#god what a great motherfucking morning

[liberty-spiked]

last time the fucking insurances and my city left me without money for a long time i kicked a wall so hard i got sick leave - if they keep FUCKING PLAYING WITH MY EXISTENCE IT WONT BE ME ON SICK LEAVE

[ma1dita]

forever falling: luke castellan & his four great loves

a 'partners in crime' installment - luke castellan x dionysus!reader

words: 4.3k

summary: (post-TLT) The one where he falls from grace and still thinks of you. (the four great loves of Luke Castellan’s life and how it will end up killing him) (Luke Castellan x fem!Dionysus!reader)

a/n: i held myself hostage in my car outside the gym until i got this right this morning — listened to forwards, beckon, rebound by adrienne lenker while writing this, thank you for your patience and happy september!

edited, doing taglist when i get back from the gym lmao

—

Falling to his death is taking a lot longer than Luke Castellan thought it would.

For a man with a multitude of regrets, he finds that he can count his biggest ones off the four bloodied fingers that stain his peripherals with every bump and tumble down the jagged rocks of Mount Tamalpais.

What a waste of a life.

Everything he’s ever tried to accomplish has come to this final, humiliating moment of being at someone else’s mercy. Life is so unfair, he thinks, to give everything for love and have it kick you off the side of a fucking mountain that reeks of eucalyptus and regret. Sure, it was wrong to steal the master bolt, to turn his back on camp, poison Thalia’s tree, have his little sister hold up the sky, try to kill Percy Jackson every so often, and cause all this chaos… (I mean you know how this goes) but the pros outweigh the cons here! Promise.

Luke was so sure that they would all see reason—that he was doing this all out of love, no matter how convoluted and backwards his way is compared to theirs, even if he’d never admit that. Change is supposed to be uncomfortable and war was never meant to be pretty. It wasn’t supposed to end like this, really. The gods weren’t meant to win.

But at the end of it all, love must be his greatest weakness. It has to be.

The Fates should be slicing through the fibers of his lifespan by now, ripping through the embroidered memories in his mind. Nothing of his is his own anymore—not his life, nor his love.

Love, if he’s learned anything in the two wretched decades that Hermes himself has cursed his existence with— hurts like a motherfucker. That, or Thalia was definitely wearing steel-toed boots when she kicked his ass off the cliff. He’s given his life for love, dedicating himself to the greater good of protecting his loved ones, and no one, not even the gods could stand in the way of that. A method to his madness or his undeniable naivety, he still can’t tell, but it's gotten him falling deep into an abyss at the hands of a bunch of kids who continually undo his plans to change the world.

Maybe love is little deaths then, and maybe Luke Castellan loves too hard.

There has never been a single moment in his life where he hasn’t gone down fighting—he never lets anything go, holding what’s important to him so close to his chest that it suffocates. Luke believes that after everything he’s been through, he was never meant for mediocrity—not even when it comes to love. Maybe his death would mean something then— maybe that is his glory. To love someone to death, even if it was wrong— if this is his end, maybe his death will bring peace he knows his love never could.

Four names run through his mind like most things do, intense and fleeting. His final thoughts as he plunges toward the earth are his last act of prayer. If the gods have never listened before, well, these thoughts are all he has to comfort him; they feel heavy behind his lips the further he falls.

Could the Fates be wrong?

His fatal flaw manifests itself into the names of four women he knows he could never deserve in this lifetime, but he’d die trying. He is, dying. This fall from grace is proof enough that he was never meant to be a hero. Excessive wrath bleeds from his being until all that’s left is love, and he’s ashamed of it.

Gods, he’s such a fucking loser.

Luke’s neck cracks against stone at the bottom of the cliff, white hot pain crawling up his spine with only one remaining thought clanging around in his brain—he should’ve never fucking come back to San Francisco.

And while we’re talking about regrets—Luke recognizes that the one thing he’s never had control of is love.

So he lets go, feeling the weight of his body crumple against the downhill slope of Mount Tamalpais like a puppet cut from its strings without a single cry of pain because Luke Castellan finally comes to accept the loves and losses of his life. His landing feels softer now, rolling to a stop like the waves on Westport Beach. Then he sinks into the earth with a bated sigh and it feels like gentle hands of loves that once believed in him.

Luke closes his eyes before his world spirals into black—because if these few moments are all he has left, he’d like to take this time to remember them.

MAY CASTELLAN [storgē - στοργή]

Luke Castellan was born into this world half-mortal, half-god, but 100% May Castellan’s son. From the moment he came into this world, he was fully her own. Hermes was a factor, yes—but the manifestation of a demigod is wholly that of the mortal parent in every aspect visible to the naked eye. Blood runs alongside ichor in his veins, but Luke is all hers in every way that matters—from the slope of his nose, his dark velvet curls, and the honey-molten warmth of his eyes. And they were happy together, once upon a time, even if it was mostly just the two of them.

The gods make their half-mortal children in the likeness and image of their human love since their own forms are ever changing. There is nothing permanent about being immortal—leaving their partners with babies that look like them but are vulnerable to the Mist. And when you love a god, the only tangible reminder left behind is one that goes where you cannot follow. Things most can’t understand— speedy baby steps padding down the hall, tiny hands unlocking the pantry door, and a motor mouth able to transmit meaning through toddler gibberish.

But before Luke even knew what love was, his mother made sure he knew hers was stuck to his being—like peanut butter and jelly on the roof of his mouth from all the sandwiches she made. His clothes used to smell like chamomile from her morning brew and his fingers were often stained blue from Kool-Aid powder. May would always let him mix, even if she had to pretend to not see him sipping from the big spoon in the pitcher. Loving a trickster meant she knew how to raise one.

His mother’s love was sugar sweet. It was in the cookies she baked, the kisses she’d press against his broken skin, and in the confectionery words she’d whisper to him before bedtime. As the years passed by, May would end up repeating herself and the ‘i love yous’ were more for her instead of him—like a mantra she needed to remind herself of who she was. But Luke always understood. When her voice would fail and tears would replace it, Luke learned to wipe away what his father left behind for him to take care of.

His identical chocolate irises watched hers turn to emerald, and it was then he knew that too much sugar could make everything rot.

THALIA GRACE [eros-ἔρως]

There was always this intensity whenever he was with Thalia Grace, the daughter of Zeus. And she made sure he always knew it—a static spark igniting between the two of them as soon as their eyes met in the streets of Charleston. Like him, Thalia always made sure to get what she wanted, two north poles of a magnet bullheading through life to get what they’re owed. By that same evening, they were elbow-deep in the golden dust of a dragon that had come home to find two bushy-browed little freaks with arrogance quadruple their size.

Luke and Thalia were a match made in hell—one always trying to outdo the other to get the upper hand when it comes to control. And at 12 years old, it was the first time Luke had ever had anyone fight by his side. But they were both short fuses and she always set him alight—a glint of her father rushing through her glare so hot that it burned blue. He would do anything to keep her attention on him since grabbing devotion by force is all he’s ever known. Moving quickly and being in her face was the only way to remind his mother of her affection so he assumed the same would go with her. That, and he couldn’t help being extra fidgety— being a son of Hermes meant he couldn’t sit still for long.

Though with Thalia’s growing annoyance of Luke, it was established that their dependence on each other was one of necessity to survive the odds stacked against them. She was repelled by what made them so similar, hubris that blinded them from wanting to figure out the difference between surviving and living. There was a poison of hate in their love for one another. A shame in wanting a love that understood the attraction that linked them so early on in life, however innocent.

Both were too alike and were burned the same.

They burned each other. A type of selflessness and selfishness that battled each other for balance, so close but so far away.

There was always something about Thalia that blistered at his confidence. A forbidden part of her he couldn’t bear. It’s why he spit words of acid instead of encouragement once he realized the Furies wanted her the most when they were running for their lives, Luke was always the fastest runner anyway—dragging little Annabeth up Half-Blood Hill and by the time he realized he’d left her for dead she became a hero (he admits now that he could’ve run circles and saved her too; he just didn’t want to).

Thalia Grace gave everything for this love. But she sure as hell never trusted him to do the same for her.

The spark they shared was snuffed out that day. And Luke continued to burn without her.

ANNABETH CHASE [philia- ϕιλία]

Luke Castellan had never been chosen for anything before. Growing up in the mortal world, he was used to watching families eat together through restaurant windows and children playing in parks that he would pass by, taking slower turns around the block so he could imagine what it felt like to be wanted. Luke was never once beckoned to take part, but he accepted long ago that he didn’t really belong anywhere.

It was nice to think about though.

The daughter of Athena doesn’t remember it anymore, something so trivial in that big brain of much more important thoughts—but when she reached her hand out to him instead of Thalia (after almost breaking his skull in with a rusty hammer), it meant everything to him. The kid thought he was a monster at first sight, and she still chose him after everything.

Annabeth Chase grew up idolizing him and he thrived because of it.

Like ambrosia, Luke was strengthened by her faith and it made him feel powerful. Having the daughter of Athena in his life was like being awarded a gold medal. He loved Annabeth like she was his biggest prize, gleaming on a shelf for him to admire when he was feeling down about himself. Both him and Thalia raised her with pride; with little to no material possessions, they learned to make something out of nothing—and they made it golden. He chased that feeling and it made him greedy for her affection—she announced his place in this world of cruelty. The harsh hands of fate were gilded by Midas himself as long as he had Annabeth. And she put him on a pedestal too—an unattainable goal in her mind that the highest form of glory was to be like her older brother and best friend.

Luke Castellan was finally good at something, and he had the proof to show for it in the shape of a small girl with inquisitive eyes. With her, all of his answers were right. To choose each other and be reciprocated with equal fervor helped him idealize what it felt like to win in life.

However Annabeth was not just his best student, but a prodigy that learned to outplay the trickster. An intellect like hers was never meant to corrode in a dusty, dark corner.

YOU [agape- ἀγάπη]

Plato wrote that humans were once created whole— with four arms, four legs, and two faces fused back-to-back for the entirety of their mortal existence. They were at peace, and how could you not be?

With your soulmate at your side, you could face anything, even the gods. And eventually Zeus felt threatened by their power, in knowing that humans could be invincible against any pain, suffering, and doubt as long as their soul was physically and intimately tied with their other half. So he separated humans from their soulmates in a snap of a finger. It was just another thing that jealousy would take away from humankind by immortal beings that would never understand what it means to live with an ending.

There’s a misconception that love is being together in our original state until the gods took it away. But in fact, it was written to be that love is the desire to become whole with someone else, in addition to yourself. Love is the choice to spend your life trying to find your other half—as we are destined to roam until we have someone to share the rest of our time. Humans have long accepted that we don’t know when the end will come—but the act of searching for our person to share it with, that is love.

Love is the ultimate sacrifice to meet your partner wherever they’re at, to make a home out of the rubble of your past and still choose it anyway knowing that the both of you will go hand in hand into the future. It isn’t glory like he’d convinced himself in the past; it’s not accomplishing some heroic feat worth the recognition of the gods—he knows by now that he couldn’t give a single shit about them. The answer had always been right in front of him, unwavering against the test of time with fluttering amethyst eyes and laughter that renders him senseless.

Why go through all that trouble? one might ask. But that is also his answer.

Fate had never cut him loose— tumbling down Mount Tamalpais was one of the many proofs of that, and with nothing else to do, Luke comes to the conclusion that loving you is a lifelong commitment he made to make more time with you.

Shitty deal, he thinks, trying to beat Kronos at his own domain without anyone’s help must have been a waste for it all to end so pathetically.

