#feeling their hands on your face… hanging off of them…. looking up at them…. sigh

[pumpkin-writes]

— ୨୧ close call

pairing: rafe cameron x maybank!reader

warnings: mentions of sex & being naked but nothing super detailed or that i would deem explicit, sneaking around, established-ish relationship, some kissin' & cuddlin' toward the end <3

word count: > 1k

notes: this was just a little blurb i was thinking about, i loveee rafe x maybank!reader so don't be surprised if you see more of this duo on my page!!

you and rafe are experts on keeping your relationship hidden for a long time, much to his annoyance. you often meet in secluded spots, like his truck by the dunes, your room when jj’s out or going for late-night rides on his yatch. the thrill of secrecy adds to the tension between you, though it also leads to close calls that almost expose you, like the time your brother—and all the other pogues—came home while you and rafe lay naked in your bed. 

“y/n! you home, sis?” jj maybanks’s voice rang out through the old house, making your breath catch in your throat as you clutched the bed sheet, attempting to be as quiet as possible as you looked over at rafe, who seemed to remain comfortable in the spot he’d claimed in your bed. “you need to leave,” you whisper-yelled, reaching for his clothes that were balled up on the floor beside you, shoving them toward him, “rafe, get up and gooo.” you tried to keep your voice down, pointing at the window. it wouldn’t be the first time he climbed in and out of your bedroom window, but he didn’t see the cause for concern. instead, he shifted rather casually in his spot—he actually looked like he was ready to fall asleep—and it made your blood boil. when you heard footsteps approaching your door, you gave him that look—that ‘if you make a sound i will end you’ look—rapid knocking on your door to follow. “come on, we can hear you in there. come hang with us!” kie's voice spoke from the other side of your door, which was thankfully locked, as the knob began to turn back and forth in an attempt to open it. “why is your door locked? since when do you lock your door? hello?” your brother’s voice was calling to you, and you finally spoke up, not before putting your finger up to your lips to shush rafe, who was obviously eating this up, with that stupid smirk on his face. 

“i—i was trying to take a nap, not feeling well guys, sorry.” you lied, trying to keep your voice steady, hoping they’d believe you and buzz off. despite the moment of hushed whispers being exchanged in the hall, they bought it. “oh gross, feel better y/n/n. we’ll go outside so you can get some sleep. love you.” as grateful as you was to have gotten out of what could have been a very bad situation, you hated that you couldn’t just tell your brother and your friends the truth. “love you,” you called back weakly, letting out a sigh of guilt, but then relief as the sounds of their wild footsteps all made their way out of the house, leaving you and rafe in your familiar silence. “i could literally kill you,” you shoved him hard, pushing him away as he tried to pull you back into his arms in bed. “yeah, but you won’t.” he was cocky, and while it should have pissed you off even more, the feeling of his hands on your bare skin made you melt into his touch, and you let yourself roll back into his embrace. “i’ll leave as soon as the coast is clear, okay?” he spoke low into your ear now, his hot breath sending shivers down your spine. “but until then, i think we have time for round two?” he pressed a kiss on the shell of your ear before littering your neck with more and it wasn’t long before you were getting lost in each other again ( quietly, of course )

[moonlitwitchdaisy]

virgin loser bff!nanami had been your closest friend ever since the time in preschool when your doll’s head broke, and he came over with his toy truck, offering to play together instead.

the fact that you had such different personalities never got in the way of your friendship. you were always the most popular and social person at school, while nanami didn’t even have any friends other than you. whenever you called him over to join you, and your friends asked, “how are you even friends with this guy?” he thought it might bother you. but when you’d respond, “ken is the most important person in my life. if you have a problem with him, you can fuck off,” it made him realize just how much you truly cared about him.

to nanami, you were the most precious and beautiful thing in the world. even if he knew he didn’t deserve you, he would do anything for your affection.

it didn’t take long during high school for him to realize his feelings for you had shifted from simple friendship to what he could only describe as “real love.” the way his dick would get hard whenever you hugged him, the way he’d sweat with excitement, and the constant desire to kiss you — these were definitely not things a friend would want.

the more time he spent with you, the harder it became to suppress these feelings. he thought about confessing to you, just to get it off his chest, but he knew you’d reject him. someone like you would never look at a loser like him. besides, it would mean the end of your friendship, and he couldn’t risk that. so instead, he chose to endure it silently, watching you hang out with other guys and resigning himself to a life filled with pain and self-loathing.

until tonight.

he had no idea how it happened. maybe someone had slipped something into his coffee because there was no other explanation for why he was inside you right now. you were supposed to be out with that handsome guy from the university club, but apparently, you could only stand the date for an hour before coming home.

“you’re such an idiot, ken. how can you not see that i love you? every guy i meet, every guy i date—i’m looking for you in them, but none of them are you,” you yelled at him through your tears, and all he could do was stare at you in shock.

had you wanted him all along?

“i don’t understand…” he muttered.

you cupped his cheek with your hand, your tearful eyes locking onto his. the heat in his face was unbearable as he felt your fingers gently stroke his skin. you’d never touched him like this before.

“why don’t you see me as a woman, ken? i want you to touch me. i want to touch you.”

he wanted to—more than anything.

“you’re only doing this because your date didn’t go well. otherwise—”

“otherwise what, ken? you think i’m lying?” you snapped angrily.

nanami sighed deeply, his voice breaking as he said, “how could someone like you love someone like me? i’m just a loser.”

you never saw him as a loser. to you, he was the funniest, kindest, and most handsome man in the world. who wouldn’t fall for someone like him? you knew people didn’t want to get to know him because he was shy and quiet, but the real nanami was so much more than that.

you said with longing, “ken, kiss me.”

he tried to ignore how painfully hard he was as he stammered, “i can’t…”

“shut up and kiss me.” standing on your tiptoes, you placed your hands on his shoulders and leaned in closer. whispering again, you said, “kiss me…”

when nanami finally pressed his lips to yours, he closed his eyes. it was his first kiss, and he had no idea what to do. thankfully, you guided him, moving your lips against his, teaching him. he followed your lead, sometimes using his tongue, sometimes tugging on your bottom lip with his teeth, making you moan into his mouth as the kiss grew messy and heated.

“let’s go to your room,” you managed to whisper when your lips finally parted.

that’s when nanami started to panic. he had just had his first kiss—how was he supposed to satisfy you in bed? if something happened and you regretted it, he’d never forgive himself.

“i-i’ve never done this before,” he admitted, embarrassed.

you smiled softly, pressing a kiss to his lips. “it doesn’t matter. i just want you, ken. just kissing you is enough to make me cum. but if you don’t want to—”

before you could finish, nanami scooped you into his arms, silencing you. as he carried you to his room, he said, “of course i want to. i’ve always wanted to, angel.”

he loved calling you angel.

and that’s how it happened. now, here he was, fucking into you with uneven thrusts, his cock buried deep inside the tight heat of your pussy — something he’d dreamed about for years.

you couldn’t understand how this man hadn’t had sex before. when he was preparing you, he was like a professional. sure, his excitement made his movements a bit clumsy now, but his mouth had worshipped every inch of your pussy, giving you exactly what you needed.

“ken… you feel so good,” you moaned, your legs wrapped tightly around his waist as the thickest and biggest cock you'd ever seen stretched your tight walls with audible intensity, his face buried in your neck.

“angel, this is so—so…” nanami pressed kisses to your neck, pumping into you with desperate, erratic movements.

“k-ken, i love you,” you whispered.

if this was a dream, nanami never wanted to wake up. having you like this, feeling you so deeply while you told him you loved him, it couldn’t end.

lifting his head from your neck, he straightened up, moving your legs to rest on his shoulders. gripping your thighs for support, he began thrusting faster, his hips slamming into you with a rhythm he didn’t even know he had.

“oh my god, ken—this is too much—ugh…” you could feel him in your stomach, his cock reaching places no one ever had.

“i saw this position in a porno… i always imagined fucking you like this—shit,” he confessed, his voice full of raw emotion.

“ken…” his words made you blush even harder because, for years, you’d wanted this too.

you had always wanted his thick, 8-inch cock to pound into the deepest corners of your pussy with a merciless rhythm, his sweat dripping onto your body as he claimed you completely.

“i-if i’m doing something wrong, tell me,” he said, throwing his head back with a groan. the muscles in his neck were taut, making him look unbelievably sexy. “teach me, angel, please…”

if anyone needed to be taught, it wasn’t nanami—it was you. despite his inexperience, he was giving you the best sex of your life.

“ken, if you insult yourself again—ahhh—i swear…” you gasped as he kept hitting your sweet spot over and over, your back arching off the bed. your fingers moved to your nipples, trapping them between your fingers and playing with them as you kept grinding against nanami’s cock.

“angel, i—i can’t last much longer.” your pussy was gripping him so tightly he could barely hold himself together.

still pinching your nipples, you gasped, “cum, ken.”

“fuck, i’m sorry…” he muttered.

after pumping his thick, sticky cock into your delicious pussy a few more times with quick and uneven thrusts, his grip on your thighs tightened, and he emptied himself inside you, filling you with his warm seed.

breathing heavily, he slowly lowered your legs from his shoulders to the bed and gently pulled out of you. his lips left a trail of kisses from your waist to your neck and finally to your lips. as he nuzzled his nose against yours, you closed your eyes and inhaled the scent of his woody cologne.

“you didn’t cum, did you?” he asked, regret evident in his voice.

opening your eyes, you kissed him and pulled back slightly. “you made me cum twice with your fingers and mouth, ken. trust me, i got everything i wanted.”

his cheeks flushed red. “i’m sorry, angel.”

“don’t apologize, idiot. even though you’ve never done this before, you gave me the best sex of my life. and this won’t be the last time—you’ll have plenty of chances to make me cum again.”

“do you really love me?” he asked, still unable to believe it.

“ken, if you ask me that one more time—”

“okay, okay” he said quickly, pressing a kiss to your neck before whispering, "i love you."

you looked into his bright, honey-colored eyes, placed your hands on his cheeks, and pulled him closer for a kiss. “those rumors from high school were true.”

nanami furrowed his brows. “what rumors?”

“the girls used to call you the big-dicked loser,” you said, biting your lip to keep from laughing.

nanami looked at you, utterly defeated “big-dicked loser?”

“uh-huh.”

“they talked about me?”

“ken, no matter what you wore, there was no hiding that massive thing, but thanks for giving us the view,” you said, finally unable to hold back your laughter.

“you’re welcome?” his confused response only made you laugh harder.

“i love you, big-dicked loser,” you said between laughs.

nanami didn’t respond. instead, he flipped you onto your stomach, pinning you under his weight.

“we’ll see who the loser is. get ready, angel, because this time, i’m gonna make your pussy squirt.”

you didn’t protest as he slid his still-hard cock back inside you, burying your face in the pillow and screaming from the sheer pleasure.

tag: @aishi-toru

all rights belong to the @moonlitwitchdaisy do not copy, reproduce, or translate my work.

dividers by @aquazero

[briseroyawritingsblog]

𝒔𝒉𝒖𝒕 𝒖𝒑

𝒐𝒍𝒅𝒎𝒂𝒏!𝒍𝒐𝒈𝒂𝒏 𝒙 𝒇𝒆𝒎!𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓

• +18 minors do not interact. smut, rough unprotected sex, arguments, age gap, degrading, slut taming, bratty attitude, choking, pain kink, anal play etc.

summary: sneaking into a club to prove your point that you’re brave enough to catch attention of other men. logan doesn’t like that- you’re his.

+700 𝑭𝑶𝑳𝑳𝑶𝑾𝑬𝑹𝑺 𝑪𝑬𝑳𝑬𝑩𝑹𝑨𝑻𝑰𝑶𝑵. 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒏𝒌 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒔𝒐 𝒎𝒖𝒄𝒉!!! 𝑰 𝒉𝒐𝒑𝒆 𝒂𝒍𝒍 𝒊𝒔 𝒘𝒆𝒍𝒍 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒚𝒐𝒏𝒆!

𝒍𝒐𝒈𝒂𝒏 𝒎𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕 / 𝒎𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕

divider by @anitalenia

“You just couldn’t help yourself could you?” He grabbed your throat pressing you against the hood of his Chrysler. “N-no” you gripped his wrist gasping for breath. “Grindin and dancin against the desperate lil shits wantin attention huh?” you whimpered as you felt him against you. “I c-can’t breathe” running your red painted nails against his white button up touching his collar. Logan groaned slamming you on top of the hood. Your legs divided as he snuck between them hovering his upper body above you. His fingers firmly holding your throat. “Sluts like you crave just attention. Nothin good just a hole for cock” no longer caring he wanted to choke the shit out of you- hands grabbing a hold of his belt pulling him closer. “I don’t care” sneering as he slapped your cheek with his digits to make you look him deeply in his eyes and when you did you saw something dark. It straight travelled in your belly and your core. “You wet? Tell me, are you fucking wet from dancin and grindin like that?” you nodded giving him a smile. Still holding you down remaining in the same position he lit a cigar. And it was lazily hanging between his lips, the ash would drop on your chest giving you the littlest burn but gosh pain brought your pleasure and Logan was the same. He frankly got off better when you two were arguing and causing each other pain like you for example scratching his back until it bled or digging your nails into the sides of his neck as he fucked you.

Large hand grabbing fistful of your lacy panties which were drenched in your slick ripping yanking them off you with a harshest pull. You yelped, reaching for his belt sitting up as you looked him in the eyes taking his heavy cock out. He groaned as you gripped the base of him leaning down to suck on his angry swollen tip. The saltiness of his pre cum had your tastebuds dancing. He let out a soft sigh taking a hit of his cigar guiding you down on his cock holding your hair. You sucked with a moan leaving your lips until he had enough of your slutty whimpers making him harder needier for your drooling hole.

“Ya mine” the oldman pulled you off the hood of his limo bending you over it so harshly you cried out. Your naked ass to his view he smacked it so hard your toes nearly curled. Biting your lower lip your hands needed leverage so his suit jacket it was. Rubbing his cock between your ass cheeks bumping your back entrance several times pinching your left cheek he groaned hungrily debating whether you deserved pussy filling or some ass fucking for your behavior “please” you begged with a shaky voice, the dress clinging to your body as thin sheen of sweat covered you. “You beggin now?” Pressing your face down on the hood your cheek rested upon it- you spread your thighs ready for either the oldman rubbed the tip of his leaking cock on your back entrance again nearly breaking you in by pushing it inside- wanting to ruin your ass so badly but he ended up slamming in your delicious pussy. Groaning loudly at the feel of your wet hole coating him in your slick. You bit your lower lip shutting your eyes as you whimpered, his large hands pulling your ass out more as your thighs closed together. “Fuckin slut, my slut, howlett slut” he panted battering his cock in and out of you. You moaned gritting your teeth tasting your own blood as you bit your lower lip “dirty old man!!!” You moaned loudly wanting more of him. Gripping your hair with his large hand he pulled your head back leaning over you slamming his hips against your ass“Old man huh? That’s why you whimper like a needy slut on my cock” your lips were agape as you tilted your face to look at him. Suddenly he leaned his hands flat on the hood speeding up his hips snapping them into you the claps and harsh breathing absolutely gave you the rest as you started to cum. Lo followed right behind you making sure he’s slammed in you deeply as he came hovering above you as you held his jacket for leverage to actually keep yourself on your toes which curled as you screamed in pleasure. You felt him pulse and pulse until spilling his warmth in you with a gaspy moan. “I dare you to go back in there, you see these?” He groaned pushing his claws out. “I’m comin’ for blood if you ever pull some stupid shit on me again.” He breathed still buried deep in you slamming his lips against yours. You moaned against his lips wanting nobody just your old man.

-

Thank you for reading. Any mistakes or typos I deeply apologize.

[celebtf]

EDDIE, THE NEW FIREFIGHTER

Tommy sat alone in his dimly lit apartment, the faint hum of the city outside providing a backdrop to his spiraling thoughts. It had been weeks since Buck had walked out of his life. Weeks of replaying every moment, every touch, every word. But no matter how hard Tommy had tried, Buck’s heart had always been elsewhere—always with Eddie.

Even the mention of Eddie’s name had been enough to set Tommy off during their arguments. Buck had called him paranoid, jealous. But Tommy wasn’t stupid. He’d seen the way Buck’s eyes lit up when Eddie walked into a room, the unspoken feelings simmering between them.

Now, as he sat nursing his resentment, his mind wandered to revenge. If Eddie was the reason Buck had left, then Eddie needed to suffer.

Tommy’s lips curled into a cold smile as a plan began to take shape.

He reached for his phone, scrolling through his old contacts. As a former firefighter, Tommy had Eddie’s number saved for emergencies. Tonight, he’d make use of it.

He dialed the number, forcing his voice into a panicked tone. “Eddie! It’s Tommy. I—I need your help. Please.”

Eddie’s voice came through, calm but concerned. “Tommy? What’s going on?”

“I’m trapped,” Tommy said, injecting desperation into his words. “The bathroom door—it’s jammed. I can’t get out, and my phone’s about to die. Please, I don’t know who else to call.”

There was a pause. Then Eddie sighed. “Alright. I’m on my way. Hang tight.”

Tommy hung up, a twisted grin spreading across his face. The trap was set

.

When Eddie arrived at Tommy’s apartment, he knocked on the door, his brow furrowed with concern. “Tommy? You okay?”

Tommy’s muffled voice came from inside. “In here! Bathroom! Hurry!”

Eddie stepped inside, the door clicking shut behind him. He made his way toward the bathroom, his firefighter instincts kicking in.

“You’re alright,” he called, moving quickly. “Just stay calm.”

