#dragging other people down into your hole of hate is not

[mytardisisparked]

Joy is muscle memory. It shouldn't be, since it's an emotion we know from birth, but eventually, other people will make you feel silly for embracing it. The world will try to take your joy away. Your misery is an exploitable commodity, your hate is socially rewardable. You have to relearn joy. You have to start grasping at every opportunity for joy like a baby grabbing an adult's finger. You have to white-knuckle grip your love and passion until your joints lock in place and the joy can't slip away. You have to build the muscles that know how to be joyful and let the muscles that care what others think about your joy atrophy. Joy is muscle memory.

[mossterunderthebed]

Jujutsu Kaisen Observation #4:

i do not like how well i can understand Mai. geez.

[shidoglazer]

rin claims that his hobbies are watching horror movies and playing horror games but it's actually having you on his lap while playing with your tits and fingering you.

#needthat

his hobbies?

rin itoshi smut mdni ＠shidoglazer

people think rins favourite activity during his days off would be horror movies and athletes conditioning, or maybe watching a football match or perhaps movies that include gore and blood.

they’re all wrong. because this is his favourite activity— your thighs being spread open by his legs as your sat on his bulge, completely stripped and vulnerable for him while he uses one hand to pinch and fiddle with your perky tit and the other one tracing down to your glistening pussy to play with it.

his fingers weren’t slender or specially long, but they were girthy and thick, just 2 fingers in you was able to make you whimper and squirm like an idiot, “you can’t even take my fingers, how’re you gonna hold up when i put my cock into you, princess?” with that stupidly smug tone of his.

you should be embarrassed from how loud your pussy slicks whenever his fingers move, you should be hating how smug and arrogant he sounded, yet the only thing you’re able to say or do is moan out his name like its a prayer.

“riiinnn, rinn,, p-lease! ah! rin, rin rin rinn,, rinnnnnnnnn!..” your back arched away from his stomach as he hooked his fingers upwards, rubbing against your g-spot. he placed tender kisses against the side of your head, a contrast from how rough his fingers are fucking into you.

“you’re going dumb on my fingers?” he asked, mumbling against your head, his voice vibrating throughout your skull. your hands gripped onto his thighs, letting out a breathy moan,

“rinn,, w’na cumm, wan c-cum, ple-ase!” you begged before your body jerked upwards when rin pinched onto your tit particularly hard. “y’didnt answer my question, pretty. are you going dumb on my fingers? say it f’me.” your mouth fell agape, trying to voice something out with a strained voice, it was hard to keep composure when his fingers were basically like a sex machine,

“i-i, going,, d’mb- on your ffingers!” you managed to get out of your throat as he continued his assault on your pussy.

“goood girl.” his fingers left your hole and trailed up to your sensitive bud, starting to rub against it furiously before your moans started coming out like a raging waterfall.

after you came, you desperately tried to crawl away from rins hold with shaky legs and a fucked out hole before your body dragged against the mattress as rin yanked you back by your ankles, flipping you over and holding your head to his chest. his fingers that were just in your hole tilted your chin up gently, revealing a face smothered in smudged mascara and tears. it was so, so, so wrong that the corners of his lips threatened to be pulled up as he saw that sight.

don’t worry, he’ll always end up pampering after pleasuring you dumb no matter how rough he was, he’ll set up a bath for you, feed you, dress you up in your pretty silky pyjamas and even do your skin care for you without you needing to move a muscle.

so yes— his favourite hobby isn’t watching horror movies or scary games, its pleasuring his girl until she falls apart in his arms.

★ check out my masterlist pls pls pls pls pls pls pls pls pls pls pls pls pls pls pls plsplslspppslpslpslpsls i literally write BANGERS

[jinxvex]

heyy! if u take requests i was wondering if you would make an enemy sevika x reader, where they treat each other like shit until sevika has enough and fucks the shit out of reader 💪😊

♱ enemy. (enemy!sevika x reader) ♱

enemies to lovers is lowkey my fave trope so, let’s go!!

also sorry i haven’t posted! finals week… 🫠😓

cw: nsfw, kink city LOL!! sevika is v rough + punishes reader, possessiveness, BDSM elements, BREEDING KINK (oops), name-calling (slut, whore, bitch, etc), degradation/praise, cursing, arguing, a tiny bit angsty, spanking, she slaps your cunt once, choking, hair-pulling, doggy position, she eats you out!! it's sweet towards the end dw!

there's def more but OOP-

wc: 4.2K! (oops)

sevika hates you.

1. she hates the way your hips sway when you walk.

she’s definitely ALWAYS looking at your ass.

2. she hates how you talk and how you giggle under your breath when you laugh at something you shouldn’t. your voice sounds like music, like wind chimes in the spring that cause her vision to blur.

3. she hates the way your skin glows in the sunlight—as rare as it is in the gloomy grey atmosphere of zaun.

4. she hates how you dress and style your hair. you stand out. you personally customize your clothing, adding your own detailing on platform boots, jeans, jewelry, belts, accessories, tops, and jackets. your uniqueness annoys her beyond belief.

“what a fuckin’ show-off! this isn’t a fashion show,” she mutters under her breath to get a rise out of you.

5. she hates the way you talk back to her, even when she starts an argument first.

“well maybe you could learn something, you wear the same shit like… every day,” you respond briskly, already sick of her berating you as you’ve just walked through the doors of silco’s office.

she’s older than you, you should show some respect! you act so high and mighty like nobody can crack that tough persona you put on to protect yourself from the dark and dangerous streets of zaun.

she scoffs. her thumb and index finger pinching the bridge of her nose to alleviate the stress you’ve subjected her to. she cannot believe this.

“see? this… child is so incompetent! fuckin’ impossible to work with! she’s probably late to this meeting because she’s too busy playing dress up to actually do her job.” she directs towards you although not looking at you, opting to look at the tall chair covering silco’s body as she sits in the chair across from his.

silco sighs, clearly annoyed at both of your antics. he swivels around in his chair to face you both.

“actually, she was doing something i assigned her to. last minute, but she always gets the job done.”

sevika’s eyes flicker to you, and you smirk at her assumption that you were accidentally late.

she scoffs again and drags her grey-ish eyes back to silco as she leans to the left, almost trying to get away from you standing at her right with your arms crossed.

“you see… you two are my best. i cannot afford to have you both acting like children when doing business. it could threaten everything i’ve—we’ve built. one wrong move could tarnish this.”

you and sevika stay quiet as you avoid eye contact with each other, you taking a newfound interest in the bookshelf as sevika’s eyes burn holes into the ground. you knew deep down that silco was right.

“it's time you’ve both gotten along, for all of our sakes. don’t disappoint me again.”

…

you haven’t seen sevika since silco’s ‘lecture’ he gave you two a couple of days ago.

it's evening in zaun, streets and bars filling with people as the night threatens to begin.

you sat on the couch in the living room of your tiny yet, surprisingly homey apartment. your legs resting on the coffee table and you busy munching on cheap snacks, reflecting on the conversation that took place not too long ago. you were livid.

i mean, what else more did he want from you!

sevika was impossible. you tried to get along with her in the beginning but no matter what, she hated you!

she constantly finds new ways to poke fun at you, belittle you, and insult your intelligence. she obviously thinks you aren’t worthy of being a part of silco’s inner circle and that offends you.

and yes, she’s incredibly hot, but all of that was overshadowed the moment she decided you were a piece of gum on her boot!

you sigh incredulously, “damn… i need a drink.”

…

a few minutes later, you’re walking into the last drop and making a beeline for the bar.

as you sit down, your hands graze the edges of the countertop and you close your eyes briefly to let out a breath you’ve held in your throat for…

who knows how long?

that garners the attention of thieram, the kind bartender whom you’d had polite conversation with in the past. you’d taken quite a liking to his kind personality in the past.

“what would you like tonight, miss?” he smiles at you.

as you rummage through your mind for something to order, there isn’t much.

you aren’t a big drinker so it was hard to decipher what was good and what wasn’t because you simply don’t know.

“she’ll have the whiskey, best you've got.” you hear a gruff voice come from behind you. you hear the person’s rough steps come to a stop beside you and they sit.

“ugh.” you scoff out loud and roll your eyes dramatically as you avoid looking in her direction to your right.

sevika.

“coming right up…” thieram, not even wanting to know, swiftly walks off to make your drink.

“what do you want?!” you huff out in annoyance as you finally bring your head up to make eye contact with her.

“nothin’… just enjoying you strugglin’ to order. jus’ was painful to watch, doll.”

your eyebrows raise as your mouth opens and closes, you not exactly knowing how to respond. especially to "doll".

although her tone indicates that she was merely joking, you retaliate against her anyway for the way she’s treated you in the past.

“i- you know what?! if you’ve just come to gloat and make me feel like an idiot just go right ahead and fuck off!” you state. causing a vein to pop out of your forehead and your left eye to twitch in pure anger.

“i’m not in the mood for your shit” you restate your previous point.

“y’know? you’re such a pain in my ass. always bitching and complaining about everything, always in the way, you’re unbelievable.”

you pause your movements, surprised at the lengths she’s going to make you feel terrible.

“i think you look weak.” she finishes, smirking as your eyes threaten to spill with tears out of rage.

“you’re such. a. fucking. bitch.” you emphasize the b in the word bitch as you leap off your chair and stomp out of the bar, trudging back to the comfort of your own home.

thieram walks back over to the side of the bar you were just at and his face scrunches in confusion.

“uh… where’d she go?” he questions as he raises his hands, one hand occupied with your drink.

sevika is still sitting with her mech hand pressing into a tight fist on the counter and her human hand tightly squeezing the bridge of her nose.

she makes up her mind as she stands up and makes her way to your apartment, already having memorized where you lay your head at night.

tonight, you’ll learn respect. obedience.

…

you’ve just made it back to your apartment and you’re slamming the door shut. as you pace back and forth from your kitchen to your living room you’re met with complete and utter silence that taunts you.

“how do i let her get to me? every. single. time.” you’re thinking, mentally cursing yourself for being so stupid. for letting her see you upset.

you hear a loud knock at the door and you pause all moments, as you make your way to answer it, your thoughts race with ideas of who may be at your doorstep at this time of night.

you open the door and you’re met with none other than the sight of sevika. both of her hands clench into fists at her sides as she gazes at you darkly.

it’s almost eerie, her silence. you sense something in her demeanor that is different than usual. it feels… scary.

you both say nothing as she pushes her way into your home, back turned to you as she stops in her tracks.

“wha- what the fuck? g-get out!” you scream out.

her head cocks over her shoulder, one eye looking back at you in a silent warning.

you slowly back up against the door as she turns her full body around to corner you against it. her stare pierces deep into your soul, you feel as though a knife has been jabbed into your gut.

sevika is a scary woman. you know you stand no chance against her strength. that frightens you slightly but you hold your head up high and maintain eye contact with her to stand your ground.

her hands are placed on either side of your head, pressing into the rough, wooden texture of the door. you hear the wood creaking when she leans in, nose brushing against yours. the silence is deafening.

"hmm..." she cocks her head to the right, still looking deep into your irises.

"sevika, l-let me go. what are you doing?!" you try to reason with her but she is unwavering as she takes her mech hand and trails it dangerously slowly up your body from your thigh to your bare stomach, then your arms.

it lands on your neck and wraps around it loosely as a scare tactic. it works as your eyes widen and your shaky hands come up to move the machine off you.

your legs start to weaken and your eyebrows furrow as your underwear pools with your desire.

"so fuckin' pathetic, you are..." she growls, tightening around your neck, not too tight. but tight enough to where your breath hitches in your throat and you're slightly gasping for air.

"y'know, was gonna try and get along with you tonight, doll."

the pet name makes the wetness in your panties become unbearable.

she continues, "ordered you a drink, cracked a joke 'n everything..."

"but, you're a brat to your core, aren't you? should make you apologize..."

an idea pops into your head, another way to disrespect her. you ponder in your head about how you shouldn't. against your better judgment, you say it anyway.

"make me, then,” your eyes flicker down to her lips.

her cocky expression falters slightly—her eyes threatening to look down at yours as well. and if looks could kill, you would die instantly.

"show me your fuckin' bedroom. now."

you're then peeling yourself off of the door. she takes her hand off your neck and backs up to let you pass. you drag your feet, walking slowly to irritate her further. she doesn't like that one bit.

you feel a hand brush the back of your head and she's harshly pulling you up against her chest by your hair. you feel her warm breath tickling your ear, getting ready to humiliate you even more.

"f-fuck! ow!" you yelp out in pain.

"nuh-uh. hurry the fuck up. move." she whispers into your ear.

sevika lets you go, roughly pushing your head forward to emphasize her point. you decide not to push her as you speed up.

as you enter your room, you let out a shaky breath, scared yet excited about the events about to take place. you're not facing her when you hear your bedroom door slam shut. you stop dead in your tracks.

"what-uhm, what's gonna happen?" you question.

you gasp out in surprise as she spins you around to face her and pushes you onto the bed. your ass rests on the edge of it and you're sitting up straight. sevika towers over you, way taller than usual. she looks like she could devour you as she's undressing you with her eyes.

"gonna hurt you, sweetheart. gonna punish you for being such a mean little brat." she smushes your cheeks together with one hand, causing your saliva to pool from your mouth and wet your lips.

"should've done this ages ago... maybe you'd be better behaved by now."

"p-please. i-'m sorry."

it kills you inside, that you secretly love this. you secretly love the idea of her touching you. punishing you, hurting you until you’re utterly ruined.

you’ve dreamt about this moment in light of all the arguments, yelling, and fighting.

in one swift movement, she stands you back up and takes your place on the bed looking up at you hungrily.

“bend over my knee,” she demands.

you feign disgust, and fear, “wh-what?! n-no i-”

“lay the fuck down, and bend over my knee before i spank your ass raw.”

you obey. she scoots back further on your bed so you can maneuver your way to lay your stomach across her thighs. your upper body and legs rest on the bed as your ass is slightly positioned in the air.

you can’t see her face, but you know sevika’s smirking as she’s finally got you where she wants you.

she coos at you, tugging slightly at the loose shorts you threw on after you got home from the bar, “look at you in these little fuckin’ shorts, so slutty.”

she slides her hand up your outer thigh, moving closer to your ass.

all of a sudden, she pauses her movements.

she leans down, her mouth next to your ear, “we can stop at any time. jus’ let me know, doll.”

your heart clenches at her words, feeling the intense emotion behind them and now knowing deep down that she doesn’t want to actually hurt you.

it turns you on even more.

“want it vika, p-please.”

she lets out a sound that’s of a groan and a growl, “fuck yeah, baby. gonna punish you—gonna make it hurt,”

“gonna take it? gonna be a good girl for me?”

“ye-yes! yes!”

sevika hooks the fingers of her human and mechanical hand under the waist of your shorts and roughly tugs them to the floor.

“fuck… no panties too? my god,” she admires you.

you say nothing as her hand finds its way back to moving up your thigh and finally grips your ass, kneading the plush flesh.

“gonna actually do anything or?…” you get cocky, too impatient to feel her hands on you.

a loud ‘SMACK!’ sounds throughout the ambient space of your bedroom, the pain searing into the skin of your right asscheek, making you scream out into the bedspread.