But loving you was a choice he made every day, even in your absence. It’s his reminder and solemn vow that loving you could never be a waste. Luke laments not being able to take you to meet his mother, or giving you the white house with the big bay windows, but by giving up his life, honor, and whatever glory is still attached to the name Luke Castellan— it must be worth it as long as you’re living the life you deserve.

Even if it means he’s not part of it, he hopes you’re still searching for him too.

—

In the end, even as he falls to his death, he finds himself calling out to his father for the last time. His plea reaches deaf ears of course—but he isn’t begging anymore. Luke Castellan thanks his father for the first and last time in his life and embraces his losses if it meant that he mattered. If not to the gods, then to his mother. To Annabeth. Thalia, even for a short moment, and you.

Especially to you.

Unwavering and without question, to live to the fullest is to have been by your side walking through the woods of Camp Half-Blood and hearing the sound of your cackles through the air, sending animals scattering from something he said.

Because to be loved despite everything he has done, everything he will do— Luke thinks he must be the luckiest man to have ever lived.

Death blankets the weary traveler, and time is an unflinching hand pulling him through a rip in reality. He’s gone in the blink of an eye, falling in reverse to where he needs to be next.

Somewhere, Atropos raises her scissors away from the indelible strand of his life force as she takes a breath and sits back, her sisters unable to do anything else but watch. This boy was becoming more trouble than what even the gods knew he was worth.

Luke Castellan must be lucky, indeed.

—-

Ding.

450, 451, 452, 453…

A wet cough from a satyr next to you disrupts the silence in the elevator up to Olympus; you give him a sideways glance that makes him shift closer to the door with what you hope is a blush and not a fever. It’s warm and stuffy in this 3x4 crystalline box that shoots towards the heavens, and a bit crowded for a weeknight—though you suppose it is the Winter Solstice.

You haven’t been back here since your ex-boyfriend stole the master bolt.

There’s a moment where you wonder if the Fates have ever found your predicament funny, but then the satyr sneezes with a boom.

537, 538, 539, 540…

It’s almost dusk now as clouds roll through the night sky and into the distance. Frost lines the metal frame of the elevator shaft and if you’re flying at the speed of light, it doesn’t seem to be a problem. But this trip is taking much longer than you thought it would for a decision you made on a whim.

You still have a final to take in the morning, and Annabeth wasn’t answering your calls—then her location on Find My iPhone sprung from San Francisco to the middle of Manhattan from the span of your trip on the Long Island Railroad.

Something was up. The sense of something important trickled down your spine like second nature. Can’t this thing go any faster?

It was second nature for you by now to know when something was up, especially with the trio. You’d always make the time for them. Besides, your life has been a little too quiet lately. Being an adult demigod does that; there’s no monsters that bump in the night anymore, just the ones in your head and the ones that make you take finals three days before Christmas.

…600.

Ding.

Weaving through what seems to be a celebration fit for the gods, your glove-clad hands push through the sea of minor godlings, heroes, and Olympians. Aphrodite sends you a wink that makes you feel hot to the touch before you realize Hestia’s eyes are also on you, the both of them clearly whispering about your treacherous love life. You shove your gloves and scarf into your jacket pocket. Bowing your head lightly in greeting, you keep walking further into the grand hall.

It seemed you were always a hot topic up here on Olympus. Great.

The music is so loud you can feel it in your chest, thumping away to the accelerated beat of your heart and by the time you grab a glass of ambrosia-spiked champagne to help with the lump in your throat, you hear the sound of your name in the midst of all the chaos.

A gentle hand grasps your shoulder then, and it’s Percy Jackson adorning a cup of punch and brand new wispy white tendrils that hang across his face. There’s a story that should follow, but he gapes at you like a fish out of water. Looking up at him (this boy grows like a weed!), both of your confused faces mirror each other as you sidle out words he’s still able to hear over the music, “What’s the celebration for? And why have none of you been answering my calls?”

The son of Poseidon swallows hard, until the smell of salt and sea foam surrounds you and you find yourself staring at the god of the sea himself, standing alongside him. With a smile soft like rippling water, he gently says, “I’ll leave you two to it. And I’ll call your father and stepmother over. Good to see you,” Poseidon says your name as he takes his exit. You hoped it was a good thing then, that he knew you.

Percy wondered why he was always left to make the difficult decisions.

He almost sounds like his father when he speaks, calling for your attention again as he clears his throat.

“Listen, I need to tell you something, and I think we should…”

Shaking your head, your eyes are scanning across the room, meeting Annabeth’s as she drops the hand of the minor god she’s dancing with and makes her way over to you. From the other side of the room, Poseidon pushes your father in your direction as he juggles two golden goblets in each hand, led by his wife as they almost float towards you.

“Whatever it is, spit it out Perce. Your audience is growing by the minute.”

“Hey princess, whatcha doing here? Don’t you have a test tomorrow?” You dad grins, nudging your shoulder and handing you one of the goblets. Ariadne presses a kiss against your temple and you smile, taking a sip before hearing Annabeth’s converse squeak to a stop next to you.

“Someone better tell me what’s going on right now,” your eye twitches and then you see Annabeth’s new strands of silver that frame her face as she grabs your arm and nestles against it.

“I…um…” the sandy-haired boy begins, and then your dad groans and you elbow him hard, wine spilling from his lips as his wife giggles like the sound of tinkling bells and you’re about to strangle the teenager on the marble tile he’s planted on.

“Luke’s…”

“Dead.”

Percy’s worried voice intermingles with a new one you haven’t heard before, like a crackling sound that leaves a metallic taste in your mouth, and then a girl shows her face—black eyeliner and silver jewelry clinking against each other as she looks into your eyes and blue meets purple.

So you start laughing. Cackling even, as your head nods slightly, and after they’ve given you a moment to compose yourself you take a big gulp of the drink in your right hand to then chase it with the one on your left.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me. He’s not dead,” you insist, and everyone looks at you like you’re insane, even your father, the god of insanity himself. Ariadne’s hand caresses the nape of your neck as she whispers, “Maybe we should take a seat outside, darling…”

“No…No! I mean it,” you say almost incredulously, a hiccup slipping past your lips when you take in too much air. “That motherfucker doesn’t have the audacity to die and if he did, I would know.”

“This is how we’re letting you know,” Annie murmurs, before Percy sighs and his shoulders fall heavy with what seems to be the weight of the world, “She’s right. He’s not dead.”

A myriad of responses blur in the space around you, all going hazy as you blink and stay focused on Percy.

“It’d be too easy…” you murmur, nodding again like you’re convincing yourself of the fact. Annabeth rubs circles into your forearm and you realize you haven’t breathed since the daughter of Zeus made her entrance, “I’d know if he was dead.”

Thalia Grace looks you up and down thoughtfully, “So you’re the collateral damage.”

“Thalia!”

Annabeth exclaims, her hand tightening around yours and you know deep down she’s rejoicing at the news of Luke’s survival. But for yourself, you were unsure if you felt the same, almost chuckling at the irony of almost all of Luke’s favorite people in the same room as the gods he swore to overthrow, “That’s me. You were a tree the last time I saw you.”

“That’s me. I kicked him off a cliff, thought it would’ve done the job, but he’s always been too stubborn.”

A smile spreads across both your faces. You think about Luke interrupting your date last month by barging into your apartment and how that was tough enough to explain to your roommate, much less if you tried to tell your parents and best friends in the middle of a Christmas party.

You make the choice to keep Luke’s visits a secret. It doesn’t come as difficult as you thought it would.

Hermes bumps into your little group, eyes focused on his caduceus as it pings with different messages. The rest of you go quiet, mirth dimming despite the smile on the messenger god’s face and the kids take that as their cue to exit.

“What’s happening? A group like this, and with you making an appearance,” he nods in your direction, “Must be something special.” He nudges your dad, and you’ve forgotten that they’ve been best friends for millenia.

“Your kid’s not dead. You’d know that if you were nosy in the right places,” Dionysus says through a gulp of wine, turning and walking away nonchalantly, making you smile. Hermes looks at you with his face a mix of shock and appreciation, though you’ve done nothing to earn it. He follows your father with a gust of wind billowing behind his traveling feet.

Those two are more trouble than you and Luke were.

Biting your cheek, you turn to Ariadne and scoff, “So…. Do you think I should tell my dad that the other campers snuck into the party half an hour ago?”

Your stepmother laughs, her eyes following her love across the ballroom, choosing to let everyone enjoy the Winter Solstice for once.

—

“When does a war end? When can I say your name and have it mean only your name and not what you left behind?” - Ocean Vuong

[torakowalski]

Swimmer Steve Part 10!

I think it's time to start apologising to the real life athletes whose medals and finish times I'm stealing for Steve.

Today I learned that there were no semi finals for these races in 1988. The fastest 8 went through to the A Final to compete for medals and the next fastest 8 to the B Final to compete for 9th to 16th place.

(part one | part nine)

Eddie thinks his ass might have left a permanent dent in one particular seat on the second tier of the Jamsil stadium.

It's a good seat, close enough to the action to still be able to make out Steve's expressions before and after every race but not so close that Eddie will be tempted to shout anything out to him, specifically.

He'd sat closer to start with, near a group who turned out to be the friends and families of a couple of the other swimmers. But when they'd clocked him as American, they'd wanted to know who he was here to support, and he'd had to make up some bullshit about being an exchange student with a swimming obsession.

Now, he sits between some Canadian and French supporters, who are either too polite to ask why he's there or don't give a shit either way.

Steve's heats are going well. He's through to the A finals in all the strokes that have competed so far. Eddie's been watching as the roving press get more interested in him, sticking microphones and cameras in his face while he's still wet and breathless from a race.

Eddie got a postcard from Mike this morning, that just said, For the love of God, make him put on a shirt, so Eddie guesses at least some of the interviews are making it onto TV back home.

Tonight, Eddie's back in his favourite seat, waiting for Steve's first final, the 100m backstroke, and all of a sudden, he can't breathe quite right. This is it. Shit. If he's nervous as all fuck, he can't imagine how Steve must feel.

"Don't expect too much," Steve had said last night, sitting barefoot on Eddie's bed. "Dave, the other Team USA guy? He's the world record holder."

And Eddie's not expecting too much, he swears he isn't, but shit he hopes Steve doesn't come last. No matter what Steve says, that'd hurt him.

Eddie tries to cheer like a regular fan, when Steve comes out, not like a besotted idiot who got given kisses seventeen through thirty-one last night.

It's hard though, because Steve looks really, really good. He slides into the water, all graceful and strong, miles of skin and inches of swim suit and takes up position, feet and fingertips on the side.

Steve's in lane seven, so on the opposite side from where Eddie is sitting. Eddie slides forward in his seat, then a little further, then a little further more. If he goes any further, he's going to end up breathing all over the dude in front of him, but at least he can see Steve better now.

The whistle blows, the guys kick off, and Eddie finds himself saying, "Fuck," without any input from his brain. He's pretty sure it's loud enough in here that even the guy he's breathing on doesn't hear him.

Eddie can see David Berkoff, the one Steve said is gonna win, out front followed close behind by a Japanese dude and two guys from the USSR.

Steve's in sixth just before the end of the first lap, which is great, it's not last, but somehow he's in fifth by the time he actually makes the turn. Heading into the second lap, the final one, he overtakes one of the USSR guys and suddenly he's in fourth.

Eddie jumps to his feet, leaning all the way forward so he doesn't miss a stroke.