As Eddie reached the bathroom door and pushed it open, Tommy sprang into action. He swung a heavy object—an iron candlestick—connecting with the side of Eddie’s head. Eddie crumpled to the floor, unconscious.

Tommy stood over him, his chest heaving. “Sorry, Eddie,” he muttered, tossing the candlestick aside. “But you’ve had this coming for a long time.”

He dragged Eddie into the living room, tying him to a chair with thick ropes he’d prepared earlier.

Once Eddie was secure, Tommy stripped him of his uniform, leaving him vulnerable and exposed. He folded the uniform neatly, almost ceremoniously, before stepping into the pants and pulling the spandex shirt over his shoulders.

The bathroom mirror reflected a grotesque spectacle. Tommy stood there, dressed in Eddie’s uniform, his chest rising and falling with exhilaration. The transformation had already begun, though he didn’t know how or why. His muscles bulged as though they were being inflated from within, his veins pulsing under his tightening skin.

He gripped the edge of the sink, watching in awe as his hands grew broader and calloused, fingers thickening with the strength of a firefighter who’d spent years saving lives. “Oh, Eddie,” Tommy muttered, his voice trembling with malicious glee. “You’ve always had everything. But now…”

His legs lengthened, the fabric of Eddie’s uniform pants stretching taut against his thighs. His chest expanded, filling out the spandex shirt until it clung perfectly to his newly sculpted physique. He turned, catching sight of his growing reflection as his hair darkened and reshaped into Eddie’s signature look. When his face began to burn, he gasped, gripping his jaw as it shifted under his hands.

When it was over, Tommy stared at the mirror, his breath hitching. He touched his new face, ran his fingers over his mustache, and smiled. “Perfect,” he whispered, his voice a flawless imitation of Eddie’s. The realization of his transformation filled him with a twisted sense of power.

He flexed his arms, rolling his shoulders as he admired his reflection. “You were always the hero, weren’t you? The golden boy. Everyone loves Eddie. But not tonight.” His grin widened into something cruel. “Tonight, I’m Eddie.”

Tommy stood in front of the mirror, admiring his new form. He ran his hands over his chest, his biceps, his face. “Damn,” he whispered, his voice now Eddie’s. “I look good.” He smirked, flexing in the mirror. “No wonder Buck couldn’t stop dreaming about you.”

He turned to the real Eddie, who was beginning to stir. “Wake up, hero,” Tommy said, his tone mocking.

Eddie blinked, his vision swimming. When he finally focused on the man standing before him, his heart dropped. “What… what the hell?”

Tommy grinned, spreading his arms. “Surprise! Like the new me?”

Eddie’s voice was hoarse with disbelief.

“What did you do?”

“I leveled the playing field,” Tommy said, leaning in close. “You’ve had everything for too long, Eddie. The job. The respect. And now Buck. Well, guess what? I’m taking it all.”

“You’re insane,” Eddie spat, tugging at the ropes.

“Maybe,” Tommy replied, standing tall. “But tonight, Buck won’t know the difference. He’ll think I’m you. And I’ll make sure he never wants the real thing again.”

Eddie’s eyes burned with anger. “You won’t get away with this.”

Tommy laughed, cruel and confident. “Oh, Eddie. I already have.”

He grabbed Eddie’s phone and dialed Buck.

“Hey, Buck,” Tommy said in Eddie’s voice, his tone warm and familiar. “You free tonight?”

“Yeah, of course!” Buck replied, his voice lighting up. “Come over whenever.”

Tommy hung up, smirking at the real Eddie. “See? Easy. Now sit tight. I’ve got a date.”

When Buck opened the door later that evening, his eyes lit up. “Eddie! Come in.”

Tommy stepped inside, playing the part perfectly. Every gesture, every smile was calculated, designed to mimic Eddie’s easy charm.

“Hey, Buck,” he said, his tone low and affectionate.

“Everything okay?” Buck asked, studying him.

“Just needed to see you,” Tommy replied, brushing his hand against Buck’s arm.

Buck blushed, his unease fading under Tommy’s convincing performance. As the evening unfolded, Tommy continued to play the perfect Eddie—laughing at Buck’s jokes, offering soft touches, and looking at him with just the right amount of longing.

By the time Tommy leaned in for a kiss, Buck was completely disarmed, his suspicions forgotten.

Miles away, the real Eddie sat tied to a chair, his heart sinking as he imagined the betrayal unfolding. He knew Tommy was playing a dangerous game, but he also knew the man’s twisted mind wouldn’t stop until he’d taken everything Eddie held dear.

Tommy, meanwhile, reveled in his victory. Buck was his now—or at least, Buck thought he was. And as he deepened the kiss, Tommy smirked inwardly.

In this game, Eddie had already lost.

[blushsturns]

perv!matt x innocent!reader ♡

pt.6 ❤︎ deal

w/c: 2228

❤︎ part 5 is here

❤︎ read all about our faves here

it’s been a week since you’ve gotten the sex toys at the sex shop with matt. chris and nick were teasing you and matt the whole way home and matt was completely and utterly aggravated with the both of them. it was chris’ idea to go to the sex shop and yet chris was the one being the most obnoxious about it all. they didn’t see what you two bought, but once they saw you both at the register, they started to make teasing comments like how matt finally decided to grow some balls. you could tell it was really pissing matt off and you told them both to knock it off, but they were still being obnoxious.

while in the car on the way back from the shop, he apologized to you in the backseat. all you could do was squeeze his thigh and shake your head, flashing him a small reassuring smile. “you don’t have to apologize for anything.”

since then, matt has been quiet. you haven’t heard from him. you texted nick asking if matt was okay but all nick said was that matt was grumpy and wasn’t talking to anyone. it wasn’t like matt to be completely quiet like this. you visibly seen him get frustrated when his brothers were teasing him, but you assumed that was just what siblings do to each other.

“you’re the only one who can get through to him at this point.” nick said to you on the phone while you were painting your nails. you called him when you finally had enough and wanted to know what was going on. it wasn’t like matt not to return your texts or calls.

“i tried to talk to him, he won’t answer me. you guys have really got to knock it off with the whole teasing him thing. i know you’re his brothers, but we were all in a place we never been before. even i was unsure what the hell to do or look for.”

you heard nick sigh at the other end. nick was always such a good person to talk to and always gave the best advice and had a great listening ear. he was someone you felt completely comfortable around. that was just the aura of his personality. “i can apologize to him, but we were just messing around.” he paused for a moment before speaking again. “what did you guys buy anyway? matt was as red as a fucking tomato and when we got home he ran to his room and locked the door.”

you felt your face flush when he asked you what you two bought. matt must’ve been really embarrassed given he’s never been to a place like that before. how would he even begin to explain to his own brothers that you bought his toy and he bought yours? you shook your head to try and erase the memory (for now) and decided to laugh it off. “nick, focus! that’s not important. apologize to your damn brother and get chris to as well. give the poor guy a break, okay?”

“fine, but this weekend i am picking out where we go to hang out because chris was completely out of pocket for that one.”

you let out a soft laugh at his comment before saying your goodbyes and hanging up the phone. a soft sigh emits from your lips when you finish painting your nails and then allowing them to dry. they were a pretty pale pink that matched your pajama set. you went to the bathroom to brush your teeth and do your nighttime skincare routine before making your way back into your bedroom.

with a soft sigh emitting from your lips, you open up your curtains and your eyes widened as you see matt’s figure come into view. he was sitting on the windowsill, his fingers running throughout his tousled hair. his attention was solely focused on his phone in his hands. you pressed your hand against the windowsill, your heart feeling like its aching just from the looks of him. he looked pretty stressed. you knew matt long enough to know when he wasn’t okay and you had to admit, not talking to him for a week was starting to mess with you. you missed him, even if you didn’t want to admit that to yourself.

you wondered if he was okay. if his brothers actually apologized like you asked them to. if he’s been busy and trying to take his mind off of what happened between the two of you the last month, or if it’s all he’s been able to think about. you had to admit, it’s all you’ve been able to think about. you thought about the obsession matt had over you. was it healthy? did he love you, or was it all infatuation? did you feel the same way?

matt seemed to have consumed your brain in ways that you weren’t sure were even possible. you wondered what his lips tasted like, what his body would feel like against yours. he already has had a taste of you, would you ever want to return the favor?

all of these thoughts had your head spinning and you didn’t even realize that matt had your full attention now. he looked up at you through the window, his lips curving up into a small smile. you could visibly see him from the fluorescent light of his lamp that was sitting on his desk. he lifted his hand in his wave and you instantly lifted your hand back to wave at him, relief rushing through you. he seemed okay, but you were still puzzled as to why he’s been so silent.

you knew how embarrassed matt got easily. he instantly got so flustered all the time especially if someone else was poking fun at him for something. he knew how to stand up for himself, but sometimes he really did let it get to him. you cared for matt deeply and wanted him to be happy. you didn’t like knowing he was upset or going through anything and you wanted him to know that he could talk to you about it.

all of a sudden, matt disappeared from your sight and you felt disappointment rush through you. you weren’t sure what to make of what happened. he seemed to be in good spirits, and even waved at you, but you two still haven’t talked. you took in a deep breath, closed your curtain and walked over to your bed to get underneath your covers. you turned your lamp off on your nightstand and grabbed your phone to do your nightly doom scrolling.

you’ve checked almost every single app you had on your phone before you started to get burnt out looking at your phone. just as you were about to put it down, an incoming call from matt appeared on your screen. your eyes furrowed in confusion as to why he would be calling you this late, but you didn’t give it another thought considering you hadn’t heard from him. “hello?”

“hi.” he spoke breathlessly. you heard some rustling around on the other end before it eventually got quiet. “sorry i disappeared from the window. both of my brothers came to my room to apologize actually.”

you nodded your head as you pressed your lips together in a firm line, seemingly impressed by nick and the fact that he actually listened to you. “as they should’ve from the start. how did that go?”

“well they apologized. chris didn’t seem as apologetic, but nick did. they were curious as to what we, uh bought that day, but i wouldn’t tell them.” you didn’t have to visibly see him to know that he was blushing from the way he stammered on his words, obviously remembering that day and what they had purchased together.

a soft chuckle leaves your own lips as you rest your head comfortably against the pillow. “well good, it’s none of their business. have you been okay though? i haven’t heard from you.”

a long sigh was heard from the opposite end of the call. “yeah, i’m sorry about that. i just got so damn embarrassed. i mean chris was the one who brought up going in the first place and yet he was doing the worst of it all. i just didn’t want to make a fool out of myself and look totally inexperienced in front of you, i guess.” you could tell he was obviously still blushing, probably laying on his bed to mirror exactly what you were doing at that very moment.

“don’t worry about me. that shit doesn’t bother me. chris is an absolute idiot.” another laugh leaves your lips and you could hear his laugh on the other end too which made you feel a little better. “they just like to mess around too much, you know that. you didn’t have to ignore everyone for a week though, matt.” you spoke this with sadness filling your tone. you wondered if there was something else going on, or if he was genuinely just embarrassed with the way his brothers were behaving. it wasn’t the first time they were out of control, but maybe it was because he was completely out of his element in a sex shop that he probably never would’ve gone to on his own.

you heard him sigh once again, sadness filling his voice. “i know, i’m sorry. i just was really embarrassed and didn’t know how to recover from that. last thing i’d want is for you to think differently of me because of how, uh, inexperienced i am.”

you almost wanted to reach through the phone and hug him, but you knew you couldn’t do that. it wasn’t like you didn’t know that matt was inexperienced, it was just fairly obvious. matt has had a couple girlfriends in the past, but they were always really short lived and he never seemed serious about them. he never talked about his relationships or feelings in general around you and that was just the dynamic of your relationship with him.

you’d never judge him or think differently of him because of him not being as experienced or fully confident. you already knew he got flustered really easily, it was just part of who he was. in all honestly, you thought it was adorable and kind of attractive.

it excited you to know that he had some kind of obsession over you. it never once freaked you out. it made you intrigued because nobody else has ever been like this with you before. you were glad it was matt. someone you knew for awhile and felt completely comfortable with. you don’t know where this would lead and how you truly felt, but you didn’t want to lose him and you didn’t want matt to feel any less of a man because of how embarrassed he gets.

you realized you were quiet for a bit and didn’t mean to be, but you got lost in your thoughts. “you don’t have to apologize, matt. i mean it.” you said with complete and utter sincerity in your voice. “i don’t think differently of you at all. that doesn’t bother me at all. if anything, it honestly excites me a little.” you bit onto your bottom lip after you speak, even though you knew he obviously couldn’t see you.

“wait, really?” he said abruptly, surprise filling his tone. “it excites you that i’m uh, not experienced that much?”

a soft giggle emits from your lips at his reaction, resting your free hand on your stomach. “yeah, it does. although, you did seem to know what you were doing that one time in my kitchen.” immediately when you brought it up you felt your cheeks grow warm. thank goodness he couldn’t see you so he wouldn’t be able to see the kind of effect he had on you.

“oh yeah.” he said immediately, a laugh leaving his lips as well. “i’ve never done anything prior to that, but i’ve seen some things and i’d do it again, and again, and again. i mean that. sometimes it’s all i can think about.”

his voice seemed to get quieter and you wondered if maybe he had to be quiet in case nick and chris were around to listen. you felt your heart begin to beat rapidly in your chest at his words as you bite down a little harder onto your bottom lip. “really?” you asked him with surprise filling your tone. “me too.” now your voice was quiet, although it was just you and no one around you had to worry about that could hear you. “i really enjoyed that.”

“i had an idea.” he said immediately, a bit more confidence filling his voice.

this piqued your interest, your fingers playing with string on your shorts. “what is it?”

you could hear him take in a deep breath to gather himself. before you had any chance to think about what he possibly could say, he began to speak.

“how about i make it up to you for not talking for a week? tomorrow night, you and me. i’ll be in charge of that toy i got you. deal?”

you took in a deep breath, the adrenaline running throughout your body, your core suddenly beginning to throb with excitement.

“deal.”

taglist:

@sturnshood @strangelife122 @jessie-essie @giveheavensomehell @rina3476 @chrissturnioloslvt @sturnslutz @sturns-mermaid @matthewsturnsgf @christmastreecake @rinahasspots @222wall876 @chris-hallelujah @izzylovesmatt @strniloslvts @oopsiedaisydeer @sophand4n4 @sturniololuv08 @xclusivedesires @mattsplaything @katiebug3851 @fetusjikook @poppingmypussy4chris @mattsbunnyxx @pair-of-pantaloons @chrissweetheart @slutformatt17 @sturnl0ve @pasteldreams @h3arts4harry @marrykisskilled @wh0remikasas @sturnzslut @camzeecorner @alesturniolos @emely9274 @2muchofaslvt @y3sterdaysproblem @sturnslux3 @bowsandsturniolos

a/n:

thank you so much for loving this au and keeping up with it! this part was kind of like a filler, but it’s very important to the story. i have tons of ideas so bare with me. i’m excited for what’s to come next.

if you wanna be added to my taglist, click here!

also if you wanna talk to me about perv!matt x innocent!reader, send me a message or hit up my inbox! :)

i’m also taking requests too!

love you guys!

-nessa ღ

[elizabethrobertajones]

"Ah, Jane, a word with thee," Urianger called, stopping her attempt to sidle past unnoticed.

"W-what do you want?" she asked, as always somewhere on the nervous-to-panicked scale when presented with the sinister false prophet.

"Now that my deception hath been unveiled, there is much I must ask thee about the holes you claim twisteth like knots in the thread of your memory, for I have learned answers to questions you know not to ask."

"Um. S-sure." She glanced back and forth between Thancred, who was impassive but seemingly unconcerned with swooping in and rescuing her from this particular fate, and Papalymo, who smiled encouragingly and gave her a little nod. She was left with no one to save her from being lead to a quiet table in the corner of the Rising Stones.

She balled her fists on her knees to stop her shaking hands from betraying her, and studied the flame of the candle between them; the familiar whisper of fire brought some comfort even if Y'shtola and Krile had tactfully withdrawn for their privacy at a nod from Urianger, and left Jane utterly abandoned of friendly faces.

He didn't say anything, but stared, inscrutable, until she couldn't take it any more. "What?!" she demanded.

"Perhaps it would be best if you were to once more regale me with thy tale of thy flight from Ishgard, and the last things you remember of that night."

Her eyes widened even more than their normal darting state. "Umm, why? The Warriors of Darkness weren't there, were they? Were they?"

"Nay, I believe they arrived but recently. It... it is Elidibus's comments that have left me pondering."

She stared at him. Behind his goggles, he presumably stared back.

"And?!" Jane finally demanded.

"'Twould seem he had more than passing knowledge of thy situation, and called thee not Warrior of Light, but 'The Runaway' more than once. Indeed, I was not sure you were one and the same until thy path did cross with mine own schemes."

"I... I guess I did run away from Ishgard. Why would he care about that?"

"And that is why I bid thee recount thy tale once more."

She sighed, and sunk deeper into the chair, eyes once more darting to the warm candle flame. So much had happened since that night; so much of her perspective on the world had been changed, by force, by others and by scenarios she never could have dreamed of while selling potions from her parents' stall in the Jewelled Crozier.

Were the words she'd use now be the same as how she had first told it in shaky terms to Minfilia, lured by Thancred's assurance that she knew everything. That she could give all the answers to why Jane's dreams manifested the visions they did. And Minfilia had known almost nothing, told her only of the Echo but not of her own history, and left her to fend for herself. Left them all, now. And Urianger, mysterious and cryptic at the best of times, had pulled all those strings... And seemed at last to be someone who maybe did know more than they let on.

She swallowed.

