pats the box with her newest invention affectionately and tries not to yawn. “This baby can close any rift as soon as we come in contact with it. I know, I’ve done it before. How far are we from the town again?”

She strains her neck to see their screen and Brett, sweet, helpful Brett, unbuckles from his seat and tries to handle it to her. The machine picks that exact moment to swerve violently, making him stumble. Ron and Reagan’s hands reach out at the same time, holding him in place. He smiles at them.

Good, although an untimely metaphor for their relationship, Reagan thinks blearily.

“Sit down before you hurt yourself, you dumbass” she huffs as she buckles him in next to her.

Brett smiles as she checks for stuck straps next to his head and sneaks in a kiss to the back of her hand. Reagan blushes. It’s been a long summer.

“Reagan.”

Ron’s voice is strained, and she looks at him confused. What they and Brett have has been talked over quite thoroughly this summer, not to mention the years before, when he first found them. They wore different names then and had no idea who they were, but still he managed to sneak into their lives and stay there for years. As a friend and someone more. Ron had no reason to act strange.

Still, her husband looked ill, much unlike himself. His hands did not stop shaking.

“Gravity Falls, Reagan. The portal opened in Gravity Falls.”

“The name does ring a bell. Did we ever have a mission there or something?”

Brett shakes his head, equally oblivious. And suddenly he stops mid-movement, snapping his head up to Ron.

“Wait, isn’t that the place you chose to… To…” he shoots a look at Reagan, his eyes wide.

“The kids.” Ron says finally, and Reagan straightens out in her seat like a soldier with a new order, with laser-like focus finally on her husband.

“Reagan, we send the kids to Gravity Falls for the summer.”

For a moment, no one says a word. And then Reagan inhales, long and strained and focused, and lets out a string of curses so vile that they make Brett shrivel up in his seat and even Ron wince violently. She gets up from her seat despite the men’s outcries and marches over to the cockpit, unfazed by the machine swaying. A few seconds later they hear a yelp as the pilot gets knocked out of the compartment, sliding on the floor until Brett helps him buckle in one of the seats. The helicopter lurches violently and seems to gain speed, as Reagan milks the machine for all it’s worth.

Brett’s terrified gaze meets Ron’s wide eyes, but neither says anything.

The ride takes forever, in Reagan’s humble opinion.

Kids. Their kids! How could she forget? Sure, she’s been quite busy at the end of the school year, with her father coming back into her life with a goddamn red-taped manila folder and a mission to save the world. He burst into their tiny flat in the city, complaining about them moving from the countryside to make his search for them more difficult, and with panicked Brett on his heels. Who just kept apologizing. She didn’t understand then, so she sent her kids to school for the last day of the year. She called her husband to come home and made some tea for the man who claimed to be her father, and she waited for it all to make sense.

And, to her unspeakable horror, it did make sense.

Before the kids got back from school she and Ron had their old memories back, their suitcases packed and there was an imprint of Reagan’s hands on Randall’s scrawny neck. How dare he? How dare he come into her life again, step into her home, into her safe space with fucking Cognito business in his hands? How dare he say hello to her kids as they passed, when she worked so damn hard to keep him and her whole complicated past life away from them? Ron and Brett had to restrain her before she did the unthinkable, and then they forced her to help cover Brett’s resulting black eye with make-up before the kids came back.

She apologized, but remained angry, fuming in the bathroom while applying her best foundation on the man. Brett kept apologizing for them being found over and over again until she forced his mouth shut with a kiss. Not his fault, she said to him as he recovered, then short-circuited again as Ron pressed another kiss to his hair. It’s not Brett’s fault her father is an asshole who can not survive one measly apocalypse-like event without his daughter.

When the kids came back, they had their suitcases ready, too. They were confused, as uncle Brett offered to ride them to the bus station for “the best summer adventure of their lives”. They talked about it last month, right? Ron’s family owning a house in the countryside? About a mysterious uncle they found through old records? They found him as the kids dug around for family information for the heritage day at school. He seemed nice! It will be so much fun!

Reagan tried to not look guilty as she kissed her son’s forehead, murmuring promises about meeting them soon. He didn’t quite buy it, looking up at her from behind his bangs with that quizzical look she sometimes saw in the mirror, and it almost broke her heart. It took his father’s bent knee and a promise to believe them before he finally agreed to go. Their daughter took less convincing, happy to experience an adventure. She took after Brett in that way, always ready for new things and optimistic about the future, like Ron. She kissed her and her dad goodbye as Ron chuckled and ruffled her hair, and Reagan was ready to murder her father all over again.

As Brett walked out of the house with the kids, the girl riding on his shoulders happily and the boy dragging his feet a little, Reagan sent Ron a desperate look. He responded in kind. They would deal with things and come back to this, as soon as possible.

They did not come back soon.

It took a whole summer to get things back on track. Between the apocalypse, the after effects, the clean-up, the dimensional ripples and a bunch of necessary memory alteration, Reagan lost track of time. She meant to do a more thorough check on this “Stanford” person after she got her memories back. The first one showed no signs of trouble, but you never know! He isn’t even related to them! Who knows what he could do! She meant to call her kids and check.

None of them did.

And now they paid the price as, somehow, the biggest apocalyptic event of the decade has happened right in the middle of Gravity Falls.

They’ve kept getting some weird readings throughout the whole summer but no one could exactly spare their attention enough to check. It’s always been someone else, some other branch, that took care of this particular town. Now that she thinks of that time, neither Ron nor Brett ever even caught wind of the name of the weird town, too exhausted every day after yet another unseen complications. They were out of practice in dealing with the workload and it showed. They collapsed against each other every night, husband, wife and more often than not, Brett, for a well-deserved rest.

Well, it’s not like Reagan thought that rest deserved now. They should have checked on the kids, they should have called, they should have gone to see them, they should have checked on them at least once instead of waiting for them to call!

She speeds up again, glad that she’s alone in the cockpit, as tears of frustration and worry slip down her cheeks. Reagan never prays, and yet right now she begs every force in the universe for her kids to be alright.

———

They find the town leveled down. They find the rubble and the jarred remains of buildings and people, and Reagan’s heart stops before she remembers how to breathe again. The apocalypse site is still far away, but they can already see the reason for the disaster. There’s a giant, purplish and orangish cross in the sky, like reality itself was carved out with a slicing weapon. Under it floats a dark pyramid, and Reagan instinctively sets her course to reach it until she feels someone stop her hand.

Ron looks over her shoulder, tense but focused as he rattles out an address for the house where their kids are supposed to be. He moves to put the coordinates into the helicopter's GPS too, and soon a red dot start’s blinking at them, still too far away. Reagan dutifully adjusts her course, ignoring the people screaming for help down below. Something unsticks itself from the ground below them, reaching for the helicopter with slimy tentacles but Reagan swerves and skillfully lets the appendages meet the business end of the helicopter blades. The only praise she gets is Ron’s hand squeezing her shoulder, but she gets it. There’s no time for putting on a show.

Brett appears on her other side, his eyes wild and scared but his mouth set in a determined line. He holds a weapon out to Ron who takes it, and tucks one into Reagan’s belt, not peeling his eyes away from the wreckage of what’s left of the safe and unassuming town they send their kids to.

The GPS blinks and suddenly goes out, and so does half the lights on the board. Brett’s cry drowns in the sudden noise that fills their ears. The helicopter stops in the air and then starts falling, slowly, like gravity itself malfunctions.

Ron curses and kicks the board to try and force it back on, but Reagan stops him. She points to the anomaly. The black pyramid starts to unravel before their very eyes, brick after brick being sucked into the portal. The rumble is deafening. The last brick being sucked in marks the beginning of the exodus. All the unspeakable horrors fly past them and back into the rift one by one, some of them grinning at the people stuck in the slowly falling machine. The tear slowly closes, the fabric of reality knitting itself back together.

And then, like someone flicked a switch, there’s a sudden blink in the sky. It explodes in the array of pinkish light, covering the Gravity Falls in a gradual swoop. Whenever the light touches, buildings snap back to looking perfectly fine, people are reappearing, some lingering creatures disappear without fanfare. It’s… a perfect clean-up, Reagan can’t help but wonder, and she lets a flicker of hope take hold as she sees injured people standing up, perfectly fine once again.

The light reaches the helicopter and pushes it back, as if sensing they’re not from here. It sends the machine flying, barreling through the air and now all three of them swear, as Reagan grabs the steering wheel and pulls with all her might. She will not die before checking on their kids, thank you very much

———

It takes them another hour to locate the address again, what with the scrambled GPS and the steering system almost ripped out of its base by panicking Reagan.

The lone shack sits in the middle of the woods, way too close to where the pyramid has been. Reagan lands the machine in the clearing, and Brett is out the door before she can call for it. She unbuckles and runs after him, but Ron stops her. He silently wipes the tear stains from her cheeks with his thumbs and tries unsuccessfully to wipe the blood from her chin, before pushing a gun into her hands and letting her through, hot on her heels himself.

The clearing is full of people in various states. Ruffled clothes, tired looks and various scraps and bruises litter the crowd. She can’t see her kids anywhere. Brett is arguing with someone, she realizes. Some big and well-dressed man, who looks like he’s been to hell and crawled back on his hands and knees. His suit is torn, he has a weird hat that keeps falling off, and a pair of broken glasses on his nose. He keeps shouting at them about the government finally taking a damn clue, and trying to shoo them off his front lawn at the same time. He looks ready to brawl, all fists and scowls, but Reagan barely listens, eyes jumping from one weird person to another, all crowded around the front steps of the shack.

Survivors, she mentally categorizes. Aggressive, she notes, as they send her dark looks and she grabs her weapon tighter.

“Stanford.” Ron’s voice carries, when he wants it to.

The old man stops in his tracks and blinks at the gun aimed between his eyebrows. Brett jumps away, reaching for his own gun. People in the back start shouting and Reagan almost automatically picks up and aims her weapon at the biggest threat she can see, a big man with a red beard and an axe in hand. She can see Brett pick aim too, though she’s sure his weapon is only set to stun. The crowd stops and falls silent, tense as Ron steps forward, commanding the area with his clear threat.

“Stanford Pines” Ron all but growls, his weapon’s buzzing getting louder as it charges, a clear threat. “Where. Are. Our. Kids?”

Reagan can hear murmurs from the crowd as she powers up her own weapon. They didn’t get over the plan, there was no plan once she rushed to the cockpit, but she knows her husband. He may be the sweetest man around every day for a lifetime, but he was also the man who planned to uproot their entire lives and reimagine himself a thousand times over if it meant saving the one he loved. And he did. And now he has more people to love than he ever did, but this need to protect? To save? It multiplied. The threat he poses to Stanford is real.

And neither her nor Brett will stop him.

The old man seems to realize it too because he freezes in spot, eyes wide and jumping from Ron to Brett and finally to Reagan. He gulps, and works his jaw nervously but doesn’t say anything, furrowing his brows in determination. Ron tenses and Reagan can only hope his gun is also on stun when…

“Dad?”

The crowd murmurs and undulates as if keeping something in it, but Ron’s attention immediately jumps to them as he calls out for his son.

And then Dipper, their brave little boy, forces his way from between someone’s knees and stops short at the sight before him. At the sight of his wild-eyed parents and his uncle holding people at gunpoint, ragged and bloodied from their tumble in the helicopter.

“Dad? Is that you? What’s going on?” he calls out again, clearly scared, and Ron immediately drops his weapon. The gun doesn’t even stop powering down before he is at his knees before Dipper, throwing his arms around him in a fierce hug. Dipper holds him close too, his eyes watering and burrowing his face in his suit jacket. He claimed he was too old to cry in their arms just four months ago. Whatever happened here must have scared him. Brett tenses and risks a look at Reagan as she grinds her teeth, never taking her eyes away from her target. He follows suit.

“Uncle Brett?” Mabel whispers, way too quietly for their exuberant little girl, as she is also freed from the crowd.

Reagan hears more than sees Brett’s breath hitch as he immediately chucks his weapon away to run towards the girl. He picks her up and cradles her close to his chest, whispering assurance and crying more than she does as she clings to him like a monkey. Ron frees a hand and pulls them both down to him, trying to cuddle around all three of them. They’re all crying now, quietly sniffling, betrayed by the way Ron’s shoulders tremble.

Reagan stands, frozen. She took a lot of damage when she managed to set the helicopter straight. Her nose is broken, her hands are scraped, and she thinks she may have a concussion from how violently her head snapped around in the cockpit. She decided to wear black today, much unlike the mother the kids know. She knows she looks nothing like what they’re used to.

With the helicopter at her back, she can stay invisible for a moment longer, gun still aimed at the potential threat. But she can also see the change in the group, a loosening of tension.

Stanford’s shoulders slowly fall back as he stares dumbly at the gun at his feet, then at Ron and Brett’s backs. Defenseless, something in Reagan’s head hisses violently and, she trains her gun at the old man instantly.

But the man seems to be lost in thoughts. He looks almost… forlorn at the scene. Suddenly he picks up a hand to wipe at his own eyes, as Reagan realizes that the fight might be over. She slowly lowers her gun, which finally earns her a look from Stanford.

He takes her in, in all of her battered glory, with the death in her eyes and blood trickling down her chin. She sticks it out at him, and bares her teeth, more than ready for another challenge. Deep down, she just wants to take her kids and go home.

“Mom, huh?” Stanford asks, humorlessly, “I see where they got that fight from.”

He says it too loud. It seems like all the group’s attention suddenly focuses on her, and Reagan wants to snarl at them all over again and tell them to back off. But that’s also when her kids pick their heads up and start to look for her from her lovers’ protective circle of arms.

Dipper, her brilliant, smart little genius, finds her first.

“Mom?” he asks, hopeful, a little unsure, as if Reagan is just a mirage, or something he can barely believe in.

She can’t help it. She steps forward, into the light, finally lowering her gun, and he gasps.

“Mom! Mom, what happened, are you alright? Mom!”

“Mom!” Mabel cries out, her sunshine given human form, and Reagan feels her knees buckle as she finally crumples under the relief that her kids are safe.

Ron and Brett cry out too, alarmed, but she waves her hand at them as Dipper and Mabel force themselves free and run to her. She wipes blood from her teeth and smiles and spreads her arms just in time to catch them. They look scratched and a little bruised, but they are alive and in one piece and Reagan thanks all the powers she can. They wiggle in her hold, concerned with their mom’s state, until she pulls them even closer and starts leaving kisses on both of their heads and murmuring into their hair.

“You’re safe” she keeps repeating “You’re safe, I’m here, We’re here. I’m fine. You did so good. You’re safe. You will never have to survive something like that again. I will make sure of it.”

Reagan bares her teeth as she spots someone approaching, half-feral now that she has her kids in her arms again, but it’s just Ron. Her husband puts his arms around all of them carefully, like they’re made of glass. Reagan thinks she may be. She looks for the last part of their little jig-saw family and spots Brett walking over, still sniffling, although he looks more put together than she feels.

“Some summer adventure, right kiddos?” he jokes, stopping by them and cracking his back like an old man.

Mabel whacks a hand at his leg, choking out a chuckle, and he laughs, ruffling her hair. He will join them in a moment. For now, he has a clean-up to do.

“Sorry for the scare” he says quietly to Stanford, who looks like he clearly has no fight left in him. “Got a little overprotective - Family bonds and all that, you know?”

“My brother erased his whole identity to stop the Apocalypse.” Stanford says, flatly.

Tough crowd, Brett thinks. But if there’s anything he is good at, it’s at solving people’s problems for them. And Mabel whispered to him to take it easy on the guy. So Brett will do what he does best.

“I think,” says Brett, clapping the man on the arm, “that it's something Cognito Inc. can help you with, if you let us.”

[fanfictionstuff]

The Forbidden Taste of You (28)

Amaimon x reader. AO3 friendorfoe22

“Anyway, nice talk. We have class soon.” You stand, grabbing the plastic plates. You toss them in a trash can nearby, reaching for Amaimon to pull him back to class.

Katashi bristles at your words. “What? You can’t just say that and walk away! Are you being literal or metaphorical?” There’s no way that man could be an angel in either sense. He attempts to grab you, but Amaimon is faster, grabbing his wrist. With a loud crack, Katashi winces in pain. 

“Never touch my mate.”

Katashi freezes at the threat, his eyes widening in shock, and he feels an intense fear of Amaimon. Even when he realized that Ambrosius was, in fact, Amaimon, he didn’t experience this level of fear. This profound fear is unfamiliar to him, and for the first time, he truly fears Amaimon. It’s the first time Amaimon has shown deadly intent towards him.

Amaimon releases the human’s wrist, and Katashi instinctively pulls it to his chest, careful to avoid any contact. “Mate?" he asks. Then, his eyes catch a mark on Amaimon’s throat, still visible even in his Ambrosius form. Over time, Katashi has come across less common lore, suggesting that some high-ranked demons might select a mate and leave a mark, though this seems quite rare. His attention shifts to your throat; despite your collar obscuring it, he notices a similar mark as he watches you closely. “_____,” he questions, his voice laced with despair. “What have you done?” 

“We’re really going to be late if we don’t get going.”

A nauseating sensation twists in his stomach as he observes Amaimon being pulled back to school by you.

“_____, why would you tell him?” Amaimon asks, intertwining his fingers with yours.

“I didn’t plan to,” you confess, staring at the cracks. “I didn’t expect to run into Katashi, and honestly, I was being spiteful towards my parents. I’m really frustrated with them, and I thought Mom would try to hide this from Katashi for as long as possible.” You lightly squeeze his hand. “So far, Katashi is the only person who hasn’t deceived me. Now that he knows, maybe he can ask Mom some questions, and I can learn more from him.”   

You feel exhausted and dislike school. Next to you, Amaimon is struggling too. He can't handle the work and constantly seeks your attention; if you refuse, he has no problem tossing your books into the trash. You thought staying after class would let you finish your homework peacefully, assuming Amaimon would quietly sulk beside you. But that wasn’t the case. He didn’t care about being discreet and loudly complained about your neglect. You tried to request he be quiet and sit next to you, even if he ended up draping himself over you. However, after eight hours, he had reached his limit, and when his complaints and tugging at you drew attention, you quickly stood up and shoved everything into your school bag.

“Um, what are you doing?” You sigh as Amaimon nestles his face against your neck, pulling you onto a nearby bench. “I’ve told you again and again that this isn’t appropriate.” You protest, running your fingers through his hair, trying to distance him from the mark. Ever since he claimed you as his mate, he’s become increasingly clingy, leaving you confused about his behavior. You never anticipated his attachment would intensify, yet here you find him—almost sitting in your lap now. “I have so much schoolwork to catch up on.” You exhale in frustration, attempting to gently push him away.