Twenty-five, maybe twenty metres to go, Steve pulls level with the other USSR swimmer. Eddie is gonna throw up. Fully puke out all his tension.

Steve's joint third. Right this second, he's joint third. Even if he falls back now, he's gotta be happy with this race.

Except. Except he doesn't fall back, he pulls forward. The guy from Japan takes gold, David Berkoff takes silver and Steve takes the motherfucking goddamn bronze.

Eddie screams. He doesn't care if it's not subtle or if anyone is turning to look. He couldn't keep quiet if he tried. That's his guy down there and he's an actual, honest to god, Olympic medalist.

Down in the pool, everyone is congratulating each other. A few people swim over to clap Steve on the back, but Steve's eyes are locked on the umpire, like he won't believe it until he hears his scores.

"Sakuzi: 55.05; Berkoff: 55.18; Harrington: 55.21," booms over the tannoy, first in Korean, then in French, then finally in English.

Steve's whole face breaks into a smile, and Eddie watches as he laughs to himself, incredulous. He pulls off his swim cap, shakes out his hair, and looks up at the stands.

Eddie wonders, for a second, what Steve's looking for, then he realises that it must be him. He waves, both arms over his head. He should be too far away for Steve to see, but Steve's smile widens, and he waves his cap in Eddie's direction.

What the fuck?? he mouths.

Eddie, who is also thinking, what the fuck, can't do anything but send him an exaggerated, over the top kiss in reply. It'll look like a joke, if anyone sees, but he means it with all his heart.

(part eleven)

[ghulehunknown]

Papa’s Worship

Terzo x F Reader

Day 4 of KINKTOBER is here! 🎃

**WARNING: EXPLICIT, NSFW**

Also available on AO3!

“Papa’s Worship”

CW/Tags: CMNF, feminine reader, vaginal fingering, oral sex (cunnilingus), female body worship, female orgasm

Summary: Terzo needs to give you pleasure after Black Mass…

Word Count: 1700

.

After Mass, you started to help rearrange the Unholy Books and papers left behind. Those damn ghouls, you thought to yourself. Always such a mess with them.

“You go ahead,” you called to your sisters, and they obliged, either knowing your evil scheme or just happy that someone offered to pick up the slack so they could leave early. You wanted to take as long as you could to rearrange the chapel while you waited for your beloved. Terzo and his entourage left from one of the side doors, slipping away to Nihil’s private office. God, how would you know when he’d be done now?

Around 20 minutes passed and you couldn’t find anything else to pass the time. You finished up your duties and began to walk down the corridors very slowly, taking a longer path to get to your room. You heard running footsteps coming down the hall, quicker and quicker until -

“Amore mio,” Terzo whispered breathlessly into your ear as he wrapped you into an embrace. His chest was heaving - he was actually out of breath! The man who said he’d never be caught dead doing cardio. (“I am already in such great physical shape, no?” he would say whenever the ghouls would try to get him to come along to the gym.)

“Terzo!” you cried, wrapping your arms around him and kissing him. “Were you…running?” you asked, incredulous.

“Si amore, I had to come to you, mio amato,” he said, cupping your chin in his strong hands. “Those motherfuckers,” he growled, “they wanted to keep me there forever. I thought, enough with this shit! I need my bella donna seeing stars.” He gestured with both hands, mimicking an explosion.

“How did you get away?”

“Ehhh,” he said with a shrug. “Told them I had to shit.” You both laughed. So crass, your Papa.

“I see someone doesn’t give a fuck what the Clergy thinks now that you’re in charge,” you said still laughing.

“Fuck them, fuck that old man, and fuck that annoying Copia too, with his fucking - ” he trailed off, vaguely mimicking the Cardinal’s lanky gait and outlining his upper lip with his finger as if drawing the Cardinal’s thin mustache. (“I want that old bastard to take a paternity test, there can be no way I’m related to that little shit!” he’d say afterwards whenever Copia corrected him during meetings.)

He grasped you by the waist. “All that fucking matters,” he said sexily, “is making you wet beyond sin.” He bit your jawline then kissed you there.

He wrapped his arm around your shoulders and guided you in the opposite direction, down another hall to his Papal suite. He led you in, where candles were already burning and the plush purple bedsheets laid taut.

Papa must have sent a ghoul in to tidy up his room, because your morning makeout session left the bed a mess, and nearly made him late to his meetings. You didn’t go further earlier this morning, as he begged you to tease him so he’d have a raging hard on during Mass. And his robes didn’t quite conceal it either.

He closed the door, and now you were completely alone. “Fucking finally,” he said, sighing heavily and looking very relieved. “We’re alone.”

You blushed as he kissed you deeply, running his fingers through your luscious hair. You caressed his biceps while he began kissing your neck, tickling your earlobe, brushing your collarbone. He unlaced your bodice, exposing your bare chest. He swirled your nipples in his mouth, alternating breasts until you were breathing heavily. He sighed deeply, content to be within your bosom and taking his time.

“Take me, Terzo, please,” you whispered. “I want you.”

“Shhh Sorella, these things take time. I will please you as I see fit. And you shall have me.” He picked you up effortlessly and carried you to his king sized bed, setting you down gently and continuing kissing your breasts. He removed your habit, and threw it to the ground. “Mmmm, you delicious naughty, naughty thing,” he murmured, excited to find you had not worn panties to Mass.

You blushed again. You had hoped to flash him your ass at some point while bending over to grab the Unholy Books, but fucking Imperator was behind you the whole time.

“You wicked succubus, you wanted to leave your juices for the staff to clean off the pews?” He whined. “Ho bisogno di ti. You’re all mine, all mine,” he said between kisses. He ran a hand down your body, sending chills down your spine. He made his way to your inner thigh, and began to tease your entrance. He was practically giddy. “Mmmmm, so fucking wet, sweet Lucifer. I need to taste you.”

You caressed his face, and ran your hands through his raven hair. You looked into his beautifully mismatched eyes and he felt like home.

“Mia splendida donna, amore mio, I want to thank you. You have been so patient with me as I’ve navigated all this…” his voice trailed off as he waved the air. “…shit. It has not been easy being Papa now, but you…you make things so much easier.”

“It’s not an easy job you’re doing,” you said, dismissing any of your own stress. You touched his face with your fingertips, noticing the extra wrinkles in his forehead and the bags now under his eyes.

He took your hands in his. “Sorella, I adore you. Let me worship you.”

You moaned as he caressed your clit with a gloved hand. He inserted his index finger into your entrance and made a “come hither” motion, driving you wild and making you cry out his name - (‘oh Terzo!’). “Yes Sorella, call my name,” he said. He played with your clit again, making gentle yet firm circles. He traced the letters of your name on your flesh with delicate ease. He continued to kiss you softly while he touched you.

“Come,” your Papa commanded. He knew by the sound of your breathing how close you were. He could practically command you to orgasm, one of his many devilish talents. He drilled his middle and ring fingers into your dripping cunt, circling your clit with his thumb. He cupped the back of your head with his other hand and kissed you passionately. Fucking Lucifer fuck, he was skilled. He had obviously been paying attention to Copia’s sermon on fingering - or perhaps Terzo had told the Cardinal just how to do it, to one-up him?

The leather from his gloves only heightened the experience, filling your cunt. “Come for me, please,” he whispered into your ear, practically pleading. “Would you sing for your Papa?” He kissed you again.

Your back arched as you felt your orgasm take over. Moaning into Terzo’s mouth as you came was one of your favorite things; feeling him inside you and right next to you all at once made you blush all over like a schoolgirl - he could see exactly how you reacted to him. You lost control of your entire body as a wave of pleasure engulfed you. He continued kissing you through the wave of pleasure.

“Yes that’s it, moan, Principessa,” he whispered, peppering your face with sweet kisses as you came down from your high. You came to and caught his gaze, love and adoration in his eyes. He snickered, and looked down at your chest, which was practically beet red. “Yes I always know I have done a good job when all the blood rushes to your heart,” he placed his left hand over your heart. “Almost as if your love for me is contained in one place. Mio cuore, mia vita,” he continued, bringing his gloved fingers dripping in your cum into his mouth. “Mmm, you taste so sweet.”

Still breathing heavy, you held your beloved’s face and kissed him over and over, making up for the stolen kisses you’d not exchanged all day. He took his gloves off and held you close. The warmth from his hands was welcoming and comforting. He held you to his chest for what seemed like an eternity, and you could stay there forever.

“I need to piss,” he said, breaking the silence. Both of you laughed.

“Terzo!” you exclaimed, feigning annoyance and playfully hitting him in the chest. He pretended to be wounded. Your Papa was so blunt, and so playful. You coyly brought the sheets to cover your indecency but he only tore them off again and laughed.

Suddenly he hopped up and went into the master bathroom. “Silly me, I forgot something,” he said, returning only a second later. You mumbled, and rested your eyes, almost falling asleep on the pillow. He spread your legs quickly and slid his tongue along your still wet folds. The tip of his tongue wildly flicked from side to side. Still sensitive, you yelped and bucked your hips but your Papa was stronger. He laughed again, almost evilly. “Still so wet for me, my brava ragazza,” he said. “You didn’t think I’d let your cum go to waste, eh?”

Your eyes rolled back as he drank from your cunt, desperate for you. He moaned but you could hardly stand to be touched anymore, the overstimulation driving you wild. “Fucking hell!” he exclaimed excitedly, finally satisfied. He hovered over you, wiping his chin with the back of his hand. His Papal face paint was smudged all over, and you could see his faint laughter lines beside the corners of his mouth. Yes your Papa was getting older, you thought sadly. But he still fucked like a young man.

“Tomorrow, you tie me up to this bedpost and smother me with that beautiful cunt, si?” He grabbed your chin in his hand and kissed your cheek. “Smother me in that pussy, Sorella, don’t let me up for air until I’ve pleasured you fully.”

“Yes, my love,” you said, giving him another smooch. Your scent lingered on him as he got up from the bed.

He cursed Lucifer’s name and spoke Italian, but you think he murmured “deliziosa figa,” as he trailed off to the bathroom finally.

He poked his head from the bathroom door. “And when I get back, I’m going to fuck you into that mattress so hard you’ll forget your name.”

Italian to English Translations

- Amore mio (my love)

- mio amato (my beloved)

- Bella donna (beautiful woman)

- Sorella (sister)

- Ho bisogno di ti (I need you)

- Mia splendida donna (my amazing woman)

- Principessa (Princess)

- Mio cuore, mia vita (my heart, my life)

- deliziosa figa (delicious pussy)

[natequarter]

💣 commiedyke Follow

i fucking hate clowns

#is it just me or are they creepy as hell #ace speaks

12 notes

👑 fred Follow

past me is a naive fool. future me is unbearably horny. alternate me is evil. and as for me well i am the world's first ethical dictator

⚔️ warqueenextraordinaire Follow

Why would you say something so controversial and yet so brave?

👑 fred Follow

you are literally the person this post is about

⚔️ warqueenextraordinaire Follow

Awww honey you're so cute when you're angry <3

#just shout if you want to hook up

79 notes

❓ the--adventurer7 Follow

google where to find clowns

❓ the--adventurer7 Follow

google top 10 most clown infested planets

❓ the--adventurer7 Follow

google creepiest clown societies

🎻 the--adventurer8 Follow

have you tried arvania? lots of clowns this time of year!

❓ the--adventurer7 Follow

thank you so much for this, google was getting me nowhere

#my fault I guess for using the worst search engine in the universe #we are going to have the BEST day trip out

887 notes

⚔️ warqueenextraordinaire Follow

"You are running this planet into the ground" Rassilon forbid women do anything

🐧 coordinatorsupreme Follow

You are not a woman. Also, you keep on testing my loyalty with extremely dangerous missions? Please stop.