"They were buying poisons from us. The heretics. I - I didn't know that. I just sold the ingredients. B-but they showed up when my parents weren't there. Left me in charge. A-and they made me feel like I was friends with them all. I thought some of them was highborns from the way they dressed, and some of them was knights from the way they walked, but they were fashionable, and charming, and... and I was just enjoying their attention. And they'd hang around for a bell chinwagging and scaring off boring customers, and when Temple Knights came by they'd buy something off the stall right quick and melt away laughing. I wanted nothing more than to go with them, but I - I didn't want to disappoint my parents."

"I'm sorry, Jane," Urianger said, startling her out of her reverie. He seemed to mean it, his hand falling back to his side like he had reached for her and thought better of it before she had looked up.

She shook her head. "What's done is done. They're at the bottom of Witchdrop and I'm here. I got Aymeric to look to see what happened to them, you know. And he couldn't even look at me. I know it was bad." She shrugged. "They got framed for poisoning the old Lord Commander and the Inquisition moves fast. There's a leatherworker in our old stall, now. I went and looked but I was too scared to see if the first coins were still under the loose cobble under the stall. If I got seen sneaking back at midnight to the scene of the crime, I don't know if even Aymeric would have seen fit to listen and pardon me."

"First coins?"

"You know, when you start a business and the first thing someone buys, you put the coins somewhere safe, for luck." She sniffed, and rubbed the back of her hand over her eyes. "Don't know why I'd want them anyway, come to think of it."

He nodded. "An ill omen to carry with thee, indeed."

She glanced up and gave him a strangled kind of smile, before returning to examination of the candle. "So that night. When the Lord Commander died. I think they knew they framed us; they wanted to ruin my family. I'm sure of it. They came right to me as I was folding up the stall, and told me to come with them, and I didn't even see how scared they were, I was so chuffed to be invited anywhere. I just followed them right down into the Brume."

"And then?" Urianger prompted.

She started, glancing around once more. "I don't know if telling you this is going to make me in even more trouble, but there's more than one way out of Ishgard. A couple of paths to the Highlands and all right sketchy tunnels. Smugglers and such use them, as well as the heretics. But you know when you get down there, nothing's safe anyway. Vilekin everywhere, caves full of bats. And all frozen over and infested with elementals since the Calamity to boot.

"I didn't know where we were going, thought they had a hideout or something when they opened a hatch under a barrel at the back of a house. But it was a tunnel and they were pushing me along it. And I realised how freaked out they were. The highborn one, the mage, he was really shoving my shoulder to make me walk even when my boots were slipping on the ice that was all over the ground. And then I think I heard the Temple Knights, and they made us run. I weren't the only one who slipped, I stopped to help one of them up, and we got behind the rest of the group.

"And then there was a dead end where the rock had collapsed, and they were all shouting, and making us go back, and then the Temple Knights were right behind us, so we got to some real steep stairs, over the Abyss. Even afore you got to it you could hear the winds sucking you towards it. And the highborn mage stopped, right there at the top of the stairs, and said, I'll hold them off. And - and his face. He... I didn't know what it was then, I was so scared. I'd never seen it before, you know. It was the Ascian glyph, and he was doing a summoning. I was trying not to slip on the stairs but I looked back because I felt the dark magick and I knew he was doing something really bad, and I was right where it was so slippy, and I looked at him and made eye contact and I know he was summoning a voidsent, but - that's the last thing I remember. I think I slipped; I think one of them must have carried me.

"It was three days later in Fallgourd Float when I next knew anything. An Ul'dahn merchant found me on the side of the road, unconscious; he thought the Dullahans had got me but I'd been lying there a while and they hadn't hurt me, so I don't think they cared to be quite honest. Anyway, he took me to the inn, and when I woke up I was so scared that we were anywhere near Coerthas when he offered to take me home I paid him all I had to take me to Thanalan instead. A-and that's where I was when Thancred found me and I ended up meeting swivin' Ascians everywhere."

"Did you recognise the Ascian who was amongst this heretic group?"

She shook her head. "One of those low level ones with the boring glyphs. I never saw one of that gang when we met all those heretics when we were investigating Iceheart, or since I went back to Ishgard. I was too scared to ask Ysayle if she knew them. Or. Or I didn't want to know. In case she said she didn't. But the more we learn the less I think she would've."

Urianger nodded thoughtfully. "I suspect they knew not who you were either, but sensed your latent Echo or some other sense of your destiny, and attempted to protect you for later use. I know not what other schemes Elidibus has, for I was allowed only to know the scantest details beyond that which I was charged for mine own deceptions. But between his manipulation of the Warriors of Darkness, and that which Unukalhai unfolded of his history as Elidibus's apprentice, I suspect he may have many other agents as yet unknown to us; many that he cultivateth for purposes as yet unknown even to himself, for their schemes speak both of long planning and sudden, spontaneous meddling. Perhaps thy presence in this long-planned poisoning scheme to throw Ishgard into disarray led to a desire to cultivate thee as well; in losing you they drove you to the bosom of the Scions instead, and thus does Elidibus muse on your presence, nay, even ask if I am aware of thy heresy in Ishgard."

"Aymeric did drop the charges and issue a full apology to my family," she said, pouting.

Urianger laughed softly. "And we are glad to have thee amongst us as a free agent, and many of thy fears allayed."

"But you still don't know what happened to me. Those three days between Ishgard and Fallgourd Float?"

He shook his head. "I wonder if the summoning did more to unsettle thee than thou thinkest; that you did not slip, but some other dark force came upon thee, given the affinity of thy magicks to the umbral and destructive, and the comfort with which you commune with voidsent. But as you had never chanced to see one until that day, there is no way to know if this is an innate ability, or one that has come upon thee as a result of thy travails."

She scrunched her nose, and looked away. "Well then. I guess I still know nothing. Wish I could just ask Elidibus if he did something to me, you know? I don't want to be cultivated."

"Mayhap a time will come when you may ask him for the answers you seek. If it reassureth you even a small measure, it seemed to me that he was both unsettled and somewhat scared of thee."

"Good." She pushed herself up out of the chair, and stretched. "Well, thank you, Urianger. I need to go... elsewhere now. But. Thank you."

He smiled at her, and for the first time he didn't completely terrify her down to the core. Unfortunately, his words had done that instead, and she felt nigh on close to crawling out of her own skin to remove herself from his presence regardless of it were his fault or his words.

Maybe it was time to return to Ishgard for a spell and enjoy her new freedom.

[swtsupernatural]

S.W || SILK & SHAPESHIFTERS: PT2

Sam Winchester x Thick!Fem!Reader

Content Warning reader being shorter than Sam, reader desc as having thick thighs, dean being annoying, swearing, reader wanting to fuck sam, a bit of sexual tension that is not yet resolved (pls be patient with me)

Summary Fluff, (Sexual tension lowk) strangers to acquaintances to lovers(?) - Posing as Sam Winchester's girlfriend at a charity ball for a hunting case isn't so bad, that is until you have to do actual work. You might kill Dean when you get out of here, and hopefully get your hands on your fake boyfriend.

W.C. 2k words

(Original) Ask anon: A: Hello hello! I'm back again; I'm going to change my request style a bit, how about a female reader with thick thighs? Make her with Sam please

Playlist: ♫ Blue Jeans - Lana Del Rey, Body - Megan Thee Stallion, She's My Collar - Gorillaz

A.N. part 2 finally ! was not expecting winter break to be so busy...more to come so so soon my loves. Also, so sorry to make this into 3 parts I swear im not trying to torture yall - xx claire

Taglist: @callsign-ember @kaiserpoo @lovelymax10

Inside the estate your once flushed face grew even warmer — this time from the heaters, not Sam’s undeniably sexy voice. Past the elegant entrance and wide, old doors was a large ballroom type area with an intricate ceiling that you had to crane your neck up to look at. The thick banners hanging around the room were a deep blue, showing images of marine animals in a chilling climate, most looking disheartened or sad. In swirling letters on the top of each banner read: “Marine Life Fundraiser: 2025” 

“How much you wanna bet they don’t even know half of the animals they’re donating to?” Sam piped up.

“Not a lot. These events are more about having a nice evening in a way too expensive outfit, showing off your very rich, sexy boyfriend/husband or very pretty, young girlfriend/wife, and doing that rich person laugh.”

“I don’t know if we’re being very convincing then.”

“What do you—

Sam snaked his right arm around your waist, the soft velvety fabric of your dress ruffling under his sleek suit. He gripped your firmly but not tightly, his hand gently digging into your soft flesh through your thin dress. He smiled…no, smirked (you weren’t sure) down at you.

“That better, pretty young girlfriend?” Your eyes dilated in seconds and you fought to keep your eyes off of his. 

“Y-yea...” You wanted to groan at how small and bashful your voice sounded, you never stuttered. 

“Can you guys feel up each other after we finish this?” Dean’s husky voice sounded in both of your ears a bit muffled but it startled both of you, making you feel almost compromised. Sam loosened his grip on you only slightly, letting out a sigh from his throat that went over your neck and left an intense tingling feeling.

“You wanted us to play the part,” You muttered to Dean after you flipped on your ear piece, a gentle hand on Sam’s chest as you made your way to the bar. 

“yn, can you put on something over your tight ass dress so Sam can frickin focus?” Your mouth dropped open, scoffing and tilting your head to the side in fake offense. 

“Can you stop looking at me and do your job?”

“I am, but it's hard when you two keep eye fucking eachother. Get your drinks, socialize, and distract the remaining family grill ‘em if you can. And please, listen to your ear piece.” Before you can reply, your eyes land on Dean in the crowds of suits and dresses, who is looking at you unamused. You smile, and he rolls his eyes playfully. You knew he wasn’t actually mad, but you also knew you did need to focus. You ordered a drink, Sam looming very close to your back, ordering after you. He slides the bartender his card, taking your drinks and leading you to the back of the room.

“So…you seen them?” You shook your head, knowing he was referring to the family. You scanned the room pointedly, tuning out the music, chatter, and all the bright lights and costly chandeliers in the room, finally spotting the youngest member of the family, Victor Brady, sitting with his mother. His mother had gone ‘missing’ but he never had. Based on your research, you knew the Bradys were rich of course, but you weren't sure the motives of the group of shapeshifters yet. Why were members of the family disappearing then coming back as if nothing happened? Had they really kidnapped some of them? Were the mother and son in front of you really them? How many of them were there?

“Hey, don’t worry,” Sam muttered in your hair, seeming to sense how wired-in to the family your mind was, “Let’s go talk to them. Remember, I am,” he pulled out his wallet from his back pocket, flashing the fake ID Dean had handed him earlier, “Ron Fogerty, son of a wealthy businessman from Canada. And you…” he pointed a finger at your face, then moved it to direct at your purse where your fake ID resided. You pulled it out. 

“Elaina…Clifford? Really? You guys are still using the rock names?” Sam gave you a pointed look, as if saying, it wasn't my idea with his face. 

“No idea how you both don’t get in trouble more often. Anyway, I’m girlfriend, correct? We’re here to support the Brady’s Fundraiser and get to know their youngest.” 

“Bingo. Let’s go before Dean gets on our asses again.” 

Strolling arm in arm to the Brady’s table with fake smiles, you and Sam greeted his mother first, then him

In the Impala, you had told the Winchesters about recent photos of them that had been published in the local paper. The family was known for being wealthy but not unkind; and was regarded highly among those in the city. But, in the photos from the week before, the youngest, Brady, was seen holding a number of odd documents leaving the bank, then making his way in the opposite direction of his family estate. Of course, the photos did not show the small printed lines of whatever secrets he was holding…but his angry, crude expressions in the photos did not match those of the graceful man sitting in front of you.

“This is Elaina, my girlfriend. She’s very interested in wildlife and insisted she spoke to those running the fundraiser.” Sam smiled, his voice calm and collected. You nodded, and Mrs. Brady tapped Sam’s shoulder, asking him something you couldn't make out because her son’s voice was louder, closer to your ears. 

“My name is Victor. Please, sit. It is nice to meet others with a passion for doing good with what they were blessed with.” You turned to see Sam was speaking civilly with Mrs. Brady, seated across from her, and you decided to sit as well. 

“Yes, I…also must say I find this place beautiful. Your family has lived here a while, I hear.”

Victor’s face dropped, his mouth forming a thin line. “We have. But you shouldn't believe everything you hear.”

Your eyebrows shoot up, trying desperately to play the part of a kind, naive woman, when all you really wanted was for him to tell you something, anything that might get you closer to what was going on. 

“Of course not, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to…” He sighs as you trail off, and that's when you notice the dark crescents of purple under his eyes.

“No, it’s my fault. People have been saying some things, lately, about us, about my father particularly. I do not appreciate men who spread false information.”

“And I do not either, I am actually a journalist back home, Victor. I know the importance of telling a factual story.” That made him relax.

“And I am glad to hear it. My parents don’t understand that whatever they’re doing is making me look like a fool as well.” You furrowed your brows. Whatever they’re doing?

“I’m sorry. It's hard to separate from your parents' identity, especially if they're as well known as yours.” 

“Exactly. I love them, and I love these events, truly, but just because I’m young doesn't mean I won't understand all the things they keep from me.”

“I know wha–

Your words stop stuck in your throat as you feel cold liquid streamed over your legs, your mouth dropping open as the wine made you get goosebumps. You tilted your head up slowly to see…Dean; empty wine glass in his hand, the alcohol now all over your velvet dress. You look up at him with daggers in your eyes, and he already knew he was going to get it later. But the look he gives you after he apologizes and offers you some napkins suddenly makes you aware of his plan.

“So sorry again, miss, here, I’ll take you to wherever the bathroom is and…” Sam is up now, moving closer to you before you widen your eyes at him, and he tilts his head slightly in confusion before Victor speaks up.

“That won't be necessary, I will show her.” You thank him and quickly mutter a, “I’ll be right back, honey,” to Sam, who nods, finally getting what Dean was thinking. You walk away, you hear a few security guards telling Dean rather loudly that he is cut off from the bar. 

You follow Victor, hearing his expensive shoes clacking on the dark wood stairs past a number of guards, ascending until you reach a long, grand hall. He walks to the second door on the right, and you understand that this is his parents bathroom. You can feel your heart beating at a speed you didn't think possible, thanking God that you still had your purse, and the special items inside you needed for a case like this. Victor offered you a few different stain removers, finally offering you a blow dryer for the bottom half of your dress where Dean had probably spilled a hundred dollars worth of wine on you. 

“Excuse me, I’m just going to use the restroom.” Victor points to the very far corner where you see a door at the end, which is around the corner from where you stand. Your plan tumbles around your brain, keeping the blow dryer on the loudest setting as you turn on your ear piece. 

“Alright, I’ll be here,” You say to Victor with a polite smile. He nods, turning the corner as you smirk, your heels already off, hand reaching into your bag as you go through the connecting door to his parents room. It had been a fucking hassle to get the layout of this stupid estate, but if this was the main building, that meant you were in the bathroom next to the master bedroom. Bingo. 

“I’m in the bedroom,” you whisper, nearly out of breath with how fast your heart is beating.

You held your device up to your eye, sending a silent thanks to Bobby for helping you with it. You were booksmart, not handy. You weren’t a great physical hunter and didn’t have a knack for making things; but Bobby did. A couple years ago when you had both worked on a case with Shapeshifters, you’d kept some of the…sheddings, is what you agreed to call it, of two of them when they transformed. The ooze smelled awful and almost glowed once you brought it home. You’d expressed how helpful it would be to detect such ooze, almost like night vision goggles, for hunting shapeshifters. He’d agreed, and after a dozen phone calls and hours searching through his piles of junk and scrap from various cars, created a shedding detecting circle that looked like a single binocular eye.

“The parents? Holy shit, I’m a genius,” Dean’s muffled voice came in your ear.

“You got lucky. And I’m expecting a form of apology when this is over.”

“Oh, don’t worry, I have some ideas. Sure you’d rather get my typa’ apology from Sammy, though.”

“You know I can hear all of this, right?” Sam said, his voice low and quiet in your ear.

“Can you both shut up so I can focus with the two minutes I have up here?”

You quickly spotted a heap of shedding glowing in the far right corner of the room, swiftly going over to see a pile of the ooze, skin, blood, and teeth. You scrunch your face at the smell, but put your left eye through the detector again. It took you a lot longer than you wanted it to, but you found a small trace of it on a cabinet near their bed. Inside, documents with faint traces of the shedding were in your hand in minutes.

“I got something, I’m coming back down,” you mutter, folding the pieces of paper as much as you could, shoving them not so gracefully in your purse when you heard the bathroom door open. 

“Sorry! Wrong way out. I think I’ve nearly had as many drinks as the wine spilling guy.” You giggled, smiling at Victor like he was God’s gift to Earth, hoping he’d buy it. And he did. He smiled politely, washing his hands before leading you out of the bathroom commenting on how, “The stain remover worked quickly, it almost looks as good as new.”

[winxanity-ii]

⌜Godly Things | Chapter 22 Chapter 22 | healing sigils⌟

╰ ⌞🇨‌🇭‌🇦‌🇵‌🇹‌🇪‌🇷‌ 🇮‌🇳‌🇩‌🇪‌🇽‌⌝

❘ prev. chapter ❘༻✦༺❘ next chapter ❘

The next day, you found yourself walking down to the palace halls, yawning softly. You were dressed for an outing, draped in a comfortable shawl and a light cloak to ward off the morning chill. Instead of your usual satchel, you carried a basket with blankets stuffed inside, prepared for a day outside the palace walls.

Earlier that morning, while delivering breakfast to Queen Penelope, she had paused and turned to you with a task. She asked if you could head into town to retrieve something special for King Odysseus after you finished your chores.