“fuckin’ brat, like i said.”

you’re met with another ‘SMACK!’ in the same spot. you scream out again except this time, it sounds a hell of a lot more like a moan.

“can’t believe you’re gettin’ off to this. bein' my little painslut…”

she hits you again, “you like when i hurt you? don’t you, baby?”

“yes!” you’re repeating, face still smushed into the blankets.

“what was that?” she presses further as she tangles her hand into your hair and yanks it upwards.

“f-fuck! yes, yes!”

she spanks you again and again, alternating between each cheek until you’re sobbing.

although she hadn’t spanked you more than 15 times, you felt as though it was 10 times that much.

she’s soon rubbing a soothing hand over the expanse of your ass, attempting to calm the ache in your ass while neglecting the one in your cunt.

“my girl. did so good for me, baby. so, so good.”

she sits you up and props you up next to her. you wince as your ass meets the surface of your bed.

“we’re not done. gonna make this pussy feel so good, i’ve been neglecting her haven’t i?”

“mhm…touch me please.” you’re out of it, eyes lazily gazing into hers.

“suppose i should reward you?”

her hands caress the sides of your neck and she captures your lips in a gentle and passionate kiss.

as her lips meet yours, the world is silent, all you can think of is sevika.

the kiss soon turns sloppier, needier. your tongues clash against one another causing saliva to drip down both of your chins.

it’s disgusting really, the definition of swapping spit.

neither of you seems to care though. you both moan through the kisses, gripping at each other.

she breaks the kiss to tear your shirt off your body.

“such pretty tits… so beautiful.”

you lean in and peck her lips, “want you bad, vika. please just fuck me already,” you beg.

“you’re beggin’ me?”

“yeah,” you respond.

“fuckin’ beggin’ me, huh?”

“fuck yeah, baby,” you respond another time, your bedroom eyes never leaving hers.

this back-and-forth dirty talk makes the both of you so wet, that the need between you increases with each exchange.

“you don’t even realize how much of a whore you sound like when you say that shit, baby."

oh, you know.

“i love it,” she doubles back.

“gonna eat you first, get you ready for my cock.”

you pause.

‘she didn’t… did she?!’ you exclaim in your head, incredibly surprised she brought an entire strap-on to your house.

“mm… back the fuck up, lean up against the headboard.”

you do as she says, spreading your legs for her in the process.

“good fuckin’ girl.”

she kisses down your neck, stomach, and thighs—her mouth now dangerously close to your naked cunt.

“perfect pussy… so pretty and wet.” she blows cold air on it, admiring the way you clench as she does so.

she laughs out loud, “you’re clenching around nothing, baby… you need this dick in you.”

you don’t even notice you’re looking up at the ceiling, you then look down at her between your thighs—you notice her pants are pulled off. her mech hand is gripping her black plastic cock through her boy shorts.

it’s huge. you’re not sure if it can even fit inside you and that makes you crave it more.

you moan at the sight, “mhm! yes! need it in my pussy. wanna cum on it.” you manage out. your brain is mush!

“soon,” she promises.

she suddenly delves into your pussy, tongue experimentally licking around your folds, then your hole, and your clit.

you’re on cloud 9. your cunt twitches with need because you can feel every detail of her mouth dragging along your heat.

your moans are uncontrollable as she’s practically making out with your cunt, her spit drips onto your clean bed as she’s sloppily eating your pussy out.

she’s nasty with it, spitting on it, getting it dripping wet for you to take her.

“fuck! please!! gonna cum!” you yell out.

all of a sudden, you’re met with cold air. and your cunt is met with a thought to be forgotten ‘SMACK!’

you yelp out in pain and pleasure, the mix too overwhelming for your poor pussy to handle.

“you cum when i fuckin’ tell you to. ask me if you can come next time.”

“‘m sorry vika! promise i won't do it a-again.”

“yeah, yeah. turn around.”

you whine at the loss of her mouth on you; it just feels so good. but you listen anyway.

you’re in doggy facing the headband with your back slightly arched as you look back at her behind you.

she lifts her shirt over her head; she has nothing on underneath, giving you a full view of her sculpted abs. you graze them with your fingertips, amazed at how beautiful she is.

“beautiful, gorgeous…” you state to her and your eyes meet hers once again, showing her you mean what you’re saying.

she huffs out in…shyness? she looks down at the bedspread below you two and she tugs down her boy shorts, throwing them next to all of the other clothes that are splayed out on the floor.

“gonna put it inside, alright? gonna make you feel it.”

you look forward and your eyes trace the design of your headboard, anticipating her cock pushing inside of you, anticipating the delicious pain.

she eventually does push the toy inside of you, bottoming out quickly.

she gives you a moment to adjust. you both are breathing heavily and your nimble fingers grip at the sheets, mouth forming into the shape of an o because she’s so fucking deep.

one of her hands comes up to force your face into the pillows. she starts to move her hips slowly.

“fuuuuck, doll. arch that back,” she can feel the slow grind of your hips on her clit as you press back into her and arch slightly.

it’s not enough for her. she presses her other hand into the small of your back to truly get it so she’s as deep as she possibly can go in this position.

“oh my f-fucking god!” you’re moaning into the pillows, still as loud as if you were screaming.

she’s sped up now, her plastic cock digging into you swiftly yet deliberately.

“yeah…arch that shit, gimme that pussy, baby.”

“fuck, fuck, fuck,” you’re still moaning into the pillow. you can feel every ridge, every detail of her.

your pussy twitches with need, your slick dripping down your thighs, cunt squelching and eyes rolling to the back of your head because of the rough way she’s handling you.

“can feel you around me, i swear. you’re so tight, baby, s-shit…”

she’s bullying your cunt relentlessly and her dirty talk is making you so unbelievably wet.

“you love this dick, don’t you? you love when i fuck this pussy, huh?”

“yes, vika! yes! just like that! love it!”

“say you’re sorry. say you’re sorry for being such a bratty little bitch.”

“hmmph!” you defy her, for fun perhaps.

she slows down tremendously compared to the pace she set before, giving you shallow thrusts to match your attitude.

“say you’re fuckin’ sorry or I’ll make sure this pussy never cums again. you’re only cumming from me, so you’ll do what the fuck i say.”

whew.

“c’mon, baby say you’re sorry so i can give you this dick. gonna make you cream on it so good if you just let go,”

she continues, “i know you want it… know you want it in your guts. know you want my cum in you," she's delirious.

gripping your hip with her free hand and your hair with the other, she lifts your head out of the pillow so she can hear you better.

you cave.

“i’m sorry, i’m so so sorry, baby. i promise i’ll be good! pleeease just fuck me! need you. need your cum…”

she leans down and kisses the small of your back, “see, now how hard was that?!”

she moves her hips at a faster pace than before, seemingly deeper as well. your face has found its way back down, voice muffled into the sheets.

“yeah, baby, take this shit—take it aaaaalll in this fuckin’ pussy. pussy’s so good for me.”

“oh f-fuck, ‘s so deep!” you look back at her once again. her teeth are biting into her bottom lip, hips snapping against your ass as she stares down at you wildly, watching the toy disappear inside of you.

you then meet her eyes, completely cockdrunk. you beg her again, “please v-vika… need your cum in my pussy. need you to knock me up.”

“give it to me, give me your cum! want it deep in me, wan’ it!”

she growls out, “f-fuck shit’s gonna make me cum.”

“fuckin’ pussy is sucking me in, gonna make me get you pregnant, baby,”

her hips are still pistoning into you, the room filling with sloppy wet noises and smacking skin.

“i’m b-begging you to let me cum, p-please!” you’re still looking into her eyes, kindly asking her for permission to soak her faux dick.

“who’s fucking you then? say my name, doll.”

“you, sevika! you!! you’re the only one,”

“fuck yeah, you whore. ‘m the only one that’s gonna be in this shit from now on. that’s right…”

“plea-”

“cum. i want you to cum on this cock, make it yours. cum all over it,” she’s thrusting against your g-spot as deep as she can with one of her legs on the bed and her hands on your hips. you have no choice but to just, take it.

her words cause the coil in your tummy to snap, your orgasm crashing down on you like a brick to your head. like if a large rock were to crush you and kill you instantly. it’s rough, it’s overwhelming.

“fuck!!” you scream through it.

“i’m cummin’ too!! not gonna pull out. i’m gonna put a baby in you, get you nice and full,”

“mhm!! yes!”

the combination of you urging her on and the pressure of her hips and your ass fucking back onto them causes her movements to stutter, “s-shit!”

her orgasm washes over her much like yours, both her hands on your hips making it easier for her cock to kiss your cervix and for her clit to feel it.

you both eventually come down from your highs. sevika pulls out of you and quickly yanks the toy off.

you’re still in the same position so she presses down on your back to get you to rest your body on the comfortable and soft surface of your bed. you’re expecting her to tug her clothes back on and leave, but she doesn’t.

she praises you for the rest of the night, rubs aloe gel on your ass to soothe the welts, and loves on you as if she’d never hated you in the first place.

“you did so good, baby.”

“i’m so proud of you, you’re amazing.”

“you’re so pretty… you’re mine now.”

…

needless to say… she’s ruined you for everyone else. your petty rivalry long forgotten and replaced with the feelings that you’ve both been hiding. and as you’re both waltzing into silco’s office for a second meeting, he’s hoping for but not expecting for there to be a change in your relationship.

he is stunned when he’s met with no more eye rolls, scoffs, and bickering.

‘wonder what’s gotten into the two of them…’ he wonders.

well, something has definitely gotten into you.

…

I AM SO SORRY I HAVEN’T POSTED!! finals are over so i am free from the shackles of college! (for now…)

hope you guys like it! tbh this took me forever because i couldn’t figure out the plot LMFAKOW😭😭

[otkuhotgirl]

─── 𝐏𝐑𝐈𝐕𝐀𝐓𝐄 𝐅𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐓 .

# with monkey d. luffy.

when it came to food and you, luffy was insatiable. it was only fair that he had a simultaneous taste of both.

⎰ & KINKTOBER, day four. smut (mdni!) food play. cunninglingus. overstimulation. afab!reader. fingering.

countless of battles — from smaller to the most tremendous — had led the crew to this specific, well-common, instance. the feast thereafter. reconquered freedom that brought forth gratefulness from the common people, a convergence all but willing to offer their food and gold and music as the symbol of their gratitude. sanji’s warnings — our captain is a black-hole; marimo will empty your cellar and it still won’t be enough — more often than not fell on deaf ears, forcing your cook to retreat and relax, at least for once.

the celebration at hand had been lasting longer than anticipated: four entire days, with no ending in sight. you were used to pushing your limits, lingering regardless of the gradual tiredness, for once you announced your retreat, luffy would soon follow. and you hated the thought of being the one depriving him from the feast — especially since luffy was its main attraction. yet, apart from the monster trio with their inhuman resilience, the entire crew opted to return to their rooms in the country’s palace hours — days — prior. and you, too, were exhausted.

luffy busied himself with the locals and the buffet, so you figured it’d be easier to leave without being noticed. of course, that was far from the case. the second you started to tiptoe away, his head snapped towards you, a glint of delayed understanding explicit in his eyes.

he swallowed an entire chunk of meat with one go, burped, and announced: “I’M LEAVING!”

the locals began their failed coercion, offering sweets and beverages and first-course meals, but luffy was as obstinate as he was strong, and ignored their pleads for the sake of your comfort. however, he was still luffy. he outstretched a rubber arm, hugging an alarming amount of food and pressing it against his chest — a frosted cake the size of a human being following-in-suit — while the other arm wrapped itself around you. as predicted, when luffy pulled you towards him, the entire front of your figure was smashed against said sweet and covered in white cream. he all but laughed, licking it off your cheek before grabbing the palace’s construction and sending the pair of you flying towards it.

was it not for your presence, luffy would have taken solid hours to find the way back to the shared room. meaning he didn’t question your authority when you started to drag him, half-listening to his excited words — those a tad incomprehensible whenever he stuffed his face with the stolen food. upon entering the room, however, he at last noticed your silence, his glance a burning sensation in the back of your head.

“you’re not ok,” not a question; a statement. luffy had a dozen flaws, yet being emotionally unintelligent was far from one of them — especially when those he loved were concerned.

“i’m tired,” you mumbled, containing the urge to brush the sleep off your eyes, for your hand was smeared.

“let’s sleep then!” he beamed, shoving the food into his mouth.

his lower body remained round until the starting process of digestion. he hadn’t been able to eat the entire cake in one go — which was a surprise of itself — but perhaps he decided to save it for later. you were quick to dodge his efforts to pin you down on the bed, retreating to the corner near the door.

“c’moooon,” luffy whined, wrapping his arms around you, staining your skin and clothes further. “we need to sleep when we’re tired. and you need energy! because you won’t focus on me otherwise, and that’s no fun!”

a small smile made its way to your face, but you couldn’t help the hesitation whatsoever. “can’t do, luf. i need to take a shower.”

the whipped cream was the least of your issues. luffy had stolen a city-worth amount of food, and you were smashed right against it. from cake, to cookie crumbs, to meat and fruit juices. upon dressing yourself four days past, you hadn’t taken into account that your lover would decide to turn you into a walking buffet. the dress you wore was ruined and provided no protection whatsoever, hence why your thighs, too, were dripping with a combination of tastes.

luffy blinked, his grip tight enough to support your limp muscles. when his mind wrapped around the meaning of your words, he groaned. “but the bathing suites are on the opposite side of the palace.”

“i know,” you sighed, tapping his arm lightly so that he’d let you go. he didn’t.

“why haven’t you said so? i would’ve sent us there instead!”

“figured you’d rather wait here. there’s more space for you to eat and no vapor to ruin the cake; besides, if i had taken you with me, you’d have to wait outside, and i doubt it’d have been fun for you.��

luffy laughed, the sound of it contagious. “fun is wherever you are, silly!”

the affectionate words had you melting, but you refrained from answering, for luffy wore his usual “thinking” expression — pouted lips and narrowed eyes, nothing but an adorable sight. when his face brightened up yet again, you braced yourself for whatever plan he came up with.

“well, if you’re too tired to go there, i’ll just wipe you clean!”

“there’s not enough water or towels here—oh!”

luffy’s tongue claimed the flesh of your face, a long stripe from your chin to your temple. whipped cream stained his lips and he, too, licked it, beaming.

“you and food all at once, shishishi,” you closed your eyes as he lapped at your face yet again, coating it with saliva. “that’s great!”

he prepared his knees for a jump, his eyes aimed at the bed. you were but helpless in his embrace, and had to tug at his — freshly — dirty cheek to catch his attention.

“wait, i don’t want to stain the bed!”

he hummed. “that’s fine! i can clean you on the floor!”

as the wood for sure would have hurt you, for it was not as soft as the mattress, luffy laid you down with surprisingly tenderness, grinning to himself as he hovered above your figure. his wide eyes scanned your face and body; his mouth all but watered. it seemed as though he was conflicted with where to start.

his lips found the side of your neck, giggling as the cream and crumbs smeared his nose. luffy was sniffing you, searching for specifics. rather than to decide which part of your body to clean, he chose which food he wanted to taste first.