When you lock eyes with him, it’s clear your words are brushed aside; he’s completely tuned out. “Amaimon?” He places his right hand on the back of your head, gripping your hair firmly. “Ow, what—” You try to ask, but your question gets cut off as his lips press against yours, his warm tongue diving past your lips to explore. You bite down on his tongue, eliciting a groan as he pulls back, his expression showing displeasure. “Amaimon, I need to concentrate. I have to finish this year of high school. Finish high school, then attend a university far away from everyone and their bullshit, remember?” 

"We can use money from Big Brother.” He doesn’t want you to go to university. University is more education, but it's also more challenging. It will distance you from him even further. He has already looked into it. He won't be able to share classes with you, meaning you'll be apart for a significant time. "You won't need to work.”

“Amaimon, you can't be sure if Mephisto will give us the money to leave. Pretty sure he’d rather you stay nearby; he brought you to Assiah for a reason.” You try to convince him.

"I have a phone and the key of eternity. There's no need for me to remain here. After earning a degree, you're not going to find employment, so why spend time on it?”

"You know by now that living in Assiah requires money. And money comes from having a job."

“You’re my mate; you’ll stay with me.”

"Okay then," you respond. Continuing the argument feels futile; he probably won’t change his opinion, and you have a few months left to sort things out.

A text helps turn the conversation. "Shiemi wants to go out this weekend." You grin at the message, “You’re not third-wheeling this time. If you really want to come, I’ll have Shiemi invite Rin." You give the demon king a smug look. It’s finally girl time. Amaimon gives you an annoyed glance before burying his face in your neck again. 

Bright blue eyes meet yours as the energetic teen nearly bounces in his seat. "Thanks for the invite! It's great to see you again." 

You underestimated what Amaimon would deal with to be by your side. 

"It's great to see you too! I'm happy we could set up this double date." Both Rin and Shiemi blush a deep red at the comment. 

"D-date?" Poor Shiemi looks like she might burst with anxiety. "I need to use the bathroom!" she suddenly declares, springing up. "Hold on, Shiemi." You turn to Amaimon and lower your voice. "Do NOT harm Rin or reveal your true identity to him. If you do, I won’t talk to you for a week."

"You can't stay away from me that long." 

"Really? I think my dad would know a few ways." 

Amaimon huffs in annoyance, the sound escaping him like a low growl. He refocuses on his plate, eating his cake while ignoring Rin. 

"Hey, I think we got off on the wrong foot." Rin attempts to start a conversation. Even though he abandoned _____ after a demon attacked her. "Maybe we can be friends?"

"No." 

"What?" 

"I don't want to be friends with you. I don't like you." 

Rin stares at Ambrosius in disbelief; why wouldn't he like him? He hasn't done anything to him. If anything, Rin should be the one who doesn’t like Ambrosius! He’s still pissed that Ambrosius that left you in that state a few weeks ago. Still, he continues. "Come on, do you even have friends?" 

"I have ____," Amaimon answers bluntly.

A determined look crosses Rin's face. "Listen, I know how it is. Before I came to True Cross, I only had one person, too - my younger brother Yukio. Now my brother and I have a lot of friends." 

"I don't want friends," Amaimon replies bluntly.

"Everyone needs friends," Rin declares loudly, catching the attention of the few other patrons in the cafe. 

Amaimon clicks his tongue in annoyance as he glances at the bathroom. He promised not to harm Rin Okumura, but if his younger brother doesn’t shut up, Amaimon might just risk your anger.

You watch as Shiemi scrubbed her hands yet again with soap. "I think your hands are clean enough now," you tease, trying to lighten the mood. "Are you alright? I was just joking about it being a date." You gently guide her away from the sink before she can get more soap. "Let's go back to the others; I don't want Ambrosius left alone with Rin."

“Why not?”

“Ambrosius isn’t a social person; Rin is probably trying to have a conversation with him. I don’t want Ambrosius to get angry.”

Shiemi glances at you with a mixture of concern and confusion in her eyes.

"But Ambrosius seems nice. Maybe Rin can help him open up a bit," she suggests optimistically.

You frown at her optimism, knowing more about Amaimon's real character. "Trust me, it's better if Ambrosius keeps to himself. He can be... difficult at times."

You and Shiemi head back to the table, where Rin appears to be having a one-sided conversation with Amaimon. Rin's ongoing efforts to befriend him seem to fall on deaf ears.

As you approach, Rin spots your return and turns his attention to you, a relieved smile spreading across his face. "Hey, welcome back! I’ve been trying to get to know Ambrosius better. I thought it would be nice for the four of us to hang out more often.”

“No.” Amaimon tugs you onto the bench with him. 

“Come on, I really think this will be fun,” Rin urges, undeterred by Amaimon’s dismissive attitude. His determination to befriend Amaimon is surprisingly strong.

On the other hand, Amaimon remains stoic, his golden eyes narrowing slightly. “I have no interest in being your friend, Okumura.” 

Rin frowns yet remains determined. “I get it; you're not a people person. But we should at least attempt to get along. You might as well befriend ______’s other friends, right?” He gestures towards you, trying to appeal to Amaimon's gentler side.

It backfires. With a possessive grip around your waist, Amaimon leans in closer; his voice laced with a warning. "_______ is mine. Stay away from her, Okumura."

"I understand that you’re concerned about ___," Rin says thoughtfully, selecting his words to avoid upsetting the teenager across from him. "However, she is her own person. She has the right to choose who she spends her time."

Amaimon's expression darkens, a dangerous glint entering his golden eyes. "She has chosen me," he declares firmly, his possessiveness thick in the air.

You let out a sigh, choosing to ignore their petty argument. Instead, you turn your attention to Shiemi. "So, how have you been? How is your training going?" Her face brightens at the change of topic. "It's going well! I'm working hard, and I really enjoy the cram school. I wish you would join me!"

After hearing Shiemi mention your attendance at cram school, Amaimon tightens his grip on you. You refrain from rolling your eyes. “Eh, the idea of becoming an exorcist and chasing demons doesn't interest me, but I enjoy hearing about your progress in training."

As Shiemi expresses her excitement for the exorcist training, you notice Amaimon's grip around your waist tightening intermittently. It's evident he is growing more possessive and unsettled by the conversation. Sensing his unease, you opt to shift the topic in an attempt to diffuse the tension. 

"Shiemi, have you been to the new herbal tea shop downtown? I’ve heard they have really unique blends," you suggest, trying to steer the conversation away from exorcist training. 

Shiemi's eyes light up with interest. "Oh, I haven't! That sounds lovely. Maybe we could all go together sometime," she proposes, glancing at Rin and Amaimon. 

Amaimon's expression darkens at the idea of you spending more time around Rin. “No.” 

Shiemi blinks in surprise. “Oh, you don’t like tea? Then maybe just the three of us?” She glances between you and Rin, unknowingly infuriating the demon king across from her. 

Oblivious to Amaimon's simmering anger, Rin smiles warmly at Shiemi's suggestion. "That sounds great! I'd love to try some new tea blends with you guys. When should we go?” 

You're thankful that Amaimon hasn't lost control, but you have a sinking feeling that staying in this situation could lead to him hurting Rin and those nearby. "That sounds like a sweet date idea!" you say, smiling at them across the table. Meanwhile, you divert Amaimon's attention from Rin by feeding him cake. 

Pulling the fork from his mouth, you notice a smear of dark chocolate icing on his lower lip. Without thinking, you instinctively reach out to brush it away. His lips part slightly in response, surprising you as he takes your thumb into his warm, wet mouth. With gentle sweeps of his tongue, he removes the chocolate that you had so kindly removed from his lip. 

“Everyone can see us!” Your eyes widen, and your face flushes with embarrassment at his bold move. Rin and Shiemi share the same shocked expressions, stunned by his bold actions. 

Amaimon's gaze remains locked with yours, unyielding and intense, as if daring anyone to challenge his actions. Despite the shocked silence that has fallen over your group, Amaimon's expression remains unreadable, his golden eyes burning into yours. 

Rin clears his throat uncomfortably, attempting to ease the tense atmosphere. "Um, Ambrosius... maybe don’t do that in public," he suggests hesitantly, his discomfort evident in his voice. 

Amaimon finally releases your thumb from his mouth, “Why?” The possessive gleam in his golden eyes intensifies as he leans in even closer to you. “_____ is mine; I’ll do whatever I want.” 

Rin shifts uncomfortably in his seat, exchanging a nervous glance with Shiemi. The tension in the air is palpable, charged with an unspoken challenge between the two. Despite the group's unease, Amaimon seems unfazed by their reactions.

Irritated, you pinch his hip. “Stop it. I swear, you’re like a damn swan.” As you run your fingers through his hair, you playfully tug and shake his head. Amaimon lets you continue but gives you a curious look. “Swan?” 

Shiemi tilts her head in confusion. “Um, ______, what do you mean he’s like a swan?” 

“Swans can be aggressive, especially when it comes to their mates." Rin nods in understanding. “Oh, you’re right; a swan attacked me when I was a kid. They can be really nasty."

Amaimon simply shrugs, unaffected by your comparison. You let go of his head and place your arm around his shoulder. “Well, my swan mate," you say with sarcasm, "let's finish this cake, and then we can go.” The demon king leans into your embrace, his previous hostility fading as he allows you to give him orders. With the tension lifting, Rin and Shiemi share relieved glances at the de-escalation of the situation.

As he finishes the last bite of cake, Amaimon suddenly stands up, tugging you along. "Let's go," he says sharply, making it clear there’s no room for debate. “Damn it, Ambrosius.” Not in the mood to argue, you quickly turn to the other two. “Sorry, he’s exhausted from all the schoolwork he needs to catch up on. We’ve both got a ton to catch up.”

Rin quickly looks at Amaimon before leaning closer to you, “Are you okay?" 

His concerns are clear, and you quickly attempt to address them. “Rin, he’s just really antisocial and can be a pain in the ass to others when he’s in a bad mood." Rin’s voice lowers to a faint whisper. "If you need any help, just let me know." Amaimon definitely heard that. Without giving the demon king time to respond, you stand up straight and pull him by his jacket collar. "Thanks, Rin. Shiemi, text me later." You lean down to hug Shiemi goodbye before leading Amaimon out of the restaurant as Shiemi bids farewell to both of you. As you step in the doorway, you lift your arm and wave. “Bye, Katashi." Shiemi and Rin both look over to see a man sinking into his chair, pulling his cap down to avoid eye contact.

Rin scowls at the table, his fist clenched with frustration. “I don’t trust him,” he snaps, startling Shiemi. “What do you mean?” 

“Can’t you see how toxic he is? I don’t trust him with ______.” 

“He loves her a lot.” She responds with a gentle smile. “He may not be kind to us, but he is always kind and caring toward her. Who knows? Maybe one day Ambrosius will want to be friends with us too?”

Notes:

Googling animals that will attack for their mate. Swans were the first thing that popped in my mind, but I wanted to google anyway—decided to stay with the swans. Let's hope for more Amaimon fics with him being in this season 🤞

[rreskk]

Trevor and his s/o in his truck to go back home but she can't stop teasing him. They finished by fucking in his car

---A/N: Aaaannnnndddd another one bites the dust! Sorry if it lacks clarity, I've been studying for exams LMFAO

Summary: Road trip turns into a sexual road break? Yes, AND YES.

TW: Smut

“Staying over at mine tonight?” Trevor asked as he drove through the nightly streams of stars and clouds.

“Yeah, sure. Why?”

He subtly sent you a grin that answered your question without words. He spoke anyway.

“I don’t wanna feel lonely.”

You squinted your eyes, “Is that all?”

“Maybe, maybe not.”

“Well, I’m very excited.” You chimed.

He lets out a hungry groan, enjoying this encounter, “Oh yeah?”

“Hm.”

Trevor, in the heat of the moment, leaned towards your face, his lips softly mounting your soft jaw before he was whipped away when the car swerved out of his control. You chuckled.

“Eyes on the road,” Patting down his thigh to calm his discontent stiffness; he’d twitch and caught your ongoing attention, “As much as you plead for it… Good things come to those who wait.”

Trevor’s eyebrows crossed at your metaphorical whisper.

“Are you playing tricks on me?”

“I hope not.” You smirked.

He was devastatingly desperate. While gripping the steering wheel further, his bulge strained and throbbed- instantly feeling discomfort, especially when you resist any temptation.

“Please.” Trevor whimpered, “Please just help me.”

“Eyes on the road.” You’d repeat.

“It’s hurting me.”

“…Eyes on the roa-“

“MY EYES ARE ON THE ROAD!” The man yelped in vexation. His lips quivered, focus struggling to comply as he could only think of you relieving his sudden pain.

It was reckless, you’d think, but he’s so hopeless. You pitied him whenever his mouth yearned a noise of cope and twine. His tone growing higher despite his usual low and masculine take. It was oddly entertaining.

“I can’t handle this shit, [Y/n]. I’m begging! Just touch me, suck me, fuck me in a cup! Do anything!”

“Anything?”

Trevor panted, “I can’t drive like this.” The truck came to a stop and he was pathetically antsy in his seat. Groping his hips against the wheel, he glanced at you with mere embarrassment; unable to control his discipline and lust.

“Help me, [Y/n]. I can’t wait no more.”

If you’d have compassion for his unprejudiced sexual desires, you’d react ages ago. However, Trevor’s fun had seized faster than you’d expect. You’d know he was called the ‘one pump chump’ for a reason but hadn’t of realised how quickly he can become frail and needy, proving the nickname to be accurate. No other solutions could make this amusement longer for you; so you had to act.

One hand exposing his cock, the other pasturing his reddened tip that ached pre-cum. He heaved.

“Shhh,” You purred, “Slow down.”

“Hmm’no, I can’t- I want you to help, please.”

“Oh, Trevor.” You grinned.

He was fazed by your interest and offered free room on his lap. The gesture made you assert eye contact, fighting dominance… He began imploring your body with his mind games. The glimpsing brown iris manipulated you into exacting him as your personal seat, slowly suffocating his boner with your weight. Trevor choked for more.

“Trevor…” His untamed fingers unclothed your lower stomach, underwear being pulled to your thighs as he’d rumble at the sight of your pussy. Like a predator and prey, you sacredly waited for the moment he got comfortable. And with that, you cradled the desperate cock with your sex, smothering and loving the enjoyment that fell from Trevor’s mouth.

“O-Oh, my gooddd…” He praised, “Yes, fuckin’ yes. Baby!”

Shakingly breathing while staring at Trevor’s ecstatic face, it motivated you into experimenting with timing. He was swaying his hips against yours, fantasizing with his head high when you’d stop and grind harshly. His eyes fell wide open, pupils dilated and mouth seething with drool.

“Trevor-“ You moaned.

You sat on him and created friction as you’d circulate your hips instead of jumping up and down onto his cock. It grew more effective and pleasing.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck! I love you! Oh myy-“ He wheezed, “O-Oh my GOD!”

Trevor’s fingers found itself on your waist. He held onto you, deprived and ruined by your erratic paces; declining his orgasm and making him cry gratifying tears.

“Please! Let me- Oh my god, [Y/n], I love you!”

“Trevor,” Slowly zoning out from energy, one last thrust and he exploited himself right inside you, his cock finally finding the relief that’s been bothering him all car journey.

“O-Ooohh! And I see the void! FUCK!”

When the curdle of warmly sensations settled in your lower stomach; it was evenly as pleasurable as a warm bath on a snowy day, or a ice cold water during a hot evening. Trevor’s sweaty face collapsed back into his chair and he looked up at you, his eyes making you lose control completely and squirting all over his lap. It was euphoric. He hurried forward and buried his nose in your naked neck, embracing the orgasm you were facing.

“TREVOR!”

“So, so fuckin’ good baby.” He whispered.

“Oh my god…” You cried

He stroked the back of your hair, cradling your exhausted body. The desert air growing cold, his body temperature welcomed you into his warmth, exiling the chilliness that has become since you and Trevor’s scandalous break from the road…

[kiriscreama]

mark our hearts with shame

Whumptober 2023 - Day 2

Prompt: “They don’t care about you.”

Warnings: Canon-typical Violence, Self-hatred, Ambiguous Ending, Graphic Violence, Implied (possible) Character Death

Summary: The League of Villains have reached the end of the line. Tomura has to make a choice.

A/N: lake write the league in character challenge level: impossible. idk man if Horikoshi didn’t want me to love them he shouldnt have made them so likeable ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ somethingsomething redemption through the love of others somethingsomething.

also this isn’t canon compliant past, like, where the anime is currently, i think? regardless, this is not a canon battle lmao

title from Foundations of Decay by My Chemical Romance lol

also on AO3 | whumptober masterlist

Somewhere far away, Toga laughs and it sounds more like a scream. From the corner of his eye, Tomura sees Spinner drop the heroling he’s got by the neck and go running towards the sound. The little brat scrabbles to his feet, tail swishing dangerously, and darts off into another part of the battle.

Tomura pays him no heed. He wants to follow after Spinner, to make sure every member of his party is still standing, but he’s still locked in a fight with the Bakugou brat and the gremlin with All Might’s quirk.

They don’t care about you.

Plus there’s that. His master’s voice at the back of his head, reminding him of things he’d rather forget. Fears that he’ll never voice.

His guard is down for a beat too long, because Deku gets too close. Tomura narrowly dodges a kick aimed for his head. He knows what he should do here. He should catch the enemy by his ankle, wrap all five fingers tight, and let his quirk do its job. He should take both of them down and end this here, in the middle of a half-decimated city, and finally complete the win conditions to achieve total victory. (Or something. His video game metaphors are hazy these days, with less and less time or energy to play them.)

He should kill them, but he’s just… so tired. This fight, as vital as it may be for the main story, feels more like a grind. Tomura can’t remember the last time he got any real rest. Certainly before they moved headquarters to join the Paranormal Liberation movement. (What are they calling themselves these days? He can’t be assed to keep track.) He almost wants to stop.

Another shout in the distance. This one sounds too much like Compress yelling something. Tomura’s stomach lurches, and he drags his attention back to his own fight just as an explosion glances off his cheek.

Bakugou makes a furious noise, though whether it’s at the fact that he missed or the fact that Tomura didn’t try to hit him while he had an opening, he isn’t quite sure.

“Either fight or die already!” he screams. For a second longer than he is willing to admit, Tomura almost considers accepting the latter option.