She explained that she had his old bow tightened and had two metal arrows created to go with it, entrusting you with the errand since Erythia, the old nurse, was busy and not available at the moment.

You had nodded, understanding the importance of the task, and agreed to handle it with the care she expected.

Now, you were currently standing at the gates, waiting for the guards to open them when you heard your name called. Turning, you saw Callias jogging over, coming to a stop panting slightly before standing upright, a playful pout forming on his lips.

"Did someone forget that the two of us were supposed to hang out after finishing our morning duties?" he asked, his tone light but carrying a hint of mock accusation.

You sighed, feeling a twinge of guilt as you'd hoped to have finished this task before Callias came looking for you. "I'm sorry," you apologized, shifting the basket on your arm to a more comfortable position. "Queen Penelope asked me to head into town to pick up something special for King Odysseus."

Callias' form relaxed slightly at the mention of Penelope. "The Queen?" he sniffed, his expression softening. "I suppose that's an important errand."

He then sighed, throwing his head back with a theatrical groan as he kicked a stray pebble along the ground, muttering about how he guessed he could go bother Kieran and the others instead.

On a whim, driven by a mix of wanting his company and not wanting to head into town alone, you offered, "You could... come with me if you'd like."

His face brightened instantly, the previous disappointment vanishing as if it had never been. "Really? I mean, if you're sure I wouldn't be intruding..."

"It's just picking up a bow and some arrows," you reassured him with a smile. "I'd enjoy the company."

With a grin now splitting his face, Callias quickly adjusted his stance, his previous sulk forgotten. "Well, when you put it like that, how could I refuse an adventure with Ithaca's finest handmaiden?"

The guards at the gate gave you both a nod as they pulled the heavy doors open, allowing the cool morning air tinged with the scent of the sea to brush against your face. Together, you stepped through the gates, the promise of the bustling town ahead filling you with a renewed sense of purpose.

With Callias by your side, the day seemed a bit brighter, the task less daunting.

.☆.     .✩.         .☆.

Inside the blacksmith's shop, you stood alone, draped only in your shawl. The earlier walk with Callias had been brisk, and amidst his playful whining about the cold, you had wrapped your cloak around him, insisting he take it despite his objections. His promise to meet up after grabbing a few things in town left you by yourself to collect the queen's order.

The shop was a cavern of rough work, all heat and iron, filled with the smells of sweat and burnt metal—a place of coarse hands and blunt words. It was a stark contrast to your own presence, like a lone flower stubbornly blooming in a swamp.

The shop setup was straightforward, with a wooden desk and a worker in front overseeing the transactions, behind which a large archway led to the bustling workshop. Through the arch, you could see several blacksmiths at work, sparks flying occasionally as they hammered and shaped metal. The ambient noise of clanging and the roar of fires created a backdrop to the rhythmic hammering, a symphony of industry and craft.

Approaching the counter, a young receptionist with soot smudging his face looked up from his ledger, giving you a tentative smile. His hair flopped over one eye, and he leaned casually against the desk, making him seem less formidable in this rough environment.

"What can I get for you today?" he asked, his voice friendly but carrying the din of the background work.

Feeling slightly awkward, you cleared your throat, adjusting the shawl over your shoulders. "My name's, ____, and I'm here to pick up an order for Queen Penelope," you started, trying to sound more confident than you felt. "She had an old bow tightened and metal arrows made to accompany it."

As the blacksmith behind the desk called to a colleague to retrieve the items, your eyes wandered to the back room, where the true work of the forge was conducted.

The sight of glowing metal and the sound of relentless hammering were oddly mesmerizing, a stark reminder of the hard labor that went into crafting even the smallest tools that made daily life smoother in the palace.

While you waited, a cloaked figure leaned lazily against a workbench, an observer to the symphony of sparks. Their presence was unassuming at first, a mere shadow among the flickering flames.

But then, a voice cut through the din—a rich, smooth tone that purred more than it spoke, sliding between the clangs with an ease that felt both practiced and natural. "You're quite the delicate little thing to be in a place like this."

The words, tinged with amusement and something indefinable, drew your attention. With an easy, unhurried motion, the stranger pushed back her hood, revealing herself. A woman. Beautiful, but in a way that felt ripe, indulgent—like something too much yet just enough. Her thick curls were tangled with wild vines, framing a face that held deep violet eyes hooded with amusement.

You stood still, feeling a flutter twist in your stomach. She was gorgeous, her presence commanding yet oddly inviting, drawing your eyes and holding them captive. Her gaze met yours, and the corner of her lips tilted in a knowing smile, as if she could read the flurry of thoughts racing through your mind.

The woman then stretched comically, her movements exaggerated as if she was in a playful performance. She sauntered over to the shop's desk, leaning heavily on it with a casual grace. Her voice drawled out as she called to the man behind the counter, "And when will my order be ready?"

The shop attendant glanced up, his expression a mix of amusement and resignation. "The gorgets should be done by the end of the day, ma'am," he replied, his tone professional yet tinged with familiarity.

The woman groaned, a theatrical sound that filled the small space. "Bummer," she exclaimed, but her annoyance seemed more playful than genuine. Her head then turned, her gaze landing back on you. Her lips pulled back into a smirk, and she walked towards you, her movements fluid and almost predatory.

She circled you slowly, her presence thick and lazy but sharp—like honey that dragged slow but clung persistently. The air around her was saturated with the scent of wine and overripe grapes, an intoxicating aroma that seemed to stick to everything it touched.

"What's a pretty little thing like you doing in a place like this?" she purred, her voice low and smooth, sliding between words with a practiced ease that was both compelling and slightly unnerving.

You cleared your throat, feeling your face heat up. Your hands grew clammy as you averted your eyes briefly before regaining your composure. "I'm here on business for the queen," you managed to say, trying to keep your voice steady.

Her eyebrows raised slightly, a mix of amusement and a hint of respect coloring her expression. "Royals, huh?" she hummed, her voice rich with curiosity. Leaning forward, her deep violet eyes gleaming with mischief, she asked, "Ever seen them at their parties, feasts? Got any stories about them making fools of themselves all drunk and merry?"

Before you could respond, the blacksmith at the counter called out, signaling that your order was ready. You were about to thank her for the chat and move on, but the moment was abruptly cut short by a man's rough voice calling from the doorway, "Thyessa."

The woman—Thyessa—sighed, a look of exaggerated weariness crossing her face as she stretched her arms lazily. "Mm, already?" she murmured, her tone tinged with reluctance. Turning back to you, her smirk deepened, her voice a warm, velvety purr, "Well, guess I'll leave you to it, little flower. You just looked too pretty to ignore."

With that, she walked away, her steps slow and deliberate. Over her shoulder, she gave a casual wave, adding with a teasing sparkle in her eye, "Try not to wilt without me."

As she disappeared, leaving only the lingering weight of her presence and the ghost of her scent behind, the blacksmith cleared his throat, drawing your attention back to the counter with a repeated call of your name. You jolted slightly, shaken by the encounter but relieved to focus on the task at hand.

The interaction with Thyessa left you a bit disoriented, her presence like a whirlwind that had momentarily swept through your calm routine. The weight of the bow and arrows in your arms grounded you, a tangible reminder of why you were here.

Paying the blacksmith, you tried to steady your nerves. As you handed over the coins, the clinking sound seemed overly loud in the now quiet shop.

Suddenly, Callias burst into the shop, munching on something with wide eyes, clearly excited. "You won't believe the sexy woman I just saw walking out of here!" he exclaimed, his voice filled with awe and a bit of mischief.

You couldn't help but laugh at the sight of him wearing your cloak, which stopped just above his knees, compared to how it hung much lower on you. It looked almost comical on his taller frame, but he wore it with an exaggerated pride that only Callias could manage.

He walked over, giving a low whistle as he eyed one of the sharp arrows you'd just acquired. "So, how are you planning to get all of this out of here?" he asked, his tone playful yet genuinely curious.

You smiled, already handing him one of the large blankets to wrap around the bow. "With your help, of course," you replied, a teasing glint in your eyes.

Callias playfully narrowed his eyes at you, taking another bite of his apple. "I knew you were using me," he muttered, but he went ahead and carefully wrapped the bow, showing more care than his words suggested.

Together, you managed to secure the bow and arrows, Callias joking about being your personal pack mule as he adjusted the load in his arms.

Stepping out of the blacksmith's shop, you felt the evening breeze cool against your skin, a welcome relief from the forge's stifling heat. Callias chattered beside you, his spirits high, and you found yourself drawn into his infectious enthusiasm, the weight of the bow and arrows now just another part of your shared adventure.

☆

☆

After delivering the meticulously wrapped parcel to Queen Penelope, who had received it with her usual gracious nod, you and Callias made your way towards your chamber to retrieve your divine lyre for the evening's potential use.

The hallways of the palace echoed with the quiet hum of daily life, the soft clatter of servant's feet and the distant murmur of courtiers blending into a familiar tapestry of sounds.

Just as you were about to turn down the corridor that led to your quarters, you caught sight of Telemachus approaching. He was wearing a bright and infectious grin that matched the mood of the day, his eyes sparkling with an energy you hadn't seen in him for some time. Your own cheeks warmed slightly, the memories of his near-confession the day before coloring your perception of his cheerful demeanor.

Telemachus' gaze lingered on Callias briefly, an indecipherable flicker of emotion passing over his features before his face smoothed into a polite smile. "Callias," he greeted warmly, then his excitement seemed to double as he turned towards you.

"I almost forgot to mention—Pisistratus is arriving into town today with the other exports from the kingdoms we trade with," Telemachus announced, the name sparking a light in his eyes. "I'd love to take you into town. He would be thrilled to see you, I'm sure."

Pisistratus—a name you recognized well. You had seen him sparingly throughout the years, his visits to Ithaca always marked by the sort of fanfare that accompanied someone of his status. You had met him once or twice before, his charismatic presence leaving a lasting impression each time.

Internally, you couldn't help but feel a flutter of excitement at the prospect of seeing him again, especially under such pleasant circumstances. The memory of your last brief meeting, his easy charm and laughter, came back to you vividly, painting your anticipation with bright strokes.

You hesitated, mouth half-open to accept Telemachus' invitation, when you suddenly remembered your plans with Callias. A tinge of regret shadowed your expression as you softly let Telemachus know about your prior commitment. "I'm actually supposed to hang out with Callias today," you explained, the reluctance clear in your voice.

Telemachus' face fell slightly, his disappointment palpable. Just as you were about to reassure him, Callias, ever the peacemaker, chimed in cheerily, "It's alright, really. I don't mind at all." But you shook your head, adamant, "No, we agreed to hang out today. It's hard to find time with our schedules."

The prince watched, a bemused spectator to your gentle argument with Callias, until you proposed a solution, turning back to Telemachus with a hopeful look. "How about this? Can Callias come along?"

Telemachus blinked, taken aback for a moment, as if the idea of including Callias hadn't crossed his mind. After a brief pause, where it seemed he might refuse, he finally relented with a stressed but genuine smile. "Sure... the more the merrier," he said, though his tone carried a hint of resignation.

Pleased with the compromise, you beamed, "Great!" Then, remembering the basket you were still carrying, you added, "Just let me drop this off in my room, and I'll be ready to go."

Leaving Telemachus and Callias momentarily, you hurried down the hall as you prepared to set out for what promised to be an interesting day.

.☆.     .✩.         .☆.

When the three of you arrived in town, the port was alive with the hustle and bustle typical of a busy trading day. Ships of various sizes bobbed at the docks, their sails fluttering in the breeze, while merchants shouted over each other, trying to attract customers to their stands piled high with exotic goods and local crafts.

The air was thick with the scents of salt from the sea and spices being unloaded from the latest arrivals.

As you paused, taking it all in, a wave of nostalgia hit you.

For a moment, the marketplace twisted, distorting like a view through rippled glass, and you were a child again, clutching your mother's hand. You turned at the sound of your name, half-expecting to see her there, her warm smile and bright eyes looking down at you. But when you blinked, the illusion shattered—instead, it was Telemachus, concern etching his features.

"Are you alright?" he asked, studying your face closely.

You gave a small chuckle, pushing away the momentary daze. "Yeah, I am," you assured him, pointing ahead where a familiar figure stood atop some barrels, animatedly speaking to a group of men. "Look, there's Pisistratus!"

Telemachus' face lit up with a wide smile. He cupped his hands around his mouth and called out the man's name, waving eagerly to catch his attention. "Pisistratus!"

As Pisistratus' eyes scanned the crowd, his gaze finally settled on you and Telemachus, his face breaking into a broad, delighted grin. With a joyous roar that drew the attention of several nearby traders, he leaped down from his perch atop the barrels and strode energetically toward you both.

The two friends met halfway, crashing into a hearty embrace that involved vigorous back-patting and laughter, clearly overjoyed at their reunion.

You and Callias approached more slowly, giving the friends a moment to catch up without intruding too much. Yet, as Pisistratus looked over Telemachus' shoulder, his eyes landed on you, and his smirk grew wider. He excused himself from Telemachus and walked over, stopping a few feet away to give Callias a respectful nod of greeting before turning his full attention to you.

Tall and a bit more muscular than Telemachus, Pisistratus' presence was imposing yet friendly. His dark blonde hair, interwoven with strands of gold that caught the sunlight, framed a face marked by a summer's tan and a sharp, playful smile. His hazel eyes sparkled with mischief as he leaned down slightly and took your hand, raising it to his lips for a gallant kiss on the back. "My, my, if it isn't the radiant jewel of Ithaca," he exclaimed, his voice rich and melodious. "How have you been, my dear?"

Before you could respond, Telemachus cut in with a warning tone, "Easy there, Pisistratus."

Unperturbed, Pisistratus chuckled, shooting Telemachus a mischievous look. "Oh, don't mind him," he said, his gaze flicking back to you with an impish twinkle. "Tell me, has our noble prince finally mustered the courage to court you properly, or is he still playing the part of the ever-dutiful, unclaiming royal?"

Telemachus' face flushed a deep red, and he reached out to give Pisistratus a light shove, eliciting a hearty laugh from his friend. "Careful, or I'll start telling stories you'd rather forget," Telemachus retorted, though the embarrassment was evident in his voice.

Pisistratus' laughter rang out, clear and joyful, as he turned back to you with an apologetic yet still playful grin. "Truly, though," he continued, "it's always a pleasure to see you shining so brightly, ____. Ithaca's sun seems dimmer compared to your glow."

He then shifted his attention to Callias, his gaze giving the man a once-over, lingering a moment on his clothing. With a sly smile, he remarked, "And what brings a servant of Bronte all the way to Ithaca? If I recall correctly, your royals are a bit... possessive, no?"

Callias scoffed, the corners of his mouth twitching upwards in amusement. "That's not even the half of it," he replied, shaking his head slightly.

Pisistratus laughed heartily again, his eyes sparkling with curiosity. "Well, you'll have to catch me up on it later, yeah?" he proposed, the lightness in his tone belying the depth of his interest.

Turning back to Telemachus, his demeanor shifted from playful to earnest as he leaned closer to the prince. "There's a matter I must discuss," he began, his voice lowering slightly. "One of the men on the ship is seriously injured. We're not sure he'll make it back to our kingdom without help. Could Ithaca spare a physician?" His brow furrowed with concern, highlighting the gravity of the situation.

Telemachus' response was immediate, his voice filled with ready assurance as he started, "Of course, we can arrange—" but his words trailed off as a sudden realization struck him. His gaze snapped to you, a spark of inspiration clear in his expression. "Actually... ____ could help."

You balked at the suggestion, feeling a wave of uncertainty wash over you. "I-I'm not sure that's a good idea," you countered, your voice tinged with hesitation. Your hands fidgeted at your sides, betraying your nervousness. "I'm not exactly trained in medicine... I mean, I've never done anything like that before."

Telemachus stepped closer, his presence reassuring. He gently grasped your hand, giving it a comforting squeeze. "You might not realize it, but you have a natural talent for healing," he insisted, his tone earnest. "Remember all those times you helped patch me up after sparring? Somehow, I always seemed to recover faster when you were the one tending to the wounds."

Your cheeks warmed under his gaze, and you averted your eyes. The memory of those intimate moments—being so close to him, tending to his bruises and cuts—flashed through your mind, making your heart flutter despite the seriousness of the situation.

Then, Apollo's words echoed in your mind, strengthening your resolve, "You have an affinity for medicine, for soothing what is broken and helping it mend... simply being there—offering your light, your warmth, your presence—is enough to heal what cannot be mended by mortal hands."

With a reluctant sigh, you finally nodded, though still not fully convinced. "Alright, I'll do it," you murmured, then added with a half-teasing, half-serious tone, "But you'd better have a real physician on standby in case your theory about my 'healing abilities' isn't as solid as you think."

Telemachus chuckled, the sound rich with warmth. "Deal," he agreed, his smile reassuring. "Thank you, ____. You're doing a great thing." The warmth in his voice and the certainty of Apollo's blessing combined to chase away the last of your doubts.

You didn't miss the appreciative gleam in Pisistratus' eyes either as he nodded in agreement, obviously relieved by your willingness to help. The serious ambiance briefly lifted, allowing a moment of camaraderie among you all.

Callias, who had been following the conversation with a slightly confused look, finally spoke up. "Umm, what are you two talking about?" His tone carried a mix of curiosity and slight exasperation, as if he'd been left out of an important secret.

Realizing that you hadn't explained the situation to Callias, your lips pressed into a tight line before releasing a resigned sigh. You turned towards him, your shoulders dropping slightly as you decided to reveal your unique connection with Apollo. "Well, it turns out I have a... certain favor from Apollo. It's supposed to help with healing... among other things."

Instead of reacting with shock or disbelief, Callias simply blinked, shrugged, and said, "Oh." You stared at him, bewildered by his nonchalant acceptance.