“found it!” he beamed, sucking on the flesh of your throat. you gasped, unable to squirm as his hands had you pinned down.

luffy hummed with pure bliss; tongue swirling and teeth scraping. he was famished, mouth wide and a cascate of saliva trailing down your cleavage as he devoured the aimed essence. luffy, then, strived to wipe the desserts, drowning his face on your neck, claiming the sweetness that lingered.

his presence ensued in gradual pressure as he lost the previous giddiness, leaning closer until mere inches separated his hovering chest from your own. he was moaning in delight; swallowing it all. without the barriers from the cream, his tongue had guaranteed access to your bare flesh, and luffy couldn’t help the constant biting, his smeared lips doing nothing to wipe you clean — having rather the opposite effect. the tiredness, combined with his touch and pleased moaning, had you growing sensible.

luffy raised his head and glimpsed at you. his lips held a tinge of chocolate, and he swiped a thumb on your skin, laughing as he smeared your lips with the cream. something seemed to have shifted within him at the sight of your mouth coated white; your tongue lolling out to clean it. his eyes glanced down to your cleavage, a finger teasing the fabric of your dress.

“i can’t clean you if you’re dressed,” he stated, toying with the straps. luffy’s fist clenched around the hem, tugging it above your head. you had raised your arms in order to be of use, and was surprised at the sudden lick of his tongue, starting on the inner area of your upper arm, reaching your wrist.

he curiously glanced at your armpit, and you dodged his attempt to shove his face into it. “luffy!”

he pouted. “it was dirty too!”

“you’re not licking my armpit!”

as expected, when one considered his poor attention span, luffy’s glance fell on your cleavage, and he hummed pleasantly to himself, groping your breasts. “found something better.”

he latched his mouth on the flesh, the loud sound of slurping commanding the ambience as he drank the fruits’ juices and cream off it. luffy pressed his knee in between your legs, applying pressure on your cunt. you mewled, trembling hands gripping his hair.

luffy’s pupils were blown when he stared at you, voice rough and demanding. “where’s the meat?”

he caressed your ankle before placing it above his shoulder, fingers tapping on it to grasp your attention.

“my thighs,” you whispered meekly.

another glance at your figure had him grinning — all teeth and lust. “your abdomen is dirty still. we can’t have that.”

you raised an eyebrow in confusion, for your dress had managed to shelter pieces of your skin from the onslaught of food. your abdomen had been the solemn spared inch. yet, luffy had outstretched his arm to grab a chunk of the cake, and he slapped your flesh with cream, smearing it all over from your ribs to your belly-button.

the forethought retort died at the tip of your tongue when his own worked its magic, wiping it off your flesh. luffy kept his knee pressed against your cunt, rutting his hips as he licked long, disgusting stripes on your front. spit dripped from your body to the ground, and you spasmed, rolling your eyes in an attempt to match his pace. luffy sucked on the flesh, grunting as he left a dozen bites, teeth digging into it and tongue soothing the maimed spots.

he trailed his mouth lower, reaching the waistband of your panties, removing his knee. you had no time to mewl at the lack of contact, for luffy began to drag his tongue along the inner thigh above his shoulder, moaning loudly as the taste of meat overlapped with that of your own sweat. he slurped as though a man starved, chasing the food juices, sucking on your thigh and dragging his teeth lower on your leg.

luffy bit on it harshly, dragging a gasp out of your mouth. he then moved towards the other leg, repeating the process with twice as fervor, though his glance was tethered to your cunt — wetness pooling through the fabric of your panties. he abandoned your thigh altogether, tugging on the waistband, licking his lips. luffy lost his patience, tearing the underwear from your body, and latching his face to your cunt.

the suddenness had you gasping; gripping his hair as a form of anchoring. luffy shoved two fingers into your intimacy, lapping at your folds as a man starved, rubbing his nose against your clit. he moaned and swallowed, swirling his tongue around the bundle of nerves, scissoring your insides. your back arched, and he observed you through his eyelashes, stretching his free hand to pinch your nipples.

luffy’s head retreated, though the ministrations of his fingers remained. he eyed the forgotten cake, eyes glinting with an idea he sure deemed brilliant. the sudden absence of him on your cunt had you groaning; begging. he all but ignored you, drowning his fingers in cream and shoving it inside his mouth, sucking on his own flesh and tasting at the merge of your essence and the dessert.

luffy beamed. “delicious!”

he fisted yet another chunk of cake, and before you could process his actions, luffy had cream whipped on your cunt, smiling to himself in satisfaction. you were given a brief second to collect your breathing before he shoved his tongue inside, pumping the cream. luffy groaned, drowning his nose amidst your folds. he dared not use his fingers, for the cream was but a blessing to his mouth. instead, he gripped your thigh, pumping his tongue inside and out.

your toes curled at the odd sensation born from the cream texture in your walls. luffy’s attempt to wipe it all; to swallow; had his tongue moving in an erratic manner, tearing a moan of bliss. he licked a stripe on your folds, latching his mouth around your clit, collecting the cream.

“it’s bittersweet,” he stated, his chin dripping down with your essence; nose stuffed with the white sweet. luffy licked his lips; cracked his neck.

a deep breath had him returning to your cunt, lapping at your folds with loud slurping sounds. he licked long, warm stripes on your outer lips.

“luffy,” you whined, tugging at his hair. “fingers, too. please.”

he complied, shoving his middle-finger inside, stretching it. you could feel it gradually fill you up; the tip curling and brushing on your cervix. you cried out the second his mouth returned to your clit, hollowed cheeks applying pressure before his tongue began with its usual swirling, the fast pace causing you to tremble; your legs a melting mess.

the finger around your nipple twisted it; the cream melted on his nose due to the warmth of your fluids.

“so good,” he moaned in awe, moving his head and nose to the sides, breathing you in.

luffy added yet another outstretched finger, pumping the pair in-and-out while his mouth busied itself with your labia. the knot at the pit of your stomach tightened and loosened; your tongue lolled out ever-so-slightly and you grew quite sure that luffy had managed to steal the movement of your legs.

“luffy—”

“i’m hungry,” he interrupted, tearing his face off your cunt for the briefest instance to observe you with a darkening glance. “serve me more food.”

you whimpered, and luffy maintained eye-contact as he swiped the last of the whipped cream from your urethra, challenging you to disobey. a broken moan bloomed at the pressure he held, and your orgasm was a devastating cascate. luffy was quick to remove his fingers and replace them with your mouth, swallowing your cum faster than it came out, chasing it within your walls with his tongue.

when he, at last, grew satisfied, he licked his fingers, staring at your limp figure on the ground. luffy hovered above you, licking your lower lip.

“love is sharing food,” he stated, lolling his tongue out to show it coated white with both the cream and your cum. “open up.”

his kiss was bruising. his covered cock rutted against your thigh. there was still some cake left — and luffy was famished.

— 🐈‍⬛ : another day, another kinktober!

[irisintheafterglow]

"i'm crashing the fuck out."

"what the hell does that even mean?" when you answer with nothing more than an anguished groan, kiyoomi's head turns to look at you from his place on your bed. "are you okay?"

"i want to throw my computer at the wall and then myself," you reply even though it isn't much of an explanation. his eyebrows raise and a smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth. smug fucker, he was amused by your suffering.

"throw yourself at the wall or throw the computer at yourself?" your boyfriend's dry attempt at making you laugh only makes you frown more and he waits for you to elaborate.

"either or is fine," you lament, digging your fingernails into your scalp deep enough to leave dents. "anything to get me out of this hole i've dug myself into." your voice wavers and he exhales through his mouth, sitting up and extending his arm to you. "what?"

"well? are you gonna take a break or not?" after a moment of contemplation, you nod the tiniest amount, shut your laptop, and sluggishly drag yourself to your bed. "c'mere, you big baby."

"i'm not a baby," you grumble while he pulls you both down, securing you against his chest. "why do i do this to myself?" he hums and you glance up to see his eyes shut, so you lightly poke his ribs. "hello? is my supportive boyfriend in there?"

"less talking, more resting," he mumbles. "if you wanna talk, give it ten minutes. just let your brain shut down for now." too tired to argue, you obey and lay against him in silence.

two minutes pass, then five, then eight.

you don't expect to start crying, but one sniffle turns into three and a few tears turn into a steady stream falling down your cheeks and onto his shirt.

"sorry, omi," you whisper as the spot under your cheek becomes damper. your voice is no louder than the fan humming in the corner of your room.

"it's okay, sweetheart. you're okay."

"were you waiting for this?"

"maybe."

"asshole." he knows your words hold no malice and runs his hand up and down your back, stopping every so often to trace circles on the back of your neck with the pad of his thumb.

"at least it's me and not some jackasses in your class," he decides for you. he lets a few more of your tears fall before shifting your positions so that you're both on your side, facing each other. he brushes the last stray drops from your cheek and patiently waits for your breathing to even out. "better?"

"better," you confirm. you're close enough that you can count every different shade of green in his eyes and notice every curl that falls around the two moles peeking out from the mattress. for someone who hates people staring at him for prolonged amounts of time (ironic considering that he plays a sport where an entire arena is looking at him), he doesn't mind the way your eyes scan his face like you're memorizing every detail. your eyes are different. you are different. "you still love me?"

"why would you ask that? of course i do."

"even when i'm a hot mess?" he huffs through his nose and finally pulls you back closer until your face is tucked between his shoulder and his neck. your body has completely relaxed and sakusa's unsure if you're even awake when he murmurs his reply.

especially when you're a hot mess.

[riddleswhcre]

What about gun play with enemy!joel?

like, you’re one of the remaining people they’ve kept alive and get handed over to joel—so he can finish u off. However, he has other plans when he recognizes ur pretty face ;)

yk me n my fucked up mind.

────۶ৎ got nothin’ to complain about now, huh?

you’re supposed to die. joel’s supposed to kill you. instead, he finds a much filthier use for your bratty little mouth and cunt.

warnings: smut, dubcon, noncon, enemies to hatefuck, gunplay , unprotected piv, degradation, name-calling , choking, spitting, hair pulling, fingering, cockdrunk/brat taming, creampie.

ᐟᐟ ⟢ a/n: marleen i know what you like 😏 i hope you enjoy bby and thank you for requesting 💋

more

ᖭ༏ᖫ

you should’ve died already.

they dragged you into camp half-conscious, bruised and bleeding and still snarling like a feral thing. some muttered you weren’t worth the bullet. others wanted the entertainment. but only one man steps forward to claim you.

joel miller.

he’s the last face you ever wanted to see. not because you’re scared—though you probably should be—but because you hate him. hate the way he moves like he owns the world. hate the way his voice curls around your name like a noose. hate the way your thighs clench when he stares.

“thought you were tougher’n this,” he says, crouching down to your level. you’re on your knees, wrists tied, mouth bloody. “look at you now. pathetic.”

you spit. try to lunge. the men laugh.

joel doesn’t.

he drags you by the collar, yanks you into the shadows behind one of the half-collapsed buildings. no one follows. no one cares.

“so,” he drawls, slamming you against the wall, “they said i could kill you. but lookin’ at you now?” he presses his thigh between your legs. you gasp. “m’thinkin’ there’s better uses.”

your eyes flash. “fuck you.”

his smile is all teeth. “oh, darlin’. that’s the plan.”

he doesn’t kiss you. he claims you—mouth rough, hand at your throat, thigh grinding up against your ruined core. you try to fight. you really do. but he’s stronger. meaner. his hands rip your clothes like they’re paper, shove you face-down against the wall.

“don’t worry,” he mutters, voice thick with venom and heat, “gonna make this real memorable.”

the cold muzzle of his rifle nudges between your legs and your whole body jolts.

“joel—”

“shut up,” he snaps. “shut the fuck up.”

you squirm. he growls. one arm pins you down while the other angles the gun between your folds, slick already coating the black steel. he laughs.

“jesus. you’re fuckin’ soaked.” he drags it through you, slow. deliberate. “what, you like this? gettin’ used like a hole? didn’t peg you for the type, but here you are—ruttin’ on my fuckin’ rifle.”

“fuck you,” you hiss again, weaker now.

“no,” he breathes, “fuck you.”

and then he shoves it in.

the metal is cold, thick, wrong. your body fights it, muscles clenching around the muzzle, but he doesn’t let up. pushes deeper, deeper, until your legs are shaking and your moans echo in the dark.

“look at that,” he sneers, rutting the stock against your clit. “takin’ it like a fuckin’ cockdrunk whore. all that fire gone now, huh?”

he pulls the gun out halfway, slams it back in. over and over. your face is hot, your thighs slick, your mind gone.

“fucked you dumb on my gun.”

you cum. hard. choking on the cry, full-body shuddering, shame pooling in your gut. he feels it. hears it.

“fuckin’ knew it,” he growls, tossing the rifle aside, freeing his cock. “knew you wanted it. wanted me. say it.”

“n-no—”

he slams into you.

no warning. no mercy. just thick, angry cock splitting you open in one brutal thrust. you scream. claw at the wall. he grabs your hips and fucks.

“say it,” he grits, pace punishing. “say you wanted it. say you’re mine.”

you’re drooling. incoherent. he loves it.

“c’mon, you bratty fuckin’ slut. not so mouthy now?”

you sob. whisper something like his name. he slams in harder.

“that’s right,” he hisses, hand in your hair, dragging your head back so he can bite down on your throat. “my fuckin’ toy now. no one else gets this cunt. no one else gets you.”

you’re too far gone to argue.

you cum again. so does he—deep, messy, groaning against your neck like it hurts.

when it’s over, he doesn’t move. doesn’t pull out. just leans in and murmurs:

“got nothin’ to complain about now, huh?”

ᖭ༏ᖫ

thank you for reading. reblogs & feedback appreciated.

[anantaru]

DAY 30 — hate sex

kinktober 2023. — masterlist | ao3

𖧡 — including — wriothesley, ayato, scaramouche, alhaitham

𖧡 — warnings — fem! reader, hate fucking, mild choking, they're assholes, exhibitionism, fingering, lots of teasing & they're meanies

𖧡 — WRIOTHESLEY

"i don't, fuck— even know if i told you this," you whine out through a clenched jaw, your trembling frame luxuriating in the feeling of wriothesley's thick cock rubbing against your spongy spots as the spreading warmth of his body fuses inside of your own.

nevertheless, you continue your taunting— truthfully, there was nothing better other than uttering out words that you knew, would drive him absolutely crazy, "but i really fucking hate you."

amusement swiftly settles on the duke's face when he notices something happening in front of his eyes, in spite of himself, he can see it plain as day.

that your sweet, angel face, combined with those lewd sounds and your pain in the ass, as well as bratty attitude, would ultimately make him lose his mind beyond salivation— right now, his face reminded of someone who was on the brink of leaning into this, the thought of stepping your relationship up and breaking free of this, occasional hook up scene between two people clearly harboring distaste for each other.

yet, instead of melting into those hidden emotions, wriothesley then, leaves one hand to fall against the headboard before jerking his hips back into you, this time much harder and in attempt to conceal the fact that you've evidently turned him on with your attitude, fuck, he'd never get tired of hearing you.

"oh, don't worry sweetheart," wriothesley grins, your body trembling when you hear him, and as always, he senses how you shiver under his large weight, your chest rising and falling when he wraps one hand around your throat, lightly, while the other remained on the headboard to steady himself and to not suddenly suffocate you with his figure.