🗡️ worsthumanongallifrey Follow

can confirm, romana sent me away """for my own safety""" into an active warzone

⚔️ warqueenextraordinaire Follow

You're looking lovely today Leela

🗡️ worsthumanongallifrey Follow

i am NOT TALKING to you

⚔️ warqueenextraordinaire Follow

And yet here we are, gorgeous. Talking.

#they call me sweet and charming because I am sweet and charming #well charming at least

34 notes

🚬 fitz-crier Follow

need hhim to leasfe my corpse outt in the sun til my bonesd are glesming whyite theh cryshvthem snd snort them like cocacine

🎉 yourbutchgirlfriend Follow

i mean the doctor has crack cocaine. would it not be quicker to just do drugs

#what is going on here

1 note

💣 commiedyke Follow

i'm going to blow up everyone in this room and the myself

#WHAT PART OF I FUCKING HATE CLOWNS DOES THE PROFESSOR NOT GET #god. had the worst day today #you have no idea #ace speaks

56 notes

🗡️ worsthumanongallifrey Follow

and i mean the worst part is she still does something to me

⚔️ warqueenextraordinaire Follow

Whenever you're ready, Leela ;)

🗡️ worsthumanongallifrey Follow

p.s. i still haven't forgotten that you murdered my husband

⚔️ warqueenextraordinaire Follow

That was literally the one time

🗡️ worsthumanongallifrey Follow

yes!!! i know!!! that's the fucking problem!!!

#gah why must you be so dense

927 notes

👑 fred Follow

stay strong leela

#don't let her silver tongue trick you

45 notes

❄️ icemaiden Follow

Who is Leela

👑 fred Follow

uh. don't worry about it

⚔️ warqueenextraordinaire Follow

DO worry about it. She's everything

👑 fred Follow

GO AWAY

#losing my mind here

81 notes

💣 commiedyke Follow

trampolines trampolines trampolines i hate them sooo much. bounce bounce motherfucker. it's so awful when i have to jump everywhere springy floors are the worsttt

#cosmo wanda the professor sees this post #i am so DONE #ace speaks

4 notes

❓ the--adventurer7 Follow

google most fucked up trampolines within 5 miles of me

🎻 the--adventurer8 Follow

you know looking back on it i was in a weird headspace in those days. no self awareness. kinda terrible begaviour tbh

📺 compassion Follow

Are you kidding me.

#Some things never change I see

846 notes

🎼 the--adventurer6 Follow

Nothing like a refreshing pit of acid on my early morning stroll :) pushed a Cyberman into one today and listened to the screams! Great way to wake yourself up after less than 3 hours of sleep

🌈 ijustwanttobeabotanist Follow

?????

#doctor please say sike

99 notes

⚔️ warqueenextraordinaire Follow

⚔️ warqueenextraordinaire Follow

Oh come on I cannot be the only one on this website into selfcest

#and also Leela #@ fred this one's for you

63,855 notes

❓ the--adventurer7 Follow

do not look at my search history please and thank you

🎸 the--adventurer12 Follow

too late

23,367 notes

[my-beloved-ghosts-and-me]

YOU'RE THE QUEEN OF THE KINGDOM THAT HAS MY WHOLE HEART

꒰ synopsis: fate has a weird way of working and you still can fully understand the way everything it's delicately interconnected

꒰ content warnings: nsfw (18+), fem!reader, smut, masturbation, male pov, fem pov, breeding kink if you squint, rough sex, making love, virgin reader (at one scenario), Tangerine is a bit of an asshole, emotionally constipated idiots

author's note: this is probably bad, english it's not my first language, no beta we die like men, im still simping about a motherfucker called Tangerine, lalalas

Tangerine knew that there was no such thing as an easy job, but Jesus Christ nobody ever told him that things could be this fucking difficult.

Lemon warned him. His brother, god bless his good soul, tried to talk his way out of this ridiculous job, but Tangerine didn't listen to him. Maybe he truly was a Gordon after all.

At first, the decision seemed easy. Rescue the White Death's son and bring back the ransom money for a great payment or rescue Tora's sister and keep a job as a nanny in a luxurious house without having to worry about anything but your safety until your brother himself kill the motherfucker who decided to mess with his remaining family for a marvelous payment.

Lemon thought the second option was too easy, too good to be true. Turns out fate really was on their side because the White Death's mission was some kind of trap and everything went to shit. From what they heard, they were going to be dead if they accepted that job.

And now here he was.

Sitting in a ginormous comfortable chair with a fantastic book that he got from your bookcase trying to read while you and Lemon were on the couch talking excitedly about an anime that you convinced him to watch saying that in exchange you would watch all the twenty-four seasons of Thomas the Tank Engine.

He didn't know how much longer he could handle this situation with sanity in his mind, but with how much your brother was paying just for them to keep you safe inside your house he knew he would rather eat his right hand out of his body than mess this up. Even because Lemon, that traitor, was having the time of his life. Every day since the second half of the first week in your house, Lemon says he's grateful for Tangerine accepting the job. The easiest job of their life. And the higher-paying too.

Maybe, just maybe, if Tangerine was a little bit less of a professional this actually would be the easiest job in his life. A beautiful house in the middle of a forest that looks like a scenario out of the fucking Twilight movie that you made Lemon watch in exchange for that one cartoon with the human and the dog, his brother is happy that he finally got a friend to share his interests, a good payment at the end of every month, not even one day of violence since the beginning of this job and you.

The level of frustration and violence running wild in his body is not comprehensible, right?

Everything was just perfect.

.

.

.

Except Tangerine wanted to bend you on every surface in sight and fuck you dumb on his cock at every opportunity. It was the first time he tried to resist the impetus to take something that he wanted and maybe Lemon was right and he should have seen a therapist. But you were just so sweet, always concerned about his well-being, always smiling in the morning and making coffee for you and Lemon and tea for him, always offering yourself to moisturize his hair and asking his opinion on everything like the food you cooked or the books he's reading. It would be hard to resist nevertheless.

But again, Tangerine was a professional. The fact that your brother was one of the most dangerous mafia leaders in Eurasia and you used to date his best mate before he got murdered trying to protect you a few years ago sending your brother into a spiral of madness and cruelty was just a detail.

He didn't know your brother very well, and it was hard to gather pieces of information about him, or you for that matter, but you seemed very fond of him and even if he continued to ignore you every time you tried to reach him you didn't allow him and Lemon speak a bad word about him.

Your soft voice was distracting him from the words displayed in front of him. He didn't even recognize exactly what was being said because he was trying really hard to ignore Lemon and pay attention just to the sound of your voice. Your sweet voice. He didn't know if he was able to live without listening to you every day from now on.

Given the amount of erotic and vivid dreams he's having about you, he doesn't think he will, but physically was way better than his imagination. Although he didn't have the chance to listen to your moans and sighs in reality yet. He did listen to you beg to him once. "Please, Tangerine. Please. I promise you will enjoy it. Let's watch this movie with us." you had said. The first phrase got printed in his brain like a burn and it's almost present in every dream he has about you. You beg so prettily, pouting unconsciously just a little bit. A truly divine sight.

He could feel his cock getting hard at the memory and the annoyance building up inside him together with the hot white desire he feels for you. Why did you have to be so perfect and so good for him? Tangerine knew he would ruin you if he got the chance.

He wanted to fuck you so hard that you wouldn't be able to walk in the ridiculous aristocratic way you always do like the world knows better than demand hurry from you. He would fill you with his dick until you couldn't feel anything else, but him. No sadness, no worries, nothing. Only him and his burning love and desire for you. He would put your mouth to use and with the way you're always so careful with everything you do to him, he bet you would be a natural. He just know you would worship his cock with kisses battling your long lashes at him until he couldn't take any more teasing and started to fuck your mouth with wild abandon like the madman he is. And you would let it because you would be so good to him.

Given the chance, he would kiss you for hours. Slow kisses, steamy makeouts, soft pecks after fucking your brains outs. He wouldn't waste a chance to claim your lips in rough passionate kisses.

But he doesn't get a chance with pretty little things like you. He's not like your ex.

Did Tangerine know anything about your ex or the depths of your relationship? No, just the thought of you loving and touching someone that wasn't him makes him sick in the stomach. But he could tell by the way you spoke about him with Lemon sometimes that he had been different from him.

Although there's one thing that you said that stuck with him and made him think that maybe he and Draken are not that different after all. "He used to say that I was the queen of the kingdom that has his whole heart. I guess I'm in exile now huh?" You spoke softly and laughed when Lemon said he didn't understand what you meant.

Tangerine understood. He understood very well. And given the chance he would give you another kingdom to rule.

"Oh, for fuck sake, you both don't know how to shut up?" Tangerine shouts angrily out of nowhere and both you and Lemon are staring at him like he's some sort of alien.

It's not out of nowhere. He got an aching boner and if he didn't know himself any better he could say a broken heart. He denied himself too much, but you two didn't know that so it looks like out of nowhere.

Your face does show something, a brief emotion he can't read it very well, but after you press the heels of your hands against your eyes and he listens to your small quivering voice, he knows he fucked up again.

"I'm going to my room. I'll sleep early tonight. You guys feel free to stay here in the living room as long as you want okay"

His eyes followed your figure and maybe lingered a little bit on your round arse until you were leaving his sight. Tangerine wants to hug and apologize promising he'll never scream at you again, that he'll never let you sad again. But he can't so maybe it's for the better if you think he's a crazy unpredictable angry man. Like that, you'll stop treating him affectionately and will give him what he deserves from you. Nothing. He wasn't worth of you and he knows it.

Turning his head forward he comes across his brother facing him. They both keep staring at each other and Tangerine suspects Lemon knows what's up with him.

"Gordon wouldn't act like that." Lemon said with a straight face and turned around to face the TV.

If the room was a little bit more silent would be possible to listen to Tangerine's heart breaking a little more.

--x--

The cold of the night was soothing against your warm body and restless mind. You easily could see how you got yourself in this situation, but at the same time, you had no idea how you ended up like this: baking a lemon cake at two in the morning, trying to keep yourself from making a very reckless mistake that could get you in a lot of trouble.

Five years ago your first love and long-term boyfriend Draken got murdered trying to protect you. He was your brother's best friend since childhood and early in your teenage years they started a gang but things escalated quickly. An amazing duo, an unstoppable force, and delicious naive if you stop to think about it now. Nothing could ever last forever.

After your lover's death, your brother started spiraling into a darker path mentally and morally. He became a ruthless murderer, a tireless man, and crawled his way to the top distancing himself from every single person he used to hold dear, including you.

At least that was what everybody thought, but you know that's not true. Even if he refused to talk to you or answer your texts, he never blocked you. He bought you this house, a house that he knew was your dream house since you both were teenagers.

A soft laugh escapes your mouth at the memory while you finish putting the dough into the cake pan. You always said how much you would love to live like the Cullens and even if he claimed he always slept when you forced him, Draken, and the rest of your group of friends to watch Twilight in those rainy autumn evenings, you knew he was paying attention. You just knew. Just like you know he's not the monster people think he is. He's your brother and you have known him all your life.

He still keeping you safe even from afar just like he promised he would after your older brother died in your childhood. He's still your Leo. You know if you could just talk to him, face to face, you could knock some sense into him, but he never let you get close to him. Maybe he knew that too and that's why he refuses to see you but he wouldn't give up on you so you will not give up on him.