"That's it? You believe me just like that?" you asked, your tone a mixture of surprise and a slight challenge.

Callias scoffed lightly, his eyes twinkling with humor. "____, you've got a divine lyre from Hermes. I think you being Apollo's favorite is pretty much to be expected by this point."

Telemachus, who had been quietly observing the exchange, suddenly interjected, confusion lacing his words. "Hermes? Lyre?" His brow furrowed, clearly puzzled by the new pieces of information that seemed to have slipped past him.

You waved off his confusion with a quick gesture, not wanting to delve into another lengthy explanation right then. Turning back to Pisistratus, you said, "Let's go. Take me to him."

Pisistratus nodded, clearly eager to get moving. With a swift motion, he gestured for you to follow him, leading the way with purposeful strides towards the docks where the injured man awaited your uncertain but necessary aid.

Telemachus and Callias fell into step behind you, the former still looking a bit perplexed but trusting, the latter entirely at ease with the unfolding events.

As you followed Pisistratus through the cramped corridors of the ship, the tang of seawater mixed with the acrid scent of illness and medicine.

The make-shift infirmary was a small room, barely larger than a storage closet.

Upon entering, you immediately noticed the young stable boy lying on the cot. His face was pale, his chest rising and falling unevenly, sweat beading his forehead. The bandage wrapped around his leg was stained and slightly unraveled, hinting at the severity of the wound beneath.

Pisistratus spoke up, his tone suddenly lacking its usual joviality. "How's he holding up?" he asked, nodding toward the boy.

The sailor, a grizzled man with salt-and-pepper beard, looked up from his task. His expression was grim as he replied, "Not well. Goes in and out of consciousness, high fever, and sweats a lot. We've done what we can but..."

His gaze then shifted to you, confusion clear in his eyes. "And you are? The nurse?"

Before you could answer, Pisistratus intervened. "This is ____. She's here to help."

As Pisistratus spoke up, confirming your role there, Telemachus smoothly took charge of the situation. "She'll need a rundown of what's been done and what needs to happen next," he instructed the older sailor, who gave a respectful nod in response to the prince's directive.

The sailor, his face lined with years of sea and sun, looked initially skeptical as he beckoned you closer to the makeshift infirmary setup. You stepped forward, feeling the eyes of other sailors at the door, their curiosity piqued by the unusual sight of a young woman taking on such a task.

The space was cramped but functional, with a single window that let in just enough light to illuminate the small cot and the table beside it, where various salves and bandages were laid out. A pungent smell of seaweed-based salve filled the air, a concoction that the sailors used in emergencies, its green paste stark against the weathered wood.

The young stable boy on the cot was pale, his brow glistening with sweat as he drifted in and out of consciousness. His breathing was labored, the rise and fall of his chest uneven and strained. The infected cut, a jagged tear on his leg, looked angry and red, oozing signs of infection.

The old sailor explained, his voice gruff but not unkind, "Cut himself on a line. Thought it was just a scratch, but it got worse. We've been trying to keep it clean with what we've got here," he gestured to a bowl of mashed seaweed paste.

With a nod, you approached the table, your hands steady as you began mixing the paste anew, enhancing it with some of the clean bandages to create a more absorbent, medicinal dressing. The room was silent save for the occasional creak of the ship and the soft murmur of the sailors outside.

As you worked, focusing intently on cleaning and dressing the wound, you found yourself slipping into a rhythm. With each swipe of the cloth, your movements became more confident, more assured.

You were vaguely aware of Telemachus conversing quietly with the sailor, pulling him back slightly to give you space, his presence reassuring but unobtrusive.

As you applied the paste and secured the bandage, your focus was so intense that the rest of the room seemed to fall away. You barely noticed Telemachus' quiet discussions or the slight shuffle of the other sailors at the doorway. Your fingers moved with a precision you hadn't known you possessed, tracing patterns instinctively, almost as if guided by some unseen force.

Suddenly, as you murmured an indistinguishable phrase under your breath—a chant or prayer you didn't consciously recall learning—the air around you seemed to thicken. The change was almost palpable, the atmosphere charged with a strange energy.

The boy on the cot gasped, his body reacting instantly. His legs twitched, his face contorting in discomfort, and he let out a sharp yelp. "It's burning!" he cried out, his voice laced with sudden panic.

You pushed his leg gently but firmly back down, maintaining the pressure as your hands continued their work, still caught in a trance-like state. Your focus didn't waver, even as cries of concern erupted around you.

The old sailor, along with a few others who had crowded around the door, started shouting, alarmed by the boy's reaction. They made motions to intervene, their faces marked with worry and confusion.

However, Pisistratus, Telemachus, and Callias quickly moved to block them, forming a human barrier between you and the sailors. Pisistratus cast a worried glance over his shoulder but remained steadfast, his posture showing a trust in your actions despite the apparent chaos.

Telemachus' voice, low and calm, reassured the onlookers without pulling your attention away from your task. "Give her space," he urged them, his tone firm yet soothing. "She knows what she's doing."

Callias, though clearly anxious, nodded along, adding his assurance to the murmuring crowd. "Just wait," he said, his voice a blend of hope and confidence.

Eventually, the boy fell silent, and you let out a sharp gasp, exiting the trance. Breathing shallowly, you backed away from the bed, disoriented.  Telemachus was the first to come to you, his voice cutting through your haze, "Are you alright?" His hand was on your arm, steadying you as you took a deep, shaky breath.

Callias hurried over, looking equally worried, waving his hands frantically at the other sailors. "One of you muscleheads bring a damn chair!" he called out, then turned back to you with a concerned frown. "You need to sit down for a moment, yeah?"

Just then, the old sailor who had been attending the boy rushed back to the bedside. His attention was fixed on the young boy, who began to stir, his eyes blinking open weakly. The room fell into a tense silence as Pisistratus slowly peeled away the bandage, revealing the wound beneath.

There was a collective gasp from everyone on that side of the room, and their heads snapped around to look at you. It was only then, as you looked up, wondering why everything had gone silent, that you noticed their stares.

You took a step back, your voice trembling with growing anxiety as you asked, "What happened? Why is everyone staring?" The room was unnervingly quiet, every eye locked on you, their expressions a mixture of astonishment, disbelief, and something else you couldn't quite place. It made your skin prickle, your heart thudding erratically in your chest.

A familiar hand found your shoulder, its warmth steadying you just enough to turn. Telemachus was there, his grip firm but gentle, his expression somewhere between awe and worry. But what struck you most was where his gaze was fixed—not on your face, but on something above your head.

"What is it?" you asked, your words faltering as his lips parted, though no sound came out. His hand dropped from your shoulder as his attention remained riveted on the space just above you.

Unable to bear the suspense, you followed his gaze, tilting your head slightly upward. The breath hitched in your throat.

Above you, faint but undeniable, a shimmering sigil seemed to hang in the air. It pulsed softly, glowing like the first rays of dawn breaking over the horizon.

The symbol itself was indistinct, shifting in form like ripples on water, yet it radiated a golden light that bathed the room in an ethereal glow. The sunlight streaming through the window behind you only amplified the effect, cascading over you in a heavenly beam that made the glow more vivid, more otherworldly.

The silence was broken by a low, breathless exclamation from Callias. "Zeus' blazing balls!" he murmured, his usual lighthearted tone replaced with raw disbelief.

You blinked, disoriented, as the rest of the room began to move. The sailors and Pisistratus instinctively stepped back, parting like waves as though giving you space—or maybe distance. Their wide-eyed stares spoke volumes, their astonishment palpable in the air between you.

It was only then that you noticed their movement revealed the boy on the cot, now fully visible. Your heart pounded as you forced yourself forward, each step feeling heavier than the last. The glow around you persisted, but your focus zeroed in on the boy, on what everyone else seemed to be fixated on.

You reached the side of the cot, your breath shallow, your pulse hammering in your ears. The old sailor knelt beside the boy, his weathered hands trembling as he carefully peeled away the remaining bandage from the wound. What lay beneath made you gasp.

Smooth skin, unmarred and whole, stretched where the infection and gash had once been. Not even a scar remained. It was as if the injury had never existed.

"Gods," someone whispered, the word reverent and heavy in the stillness.

"It's gone," another voice said, louder this time, the disbelief clear.

Your knees felt weak as you stared, your mind struggling to catch up with what your eyes were telling you. The boy's chest rose and fell in even, steady breaths, his fevered flush now replaced by a soft, healthy hue. He stirred faintly, mumbling something under his breath, but his pain was gone.

You glanced around the room, searching for answers in the faces of those present, but all you found were awestruck expressions and more questions than you had yourself.

Telemachus' voice broke through the haze, soft but steady. "____," he said, his tone filled with both reassurance and wonder. "That... was you."

Before you could process his words, the old sailor, still by the boy's bedside, drew everyone's attention. His gaze was fixed on the shimmering sigil floating above your head as he straightened, his hand trembling slightly as he pointed toward you.

"This... This hasn't happened since Delphi. The oracle..." He trailed off, the weight of his words filling the room like a tangible presence.

The moment he finished speaking, the sigil above your head began to dissolve. It shimmered faintly, scattering like golden dust that drifted down and disappeared as it touched your skin. You felt an odd warmth, almost like a soft embrace, as the energy dissipated into the air around you.

The weight of their stares, the enormity of what had just occurred—it was too much.

Telemachus must have seen the panic in your eyes because his hand was suddenly on your shoulder again, grounding you. "____," he said softly, his voice steady. "You've done enough. Let Callias take you back to the palace. You need to rest."

You opened your mouth to protest, but the words caught in your throat. Callias stepped forward, his usual lighthearted demeanor tempered with concern. "He's right," he said, his tone surprisingly firm. "Come on. Let's get you something to eat. You look like you're about to keel over."

Reluctantly, you nodded, the weight of the moment still pressing heavily on your chest. Callias gently took your arm, guiding you away from the cot. As he led you toward the ship's exit, you could feel the eyes of everyone in the room following your every step, the air heavy with unspoken questions.

The last thing you saw before leaving was Telemachus, still standing by the boy, his expression a mixture of pride and quiet determination as he faced the sailors.

Callias' hand was a steady presence on your arm as he walked beside you. "We'll get you sorted," he said quietly, his usual teasing tone absent. "Don't worry about anything else right now."

You didn't respond, too caught up in the whirlwind of emotions swirling inside you.

As you walked away from the ship, the commotion and intense emotions slowly faded into the background, replaced by a quieter tension that hung between you and Callias. He seemed to sense your need for distraction, his usual banter giving way to a silence that felt both heavy and comforting.

"Hey," Callias suddenly broke the silence, a hint of his usual mischief creeping back into his tone. "Think you could heal a cut on my finger I got earlier?" He held out his hand, wiggling his fingers with a poorly masked grin.

You glanced at his hand, then up at his expectant face, and despite everything, a reluctant smile tugged at your lips. Shaking your head slightly, you rolled your eyes at his dramatics, letting out a faint chuckle. "It's not as simple as just touching you and going 'heal'," you replied, playing along. You reached out and mockingly grabbed his hand, waving your other hand over it with exaggerated mystical flair.

For a moment, you both stared at his hand, the playfulness of the act hanging in the air. Then, to your mutual surprise, the small cut on his finger seemed to fade right before your eyes.

Both of you paused, your eyes widening as you looked from his now smooth skin back up to each other's faces.

"Did you—" Callias started, his voice a mixture of disbelief and awe.

"I—I didn't think that would actually work," you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper, a nervous laugh escaping you as the reality of your new abilities began to sink in a little more deeply.

The levity of the joke gave way to a deeper, more profound awareness of the power you might truly possess.

☆

☆

Later that night in the courtyard, the chill of the evening seeped into your bones as you strummed your divine lyre, trying to recapture the comfort it usually brought.

Throughout the afternoon, you and Callias had playfully tested your newfound healing ability—repairing small scratches and soothing minor aches: a scrape Callias had from brushing too roughly against a stone wall, a small burn on your finger bringing dinner.

Each attempt involved a touch, a whisper, a concentration that felt deeper than thought, and each time, the skin under your fingers knit together seamlessly, leaving behind no trace of injury. The success left you both exhilarated and a bit bewildered. Callias, in particular, seemed to find it a mix of fantastic and terrifying.

But the moment Callias jokingly suggested leaping from the palace's highest wall to see if you could mend a broken bone, you had firmly put an end to the testing. His laughter echoed in your memory, light but laced with an edge of genuine curiosity about the limits of your powers.

Now, as you sat alone under the vast, star-strewn sky, the notes from your lyre didn't flow as they usually did. The strings vibrated under your fingers, producing the correct sounds, yet they felt hollow, disconnected from the magic that usually danced in their harmonies.

Sighing, you set the lyre down next to you on the cool stone, the instrument emitting a soft, mournful twang as it settled against the courtyard's floor.

Leaning back on your hands, you tilted your face towards the heavens, a breeze sweeping across the courtyard, carrying the crisp promise of winter. The cool air tugged at your shawl, pulling it tighter around your shoulders.

Despite the cold, you remained outside, gazing upwards, lost in thought. The day's revelations—the glowing sigil, the undeniable proof of your divine favor, the way people had stared—had weighed heavily on you, a blend of wonder and worry that was hard to untangle.

But as you gazed up at the stars, your mind drifted to Telemachus, causing a different kind of flutter in your heart.

Strumming the lyre, a familiar warmth pooled into your fingertips, the notes resonating under the starry canvas. Instinctively, you began to sing softly, your voice barely above a whisper, crafting lines about Telemachus—about how what you once feared was unrequited love might not be so unreturned after all.

"In the quiet night, under the watchful stars, Whisper his name, a wish spoken to the sky, Could the heart's silent yearning be heard afar? In the soft glow of Venus, might love reply?"

Each note wove through the cool night, a silent confession to the stars, a hope whispered to the cosmos that perhaps, just perhaps, your heart's desires were not as distant as the stars you spoke to.

As the last notes of your song drifted into the cool night air, you released a heavy sigh, feeling a mix of relief and lingering nerves. Just then, a voice as smooth and sharp as a blade sliced through the quiet. "So you're the 'muse' that has caught my brother's eye?"

Startled, you sit up straight.

From around the shadow of a towering cypress tree stepped a figure—tall, imposing, her presence commanding the space as if she owned it. Her skin glowed under the moonlight, a deep, rich bronze, and her eyes, a piercing and vibrant shade of gold, fixed on you like a predator eying its prey.

Sleek black hair fell in waves down her shoulders, with strands subtly braided with silver threads that glinted in the dim light. Her attire was a mix of elegance and practicality, a dark, flowing robe that did nothing to hinder her graceful, assured movements.

With a few deliberate steps, she circled you, her gaze never wavering, her body language exuding a mix of curiosity and barely restrained power. Finally, she stopped in front of you, giving a small, almost mocking bow of her head. "I am Artemis," she stated bluntly, her voice holding a trace of challenge. "Tell me, what intentions do you harbor towards my brother?"

Caught off guard, you scrambled to find words that might soothe the goddess' evident suspicion. "I... I respect him deeply," you began, your voice quivering under the intensity of her stare. "Apollo has shown me nothing but kindness. I admire him, truly, but my feelings... they are of respect and gratitude, nothing that would dishonor him or the divine."

Artemis circled you slowly, her movements deliberate, like a huntress stalking her prey. "Respect and gratitude," she repeated, her voice dripping with skepticism. "Yet those are words easily spoken. What of actions? Apollo might be swayed by mortal affections, but do not think such affections hold weight without true reverence."

Your heart pounded as you attempted to defend your stance, aware that every word would be scrutinized. "I-I'm learning, Artemis. Every day, with every encounter. I want to honor him properly, to show my reverence not just in words but in deeds. If I have faltered, it is not from a lack of will."

Her gold eyes locked onto yours, searching, probing for any hint of deceit. "And will you commit to learning our ways? To truly understanding what it means to honor a god?" she asked, her gaze unyielding.

With a nod, you replied, your voice steadier as resolve strengthened your words. "Yes, I will. I promise to learn and to honor him as is fitting. Not just Apollo, but all the gods."

Finally, staring at you, Artemis chuffed softly, her head tilting as her lips pulled up into a half-smirk. The skepticism in her eyes seemed to melt away, replaced by a flicker of amusement, perhaps even a trace of respect. "He could have chosen far worse," she admitted, her voice carrying a rare warmth. "It seems my brother sees more in you than I first believed."

With a graceful nod, she stepped back, the moon casting her long shadow across the grass. "Prove yourself worthy of his favor... and perhaps mine as well," she added, her tone now carrying a challenge that seemed more playful than daunting.

Then, in a display befitting a goddess of the hunt, Artemis transformed. Her form shimmered, and where the mighty huntress had stood, a majestic silver stag now took her place. The stag glanced back at you once, its eyes glowing with the same intense gold as Artemis', before it turned and leapt gracefully into the trees, disappearing as swiftly as it had appeared.

Left alone in the quiet of the night, you were left to ponder her words and the surreal encounter, the image of the silver stag etched into your memory, a reminder of the divine world that had briefly intersected with your own.

A/N: trying my hand at being mythcial and shit 😭 also, if you guess haven't seen my version of artemis from 'catch me if you can' i just was trying my creative hand to make artemis embody the complete opposite of apollo—where he's (supposedly) all blinding light and overwhelming ego, she's cool moonlight and quiet, commanding authority. literally leaning into their polar opposites—day and night, sun and moon—really brought her to life for me. 😩

Tag List: nerds4life246 ace-spades-1 uniquetravelerone alassal thesimppotato11 jackintheboxs-world kahlan170 akiqvq matchaabread danishland uselessmoonlight apad-ravya suckerforblondies jolixtreesunn dreamtheatre

[iie0y]

SYNOPSIS ♱ Vash thought you were the most beautiful soul he has met in his life, and you deserved everything in the world he couldn't give you.