A crackle in his ear, a forgotten comms unit sparking to life. He throws a hand towards Deku that the boy spins away from easily. His splayed fingers narrowly brush the fabric of his hero costume, but not enough of them make contact to matter.

“Boss, Toga’s bleeding bad and Compress is down for the count,” Spinner screams in Tomura’s ear. He dodges some kind of knock-off All Might ultimate move from Deku. “Dabi’s quirk won’t keep them back forever. Baby Todoroki will get here eventually.”

If he doesn’t flay himself alive first, is the rest of that statement, but Spinner wisely keeps it to himself.

Dabi grumbles nonetheless. “I’ll decide how much I can handle, shitface.” Tomura can picture the flames getting bigger in protest. He can practically smell the burning skin and see the distinct not-pained expression that he’s making.

They don’t care about you.

It’s the only thing that remains from his master in his head anymore. A daily reminder calmly intoning from the back of his mind.

He ducks another blast from Bakugou, swings around and manages to plant a solid kick into Deku’s side. The boy turns his fall into a roll and springs to his feet with his quirk crackling around his skin. Tomura ducks to press his fingers to the dirt and disrupt the ground beneath his feet. Deku springs away just in time and sparks fill Tomura’s vision.

The explosion burns through his shirt and down to his skin, turning pale skin bright red, but he barely feels it.

“Boss! What are we doing here?”

Spinner’s desperation is nearly palpable.

Tomura dodges a fist. He’s not sure whose it is.

He’s tired.

Magne is dead. Twice is dead. Sensei is as good as gone.

“Constitution check,” he snaps out. He watches the herolings’ faces contort in confusion.

Spinner’s sigh crackles over the line. He growls. “Not fucking good!”

“There’s a spike through her stomach. Don’t know if we’ll be able to save her.” Dabi’s voice is more level. The man may be insane as the rest of them, but his skill in keeping cool under pressure is unmatched. “Compress has some kind of concussion, at the least.”

In fact, it’s too level, as if Tomura isn’t in the middle of a brawl (even if his opponent’s attacks seemed to have lessened, as if they’re showing him some strange sort of mercy) and Dabi’s not delivering the worst case scenario. Tomura wonders if there’s any skin left on his arms at this point.

He locks eyes with Bakugou, whose hard glare turns almost amused. He rears back, raising his gauntlets, and oh, Tomura knows this move well. He ducks behind a slab of broken street just as a Howitzer comes barreling his way.

Bakugou survived being stabbed through the ribs. Tomura remembers that. He survived and he got stronger, better than he was before it happened. All Might is missing a piece of his stomach, but he has yet to let it stop him completely.

Toga has a spike through her stomach — and oh, she would love the irony in that, wouldn’t she, like a stake straight through the vampire’s heart. Even if they retreat now, Dabi is right. They can’t save her, not without the Doctor. If they surrender, though, there could be a chance…

They don’t care about you.

But he cares about them. Without his master in his head, jumbling up his thoughts, Tomura can almost admit that. He cares about them, and Toga is dying and Compress could be somewhere right after. Dabi is burning himself alive the longer he hesitates.

There was a time when Tomura wouldn’t care. He thinks of Magne, how her death did little more than infuriate him at the time. He remembers Toga sniffling about it for days, remembers Twice’s dramatic wails and Dabi’s mean smile and Spinner’s righteous indignation. He had only been irritated by their moping and enraged that Overhaul thought he could get away with killing one of His party members, but they’d still been little more than NPCs to him. What has changed in the months between?

He thinks he knows the answer to that. Spending so much time with his party has made them his, and Tomura was never very good at sharing.

They don’t care about you.

Tomura isn’t sure that matters anymore.

The heroes have fallen back. Tomura wonders what Deku had to do to keep Bakugou from ambushing him. But he knows they won’t stay back for much longer. They’re just toying with him, waiting to see what he’s going to do next.

Maybe somewhere in their stupid, pure hearts, they think they’re giving him a chance. Deku talks a lot of shit about saving everyone, even him. “Saving people with a smile.” Tomura’s practically got the damn speech memorized.

Stupidly, naively, Deku believes that even villains can be saved.

“Surrender,” Tomura says into his comms.

“Wha-“

“I said surrender.” It’s sharp. An order. One that he has no doubt they’ll comply with. He can hear it in their shared inhales, in the way the smoke over the rooftops begins to lessen. “Drop the flames after I turn myself in.”

“You got it, Crusty,” Dabi says. Even Tomura can hear the strain in his voice now. He won’t last much longer.

The heroes have them cornered. Maybe it’s for the best

Tomura emerges from behind the slab of concrete and watches the two heroes in front of him straighten immediately. Neither had left their fighting stance. Tomura wonders, briefly, if there's ever a time they aren’t standing at each other’s backs anymore.

He drops to his knees and both of them make cautious steps forward. They falter as he raises his hands.

They don’t care about you.

Well, it’s not like they would be the first. Tomura wears hatred and resentment like a second skin.

“We surrender,” he says, and the words sound a million miles away. “You’ve got us. You beat the final boss.”

It’s an especially sloppy metaphor, he thinks, but it’s enough to make Deku’s fists lower.

“The fuck?” Bakugou says, eloquent as always. His hands are still raised, his feet still planted. He hasn’t yet let go of this fight, but Tomura can see the gears turning in his head. “This some kind of joke?”

Spinner curses again in Tomura’s ear. “C’mon Tomura,” he mutters, low in his ear. “She doesn’t have much longer.”

Bakugou must take his silence for a yes, because he raises a fist and starts to growl, but Deku sticks his hand out in front of him. He’s frowning and muttering to himself, but they’re still too far away for Tomura to hear.

Suddenly, Deku looks up, green eyes locking on Tomura’s as if he can stare straight into his soul. It’s not the first time that laser-focused gaze has been locked on Tomura, but it’s the first that Tomura hasn’t been too focused on fighting or himself to feel the uncomfortable weight of it.

Deku’s brow is furrowed. “Who’s hurt?” he asks, suddenly.

Tomura doesn’t answer, but there must be something in his eyes that tells Deku what he needs anyway, because he moves forward.

As he approaches, Tomura turns on his comms one last time. “Surrender,” he says again. He doesn’t give Spinner or Dabi time to respond before he rips the earpiece from his ear and tosses it towards Bakugou’s feet.

“Shigaraki Tomura, you’re under arrest,” Deku begins, moving to cuff him.

They don’t care about you.

If that was true, they could join the fucking club.

[rviden]

hello!! may I request for hcs for when you get into an argument with the genshin boys (you can choose who!!) and the guys end up saying something hurtful, and your reaction is like "well, if that's what you think, then maybe we shouldn't be together." and walks away (tryna hide a tear,,)?? I'm sorry if this is too specific aah I'm just in the mood for angst ( •́ ‿ ,•̀ ) I really like your characterization!! <333

— 🧧 THEIR S/O BREAKS UP WITH THEM AFTER A RUDE COMMENT THEY MADE

includes — kazuha, tohma, diluc

warnings — angst, pre tohma release

pronouns — they/them

note — in honour of the 2.0 announcement trailer, i included the newest boy to my writing list (tohma by beloved) - i’ve also added baal (or raiden), ayaka, and yoimiya!

KAZUHA

kazuha wasn’t usually confrontational off of the battle field — opting for more serene and peaceful things while resting and spending his time with you

but sometimes when emotions boil over, we say things that we don’t mean, nor wish to say at all — it’s in the heat of the moment type of thing, which is exactly what was happening to kazuha in the present time

“you don’t get it- you never will,” kazuha paced away from you, wanting to put an end to the conversation station as soon as he could.

“and what’s that supposed to mean?” you took strides to catch up with the upset male, desperate to understand his reasoning. “why don’t you face me, and tell me why the hell you won’t let me help-“ the moment your hand made contact with his arm, he turned in fury — something you had never seen him in ever.

“you’re too clumsy, too reckless, and simply not able to withstand that type of battles that would occur!” kazuha’s face was mere inches from your own. “you’re just not enough.”

you weren’t enough.

he was talking about physical ability, but... why did it feel as if he was talking about everything — the way you dressed, the way you acted, the person you are.

he didn’t think you were enough.

“... if- if you think so lowly of me, then i don’t think this is going to work,” your feet slowly brought your body away from the now shocked and calming male, trying to put as much distance as you could between the two of you.

“y/n-“ he reached out for your arm, only to pull back as if he had been shocked as you flinched away from it. “i didn’t mean it like that.”

“well that’s what it sounded like kazuha.”

you never called him kazuha — it was always kaz, or some other nickname — but never kazuha.

“i’ll leave you to your business, and i’ll board with beidou in the morning,” the distance grew greater, and hearts cracked piece by piece. “i hope you find someone who’s enough on your travels.”

kazuha’s heart left with you — the emptiness in his chest product of his own doings, his own words.

it seemed that he was the one not enough for you.

TOHMA

tohma didn’t like to fight, argue, or even cause any sort of pain to you — and in the past if he ever did, it was not by his choice, or it was a complete accident

yet here he found himself, spouting words he didn’t mean, watching the look of anger on your face crumble into hurt and betrayal

tohma was tired — beyond even — with the job that he possessed, and the dedication to match, nights were often spent resting and resetting for the next.

“y/n i really don’t have time for this right now, you know this,” his fingers pinched the bridge of his nose, desperately trying to rid himself of both the anger and headache that clawed at his mind.

“i think you have plenty of time right now — all i’m asking is for you to consider my idea,” you stepped closer to the blonde, brings your hands up to run through his hair in order to help calm him down. “i just want to see you a little more often, even if it’s only a day a week — just more then i see you now-“

his head was yanked away from your hands, and his eyes burned into you like the vision that hung on his hip. “for the last time! i have my duties with the kamisato clan, and they need my dedication and focus — i don’t have time to waste.”

his words didn’t fully click in his head, until he saw your eyes widen in both shock and hurt — and all he could do was watch as your body slowly backed away and shrank into itself, becoming smaller and smaller by the second.

you tried to appear bigger in mere moments after the metaphorical slap to the face — your chin being held high, eyes narrowed, and drawn in tight.

“don’t bother coming home tomorrow, or the nextday, or even the next,” he could see the hurt as you tried to keep your composer. “wouldn’t want you wasting time, now would we?”

“y/n-“

“leave tohma — you have your duties, remember?”

it happened too fast for tohma to handle — one minute you were happily chatting, next the argument broke out, and the next, he had broken the one promise he had made to himself and you.

he had hurt you, one too many times.

DILUC

he was a calm and collected man, trying many other options before it truly came down to a fight — he poked and prodded most times during arguments, but never before had he pointed out things he knew would hurt

maybe that’s why he wasn’t only in shock as he watch the anger turn into sadness and thought, but also at the words that seemed to flow out of his mouth like a river

“dee, please take a break,” your hands worked on his shoulders — thumbs pushing on the knots and sore spots in the muscles, trying anything you could to get the red haired man to relax.

“y/n please — i’ll come to bed in a few more minutes, i just have to finish this-“ the quill was plucked out of his hands before you could finish — now dangling between your own fingertips.

“you said that the yesterday, and the day before, and the day before that — i know you dee — like that back of my hand,” you waved the back of your hand in an example, the smile on your face doing nothing to ease the furrow in his brow.

he was committed to finishing paperwork and documents — and if that meant forgoing a few nights of actual rest and calmness, then so be it.

but you were making that difficult.

“give me that,” diluc harshly grabbed the quill from your hand, not caring or registering if he had hurt you in the process.

he turned back to his work as soon as it was in his hand, but the moment didn’t last long.

“diluc-“ your hand reached down for the quill again, but were quickly shoved back as he stood from the chair.

“would you just give me some space!” his eyes and cheeks gleamed red, similar to the colour of his hair. “i can’t get any actual work done when your clinging to me like an animal in heat!” in the moment, diluc didn’t care if he had hurt you, and that was one of his many mistakes in that moment.

the quietness was tense and uncomfortable — dilucs heavy breathing, and the sound of soft fidgeting being the only things that could be heard.

“i’ll leave you be then,” you turned in that moment, the tears running freshly down your face the second your back was to the man.

diluc didn’t panic at first.

he had hurt you, yes — but you would let him cool down, calm, and finish was he was doing. that was all.

but the empty room that was once occupied by two and the quick feet that turned and walked in the other direction every time he was near — was enough to tell him the truth.

you left him to be on his own.

for good.

[laiqualaurelote]

Good luck on your Crimmdependence and metaphorical key finding! I’d love to read another Steddie fic by you and I can’t think of an AU right now, but if you’ve got any little plot bunnies, I’m sure they’re golden.

I swear I had an AU idea the other day, but I promptly forgot it again…

The mission was simple: infiltrate the neighborhood, keep an eye on the man at number 37, lay low until something drastic happened, e.g. imminent threat of exposure or assassins. 

“It’s too simple,” lamented Steve. “I’m not an invalid, you know. They could have given me something better than babysitting duty.”

“The Chief said you could use a break,” Dustin pointed out over comms. “You basically just spent your last three missions getting beat up.”

“Yeah, but I won those fights.”

“Buddy,” said Dustin patiently, “I hate to break it to you, but you did not.”

This was how Steve and Robin ended up as Mr and Mrs J. Smith in the leafy suburb of Mile Point, Cincinnati. Their house had a white picket fence and everything. It was like a vision Steve might have had of his future in high school, only the last girl he’d entertained that sort of vision with had been Nancy Wheeler, and the last time he’d seen Nancy, she’d nearly shot him in the throat with a sniper rifle. Granted, it was to take out the internationally wanted assassin he’d been grappling with at the time, and she’d apologized later, but it was still awkward. 

Nancy was now in Dubai, probably doing some insanely cool mission that involved her having to scale the Burj Khalifa with magnet clamps, or whatever. Everyone, it seemed, had cool missions. Lucas was parachuting into the Amazon and Will was in deep cover as some kind of secret society mole and El was off on yet another of her highly clandestine operations that only former child assassins bred in a lab by evil scientists were eligible for, apparently. And then there was Steve, stuck in Pleasantville pretending to be married to his best friend. He didn’t even know why they had to watch the guy at number 37. All they knew was that the subject’s name was Eddie Munson and that he was in hiding because VECNA was after him. 

“If you don’t know anything, you can’t give it up when you get captured and interrogated,” said Dustin, way too cheerfully.

“I wouldn’t give up anything,” protested Steve.

“I would,” said Robin unhelpfully. “I’d sing like my eponymous bird. Don’t tell me anything.”

Their first task was to make contact. They did this by delivering a casserole, like good neighbors should. The casserole had been baked not by Robin, who was as much of a disaster in the kitchen as she was in the field, but by Mrs Byers, before she left with the Chief on a purported vacation to Alaska. “It’s not actually a vacation, is it,” said Steve dubiously to Jonathan, who showed up in the guise of a plumber to deliver the casserole and some more surveillance equipment. “It’s totally a mission. Why else would Murray go with them on vacation?”

“Murray drove them to the airport,” said Jonathan.

“Yeah, and where did he go after that?”

“How should I know?” retorted Jonathan. “Why would I care what Murray’s up to? I’m not obsessed with other people’s missions, unlike some. There’s a tracker in the casserole dish, and you should also see if you can get these planted while you’re over there.” He handed Steve a couple of tiny bugs. “If you need any more supplies, call pizza delivery and ask for Argyle.”

“Yeah, yeah,” said Steve wearily. “I know the drill. Tell the kids I said hi.”

“We’re not kids,” said Mike waspishly over comms. “We’re handling your entire comms array, just so you know.”

Steve muted him.

“Well hey there!” cried Steve brightly when their new neighbor opened the door to their aggressively cheerful knocking. “We saw you just moved in across the way, and we thought we’d do the neighborly thing and drop by to say hi. I’m Joe, and this is my wife Mary.”

“We brought this for you,” added Robin, smiling madly like she was in a toothpaste ad. 

“I,” said Eddie Munson. He was gaping at them like they were aliens. He was wearing a very questionable sweater vest and kept running a hand through his hair, which meant that he had cut it recently and was not used to having it so short. There were what seemed like the tips of a tattoo peeking out from beneath his sleeve. Robin elbowed Steve, who had been staring, said sweetly, “Mind if I just pop this in your oven?” and sailed right past Eddie into the house.

Steve stuck out a friendly hand. “Didn’t catch your name.”

“It’s also Joe,” said Eddie. His eyes hadn’t left Steve’s face the whole time. “Short for Joseph. What’s yours short for?”

“Um,” said Steve. “Joe…nathan. Johnathan. But, like, you pronounce the first ‘h’.”

“What the fuck,” he heard Jonathan say over comms.

“Hey,” Steve went on, “is that a tattoo?” He took Eddie’s wrist and turned it over. “Are those birds?”

“Um,” said Eddie in what might have been mild panic, but he didn’t pull away. “They’re bats.”

“Cool,” said Steve. “Very cool.”

Eddie was looking up at him, lips slightly parted. Steve could feel his pulse rabbiting under his thumb. Wow, thought Steve wildly, hope this mission doesn’t end up with me having to kill this guy, because that would really suck.

“Hey, honey,” came Robin’s voice from behind them. Eddie yanked his wrist from Steve’s hand like he’d been scalded and pulled his sleeve up in one smooth motion. “So lovely to meet you, Joe. We have just got to have you over some time.”

“I don’t want to be any trouble,” began Eddie.

“No trouble at all,” fluted Robin, “we’d love to have you, see you around town!” She hooked her arm through Steve’s and led him off.

“Did you plant them?” Steve said when they were out of earshot.

“Of course,” said Robin. “Thanks for the distraction, hubs.”

“No problem.”

“Oh I bet it wasn’t,” said Robin significantly, and that was when Steve realised that it was, in fact, a problem.

Despite this he tried to carry out the rest of the mission in a calm and professional way. This was made difficult by a number of things, like when Billy Hargrove showed up at the supermarket and attempted to kidnap Eddie in the canned foods and cereals aisle.

“Billy?’ spat Max over comms. “Why is Billy there? I’ll take care of Billy.” 

“You will do no such thing!” Steve hissed back, barrelling through frozen foods with a laden trolley. He sent it careening into Billy, knocking him into a pyramid of baby formula. Billy’s tranquiliser dart went wide. Eddie, obliviously comparing cereal brands at the other end of the aisle, did not notice it thudding into a box of Captain Crunch. Steve dragged Billy behind a shelf of eggs and pinned him to the supermarket’s dustbunny-riddled floor. Billy grinned up at him, all teeth. “Back for more, Harrington?”