Putting the cake pan in the oven you ask yourself how you still handling life without losing your mind. Again, baking a cake in the middle of the night was not the best sign that your mind was 100%, but it's not like you are in the worst-case scenario given your history and current situation. Being a baby witch helps because gives you a sense of fate and fate brings you hope that you are not insane when you feel that everything is going to be alright sooner rather than later. Or maybe you're just delusional, but it works too.

But you didn't feel delusional. You feel like there are missing pieces to this puzzle and that's partially the reason why you awake to see dawn once again. Only partially. You don't like to admit it, but the man sleeping in the room next to yours is also a factor that contributes to your insomnia.

Sitting in the cold soft chair next to the kitchen bench, you let yourself relax a little while looking at the soft light radiating from the oven. Cake for breakfast, just like when you were a child and you had both of your brothers and nothing to worry about, but before you could drown deep in your thoughts a man appears right in front of you, and before you could scream, Lemon's hand cover your mouth and finally you're back to reality.

"What are you doing?" He asks without removing his hand from your mouth so you grab his wrist and push it down yourself.

"What does it look like I’m doing?” you ask.

Rubbing the back of his neck Lemon says a little wary. “Well, to be quite honest it looks like you're going a bit mental."

That gets your attention and your eyes finally snap up to his.

“I’m not going mental, Lemon! I’m making a lemon cake." you say trying to sound calm and composed "Clearly.”

He blinks once, twice. “A lemon cake?”

“Yes.”

“At two in the morning?” Lemon it's trying to read you right now, but he doesn't know which Thomas character he can use to understand you better nor he has watched an episode that could prepare him for this.

You pause, and then answer with a straight face: “Yes. Clearly.”

The younger fruit keeps looking at you expecting you to elaborate a little bit more, but no explanation comes out of your mouth. In the deep silence of the kitchen you both keep staring at each other. You shift your weight between your feet and keep your eyes on his waiting for something, anything, to happen and save you from this situation because you know if you don't make an excuse plausible enough, Lemon will figure you out.

Suddenly you hear a step at the stairs and you know it. He listened to you both talking and he is coming to see what this is about. That's not what you meant when you said you wanted anything to save you from this situation.

A deep voice with a thick british accent comes from behind you. "What the fuck?" Tangerine asks and you know, even without turning around, he's pissed that he got his precious sleep disturbed.

At the first month in your house, he was cranky enough, but Lemon said it was his normal self. A little bit aggressive, a little bit sarcastic, and a huge asshole, but it was his normal self after all so you didn't mind him. He's keeping you safe, he's a good brother and that's such a personal subject for you, he's intelligent and has such good taste in books. He's so unbelievably handsome too. But as time went by he got irrationally angry at little things and apparently he couldn't get a decent night of sleep in a while.

"I'm baking a lemon cake." You answer still without turning around and you're surprised that you can keep your voice calm.

"Why the fuck you would bake a lemon cake at TWO IN THE MORNING? A lemon one nonetheless. It's this some kind of fucking twisted joke? "Let's bake a lemon cake and wake Tangerine up just as he was closing his eyes after hours trying to sleep?". This fucking ridiculous, assholes. If you want to be insane at least keep it quiet." At the end of his little speech he was screaming and although you didn't know exactly what your face was showing, Lemon seemed to take pity on you and decided to speak for you.

"Tangerine, mate, you need to get help."

Oh, at least he tried.

"I need to get help? I'm the one who needs to get help? You both inconsiderate twats decided to be insane and bake a lemon cake late at night and chit-chat until you wake a poor lad trying to rest and I need to get help?" You could bet that Tangerine eye was doing that little twitch thing that always happens when he was about to get into a discussion with Lemon.

"Look, first of all: we weren't even talking that loud, but most importantly: this is her house. It may be a little weird, but there's nothing wrong about it."

You gathered courage enough to turn around and face Tangerine. You weren't scared of him, that was not the problem here. That would be too easy. You could just send a text to Leo and your brother would find someone else to protect you. The real problem was you were uncontrollably attracted to him and how could you not? The man was a god among men, handsome enough to make pornstaches sexy again. When he was angry you could see the veins in his neck popping, his face slowly reddening, his blue eyes darkening and his accent getting thicker while spitting all kinds of curses and insults. But now, in addition to these classical traits, his soft curly hair was falling around his head and he was shirtless, his waistband hanging dangerously slow.

Oh god, you hope he didn't catch your wondering eyes following the line of the hair just below his belly button into his pants.

You already touched yourself thinking of him today. Twice. Nothing new, you've been doing this for almost two months now. But three times was a new personal record.

You had just finished coming down your high when you decided that you wanted to distract your mind from wandering to him again and the best way to do this was baking a cake. But fate had other plans and now you had no choice but to touch yourself again. You honestly don't know how much you could resist the urge to get into your knees and beg to suck him for all he's worth, but if you could delay this humiliation a little bit longer, you would.

You got lost in your thoughts again and didn't realize when the shouting match between the twins started.

Your voice was small, but both of them stopped talking the moment you made yourself present in the situation. "I'm sorry, Tangerine. It was my fault. It will not happen again. Sorry for waking you too, Lemon. I just wanted to clear my mind and baking helps. Let's go back to bed, shall we?" Not a complete lie, just not the whole truth, you think to yourself hoping they would buy it.

You get up without saying anything else and walk towards the stairs hoping you can keep your walk as normal as it ever is and pray that they don't notice how much you wanna run from the kitchen. You still hear their voices from upstairs. "She was kidnapped and we have no idea what happened to her, man." Lemon said trying to defend you, but you already closed the door of your room so you couldn't know how Tangerine replied.

Your cat, Luna, was spread around your bed like she worked all day to pay the rent that was due. Your chance of trying to relieve the aching between your legs was ruined by this fur ball because you may be going a little bit mental, but you draw a line at masturbating around your pet.

Climbing to the soft surface you finally let yourself relax. Luna didn't enjoy it being disturbed, but quickly forgave you when you wrapped your arms around her and started caressing her ears. Feeling the soft fabric of your nightgown and the warmth of your cat around your chest, you started to succumb to the tiredness and the dark even if the desire running through your veins didn't vanish as you would liked to.

Maybe if he wasn't hired by your brother to look out for you or maybe if he actually could develop a relationship with you, but most importantly maybe if he didn't hate your guts for no reason... Maybe if wasn't for that you could try despite the odds. But all you can do right now it's wish for good dreams.

And this was your last thought before falling asleep.

--x--

In the silence of his room, laying in his bed, Tangerine knew he couldn't deny himself any longer. Your flimsy nightgown and perky nipples because of the cold night were his last straw.

He could feel his member in his hand, hot, pulsing, and begging for relief inside his pants.

God knows how much he tried to avoid this from happening because he knows once he lets his mind succumb just a little to the thought of you he will need more and more and soon just thinking about you will not be enough. But now it's over. His cock was throbbing so much and was desperately needing release.

Every goddamn time you made him hard he tried touching himself picturing another woman, but every time it was you that he was imagining you without him even noticing what he was doing. When Tangerine switched back to another woman he became almost instantly soft. It was driving him to the brink of madness and he couldn't deny himself any longer.

He was so eager to finally give in that he didn't even know where to begin with. Should he let you take the lead and be the sweet little thing he knows you are and be all soft and small kisses before giving in to desire shyly and slowly or should he take the lead and ravish you without mercy making you succumb to him faster and messier?

He wants to go down on you, that's for sure, but he can't decide between exploring your body slowly, anticipating you when he finally starts to eat you out, or going straight to the place he dreamed of for almost three months now and devour you until he was satisfied.

"Fucking hell, I need to slow down or I'll come and I didn't even decide exactly how I'm going to take her." Tangerine was getting close to spilling himself all over your stolen panties just with the flashes that he was conjuring of you but he wasn't able to decide how to make you his yet. He decided to test himself to see how much control he had over his body in case he needed to be soft and tender with you in case you're still a virgin and just cum after he was able to conjure both scenarios in his head without touching himself during this process of torture. He needed to prove himself worthy of you and be prepared for all possibilities concerning your well-being.

Tangerine moves his hands to his hair, closes his eyes, and takes a deep breath imagining you asking for him to be careful with you "Please, go easy with me okay? I've never done this, not even with Draken? So please be gentle" you would say and he couldn't explain the feeling that bloomed in his chest and made his dick twitch uncontrollable.

"Of course, love. Do you feel prepared enough?" he asked while rubbing his cock along your slick pussy making obvious with the lewd sounds that you were more than ready.

"Yes."

"Can I put in?" he answered pressing the tip of his member in your tight opening.

"Yeah. And don't need to have pity okay? Just worry if I say stop unless keep going" Oh, but how could he not be pitiful of you if you're such a crybaby and he crumbles when he sees you with a tear in your eyes?

"Okay, darling. I'll try my best." Tangerine whispers against your neck, his hot breath making you shiver, before pressing his tip further into you making you suck a little breath.

You put your arms in his shoulders looking down mesmerized by the scene of finally having Tangerine filling you.

At that thought his cock throbbed so violently he instantly knew that he needed to be a little more alert otherwise he would cum before imagining you getting fucked dumb on his cock.

Tangerine is trying to calm himself after being carried away for too long taking deep breaths and holding firm the base of his dick so he wouldn't finish before accomplishing his goal. You will be the death of him, he's sure. Your pussy will be his reason to come back after every job in one piece. He just knew that.

His cock was running hot but stopped twitching a few seconds ago. He was stiff as a board and couldn't even phantom the idea of letting go of the tight grip on his hair because he needed to keep his hands firmly placed somewhere away from his painful and sensitive member.

After a few ragged breaths, he started to move his hand again, slowly and avoiding his sensitive tip.

He knows that once he's fully settled inside your warm tight cunt, he'll be careful and take it slow with you. There's nothing worse than the pace he's imagining for you. Nothing so torturous as feeling you heat swallowing him every time, her walls so tight and unused, begging him to just start going feral, but he knows he need to make you get used to his size.

So, just like that, he's fantasizing about taking you. Slowly, kissing you with eyes closed and tongue insistent, swallowing your mixed moans of pain and pleasure.

The pain was almost too much to bear, but so good at the same time. And the pleasure, oh God, the pleasure he's giving you. Your brain could only think of Tangerine, all you could only, feel, taste, and see was Tangerine. He was everywhere and you felt so full you swear you could feel your belly bulge a little.

Tangerine feels another violent throb run through his dick and his balls are twitching, itching for release. He let go of his dick again and press a pillow into his face screaming in frustration. A sudden urge to just give in and fuck his fist almost make him faint, but he can't give up now. His body was burning and his soft pink lips were bruised with how intense he was biting them, the skin on the verge of breaking with the force of his teeth.

He would never admit it, but the despair he was feeling was so intense that small tears were spilling from the side of his eyes.

"I can do this, I can do this" he thought to himself while taking deep breaths without the pillow on his face. His muscular chest was rising and falling quickly, the red in his face spread into his neck and started to fall into his pectorals, and his body was covered in a thin layer of sweat. A vision to behold.

Your shy tongue started to explore his neck, his skin hot against your wet tongue, and you could feel salty drops of sweat. Your teeth graze against the sensitive flesh and he let a breathy moan close to your right ear. Boldly you suck his pulsing point strong enough to leave a mark and he moans your name loud and clear.

These intrusive thoughts are the death of him. Even without taking his hands from his mischievous hair, his cock was pulsing against his abdomen, leaking from the tip. All his veins are startled like never before and his pretty sure his balls are getting really close to having cramps. Tangerine thought that maybe it was better to get shot in the neck than feel like this, delirious and fighting so hard to control himself for the first time in his life.