"the feeling is very mutual," he winks, the only thing that seemed appropriate to you personally in this situation, was to punch him, especially due to that stupid, handsome, dumb smirk on his face. (you didn't punch him)

"oh fuck you," you spat angrily before feeling how he softly draws his fingers into your throat, mesmerized when you swallow the assembled saliva down and make him sense your pulse underneath his palm, ugh, it's so hot— and you're impossibly sensitive, constantly fluttering your hole around his girth, always so cutely reactive and moaning when his cock twitches through your walls.

your mess of a body was shaking, quivering and jerking up when he teases you once more, proudly showcasing his strength on your throat while never stopping the aching drags of his erection that was making your face twist in pleasure.

𖧡 — AYATO

ayato thinks you owe him, in fact, he believes you owe him a lot more than you're currently giving him— aside from that, the most unfortunate fact was that he secretly liked having you close to him, pretending that it's a way of paying him back for whatever reason, more so share your sweet company and yes, of course, it's a bit of a predicament taking into consideration that he literally cannot stand your guts and neither can you force yourself to like his.

it's a bit embarrassing and you're barely being able to grasp on how much you you were capable to hate another person, yet the second you hear his voice, it's a horrible sound, one that you eagerly wanted to choke right out of him.

well, if only ayato wouldn't be so adapt with your body— remembering every part of you, didn't matter to him if it's been a week or a month, he remembers and targets the spots he knew had to be taken care of.

because the yashiro commissioner knows how to fuck you, please you and make you sob out uncontrollably— you have clearly had the opportunity to experience it yourself and even now, while pressed down against his work desk, with both legs tightly shut around his waist, you almost forget about all the deep-rooted hatred that was growing inside of your heart.

every dip and curve, his hand would find when he drags his cock through your walls with each whimper of his name littering across his ear shells, his sensitive tip repeatedly pushing in and out of your soaked walls that the constant pressure of penetration was making your head spin, your shaking frame twitching under him as he curves ever so wonderfully into your warm cunt.

it's too good, too delicious to pass up on when you forget all circumstances and focus on the hate induced thrusts of his pelvis rutting against yours— both minds being drunk of lust and that sensual taste of sex and euphoria lingering across the room, your pussy convulsing as his lips melt against your own, shushing all your worries.

𖧡 — SCARAMOUCHE

"look at that," scaramouche grinned down on you, excited from head to toe, his ego downright overflowing when his tip pushes and presses into your warm, pulsing spots as he stares down on where your bodies connected.

his cock was slipping in an embarrassingly easy pace that it's quite shameful now that you think back on it, well, almost— at least scaramouche knew what places to target in order to make your spine curve and quiver when he leans his weight over your body to split your cunt a little better as he bucks backward, driving the intruding force of his length deeper with one hand steady on your shoulder.

you wrap your hands around his neck and pull him into a warm, passionate kiss before he sloppily groans into your mouth, his tongue lapping across your own when repeated thrusts power through the tight ring of your hole, his pelvis continuously kicking against you and forcing your spine to bend into his chest, "hah, i can barely move," he smirks, "you're too tight— embarrassing," he drawls, your walls fluttering as he leans his sweaty forehead over your own.

"seems like you missed me," scaramouche urges, hovering on top of you with a toothy smile, despite that leaning in for more, his fastened breathing close to your flustered cheeks as he grinds his cock deeper, finer and better— a small, little shade of pink manifesting across his face, everything about it was so sensual, so exposed.

without a doubt, whenever you would cross paths it would always end in the same story playing on repeat, almost like a broken record— and despite the fact that you weren't fond of him, or, scrap that, despite the fact that you hated him, a lot, you did like it, like him, kind of— most definitely when he fucks you like he hates you, because he does, but kisses you like you're in possession of the most delicious and softest lips.

or, digging a little deeper, when he, sometimes, wraps his arm around your waist when he accidentally falls asleep right beside you, hiding his fatigued face against your neck, leaning into your touch as he intertwines one hand with yours to stroke his thumb over your knuckles.

𖧡 — ALHAITHAM

it's a hard punch in your gut when alhaitham first stated that he didn't like you, nope, wasn't a fan of yours at all— and the way he phrased it infuriated you the most, it was so arrogant, detached and almost like he wanted you to know and feel bad.

it's not like you were forcing him to like you or anything, but the fact that he thought it was appropriate to tell you out of the blue while disregarding any negative emotions such confession could cause— to say it made you loathe him, detest his being with every vein in your body, was an understatement, truly.

but now, suddenly it's anomalous, like the first bite out of a warm home-made pastry you have never tried before.

then, a sudden wave of pleasure hits you, strong enough that you whimper when he first places both hands on your figure, when you find yourself pressed against a cold wall, a new sensation that was laced in thrill and excitement lusting up from deep inside, aflame and alive through your flesh like liquid fire in your veins.

your bodies were moving while concealed beneath the darkness with the scribe's hand long since stored under your panties and rubbing slow, precise circles on your clit— and the thought of doing something so sinful in the midst of the night, not to mention outside, was almost enough to turn you on entirely, drench his palm with your slick when the boiling heat inside of you changes its shape, manifesting into something exceptional.

"that— that doesn't change anything!" you argue, scowling as you lean your head against his chest, "you're still a snob."

"huh, what?" alhaitham huffs in between a relatively normal breathing, as if he didn't just fuck two fingers into your hole and was the single reason for your legs turning to jelly, wantonly destroying your stability, "i think you don't know what that word means," he mutters before rolling his eyes at you.

archons, you're so annoying, alhaitham could honestly tell you those exact words over and over again until he'd get a headache— and it fucks him up, you do, you never fail to irritate him but also make him intrigued. ugh, it fucks him up so dearly and you destroy his rational thoughts, he wanted to do nothing more other than distance himself from you if only you wouldn't be so damn addicting, and soft, or reactive when he prods one finger against your hole.

awakening at the touch, your desire for him flares anew as you buck your hips forward, driving his finger deeper, his digit spilling right into you when you greet him with a broken cry, your hips rolling and needful for more— alhaitham's eyes never averting their gaze from you, your hips searching and clinging on his body, a slight tremble reaching your spine when you hold your gaze on him, all now feeling in different way.

©2023 anantaru's kinktober do not repost, copy, translate, modify

[rosachae]

she plays bass | megan skiendiel x reader

⁍ song: she plays bass - beabadoobee ⁍ requested: yes ⁍ genre: band AU. non!idol megan x musician!reader. a little bit of angst, a little bit of fluff ⁍ a/n: thank you again for the prompt, anon! i hope this is what you were looking for. ⁍ wc: 5.3k ⁍ warnings: none that i can think of. ⁍ synopsis:

y/n falls. hard. just, not for the right girl. megan had long gotten used to being on the sidelines while she watched y/n pine after her best friend. if she couldn't call y/n hers, then she supposed being her confidant was the next best thing.

hyunjin’s garage always smelled like the ghost of gasoline and febreze. sharp and synthetic, like something trying too hard to cover up something worse. the cement floor was stained with oil spills from years ago, smudged into abstract shapes no one had bothered to clean, and every surface had a fine layer of dust that clung to fingers and instrument cases alike. wires snaked across the ground like vines, half-taped down with mismatched duct tape that peeled at the corners. an old fan groaned in the corner, doing very little besides moving the heat around in slow, humid circles.

y/n wasn’t sure which scent she hated more, the fuel or the floral, but they both clung to her clothes by the time she left. it was loud, so loud her ears buzzed between songs. the garage was hotter than it had any right to be, the fan hopeless against the summer bleeding in through the open door. kai had just broken another one of the cheap sticks they bought in a plastic-wrapped bulk pack from the club, splintered wood rolling across the floor like tired confetti.

she sighed and leaned against a crooked amp, watching hyunjin fumble with the aux cable again like it was some ancient artifact.

“dude,” hyunjin groaned, sliding off his stool and letting the aux cord fall to the floor with a defeated clatter. he grabbed a bent sheet of chord progressions from the amp and started fanning himself dramatically, like a wilted victorian heiress. “quit breaking my sticks. that’s the third one this week.”

kai didn’t even blink. “i’ve got rhythm and rage. sue me.”

“you’ve got weak wrists and commitment issues,” yuqi muttered from behind her mic, barely looking up as she tuned her guitar with one hand and sipped from a sweating iced coffee with the other. “we have a gig on friday. i’m not dragging your pretty ass out of another mess with mr. choi. he already hates it when you break his equipment.”

“mr. choi loves me,” kai said, flashing a grin that had absolutely no basis in reality.

“mr. choi has a heart condition,” hyunjin deadpanned, blotting his forehead with a faded bandana. “every time you walk in, he clutches his chest like he’s halfway to the light.”

then hyunjin let out an exaggerated sigh, dramatic enough to ruffle the sheet music still clutched in his hand. “anyway, is anyone going to acknowledge that i’m dying? of heatstroke? of being underappreciated? of being too hot for this mortal realm?”

y/n didn’t bother looking up from her bass, fingers still working through a scale she barely needed to think about. “you’ve been saying that since junior year.”

“and i’ve been right since junior year,” hyunjin shot back, fanning himself harder. “consistency is a virtue, y/n.”

all y/n could do was roll her eyes. honestly, she wasn’t sure how she managed it—spending hours holed up in hyunjin’s sweltering garage, surrounded by a chaotic blend of egos and inside jokes that grated on her nerves more often than not. still, they were her people. loud, messy, ridiculous— hers.

maybe that’s why she put up with the heat, the noise, the endless bickering over broken drumsticks and who drank the last of the lukewarm soda.

she figured she could overlook it all. for now. a small, reluctant grin tugged at the corner of her mouth before she buried it behind the low thrum of her bass.

especially hyunjin. for all his self-proclaimed glamour and melodrama, he was her best friend. they’d basically grown up side by side. sandboxes, scraped knees, and all. his mom still lit up like a marquee sign whenever y/n came over, insisting she stay for dinner, fussing over whether she’d eaten, if she was warm enough, if she needed anything at all. sometimes y/n swore hyunjin’s mom was secretly waiting for the day he’d turn around and admit they were dating. but that was never their dynamic. never had been.

they both liked girls. y/n, truthfully, wasn’t quite sure if that was a problem or perhaps the glue that held them together. it turned their friendship into a quiet battlefield of shared crushes and unspoken one-upmanship, always dancing on the edge of competition. they clicked a little too easily, probably because they were cut from the same cloth. same dry humor, same impulsive streak, same incurable weakness for a certain kind of girl.

it was a curse. or a cosmic joke. probably both.

y/n still got shivers thinking about chaewon, the girl from high school who had the misfortune of being exactly their type. soft-spoken, pretty, polite. practically a walking bullseye. they both zeroed in on her like moths to a chandelier, oblivious to the disaster unfolding in real time.

chaewon transferred schools halfway through senior year. honestly, it was probably the best thing that ever happened to her.

y/n still wasn’t sure how she lasted as long as she did, stuck between two emotionally chaotic teenagers who spent most of their free time either teasing each other or trying to one-up the other’s flirting. but through it all, nothing ever shifted between her and hyunjin. they were friends. chaotic, codependent, sometimes insufferable—but just friends. always had been. always would be.

this was i don’t care. the band that wasn’t supposed to be a band. born from a running joke they said out loud one too many times, sparked by a half-finished song y/n left in hyunjin’s car. something raw and messy that yuqi covered on a whim, recorded in one take, and posted to instagram with the caption: we’re sad and hot and broke. somehow, it took off.

now they had real gigs, a decent local following, and an accidental manager– yuqi’s cousin’s girlfriend’s sister, who claimed her marketing minor and “a vision” were all they needed to blow up.

it wasn’t that they weren’t good. they were. talent wasn’t the issue. but the soul of the thing had always been the chaos.  the late nights in hyunjin’s garage, the impulse decisions, the fact that he once made a logo on canva at 3 a.m. and printed it on t-shirts without telling anyone. that was the band.

it was noise and laughter and friendship and half-eaten takeout on amps. it was making something that felt like them. unfiltered, unpolished, real. nothing had ever been that serious. and maybe that’s what made it work.

until, of course, the friday night show where everything changed.

__

megan skiendiel had a lot of opinions, most of them half-baked and delivered with the kind of timing that made people pause mid-sentence. earlier that day, she’d announced that 80s synth-pop deserved a cultural renaissance while buried elbow-deep in a crate of dusty vinyls at the record shop. a few hours later, she’d loudly speculated that their coworker jake was obviously into lara, citing the fact that he kept offering to cover her saturday night shifts like it meant something.

megan said things like they were gospel, as if the world would catch up eventually.

“it’s not because he’s nice,” megan said, tossing a cracked duran duran record back onto the shelf. she straightened up, brushing dust from her hands, her voice full of certainty. “he’s got crush energy. you can see it in the way he hovers. limp-wristed, overly eager, always offering to help with the trash like it’s some romantic gesture.”

lara didn’t even look up at first, just clicked her pen and made a note on her clipboard before glancing over, one brow raised. “so basically you, but with worse shoes.”

megan gasped like she’d just been shot. “excuse you. these are vintage.”

lara finally looked down at the scuffed platform boots on megan’s feet, the left one with a barely visible patch of duct tape near the sole. “those are a hate crime,” she said flatly.

megan clutched her chest like lara had just insulted her entire bloodline. “they’re from a thrift shop in sapporo,” she declared, eyes wide with the kind of faux betrayal she’d perfected over the years. “i had to elbow a grown man to get them. he had biker gloves on, lara. biker gloves. it was life or death.”

lara gave her a once-over, slow and unimpressed. “yeah, well, something tells me those boots were meant for that man. all gruff and dusty and slightly unhinged. they look like they’ve seen a bar fight.”

“they’re lived-in,” megan snapped, offended but not surprised.

“they’re tragic,” lara corrected, scribbling something on her clipboard before adding, “you look like you stole them off a trucker with emotional baggage and a fifth divorce.”

megan scoffed. “it’s called edge, lara. ever heard of it?”

“not when it’s flaking off the soles,” lara muttered, deadpan.

megan grumbled.  “you’re lucky i believe in nonviolent communication.”

they were opposites in a way that just worked. where megan was all impulse and noise, lara had a sharp-edged charisma, the kind that made people pause and take a second look. they'd been inseparable since high school, partners in crime, co-conspirators in chaos. now, they ran the town's only indie record shop, a place that felt like a hipster’s fever dream, filled with dusty vinyl and the pervasive scent of incense and intellectual pretension. they’d already given up trying to convince yoonchae to join part time while she finished her senior year. the poor korean girl was too buried in coursework to even think about it.

with a sigh, megan pushed past the mess of records on the next rack. some kids had come in earlier, scattering vinyls like confetti, leaving chaos in their wake. but as she dug through the disarray, something caught her eye. something she’d never seen before. there, buried beneath a pile of mismatched album covers, was a record that felt out of place. the cover was stark white, almost blank, with an almost minimalist design. ‘i don’t care’ was printed in lowercase, as if the title itself couldn’t care less—simple, effortless, and unpretentious, like it wasn’t trying to make a statement.