“Dude, I do not want a repeat of Topanga,” muttered Steve. His ribs still throbbed at the memory. “Who are you working for this time?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” said Billy nastily, and then he drove an elbow into Steve’s sternum and flipped them.

Steve almost blacked out when Billy began throttling him. There was a crash, and he blinked up as Max hauled an unconscious Billy off him. She had hit him in the head with a cast-iron frying pan snagged from the cookware discount rack. 

“Thanks,” said Steve blearily.

“You’re welcome, loser. Quick, get him in here.” They wrestled Billy into an empty trolley and Max set off pushing it, just as Eddie rounded the corner.

“I heard a noise,” he began, “oh, hey Joe, fancy seeing you here – ” and Steve, in an attempt to distract him from the redhead sprinting for the service exit with her stepbrother-turned-freelance-archnemesis out cold in a trolley, grabbed him by the face and kissed him.

Eddie dropped his basket on Steve’s foot in shock. It was painfully full of canned food, which Steve valiantly ignored. “Oh, fuck it,” he thought he heard Eddie say against his mouth, and then Eddie was kissing him back, hands tangled in Steve’s hair and pressing him precariously against the egg shelf. It was, however, Eddie who broke away to say: “No, no, we can’t.”

“What?” said Steve stupidly.

“Because I’m supposed to – ” Eddie caught himself and visibly changed tack. “Because you’re married, dude.”

“I am?” 

Eddie picked up Steve’s hand and ran his thumb over the standard-issue fake wedding ring on Steve’s finger. “Oh,” said Steve, “right, that.”

“Yeah, that,” said Eddie, and then he spun and literally ran away from Steve. He didn’t even pick up his groceries.

So the mission was going pretty badly, actually. And that was even before Henry Creel came to town.

(For the AU prompt game. Partially inspired by this image.)

[the-passenger-if]

one of my favorite angst tropes is someone breaking up with their partner in order to keep them safe! how would the ros handle this if newman did this to them? (also, would any of the ro’s break up with newman to keep them safe?)

combining it with

How would the ROs react to Newman who just texts them out of nowhere and the message just say "I love you always bye sorry" as if Newman was in a hurry and no matter how hard they try to contact them, no one picks up.

also

some angST!! How would the ROs react to Newman breaking up with them after being together for a looooong time?

and

ROs reaction to Newman wanting to break up with them after a while of being together?

Jonny and Horizon would break up with Newman to keep them safe. Fiama knows she can keep both of them safe, and Roach will do their best but if they have to die then they will die together xD

Combining Newman just up and disappears one day with Newman breaks up with RO after being together for a long time.

Long angsty scenarios under the cut.

“Mommy… kisses me… on the… cheek. Cheek. Cheek, Bruno. Listen, cheeeek. That’s chek.”

Bruno mutters the word ‘cheek’ under his breath a few times before adding another ‘e’ just on top of the first one.

“No,” Fiama tells him. “Erase the word and rewrite it. Well this time.”

Her son scowls but he does as he’s told. His round eyes slip away from the exercise book to the front door and stay there.

“Bruno,” she calls him. “Bruno.” He looks at her, and she knows. She just knows what he’s thinking about. Who he’s thinking about. “Cheek.” She points at the book.

He writes down the word very slowly and forcefully on the page. She still can read the wrong word under it, but she decides to let it go.

“The chick eats corn,” Fiama continues, “The… chick… Chick, Bruno.”

He bites his lower lip, staring at her.

“Remember the chicks? Grandpa took you to see them…”

Bruno mutters ‘chick’ under his breath a couple of times, then his eyes go to the front door again.

“Bruno,” and she doesn’t want to lose her patience like this, but she’s tired and she wants to… she doesn’t know what she wants to do yet, but doing homework in the living room with a very distracted Bruno isn’t it.

Her boy scowls at her, pencil shaking in a tiny angry fist. He opens his mouth to retort when someone knocks on the door. His eyes widen, the scowl vanishes. He jumps off the chair, homework and pencil and Fiama completely forgotten.

“Bruno!” she calls out, but he’s already dashing to the door and yanking it open.

“Oh! Hi there, rabbit,” Fiama’s mother says.

“No!” Bruno replies trying to close the door again.

That’s when Fiama stands up and grabs him by the arm. “Don’t you shut the door in your grandma’s face!”

“Don’t you grab him like that!” her mother yells at her, and she lets go of Bruno as if he was a hot iron.

“Why are you here?” Bruno screams at Fiama’s mother. “I wanted it to be them!”

“Bruno!” Fiama scolds.

“No!” her boy yells at her. “This is your fault! You did this!” Then he’s running off to his room, slamming the door behind him.

Fiama isn’t the type to care about metaphors, but right now she completely understands what people mean when they say 'it felt like a bucket of cold water'.

The one that breaks the silence is her mother. “Well, didn’t I tell you this would happen?”

“Not now, mom.” Fiama grits out.

“Let us hope it doesn’t affect Bruno too much…”

“I said not now.” The glare she sends her mother’s way is enough for the woman to shake her head and turn away.

Fiama closes the door very carefully, and then rests her back against it, scowl set on the table where Bruno’s homework was left unfinished. A thought like a flash; the table toppling over, books and pencils, and the ceramic fruit basket flying in the air. It passes quickly. Fiama is taking slow deep breaths. She still remembers what happened the last time she let her emotions get the best of her. That familiar wave of shame and guilt washes over her as she remembers Bruno’s stunned silence when he found her sobbing in her room, sat in the midst of broken pieces of whatever she had lying about in there.

A single tear rolls down her cheek, one Fiama swiftly washes away. She promises herself this is the last she’ll ever waste on them.

---

There's one lonely cloud floating in the blue sky and Jonny's eyes have been following its snail-like march for the last ten minutes or so. His neck is starting to feel stiff but he doesn't shift his position; watching the lazy parade happening outside of his window has kept his mind in silence. Sweet, sweet silence.

It isn’t surprising that it doesn’t last. Somebody is knocking on his bedroom door and Jonny really doesn't have the energy for this. He closes his eyes shut, focuses on the inverted shadow cloud burned in his tired retina. The door clicks open and he keeps still on his bed, chest barely moving. It's childish, he knows this, but it's the only thing that seems to keep Joaquin and Lucia from asking how he's doing or commenting about his love life, or even worse, trying to give him advice.

The visitor lingers there where they stand for another moment, before closing the door again. Jonny thinks he’s been left alone to go back to what apparently has become his favorite hobby as of late, when he hears approaching footsteps.

“I know you’re awake.”

“Don’t tell me they called you,” he says in a drawl, opening his eyes and fixing them on the man sitting on the bed across from his. Quino has the same green eyes, straight nose, and wavy brown hair Jonny has, however, his twin chooses to wear it shorter and well out of his face. He is, after all, the good-looking one.

“They didn’t,” Quino assures him with a conciliatory smile. Jonny’s skepticism must be written all over his face because his brother crosses his heart and shrugs.

“Why are you here?” Jonny knows why, but he also knows Quino too well and his twin has never been the type to start awkward conversations unless Jonny opens that door for him first.

“Do I need a reason? Can’t I—?”

“They broke up with me,” Jonny cuts him off, “I’m feeling like shit, I just want to sleep until I forget I ever met them, but every time people ask about it I think about them, and every time they tell me ‘it will pass’, and that I’ll ‘find someone new’ I just want to jump in front of a car.” Quino doesn’t say anything, he just nods while picking at his nails. Jonny rolls on his back, stares at the ceiling. “I know I’m way too old to be acting like this, but I don’t know what else to do.”

“You aren’t too old to feel like shit, Jonny. You loved them, and they left you. It’s completely understandable.”

He presses his lips together. He did love them. He does love them still. Stupid, so stupid.

“If you want to cry—“

“Screw off.”

“Not in front of me, heaven forbid,” Quino says with mock horror, “but you should cry sometimes. Crying is good for you, you know?”

Maybe it is, Jonny guesses, but he might have cried himself dry the night Newman broke up with him over the phone. Over the fucking phone, of fucking course. He rubs at his dry eyes. He doesn’t want to think about that. “Yeah,” he mutters.

The silence stretches until Quino clears his throat. “So, do you want to know why I’m here or not?”

Jonny turns his head and then frowns at the tickets in his brother’s hand. He blinks twice, recognizing the iconic font printed on them at once. He sits up an instant later. “You’re shitting me.”

“No, I’m inviting you to see Metallica in Columbia.”

“Their last two albums suck,” Jonny says, yet he still takes the ticket from Quino’s hand.

“What doesn’t?” his twin asks with a laugh, and this time Jonny can feel himself smile.

---

One of the humans is awake. Shit. Roach thought they had at least another hour or two, now they’ll have to deal with them and their overfamiliarity and their hands and their faces.

The stub between their lips trembles and they realize it has gone out. They take it, frown at it and then flick it off. It flies in an arc, landing among its dozen of dead brothers. Roach knows at least ten of those are theirs—not that the parking lot of this dingy motel could look any worse by having more dead cigs lying about.

They look for their smokes in the denim jacket they are wearing—a gift from a trucker with a tendency to comment on people’s appearances and leave his jacket behind when going to the restroom—and almost drop the entire pack when the door at their left opens.

“Those things will kill you,” says the woman coming out of their shared motel room.

“Life is killing me,” Roach replies without missing a beat, but they don’t smile; she won’t see their face anyway, not when the sun has yet to come out, and the only lightbulb over their head suddenly burned out.

“Do you have another one?”

She comes to sit next to them on the bench and Roach doesn’t need light to see the deep crow's feet at the corner of her eyes and the dark circles under them. Their conquests always look immensely better under synthetic lighting, once outside, once they’ve used one another, it’s like the spell breaks.

Roach holds two cigs between their lips and lights them with practiced ease. They offer one to their broken Juliette. It’s the least they can do; they do remember biting her hard at some point in the middle of their sexcapade… or maybe they bit one of the others, they aren’t sure anymore.

She accepts it with a thanks and takes a long drag. She sighs out the smoke, peers at Roach as if she could somehow pierce through the shadows and take a good look at them. “You are young, darling,” she croaks out. “Way too young to be doing this shit.”

“Smoking?” Roach asks innocently. Words read out from a script, tone sweet, face immobile. The face of a ghost really, one that haunts and judges them.

The woman shakes her head and then points with her thumb at the room behind them. “I bet you aren’t even thirty yet.” She tilts her head at them, eyes narrowing and still trying to see. “Whatever happened to you… you can opt out. It isn’t easy, but you can move on, you can leave your old self behind. It’s never too late…” A coughing fit interrupts her fortune cookie monologue, and Roach is super ready to skedaddle now.

They stand up, rub their hands together. “Speaking of,” they exclaim with fake enthusiasm, “I should hit the road now. It was a pleasure, really,” they add just as if they were wrapping a 5-cents bow around used pair of socks. Here, happy birthday.

Roach jogs off before she can add anything else.

“Hag,” they mutter around their cigarette. They stop as they catch a glimpse of their reflection in the window of a stripped car. The face scowling at them is silently judging them for stealing it and then using it to lure in humans. “It’s poetic, ok?” Roach explains with a tense grin. “You fucked me over so this is my way to return the favor, pet.” The reflection doesn’t reply, but Roach doesn’t care. They don’t care. They never cared, actually. Who said they ever did?

---

Slow, deep breaths. Inhale, one… two… three… four. Exhale, one… two… three… four… five… six…

Horizon opens their eyes. They are crouched in front of the ceremonial pitcher. Looking down at their reflection in the water makes something like a thumb-size metal ball roll in the back of their skull. They wince in pain and lose whatever little balance they had before. Horizon doesn’t yelp when they fall back on their ass; the sudden waves of nausea coming up like lava inside a volcano could turn a bad situation into a nightmarish one at the flip of a hat.

“Ah,” they whine in a whisper, “if there truly is anything out there, up there, or around, please make it stop.” They run a hand down their face, suppress a fiery belch.

They blindly look for the pitcher and submerge their other hand in the cold water. Dominus Dove and Domina Basil would blanch in horror and anger, but right now, this is the best Horizon has felt since Velour dragged them out of bed, wrapped their robes around them, and pushed them into their office.

Running wet, cold fingers through their messy hair is the best feeling in the world, so they continue this little ritual for a while… and another while… and a little longer…

The door opens just a crack and Horizon’s gaze jumps to Velour’s so fast that the metal ball comes back with a vengeance. An arrow piercing their brain back to front.

“Ahh!”

“This isn’t happening,” Velour hisses as they slink into the room and close the door behind them. “Tell me this isn’t happening.”

“This isn’t happening,” Horizon mutters trying to smile through the pain. They open their eyes to find a very frowny, very serious Velour staring down at them. The smile slips off their face like a slug going down the drain. “I’m so sorry, Velour.”

“As you should,” they reply coldly, and Horizon wants to cry because there’s so much more to their tone than just scorn; they are truly disappointed and they have all the right to be.

“I’m a mess,” the words sound strained to Horizon’s ears, and they can feel new tears threatening to spill down their face again.

Velour’s jaw tightens before they crouch down shaking their head. “You are drunk,” they whisper in a mellow way. “And we can’t let anyone know that.”

“No, we can’t.”

“Alright, I’ll tell them you are indisposed. Wait here, and please, stop playing with the sacred water, Domini.”

Horizon can feel themself blushing in embarrassment, but they nod nonetheless and almost don’t wince when the metal ball ricochets around their skull.

Velour steps out of the room, their voice booming in the cabin, “Domini Horizon has fallen ill with a fever. Today’s prayers will be under my supervision.”

“Are they ok?” somebody asks.

“Yes, but they are very tired and would appreciate being left alone in their cabin. Any concerns or questions you have can be brought to me.”

Efficiently, they march into the office again. “Lean on me, Domini,” they instruct and Horizon does as they say. A few moments later, The Domini is back on their feet and being herded out of the office and through the cabin. They keep their head down, letting their hair cover their face.

“Poor Domini,” another person loud-whispers, “they are drenched in sweat.”

Next to them, Velour tenses up, but they don’t let their discomfort show in any other way.

Once in Horizon’s cabin, their assistant sits them on the bed and fetches them a glass of water.

“They aren’t worth any of this, Domini,” Velour says, and Horizon keeps still, lips barely touching the water. They look up at their assistant but say nothing. “That’s all I wanted to say, and that’s all I’ll say on the subject.”

Horizon puts down the glass on their lap, both hands holding it still. They lower their gaze before softly replying, “Noted.”

Velour makes to leave. They open the door before saying over their shoulder, “And stop drinking. If I come back to find you drunk again, I swear I’m leaving. For real this time.”

Horizon nods slowly, and doesn’t look up until Velour closes the door behind them. Once they are out, the Domini puts the glass down, next to the bed, carefully lies down, and lets the ugly sobs come gushing out of them like muddy water from a broken levee.

[bunnysuit-femboy]

Slumber Party

Pairing: Sasha x Reader

Word Count: 5.8k

Warnings: Implied Praise Kink, Cunnilingus

Quick Summary: Sleepover with Sasha turns sexual.

Notes: This was inspired by the song Slumber Party by Ashnikko, I hope you guys enjoy!

6:13 PM

Your feet ran down the stairs quicker than you could keep up with after you heard the familiar ding of the doorbell. You ran through your living room, and right to the front door. You knew who waited on the other side - since she waited there every Friday night - but you were still filled with excitement at finally seeing her again.

Once you had unlocked the door handle, you swung the door open immediately, taking no time to think about what you were doing. Light flooded in from the outside, the sun setting in the distance and Sasha’s shadow laid on the living room’s carpeted floor.

Sasha stood in front of you with her duffel bag over one shoulder and her phone in the opposite hand. She wore jean shorts - since today had been one of the hottest days all summer - and a grey tank top. She also wore a pair of flip flops with a bright blue anklet around her pale ankle.

Sasha glanced up from the messages open on her phone, “Hi.”

You smiled wide at your best friend, “Hi.” Sasha quickly locked her phone and dropped her bag, opening her arms wide for you and you walked forward to accept the hug. “I missed you.”

“I missed you too. We haven’t seen each other in like-” Sasha took a second to think about her next words- “Two days?”

“Three,” You said against her shoulder, “If you don’t count our FaceTime calls.”

“Right,” Sasha said into your hair, “‘Cause if we were counting those, I saw you two hours ago.”

You took a step back from Sasha, “Well, I needed somebody to tell me my makeup was pretty.”

“That’s not fair.” Sasha grinned. “You always look pretty.”

You playfully pushed Sasha’s shoulder, trying to distract her from seeing your obviously embarrassed face. Your face and ears were heating up with blood and you couldn’t wipe the wide smile from your mouth. You didn’t want your best friend to see how physically embarrassed you got from hearing her compliment you; you refused to give her the satisfaction of seeing how high you hold her opinion.

It wasn’t strange to hear Sasha compliment you - in fact, it would have been weirder if she hadn’t complimented you - but hearing Sasha say a sweet word about your person always made you crawl back into your metaphorical hermit shell. You never knew how to respond to Sasha’s kind words about your appearance because they always felt genuine instead of a way of being generally nice.

“I was thinking we could order pizza later,” You said, “And I have ice cream in the freezer and I made sure to buy some soda for you-”

“Did you remember my favorite kind?” Sasha’s face was taken up mostly with a wide smile as she awaited your answer.

“Of course.” You grinned softly to the brown haired girl in front of you. “I always remember everything you tell me.”

Sasha giggled before taking your distance from the door as a way of entrance. She walked inside the apartment she’s been to a million times. But, this time felt different almost - as if she could feel the impending series of events for the next day and a half playing out in front of her already.

8:47 PM

“Well,” You said as your hips shifted closer to her hips, “If you stop squirming, then it won’t be so hard to get the eyeliner just right. Got it?”

Sasha furrowed her already filled eyebrows at you, “But, I have a cramp in my hip. I can’t not shift when all I’m feeling on my left side is pure pain.”

It wasn’t completely a lie, Sasha was in pain but not exactly how she had disclosed to you. Sasha could feel her stomach inflating with nerves the longer you leaned in to be so close to her. She was used to you deciding to do activities in the spur of a moment, but she wasn’t expecting you to beg her to let you do her makeup if she showed you that picture - she wasn’t really sure why you chose this way to do her makeup either.

Usually, when a person gets their makeup done, the makeup artist will be sitting right beside them, leaning in close and getting everything just right. Which is not at all what you’re doing at the moment, you’re leaning in close - sure, but that’s where the similarities in the two scenarios end.