CONTENTS ♱ fem!reader, mentions of insecurities (vash), reserve comfort, hurt/comfort, angst if you squint, fluff, Stamps!vash in mind, established relationship. NOT PROOFREAD! WORD COUNT ♱ 13.1k

Vash didn’t like to express his feelings, if he did it would have been under circumstances where he couldn’t bottle them up any longer.

It was the first thing you noticed about him when you began travelling alongside him almost a year ago, the fact Vash would rather suffer in silence then having other people worry about him, especially you. He had reasons though, he would mention time to time how he feels like he doesn’t have the right to be sad, he doesn’t deserve that luxury. He truly believes he has hurt people to the point of no rehabilitation.

And it hurts you, you find yourself wanting to just hold him until the soreness leaves his muscles, the stress fades, the world around him falling quiet, leaving only the two of you and the steady beat of his heart. You did just that on the days where his feelings were on the brink of slipping.

Today was one of those days.

All day, there had been something off about Vash. He still smiled, still joked when the opportunity came about – but there was a weight in his actions, a tension around him and his usually bright demeanour. You knew when he forced his laugh – the laugh that made you feel oh so light on your feet. He was carrying himself around like a shadow, his brows constantly furrowed at the nothingness he was spaced out staring at. Normally, his eyes lit up with a warmth that made your heart ache, they now were dim, shadowed by the thoughts behind them she wishes she could hear. He kept his chatter short, he didn’t trail off, rambling away like he was clearing a full storage from his head. You knew he carried a life of pain and suffering, but he always managed to mask it under his bright shine, but right now you could see it was slipping, crumbling before your eyes as all you could do was watch the pieces fall at his feet.

You knew he would come by and that defences would eventually shatter in front of you, but not now. It had been almost a week, you wanted to badly to talk to him, but the fragile look on his face made you hesitate. You worried if you pushed too hard – too abruptly, he might sink even further into himself. For now, you just stayed close, hoping your presence would send him a small message, that you were with him, and you cared, and whatever was eating away and tearing him apart would go away soon enough.

The small hotel room they found for the night was quiet, the only light around the cramped walls was the moonlight intruding from the window, pairing with the cold air – cooling the wooden floor beneath your feet. The sun had long since dipped below the horizon and yet Vash hadn’t moved from where he sat on the edge of the bed. He was hunched over, his head hanging low as his elbows rested on his knees, his prosthetic hand turning a stray thread on his pants between his fingertips. Though you stood near the doorway, you could tell he was tense. The pale moonlight from the window casted a soft glow along his features. He was beautiful. Even despite the frown painted on his face. The air between you both was heavy, thick with the unspoken words and an ache you didn’t know how to ease. Your brows furrowed at his state, finally deciding to take a few steps closer to where he sat.

‘’Vash,’’ You finally spoke up, barely above a whisper but loud enough for him to hear. He flinched at your tone but didn’t lift his head. His shoulders tensed, his fingers stilled for just a moment before resuming their nervous fidgeting,

‘’Hm?’’ He hummed softly, too soft. Almost detached. You could almost feel your heart physically break at his lack of words, the lack of his cheery you missed oh so dearly. You sighed, kneeling in front of the blonde, your gaze landing on his face, noting his frown replaced with a softer expression.

 ‘’What’s going on?’’, you asked, determined eyes never leaving his, searching his face. ‘’You haven’t been acting like yourself for a week now. What’s bothering you?’’

You catch the way his breathe hitched, and just for a moment, you feared he may brush you off again. To your surprise, a wash of defeat landed on his face, letting out a shaky exhale, eyes finally meeting yours. His eyes were glassy, swelled with the emotions he had been hiding away.

 ‘’It’s nothing...’’ He trailed off, swallowing a lump in his throat, as if he was trying to gather himself. ‘’I just…’’.

‘’Vash.’’ You pressed, your voice becoming firmer. You noted the way he hesitated; you were trying to be patient with him, knowing it wasn’t easy for him to talk about his feelings. ‘’Please. Talk to me,’’ His gaze darted away from yours as his fingers clenched the fabric of his pants.

‘’I just…’’ He started again, his voice beginning to tremble. ‘’I don’t know if I can keep doing this to you.’’

Your brows furrowed in confusion, ‘’Doing what?’’

‘’This,’’ he said, motioning to the room around them both. ‘’Dragging you through all of this. The running, the danger, the scraps…You deserve so much more, you deserve better than this.’’ He hesitated. ‘’Better than me.’’

Your stomach sank at his words, your heart finally shattering to pieces, the pain in his voice felt like a knife cutting through you.  You wasted no time to reach out, placing a hand over his, stilling his restless movements. ‘’Vash,’’ you called softly, your voice steady despite the lump forming in your throat. ‘’Why would you think that?’’

He let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head as he tried to look away from your gaze again, making you reach out to cup his cheek, forcing him to meet your eyes. ‘’Look at me,’’ you said firmly, ‘’I’m here with you because I want to be, you’re not doing anything to me. You shouldn’t have to carry such guilt around like it’s yours alone.’’ Tears slipped down his cheeks, and his trembling came up to rest over yours where it cradled his cheek.

‘’You don’t deserve this life,’’ he whispered, his voice broken and choked from his quiet sobs. ‘’You deserve a home, not the small hotel rooms we stay in, and not all the hardship I put you through daily. You deserve peace. You deserve a life of luxury, all the fancy rooms and high-quality meals you could ask for, rather than just scraps. Not this mess.’’ He smiled sadly through his words, smiling at the thought of the things he couldn’t give you. You shook your head, leaning closer until your forehead rested gently against his.

‘’You don’t get to decide what I deserve.’’ You murmured quietly, ‘’I don’t need fancy rooms or lavish meals. I chose you because you’re the life I deserve, hardships and all. So, you’re wrong if you think I’d trade any of this – any of you – I’d rather run for days on end beside you then live a perfect life without you.’’ His breathe hitched again, and this time he didn’t hold back the sob that escaped him. He pulled you into a tight embrace, his arms wrapping around you like you were the only thing anchoring him to the world.

‘’I don’t know what I did to deserve you.’’ He whispered against your shoulder, his voice thick with emotion. You smiled softly, leaving a kiss on the side of his head as you embraced him just as tight, your hand reaching up to comb through his soft blonde locks.

‘’You didn’t have to,’’ you murmured. ‘’Just let me love you. That’s enough.’’

He smiled against your shoulder, letting his body melt into yours.

Home.

AUTHORS NOTE ♱ I'm not the best at writing longer stories but I hope you liked it!! I love writing for vash sm (might consider doing a smut part 2 for this <3).

♱ do not repost or copy ♱

[stardial]

the whole knight thing rly is so potent. like yeah my place IS kneeling in front of people. and killing for fun

[starkeysbunny]

tears [rafe cameron]

pairing - rafe cameron x reader

summary - rafe was a busy man. but, when his girl knocked on the doors of tannyhill with tears streaming down her cheeks—nothing was more important than her. and he’d fix whatever was bothering her. or whoever. he hated to see his girl cry.

warnings - none rlly, hurt/comfort, protective and attentive rafe

rafe sighed into his phone call when he heard a knock on the door. he stood in his father’s office—which was now his—pacing the room.

“hey, hey man, just hang on a sec, sorry.” he muttered to the potential investor before he put him on hold. he set his phone down on the desk and marched out of the office, curses and mumbles leaving his lips.

“somebody always fuckin’ needs something.” his hand rubs over his buzzed hair as his other hand curls in and out of a fist at his side. “goddamn. probably fuckin’ sarah and her stupid—“

his mumbles come to a halt when he opens the door and sees his girl standing there, tears staining her flushed cheeks. “rafe..” she whispers weakly, her frame shaking as she looks up at him.

“hey, hey, baby.” he says quickly, completely forgetting the phone call waiting for him as all his attention, worry, and concern is shifted to her. “what’s wrong, c’mere.”

his hand reaches for her wrist, pulling her into his chest. she lets out a quiet sob as she buries her face into his chest, stepping inside. he haphazardly pushes the door shut as he keeps her close to his chest and walks them both inside and through the foyer.

he whispers shh’s, and coos at her in his arms as he heads for the living room, sitting them both down. he softly pulls her from his chest, his head dipping down to her level. his hands come to her cheeks, wiping the tears off her soft skin.

“hey, baby, what happened? talk to me.” he says, his eyebrows furrowed with concern.

“i-i-“ she stammers, unable to get words out as she chokes on cries. her breathing quickens, getting close to hyperventilating. when she cries, she goes too fast, losing control of her breathing.

“hey, hey, no. don’t do that. c’mon baby, you know better. breathe, baby, breathe.”

she begins to slow down, her breathing coming back to normal. she keeps her eyes on rafe’s, slowly calming down.

“there ya go. atta’ girl. good job. breathe.” he praises, his head nodding softly as he watches her. once her breathing fully calms, she takes one last deep breath and wipes the last of her tears.

“now, gonna tell me what’s got your pretty little head so worried, hm?” he coos, his head tilting slightly. “what’s bothering you? who do i have to kill, huh?” he jokes with a grin. but to be honest—he probably wasn’t joking.

she sniffles, her eyebrows furrowing. “my uterus.” she whines. “i’m on my period. my cramps hurt like a bitch. and my mom is pissing me off.” she sniffles, stumbling over her words slightly. “and i’m hungry. and you weren’t answering, i know you’re busy. but i just really needed to see you, i’m sorry—“

“hey, hey, it’s okay.” he nods softly. “i’m here, it’s alright. i’m not busy, doesn’t matter.” he says matter-of-factly. he wraps his arms around her, pulling her into his chest. “what do you need? hm? i have that heating pad in my room i bought for you a couple months ago.” he whispers sweetly. “i can make you somethin? buy you stuff? i dunno, what do you need?”

he was willing to do anything, he didn’t care. when his baby cried, he’d move mountains to make her feel better. he’d go to every store in town, run up his credit card, do anything. as long as she got a smile on her face at the end of it.

she nods against his chest, looking up at him. “yeah.. the heating pad. and—and can you make me a grilled cheese? you make em’ so good.” she asks sweetly, her voice gentle and weak.

he smiles softly, looking down at the sweet girl in his arms. “yeah, baby, of course. i don’t know if they’re that good. everytime i make them, you’re usually drunk and it’s three in the morning. that might be why they taste so good.” he jokes.

she shoves his chest playfully. “i don’t care, you can’t fuck up a grilled cheese. please?”

he grins. “yeah, yeah. grilled cheese, heating pad. got it, baby. anything else?” he says thoughtfully, his fingers coming to push strands of hair off from where they stick to her tear strained cheeks.

she shakes her head. “just you.”

he smiles. “okay.” he kisses her forehead. “i’ll be right back, gimmie a few minutes to get all that.” he stands, making sure she’s laid comfortably on the couch. he grabs the blanket from the end of the couch and drapes it over her. his eyes search the living room, landing in the remote, he hands it to her.

he leans down, placing another kiss to her cheek this time. “put on whatever you want. i’ll be back, promise.”

he leaves her at the couch and heads back to the office. he picks up his phone and takes it off hold. “hey, gotta go. somethin’ came up. i’ll give you a call later.” he hung up before the guy could even get a word in.

nothing came before his girl.

[2tarbell]

one order for a vanilla birthday cake pleaseee!

kook!reader texting rafe “what position have you got her in?” when he takes too long to respond to a text

happy birthday, angel 💓

BSF!RAFE + KOOK!READER ⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩 .𖥔˚

manicured pink nails tapped impatiently on the restaurant table. eyes glued to the bedazzled device with a glittery pout adorning her lips. this was so unfair. rafe would have a fucking conniption if she even thought about not texting him back. and now it’s been… seven fucking minutes? yeah, right.

the last time she left him on delivered for two minutes he was blowing her phone up and all grumbly the rest of the week, pounding her into oblivion for playing games. dont get her wrong; she loved it. being fucked within an inch of her life was her favorite pastime.

but now? rafe cameron was like the worst hypocrite known to man.

‘what position u got her in?’

‘Be so fr’

it brought a smile to her pretty face seeing his sassy reply. with a satisfied huff, she set her phone face down on the table. why not make him sweat? picking up her long island iced tea with a devious grin, she was right back into the conversation with her girls.

the table was alight with giggles and gossip — the pack of kook girls enjoying lunch together after before hitting the beach.

it was supposed to be an easy day, a break from all the confusion and feelings still swirling around princess and her tall, handsome “best friend”. and she desperately needed that. needed some semblance of normalcy before shit took off and everything on the island changed when the two most hated and loved rich kids finally get together.

so she didn’t even flinch when her phone vibrated once, twice, thrice. she only excused herself from the conversation with a smile when her phone buzzed in a rhythmic pattern — a phone call. bubbles of giddy excitement filling her tummy as ‘rafey’ showed on the screen with a point five angled photo of him looking pissed.

“‘kay— be right back, girls!” she sang, already standing with her phone in hand.

“he finally called you, huh?” melodie, a beautiful brunette in a lilac bikini top teased. the table giggled, all looking at princess and feeling a rush of girlish excitement.

“get your man, baby!” another girl, aliyah, borderline squealed.

princess flushed, feeling her body heat up at the prospect of rafe being ‘her man’. god, imagine! she waved them off embarrassedly, teetering away on her platform flip flops, pleasantly tipsy as she leans against the outside wall of the restaurant.

“hellooooo?”

her voice was sugary sweet into the phone, looking down at her nails and checking the polish for any chips. the warm timbre of rafe cameron’s voice rumbled through the speaker, directly pressed into her ear. she found herself wishing to feel his lips moving around the words and against the shell of her ear.

“you’re somethin’ else, dollface.” he mumbled and she could hear the smirk on his lips.

“aw, you didn’t say ‘hi’, rafe…” she pouted, biting back a laugh at the sound of his heavy sigh on the other end.

“hi. you’re somethin’ else.”

“hiii. why’s that?”

his laugh came through the speaker, all deep and settling into her bones like it always does. she hears the tick, tick of his blinker, meaning he’s driving somewhere in that big truck of his.

princess looks around at the marina, taking the sight of obx residents enjoying the still warm, early fall weather. hot enough to take a dip without the water being freezing yet. rafe continued on as she flitted her gaze around the area.

he ignored her question, instead asking his own.

“checked your location. you tipsy right now?”

a giggle escaped her glossy lips, head lolling slightly, “mmm, maybe… why?”

“go back in and pay. sent you one fifty.”

she froze, pulling the phone from her ear and seeing an apple pay notification. he always did this. not like she could just use her dad’s card or anything.

“rafe cameron—“

he cut her off, hanging up after and not letting her protest, “hey— pay and then come back out. know i’ll let ‘chu make it up to me, a’ight?”

it was like a reverse walk of shame — explaining to her friends why she was leaving early and why she was covering the whole tab. walking back out with her purse on her arm as the familiar rumble of his truck approached, petulant in the way her arms were crossed. he pulled up right before her, rolling down the passenger window and smiling in that frustratingly charming way. dickhead.

she hung up with a guffaw, not believing he actually showed up when she was hanging with her friends. the possessive gesture makes her heart jump then fall. very boyfriend of him.

“what the fuck are you doing here?”

“oh, that’s how you talk to someone who just paid for your lunch? get in.”

she scoffed, amused at his gall. even more so at the fact she listened — shoes clacking against the pavement. rafe leaned over the console, opening the door for her. he looks good and smells better. that cologne she bought him for his birthday last year that he seems to be wearing a lot recently. an intoxicating smell that makes her feel drunker.

a plaid button up, rolled up to the elbow and exposing strong, veiny arms causes her mind to wander as he leans closer to her.

“hey, gorgeous,” that low drawl sends goosebumps over her body, paired with a half smile that’s so pretty.

comfortable in the seat she’s become so familiar with, he closes the gap between them. giving her a kiss so casual and natural, it makes her fluffy lashes flutter rapidly. sticky gloss transfered on his mouth that he doesn’t even wipe away.

she’s even more confused when flowers are thrusted into her arms. princess blinks at him like a fish — feeling a warmth settle in her chest at the sight of her favorite blooms wrapped haphazardly in brown paper.

“they, uh— they were in this ugly fuckin’ plastic. know you hate that so… yeah,” rafe shrugs it off as he pulls out of the parking lot.

princess decides this is technically a kidnapping. especially because she’s never been more confused and lost in her life.

he leans back in the seat, driving with one hand lazily, confidently. a glimpse of blue eyes at her and she’s smiling wildly, bringing the flowers to her nose to smell them. princess leans over and kisses his cheek, feeling drunker on the moment and smell of his skin.

“i— thank you, rafey…”

rafe takes notice of how small her voice is, how vulnerable. he nods, switching hands to rest one on her leg. large, warm palm soothing her and pulling her out of her mind before she can even begin to cause herself to spiral.

he clears his throat, squeezing the plush, smooth skin of her thigh, “cowgirl.”

her furrowed brow is adorable. looking up from the bouquet in her lap and over at him in question. there’s a drunken slowness to her, a haze. he hums and pushes his hand higher — marking a mental note of how easily her legs spread to make room for him.

“that’s what position imma have you in.”

[yanderenightmare]

♡ TW: yandere, captive reader, Stockholm syndrome

♡ FEM reader

“I’m back,” he calls out softly once opening the door.

You’re already there—must have heard him drive up then padded over—standing there, wordlessly awaiting his kiss. You don’t notice it yourself, though he does, how you get up on your tippy-toes and meet him halfway. You’ve been doing it for a while now. It’s really cute. And so he doesn’t say anything on it—doesn’t want to spook the habit.