“never heard of them,” she mumbled, turning it over. “should i?”

lara shrugged. “local maybe. looks cool.”

so they played it.

and god, the bassline. the low hum that thrummed right through her chest. a voice that sounded a little messy and a lot emotional. lyrics like inside jokes you weren’t quite in on but wanted to be. megan leaned against the counter, eyes wide.

“we’re going to their show.” 

__

it was one of those club venues that tried too hard to be cozy but ended up just being loud and sticky. the floor clung to your shoes, the lights pulsed a relentless red for no real reason, and the bartender wore a look that suggested he hated everyone under thirty-five on principle. megan, though? she was right where she belonged. she couldn’t quite remember how she’d talked the whole group into coming out tonight, but low and behold, there they were.

"okay," megan practically shouted over the music, nursing her overpriced drink and scanning the stage like she was looking for hidden treasure. "which one do we think writes the lyrics?"

lara hummed. her eyes scanned the stage, no particular keen interest on her face. then she perked up as if the answer came to her in a dream. "oh, definitely him. he’s got it.”

megan followed her line of sight to the guy on drums. his dark brown hair bounced with sweat and clung to his forehead, pure concentration cemented across his face. she didn’t need to know what ‘it’ was. he was lost in the rhythm, eyes closed as his hands moved like they had a mind of their own. she couldn’t deny that there was something a little too intense about him. 

before megan could reply, manon chimed in. the swiss girl leaned over, glass in hand and a fun loving grin painted across her lips. "it has to be the keyboard guy."

sophia and daniela had practically run to the dance floor the moment they’d entered the club, drawn in by the pulsing beat and the chaos of bodies moving to the music. sophia, already a few drinks in, was swaying slightly as she made her way back to the group, a wide grin plastered on her face. she wiped her hands on her jeans, clearly more tipsy than usual. 

“what’s going on?" she asked, her voice laced with mischief, slurred. "are we picking which one of them cries in the shower?"

daniela, just behind her, looked like she was on her way to catching up to sophia’s buzz. she leaned against the bar, still catching her breath, eyes sparkling with curiosity. daniela squinted at the stage, then turned to look at keyboardist. "i’m voting for him too.”

megan grinned. "i think we’re all in agreement then. cheers to keyboard guy."

the set was already halfway through when megan saw her. she wasn’t sure how she didn’t notice sooner, but when she did, her heart thumped.

she wasn’t flashy, wasn’t trying to draw attention. she didn’t jump around or put on any kind of show for the crowd. but when megan’s eyes landed on her, everything else seemed to blur out. the girl was holding her bass like it belonged to her. like it was a part of her, like it meant something. her fingers moved with a calm precision, her face focused but distant, like she was lost in a world that was all her own. megan couldn’t help but watch, her heart suddenly a little too loud in her chest.

there was a look in her eyes, almost like she was listening to a secret only she could hear, and when she smiled, it wasn’t big, wasn’t one of those stage smiles people perfected. it was crooked, soft, like it happened by accident. it was the kind of smile that made megan forget to breathe.

“you’re staring,” lara said, leaning in slightly with a knowing grin.

megan blinked, realizing she hadn’t said anything for a few seconds. her hand was still clutching her drink, but it was starting to slip a little. "i’m admiring,” she corrected quickly, her voice coming out a little more flustered than she intended. “huge difference."

lara didn’t say anything at first. then, with the kind of dry humor megan knew too well, she added, “sure, romeo."

megan's cheeks flushed and she quickly looked away, trying to act like she hadn’t just made a fool of herself in front of the whole bar. but she couldn’t stop the way her eyes kept drifting back to the girl, as if there was something magnetic about her presence that megan just couldn’t look away from.

little did megan know, that would be the start of everything.

the crowd was still howling when y/n unplugged her bass, the last notes still humming in her fingertips. sweat clung to her collar, the adrenaline thrumming beneath her skin like a second heartbeat. hyunjin was already off his stool, dramatically twirling a drumstick and tossing it into the crowd like he was born to do it. the four of them slipped offstage, ducking into the narrow backstage corridor that smelled like beer and electrical wires.

someone’s drink had already spilled on the floor. the walls were lined with peeling posters, curling at the corners. the sound tech gave y/n a nod as she passed, and she returned it with a crooked grin, cheeks aching, the kind of post-show daze that made everything feel like it was moving half a second behind.

then came the chaos.

“oh my god, you—” a sharp voice broke through, right before a blur of limbs barreled past the security guard like a wrecking ball in lipstick.

y/n blinked.

a girl in a halter crop top and low-rise jeans launched herself forward– tall, pretty, absolutely hammered, her glossy lips moving faster than her brain. she headed straight for kai, arms outstretched like she’d just spotted a long-lost lover across a war zone.

kai, to his credit, looked horrified.

before security could step in, four other girls came flying in after her, looking every shade of mortified. manon and daniela managed to grab sophia by both arms, hauling her backward with a practiced desperation.

"we are so sorry—" manon started, breathless, still grappling with sophia like she was trying to wrangle a wild animal.

before she could finish, sophia whipped her head back in protest and caught manon square in the nose.

“ow! what the hell—”

“she has this thing for keyboardists,” daniela finished, like it was an explanation she’d given one too many times. she tightened her grip as sophia tried to lunge again.

“i swear to god, sophia, if you get us banned—”

“i just wanted to talk to him!” sophia whined, slurring a little as she dug her heels into the sticky floor.

kai blinked at them, shell-shocked, holding his keyboard like a shield. he only lowered it and shuffled away the moment he was sure manon and daniela successfully wrangled sophia out from backstage.

y/n stood frozen for a beat, trying to process what the hell she’d just witnessed. then she laughed. sharp and startled, the sound of someone caught between disbelief and secondhand embarrassment.

hyunjin leaned in. “that’s gonna be us one day,” he said, nodding sagely.

“stormed backstage by strangers?”

“groupies, y/n. we’re building a brand.”

“right,” y/n muttered, tugging her strap off her shoulder. “well, your brand just pissed off security.”

she raised a hand, waving security off when they moved to come over.

that’s when two other girls stepped forward. not charging like their friend, not slurring or flailing. megan looked like she’d sprinted halfway there and only just remembered to slow down. her hair was a little windblown, her expression wide-eyed and caught somewhere between panic and awe. lara, on the other hand, was all cool detachment, hands tucked into her jacket pockets, eyes scanning everything like she was cataloging it for later.

y/n straightened slightly, unsure whether to brace or laugh again.

“hi,” megan said, breathless. “um. sorry about our friend. she gets flirty when she’s drunk.”

“she almost ate kai,” hyunjin hummed, biting back another laugh.

“believe me, we know,” megan stammered, embarrassed, rocking back and forth on the balls of her feet.  “sophia once hit on a waiter mid-order. it’s a full-time job trying to keep her from getting banned from establishments.”

“well, thanks for wrangling her,” y/n said, her voice steadier than she expected. “and for coming. to the show, i mean.”

but then y/n’s eyes trailed over to the girl standing behind her. she was stunning. tall, dressed in tailored black, sleek hair and gold jewelry catching the low light. there was something about her that immediately made y/n want to straighten her back. magnetic. she looked confident, the kind of confident that made you feel like she knew exactly who she was, and didn’t care if you didn’t.

“you guys were great,” lara said, flashing a smile. “really. we just found your record at the store and figured why not come check it out.”

“music store?” hyunjin perked up. “which one?”

“garrison’s. we both work there,” the first girl said. “i’m megan, by the way. this is lara.”

y/n repeated both names in her head. megan. lara. 

however hyunjin, naturally, latched onto the pretty one.

“lara,” he said, already dialing it up. “you have a beautiful name.”

y/n nearly snorted.

“how about we get you girls a drink?”

__

to megan’s bad luck, both y/n and hyunjin seemed taken with the very pretty, very social girl standing beside her. it was obvious. painfully so. and yet, she couldn’t help herself. she kept gravitating toward y/n anyway.

hyunjin was shameless about it. all charm and theatrics, practically ignoring megan in favor of lavishing attention on lara. but y/n… y/n smiled at her. offered to buy her a drink. asked for her name. it was friendly. casual. meaningless, probably. 

but it meant something to megan.

in that moment, she decided that if both of them were going to fall for her best friend, she’d rather it be y/n. if it had to be someone, let it be the one who smiled gently. who asked questions. who noticed. besides, she always believed what people said—if your friends can’t stand the person you’re dating, maybe that’s a red flag worth listening to.

maybe that was the real problem. megan got along with y/n a little too well.

megan and y/n became good friends. it started simple. megan showed up to shows, bought the merch before it was cool, called y/n’s bass lines sick even when they both knew the sound system was trash that night. they hung out between sets, shared fries at late-night diners, argued about which the smiths album aged the worst. it was easy. it was enough.

then, the love came slow. like a sunrise. subtle, steady, then suddenly everywhere.

megan realized it a year in. their friendship already carved deep, unshakeable. they were mid-set, stage lights flaring red and gold. megan stood in the crowd, bass thudding through her chest.

and then y/n looked up. their eyes met, and something in her splintered. after that, it hurt. a little bit, every day. a slow undoing. a soft ache she learned to live with.

but she never left.

at some point, maybe five months after they met, hyunjin and lara started dating. five months of half-flirting and inside jokes that weren’t so inside anymore. five months of megan watching y/n pretend she didn’t care.

the band had gotten bigger by then. not international– god, not yet– but local enough that strangers started recognizing them in line for coffee. their sound was sharp around the edges now, tighter, cleaner. more people were paying attention.

but still, y/n was pissed. quiet about it, mostly. but it lived in her shoulders, the way they hunched a little tighter when lara laughed at hyunjin’s jokes. in the way she stopped volunteering stories about her day whenever lara was around.

“i was the one who listened,” she told megan once, voice low like it was a secret. “to all her dumb little tangents. about which incense gives her migraines, or how her dog only eats if the bowl’s rotated a certain way. he wasn’t there. he didn’t even know the dog’s name.”

megan nodded, said nothing, and let her vent.

“i gave her my coat that night,” y/n added, quieter now. “when she shivered. he didn’t even notice she was cold.”

it was just something she needed to let out. and megan… megan made space for things like that. a quiet pocket of the world where y/n could be soft, small, furious, grieving, without ever having to say sorry for it.

it was always megan who showed up. not just for the gigs or the late-night diner runs. but at 2am, when everything felt too loud, too much. megan, who picked up the phone without hesitation. who sent stupid memes until y/n laughed again. who knew when she needed silence and when she needed to scream. who carried gum and painkillers and the exact words y/n needed to hear tucked somewhere behind her tongue.

megan knew every version of her. the messy ones. the moody ones. the ones that cried at shampoo commercials and flinched at confrontation. and she loved them all. quietly. stubbornly. without asking for anything in return.

because they were friends. just friends.

so megan kept her mouth shut. swallowed her feelings like bad medicine. because y/n was already hurting, and megan knew– intimately– what it felt like to love someone who didn’t love you back. she’d never wish that kind of loneliness on anyone. least of all her.

still, it was megan who listened. who stood in the sticky venues with bad acoustics and worse lighting. who cheered the loudest, even when the set was off. it was her y/n called when the world tilted sideways. it was her y/n trusted with the fragile parts, the ugly truths, the things she couldn’t tell anyone else.

megan never missed the details. how y/n took her coffee, which hoodie she wore when she was spiraling, the playlist she avoided when she was heartbroken. megan paid attention like it was a religion. like y/n was a language she was learning by heart.

she loved y/n in silence because it was safer. because it was easier than risking everything. because some part of her still hoped that one day, maybe, y/n would choose her.

for now, she settled on simply being. 

__

two years had passed. the band got louder. not just in sound, but in presence. local fame turned regional. “i don’t care” started slipping onto playlists they’d never heard of, getting tagged in stories by strangers from cities they hadn’t played yet. they still rehearsed in hyunjin’s garage, still argued about setlists, still tripped over the same tangled cords. but the rooms got bigger. the lights got brighter. the noise followed them home.

through it all, megan was constant.

y/n couldn’t pinpoint when it changed. maybe it was always there, just quiet. maybe it was the way megan always had gum when her throat went dry before a set. maybe it was the way she cheered—arms in the air, mouthing every lyric like it mattered. maybe it was the night y/n crashed on her couch and woke up to tea already steeping, a blanket tucked around her shoulders like it had always been there.

she remembered calling megan when she found out about hyunjin and lara. she hadn’t cried, not the way she expected. just sat on megan’s floor with a pint of mint chocolate chip between them, watching reruns until the theme song blurred into background noise. megan leaned her head on her shoulder. y/n didn’t flinch. didn’t pull away. she just leaned back.

it stayed with her. for days. for weeks.

then it started happening more.

megan, humming along to rough cuts that weren’t even mixed yet. megan, lip syncing the bassline with a wink, like it was just for her. megan, dancing in the front row like no one else in the world existed.

and something in y/n started to unravel.

she started noticing things. the curve of megan’s smile when she was teasing. the way she always smelled faintly like coconut shampoo and old records. the way she made everything—music, heartbreak, life—feel easier just by being around. and then one day, in the middle of a show, y/n looked out into the crowd and found her.

megan. grinning like she had a secret. eyes bright. mouthing along to every word.

y/n forgot her next chord for half a second.

that’s when she knew. not all at once. not in some dramatic epiphany. but in a quiet, steady way.

then came the jealousy. sudden, sharp. it happened that night at manon’s rooftop party. it wasn’t like y/n to care who megan flirted with. she always chalked it up to megan being magnetic. of course people wanted her. megan was loud, energetic, silly and charismatic in her own socially awkward way. but it was charming. it was a sort of way that made her feel real. a type of authenticity that she found herself craving. 

the energy was charged, an intimate gathering between friends. the whole time, she found herself watching her. when megan laughed at something a girl in a  yellow dress— sophia— whispered in her ear, she felt herself stiffen. she recognized her briefly from the time she barreled backstage at their first big gig and the time she awkwardly apologised to kai a few months later. sophia was pretty. painstakingly so. watching it happen before her felt like a punch to the ribs.

“you good?” hyunjin had asked, nursing a warm beer beside her.

y/n didn’t answer straight away. just stared across the rooftop, jaw tight.

“is that megan jealousy?” he asked, tilting his head.

she still didn’t say anything.

“oh my god,” hyunjin whispered, turning to her in slow motion. “it is.”

y/n sighed, leaning back against the railing. “shut up.”

“i won’t. you’re pining. this is pining. this is textbook.”

“i’m not pining.”

“you’re glaring at a girl for speaking to your best friend. that’s at least two stages past pining.”

y/n groaned.

hyunjin leaned closer, voice soft. “why haven’t you said anything?”

she stared down at the street, lights blurring in her vision. still, she masked her internal worry with a quick joke and a teasing grin.

“why’re you interested so suddenly, hwang? gonna fight me for this one too?”

hyunjin chuckled good-naturedly. his eyes briefly glanced over to lara, the desi girl dancing with a younger korean in the middle of the dance floor. then he turned back to his friend with a shrug.

“you’ll get no push from me. you should go for it, y/n. what’s the worst that could happen?”

and she thought about it. about all that could go wrong.

they were friends. megan was phenomenal. what if she ruined it? for now, she’d wait. she’d bite back her jealousy.

though sometimes, the heart simply wants what it wants. 

the confession came later. sooner than she expected. it wasn’t planned—just spilled out, raw and real, like most things y/n did when she finally let her heart speak louder than her head.

it was after a show. one of their best. the kind that left your lungs burning and your skin buzzing. the energy clung to them like static.

megan found her side stage, eyes bright, hair a mess, smile even messier.