You were sitting on Sasha’s hips atop of the neat covers of your bed. You were straddling her waist and pressing yourself deeper into her pelvis with each concentrated movement. She knows her hip doesn’t hurt as badly as she says - in fact, she could sit underneath you all day long if you’d have her - but, she feels her stomach flutter with butterflies the longer you’re on top of her, and she wishes she could touch you but she doesn’t know if the action will make you uncomfortable or not, so she doesn’t.

You sigh before picking up your hips from her hips, “I’ll move but I’m not finished with your makeup.”

“Huh?” Sasha asks with bright red cheeks and widened eyes. She thought complaining about her hip would surely make you scram but you almost seem determined to stay on top of her.

“Here.” You lifted your hips enough so that her’s could be free underneath you. You still straddled her sides, but now you situated your ass into the air and your shirt had shifted forward. Sasha wasn’t sure how it was possible, but she knew the situation had gotten worse - or maybe, better - for her. All she wanted now was either to look down your shirt, place her hands on your ass and grind you down into her or kiss you passionately from underneath you - but, she didn’t know how you’d feel about any of those options so she stays still in silent agony.

She closed her eyes when you asked, she blinked slowly when you asked, and she puckered her lips when you asked. And, even though she couldn’t do what she wanted to do, she still got a bit of pleasure every time she did as you asked. You’d make sure to tell her exactly how you felt about her submission, whispering praise into the space between your faces - each praise giving Sasha another thing to worry about between her hips.

11:24 PM

The blanket kept falling off of your shoulder, exposing the bare skin to the coldness of your living room. You snuggled your body in closer to Sasha, pressing the cold skin of your shoulder against her warm bicep. She leaned into your touch, gently laying her head on top of your own in order to trap your cheek to her body.

You could fall asleep where you sat, cuddled close to your best friend and barely listening to the distant sounds of the movie in front of you. The coldness of the room was working as melatonin to your already tired body. Your eyes fluttered closed, snapping open every few minutes once your mind realized you were starting to drift off.

“This is the best part,” Sasha suddenly said by your side. You nodded weakly against her arm which got Sasha’s attention. She glanced at you for a moment, watching you from the corner of her eyes. “Are you even watching?”

Sasha looked over to your partially open eyes looking up into her face through your thick eyelashes. You swallowed back the sleepiness that had crept so steadily upon you as you attempted to look awake. But, Sasha saw right through your poor facade, shaking your head from her shoulder with disappointment.

“You’re asleep!” Sasha turned to you, her eyes wide with shock. “But, this is the best part!”

“I’m sorry,” You groaned the words out, “I’m just so tired.”

Sasha pouted at you, “Do you not like the movie?”

“No.” Adrenaline shot through your body as you attempted to convince your best friend. “I- I really like this movie! I just need a cup of coffee or something! The movie’s really good, I swear.”

Sasha took a deep breath, “It’s too late for coffee.” Your eyes darted behind Sasha’s shoulder at the living room window. She was right, the moon was high in the sky and only darkness seeped in through the glass behind the curtains. Sasha's next words came out as a question, “But, it’s not too late for ice cream.”

Your eyes snapped back to Sasha’s filled with sudden excitement, “I do have ice cream.”

Sasha smiled wide, “Perfect!” She leaned over and grabbed the remote from the coffee table, swiftly pausing the movie.

You led Sasha from the living room and to the kitchen, and you could feel her eyes on your back as you walked. It was hard not to look at you, especially in the pieces of clothing you wore as pajamas. You walked around your apartment in a velvet pair of sleep shorts and a tank top that stopped right above your belly button, creating a stripe of soft skin between the hem of your shirt and the waist of your shorts.

You didn’t leave your apartment most nights, either by yourself or with Sasha. You preferred dressing scandalously to bed and cuddling deep into your blanket to keep your body warm. And, when Sasha slept over, you instead used each other’s body heat to keep warm during the night, snuggling close to each other under your thick blanket.

You felt Sasha’s gaze heavy on the skin of your back and then again as it moved to your hips and ass. She watched as your sides moved back and forth with each step. She stared mindlessly at the dimples that swayed on the small of your back.

You turned around to Sasha once you stood in the middle of the kitchen. Sasha’s gaze slowly found your face, instead running gently over the front of your body. Then, finally, Sasha’s light brown eyes stared into your own.

You looked away from Sasha’s peering eyes. Sometimes holding eye contact with her was too much for you, it all felt much too intense and overwhelming. Holding eye contact with her made your stomach turn with butterflies and made your mind go wild with random thoughts that you tried to ignore most days. Thoughts of something big happening, whether it be a long awaited simple kiss or an asteroid through the room you both sat in.

You instead stared at the tiled floor of the kitchen as she watched you, “I have rocky road and metropolitan.” You glanced back at Sasha to see her smiling at you. You furrowed your eyebrows at your best friend, trying to keep your body from feeling like static. “And sprinkles.”

Sasha grinned, “I’ll have some rocky road-” After you had turned around and walked off towards the fridge, Sasha added- “Oh, and with sprinkles on top.”

You grinned into the freezer, your skin erupting in goosebumps from the wandering cold air. You grabbed the two cartons of ice cream, placing them on the counter beside the fridge before walking towards the lazy Susan in which the sprinkles were.

You turned from the corner of the kitchen, now realizing the new obstacle in your way of the sprinkles. Sasha had found her normal spot in the kitchen, sitting on the counter above the lazy Susan. Her feet dangled in front of the cabinet, and her eyes watched you as you walked around the kitchen with a purpose.

You walked over to Sasha, grinning at her before glancing at the cabinet she sat in front of. You were hoping your best friend would get the message without you having to ask because you weren’t sure how to ask for permission between her legs without seemingly asking for everything you’ve ever wanted.

“Sash’,” You said sweetly, “Can I-?” You pointed at the lazy Susan, silently asking her the rest of the question.

All she did in response to your question was tilt her head and grin playfully. She seemed to be playing a game - and it made your heart skip a beat - but you weren’t completely sure if she was. You were crazily rash sometimes, but when it came to friendship, you wouldn’t take a risk unless it was a heavily calculated move.

“What’s up?” Sasha asked innocently.

You grinned, “I need in that cabinet-” Sasha glanced down at the cabinet and then back at you, all without moving her body. “The sprinkles are in there. I need between your legs.”

Oh shit, there it is, the words you didn’t want to have to say. You couldn’t help how uncomfortably hot your body got after saying them, shifting from one leg to the other as if that would cool yourself down. And, you wished you hadn’t seen Sasha’s sudden surprise at the request, her eyes widened and her mouth in a permanent smile.

“Oh,” Sasha said with a tone dripping with cockiness, “You need between my legs? Then, what’s the password?”

You stared at Sasha with squinted eyes, “You have a password for between your legs? Are you wearing a chastity belt or something?”

“I guess that’s the only thing that would make sense.” Sasha giggled before raising a single eyebrow at you. “But, what’s the password?”

“You were serious?” Sasha nodded before you started thinking about what this mysterious password could be. “Is it 0-7-2-6-0-1?”

Sasha raised her eyebrows, “Huh?”

“Is it the same as your phone password?”

Sasha grinned, “Oh-” Sasha looked around the kitchen for a few moments before finally answering. “No.”

You sighed and thought again about what Sasha could make as a spur of the moment password. Obviously she didn’t have a leg password before this moment, so it had to be something she made up on the spot. And, a lot was on the line for you knowing this vital part of information - not only would it prove how deeply you knew Sasha, but the damn ice cream was starting to melt.

“Okay,” You said as you crossed your arms against your chest. “I’m going to spitball some out, and you tell me if I get it right, okay?”

Sasha nodded, “Alright, deal.”

This game was harder than you originally thought it would be, maybe you didn’t know Sasha at all. You thought you’d be able to guess it almost immediately, you thought you knew nearly everything about the other girl. But, she must have the most obscure leg password ever, you wouldn’t be surprised if it were in a different language altogether.

“French fries,” Sasha shook her head. “Hamburgers,” Shake. “Sausage,” Shake. “Pork,” Shake. “Milkshake.” Shake. “Is it-?”

“Why are you only guessing menu items from a diner? I like other things, you know?”

You shrugged, “I know, you just really like diner food.”

She likes other things, huh? Sure, she likes food - more than anyone you’ve ever seen in your whole life. But, it must be something outside of food, what else does Sasha like?

She likes cats, and she likes hunting and fishing with her dad, and she likes roller coaster rides that go backwards. She likes a vast array of things, so to choose just one she would think of in the matter of a few seconds seemed almost impossible.

Except, there was one thing you knew she liked more than any of those other things. She talked about it all the time, from conversations that were progressively led to the subject to randomly texting you another fact long past the time you had gone to bed and she should have gone to bed as well. She talked about it almost all of the time, how could you forget?

It was alcohol, it had to be alcohol related!

So, you thought of anything under the category, anything at all. You thought of vodkas, and rums, and whiskies - but you know she prefers mixed drinks so you switched to those names. You couldn’t think of many drinks that would make sense as her password, except for maybe strawberry daiquiri - though, that one didn’t seem to be right.

In a second, you thought of the one drink she always asks for. She asks for them no matter who the bartender is, whether it’s Jean or Connie that week. She asks for them when she sees your bottle of peach liquor sitting on the floor of your closet. She even asks if you think a place will have them when you walk past a bar you can’t get into yet since you’re both underaged. It was the only drink that completely made sense for it to be her legs' password, she loved them too much.

In a moment of adrenaline pumping through your veins at the realization of what the password must be, you screamed the drink name louder than you needed to.

“Sex on my face!” You yelled, your body going hot with the realization of what you just shouted at your best friend.

Sasha raised her eyebrows at you, “You want me to what?”

You tried to laugh off the embarrassment, but it didn’t work properly. You instead decided to smile into your hands as you covered your face. This moment wouldn’t have been embarrassing if it were anybody else, there was just too much sexual tension between you and Sasha for this conversation to be normal.

“That’s my next guess, I’m guessing the password is sex on my face.” You took a deep breath between your palms, embarrassment finally settling in and even beginning to fade the longer you didn’t think about what happened.

“It’s not,” Sasha said with a grin. “But, it was a good guess, so go ahead.”

You nodded as Sasha jumped from the counter, allowing you access to the lazy Susan. You made the adventure quick, not wanting to dwell on what you said in order to be allowed to grab the sprinkles. It was even embarrassing to feel Sasha’s eyes on your body as you crouched over and into the cabinet, something that otherwise wouldn’t have openly bothered you much.

“Do you want to know my real password?” Sasha asked as you scooped the half-melted ice cream into a bowl. You nodded, not wanting to say much of anything after what happened. “My real password was peanuts, because you have peanuts on the counter.”

You glanced at the bag of peanuts near the sink and then back to the bowl. “I guess I shouldn’t have put much thought into it, since it took you a second to even think about it.”

“You were smart with the game,” Sasha admitted, “You thought of passwords I wouldn’t have thought of in a million years, but not smart enough, I guess-” There was a moment where the only thing that could be heard was the buzzing coming from the working fridge. “Even though I do love sex on my face - take that however you want to.”

You felt your body heat up again, even as Sasha walked away from beside you. Take that however you want to. Oh my god, was Sasha hitting on you?

2:22 AM

If you moved your foot just an inch to the right, you’d be able to feel Sasha’s shin. You almost wanted to move your foot forward and finally touch her. You wanted to scoot your body across your sheets, to feel her body close to yours and feel your skin ignite with a new passion you hadn’t let out in a very long time.

You opened your eyes to see Sasha’s brown eyes staring into your own. You grinned at the girl, feeling like speaking was the only way to eliminate the awkward tension now present in the air. Part of you wished her eyes hadn’t been open, you were okay with watching her in silence - something about her knowing you liked looking at her made your stomach turn with nerves.

“Hey,” You whispered into your partially dark bedroom, “Are you tired?”

Sasha shook her head against the pillow, smushing her cheek even deeper into the plushness, “Not even a little bit. How about you?”

You sighed, “Nope.”

The silence was back, but it wasn’t awkward like the last time - this was a new comfortable silence. In the moment, all you could do was watch Sasha and all she could do was watch you right back.

You wondered what the brown haired girl was thinking about. Your first assumption was food considering the girl’s eating habits, but after a second thought - you knew better than to guess that. You then assumed that maybe the girl was thinking of you.

Sasha was probably tossing and turning the idea of you in her head, or at least you hoped she was. You hoped she was thinking about the way you look right now with the moon shining in through the window behind you. And, you hoped she thought about how warm you felt on the couch, pressed up against her earlier. And, you hoped she thought about how warm you would feel underneath her, completely naked and-

Not now. You closed your eyes to hide the thoughts in your head, and you hoped covering your irises would keep Sasha from knowing what you were thinking about. Now wasn’t the time to think about your best friend that way, not when the option was so possible.

“Hey,” Sasha whispered into the quiet space between you, “What kind of car would you be, if you had to be one?”

You opened one of your eyes, “What?”

“You heard me.” Sasha grinned as she watched you think of the few types of cars you could actually name off of the top of your head. “I think I’d be a pickup truck-” Sasha ignored your loud snort- “Because I’m tall, kind of. And, I like carrying things, I don’t really know why - I guess I like being helpful. And, my dad’s got a farm, so it’s perfect.”

You smiled wide at Sasha, “Do you want to try again and maybe pick any other car on the planet?”

“What’s wrong with pickup trucks?” Sasha tucked a fallen strand of hair behind her ear. “Pickup trucks are cool, right?”

“Oh, yeah,” You said sarcastically.

Sasha playfully pushed at your shoulder, “Alright, if I have to choose a different type of car, then I guess I’d be a-” Sasha took a second to think- “A tractor.”

“Shut up,” You spoke through a loud fit of laughter.

“I’m serious.” Sasha giggled with you. “I’d either be a pickup truck or a tractor - I mean it.”

“One,” You said with a grin, “Tractors aren’t even considered cars. And, two, no you wouldn’t be a tractor because they are loud and dirty and-” You shrugged- “Actually, that kind of works for you.”

“Hey!” Sasha's voice had gone up a few octaves for that one word. She pushed at your shoulder again, this time her hand lingering on your body.

You giggled, “You’re the one who said it, Sash’, I was only repeating it.” Sasha grinned at you, her hand still on your shoulder and now making its way down your bicep. “And, I think I’d be a mustang. One, I’m sleek and luxurious. And two, I like to go fast.”

“Really?” Sasha’s fingers drew invisible circles above your elbow. Her fingers were slender and warm and the circles were drawn in a smooth and consistent motion. “Could you have picked a more cliché type of car?”

You wrinkled your nose at the girl, “At least I chose a car.”

The room grew quiet again, but the silence was different from the last two times - neither awkward nor comfortable. Instead, the silence was full, like there were so many words being spoken into the space around you. The darkness of the room told each other your deepest, darkest secrets and part of you knew Sasha could hear your every thought that kept you awake at night.

She could hear what you thought about before eventually falling asleep. She could hear your mental grocery lists about the things you needed to pick up the next evening. And, she heard your mental relivings of memories you only thought about when nobody could see the pain written across your face. And, she heard the feelings you had bottled up for so long - feelings all about how badly you wanted to feel her hands all over your body.

And, what was so wrong with wanting your best friend on top of you, honestly? Everybody felt this way at least once in their lives. And, what was so wrong with finally going for it? Every single sexual or romantic relationship started with one of the people taking a chance, and it seemed you just had to be that person.

“Sasha,” You whispered into the dark space between both of your faces.

“Mhm,” Sasha mumbled back, her hand finally reaching your wrist.

You took a deep breath, “Do you ever think of me at night?”

Sasha grinned, “All of the time - why do you ask?”

Sasha’s fingers now found your palm, the tickling motion causing your own fingers to jump. Her hand was so warm against your hand, and you didn’t want her to stop touching you. You would prefer if she touched you all over your body, but you were willing to settle with just holding her hand in the darkness, if that’s all she wanted.

“Because,” You said with a smile, “I think about you too - at night, during the day, in the mornings, in my dreams - all of the time, like you said.”

Sasha’s fingers intertwined with your fingers, her palm resting gently against your own. Sasha didn’t need to say anything for you to suddenly hear her thoughts. She must have felt the same way considering her hand stayed against your own even when she leaned in to kiss you.

Sasha’s mouth was soft, and you could taste the ghost of her strawberry chapstick still on her lips. Her mouth moved gently at first, metaphorically testing the waters before diving in. Her kisses were merely innocent pecks for a moment, until she leaned back and whispered to your mouth.

“Was that what you think about all the time?” Sasha’s breath fanned across your face with her words.

You grinned to yourself, “I’ve thought about much more than just that.”

Sasha’s lips were back on yours, her mouth making up for wasted time. You had felt this way about her for as long as you’ve been her friend, and for just as long, she’s felt the exact same way. And finally, months longer than you’d have liked, Sasha is actually kissing you.

Sasha removes her hand from yours and instead brings them to your sides. She feels her way up your hips and ribs, her fingers gently tickling the skin she touches. Her fingertips play with the hem of your shirt and the waist of your shorts, teasing you with the idea of her removing your clothes from your body.

You moved your arms around her neck and brought her face closer to yours. Her tongue was warm when it swooped into your mouth, licking across the roof of your mouth in one swift movement. Her tongue was so warm and arousing in fact that she drew a soft gasp from your mouth which only encouraged her further.

Sasha’s hands found your hips just before you rolled up on your knee, now straddling her lap. You were in the same position as earlier, sitting gently on her hips as you lean downward towards her face. But, instead of carefully applying eyeliner to her eyelids, you now kissed Sasha so roughly that your front teeth chattered against her front teeth.

Sasha ran her hands over your hips and ass, touching the places she had wanted to, but didn’t, touch earlier. Her fingers moved gently against your thighs, digging her nails into the plush skin. Her hands pressed onward, hellbent on finding their ways under the bottoms of your sleep shorts.

You let out a short gasp when you felt Sasha’s smooth fingers find the soft fabric of your panties. She grinned once she felt your surprise and whispered into your mouth.

“Did I shock you?” Sasha asked with a smile, “Did you expect me not to touch you when you’re on top of me like this?”

You breathlessly mumbled against her mouth, “‘Guess I didn’t expect you to be so determined.”

“Let me show you just how determined I am.”

Sasha pulled on the bottom of your shirt and you raised your arms, letting her remove the fabric from your body. Sasha throws the shirt to the ground, taking in the new sight in front of her - you sitting on top of her in only your sleep shorts and panties. Sasha had seen you in a bikini and even in your bra plenty of times but nothing could have prepared her for how beautiful with a bare chest.