"Tangerine, I'm close, please" You didn't know exactly what you were begging for, but Tangerine knew. He picks up his pace? put his large, calloused hand around your neck applying a slight pressure, and keep his lips hovering over yours, like he's trying to decide if he wants to kiss you or keep listening to you moaning his name.

"Come on my cock, love. Be a good girl for me and let yourself go." His raspy voice so filled with desire and something that you still can't figure out what it is yet is enough to send you over the edge. Your orgasm is a hot white force that sends you over the edge and keeps your body spamming for what it seems forever.

The way you keep squeezing the life of his dick is enough to give Tangerine the best orgasm in his life. He's cumming so much inside of you that he's sure you're already full of his seed and he's not even finished yet.

"I can not do this." Tangerine says out loud. Did someone ever die of orgasm denial? Because he was sure he was about to. He was actually in tears at this point and was suspicious that blowing his load would not be that pleasing anymore. There was so much pre-cum pooling in his heated skin even with him stopping himself from touching his throbbing member a few minutes ago.

But now Tangerine could imagine how rough he would take you if this wasn't your first time and without his permission, his imagination started to run wild, and without him realizing it his hands started to crawl their way into his aching cock trying to relieve his pain.

He wasn't going to take it easy on you after everything you made him go through. Tangerine would take you hard, rough, borderline violent, and make you beg for more. More of him, unhinged, a beast out of the cage. More of what only he can give you. By the end, you would be completely addicted to him and his cock in the same way he was already addicted to you.

He would leave marks all over your small body. His fingertips would bruise the soft flesh of your thighs and of your round ass, bites, and hickeys around any smooth skin his hungry mouth could find. Your cunt would be tight and sensitive from the abuse his thick cock, a little too big for you, was making you endure it. But you would love every single second of it, Tangerine was sure.

His big hand was tightening his grip around your delicate neck cutting short your blood circulation and making you feel dizzy. The lewd sound you two were making, moans and skin slapping against skin, was out of a porn movie. To match his pornstache, you think.

You squeeze your tight walls around him and he groans so deep from his chest that you unconsciously squeeze him again.

"Fuck, my dirty little whore. You want me to come inside you so much huh? Is that what you want, love? My cum filling you up to the brim, leaking of you for days?" Tangerine's mouth is right against your ear so you can hear all the sweet sounds he makes, but listening to his voice calling you "his", degrading you, and calling you "love" sends you to another level of delirious"

Tangerine was sure he was losing his mind with how vivid his fantasies were, but now that he was getting close and actually was going to be able to cum he didn't want to question himself about it. His cock was throbbing in his hand, the sounds getting out of his mouth were pure filthy, and his fist slapping against his skin were the only thing he could focus on.

"Tangerine, please, please, please. I'm so close. Keep going just like that, but I'm begging you. Cum inside me. Let's cum together. Please?"

His heart missed a beat. He was staring at your pleading big doe eyes, left hand holding your hips in a bruising grip, right hand still holding your neck itching to give you a soft slap in the face.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck." Tangerine hisses through his perfect white teeth and when he's just about to spill all his seed, he fantasizes about you saying you love him, right after you finish. He's imagining you pulling him into your tight embrace after he pumped you full of his seed, his head resting on your soft tits, both of you trembling and heavy breathing.

Deep down he wants to think that you were holding all of his ugly and twisted sides of him. Deep down he's dreaming that you hugging him despite his dark desire for the result of this night to be your belly swollen with his child.

And with that wild picture, you round with his baby inside you, he cums. And he doesn't stop cuming, his balls heavy with much more of his thick seed to spill. Such a mess everywhere. His hand, abs, cock. He was sure you wouldn't mind licking him clean.

The sudden image of you on your knees with his cock in your mouth sends a new wave of fresh desire through his guts. Looking left while sighing he sees your stolen panties. In the middle of his self-imposed torture he forgot about it, but now he's going to start over he could put it to good use. He doesn't mind his burning, sweaty body nor his lack of oxygen because of his uneven breathing, the only thing he cares about it now it's his still hard cock.

This is gonna be a long night, isn't it?

--x--

You wake up the next morning feeling thoroughly fucked feeling your body running hot. You have a few flashes of your dream with Tangerine and you are actually on the verge of tears realizing that it was just a dream just like Bella in Breaking Dawn. In the only day you don't touch yourself to the thought of him it's the day that your brain reminds you of what you shouldn't try to ignore.

Maybe if you didn't manifested your life in your early teens wishing a life like Twilight and other book series your life wouldn't be such a mess right now and even with all the disasters in the history, the romance plot was the one consuming you the most.

Speaking of manifestation, you did asked for a sign that the spell you used of that old book with hand-written spells worked. And since you don't believe in coincidences there must be a connection between these things no? Maybe you should ask for a clearer sign.

[haveyoulistenedtothisalbum-poll]

Tracklist:

40 Years Super Hot Body Ready for Party • Aries Taurus Gemini Cancer Leo Virgo Libra and Scorpio Sagittarius Capricorn Aquarius Pisces Fart Song • Butterflies Scared My Cat When I Was Burping in Your Face on Wednesday Morning • Drunk Log out with Spooky Music Settings on My Firm Tits Pictures • Grandpa Says Fuck While Grandma Screams What Repeated Several Times • Grumpy Trumpy Python Toddler Taxi with False News and Emotions • Hugging Blood Thirsty Vampires with a Transylvanian Accent and Slapped Butts • I Farted as an Official Statement Against Global Warming, Expressing My Worries! • I’m Handsome When Wearing a Bag on My Head, Said the Horny Motherfuckers Politely • Is That Cellulite or Just Your Ugly Face? • Kindergarten Farting Fanfare Discussed with Disgusting Asian Clay Warriors Terracotta Song • Leaking Ladies Xylophone Solo Learning with Lusty Lashes Song • Lisping on Penis Peyote Creaking Mirth Radio, Let’s Lisp! Song • Lowering My Filthy Boobs to the Height of Your Curly Chest Hair with Freckles • Mom’s Cleaning Closet Looks Like a Women’s Porn Stash • My Gay Expense Combination Password Gore Seeking Battle Was Sinning • My Hangover Got Hung over by a Hung Guy from Hungary • My Horoscope Sign Is Poop and Yours Is Farts • Nearly Touching Myself with Your Girlfriend’s Hands While Doing the Dishes • Peeing a Farting Swearing Shouting and Pooping in Different Languages Made Me Famous Song • Petite Girls Liked My Fat Farts in Skinny Jeans with Justice • Pooping a Masterpiece in the Little Boys Room on National TV Broadcast • Puerto Del Penis Summer Holiday with Topless Sun Bathing and Surfing Fun • Puking Girls Are Holding Each Others Hair While Selling Butter to Pregnant Vomiting Men • Real Sharks Was a Great Accessory for My Swimming Pool Party Massacre • Relaxing Music for Penis Boys and Vagina Girls, I Have Money Cash, Yes! • Rescuing My Penis from Your Vagina at the Last Minute, Whoah! • Scary Music and Naked Ladies Cemetery Collection Flickering Through Growth • Shaking Sausages in the Men’s Room and Dangling Coconuts • Short Temper Anus Removal with Lipstick on the Collar • Shouting Poopers to Girls While a Crying Man Is Pooping Poop, How Adorable Screaming Babies Are! • Silly Talking Childish Macho Man Thanking Prayers for God’s Food Yes Hello! • Skinny Bitch, Fat Bitch, Rich Bitch, Poor Bitch, All Bitches Poop! • Smelling That Pussy in the Air at the Private Night Club Farting Room • Smudging Chocolate over the Toilet, So Everyone Would Think I Pooped • Sneaking Beans into Your Butthole While U Talk to a Handsome Stranger • Snuggling in Satan’s Satin Sheets with Shattered Dreams and No Boner Song • Solitary Fighting My Big Toe with the Desolate Strangler • Spoiling Desert by Pulling Your Finger Thirteen Times in a Row • Strolling with Morning Wood in the Woods While Mourning to This Song • Stutter and Chinese Food Destroyed My Artwork in the Toilet Bowl Coffee Shop • Sunny Morning Boner at the Beach Gym Towel Rental Song • Surprisingly Soft Boobs on the Milf Statue in the Garden of Jugs, Oh It Was Your Mom Sorry! •

Taming My Daughter’s Boyfriend with Booze and Fists of Agony • Teleporting My Cock to the Urinals Hurts When Peeing Penis Action • That Penis Is Not Mine, Stop Accusing Me of Curing Your Cancer! What • The Brothel Cup Cake Dispenser Had a Variety of Chocolate Brownies Too • The Giggling Killer Was Invited for Tea and Mustard with a Former Laughing Idiot • The Headache Fuckers with Migraine Were Chopping Fucking Painkillers • The Itchy Vampire Vagina Was a Gothic Curse from Medieval Times Song • The Lying Bitch Hermit Ducking Group Was Insisting on Bitch Slaps • The Penis Teens Shouting Squad Declared War on the Vagina Milfs Departure • The Pussy Cock Was Meowing and Cock-a-Doodle-Dooing with Glance • The Singing Orgy Group Remembered My Fancy Birthday Party, Super! • The Sock on My Penis Shook the Genuine Spokesman While Crying Song • The Syphilis Motown Singers Were Blowing Deranged Adultery at Me Song • The Toy Collector’s Mature Attitude Otter Raised Homeland Security Breach • The Triangle of Pussy and Clipping Smoothies Burping Smootch • Typical Asian Food Poured into the Purse of an European Hooker Prostitute Igloo • Under Water Farting Wiz Nick Y Minaj Naked Twerking Shower Saloon Barf Thong • Updating My Profile Picture While Pooping Macaroni with Japanese Subtitles • Using Mother´s Panther Underwear Because of Broken Shopping Bag to the Store • Washing Hamburgers with Dirty Sauce in Leather Pants While Howling • What Ugly Shit on Your Finger! Oh, It’s Your Wedding Ring? It’s Very Nice! • Whistling and Farting a Heavenly Polyphonic Song for Dying Virgins • Violin Licking Sounds by a Hard Baritone Dick Song Licker • Young Girls Selling Old Men´s Boxers in Thongs with Soulful Tutti-Frutti • Your Butthole Swallowed My Telephone, Will It Come out from the Mouth Then? • Your Mom´s Butt Massage Seems Innocent at First, Before Handing out Religious Leaflets

Spotify ♪ Youtube

[purplemagics-blog]

WOLVERINE X READER IS WADE’S TWIN SISTER

(takes place in Deadpool and Wolverine)

I’m just some stuff you need to know:

yes you are Wade’s twin sister no you do not have the same scars as him and you have hair. (if you really want to imagine you have scars then ok but it does mention hair)

You do wear the same suit as Wade though you just preferred to keep the mask off but will put it on when it’s necessary.