“you guys killed it—”

“i love you,” y/n said. blurted, actually. no warning. no buildup.

megan blinked. “wait—what?”

“i love you,” she said again, steadier this time. her voice still shook, but there was no taking it back. “i know you’re with sophia, and i know this might screw everything up, and i’m sorry if it does. but i’m in love with you. i couldn’t keep pretending i wasn’t.”

megan didn’t move. didn’t speak. just stared, eyes wide and unreadable.

“it’s okay if you don’t feel the same,” y/n rushed on, heart racing. “i just… i needed you to know. because you’ve always been there. you’ve seen the worst parts of me and never walked away. and somewhere in all of that, i fell for you. hard.”

silence.

then megan stepped forward, slow but certain, and cradled y/n’s face in both hands.

“i’m not dating sophia,” she said softly, almost like a secret. “you could’ve just asked.”

she laughed then—a quiet, breathless sound—and shook her head. “idiot.”

and then she kissed her. not just a kiss. the kiss. the kind that unraveled something deep in her chest, slow and aching and warm. the kind that made the noise of the world drop away, like a stage going dark after the final chord.

it was everything megan had imagined. every half-dreamed moment, every day she spent loving y/n in silence. for as long as she could remember, it had been her. from the first late-night walk, the first shared laugh, the first time y/n looked at her like she saw her. megan had loved her then, quietly and completely, like it was stitched into her bones.

and now, y/n had chosen her. out of everyone. not lara. not anyone else in the crowd. her.

the kiss tasted like every unsent text, every time megan had almost said something and swallowed it down instead. it tasted like hope. like relief. like a door finally opening after years of standing in the hallway.

all the waiting had led to this. all the almosts, all the quiet pining, all the nights she convinced herself to be content with friendship. it washed away in a single, breathless moment.

because y/n was kissing her like she meant it. like megan had been the one all along. and god, she had.

outside, the crowd screamed for an encore. but y/n?

she already had everything she needed.

[saintagron]

camp counselors.

natalie scatorccio x reader. cw. weed, mentions of death, mentions of arrest. schizophrenic episode mentioned but i tried to skirt around it bc i have little to no knowledge on the topic. an. inactivity hurts... but ap exams and final projects are kicking my ass. so. here's natalie while i dream of summer.

Camp Green Pine isn’t exactly the first place someone would pick to spend their summer. Its majority population is kids under twelve, high off of being away from home for a few months out of the year and not quite old enough to sink into teenaged angst of hating everything and anything—including sleep-away camp. 

And you, yes you, are one of its ever-so-illustrious counselors. You get to chase over-enthusiastic children, most of which are away from home for the first time, around a massive swath of grassy clearing and through dense woods. For a whole summer, too! Aren’t you lucky. 

But the camp’s great, really—despite your frequent (and needed) intervention with the kids. You grew up there, spending summers holed up in the teetering bunks that seemingly shrunk until you realized it was just you growing. You’re not quite sure how your family knows Miss Matthews, whether she’s twined to your family by blood or marriage or a platonic bond so deep-rooted she’s your de-facto aunt. But she’s there, and she’s tall and willowy and smells of sweet flowers, so you’ve always loved her. 

She offered you the job when you were barely teetering at adulthood’s edges. Let a seventeen-year-old watch a bunch of elementary schoolers, that’ll go great. But her trust seemed to be founded. You did well—better than well, despite being the rookie, due to the help of all your early-twenties now-coworkers. 

Now you’re freshly eighteen, just off of graduation and out of school’s clutches—if only for a few months, before you pack off to university in the fall. Rapid changes are afoot, and the future distance between you and your family makes your heart squeeze painfully, so you return for one last summer in that nostalgic, constant place. 

ᰔ

Unpacking there isn’t the big, upending task you imagine university will entail. It’s one backpack and a small suitcase, dragging slightly crooked behind you due to its old, broken wheel. It’s your cabin, the only solo one due to the counselors’ odd number, given to you by “chance,” because Charlotte would never admit favoritism. It’s—

A girl. A blonde, bleached, with half-an-inch of dark roots peeking. A girl, laying in one of the beds, face down and her limbs spread like she’s been flattened. You can’t tell if she’s asleep, so you sneak to the other bed, easing your bag over your shoulder and flinching when your case’s broken wheel catches on a floorboard and tumbles loudly, plastic against wood. Shit.

The girl stirs with a start, head jerking up from where it was buried in her arms. Her gaze, sharpened despite her recent unconsciousness, shoots to meet yours with a sort of panicked width to them. “...hi.” Your voice is awkward and slightly strangled. You’re not used to people your age being here; usually it's twenty-somethings looking for a summer job or experience for their resume, if they’re education majors. But this girl is young, as you are, with the stubborn curve of baby fat clinging to her otherwise slim cheeks.

She grumbles something that could be interpreted as a greeting, forehead falling back into the cradle of her biceps. Her next sentence is a bit clearer, but it catches you off guard for the second time.

“...so what did you do to end up in this shithole?” Her voice is slightly muffled by fabric, but the words are clear—spoken with an easy sort of rasp that instinctively makes you straighten. 

“I… work here?”

“...you’re shitting me.” She rolls over, head hanging over the edge of the mattress. Even upside down, her gaze is striking. “You’re the scout Mrs. Matthews was talking about?” 

The already straight-set to your spine stiffens, bristling much like a cat would. 

“I wasn’t a scout. And it’s Miss Matthews. Or just Charlotte.” You busy yourself with unpacking, setting your things next to the old, sturdy dresser that’s eased against the wall. Before your gaze turns away, you catch the curious, much-to-observational purse to the girl’s lips. 

“..she has a ring.” That makes you bite your lip. Shit. The flesh splits, your skin giving under the harsh pressure of your teeth. You wince, lapping at the blood that pearls. 

“Well, she’s not married.” You’re well aware you’re being snippy, and it’s not the best first impression to give when you have to spend the rest of the summer sleeping four feet away from them, but it’s a painful line of questioning you’d rather not go down. The girl seems to recognize it, and doesn’t say another word about it. 

“...I’m Natalie.” The rasp is softer now, the introduction settling on the front of her tongue. Your mouth plays around the syllables, before sharing your own name with her. 

You don’t push about what she did. She doesn’t push about Charlotte. But they settle between the two of you uncomfortably until you turn away, splintering the interaction with a huff. 

ᰔ

With Natalie here, the summer is… different. You’re not sure if it’s bad, not yet, but it’s certainly odd. You’re used to being the youngest, respected for your experience but still ruffled and pushed like a sibling. Now you have someone your age around to snicker with as the others run around like headless chickens after the all-too energetic campers. 

“God, they really have no idea how to work with kids.” You mumble, leaned back against one of the soaring pines the camp is named for. Natalie sits near your feet, knees curled up. Her fingers tap consistently, almost anxiously. There’s a tightness to her expression but an ease to her smile, so you don’t question it.

“Yeah. They’re not great.” She huffs, her head lolling back against the pine’s rough bark. The heat of your thigh sears close to her hair, the skin close and exposed. You can feel the tickle of the bleached strands, the nearness a pressure you’re not used to yet.

“They’ll get better.” Your voice is soft with memory–remembering those from last year who did not return. “They always do.”

ᰔ

Another thing you discover: Natalie is good with kids. She has this dismissive attitude that makes them flock to her, always beneath her feet and tugging at her shirt and copying her lazy gait. And with all the stock she’s put into being a “cool guy,” she’s awfully quick to shed it at the first opportunity. 

She’ll scoop up a second grader when you’re out at the lake, eagerly filling the spot as the other anchor for shoulder wars—sun-warmed and pretty in the provided green one-piece, smiling at you as the kid pulls her hair like she’s a puppet. She’s determined to beat you but doesn’t let competition cloud her judgement, scolding for bad sportsmanship. She even scolds you, but much more physically than she does the kids—shoving your pout into the water and leaving you sputtering in the face of her laughter. 

She’ll join teams for relays, capture-the-flag, whatever games you play. But, you find, she’s especially good at soccer. Soccer she kills at, eventually setting up little workshops where she runs footwork and shooting drills. Somehow, she even roped Charlotte into one. You haven’t seen Charlotte so happily breathless in a long time. 

She even takes up the mantle she mocked relentlessly, taking up the acoustic guitar from the less-than-capable boy who wielded it to coolly strum out the needed chords. (She still refuses to sing.)

Natalie seeps into the community like a well-stirred concrete, filling cracks you didn’t even know existed. She’s a jaded addition you didn’t know you needed. And having a bunk mate was pretty cool, once you finished mourning your solitude. Throughout the stress of college applications and exams, you forgot what it was like to truly relax. She truly brought it, if with… unconventional methods. 

You weren’t sure what Charlotte’s stance on drugs was—goodness knows she probably dabbled, given how she dressed and the serene way she went about every day—but she’d probably advise against smoking in the wooden cabins. Whoops. You didn’t intend to, not really. But when Natalie tugged out a tin and rolled a blunt for herself, stating that it’s been forever, you’re tempted enough to slink over to her bed and press close for a hit. 

“Leech.” She huffs, but it’s half-a-laugh, so you continue to crawl closer. “Nata-lie…” 

“Don’t.” The bite in it is faux, molar’s broad grind instead of canine sharpness. Her lips twitch and tick around the blunt, her mouth emptying from the word before filling with smoke.

You ignore her command, slip into her lap. It’s easy, when the word lands like a desperate bid for stability. She wants, the brick wall keeping it contained crumbling at your warmth. 

She tightens further as your thumb plays over her lower lip.

“Please, Natalie?” Your simpering faux-pout makes something in her eyes crack. There’s no strength there—you have to gather the pieces of her up and keep her upright. Your lips press to hers, already opening in expectation of her exhale. 

“Stealing my pot.” She mumbles after she’s exhaled, and the laugh that catches in your chest doesn’t mix well with the burn of the smoke. You choke, cough, and she thumps you on the back with a laughed curse. “Shit. Careful.”

“Messing me up. Give me another hit.” You huff, and she raises the blunt to your lips with a bare scoff—already relenting before the burn of challenge can sear beneath her ribs. 

It hasn’t hit you yet, the high—in a few minutes it might be curling through you, pushing your rationality to the wayside. Now, you still have the mind to exhale away from her, tilt your head up and away to watch the smoke dance in the air. She takes the opportunity to latch onto your neck, teeth scraping and mouth hot. 

“Natalie.” You exhale, arms falling around her neck—careful to hold the burning blunt away from her body. She presses closer, hands digging into your sides with a force, as if you’d ever try to pull away. 

“Stop saying my name like—“ the words devolve into a groan, vibrating against your skin and catching desperately in her chest. 

“Like I want you?” You huff, hand tugging her hair hard enough to make her detach. She’s glossy-eyed, her lips not yet swollen but still pink with the evidence of you. “I want you, Natalie.”

“Stop talking.” And it’s just a little bit desperate, the way she licks at the seam of your lips. Presses in and past it, like splitting you open like this would somehow expose the sour core of you. All she’ll find is warm, soft flesh and a pulsating heart. She groans when she does—tugs you further into her lap, the grip of her hands wild.

“Please.”

You laugh, but not cruelly. It’s almost delighted, lips pulling wide around a toothy smile. Words are lost in it. Articulation isn’t necessary—not when the air hums, sticky with summer and bubbling intimacy. You attempt to, regardless, because you’ve never seen someone with a girl in their lap look quite so pained. 

“I’m telling you the truth. I want you, okay?” Her chin tips under your guiding hand, tugging it until her eyes flicker to meet yours. She’s slightly red-eyed, lids drooping. When she nods you mirror it, raise the now-stubby blunt to her lips so she can take one last inhale.

The view’s heat is so intoxicating. You don’t notice how the paper sears your fingers until she tugs it out from between your fingers, brow worryingly furrowed. Her mouth opens around words, but they’re left unsaid as someone pounds at your cabin’s door.

“Wakey, wakey, esteemed counselors! Some kid got himself stuck on the roof. We all tried, now it’s your turn.” 

Roof of what, where, how—you can’t puzzle it. Especially not while (admittedly, very mildly) high. But you’re sure they got themselves into a truly mind-boggling situation. Happens every year. You should just ban truth-or-dare at this point. 

“You signed up for this, scout.” Natalie gruffs, and pushes you off her lap. Anything affronted you might say melts into a groan. 

ᰔ

It was bound to come out sometime. Big secrets only stay under wraps for so long. They fester, grow, no matter how hard you try to ignore them. 

Corpses under white sheets still rot.

ᰔ

Charlotte has an episode. It comes out of nowhere. She’d been withdrawing for weeks, yes, but you just assumed it was because—

Well. It seems you were wrong.

It was a normal morning, the day it happened. You awoke at dawn to the deafening sounds of the morning birds, Natalie heavy and warm and half-draped across you. Rising was slow, the weekend granting time off from activities and only mild wrangling of the children. Charlotte wasn’t at breakfast, but she takes morning tea in the greenhouse occasionally. Nothing to worry about. 

Even when a counselor comes, whispering questions about her whereabouts, you’re unburdened until they confess they searched everywhere. The greenhouse, her cabin, the activities hall—every place in the camp, tree’s roots to the canopy's top, and no hint of her. That is what makes your blood run cold. In that moment you set off yourself—and Natalie, seeing the deep furrow between your brows, follows without a word. 

ᰔ

It’s been five years since Aunt Lee died. She insisted you call her that—it was all you could pronounce when you were young. “Lee! Lee!” you’d babble, and she’d kneel down with the sun in her smile and scoop you up, no matter what. Then you’d be shadowed by Charlotte—Aunt Lottie, then—her long limbs like redwoods compared to your childish ones. You’d latch onto her regardless, and that was how their visits went—you clinging to one or the other. 

You were old enough to comprehend what Aunt Lee being gone meant. You’d allowed your mother to swaddle you in black without complaint and clung tight to Charlotte’s hand as you both gave your last goodbyes. The tears, fat and hot, on your face mirrored her own, and you found solace in it. It’s easier to process grief when you’re allowed to express it, unrestricted. And Charlotte’s own emotion was an invitation, one that led you into her heart. 

So you know now. More than the rest, where she’ll be. 

Your feet carry you down a remarkably untravelled path through the pines. It’s largely uncarved, ferns still soft and intact. Each root and divot is familiar to your fastened feet. You cling to Natalie’s hand as she stumbles, her few weeks of living here leaving her still unaware of how to mold her feet to the forest’s earth. 

She doesn’t ask where you’re going—never says a word. Just follows. Her shoulders are as stiff as yours are, if laced with a bit more anxiety. She doesn’t know what’s happening. 

You didn’t want Natalie to find out this way. Not that it’s shameful—it just isn’t your secret to tell. This is a conversation Charlotte guided you through, anxious and fidgeting like a girl. It’s information she spilled vulnerably, opening herself up to let you see the deepest roots so you’d never be unaware. She should’ve been the one to do it, if she chose to. 

ᰔ

When you reach a clearing, you stop abruptly. Natalie knocks against your back, efforts just slightly slow, her elbow clanging into yours. 