You leaned down and pecked Sasha before your mouth traveled past her mouth and down her body. You kissed her jaw, the side of her neck, and behind her ear. The kisses that you left on Sasha’s skin tickled her body, causing her to let out breathy pants and soft giggles from between her lips.

Sasha arched her back towards you before suddenly switching positions with you. She pushed you onto the bed beside her, your back now against the comforter you were formerly lying underneath. Sasha sat above you, leaning back on her calves on the right side of your legs.

Sasha quickly pulled her shirt from her body, throwing it thoughtlessly to the ground. You reached towards her, placing your hands gently against the smooth skin of her stomach. Your fingers slowly made their ways up her ribs and to her chest, letting your fingertips rub gentle shapes into the sensitive skin of her tits.

Sasha bent down towards you, pressing her lips to yours as your hands continued to palm her. Sasha moaned into your mouth in between kisses, feeling herself growing hotter with every second your hands were on her. Sasha moved an inch back from your lips, whispering heavily into your mouth.

“Can I taste you?” Sasha came back in for another kiss.

You nodded against her face, “Yes, please.”

Sasha moved back onto her calves, smiling down at you for a second before moving her hands to the waist of your shorts. She pulled your sleep shorts down your thighs and legs, shoving them off of the bed and out of the way.

Sasha moved in between your legs, wrapping her hands around your body before leaning down. She spread a kissing trail from your navel down to the waistband of your panties. And once she reached your panties, she looked up at you - silently asking for permission to proceed.

“Please.” That one word came out in a desperate squeak.

Sasha giggled into your body, “‘You really that excited for me?”

Sasha slowly pulled your panties down your legs, tossing them to the floor as well. You felt the heartbeat between your legs pound as Sasha kissed slowly down your leg: a peck to your ankle, to your calf, to the side of your knee, to the inside of your thigh and finally to the most sensitive skin right beside her destination.

A loud moan erupted from your mouth when Sasha’s mouth found the place you needed her most. Her tongue licked against the slick that had collected in the area, drinking it into her mouth which only caused you to create more. Sasha’s mouth moved expertly between your legs, her tongue moving itself in and out and around your entrance.

You arched your back into the air as Sasha’s hands moved from your back to your ass and hips. She moved her fingers against your hips bones, squeezing the skin and pulling your body closer to her mouth until your thighs were practically suffocating her. But, Sasha didn’t stop, the possibility of death only encouraged her further - Sasha supposed if she had to die anywhere, she’d prefer to die between your thighs and tongue deep in your pussy.

Deep within your folds, Sasha used her tongue to write the same thing over and over again. Silently communicating with you through her movements, and even marking the area as her own. S-A-S-H-A, her tongue spelled out her name for you, each time driving you closer and closer to your orgasm, S-A-S-H-A.

You felt your legs shake on either side of Sasha’s face, your whole body jumping with arousal. You pushed your fingers into Sasha’s hair, fisting the strands into your palm in an attempt to alleviate the pressure growing in your stomach. Sasha moaned into your pussy, aroused by the idea of just how much pleasure she was giving you.

The growing pressure in your stomach started spreading to your entire body, causing your hips to buck forward from your impending orgasm. You pushed Sasha’s face deeper into your body, silently influencing her to continue exactly what she was doing. All it took was one more swoop of her tongue and you were unraveling into her mouth.

Sasha licked up every single drop of wetness, slowly bringing you back down from your high. Sasha sat up from between your legs, looking at you from where she sat on her calves. She grinned at you, her chin and cheeks drenched in what remained of your orgasm.

“So,” Sasha said with a large smile, “How was that?”

You giggled breathlessly into your hands, suddenly feeling the need to cover your face. All you could remember was just how loud you got while she was between your legs, the room echoed with the sounds of every moan that came from between your lips. You felt embarrassed by just how much you enjoyed Sasha’s tongue because what if she now knew how much you like her?

Sasha’s hands gently removed your palms from your face. You looked intently into her eyes and cursed just how deeply the other girl knew you. She’s your best friend and a good one at that, of course she can read the embarrassment written so obviously across your face.

“Hey,” Sasha said delicately, “There’s nothing to be embarrassed about, babe. I enjoyed it just as much as you did.”

You sighed, “How about I give you something to enjoy? Wanna’ let me return the favor?”

“Oh?” Sasha raised a single eyebrow at you. “Hell yeah.”

You pushed Sasha into the bed the same way she had to you. You placed your thigh between her legs, pressing down into her before giving her a passionate kiss. Sasha groaned against your lips which only encouraged you to give her just as much pleasure she gave you. You stayed up all night with her, your lips against her lips and your thigh between her legs as you drank down every moan she gave you until the sun eventually came up on the other side of your bedroom window.

[squishytenya]

𝕁𝕖𝕒𝕝𝕠𝕦𝕤𝕪 ℍ𝕖𝕒𝕕𝕔𝕒𝕟𝕠𝕟𝕤

↬ Pairings: Tamaki x reader, Bakugou x reader

↬ Reader: gender neutral

↬ Warnings: swearing, Bakugou’s is suggestive 

Bakugou

Bakugou is the definition of the jealous type

It’s not that he doesn’t trust you, he just doesn’t trust other people to respect your boundaries

And he gets jealous super easily so uses that as an excuse

The moment someone starts hitting on you or looking at you in the wrong way he wraps his arms around your waist

Tugs you closer until your back is stuck to his chest

And if they still don’t get the messages, he brings out eh big guns

Starts leaving kisses up and down your neck while making direct eye contact with the person

Not afraid to give you a hickey in public if the weirdo still doesn’t stop looking

Will bite, don’t try him

Usually they leave by this point but he’s still all hot and bothered that anyone else was flirting with you while he was right there

The man has no shame, seriously like none, there is nothing he won’t do to get the message across to people that you’re his

And what’s his shouldn’t be touched by anyone but him

Chances are you’re gonna be walking around with a visual sign that you were taken all over your neck and collar bones

Such a smug asshole about it as well like he’s proud of the fact you became essentially his human chew toy cause some random person flirted with you

It’s effective though, nobody flirts with you when you have Bakugou with you at all times (both literally and metaphorically aksjkahsd)

Tamaki 

Don’t do this to him, he’s just a sweet boy, he can’t handle this

Get’s jealous surprisingly easy but nobody can really tell except you

The way he keeps nervously glancing at you like he wants you to come over to him clues you in

But if the person is persistent, he will get fed up and walk over

Unlike Bakugou, he will just stand next to you and wrap an arm around your shoulder at most

Kind of expects you to introduce you as his boyfriend so the person leaves you alone

Please do that for him he doesn’t want to have to actually talk to this person

If you do, cause you’re not mean, and they still ignore it or say some stupid shit about being better then Tamaki is left with no choice

He hasn’t made eye contact with the person yet but will turn to them with the look he gave 1A that one time and scare them shitless

Doesn’t mean to! He just wanted to make eye contact and tell them to leave politely

But the person pretty much flees then and there because he’s so unintentionally scary sometimes but you know he’s a softy

He looks at you with the softest of looks and asks if you’re okay no matter if it was just someone complimenting you or if they were fully coming onto you

Tries to distract you for a while but goes very pink if you ever bring up his jealousy to him

Cuddles you for a while after you get home just for some reassurance that you’re still there and not gonna go away

Sweet boy, reassure him that you love him and he’s gonna be okay

this is a reblog of already existing headcanons so I won’t use my taglist!

Remember that reblogs help content creators

[docockbrainrot]

i think i want you (to leave)

Summary: We’re all running from something. Sometimes, metaphorically. Sometimes, literally. Literally running, from the very strangely hypnotizing supervillain that seems hellbent on ruining every bit of your life he can get all eight of his limbs on.

Pairing: Doc Ock X Reader/ Otto Octavius X Reader

Content: Slow Burn, NSFW eventually, 18+, Female Reader

AO3 link here!

Previous Chapter

Chapter 11

deathwish// stand atlantic ft nothing, nowhere

“Have we met before?” Harry prefaces the awkward elevator conversation the moment the doors slide elegantly to a close. 

This was gonna be a long ride.

“Ah… uh… maybe, I mean. I used to-to work here. For you.” No shit, he owns the place. You shove your clammy hands into the pockets of your cardigan, trying to remain as stone faced as possible. Is it weird that you haven’t made eye contact? Should you look at him? You’ve been very determined to study the framework of the lift doorway, but now you’re wondering if the evasion is somehow more suspicious. Fuck. 

“Is that so? I apologize- I try to get around to introducing myself to as many of my employees as possible; I’m a very… hands on-” Oh God, “kind of boss, you know? Not to mention…” You finally make the mistake (and you are quite certain now that is indeed a mistake) of meeting Harry’s piercing gaze. “I think I would remember a face like yours.” You half expect to hear some kind of snarky quip from Otto in your ear, but, surprisingly, he’s still silent. Is this a diversion? Did something happen? Is Harry onto you? The list of things that could be currently going wrong gets longer by the nanosecond and for the cherry on top of the shitstorm cake, you’re evidently dealing with it all alone. Somewhere in the midst of the insurmountable anxiety, you’re aware that you need to respond without sounding like a total moron and without blowing your cover.

“I-uh-oh-um- Thank you?” Well, gold star for effort.

“Is this your stop?” Harry tilts his head towards the open elevator doors and you can’t believe you didn’t notice. It’s like he has you glued to the floor with his eyes, looking right through you but in the most indescribable way. Like he’s flaying you from the inside out, pulling out all your secrets and laying them bare on the cold, unforgiving tile. “It was nice to meet you. I’m sure I’ll see you around,” he speaks coolly and it feels so much like a dismissal that you can finally move, albeit mostly on autopilot. You scurry out of the lift and pause to glance over your shoulder as the doors close, catching Harry’s eyes one last time before he’s ascending further into the heavens of the Oscorp tower. You’re unable to rid yourself of the creeping suspicion that he was absolutely onto you. 

“Otto?” You hiss into the Bluetooth receiver, attempting to calm your frazzled nerves. Some kind of feedback crackles through the earpiece and relief washes over you when you hear, 

“I’m here. Harry’s gone, right?”

“Yes- I mean- what the hell was that, Otto? Thanks for the help, he was eating me alive in there!” 

“He’s dangerous, Y/N. In ways you couldn’t imagine. I didn’t want him to hear me.”

“More secrets, yay,” you mutter to yourself, finally taking a moment to survey your surroundings. Mostly glass cubicle office spaces, you note. A few are in use, employees with headsets on, typing away at their keyboards. No one seems to even bat an eye at your presence; you take advantage of your apparent invisibility and make a beeline for an unoccupied desk, as far away from any human contact as possible. There’s a wall to your left which leaves even fewer sides for you to be caught off guard. Not that it’s possible, right? With your, ah… “guardian angel”, so to speak, keeping watch over you? At all times? Right? You shoot what you hope is a very convincing glare into the security camera just above your head. 

“I’ve got it handled, for now, just stop screwing around and get a move on. We’ve wasted enough time, we have to be out before the shift change for the security team gets down here.” You balk at this New, Important Information.

“Shift change?! Otto?! You didn’t tell me this was a timed mission!” And just when you were starting to calm down, you feel the anxiety kickstart like a battery jump straight to your heart. He doesn’t say anything to justify himself and you scowl, plopping down in the cushy office chair and procuring the flash drive, unclipping it from your key ring with your trembling fingers and shoving it into the USB slot. You shake the mouse a little on the pad to wake up the monitor and stare blankly at the log-in screen. Okay… your credentials. You definitely don’t have clearance for this floor, you already know it. But you find yourself again, having to trust that Otto knows what he’s doing even when it means leaving you in the dark. The balance in this relationship is starting to feel a tad skewed and you try not to dwell on it as you reluctantly type your employee information into the respective spaces. 

And, Enter.

No error message, no blaring alarms, no flashing red lights. Nothing happens. 

Except that you’re successfully logged in. “I… Um… I don’t know what to do now.”

“I’ll walk you through it. We’re looking for files that are probably going to be buried in here pretty deep. Just do exactly what I tell you.”

---

You have to say, to an extent, it feels… kind of cool being involved in this. “It’s like I’m a hacker in a shitty movie,” you chuckle and hear an unamused sigh from your partner in crime. In a fashion that has become typical of Otto, he doesn’t explain how he knows what he’s doing. You wonder if maybe he worked for Oscorp at some point… But you don’t bother asking. Not like he’d give you a straight answer anyway. 

You’re pleasantly surprised that it’s going as smoothly as it is; Otto helps you uncover the files relatively quickly and you resist the urge to open them. He demands that you download everything to the flash drive and don’t snoop around. “The less you know, the better.” Yeah, yeah, you’ve heard that before.

Despite no hiccups, you can't help but notice that in the time it's taken to get this far, the people previously occupying the floor have begun to disperse. Probably just a coincidence; maybe everyone's just taking their lunch breaks at the same time. It's still a bit unnerving, and you watch as the last person who was typing away at their desk lays their headset down and makes a beeline for the exit. The stairs, specifically. They avoid the elevator. You wonder if there's a reason for that. Should that count as suspicious? You contemplate bringing it up to Otto, but elect not to. No need to get all dramatic over a few employees taking a break, right? And he should still have eyes on the whole floor, surely he would have said something if things were looking dubious.

Watching the download bar creep ever-so-slowly towards 100% has to be the most excruciating process of your life. You can’t help bouncing your leg under the desk, apprehension getting the better of you. Otto knows something about Harry Osborn that he won’t tell you; he knows something about a lot of this that he won’t tell you. You can’t even begin to wrap your mind around it all, suspecting that there’s just always going to be secrets that you’ll never get to the bottom of. You consider bringing up to him that if you knew what you’re up against, maybe it would be safer in the long run. If you knew what to expect. 

99%

You tap your fingers impatiently against the mousepad. “Would you knock that off, it’s almost done-” Otto’s voice in your head cuts off and you suddenly sit up straight as an arrow as you realize it’s because the Bluetooth is gone. You reach up instinctively to touch your ear where it was and a cold chill crawls into your belly and makes a home there as you slowly turn in the chair to look behind you. 

“So we meet again.”

And his voice is like ice in your veins.

[tintinwrites]

how could we be wrong? | Priest!Max Phillips x Reader

A/N: Thank you for doing business with the religious trauma hotline, my name’s Caitlin. I’m just calling to confirm your order of a priest kink.

Rating: 18+

Warning: Fem!Reader. Max is a priest. Unprotected P in V sex, in a church, over a pew, while another priest and a parishioner are in the confessional booth. Oral (F receiving). Religious things. Naughty words. A bit of corruption kink. There are so many sins in this that I can’t list them all bc idk what’s bad and what’s not now.

Word count: 4,105, apparently!!

Summary: You go to church to confess your sins, but end up only adding on some more things you’ll need to confess.

GIF credit: thewaythisis

Tags: Love y’all but I cannot CANNOT force my taglist to have a priest kink thrust upon them like this.

                                               --------------------

The oak door was heavy as you pulled on the brass handle, but the opening of it led you into a warm, quiet sanctuary.

You supposed there was a metaphor in there; you were out in the cold with a heavy weight, but just beyond that weight was warmth and salvation and peace.

Every pew was empty, bibles and hymnals tucked neatly in the compartments on the back as they waited for mass or for passersby who needed to pray. There were candles lit at the front of the sanctuary despite the lights on overhead, and you inwardly berated yourself for not knowing why they were lit.

You intended to go to the confessional booth to your right, but you paused halfway to it when you saw that there was another person in the sanctuary. They were facing away from you, dressed in all black, but they didn’t have snowy white hair like the priest who you’d seen the times you visited before.

Glancing at the confessional, you decided instead to approach the man.

Perhaps you just hadn’t seen him before and if he was the only priest in the building, going into an empty confessional would be a little silly.

“Father?” you asked cautiously, and the man immediately whipped around to show a face much younger than you were used to, his gaze quickly flickering over you.

“—yes, my...child?” The name was said hesitantly with a slight grimace and you wondered if you interrupted him.

“I’m sorry. I can come back later.” You turned to go, but a hand wrapped around your arm to pull you back.

“No, stay, I was just cleaning.” He held up the dust buster in his free hand, releasing you so he could put it on the altar table. “What do you need? I’m yours.”

He said that simple statement so smoothly as he turned to face you that it made your heart pick up speed just a bit, blinking at him for a moment. “Well, I...came to confess, but I’m not exactly anonymous anymore…”

“Oh, don’t worry about that, slugger!” He wrapped an arm around your shoulders before you could protest, leading you to a pew and sitting down with you, his legs open wide as he relaxed into the wooden seat. “So, come on, what’s the secret, huh? What’d you come to confess?”

“I...I don’t know.” You knew what you came to confess, but you were taken aback by his behavior and how quickly he moved, and mostly just embarrassed to admit such things to a handsome man like him.

“Are you one of those freaks who just came to confess just in case?”

“What? That’s...no.” You were definitely surprised by a man of God talking about the parishioners who came to confess like that. “I just don’t know if I should confess these things outside of the confessional.”

He made a face and waved his hand as if to say it was no big deal. “Your secret’s safe with me.”

There was something charming about how carefree and flippant the man was, but you still hesitated for a second. “I don’t even know who you are, Father.”

“Max Phillips. I just started training here.”

Well, that explained his lack of the professionalism and seriousness you were used to. You opened your mouth to confess since he was a priest or would soon be one, but you shook your head and looked down shyly. “I don’t know…”

A finger under your chin gently nudged your head up until you were looking into Max’s eyes, your heart picking up speed again. “You’re safe with me. Go ahead.”

There was just something about him that made you feel all warm inside, and you nodded for so long it was almost stupid before you remembered that you were supposed to be confessing.

“I’ve been having a lot of impure thoughts lately. It just seems like everything is driving me crazy and then I…” You faltered as the real thing you wanted to confess to danced on the tip of your tongue.

Max had been looking at the way your dress hugged your tits as he listened, raising his eyes to your face when you stopped. “What’s wrong?”

“You’re very young to be a priest.” You started to turn away because talking about something like this to a man who looked like that was not stopping your thoughts from heading in the direction they tended to lately. “And you’re different. Shouldn’t we be in the confessional?”

“Hey, listen, how about we...make a deal? You confess, and I can tell you how I ended up here.” He just really wanted to know what had you so ashamed like this, what could possibly make you squirm like you were right then.

You considered it for a second before nodding, taking a deep breath. “I’ve been masturbating. I start thinking, and then I start feeling these sensations, and before I know it, I’m touching myself.”