You’re just as immature and dumb as your brother And you have a little more Sassiness

This is my first ever fanfiction and I’m writing this at three in the morning very tired and I have school in two hours so it may not be the best. i’m trying  

You find yourself looking at the Wolverine god damnit- wait before we begin that how did we get here? Well it all started when it was you and your brother’s birthday and the only people you ever knew as family were gathered around to watch and as the party continued there was a knock at the door. long story short y’all got sent to this place where some guy said that our anchor point was gone or something you weren’t paying attention to be honest but to be fair he was pretty boring, but you and Wade decided to get your anchor point back or whatever and as you traveled around universes all the wolverines try to attack you and Wade but y’all did get a good laugh when the “comic accurate short king wolverine” universe popped up. anyways, y’all found the perfect universe, but one tiny problem this motherfucker ain’t trying to go nowhere. so here you are looking at your brother try to convince wolverine to come with us as I sit on a barstool and sip a Diet Coke, but of course (as if your life could’ve been any harder) he doesn’t want to so your brother threatens him with a gun as you sip on your Diet Coke and then wolverine grabbed a bottle and passes out from alcohol… great. But I don’t have to borrow you with the story you already saw. (just imagine the movie but Wade had a sister)

(OK I’m gonna go from calling him the “wolverine” to Logan just think of it as yourself learning his name)

After saving your universe, you sat around the table and here you are you find yourself looking at the wolverine goddamnit. There is no way you caught feelings for a 200 in something, cigar smoking, Canadian man… named fucking Logan. You watch as Logan takes Dogpool from Wade so he could talk to a girl and damnit why are you finding it kinda hot!?

It was late and you where doing your hair in the bathroom mirror in just a towel before Logan walked in to your room

“The dick said I had to sleep in here”

Logan grunted as he laid out some clothes on the bed before looking at you and blushed. you both just stood there awkwardly as you were in just a towel that covered up basically nothing but what was necessary.

“Uhh there should be some extra blankets in the closet”

You said A bit flustered. You quickly finished up in the bathroom before slipping on a rope and climbing into bed, where Logan already was. You covered yourself with the blanket but as you did Logan looked at you and very awkwardly try to start a conversation.

“Sooo how you feeling”

He said his eyes flickering everywhere but you.

“horny” you thought to yourself, but you would never say that loud.

“Uhh just a bit tired”

You said letting out a little yawn before you looked back at him

“Logan?”

You muttered but before you can finish, he grabbed your wrist and pulled you in for a needy kiss. Seems like you’re not the only one that needed each other.

(I already know that was shit because I wrote it. Sorry if it was bad it’s my first one and I absolutely suck at writing s@x scenes😭🙏🏽)





[hannie-dul-set]

can you pretty please do sunghoon?

[same face, different feelings]. park sunghoon has always thought you were a piece of shit. 

ever since you walked into the frat house with an arrogant stride, an arrogant face, and an unwelcoming demeanor that just pisses him off from the very first inhale of your existence, he knew you’d never get along. he knew you’d eventually do something to piss him off.

and you did. which, in retrospect, was great because the aftermath to the whole…situation was you voluntarily moving out of the house, and that meant sunghoon didn’t have to deal with seeing your face for the next three months. reap what you saw, motherfucker, or however the saying goes. whatever. doesn’t matter because the quality of sunghoon’s life has become exponentially better.

that is until you decided to move back in again.

“i can’t believe you have the guts to come crawling back here after the shit you pulled last summer, you son of a bitch.”

and the words jump out of his throat before he even realizes it.

“hoon, play nice. that’s water under the bridge now,” jake tells him. “hey, dude! it’s glad to have you back!”

it’s one thing how you don’t even look the slightest bit remorseful about what you did. it’s another thing how your response was to look at him as if you didn’t even know what you did wrong.

now that pisses him off tenfold. why the fuck did jungwon even let you back in?

yet park sunghoon’s anger towards you made him fail to notice all the little things that were just the slightest bit off. have you ever been close with sunoo and niki? no, he doesn’t think so, but he never cared enough to give a shit about your relationships. jake and heeseung have been complaining that you don’t game or play soccer with them anymore, but who gives a fuck about that when your tendency of being a fucking whore shows turns a head yet again when he catches you and jang wonyoung stumble out of your bedroom, the latter hazy-eyed and flushed, when this morning he was just texting her to come over.

“they’re saying it’s just a misunderstanding! nothing happened between them, just let it go, man.”

sunghoon feels worse than heartbreak when he sees his best friend defending you, knowing full well you were the cause of his sister’s own heartbreak last summer. what the fuck? jay of all people knows how much he hates you. but turns out, the object of his hatred for the past two months isn’t the same person he’d hated at first glance.

things start making more sense when you gather them all in the living room one day—

“w—wait, what do you mean you’re not him?”

—and drop the big fucking bomb that for the past three months, you’ve been filling in the shoes of your twin brother and receiving the brunt of all his hatred.

all that information was too much for him to handle right now.

so the natural reaction is to run off to wherever his legs took him.

“sunghoon.”

that somewhere just had to be an obvious hiding spot. the rooftop of the shared house, in between the shrubs and the greens now drenched in the night where he’s crouched down and looking up to. but he’s not looking up at the stars in the sky. he’s looking at you—

“why are you wearing a mask?”

—half obscured by a medical cover which makes the guilt and hatred retching in his gut all the more complicated.

“i figured it would be weird for you to look at me when i look like that son of a bitch,” you say lightly. oh, so you also know how trashy that guy is, he thinks, and you crouch down in front of him, as if to tell him. yeah, i do. that’s why i’m in this situation in the first place. “if you can’t get an apology from him, i thought i could at least do it on his behalf.”

how considerate. he should’ve known that you were a different person. but god, every time he saw you, his animosity just jumped the gun before any other feeling could, so now he feels like shit, groaning with his head in his hands. “no, it’s just— i’ve hated your brother for fucking around with my sister, but i’ve been treating you like shit these past few months and that makes me no better than him.”

“no, you are! if i were you, i would’ve kicked my own ass the moment i stepped into the house,” you snap back. “the fact that you can even look at me and listen to me right now tells me that you’re a better person than he could ever be.”

with that, sunghoon lifts his head back up, and is met face to face with the same eyes he’s scorned just up until earlier this evening.

wrongfully so. had he looked a little closer, he would’ve noticed there’s not a single hint of arrogance in the way you’ve ever looked at him in these past three months. god, he’s terrible. the piece of shit is him, not you.

“that mask must be uncomfortable,” he mutters. “you can take it off.” 

albeit hesitantly, you do, and once more sunghoon is slapped in the face with just how alike you and your brother look, and he has to swallow down his body’s automatic reaction of inherent hostility, but it doesn’t come.

it’s the same face. the same face, but he’s feeling differently. maybe now that his vision isn’t blurred and addled by anger, he’s able to see more clearly.

send me a kpop boy (txt/enha/zb1/bnd/dream) to toss into reverse harem hell! [jay]

[fluloa]

a few nsfw jake headcanons that no asked for but you’re getting

• always so touchy. kissing and biting and grabbing and tugging and groping. just anything to have his hands on you.

• adding onto it, it’s annoying how much he likes to play with your pussy. and it’s almost weird. for some reason, he just really likes the soft mushy wet texture of it, and the way it feels against his skin. just slipping randomly slipping in finger or two, lazily moving them as his thumb toys with your puffy clit. he loves how sensitive you are and how sensitive it can get.

• ass man. said what i said. just loves holding it. and smacking it. he likes seeing the marks he can get on you. he begs you to let him eat it out, but to his great sadness, you always decline with flushed cheeks.

• sucker for vanilla sex. even tho he’s one kinky little bitch, he loves taking it a bit slow, just kissing you as you gasp and mewl, closing him in with the sweet plush of your thighs.

• bigbigbigbigbigbig size kink (see the pun i just made there). he finds it so fucking hot the way your tummy makes a shape of his cock, poking out from your skin and fuck, it just makes him drool. and drill.

• loves the sound of him fucking you. literally, the sound of his cock going into your pussy. is it weird? he doesn’t care. especially when you’re on top, just the sound of that little noise— makes him twitch inside of you.

• that being said, his favorite positions are when you’re on top. just holding your hips, watching your body move and your thick tits bounce, it’s heaven to him. he can sit back and enjoy the show, while you’re panting like a hot dog. finds it so funny as he watches you struggle a bit, the desperation you have making your movements choppy and messy. even catches your tongue lolling out from your mouth. it scratches his ego a bit too, knowing his cock’s got you that dumb. moving you up by your hips, grumbling low in his chest, “thas a good girl.”

• mmmmAAHHH breeding kink. BREEDING KIIIINK. will be fucking the daylights out of you and so so close to coming, “sweet girl, fuck. let me come in ya? gonna fill you up with my babies. be a big family. ‘be allll nice and plump for me, mm…”

• cuckolding. will never, ever try it. just another guy breathing around you has got him on his toes. so when you want it rough, do a little bit of talking to another man and you’ve got it. but just a fair warning: you might be going human jake style the next morning (♿️)

• will never call himself daddy, but oh my gOd does it make him bust a motherfucking nut when you call him it. just being a whimpering little bitchy mess, mumbling a few quiet “daddy”s will have him GROWLING.

• when doing backshots, he uses your hair as a leverage.

• really likes lazy sex. sort of ties in with the love he has for vanilla sex BUTTT just laying all cozy and shit in your hammock, on your side as jake takes you from behind, his arm wrapped around your body as he lays his head on yours in utter bliss. ssssooo good to him.

• sit on his face. he fucking loves it. jake literally wants you to crush him with your fucking pussy and suffocate him. when first doing it and you’re a little hesitant, he’ll grunt, and grab your hips and slam you down onto his mouth. even pulls you down as much as he can. “jake— i’m gonna kill you,” you gasp, back arching as his tongue slips along your slit. jake groans into your cunt, “it’s how i wanna go.”

[katasstrophy]

I feel like I've seen every Bluelock boy paired with a very cute, very bubbly, and chill gf/reader before, but I haven't seen any of them paired with a cool and competent or even bossier type. Are there any guys you think of liking that type??? Or maybe just deserve that type to be kept in line lmao 🤣

nonnie!! 😳 NONNIE UR BRAIN I’M GIVING IT A THOUSAND KISSES UR SOOO RIGHT FOR THIS!!! i guess it doesn’t really show with the fics i’ve uploaded so far – which is a damn shame, i should fix that – but i am absolutely all for readers who are just… out there, ya know? they’re prickly, or easy to anger, or sardonic as all hell, or way too clever for their own good or yes yes, bossy<3 i eat that shit UP like it’s my last meal. this is not to say i don’t enjoy sweet, bubbly readers (bc i do!) but the type you describe just… scratches a certain itch iykwim 👁️👁️

i think one of my first posts ever about blue lock on this blog (cw. mid writing LMAO) was exactly about this. obviously most of the blue lock guys are only extreme egoists when they’re playing soccer, but i do think that aspect of their lives will ultimately start to bleed into their personality as they grow up/go pro. so having someone who’s just like “yeah that’s great and all but if you won’t make it to date night i’ll leave your sorry ass” is just. so sexy to them like?? they haven’t gotten their ego knocked down a peg in a while so i think they’d be drawn to a partner like that askdhxnbz idk if i’m explaining this very well but as far as i’m concerned all blue lock boys deserve an unhinged reader lol 😤

THAT BEING SAID!!! >:))) i have a top three list of blue lock men who i, personally, would love to put in their place and encourage anyone out there to do so as well LOL

1. MICHAEL KAISER — this cocky motherfucker ugh need i say more 🙄 the urge to censor his name was real strong but i persevered still cannot believe i’m (sadly) attracted to this horrible, horrible man. he’s sooo insufferable and just so obsessed with himself like he unironically refers to himself as the emperor when i tell you there’s nothing i want more than to make this man beg on his knees i mean it – what a pretty sight that would be hm? <3 all his past lovers probably treated him like he was god’s greatest gift to women (HE IS NOT) – and by now he’s not only used to it but comes to expect it – so when he meets you and you’re like “mm you’re kind of a prick leave me alone thenk yew✨✨” he’s just. so scandalized LMFAO suddenly he’s the one chasing after you and vying for a shred of your attention oooohh yes that’s exactly what he deserves how it should be

2. ITOSHI SAE — listen he might be my precious babygirl now but i used to hate this mans guts like no other and that little resentment still lives on in my heart in the form of wanting this man’s downfall to be a woman like don’t tell me that’s not the hottest thing you’ve ever heard. he’s just so single-mindedly focused on soccer – japan’s treasure and what not – and thinks he can get away with being an asshole because of it but you place down your foot and tell him to cut the bullshit or you’ll find someone who treats you better (AMEN SISTER) and suddenly he’s grappling with the reality that shit he might just fall apart without you yes girl make him suffer

3. OLIVER AIKU — i couldn’t not include the resident fuckboy here mmmm the possibilities for him are endless and each one more delicious than the last. he might not be as insufferable as the others but he still thinks extremely highly of himself, especially when it comes to his way with the ladies. typical “oh no i don’t do relationships” kinda guy who can show you a good time for a night before dipping in the morning – and you just don’t want that. so you reject his advances, say you’re not interested and move on, but for some reason, oliver can’t. literally physically wounds his pride when he crawls back for a second chance but you don’t budge, still wary of him due to his past behavior unless he can show you otherwise. and the way he scrambles to prove himself as trustworthy to you? god tier groveling from a man YUMM

[this-lovely-universe]

Dead Girls Walking

Chapter 1: The Basement and The Photos

TW: Child abuse and Applied SA

“Let me out, you dick!” Anastasia pounded on the door. "What the hell did I do?!"