“Welcome home,” you say, and he wraps his arms around you, pulling you soft and snugly against his chest—smiling at how you nuzzle into it—yet another cute thing you’ve started doing lately.  

“Mh-thank you, sweetheart—feels good,” he coos into your hair, petting it smoothly while you stand there, neither of you pulling away. “What did you do today?”

You sigh and sink further into his embrace, mumbling, “Same as any other day…” almost sulkily. “Just waiting for you.”

He chuckles, “Oh, that’s not true. I saw you watching something—anything fun?”

You hum, hiding your face in his chest, mumbling into it, “Not really… just binging another franchise they decided to ruin...” You shift and look up at him, keeping your chin on his chest while grumbling, “I don’t understand why they’d reboot something just to completely disregard everything it originally stood for—and all the effects just make it look cheap.”

He can’t help but chuckle again, ruffling your hair with a fond smile. “You’re such a nerd.” He could eat you up the way you are right now, plated on a silver platter for him all so willingly. “A cute nerd, though.”

You pout, “Honestly, what’s going on out there? I barely understand anything I’m watching anymore—it’s all alien to me.”

His hug on you tightens, but you don’t flinch like you used to—even as the look in his eyes darkens along with his words. “Yeah, the world’s gone mad. You’re better off in here.”

You smile then—agreeing for once. It’s also a new and adorable habit. And then you unzip his jacket for him, helping it off his shoulders and hanging it up for him—all so naturally. Looking back at him while asking, “And how was your day?”

He smiles while beholding you—to think such a question would ever leave your lips all so domestically—it’s enough to make his chest swell. Then with an exaggerated sigh, he whines, “Absolutely horrible without you,” wrapping you up in another hug, this time from behind, nuzzling his chin into the ticklish skin of your neck—making you giggle. Arms around your front, swaying you back against him. “Every second, I was counting down ‘til when I could come home to you.”

“Is that right?” You grin at his gesture—twisting around so that you could look at him straight. Slouched as he stood, all but draping you with his taller form—eyes leveled with yours, half-mast and adoringly admiring you like his most precious thing—his sweet loving girlfriend.

You cup his face in both hands, thinking the same of him—your sweet loving boyfriend. You’re about to kiss him, but then, struck by the thought, there’s a sudden freight in your chest that follows, and you jolt back as if he’d burned you.

He stills, warm expression twisting to one of concern. “Hey—” Stepping after you with his hands laid on your forearms, giving you a small squeeze. “What’s wrong?”

“I—” You don’t know, you think. Something’s off. Something’s not right—about his touch, about your heart, about all of it. “I’m just…” 

You think about it, eyes skittering over his face—did you always look at his face? Since when did he become so familiar? Since when did you walk around wanting to see it?

“I just…” the words feel all strange in your mouth, but there’s no denying there’s truth in them. “I missed you.”

His features blank at that, blinking at you. “Oh…” Then he softens—smiles with a chuckle, “Well, I’m home now, so…” His head slants, looking at you in askance as he gently brings a hand up to thumb your chin. “What’s with this pouty face?”

You bite your lip. There’s so much noise in your chest—so many conflicting feelings. You’ve begun missing him when he’s gone—when he leaves you. You’ve started wishing for his return, spending your day in wait. Since when did you start doing that?

It’s not right.

“I’m slipping,” your voice is shaken and weak, eyes welling up with thick water enough to have him look blurry—you shake your head and squeeze them shut—making the tears fall quickly. “I’m not supposed to miss you—” you cry. “That’s not right. I’m not—you’re not—”

Not your boyfriend.

“Hey, hey, sweetie. It’s okay,” he cuts your sob off with two warm hands placing themselves on your wettened cheeks, holding you tenderly. You layer yours on top of his, feeling it’s the only thing keeping you from spiraling into oblivion. 

“It’s okay, sweetie,” he coos, smearing out your teardrops, making them dry. “It was gonna happen sooner or later, right?”

Your eyes peel and look at him—through the veil. His face is a comfort—though you feel strange seeing it as such, when you know, even though most of you has decided to forget, that he’s a psychotic stalker who’s kidnapped you and held you captive for what must be closing in on a year already.

“Don’t feel bad—it’s only natural,” he assures, pulling you into his chest again—both arms around you snugly with his chin on top of your head, gently rocking you from side to side. “Everything’s fine. So you’re losing your mind a little—we’ll just find something else for you to think about. Right? Is there anything you want? Anything I can get you? More clothes? Sweets? Something fun? Maybe you can take up another hobby?”

He loosens his hold to look down at you—his face warm with devout for you, with a wordless vow saying he’ll do everything, give you anything in return for your happiness.  

You love him, you realize then with a shudder.

You’re in love with your crazy captor—your batshit lovesick oversweet captor who shares your bed and treats you like a spoiled pet. And it’s so fucked up—so, so very fucked up, so very fucking fucked up. But it’s true—you’re in love with him. And you have been for a while.

“What do you say?” he asks in hope.

Yet, you can’t say it out loud. No, not yet—it still feels all so wrong. But, at the same time, you don’t think there’s a need for you to put it into words for him. He’s always known you better than you have yourself, after all. And that wholesome smile on his face says it all—he already knows.

“No… I just,” you start, staring into his eyes—those full-loving eyes that look at you as if you’re the only thing of value in the whole entire world. “I just want…” It’s a scary confession—both admitting it to yourself and him. “You.” 

You look down, curling your fingers into his shirt.

“I don’t need anything else.”

It’s the truth and nothing but the truth—albeit a somewhat sad truth. It’s your one wish—your only wish. You just want him—to stay, to hold you, to kiss you. You can’t even think of wanting anything else anymore.

“Oh, well, that’s easy, isn’t it?” he says, stroking your cheeks, fishing for your shy gaze—smiling once hooking it—pretty teary puppy eyes, lost and looking for directions. 

Don’t worry—he’s here to help.

“Where do you want me then, sweetheart?” His lips near your forehead. “Here?” He gives it a chaste kiss, earning your sniffle, then ducks down to your neck. “Or here, maybe?” Giving that a kiss as well, this time with more behind it, sucking the skin with a soft bite. 

“Or maybe…” His voice is low, and it makes your skin buzz with a desire just as dark—shivering with it as his lips ghost yours. “Here?”

You hang in his hold, leaning after it.

But he just smiles, “Tell me, sweetheart—where do you want me?”

Your lip wobbles, brows cinched as your balled fists needily pull him close—yearning for it.

“Everywhere.”

♡ BNHA – Deku, Kirishima, Hawks ♡ JJK – Geto, Gojo, Naoya, Toji ♡ HQ – Kuro, Oikawa, Miya twins ♡ CSM – Yoshida ♡ BLLK – Reo, Nagi

♡ FEM x M INSERT masterlist ♡ GN x M INSERT masterlist

[moechies]

oh please more bunny reader and toji they’re so cutesy. maybeeeee reader has really sensitive tail/ears and toji really takes advantage of that?

tamer! toji who’s the roughest with his little client bunny. well, your previous owner is to blame. he claims that you’re the pickiest, messiest, neediest bunny that needs to be put in her place ; with none other but a little bit of force.

tamer! toji who doesn’t really like rodents , but he assumes he could make an exception for you; since you’re cute and fluffy. just this once though , bunny !

tamer! toji who doesn’t let your brat antics slip past him, and makes sure that you know your place at the end of the day. he can’t let your owners tedious cash payment go to waste !

“d-don’t touch my ears !” you whine, soft sobs spilling from your pouty lips. the man has both your ears in a strong, unforgiving grip, looking to teach you a lesson for sneaking into his washroom for a peek.

the thin, white towel he has around his waist hangs dangerously low and not to mention, loose, and your wandering eyes can’t help but notice the fat chub that shows through the fabric.

“fuckin’ perverted bunny. ya need a whoopin’ to learn yer place ?” he sneers, lowering his face to face yours. you paw at his hand, thumb slipping against his burly fingers, “hn— no— it hurts ! w-was an accident , swear ! i got lost !”

toji can’t help but grin at your limpid lies; he can see right through you, little bunny.

y’r gonna learn not to lie t’me ever again tonight, bunny.”

tamer! toji who carries you towards his bed as you writhe in his grip, ignoring your little mewls and complaints about your sensitive ears as you rub incessantly at the sore flesh.

tamer! toji who bends you over in the grossest arch against his towel-clad lap, feeling his warm skin against yours as the towels knot grows weaker and threatens to slip. he tugs off your soft shorts, revealing that soft, chubby bunny butt.

tamer! toji who’s surprised when he sees how fluffy your little cottontail is, twitching nervously under his gaze.

tamer! toji who even more surprised when he takes a sneak peek at your bunny cunt , just to see how slicked up your chubby folds are, soft hole throbbing with your carnal needs. what a pervert.

“no ! d-don’t look there !” you squeal, frantic paws attempting to scurry away from the man’s grasp.

his hand comes down unexpectedly with a hard smack across your ass, the soft flesh growing raw to the touch. your throat elicits a small gasp of shock, falling pliant against the man’s lap. you’re quick to burst into tears, even if you don’t want to; but it truly hurts so bad!

“bad bunnies need t’learn.” toji coos, kneading at the raw skin. it makes you flinch against his touch. “bad, perverted bunnies.” he whispers against your soft ears, making them twitch.

he tugs at the soft tuft of your cottontail, exposing your puckered asshole soft to the touch.

“n-no!” your tail twitches against his hold, shaky hand coming behind to cover yourself.

“hey.” he spits, a rough hand grappling at the chub of your ass almost like a threat, “y’think y’r in any place to tell me no right now ?”

his hand slaps down against your plush ass once again, the sting inevitable as he holds you firmly. your hands ball into fists that shoot up to your eyes, furiously wiping away at your newfound tears, soft hiccups that accompany your cries.

“that’s it, y’r learning.” you submit helplessly below him, watching intently at your softened ears pliant against the cushion. “y’know what you need to do?”

“m—m sorry. ‘m sorry mister…!” you burst into tears once again, little toe pads curled up into ‘c’s in a fear of feeling his punishing hand on the hot burn of your ass yet again. you don’t know if he’d punish you for your loud cries yet, but you simply can’t hold back. he’s breaking your little bunny heart.

“oh..” he sighs, he feels a tad bit bad; he supposes. he watches as your forearm slaps across your face to hide your expression, your other hand in an attempt to protect your burning cheek. “hey.”

you peek up at him with a tiny stare, hiccups still reverberating through your body causing you to bounce against his lap. you ignore the fat chub that pokes at the side of your tummy, flaunting shamelessly through the fabric of toji’s pants.

“come to this room t’ night after yer duties. y’took yer punishment well.” toji grimes, and he adores the way your eyes light up like diamonds. his friend down below seems to adore it just as much as he does, too.

tamer! toji who sees you peek in half of your head at the designated time that he asked you to come, nervously treading along the glazed floors with a glint of fear that he’ll continue his punishment.

don’t think of him so lowly, bunny. he really isn’t that mean!

tamer! toji who takes care of you that night; after a bit of coercing and getting you on your tummy, ripping your frilly panties from your bruised butt and pressing in a thick plug. he thinks the pink diamond is terribly gorgeous in contrast to your soft tail, twitching with pain at the unfamiliar feeling.

tamer! toji who preps you briefly, leaning down to block your view of his hefty fingers slipping in between your chubby folds. “s—sir!” it’s not like you don’t feel it, but he loves to make a little face at you that makes you look crazy!

tamer! toji who fucks you brutally against his soft matress that night, relentlessly humping into the depths of your gushy cunt. he can’t get enough, truly. you’re one damn bunny.

he watches you skillfully, the little plug snug in your ass squeezing against his cock from the inside. he feels the hard metal that bulges from the other side of your soft walls, grunting at the tightness.

tamer! toji who can’t help but cum fat loads in your cunt when he hears your little cries, sweet yelps for your ‘mister’ to come and save you. it’s even better when they slowly grow to cute moans and pleads to cum all over. don’t worry, bunny. your new mister will be sure to tug at your cottontail and rub your clit, just to ensure his bunny a good time.

[k3n-dyll]

Warnings...18+, wlw, not proofread, dom!Sevika, dom!Ambessa, rough sex, porn with zero plot, oral (r!receving), strap usage, strap sucking/face fucking, spit, squirting, spit roasting Word Count: 898

Notes ☆ this is just a sleepy, disgustingly horny, rant, man. Like, more so than usual.

Sevika practically holds you down with her body, mech arm caught tight around your torso as her flesh palm paws and squeezes at your tits, her lips pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses to your neck and shoulder. She's enjoying the view more than she'd ever admit out loud, silver eyes fixated on the other woman that's had her head snug between your legs for what at this point feels like fucking hours. Neither of you can seem to take your eyes off of the way Ambessa's scarred back and broad shoulders move as she forces you to keep still for her, the same large hands that so gently caress your face and hold you close any other time now locked in a vice grip against your thighs, sure to leave bruises against the soft skin.

The noises coming from her sucking and lapping at your cunt are bordering on obnoxious, the amount of time you've been pushed over the edge with her mouth alone having landed you sitting in a wet spot of a collection of your own squirt and her saliva. The overstimulation has reduced you into a babbling, trembling little mess, and yet neither of them have had their fill yet.

"I c-can't, I can't..." You slur, both women letting out amused huffs of laughter at your pathetic attempt to speak. Dumbly, you think that Ambessa pulling away and Sevika's grip on your body loosening means that you finally get a little bit of a break, your sigh of relief getting cut short by Sevika's voice as she whispers into your ear.

"You're not done, doll. Hands and knees." Her coaxing is gentle, her hands keeping you steady as you switch positions with the elegance of a newborn calf. It'd be humiliating if your brain hadn't been rendered so useless, eyes half-lidded as you watch Ambessa's tear-blurred form tower over you, a hand coming to grip your chin.

"Such a pretty thing you are. You've got a little more in you, don't you angel?" Ambessa's sultry tone fills your ears, a dopey grin crossing your features at the praise as you give an equally lazy nod. Gently, she presses the red silicone hanging from her hips against your mouth, seeking permission for entrance. "Good, girl. Open that pretty mouth for me"

Your jaw slacks almost immediately, a low hum of approval escaping the woman in front of you, her murmured praises and the feeling of her hand gently palming the back of your head distracting you from the girth stuffing your jaws. Distracting you from what's happening behind you as well.

You get little warning - the bed slightly sinking in from behind and the cool touch of a metal hand against the plush of your hip before you start to feel Sevika pushing her own strap inside of you. A choked yelp of surprise escaping you at the feeling, your body tensing up.

"Uh-uh, relax... that's it, just breathe baby.." Sevika purrs, leaning down and peppering wet kisses along the arch of your back to ease your tension, though she doesnt stop her advances, each shallow pump of her hips stretching you further.

They give you grace, letting you adjust, kissing and marking you as you settle around them but the gentle front doesn't last long. Sevika can't stop herself from slamming into you from behind, admiring the way your ass jiggles with each hard thrust, her own pussy dripping against the harness at the sight of the white ring forming at the base of her cock.

Each thrust from behind forces Ambessa's strap down your throat, every gag forced from you sending strings of saliva pooling from behind your lips and onto your chin, your neck, the bed...

"You're such a fucking mess, look at that.." Ambessa chuckles as she watches you struggle to take her in your mouth, enjoying how eager you are to please, even if it turns you into well...this. She rewards your eagerness by pulling out of your mouth, barely letting you get down a few much-needed gulps of air before she's shifted the harness down off of her hips, instead shoving your face flush between her thighs, letting you taste her.

Your breathlessness doesn't stop you from lapping at her like a woman starved, fingers curling into the sheets as you do your best to focus on the task at hand without succumbing to the intensity of Sevika's sloppy pounding from behind. Their grunts and overlapping praises drown out all thought, your body covered in a thin layer of sweat, shaking and twitching as you're split between the two. The only warning you're able to give before your climax ultimately rips through your body is a couple of muffled, loud whines.

Your head falls from Ambessa's grip, the woman letting you breathe as you cum, Sevika's hips just barely slowing as you finally let go, too enthralled in the way you squirt around her, the liquid wetting both your and her lower halves.

"Gonna have so much to clean up when we're finished with this one - fuck" Sevika boasts, letting her human palm land on your ass with a thwack. Ambessa just chuckles, her palm lightly patting the side of your face to keep you grounded in reality.

"You'll get to rest that pretty head in a little while, angel..." She coos. "But we're not quite done yet..."

Donations 4 Palestine - Arcane Masterlist

Taglist: @archangeldyke-all, @delinthecut, @half-of-a-gay, @porcelainmystery, @glass-apothecary, @cobraisveryhorny - Wanna be tagged?

We're gonna pretend I tagged the correct ppl the first time, 'kay? <3

[bi-writes]

who to call to clean up after an "accident" than your sick and twisted military boyfriend? :D (dark!ghost x dark!fem!reader, 18+)

cw: dark!reader, dark!simon, horror movie vibes, graphic depictions of character death/murder, unhealthy relationship dynamics, one slip of daddy, smut, unprotected piv, simon "spit in my mouth" riley, reader and simon are kinda psycho :D

you've been so nice to her. really nice. you've let it slide off your back whenever she doesn't do her dishes. you pretend you don't notice when she borrows your shoes from the hallway and wears them out to dinner. you hide yourself in your room when she has her awful, loud guests over, and you have never once said anything about how she takes her sweet time in the shared bathroom in the morning and makes you late 2 days a week for work.

but this? this?

she needs to keep simon's name out of her fucking mouth.