He nodded along in understanding like the thought of you touching yourself didn’t make his pants a little tighter. “I see.”

“I know it’s wrong.” You dropped your head into your hands, but were only able to wallow for a few seconds. The priest grabbed onto your hands and grasped them in his supportively, making you look up at him.

“You wanna hear why I became a priest?” He smiled at your slight nod. “I was always a little bit of a...troublemaker. But I guess the last time was just the straw that broke the camel’s back for my parents…”

“What did you do?” you asked with concern; the way he sighed made it seem like he did something terrible, like hurt someone or do some kind of dangerous drug.

“See, there was this girl I liked. I invited her over to my house.” He knew exactly what he was doing with this story, noting every little hint of your untapped desire in the way you leaned closer and your blinking slowed. “When my parents walked in to find me with my head under her skirt, slowly thrusting my tongue in and out of her, I guess it was too much.”

His words dripped with sensuality and you would have fallen right off the pew were it not for your grip tightening on his hands. He was so beautiful. You pressed your thighs together and just stared at him, your lips parting slightly like you wanted to say something or maybe even kiss him.

But then he leaned back and shrugged, going right back to his previous nonchalance. “So they sent me to seminary a few years ago and I was just accepted by this church.”

“Oh.” You nodded, trying to pretend that his story hadn’t affected you that much. It seemed like he was just telling a story and your horny brain had just read too much into it.

“You know sexuality isn’t bad, right? Rubbing one out is a biological response to release a little...tension.” He released your hands to break contact with you, noticing the way you fell forward just a little as he leaned against the back of the pew.

“The bible says—”

“The bible’s been translated a billion times and taken out of context a billion more. Trust me, there’s nothing wrong with releasing a little tension.” He tilted his head, pursing his lips as he decided to push you a bit. “There’s nothing wrong with you being turned on by the idea of me putting my head under your dress right now.”

You were nodding along as you considered his words, but then your eyes nearly doubled in size at his comment. “I—I don’t—”

“Now lying is a sin.” He reached out to tap you on the nose which made you blink rapidly in confusion. “Look at how tense you are. You’ve been denying yourself, haven’t you?”

“Well...I didn’t think it was right…” You were uncomfortable; not because he was upsetting you, but because you had been denying yourself and you were so turned on by his words that you wanted to do the very thing you came to confess.

“Why don’t you show me how you touch yourself?” He decided to be blunt. You seemed to enjoy it when he was.

“What? Me? Here?” Your reaction was almost comical, but his words still sent a jolt directly to your clit.

“Touch yourself. Yes, you. Right here.” He leaned forward to gently grasp your hand again, running his thumb along the back of it. “I’m a man of God. You’re safe with me if you need to release a little tension. I won’t tell a soul.”

“I…” You wet your lips, pressing your thighs even tighter together.

He kept his eyes on yours as he slowly guided your hand to the hem of your dress, pausing to see if you would stop him or protest. When you didn’t, he helped you pull the fabric up your thighs, glancing down when he saw a glimpse of bright fabric. “Blue lace, huh? I like it.”

All you did was stare into his eyes, letting him maneuver your hand underneath the practically sheer fabric. He pulled his hand out and just laid it on top of yours through the lace.

“Tell me your name.” He waited for you to stutter it out before repeating it, wrapping his lips around it sensually in a way no one ever had before. “I could moan that. Fuck, I’d like to hear you moan my name like a prayer.”

You couldn’t help yourself as your eyes fluttered shut and you began stroking over your clit, giving into the sensation that was begging you to touch yourself.

Max just kept his hand on top of yours, letting them move together, his eye flickering between your face and what you were doing between your legs. “Isn’t that better? What are you thinking about?”

“Your tongue.” You were too turned on to care, letting out a little moan when you opened your eyes and saw the way he was staring at you.

“And I didn’t even tell you the whole story!” He laughed, bringing his free hand down to playfully slap your thigh. “I bet you’d like to know what I did when my parents and their friends walked in, huh? Go ahead, ask me.”

“What did...what did you do?” You tried your best to focus on him, now letting him control the movements of your hand through your panties.

He shifted a bit so he could lean in closer to you, his eyes roaming from your face, down your neck, over your breasts, until they landed between your legs. “I fucked my tongue into her until she came all over herself in front of everyone.”

The whine you let out was exactly what he wanted and he chuckled when you tried to move your hand faster than he was allowing.

“Patience is a virtue. Do you want to feel my tongue?” He raised an eyebrow when you didn’t answer him at first, making you grind your fingers against your clit a little harder. “It’s okay to say yes.”

“Yes,” you gasped out and he smirked, pulling his hand away and taking hold of your wrist to make you stop touching yourself.

“Now, I know you learned patience. You’re such a stickler for rules, aren’t you?” He pulled your hand up to kiss your glistening fingers, letting his tongue poke out to kitten lick them every so often. “I want you to stand up for me. Take off your panties, go up and put them on the altar, then come back here. You’re gonna stand in front of me and take off your dress.”

Your chest was rising and falling slowly from your deep, steady breaths. You’d come to confess your sins, but it didn’t feel like a sin as you stood up and stepped out of your underwear.

You didn’t even realize how easily you were doing it until you’d approached the altar and set the bit of lace on it, turning around to make your way back to Max.

He was leaning back in the pew with his legs open wide, the bulge in his pants obvious when you came to practically stand between his knees.

You hesitated when your fingers came to the hem of your dress, realizing that you were going to be naked in front of this practical stranger in the middle of a church. It was both enticing and terrifying.

“Let me see. I’ve been staring at your tits since you walked in anyway.” He said it so casually it was somehow almost sexier than if he’d been flirtatious.

Hesitating for just a moment longer, you pulled your dress off before you could convince yourself not to, leaving yourself entirely bare. Max’s eyes darkened as he slowly looked over every visible inch of you.

You grew nervous when he didn’t say anything, shifting on your feet and biting your lip as you stared at the floor.

When he was still silent, you slowly looked up at him, fearing a look of disgust.

But you found him staring right at you with eyes full of lust and he slowly said, “I’d abandon the church for that.”

“Oh.” You didn’t know what to say to something like that, just letting out a shaky breath as you felt yourself grow wetter.

“Sit down. Open your legs wide.” He stood up, waiting for you to take his place on the pew before he knelt between your legs. “Has anyone ever done this before?”

“No, Father. I only had sex once, when I was a teenager...and it wasn’t really good.” Your answer seemed to please him, but he didn’t comment on it.

“Call me Max,” he said simply, then leaned forward and started running his tongue along your folds.

Just feeling his tongue between your legs had you squirming and gasping, but he wasn’t paying attention to your clit yet. He’d dip his tongue right near it before skipping over it, pressing teasing little kisses against you.

Having never been eaten out before, you didn’t think to rush him or beg him; you were oversensitized from a lack of proper touch, so this was doing a lot for you.

He decided to be nice mostly for the purpose of rocking your world, and he started to flick at your clit with the tip of his tongue.

That had your hips lifting off the pew, a cry leaving your lips as he started tracing little circles over the sensitive area. “Oh, fuck, Max…”

He took hold of your thighs to pin you back down to the seat, pressing his tongue flat against you and dragging it slowly up over your clit. The movement had your jaw dropping open in pure ecstasy and the ensuing vibrations from his soft chuckle made you release a moan.

You’d never felt anything so amazing in your entire life even when you would give in and touch yourself, and you couldn’t believe how long you’d gone without feeling something this wonderful.

“Would you use your tongue inside me? Like the girl?” Your request earned you another slap to the thigh as Max pulled away, his lips shining.

“I gotta say, you know your manners!” He grinned, keeping his eyes on you as he leaned down and slowly began fucking into you with his tongue.

You were silent at first as the new sensation took over, before you let out a whine and started breathing a little shakily. “Oh, God!”

Max mumbled a reminder of what you could call him into your cunt, thrusting his tongue a little faster and nudging his nose against your clit.

He kept going at it until he felt your walls starting to flutter around his tongue and he pulled back, smirking at the almost hurt look on your face.

“You wanna see what good sex is like?” He cupped your face when you nodded, moving to kiss you passionately.

You kissed him back eagerly and stared at him dreamily as he pulled you to your feet, letting him turn you around. He guided you to bend over with your hands gripping the back of the pew, seeing that you were steady before he pulled back to admire your ass.

He ran a hand over the soft skin, undoing his pants with the other as he kept trailing down until he was stroking through your slit. “It hurt the first time, huh?”

“Yeah, and he...released his seed after a couple thrusts then left…” You admitted this with a bit of shame, pressing your fingers into the wood.

“Came. He came after a couple thrusts.” Your gentle way of putting it made him smirk, but he let out a moan when he pressed his tip to your wet folds. “This one’s not gonna hurt and you can bet your sweet ass that you’re gonna come first.”

“He came,” you repeated, eyes fluttering shut with a moan at the feeling of him starting to push into you; there was some pressure, but he was right about it not hurting like the other time.

“God, you’re tight…” He practically growled, going slow so you could adjust to the way he was stretching you open.

You folded your arms on the back of the pew and laid your head on them, breathing deeply as he pushed himself inside you as far as he could. He moved one hand to your right hip and the other stroked up your back.

“How’s that?” Your answer was a pitiful, little groan so he thrust his hips a little. “Come on. Use your words.”

“Good, but I feel like I want you to move…” It was so nice to feel full and you wanted friction to go with it.

“Then get back up.”

You forced yourself back up onto your hands and turned your head to look at him over your shoulder.

He raised an eyebrow, watching your eyes darken as he pulled out before quickly thrusting back into you. It was hard enough that you let out a yelp and were rocked forward a bit, having to tighten your grip on the pew so you didn’t face plant on it.

“Oh, God!” You cried, arching back into him.

“Okay, fine, you can call me that and Max.” He rolled his eyes playfully as he found a steady pace against you, loving the way you practically bounced with each thrust.

You were too gone to even acknowledge what he said, and he really didn’t mind since that meant he was turning you on. He slid a hand underneath you so he could rub at your clit, angling his thrusts to stroke over your G spot.

He was trying to keep it together, but you were sexy, and so wet, and so fucking into it that he couldn’t help the noises you were pulling out of him; every whine, every moan, was worth being able to fuck into your tight, wet pussy in the middle of the fucking church.

He could feel your walls fluttering around his cock already since you were so wound up in general and worked up from his mouth, and like hell he was gonna deny you this time.

The thought of you squeezing down on his cock encouraged him to move faster, the sound of his hips slapping into your ass echoing through the sanctuary.

“Max! I’m—I’m—” Your orgasm was too powerful for you to even warn him about, only able to let out a cry as you clenched tight around him.

“Holy shit.” He hissed at the way your cunt gripped him like a fucking vice, the way he felt you squirt all over yourself and his dick.

He could feel it dripping down your thighs and his, spurring him on further as he easily thrust into you.

The sound of your wet cunt filling the room was even better and he let himself get completely lost in you, grunting and whining at how good you felt.

“Oh, God. Oh, God!” Maybe he was doing that part a bit on purpose, but he had no choice but to let his hips lose their rhythm as he just focused on seeking out his orgasm. “Fuck. Tell me where to come, now.”

You didn’t answer at first as you were still coming down from your orgasm. He quickly started rubbing your sensitive clit again to grab your attention and you gasped, “Inside me, please.”

He wanted to fall to his knees and fucking worship you for that, leaning down to press a kiss between your shoulder blades before he stood up to drive into you desperately. It only took a few more thrusts before he was shoving himself into you as deeply as he could, letting out a loud, long groan as he spilled his load into you.

The two of you stayed like that for a second, both panting, both with your eyes shut tightly.

But Max still wanted to fall to his knees in worship.

He regrettably pulled out of you and moved to kneel down, holding onto your ass to keep you still as he leaned in, immediately lapping the mixture of his and your cum from your cunt.

You let out a whimper so pretty that he could’ve gotten hard again if it was possible. He just focused on cleaning you up with his tongue, licking into your cunt until he was satisfied with his work.

He enjoyed a good eyeful of your pussy and ass and decided he wanted to inspect you more in the future, moving to his feet.

“Your sins are absolved.” His words were followed by a slap to your ass before he tucked himself back into his pants.

You moaned and stood up fully, turning to see that he was holding your dress out to you. Part of you wanted to ask if that was it, craving more despite how much he’d just offered you, but you stayed silent and put your dress back on.

You walked up to the altar when he just stared at you, grabbing your panties off and moving to step into them. There was a tap on your shoulder before you could and you turned to face Max, who was now holding a collection plate and grinning mischievously.

“We’re collecting if you want to help the church. I, for one, would love to put those on my face later and jack off.”

You gaped at him for a moment before slowly smiling and laughing softly, dropping the lace into the collection plate. “I should probably go…”

He nodded, but put his free hand on the side of your face and guided you into a deep kiss, licking into your mouth with remnants of cum on his tongue. It made you moan and he was honestly fucking surprised you didn’t have your own cult of people begging to have you.

“Come back. Just ask for me.” He smirked at your dazed nod and kissed you again before slapping your ass, nudging you up the aisle.

You walked to the door with a bit of a gap between your thighs, finding that the door didn’t seem as heavy as before. You glanced at him over your shoulder before walking out and letting the oak shut behind you.

Max just smirked to himself and chuckled, both satisfied and proud. He looked to the side of the room when he heard a creak, smile not faltering in the slightest even as an older, enraged-looking priest stepped out of the confessional booth. “Hey, pops.”

“Father Phillips, this is unacceptable.” He was red in the face from anger or perhaps something else.

“Is that a crucifix in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?” Max’s jovial expression did twitch a little bit when the priest let out a growl, and he slowly slid back a step and took your underwear out of the collection plate. “She needed me, buddy! What was I supposed to do, let her walk around all wound up?”

“You weren’t supposed to fornicate with a parishioner in the middle of the fuck—” He immediately stopped his crass words when the other side of the confessional opened and out stepped a small, elderly woman.

Max had honestly forgotten she was in there, but raised his eyebrows in surprise when he noticed the way she was eyeing him.

It was probably the wink he sent her that took him from probably exiled to definitely exiled, based on the way the head priest cried,

“Get out!”

[moxfirefly]

15: Have you never been touched like this before? For Mikey please?

broh, just YES

Let’s GET DIS.

Rated Explicit (18+ only)

Expertly Michelangelo drops down from the vent, he scans his dark surroundings before signaling for you to do the same.

Not so expertly you try shimmying yourself down not wanting to break a leg while on this ‘mission’ but thankfully Mikey holds out his hands and catches you half way down to soften the fall. You both snicker but otherwise try to keep your voices down.

Moving towards the door of the class lab room you peak through the small window. So far no signs of a janitor or security guard but otherwise remaining as stealthy as possible is the name of the game. Why exactly are you and Mikey in here at midnight? Why are you possibly risking expulsion from your college by doing this?

Your professor just had it coming.

The asshat in question had often been a heartless, unforgiving, borderline pervert with you and the girls in the class. Aside from that and grading your lab paper unfairly, he found any moment to question your intelligence and belittle you.

Frankly what you were doing tonight was just merely the sprinkles on top of the metaphorical victory cake. You had asked Donatello to help already, who currently was going to make this man’s online life a literal living hell. Raphael had chimed in that he’d gladly give the guy a proper scare and while Leonardo wasn’t exactly thrilled with this plan, once he’d heard some of the stories he too had gone with Raph to help out.

Which left Michelangelo, who gave you this sweet sweet final topping so to speak. He’d found everyone else’s handy work all fine but the prank spirit wasn’t quite there. This guy deserved at least one thing done that you and the rest of the class could enjoy live and in all its glory.

So this plan had been hatched and you couldn’t say no to a beaming Mikey.

“We clear?” Mikey stage whispers towards you while he moves towards the desk. You give him a thumbs up and take off your back bag and head over to where he is examining the chair your professor sat on. “A classic chair break?” You ask grinning but Mikey shakes his head, removing some materials from his own bag. “Nah we Home Alone-ning this bitch, we’re super glueing his ass to the chair” You cover your mouth barely containing the laugh that racks your body. Apparently this didn’t dry until it would come in contact with something, from there Mikey took all the drawers from the desk, rearranged them and loosened the handles.

An hour into booby trapping every single place he can possibly touch you both find yourself sitting on the tables. Mikey was fiddling with a microscope as you informed Donnie that two of you were almost ready to go. “Thanks again for this, really mean it” You smiled brightly at him, nudging him affectionately. Mikey’s grin is top tier, he’d seriously enjoyed himself. “Not everyday I get to prank some jerk with a pretty girl to boot” His gaze drops to his feet, scuffed sneakers swinging out of habit.

“Well it’s not everyday I get the chance to have a cute guy help me out with something like this” Your cheeks hurt already from smiling and trying to muffle laughing fits, Mikey absolutely loves the sight of it. Your close proximity to him, thigh touching thigh, knee touching knee. The two of you had been dancing around something for months now. He suspects you like him and you were almost a hundred percent sure that he does too.

A part of you doesn’t want to leave just yet, this was the most privacy the two of you had gotten and here in the quiet class room with only a half moon for lighting you found courage.

Nonchalantly you rest your hand on his knee, you feel a scar there, old and healed probably from skateboarding. The texture of his skin magnetized you, Mikey who has been leaning back on the palms of his hands stiffens. His blue eyes land on your hand, the contrast of skin tones, the soft caress of your fingertips running along a scar and scales. He feels his heart rattle and a breath catch in his lungs. You looked at him, smiling somewhat embarrassed by your boldness.

You don’t miss the way Mikey’s leg muscles tense, how his eyes follow your shy touches as they make their way towards his strong thigh. “I don’t think we’ve ever been this quiet before” Mikey tried to alleviate his nerves with humor, chuckling and leaning into you. He rested his head against yours. Giggling and muffled chortles dying down slowly.

His strong arm finds its way behind you, holding you apprehensively but with so many hints of affection. Mikey’s touch starved and your body just feels different and right against the side of his own. Neither knows what to say but each other’s hands seem to speak better than words. Your hand finds his inner thigh, his own to the side of your thigh dangerously close to an inch of your rear. You turn your head to get a better glance at him, forehead to his cheek.

His lips are parted, steady breaths and the way his throat bobs, all of it has you warm. Your hand abruptly leaves his thigh and goes for his cheek, fingers exploring the texture, the scar on his chin. Mikey’s eyes close and he’s lost, lost to anything around him that isn’t you. Your path takes you down his neck, to his collarbones where it dips and his plastron begins. Transfixed won’t ever be enough to explain and the way Mikey shivers sends a jolt of desire to you.