“—What?” You shake your head, press your fingers to her lips—her further questioning cut off.

“Stay here, Natalie.” She waits and watches as you approach Charlotte; the tall woman’s limbs are bundled around herself. Though she seems peaceful, her dark eyes are wide, pupils blown with a yawning darkness. You crouch down, voice lowered and soft around the edges. “Hey, Aunt Lottie.”

She reaches for you then; her hand presses around your shoulder, curling you closer until your knees knock. “Do you think she’s here? I can feel her but I—I’m not sure.” 

There’s no question of who she is. Your lip slips, already split from your worried gnawing, back between your teeth. Childhood habit. “...I’m not sure. I don’t think so.” You breathe, hand curling over her own. She slackens, enough so you can maneuver and press her knuckles into your cheek. “I miss her too, y’know.”

Charlotte doesn’t say a word—just curls you closer and dampens your hair with tears. Your own seep into her kaftan as you sink down to lay in the ferns. She speaks up after a few moments, hoarse and overwhelmed. “I saw her this morning. She told me to come find her. I thought—I thought maybe…”

“...I don’t think so.” You repeat softly; you’ll probably croak before you stop reassuring her and, inadvertently, yourself. Your throat aches with the old, bubbling grief. “I know. I’m really, really sorry.”

ᰔ

Natalie corners you afterwards–after you’d risen and walked Charlotte back to her cabin, helped her into bed and promised to stay. She didn’t interrupt as you sat there, holding Charlotte’s hand until she fell asleep. Instead she lingered in the doorway, a wary mass of worry and caution—a storm cloud that follows you until you sigh and address it, halfway into your own cabin.

“Yes, Natalie?” 

“...you didn’t tell me she was your aunt.” It’s mumbled like she’s feeling petulant, but there’s an acceptance to it—that same one forged that first day. You didn’t ask her, she didn’t ask you. And now it seems you’ll be laying it all out after all. You’d think that you’d be furtive—such a confession is raw, and when coupled with others’ inexperience in grief it can bring oppressive, coddling sympathy. But Natalie is just as burdened, and so it curls from your mouth with little more than a slight hesitation. 

“...she is. She’s—she was married to my Aunt Laura. She passed about five years ago. Cancer—bone cancer.” Chondrosarcoma. You don't think that word will ever leave you—it's seared into every neuron so deeply the char marks are more familiar than anything else. You have to cling to a piece of her somehow.

Natalie looks pensive, slightly awkward—the vulnerability seeping into the cool girl’s gashes, those hastily covered and improperly treated—before she blurts out an equal confession, though hurried and ineloquent. 

“...I killed my dad.” It pauses between you. Her shoulders sag, then tighten. The motion would be imperceptible if you didn’t spend two months staring at her (while she pretended not to notice.) “I mean, I didn’t—it was an accident. But people think I killed my dad.”

“...they gave you community service at a kids summer camp for murder?” That makes her laugh—a clumsy exhale startled out of her. 

“No, no.” She stutters over the words through her laughter. “Just… I might’ve gotten drunk and broken into an abandoned factory. And got caught.”

“You’re stupid.” is what falls from you automatically, met by her “You’re stupid.” that’s just as light and bubbling with her deep chuckle. 

“...gotta say, I think yours takes the cake.” You mutter, a baffled shake of your head following. B&E, and a reciprocal death. Not that it’s a competition. 

Somehow, Natalie thinks it is. Or jumps on the competition aspect as a means to get some sort of prize.

“So what do I win?” It’s enough to make you snort. A tug to her collar, and she’s pulled close—another, and she’s half-curled on top of you as you sink back to sit on the mattress, beds long-since pushed together. 

“My phone number. And maybe a kiss, if you’re lucky.” 

“You want to keep in contact?” She breathes, already looking beautifully affected—lidded eyes and parted mouth. 

“Obviously. And to think I thought you were cool.” There’s no time to be indignant; not when you tug her in so close she’s got no choice but to laugh into your mouth.

[cherryredstars]

I'm not done with my break, but....

Imagine Miguel or Price forcing you to take just the tip.

NSFW, 18+, Penetrative Sex with afab!reader:)))

His reading glasses slide down the bridge of his nose, his brows furrowed in concentration as both of his thumbs spread the sticky lips of your pussy apart. They give easily, showing him the wet mess between your thighs as you whine and squirm in embarrassment. It makes him chuckle. You're the one who begged him to stop working and pay attention to you. What's the point of being embarrassed now that he's playing with you? Silly little thing you are.

The cold air against you makes you jolt your hips, bucking them closer to him. He has this dreamy, hungry look in his eyes as he examines your pretty hole. A tiny little thing that clenches around nothing and cries tears of arousal. Sweet thing really was crying f'my attention, huh? He whispers down at you. S'mean of me to keep you waiting, wasn’t it?

The embarrassed nod of agreement you give him is the cutest little thing he's ever seen. He coos down at you, and you gasp when the cold frames of his glasses bump your clit as he gives an apologetic kiss to your hole. No more crying, m'here to make it all better, he reassures when he leans back into his former position. He moves his hips forward, groaning when his heavy tip slaps against the wet paradise between your legs. He rubs it against your center, quickly getting drunk on the thick, wet noise that the movement creates.

The underside of his tip, and then some, becomes glossy from the juice you keep spilling for him. It makes his own slit dribble with precum, and he looks up at you. The sweetest pout covers your face, and you sniffle once your eyes meet his. Your voice is so whiny when you ask him to stop teasing, that you need him inside you right at this very moment. His cute baby, so greedy and spoiled because of him. His sweet baby that he can't refuse, but always knows how to teach a lesson to.

His thumbs holding you open gives him a clear view of how his mushroom tip enters your waiting hole with a pop. The creamy noise of his head brushing against your walls sound divine, dragging a groan from his lips. You expect him to push further in, but instead he pulls out to the point where the two of you are barely connected. What are you-? you ask, only to be interrupted by your own mewl as he pushes his tip back inside of you. The smile he gives you is devilish, shaking his head the slightest bit as he continues the slow fucking of his tip. M'teaching you that it's rude to interrupt people when they're working.

You cry out in both pleasure and despair, trying to move your hips so you can sink further onto him. He sees through you instantly, tutting disapprovingly. His hands pull away from your cunt, a large hand pushing on your lower stomach to halt your movements while the other wraps around your thigh and holds it in place. The muscles of his arm flex around your thigh, and he moans out when he feels you clench around him from the display of power. You're forced to take what he gives, whimpering as he feeds your desperate hole his tip.

The warmth and wetness of your walls drives him mad, his eyes half-lidded as they watch. The stimulation is insane, especially when you clench around him in a sorry attempt to convince him to give you more. He doesn't, but he decides to be nice and extend his thumb down, flicking at the neglected bud between your legs. You sequel the moment he starts playing with it, and he curses as he feels his orgasm building. He swipes hard and quick at your button, trying to get you close before he finishes. When your leg in his grip begins to tense, he knows he's got you right where he wants you.

You cry out when he pulls his tip out. Usually, he would hate having his cum go to waste, but he can handle it just this once. His thumb presses into your clit, but he stops playing with it as he jerks himself off. With a few rough pumps, his thick cum splatters against your cunt. It paints your skin a beautiful milky white, and he wishes he had his phone on him to take a picture. For now, he's content to watch his cum slowly drip down to cover your entire cunt. His eyes sharpen as he watches the way his seed follows every dip and shape of your pussy, loving the lazy path it makes. But he's fucked the moment it reaches your aching hole.

Your little hole can't help but clench and throb, trying desperately to coax some of his cum inside of you. So fucking greedy. He has to grit his teeth, the hand on your leg tightening as he realigns his cock. You squel again when he pushes his tip, and cum, through your hole. Can't let it go to waste.

[iwantyouto-eatme]

-BLOODIED HANDS

description! when shauna loves someone, she will do anything to protect them, even getting her hands a little bloody.

parings! shauna shipman x reader

contents! cannibalism, angst, kissing, described violence, shauna being a bitch but what’s new.

not proofread!

calling the weather cold was an understatement.

they were freezing.

the winters air chilling their bones, making their stomachs churn.

since the loss of jackie, you and shauna had been close to say the least.

you filled the void that was once jackie, and you could slowly start to see the light come back into shauna's eyes.

but there was still a darkness to her.

a darkness that would never leave.

you would complain of hunger, like everyone. but instead of shauna yelling at you like she did the others, she'd promise you food.

"ill get you something soon, i promise" she'd soothingly whisper into your ear.

and that she did.

the big clothes you wore and the makeshift scarfs barley even kept you the slightest bit warm anymore, you were doubting any ounce of survival through this winter.

you had all done it before, well most of you.

but this time, you weren't in the comfort of four walls and a roof, you were in small huts that only just kept the cruel weather out.

your only real ounce of warmth, was shauna.

who knew the evil girl could have some kindness to her?

you would sleep in her hut every so often, needing the comfort of the girl you knew so well and so deeply in love with. she would share any berries or small rations of food she had with you and would hold you until you were fast asleep.

she would never be there when you woke up in the morning however.

too afraid she would end up like she did with jackie.

become so attached, and then loose you just like that.

the day dragged on with no sight of shauna.

this was usual though, she'd disappear all day and come back in the middle of the night to find you curled up in her hut.

but this time was different.

you stirred when you heard footsteps in the cabin.

it was shauna.

her hands coated in blood, her shirt too.

a plate of meat in her hands.

"bon appetite, princess" she placed the plate infront of you.

you shouldve questioned her on what the mysterious meat was.

the rational part of you considered the fact that nat, travis and any of the others had been unable to find stable meat in weeks. there was no way shauna had just found it on her own.

but the desperate part of you couldnt care less.

the meat was warm, chewy even. blood dripping down your chin and hands as you ate it.

shauna stared. she usually did, but this time was different.

her gaze was laced with admiration.

if only you knew what you were eating.

"oh my god shauna i love you so much. youre incredible" you mumble between chews.

she slowly kneeled infront of you. closer then she should have.

she grabbed your chin and gently wiped the blood away, smearing it between her own fingers and your mouth.

you could feel the tension more than the weather now.

her dark eyes staring deep into yours. darting between your own eyes and your mouth.

"is there uh, do you need something?" you asked nervously.

"um yeah" shauna said, moving slowly towards your mouth.

before you could mumble out another nervous string of words, her lips crashed into yours.

it was messy to say the least.

the blood from the meat you had just consumed smearing all over shauna’s lips.

shauna’s hands everywhere but where they should be.

it was beautiful. nothing could ruin it.

then she pulled away.

“did you like the treat I bought you?” she said with a slight grin, a grin you’d seen before in situations you didn’t want to remember.

“y..yeah” you, once again, mumbled out.

“you know who it is?” your heart stopped.

you guys had stopped eating people a while ago, akilah having enough animals in the pen to keep you alive during the spring meant you didn’t have to resort to those extreme measures anymore.

“what.”

“you didn’t answer my question princess”

you fucking hated that nickname.

it was too sweet for you.

you weren’t a perfect princess like jackie, who that nickname clearly started from.

“i have no clue shauna. who is it” you spoke hoping the shaking in your body didn’t show in your speech.

“the funny thing is, i don’t even know. she was so useless i never even learnt her name.” she laughed.

shauna fucking laughed over the death of someone.

this wasn’t new. shauna wasn’t good. but you didn’t wanna believe that.

you wanted to see the good in her. the stuff that she would hide from everyone.

except you.

so seeing shauna become a literal monster, it wasn’t great for your little mindset.

“it was so good. i haven’t done that in forever baby. god i literally watched her fucking be so scared and then just die. i wish you could’ve seen.”

and deep down you wish you did.

she seemed so proud. you liked when she was like that.

instead of the usual deep scowl on her face, she wore a grin that she was proud of.

and maybe, just this once, you’d ignore that fact that you were in love with a she-demon, people eating, monster.

and also ignore the fact that that same monster just kissed you.

[pupwashing]

older brother!jimmy x younger sister!reader

warnings: INCEST, NONCON, anal, unprotected sex, blood mention, cigarette burning on skin, lowercase intended

A/N: AT LAST I HAVE TIME TO POST :3 I really liked writing this even though it’s a drabble,, as always I love feedback! comments & rbs are appreciated!

jimmy’s a fucking weirdo.

being his younger sister, you’re the most qualified person to claim this as fact.

ever since you could remember, jimmy’s been the weird kid. the odd one out.

he doesn’t know care about doing things the right way or making people feel uncomfortable, including you.

he’s a terrible older brother, but you didn’t know he was going to get worse.

much, much worse.

jimmy stays in the basement; hasn’t made an effort to move out yet. probably never will.

you prefer him living down in the basement. means you don’t have to see him as much.

when the basement door opens, you think nothing of it. he’s probably coming up for food, like he usually does.

except, he makes a beeline for the living room, where you’re watching some trashy romcom. he hates your taste in films; fake bullshit that uses handsome faces to sell you a pipe dream.

maybe it’s jealousy, or maybe it’s pent up resentment. 

either way, it’s pissed him off, and he’s already having a bad day.

curly keeps trying to drag him everywhere under the sun.

he knows its out of pity, so he declines.

but curly is persistent.

that persistence just adds to his likability. something jimmy lacks, something he craves, deep down.

this anger jimmy feels, all his pent up rage leads him to make a drastic decision.

if he can’t take his frustrations out on the people that cause him, then he can surely use his younger sister as a punching bag.

you should’ve been more aware of your brother’s tendencies. should’ve known he’d snap sooner or later.

you just didn’t realize you’d be the victim when he did.

when you regain consciousness, you realize you aren’t in the living room anymore.

you’re in the basement, on a stained mattress.

attempting to move, you notice that your ankles and wrists are bound with zip-ties.

when you try to speak, you realize that there’s duct tape on your mouth.

you don’t have much time to ponder what’s happened before jimmy comes in.

his appearance is rough; a stained wifebeater and worn black boxers, with a unlit cigarette hanging from his lips.

he looks like shit, just like any other day.

he walks over to the mattress, not uttering a word as he flips you to lie on your stomach.

the cogs are beginning to turn in your head, and you don’t like where this is going.

he positions your body as if you were a mannequin; face down, ass up.

jimmy’s silent as he flicks his lighter on, lighting his cigarette.

he makes quick work of your shorts and panties, ignoring your whimpers of protest.

he kneads at your ass, letting the plump flesh fill his palms. 

he gropes you for a while before you feel it: a warm glob of spit on your asshole, trickling down to your pussy.

when it finally clicks what jimmy plans to do, it’s too late.

his cockhead nudges against your puckered entrance, forcing its way into your formerly virgin hole.

you scream, but the tape muffles it. jimmy doesn’t even flinch.

taking a drag of his cigarette, he exhales the smoke as he begins his thrusts.

he’s fucking you deep. feels like he’s messing with your organs.

jimmy presses a palm on the small of your back, forcing you to arch more as he violates you.

he doesn’t utter a word, nor does he grunt or groan. he just smokes his cigarette as he fucks you.

you don’t know how many hours it’s been, but you know he’s been through ten cigs. its easy to count, because he’s been putting them out on you.

your body aches, you feel like he’s ripped you in two, but he hasn’t stopped.

every snap of his hips has you talking to god, praying that he’d end your suffering, one way or another.

your prayers were interrupted by jimmy putting out his cigarette on your hip, rubbing this thumb over the fresh mark.

you don’t even scream this time. you’re too exhausted to even cry. you have no tears left.

jimmy gets up, the mattress creaking under the loss of his weight.

it’s finally over.

he leaves you on the bed in a crumpled heap, cum and blood creating a grotesque river as it slowly drips out of your abused hole.

but you know this isn’t the end of it.

he’s kept you tied up for a reason, he’s just taking a break.

you close your eyes, hoping that somehow, someway, you’ll get your dignity back, after jimmy stole it from you.

you fucking hate your older brother.