"excuse me?" you say finally. your roommate is shrugging on her jacket to leave, her purse in her hand as she types on her phone, using it as a way to not make eye-contact with you. her long nails are tapping against the screen, and it feels like fucking drip water torture. "what the fuck did you just say?"

she sighs, irritated, rolling her eyes as she keeps tapping away at the screen.

"you're so dramatic, it was just a fucking joke."

"you know, i let a lot of things slide," you laugh, humorlessly, and you cross your arms over your chest as you follow her into the kitchen. "but you need to be careful what you say."

"i don't do anything except call it like i see it," she says, tossing her hair over her shoulder and looking at herself in the reflection of the mirror hanging on the wall. "you need to just...go out more. man like that isn't gonna stay for long if you don't give him something to go for. he's bored, you know. when you have him over here all the time. and i've totally caught him peeking at me after i shower, y'know."

"well why the fuck are you wearing nothing but a towel when my boyfriend is here, anyways?" you snap. "he's trying to be polite, he's a guest. what if i wore a fucking towel when you had your guy friends over?"

she laughs, poking at the edge of her lip to fix the gloss of her pout. "trust me, honey, no one's looking at you in a towel."

you step back, a little shocked. she rolls her eyes again, sighing.

"i didn't--"

"are you kidding me?" you retort. "you're the worst fucking roommate in the world, and i put up with all your bullshit, and now you're going to go so low as to insult the way i look just to make yourself feel better?" you make your way around the kitchen island. "you don't wash your fucking dishes, you steal my fucking clothes, you're always late on your rent so i have to spot you--"

"you know what, just because i'm fucking happy, and you're not, doesn't mean you have to take it out on me!"

"i am happy, you sorry bitch!" you cry. "i'm so fucking happy, you're the only thing in my life making me constantly miserable!"

"oh, shove it up your ass, you ungrateful little shit!" she snaps. "you're just so fucking insecure and hate me so badly just because simon would rather fuck a girl like me than have to spend another minute with--"

the crack of cast iron against her head shuts her up. it dents the side of her head easily, and her face smacks against the countertop before she crumples to the floor.

it's so fast. one minute, she's yapping, high-pitched voice straining your ears. the next, she's silent.

and she won't say simon's fucking name again.

you watch with bated breath as she folds into herself, her head hitting the hardwood last, a slow puddle of blood beginning to grow under the tendrils of her hair as your eyes move to the heavy pan you're still holding in your hands.

fuck, that's a lot of blood. god, you thought she was just full of fucking air.

you drop the pan once the rush of anger leaves your chest. it thunks onto the ground, and your hands shake as you see the specks of blood that are on the back of your hands, sprinkled over the shirt you wear. it stains your bare legs, even your toes, and you don't even want to look at the spray of it along the counters.

you should be crying, you think. you should feel bad. you're trembling a little, but you think it's just the adrenaline beginning to fade and not the guilt you know is supposed to be racking your insides.

you turn your eyes back to her. her eyes are dull. she doesn't move. it's so quiet now, utterly silent, and you take a deep breath as you take in the silence that you've craved for a long while now. you make your way quietly out of the kitchen, stepping over her body before going for your phone that sits on the coffee table in front of the couch.

you keep your eyes on her as you put your phone to your ear. it rings, and you tilt your head to the side as the blood begins to spiderweb under the kitchen table.

"'ello?"

you blink, looking towards the door. you clutch your phone a little tighter to your ear.

"simon?" you say softly. "a-are...are you busy?"

he hums lowly, chuckling, "no' at the moment, swee'eart, why?" he asks. "mmm...missed y'r voice..." you close your eyes as you hear the buckle of his belt. you try not to picture your giant of a boyfriend leaning back on his worn couch and shoving his jeans low enough to fuck his fist. "tolk t'me, luv...tell me 'ow much ya miss daddy."

you clear your throat gently, willing yourself to ignore the soft squelch of what you know is his hand around his cock, to not let it distract you from what's more important. "uhm...i liked the flowers you gave me, simon. t-they were beautiful."

the sounds on the other end of the phone quiet. you hear shuffling, and then a few moments later, the clink of his car keys.

"tha' right, baby?" he asks, and you close your eyes as you hear the front door of his flat opening. he's already on the way, already coming.

"yeah," you sniffle. "really nice sunflowers."

a yellow flower. he huffs on the other end of the phone, breathing a little easier.

"good girl," he murmurs, and then the line cuts. you set the phone down, making your way back to the kitchen and taking a seat at the table. you watch as the blood continues to curl over the floor. you make no attempt to help her; you just swing your feet under you as you look at her spoiled outfit, just grateful she isn't wearing your shoes or one of your jackets. you would hate to have to throw something out that she got all dirty.

there's a curt knock at the door ten minutes later, and then it opens. simon shuts the door behind him, cracking his neck by moving it from side to side before narrowing his eyes at you. you bite your lip, blinking, forgetting suddenly why he is here when he looks so fucking good. he's got a sweatshirt on under his windbreaker, worn jeans tucked into his boots; you like these jeans, his ass looks incredible in them.

"wot happened?" he asks. you stand, remembering your place. your lip starts trembling, and simon's eyes soften just a little. he's wearing his balaclava, hood up over his head and jacket zipped up, shadowing any true expression on his face. his gait sounds heavy as he lets his hands out of his pockets, coming towards you. when he steps into the kitchen, his eyes dart towards your roommate who's still on the floor, laid out unnaturally just by the oven.

he lets out a low breath, clicking his tongue under the mask. you hold your breath as you wait for his reaction.

"bloody hell," simon mutters, reaching up and throwing his hood off. you wring your hands together nervously, your eyes beginning to sting with tears. you brace for the accusations, for the inevitable terror of facing the music. simon is military, for fuck's sake, why the fuck did you think turning to him would be a good idea?

"i...i-i--" you start, looking up at him, and he holds up a hand, taking the side of your face into his palm before smoothing a gloved thumb over your bottom lip. you blink in confusion, not understanding.

"'s olright, baby," he shushes you, shaking his head. "don't cry."

"simon, i--" you sputter a little, gripping his wrist gently. "i just--i couldn't do it anymore, she just--"

he pities you. maybe you can explain. maybe if you tell him a warped story of what happened, he can help you. he must know someone. he must have important friends, he must--

he uses his free hand to move his mask up over his nose, and you lean into him when he bends, kissing you warmly. your eyes flutter shut, and you shuffle closer as he kisses you sloppy, kisses you hot. you mewl as he slips his tongue into your mouth, licking over your teeth and humming low as he pulls away. his eyes are flashing.

mmm. love.

"hmm..." simon licks his lips, smiling a little. he looks over you, almost pensive, his eyes scanning over your face before he settles back on your eyes. it's tender, the way he looks at you. romantic. "let's get this off of ya."

he reaches for the large shirt you are wearing, pulling it up and over your head. he crumples it into a ball before tossing it on top of your roommate, nodding his head behind you.

it's then that you realize simon isn't going to do the noble thing. he isn't going to call the police. he isn't going to turn you in, make you explain, he seems uninterested in knowing what really happened. no, he already knows what happened. but that's not important.

his pretty, perfect girl got into a little trouble. and he's going to make this go away.

"go on, luv. take a nice shower, yeah?" simon turns you around and pushes on your back gently. you suck in a shaky breath when he fondles your ass, pulling on your panties gently. "mmm...take these off, too."

you slip your panties down your legs, handing them to him.

"they have blood on them, too?" you ask, wiping your face, and he chuckles lowly.

"nah," he shrugs, stuffing them into his back pocket after taking a little sniff. "these are just for me."

jesus fucking christ, there's really something wrong with him. there's something really, really wrong with him.

and something wrong with me.

simon looks you up and down, his eyes catching on your naked body for just a few moments before he nods his head again.

"go on," he tells you. "before i get distracted." you pause for a moment, tilting your head back a little as he reaches out and cups one of your breasts in his big hand. you bite your lip, swallowing back a heavy breath as he flicks his thumb over your nipple gently. "greatest tits 've ever seen," he mumbles, scrunching his nose under the mask before he lets you go. "yeah, go on, baby." it takes everything in you to walk away when you see him reach down with that same hand and grip his bulge through his jeans, adjusting himself as he turns back to the mess in the kitchen.

when you shut the bathroom door behind you, you hear shuffling in the living room. the coffee table scraping. the couch being pushed. the rustle of the rug you have there. he grunts a little, and you hear his boots track from the kitchen back to the living room.

you turn the water on hot. you decide to take a bath, not looking at yourself in the mirror as you sink into the tub and plug the drain. you make the water scalding, and it soothes your sore muscles as you rest your cheek against the edge of the tub and stare at the door.

you're not sure how long you stay there. long enough for the water to nearly slosh over the edge of the tub and for simon to swing the bathroom door open, seemingly done with his...tasks.

he's taken his sweatshirt off. just a black t-shirt tucked into jeans, and there's a slight pant to his breaths that tell you he's exerted some energy. you notice he has his gloves still on, but before he touches you, he takes them off and tosses them into the sink.

"move over," simon mutters, starting to undress. you look up at him as he undoes the button on his pants, shucking his shirt off and into the corner before dropping his jeans. the water swishes as you sit up, and you swallow hard when simon kicks his boots and pants off, his cock hanging heavy as his mask is the last to hit the floor.

fuck, he's so pretty.

he has no regard for his size. he simply steps into the tub behind you, taking a seat. he looks comically large in your small bathtub, and you squeak a little as the water spills over the edge of the bath and wets the floor. he hums as he feels the hot water on his back. you don't say anything as his hands start to turn the water a little red. you just look up, away, at him.

you shuffle between his legs, tucking yourself into his space. you can't help but look him up and down, admiring his naked physique. he's just hot. big arms, thick thighs, sunburnt tattoos and scars cutting across his face. he hasn't shaved today, so there's some stubble along his jaw, but your eyes focus a little too much on his girthy length, heavy as it sits on his stomach and leaks a little there. his fat stomach, all solid and pudgy, such a nice place for you to rest your hands.

"you did good today," simon says finally. you look at him, and he tilts his head to the side. his approval makes your chest warm. "callin' me like tha'. wot a good girl you are."

keeping quiet on the phone is what he doesn't add out loud.

you purse your lips, trying not to keen at the praise, but it's hard not to when he reaches over and slides his hand over your shoulder, thumbing at your jaw.

"i-i didn't...didn't know what to do," you admit, and he clicks his tongue, shaking his head. you didn't know what to do, so you called him. level-headed enough to not do something rash and call someone else, no, you called him.

"mmm...tha's wot i'm 'ere for, luv," simon soothes you. "made such a little mess..."

you close your eyes. it's sick. deranged. fuck, it feels nice.

why don't i feel anything?

"i know. i'm sorry."

"nothin' ta be sorry about."

you slump into his arms, resting your cheek on his solid chest. you can feel his cock pulsing against your tummy, and you adjust yourself in the water, straddling him as you rest your chin on his pecs and look up at him through watery eyes.

you aren't sad. no. not sad at all. simon has shown you what he will do for the you. the lengths he will go. what he'll forgive just to take care of you. he's so capable, so understanding.

sick. twisted. mine.

"then i'll just say thank you," you mumble, grinding your hips slowly. simon hums, a wicked smile coming over his scarred face. he licks over his bottom lip, big hands gripping you by the fat of your hips as you grip the edges of the tub for stability. "say thank you to my big, strong man for taking such good care of me..."

he chuckles, his eyes lowering, watching your tits sway as you fit your pussy over his length and grind down on him.

"tha' so, baby?"

you nod.

"mhm," you whine. "how can i thank you, my big boy? how can i show you how grateful i am for cleaning up after me, hmm?" you bend at the waist, kissing him wet and warm, and he hisses as you suck his tongue into your mouth. he tastes like cigarettes, and normally you would curse him for it, but right now it tastes so much like him, and you lick around his teeth trying to taste more of that sweet nicotine.

"fuck--such a naughty little girl..." he snickers, reaching down. you sigh when he slides his big palms over your ass, forcing you to grind slower, the tip of his cock sliding through your folds leisurely. you grip the edges of the tub tighter, pressing down to give you more leverage to grind down harder. "make such a mess, oll the time..." you gasp when he presses into you just enough, the tip breaching your entrance and forcing you to squeeze around him, your cunt trying to suck him in. "olways needin' me ta pick up afta ya..."

you giggle, sliding your hands up his chest, gripping his shoulders for leverage as you sink down onto him. he grits his teeth as you do, his eyes focused on the way his cock disappears inch by inch until you're seated down in his lap, his length kissing deep and twitching excitedly. he always feels like a teenager again whenever you fuck--like you're the first pretty girl to ever wet his cock.

you cup his cheeks finally, smoothing your thumbs under his eyes as you bring his gaze up to meet yours. you swallow hard, looking down at him.

"i-i love you, simon," you breathe. he stills underneath you, his jaw clenching as he frowns just a little. you come a little closer, nuzzling your nose against his, your thumb falling to trace the outline of his torn lip. "i should've said it a long time ago...i-i..."

"heart's beatin' out y'r chest, luv," he mutters lowly. "'s olright...'m not goin' anywhere."

it's so disgusting. you should be fucking ill. you should be scrambling to the toilet, your breakfast halfway up your throat. you should be crying, emotional, begging simon to tell the cops that it was all your fault, because it is. he should've come here and made you do the level-headed thing and confess your terrible crime.

he shouldn't be here, sitting underneath you in your tub, cock-deep inside of you after helping you commit murder and then fucking clean it all up.

"what did i do?" you gasp, sitting up. you move to get out of the tub, but simon growls, putting two firm hands on your ass and shoving you back down on his cock, making you cry. "w-what did i do? s-simon, why don't i feel bad, why am i not sorry--?!"

simon tsks, feigning comfort. he juts his bottom lip out into a pout, mocking your little cries.

"oh, luvvie, don't start cryin' now," he chuckles. "don't start pretending like y'care."

uhm...

"simon--"

"no one likes a liar."

you're still trying to pretend, and he knows this. you're still trying to act how someone normally would react. someone normal, someone who thinks rationally, would never have picked up the pan in the first place. and even if they had, they would've scrambled, cried, picked up the phone and confessed, called an ambulance as they tried to get her to start breathing again, put both hands on her chest and tried to get her wake up.

but you didn't. you watched, unnervingly calm, as she stained the hardwood with her blood. you watched as her eyes glassed over, lifeless, and you watched as her insides began to paint the floor in abstract shapes as you gave it time to spread. and not once during that time, or waiting for simon, did you think to help her.

you didn't want to help her. and you certainly didn't think she deserved to get back up. maybe she hadn't done anything quite harsh enough to deserve death in someone else's eyes. annoying, overbearing, rude.

but it's hard to feel bad when she talked about simon. when she called him by his name. when you've seen her let her towel slip when he's in her vicinity, trying to coax him into her room when you're looking away.

you should've taken one of the throwing knives that simon hides in his boot and thrown it at her then, just for that.

"we're cut from the same bloody cloth, baby," simon says, almost accusingly. you grip the edges of the tub, trying to stand again, but he cants his hips and fucks up into you, drawing a frenzied moan out of you. you reach for his shoulders as he does it again, his tongue darting out before he licks a fat stripe over your pebbled nipple. "'s olright. 's okay, luv. don't worry. don't hafta get y'r hands dirty, swee'eart, i've got it."

"but simon," you whine, but all he does is shake his head. you don't have to put on this morality act for him. you don't have to pretend that you are sorry for something that you had every right to do, you don't have to explain to him why you aren't feeling the way you should be feeling.

simon doesn't care about how you should feel. he only cares about how you actually feel.

"she was in y'r way," simon grunts. "always bein' a bloody brat." he fists your hair and brings your mouth to his, groaning as you tighten around his cock. "'ow many times did she fuck ya over, baby, hmm? 'ow many times did she steal y'r fuckin' things, come outta the loo wearin' nothin' but her fuckin' knickers, yeah? 'ow many times?"

you kiss him, frantic, digging your nails into his pecs and dragging them angrily.

yeah. fuck her. fuck what she did to me, fuck the way she behaved, fuck her stupid face and her stupid attitude and her stupid little games.

"called ya names..." he's hitting your sweet spot now, making you cry from pleasure. your pussy feels so hot, squeezing him because you know he's right, and the way he fucks this time makes you think he really knows what you are and knows exactly how to get you there. "wot a fuckin' twat. deserved every bit o' it, baby."

you meet his eyes, dark and cruel. he's still moving, still holding onto your hips and drawing out little whines, but it's different suddenly, it's more. you nod, understanding.

simon is terrible. no good. his head isn't in the right place, maybe it never has been. you wonder, briefly, if this is what he does when he's at work, if these are the things that he's used to. maybe simon has been in service too long--maybe he doesn't understand that you aren't at war here, that you can't just kill and clean up, that you aren't in the field.

"she deserved it," you whimper, and he grins, all teeth, all mean.

"tha's it."

"she was such a bitch."

"fuckin' right."

"she got what was coming for her."

"nnghhh--fuck, baby, gonna make me fuckin' cum, tolkin' like tha'," he hisses. you practically smack him as you grab onto his scarred face, gritting your teeth as you glare down at him. his lips part, and you spit in his mouth as he fucks up into you, thighs hitting your ass with a wet smack that makes your head spin.

"and i'll get rid of the next bitch that so much as looks your way, simon."

the kiss is searing. hot, blinding, white noise fills your ears as he cums with you, stuffing you full as he cums hard, a pained groan leaving him as he collapses against the porcelain tub with a harsh thud. you follow him, chasing after him, kissing him between heavy breaths as you don't make any effort to move off of him. when simon opens his eyes, he can't help but smile.

he's never seen his reflection without a mirror.