“Have you never been touched like this before?” Mikey’s eyes flutter open because your words are so close to his skin, the sound traveling and nesting within his own desire. Your hand is past his stomach by now, tentative and questioning. He nuzzles your cheek when he shakes his head and something resembling your name leaves in a strangled whisper. He presses his lips to side of your own, scared but driven.

You kiss him, capture his lips swallowing his moan when your hand finally slips into his shorts.

Mikey doesn’t know how much time has passed, the moment you started pumping his hard cock he wasn’t capable of forming a single thought that isn’t ‘holy shit holy shit holy shit’ he wants to grip you but fears his hold will hurt you but it doesn’t stop him from gripping the back of your shirt like his life depends on it. Your hand languidly jerks him off, lips at his neck biting and licking the spot. It drives him to nuzzle you more, his own lips pressed to the crown of your head. When you pump faster and he muffled a moan in your hear you know he’s going to cum.

He can’t quite describe it, the way his body feels like a live wire when being touched by someone else. He’s gutted with your gentleness, he’s a mess with your lust and when he whimpers against your hair the scent there permanently remains in his memory from now on. It’s messy and long and trying to make sure none of your clothes are stained proves harder.

Mikey’s haggard breaths make you smile with pride, with your clean hand you find the back of his neck and rub. Your eyes can’t leave him and his lips get the hint. He’s on you in a flash, kissing you like his life depends on it even more.

You both ignore the vibrating cellphone.

[reawritesthings]

Rooftop | JJ. Maybank

gif by @rudypankows​

Summary: When Sarah forces the pogues to go to a Kook party, JJ dips early and notices you on the roof, reading peacefully.

Words: 2.6K

A/N: Thank you all for the support on my other fics, it really means a lot to see the love you give me. If you like me to write for anyone, please send me an ask! thank you all again🦆

                      ☼☼☼☼

"WHY are we even here?" JJ's exasperated tone of words sent the Pogue's including Sarah to eye roll.

"I would much rather be on my couch watching Monster Inc." JJ's childish tone evaporated around the North Carolina frightful breeze that lure them further into the land of predators.

Sarah huffed not wanting to row with the blonde beauty. She frankly understood his anti's of not wanting to prey on the sharks or even share the same air with them, but, Sarah was still a Kook and JJ needed to accept that.

"J, we can just head in there for an hour... drink their alcohol and leave." John B proposed letting his athletic, sternly hands fumble his way into Sarah's palm gifting her with a reassuring squeeze.

JJ's mind was like a cymbal-banging monkey toy that only worked when the indigo eye boy was frustrated and needed leverage, "We are about to attend John B's girlfriend ex-boyfriend's house party because Sarah's ex-boyfriend invited her, and only her." JJ dramatically paused to reminded everyone how fucked up this particular mission is.

"And, here we are, the pogues forcefully dragged by Topper's ex-girlfriend to attend this disgraceful party that could end in two possible ways.."

"Enlighten us." Pope's static tone of sarcasm intrigued JJ to finish his perfectly thought out rant.

"A fight breaks out, or Rafe loses his shit." JJ's arm folded whilst a devilish smile grew onto his bruised porcelain face that everyone admired about the surfer.

"I hate to agree with Scobby but he has a point." Pope's loyalty to JJ never failed him.

Kie and Sarah kept moving forward, dragging their danity flipflops through the frozen golden grains of the earth that held the rich side in place. Being the only two girls of the group they were used to the constant complaints from the men.

"Next time, I'll just invite you Kie." Sarah muttered under her minty breathe. Kiara only nodded in agreement reaching for the handle to enter the shark's den.

"Best behaviour," Kie announced immediately locking eyes with JJ who was infatuated with the silhouette of another human.

"Can't make any promises, Kie." He winked as his eyes were still glued to the frame of darkness that interlocked with his mind that he should be up there and not here.

"Here we go..." Sarah murmured under her breath. "What could possibly go wrong?" Kie shot her eyes back to Sarah who only swung the door opened to be slammed with harsh tones coming from the stereo.

Topper was known for throwing the most extravagant house parties. The music was as loud as thunder; it made the empty beer bottle rattle. Neon lights that were glued to the white walls flashed everywhere like police sirens, but with much more inviting colours.

Over the roar of music, a distant, hazy chatter could be heard. Topper, Rafe and Kelce were chatting up some ladies as there vision was blinded by a bunch of Pogues roaming around like cockroaches.

"What are they doing here?" Kelce mumbled against the illuminated ruby plastic cup that Rafe already broke through his rage.

"Topper is still whipped for my sister." Rafe truthfully announce, causing the blonde short skirted girl to loose interest in his friend.

"Thanks man." Topper's eye rolled extended further as he noticed John B clutching his arm around Sarah's frame, like he used too.

"Anytime." Rafe smirked pulling Kelce's bright yellow polo shirt towards him to confront the intruders. Topper soon joined, staying behind Rafe as he didn't want his perfectly structured face to be bruised.

"What are you rugrats doing here? You aren't allow to be on our turf." Rafe spat not even making eye contact with his younger sister whose frame was hidden behind John B's and JJ.

"We got invited. We just came here to get a little drunk and we will be on our way." JJ broke the silence, squaring up to Rafe's face.

"Don't make me bust your other eye, Maybank." Rafe threatened, clenching his palms ready for another battle.

"Wouldn't dream of it." JJ took Kelce's red cup from his hand drowning the stinging sensation that drew him away from the crowd.

"Where you going?" Pope shrieked as he didn't feel comfortable being left with John B, he wasn't exactly scary like JJ.

"Washroom. I'll be back." JJ reassured his best friend, whose hand was tightly gripped to Kiara's whose face wasn't enjoying the sensation sound of Topper's music taste.

JJ's curiosity always managed to get himself into trouble, whether he was looking for it or not. His mind was reverted back to the shadow of a young female who was on the roof. He knew he shouldn't be preying around Topper's house but, he would of regretted not knowing who that girl was.

His tiny frame ran smoothly around the second floor, each creak that he created with his ripped combat boots made him squint, he noticed a slight acute door open slightly with a streak of light hitting the wooden floors.

The bedroom was furnished on a expensive budget according to the serval layers of blankets that were freshly pressed on the double bed. A messy pile of book were scattered across the white carpet that was caressed with a circular rug that was neatly combed.

He looked up at the walls, admiring the pictures that were taken on a film camera.

"Whose's this girl?" JJ thought as he circled the room, slowly resting his palm on the slik sheets wishing he could have a room like this.

Since JJ was in a trance of what his life was like if he was Kook, he was startled by a soft tune of a sneeze coming from the windowsill. His intrigue body motioned away from the bed, heading towards the half adjecent window that his mysterious girl was resident.

JJ's instincts were never wrong when he assumed the shadow of a girl on the high roof. His head turned towards you, your fully eclipsed body was tainted with a summer dress that fit well on your skin. Under his brief gaze on your exposed skin, you didn't flinch or withdraw from your book. Your shape was already forming into womanhood, yet you were roughly the same age as Sarah: Your twin brother's ex-girlfriend. You revert your attention out of the flood of flowing words and focused them on him, he was something out of a novel you read once.

Dashing, adventurous and fearless. You were polite and offered him a seat next to you, letting the moon expose your vulnerable side which JJ instantly stole as he gently brushes his shoulder against your own.

JJ eccentric side was displayed out in the open and didn't hesitate to make the first move. "What's a pretty girl like you doing on a roof?"

You sauntered in, feeling provocative whilst you brushed your hair from your dainty shoulders, letting his kindly eager cornflower eyes follow your movement.

"I'm not really into the whole drinking vibe... My brother on the other hand is." JJ's pupils grew larger as he pieced the puzzle together, he knew he wasn't the smartest earthling on the island but he just couldn't see the resemblance between you and your brother.

"How is that possible?... Topper has a sister?... Why didn't Sarah mention anything?"

You personally thought his reaction wouldn't be inviting but, his reaction to the news lured you in more like he was siren calling for you. "Well, when my parents had Topper... they decided to conceive again, making me."

JJ nudged you chuckling at your comeback, "I know how sex works. I'm a Maybank."

"Noted." You candid staring at the apex of the deep sliver circle that brought the both of you together.

A heavy silence evaporated over them, thicker than the mucky air making the tension more uncomfortable. Both of your eyes glanced unceremoniously around turning to avoid catching each other glances that happened in the space of a minute.

"What you reading?" JJ noticed an earthy hued of brown colours stuck to her embrace which JJ gazed forced him to stare to create a new conversation.

"Charles Dickens, Great Expectations." He noticed your awkward zoned face shape into a curious, cheeky smile that he first noticed when he intruded.

"Cool. I don't read but Charles Dickens is a great man. One of the best lads out there, wonder what he is doing now?" JJ wondered having no idea that he is in fact six feet under.

You burst out a giggle with a sentiment rosy colour appeared on your cheeks, "Hate to break it to you but the lad is dead. He has been dead for centuries."

JJ was perplexed by your statement. He generally thought he was still alive due to Pope always speaking about him as if he was a local. "I knew that. I was testing your knowledge on Charlie."

You chuckled playing along with his shenanigans but you would be lying to yourself that you weren't intrigued in the fact that he was sitting here when he was supposed to be downstairs. "How comes you are up here? I thought Pogues loved a good party, especially if there's alcohol."

JJ shrugged darting his eyes to meet yours, "Don't take it personally but I'm not a fan of Kooks, especially Topper and his gang."

And this, you thought was going to be the end of your story with the blonde boy. You weren't shocked that he degraded your brother and his friends, you understood the reason.

"I get that. If it makes you feel better, I don't exactly agree with their rules and how they treat you guys. You deserve the same respect we get because one day, Shakesphere's novel of Romeo and Juliet might come true and, I personally don't want to kill myself..." You flirted in a way which the boy would probably take days, in fact, months to work out the metaphor.

"Does that make me Remi?" JJ joked as he kind of liked the way your nose scrunched when he didn't understand literature.

"It's Romeo..." You corrected him again.

"I know. I just wanted to see that little nose scrunch you do when I mess up."

You were stunned that he paid attention to little things about you. It wasn't every day that someone would paid attention to Topper's sister, especially a Pogue. You could sense that he was actually interested in you, and even the novel you were reading.

"Whatcha thinking about, Juliet?" JJ teased letting his hand move the strand of hair from your face, tucking it safely behind your acute ears.

You shrugged, "I just..." You paused, you didn't want to pride your thoughts on the Pogue as you didn't want to scare him away.

"C'mon, pretty girl. What is it?" He interrogated you. He looked down at your fingertips, loosely fighting with each other as you were struggling to form words. He initially engulfed his hands into yours brushing your soft skin to ease your mind.

"You are kind of the first guy to ever notice me, or even pay attention to me... I'm just don't want this night to end." You stutter but with every stroke, he did made your nerves drift away.

JJ instantly brought his broad arms over your waist, pulling your body against his. In seconds your bodies moulded into one. JJ never let another human be so close to him like this, not even Kie. You were different, you weren't like what he thought you would be. There was a purity to you, naivety perhaps, but with a scent of innocent that JJ wanted to protect from the creatures of the night.

You, on the other hand, felt something inside you ignite as his arms firmly were wrapped around your frame. His embrace was like a welcoming invitation to his life, which you would accept in a heartbeat. You didn't really want the party to end nor wanting the moon to disappear as that meant your story was ending.

"You see those two stars that are moulded into one... that's you and i. Whether you feel lost or feel alone, look up into the starry night and call me." JJ managed to sound romantic for a slight second which only made you blush more.

"Poetic... I like it Maybank." You winked whilst your hands fiddled around with his countless threaded bracelets. "I like this one the most... the colours match your eyes."

JJ immediately took the bracelet off, offering your hand. "You can have it. I've seen you admire it since I got here. I have plenty back at home, so this is my peace offering."

You silently accepted the gift, watching the bracelet fit perfectly onto your bony wrist. "It's beautiful." You muttered to yourself.

JJ curved his lips as he slowly lifted your chin up, to get a good view of your face. He admired every little detail but concentrated on your lips. His head was angled slightly to the side as his lips went closer to yours, lighting pressing a small kiss to your rosebud shaped lips. When he kissed her, her identity fell away. It was slow and soft, comforting for the both of you as your tribes rival melted away. JJ's hand rested below his ear, his thumb caressing her cheek as he kept the flow of their lips going neither of them wanting to stop but, the calls from his friends parted them away.

"I better go... they are probably worried that I've got into a fight or something." JJ's face frowned watching your own do the same. "I'll see you tomorrow night, here."

"Are you sure? I don't want you getting into trouble..." You felt your walls began to build, each brick that layered made it harder for you to think that he would ever get into trouble for her, a heartless Kook.

JJ hooked his arms to your neck, "Don't worry about a thing, pretty girl."

You nodded, letting him steal another kiss from you as you watched his frame leave yours. A gush of emptiness flooded your body, as it called for him but he was already gone, vanished into the mucky air of North Carolina. You rallied back to your book, looking down at the texture smiling down as you saw him leave with his friends.

"JJ, where did you go? We were looking all over for you?" Sarah was the one who instigated the conversation since the rest were zoned out.

JJ kept it at a minimal, he didn't want his juliet to be known especially not to Sarah, "around."

Sarah hummed not believing anything JJ was saying. As they entered the van, Sarah noticed a small figure exiting from the roof, "Is that Y/N?"

JJ looked up, watching as you were clenching onto your book rather than watching your balance. "So that's her name.." He muttered to himself giving his face a warm smile.

Sarah turned hearing JJ's comment but decided to play along, "I wonder what she is holding?"

Without even realising JJ answered, "Charles Dickens. Great Expectations."

Sarah only smirked leaving JJ to slam his palm onto his mouth, feeling the metal sting his bruised chapped lips.

"We're you macking on with my ex-boyfriend's sister?" Sarah interrogated the blonde beauty.

"Let's just say that you need to tell me all the ways to sneak into his house." JJ blushed, letting his left foot bring his body up into the van.

Sarah followed behind, looking up one more time to see you peeping, "You got it, lover boy."

masterlist TAGLIST

tags: @outrbanks, @honestlyimstilllivinginthe90s, @jjjmaybank, @rudyypankow, @prejudic3, @afterglowsb-tch13, @summerintheobx and @void-maybank

[rowanthestrange]

Alright. The interchangeability of the Doctor and the Master.

On one level it doesn’t need explaining at all, anyone with a working understanding of Doctor Who already knows that to be somewhat true. We’ve seen the Doctor fall prey to Masterish behaviour, and with Missy, we get a rare glimpse into a mind that very clearly works like the Doctor’s. If the Flux was invented as a Dead Man’s Handle in case the Doctor ever Day Of The Doctored but didn’t hold back, the fact that it’s the Master who actually did the killing almost doesn’t matter. We all know it could’ve been either of them depending on circumstance.

But let’s go deeper. Why would this be relevant now?

Well, because it might be part of the plot.

The entire reason me and @spoonietimelordy started talking about the idea of Whitaker!Master and Dhawan!Doctor was because the show seemed to be directly suggesting an element of this with the characters. Here we had a Master who doesn’t dress like a Master, but a Doctor - no black, mismatched patterns, the iconic trousers - and had Eleven’s floppy hair and mannerisms like the hand gestures and spinning. And in the other corner we had Thirteen, who from her first episode had a (sexy, intriguing) cruel streak, and an…increased desire for control, despite her words saying the opposite *cough* flat team structure*. Both actors could play the other’s role and you wouldn’t bat an eye.

I don’t think this is just playing into that conceit, I think it could potentially be signposting what’s happening beneath the surface of the story.

We have two Doctors. One of who has been mindwiped. While Thirteen tries to get us to jump to conclusions, given a nonlinear world and narrative we do not know for certain which one.

We have two Doctors because they both told us they’re the Doctor. We’ve followed Thirteen and know who she is. We’ve watched Martin!Doctor and her Doctory actions and seen her TARDIS.

But.

In their first episode, we have one of the only moments of physical contact Thirteen has ever had.

She holds Martin!Doctor’s hand.

No Blinovitch sparking, nothing happens at all, they just teleport into the TARDIS as if nothing’s happened. We have sometimes ignored the effect, but with so much recent canon leaning on it being immediately noticeable even with a sonic screwdriver (The Big Bang, The Day Of The Doctor - potentially an extremely relevant story), and Chibnall being a massive old-school nerd…that’s not a thing he’d miss or forget unless he was doing it for a reason. The handholding itself is not especially meaningful between them, therefore it is reasonable to assume the absence of Blinovitch Limitation Effect is.

It is implied in the Master’s Matrix Metaphor storytime that this mindwipe is not the first, not even close to it.

The Master leads us to believe the Timeless Child is the Doctor, but remembering whose telling the story is important. He never introduces the other child, the one who kills her. And historically the one child of the two predisposed to murder another…was the Doctor…who killed Torvic while trying to rescue the Master from the bully, and deliberately chose to make that memory the Master’s instead, so they’d both think he was the one who was the murderer, until the Master learned the truth centuries later (the famous ‘Master’ BFA).

If we assume that Tecteun would never just inject herself with regeneration energy without having a labrat first to prove it wouldn’t kill her, then we can assume the boy is effectively the second Timeless Child.

Now if you were mindwiping both of them, force regenerating both of them, especially when into kids, then what stops one from following their impulses one way, the other being their shadow and…swapping.

And Martin!Doctor and Thirteen could therefore be technically different enough not to Blinovitch.

But both the Doctor. ‘The Doctor’ is a choice, their background doesn’t matter, for all it’s eating at Thirteen. Martin!Doctor knows this. Thirteen still can’t quite grasp it, desperately trying to get validation right now even as her nuances fail, her manipulation and cruelty get higher, her relationship with her companions getting shallower until one is becoming more ‘Doctor’ than she is. And the Master? The Master was so unsure of himself he needed the Doctor to call him his name, kneel to him, before he could relax and immediately put himself back on the same level as her. Everything I am is because of you. That can mean so many things.

And it’s certainly not the only time the fluidity of archetype identity is played with for the two characters. Swarm plays ‘the Master’ whether he technically is or not. The vibes of old frenemy Gat. And on the Doctor’s side of course, we have Yaz.

I am inclined to believe the Timeless Child is the Doctor, the Adam to the Master made of the rib, the Master as Frankenstein’s monster. But that meta could easily be the Doctor too. And with all the wiping of memory and data…there is a good chance that he does not know which of them is which.

And it doesn’t matter. Their choices about who they are now is what matters.