[blood-smiles]

𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄 ! 𝐍𝐄𝐑𝐃

❝ This is yandere content, suggestive࣪ content ahead, you have been warned ! ଘ៸៸᳐⦁⩊⦁៸៸᳐ଓ

ִֶָ☾. What to do? You had to go back to schooling, even as much as you hated it.. You needed that god for saken diploma.

ִֶָ☾.This is how you ended up alone on your first day, you had hoped that a brave soul at campus would approach you. Like one of those super popular nice people approaching you and then boom! You became the next sensation at your college!

ִֶָ☾. You wandered around campus aimlessly, in look for a new friend or guide. You searched the crowd, looking for anyone as lonely as you were.

ִֶָ☾. Your eyes met a males' own sparkling indigo hues. Bingo.

ִֶָ☾. He returned your stare, his ears and face glowing in a subtle tone of red. You reminded yourself: Some people get nervous about eye contact! Yeah.. haha.. Totally!

ִֶָ☾. You smiled at him, asking nicely if you could have a seat at the table where he was, to which he eagerly nodded, scooting away the stacks and stacks of books he had.

ִֶָ☾. Math? Dude, really? So he's a mathematics major..? He chuckled nervously as he adjusted his thick rimmed glasses, noticing your eyes on the number filled textbooks.

"I'm Elio.. Is it your first day here?" The soft sound of his voice snapped you out of trying to decipher whatever hieroglyphics were printed on the paper.

ִֶָ☾. He lit up in happiness when you spoke your name. Okay.. Unique reaction to a normal piece of information.

ִֶָ☾. You took a closer look at his face, it seemed refined, like a dude who hit the books for fun. But you couldn't help but let your gaze drift to the piercing holes in his ears, no jewelry present but so so many piercings..

ִֶָ☾. His almost black hair gleamed in the light, an unmistakable dark blue undertone present in the silky strands. The bottom portion of his hair around his neck dyed a very light sky blue.

ִֶָ☾. These were small, extremely minimal details you wouldn't have picked up if it wasn't for your super duper brave choice of coming up to him and sitting down with him.

”Who is that talking to that prick over there..? I bet 20 on him dumping soup on them.”

“I know, always so hostile for no reason! I wonder what face his mother made when she had him.”

ִֶָ☾. Your ears pricked at the comments from the other table not too far away from you, Elio seemed nice though..? He didn’t toss food on you or even seem remotely annoyed.

ִֶָ☾. He had noticed too, glaring out of the corner of his eyes, pitch black eyes narrowing in a malicious stare.

ִֶָ☾.These nobodies were soiling his chances with you already.. Not even an hour in and they were already gossiping and honking like a gaggle of geese.

ִֶָ☾. You cast your attention upon him again, taken aback by the soulless stare he directed at the small group of people next to you.

ִֶָ☾. Whoops. He hoped you didn’t see him like that for too long. He smiled nervously, his more timid persona coming back just like before.

“Your lesson is starting soon, I have a free period! I’ll go with you!” He sprung up from his seat, wrapping his arm around your own.

ִֶָ☾. You had so many questions. 

ִֶָ☾. How did he know that? And why was he getting so touchy already? You had barely been with him for an hour, yet he acted like he knew you since childhood..

ִֶָ☾. As the both of you passed by the shit-talking table, Elio ever so slightly turned his head, his arms hugging your bicep closer to his chest as he shot them the dirtiest look he could muster.

“Cmon, silly. We don’t want to be late.” Elio giggled as he dragged you away.

ִֶָ☾. Elio wasn’t normal, you had noticed. He wasn’t a bad guy, he just was quite… unique in his mannerisms. Quite the specimen!

Okay he is nerdy.. but why he kinda..

ִֶָ☾. Your suspicion of him not being what he appeared as at first was correct however. He really had more than what met the eye, you would have been a fool if you only thought that the ugly red and black flannel shirt he wore was all there was to him.

ִֶָ☾. You had stumbled upon him one day, lukewarm coffee in hand, some rushing scholar ran past you, like a cartoon character leaving fire tracks while speeding. They bumped harshly into your shoulder, knocking off your balance and uncapping your coffee, spilling all over your friend..

ִֶָ☾. You panicked, grabbing tissues in your hand and helping in patting down the ugly flannel in hopes of soaking up the drying coffee, you missed the way he gasped softly in surprise and a little of excitement. If you could touch him like that again he would’ve let himself get soaked time and time again.

ִֶָ☾. He flushed at the nimble touch of your hand on his body, you mistook the embarrassment on his face for irritation and shrunk back in fear of the so called “mean” attitude many students muttered about.

ִֶָ☾. You had witnessed it, once you were running late and noticed a girl walking towards him, shifting her weight from one foot to another as she opened her mouth to talk.

ִֶָ☾. “ Don’t you understand? I don’t fucking care, I already have a lover. Stop looking at me like a kicked puppy, my answer is no- or are you deaf too? Well? Scram.” He rudely interrupted her speech, irritation radiating from him. And jeez. Was he scary, a dark shadow cast over his face, giving him even more of a menacing look. This was him? Was he really like this when you weren’t around? 

ִֶָ☾. The girl visibly gaped, shoulders tensing as she began to cry while running away, head buried between hands. You stared at her as she dashed past you, mascara dripping down her blushed cheeks. Elio waved at you, as if nothing had happened.

ִֶָ☾. You grimaced at the memory and how horrible it would feel if you were in that girls’ shoes. Being publicly humiliated is one of the worst kinds of humiliation.

ִֶָ☾. You apologized a million times, he shook his head, offering a pretty smile, his eyes crinkling at the corners. Was he laughing at you..? He let out a little happy sigh, peeling the coffee drenched shirt from his torso.

ִֶָ☾. “Don’t worry, it’s alright. I have an extra shirt in my bag just in case.” He waved his hand dismissively, it’s no biggie for him. He almost thanked you for touching him, he might have gotten a nosebleed but by some unknown miracle he didn’t start bleeding on you.

ִֶָ☾. He dragged you into a classroom, unbuttoning his long sleeve and slowly slipping it off his shoulders. You were trying to NOT look but gods. Lord. Was it hard.

ִֶָ☾. It was like he was teasing you, wanting you to look and give into your perverted ways.

ִֶָ☾. You couldn’t stop yourself as you peeked at him, his back wasn’t turned as he focused on folding the dirtied shirt, but that didn’t stop you from looking.

ִֶָ☾. He had so many piercings. How? How would anyone guess he was so.. yum.

ִֶָ☾. His body was a perfect mix of slim and just the slightest bit of muscle, the dark metal balls surfacing from his skin and gleaming in the dim lighting.

ִֶָ☾. His soft chest rose and fell gently, his nipples decorated by dangling circular metal jewelry. His smooth navel adorned with another piece of black metal. the taut skin of his hips pierced with three little beads on each hip.

ִֶָ☾. Okay! Enough staring. Don’t look, don’t look, don’tlookdon’tlookdon’tlookdon’tlook don’tlookdon’tlookdon’tlookdon’tlook!

ִֶָ☾. “(Y/N)? Can you pass me the shirt?” Right. Right! The black band t-shirt in your hands, you nodded wordlessly, fumbling with the fabric and gently passing it to him.

ִֶָ☾. “What’s wrong? You aren’t looking me in the eye.” He asked you, his voice holding an edge of teasing. You could hear the smile in his voice.

ִֶָ☾. He knew why.

“We..Well, I didn’t know you were the type of guy to have so many piercings..” you answered only one of his questions, you couldn’t let him know that now you perhaps had a puppy crush on him.

“Awh.. You’re so cute.. Never did I think I would be able to fluster you in such a way..” he cooed out of nowhere, moving to get closer to you.

“You can touch too you know..” Elio shyly added, grabbing you by the wrists and gently placing them over his waist.

“If it’s you, then I don’t mind at all. ♡”

[wordsmeetwbb]

Feels Like

Word count: 833

Content: angst

Pairing: Pazzi mentioned, but really none

Notes: Inspired by “Feels Like” by Gracie Abrams! (and all the depressing as hell edits to that song). I usually hate writing angst because I can't stand making people/characters sad when I have the power to just make them be happy all the time but here we are. This ended up longer than I meant for it to be but oh well. This is my first time posting angst so lmk your thoughts!

________

Paige can’t remember the last time she had been on a flight alone. Throughout the season, all game-related flights were spent surrounded by her teammates, talking or laughing or just sleeping. Every flight for her “world tour” had been with Azzi or a random trainer or some manager that she was going to a meeting with. Those flights were calm. With managers, Paige usually just slipped her headphones on and let herself drift into a peaceful abyss until they reached their destination. With Azzi, they talked in soft tones or slept with bodies curled into each other or just sat, existing in each other’s company.

But Paige isn’t with a manager or trainer or Azzi or her teammates. Former teammates, a voice in the back of her head whispers. They’ll always be her girls, but Paige is on her way to Dallas. By herself. To play with entirely new teammates for the first time since she’d started college. She’s navigating to Spotify and clicking on a playlist before the sadness can truly set in.

It’s a playlist Azzi had sent her a few days ago. She’d said something about how Paige would miss her “immaculate skills on aux.” If she’s honest, Paige hasn’t even looked at the songs. The whole idea of Azzi making her a playlist felt a little bit too much like giving her something to remember her by, which felt way too much like a goodbye, and Paige wasn’t ready for that. Never mind that it had already happened.

Music filters into her ears from her headphones, the volume drowning out the sound of the plane’s engines and the muted chatter from other passengers on the flight. The dimmed screen of her phone shows a green album cover, something by Gracie Abrams, but it’s not a song Paige recognizes. The piano is nice, though, soothing her nerves just slightly. She’s not really paying attention to the lyrics, content to stare out the window at the sunset as the plane rises higher above the clouds. She gets all the way through the first chorus before the singer’s voice catches her attention.

“The train was cold, you left Connecticut.” Paige is suddenly more alert, something pulling in her chest. It feels like the music is trying to drag her right out of her first-class seat and into the freezing cold sky. It’s not a train, but her limbs are plenty cold in the stale plane air, and she’s definitely leaving Connecticut. It’s a fact she’s been trying very hard not to face.

“And I miss you sometimes, we’ll be alright.” The bridge takes hold of that thing in her chest and squeezes painfully. Paige blinks, suddenly fighting tears as she listens to the emotion in the singer’s voice. Azzi must want her to suffer, she thinks. Why else would she put this horrible, painful, way too relatable song on this playlist? Paige thinks that it might hurt less for her to just drop through the clouds to the ground, rather than sit here and think about the miles increasing between her and Azzi by the second.

A hot tear slips down Paige’s cheek. She swipes it away quickly. Angrily. She’s the number one draft pick, going to play for a great organization with fantastic players that she knows she’ll love. Her childhood dreams are coming true, and all she can feel is the gaping hole in her chest where Azzi should be. It’s barely been an hour since they said goodbye in front of the airport security checkpoint, and Paige already feels like the younger girl’s absence might rip her in half before she even makes it to Dallas.

She opens her phone quickly as the song continues playing. The piano chords are starting to sound like the life she’s leaving back in Storrs. All the people she’s leaving in Storrs. She opens her texts with Azzi.

“This playlist is making me think you want me to suffer. Don’t tell me you hate me already,” Paige types out. She hits send and turns her phone off again. As soon as Azzi responds, it’ll hit her for real. Not just in the sense of some song lyrics resonating a little too deeply. She can’t think about her and Azzi. How they’re back to texts and FaceTimes now, just like they were when they were fifteen. It almost makes Paige laugh. It’s been eight years, and they’re definitely not the same Paige and Azzi they were in 2017, but somehow they’re right back where they started.

And yeah, they’ll be okay. But god, Paige just wishes Azzi were with her on this plane, cuddling into her side, resting her head in the curve of Paige’s neck as she settles in for a nap. Azzi’s not there though, and Paige feels that absence harder than anything else that’s still back in Connecticut. The song finally ends, the singer’s voice fading out on a final “So this is what it feels like.” Paige stares out at the sky as the sun disappears behind the horizon. The next song starts.

[luveline]

Hi Jade! I’ve been feeling a bit down lately — how do you think hotch (or spencer!) would react to a chubby!reader dealing with self-image insecurities!

(sorry if you’ve already written something similar <3)

love you!!!

You turn to the side again, running two hands down your front as you go. Spencer will make it worse if you catch him watching, but he loves taking you in, every part of you, and he’s hard-pushed to drag his gaze away. 

You frown and hold your breath. You pull your stomach in, squeeze the fat of your hips, and turn frontward to repeat the process. 

He turns away from you to finish threading his cufflinks through the holes in his shirtsleeves. “I’m surprised they’re having a baby already,” he says, though he told you this already. 

“I know,” you murmur back. “I thought they’d wait a while, but I suppose you don’t get to choose when it happens sometimes.” 

“He’s thinking about leaving the BAU.” 

“Really?” 

Spencer straightens his tie and turns. You’re more relaxed than you were, turned to him, too, a frown on your painted lips. 

“It makes sense, but I hate it.” Spencer takes your hand where it hangs loosely by your hip. “I hate saying goodbye to people.” 

“Well, don’t say goodbye to me.” 

“I wasn’t planning on it.” He finds your other hand. Holding them both, he leans back until his hair is falling off of his shoulders and getting caught in his shirt collar. You meet his eyes, smiling instinctually, a better sight than your sorry frown had been. 

You rub the back of his hand with your thumb. Quiet stretches, then ends. “Do you think this is alright?” you ask. 

“What, the dress? You look beautiful.” 

“It’s a bit…” You bring his hand gently to your stomach. “It doesn’t hide much.” 

“In my opinion, there’s nothing to hide.” You start to protest and he drags you toward him, hands lacing behind your back, restraining you without force. “No, listen, there’s nothing to hide. You look amazing.” 

“You swear? I wasn’t gonna ask, but I’m scared I’ll embarrass myself and not know it.” 

“There’s nothing to be embarrassed about, you’re just pretty.” Spencer steals a hand to run down your side. He isn’t sure if it’s the right thing to do, but he isn’t sure how to say it, either. He hopes his hand can do the talking, appreciative, practically adoring as it falls to the apex of your hip, his thumb rubbing at your stomach through the fabric. Your stomach which he loves, no matter what you think of it. “Every part of you is exactly how it should be.” 

“Even my dress?” 

“Especially the dress.” It falls like petals against your thighs. “You worry too much,” he says, knowing why you worry, but wishing you didn’t. He leans in until you’re nose to nose. 

“I know. Thank you, Spence,” you say, closing your eyes. 

He kisses you gently.