She was confused on why her dad had even locked her in this time. She hadn't even said anything to set him off this time.

He hit the door back, making her jump and stop banging. "You'll be let out in the morning."

"You've got to be shitting me!"

She was met with silence.

She sighed, turning around to the stairs she nearly got pushed down.

He nearly broke my neck and killed me over something I don't even know I did.

She went to grab her phone, only to remember that it was on the ground of the living room

"Motherfucker...." She muttered, starting to feel around for the light switch.

She found it and started making her way down the stairs.

She coughed. There had to be enough dust to give her a lung

infection.

"Great."

The air was musty and smelt of mould. Shocking, I know.

Damn really need some Febreze in this bitch

She sighed. She definitely wasn't getting much sleep tonight.

She looked around, trying to find a sleeping bag or something. She'd doubts there'd be a good one but it was a worth a shot.

As she searched, different thoughts appeared in her head.

Would she ever get out of here? Sure, once she turned 18 she could legally leave, but where would she go?

Her grandma’s was the best option, but she lived 3 states away. How was she even going to get there?

It’s not like she could get a way out for herself. Her dad basically has her tracked, always on his leash of control.

He said it was for her safety, but Anastasia knew better.

She spotted a window. A small one, but anything was better than the smell of mould.

One issue. The window was definitely out of her reach.

"Fucks sake." She muttered. Time to pray she didn't break her ankles doing this.

She pulled the most structurally sound container to under the window, and gently stood on it for a second.

Seems good enough, I guess

She stood up on it, holding her breath.

"Don't break don't break don't break don't-" She mumbled as she fiddled with the window.

The window was built weirdly. She couldn't push it out, she had to pull it.

No wonder it smelt disgusting in here. The rain just got let in if the window was opened.

She pulled on the window. Unsurprisingly, it didn't really move.

She sighed once more, before it turned into a slight gag.

It was starting the smell like dead animal in there, and Anastasia felt sick smelling it.

She pulled harder, desperate to not smell that.

"Come on... come on!" She said with every yank. "Bitch, open!"

She managed to pull it open, tumbling backwards off the container, the container flipped with her.

"FUCK!" She hissed, the container landing about 3 inches from her face.

Well that's about three inches from an concussion

She slowly sat up, wincing slightly.

She looked down at her wrist. "Oh, that's bad..."

It was already starting to bruise.

As she stared down, a picture fluttered down into her lap. Her face paled as she saw it.

She flipped it over.

Jessica Baird. 1995

Where the hell did this come from? They made sure that everything was scrubbed from the face of the earth after the accident. Like Jessica never existed.

She let out a shaky breath as she heard the door unlock.

"Anastasia..." Her dad's voice boomed, his words drunkenly slurred.

She quickly shoved the photo in her pocket, feeling tears roll down her cheeks as she heard him walk down the stairs.

God, she hoped it would be over quickly.

***

It had been several months since that day, and Anastasia had pushed any memories of Jessica to the back of her mind.

Things had been better now. She was at camp, got adopted by a 17 year old (don't ask it's a long story) and had actually make some friends. All while she was out of her dad's grip of control.

"See you around , Cameron!" She called, having finished training with the Ares kids. Perks of having no siblings, you might say.

She walked (more like jogged) to back to her cabin. Perfect way to finish training. A long ass walk back to her cabin.

There were plenty of people around, either heading to or from people’s cabins.

It was a regular thing to see around camp. Unless it was lights out, there were always people everywhere.

When Anastasia finally arrived to her cabin, two girls were out the front.

“What’s up?” She walked up them.

“Look.” Brook pointed to the door.

“That’s a door.”

She sighed and pulled off something stuck to it. “I meant this.”

Anastasia took it from her. It was the same photo she had found in the basement that day. Along with it was a note.

BURIED AT MASON'S POINT

"Wait-"

"So, it's the same for you, right?" Finley spoke, pulling out her own photo and note. "It says they're buried were they weren't, or for me, I assume they weren't."

Brook pulled out hers as well. All three of them had the same note, BURIED AT MASON'S POINT scribbled on it.

"We asked around, mainly with Mum's other kids, but it seems we're the common denominator." Brook explained.

"These important people to you?" She asked.

"Yeah, it's my dad." Finley said.

"And my sister." Brook added.

"And this is my aunt." Anastasia sighed. "And I'm figuring they're all... you know..."

"Dead? Yeah." Brook said dryly.

"That can't be it, right? There has to be more then we're just friends that all have dead family members. Everyone here fits into that category at this point." Finley ran a hand through her hand.

Brook nodded, and Anastasia agreed. "It's way to board of a thing to pick us."

"I swear if there's a prophecy-"

"Don't. Don't even think about it." Anastasia cut Finley off.

"It's a little hard not to, Annie." Brook pointed out.

"I know. Sorry. Just-"

"It's a prophecy. And prophecy's come with sacrifices. Who knows what we could lose if there is one."

All of them fell silent. That sentence echoed in Anastasia's head. Who knows what we could lose if there is one. It was less of a what and more of a who at this point.

"Look," Finley broke the silence. "Clearly, the answers are at Mason's Point.'

"Yeah, but how on earth would we be able to leave camp?" Anastasia asked.

"We'd need a quest, which means-" Brook spoke.

"A prophecy." The other two groaned.

"Bingo." She sighed.

"Maybe we should just ignore it? It could be a trap." Brook suggested, although she didn't seem to sure of her words.

"Everything is a trap at this point..." Anastasia said quietly.

"I don't know what to do." Finley groaned.

"None of us do." Brook looked to both of them anxiously. "It's not like we have to find the answer. There's no prophecy, or quest or anything. It might just be best to ignore it for now."

Anastasia knew she had a point, and it was a point she really wanted to believe.

"Yeah." She agreed. "There's no stakes to this. Just creepy photos."

"I still think there's more to it." Finley voiced. "But, you are right about there being no oblations."

"So, just pretend this never happened?" Anastasia asked.

"What happened on the porch, stays on the porch." Finley agreed.

Brook looked at her photo. "Oh, shit. I gotta go to the infirmary." She shoved the photo and noted in her pocket. "See you later!"

"Bye!" Finley called, before turning to Anastasia. "I'm really hoping that's nothing..."

"Same here, Fin. Same here."

Notes:

Accounts/oc's mentioned:

@number-one-ares-kid

and jack's kids (You know who you are, I ain't tagging all of you)

PLEASE GIVE ME FEEDBACK I LOVE FEEDBACK, EVEN IF IT'S YOU SAYING YOU DIDN'T LIKE (IF YOU GIVE REASONS)

@arisdaughter @childofthewargod @dianedantedominic @kaiaalwayswins

@that-girl-cupid @delilah-isnt-dead-yett @daonedaonlyskh

@aria-pane @poseidons-hyperactive-kid @wine-cooper @i-am-persephones-daughter @unhinged-waterlilly

@demigod-jack-hearth @seed-of-the-pomegranate @you-know-you-want-me @istglevi-gotmesimping

@if-chaos-was-a-boy @ariathemortal @i-was-never-sane @gaygirldoodles @superbstarlightsheep

If you want to be added, removed or if I forgot to tag you, let me know :)

[delopsia]

Something Unholy | Rhett Abbot x Reader

Word Count: 3,600 Cross Posted on AO3 Warnings & Notes: 18+, Fem!Reader, unprotected sex in a church, mild size-kink, and a dash of Rhett having a corruption kink and getting off on the idea of cumming inside you.

"I sure hope you ain't tellin' me what to do, dollface."

Oh, the things you would give to wrap both your hands around this motherfuckers thick neck and—

"—Can you please, just put the paper towels on the shelf?" Speaking in the firmest tone you can muster, cheeks flaming so hot you fear they may turn cherry red.

"And why does this have to involve me?" God, Rhett just keeps going; the choir girls are starting to notice, casting wayward glances from under false lashes as they whisper amongst each other behind open palms.

"Because you're tall enough to reach the shelf, and I'm not," pushing the paper towels toward him once more, forcing him to take them, "and if God wanted me to put them up there, he would have made me taller, or he would have given me a stepping stool."

For the first time all morning, Rhett's quiet, and for as much as he's fussed about this, you'd think this momentous task would take him longer than three seconds to complete. You're starting to see why Cece doesn't drag him along to Sunday services more often.

He continues to loom in the corner, leaning up against the wall like some sort of hot shot whilst he just watches. Wild blue eyes follow your every movement as you finish setting up the coffee booth like he's getting some sort of enjoyment out of watching you mull about. Doesn't offer help, just watches.

Asshole.

As soon as you start to walk away, ready to settle into the corner of an old, stained church pew, he pushes off the wall and starts to walk too. Like a shadow, following each and every step until all of a sudden, you're sitting between the end of the bench and Rhett Abbott.

"Do you have to sit so close to me?" Grumbling, you try to scoot further off, but there's not enough space for you to do so.

Rhett's jeaned thigh presses harder against your own, "yes, I do, actually."

"You're an ass," it comes out louder than you intend to, but if anyone overhears, they don't mention it. Not yet, at least.

"Wow, swearing in church now, are we?" Smug.

You're still contemplating strangling him right here and now; an attempted murder charge sounds a lot better than sitting in this hell for an hour and a half. The bastard is probably into it, knowing his reputation. The only thing that actually stops you from finding out is the sudden booming voice from the podium, commanding all eyes and ears on him, silence falling upon the room.

Usually, the preacher's go-to is to have everyone shake hands and welcome one another, but you're thankful that he skips right over the tradition in favor of jumping straight into his speech. A direct continuation of last week's sermon, according to the woman whispering behind you. You're not quite sure how, but you know Rhett would have given you more trouble if you got up to greet people.

As if on cue, a calloused hand settles on your exposed knee, just below the hem of your Sunday dress. Maybe it's because the air conditioner is running in the middle of December, but his hand feels so hot you fear it may melt right through your skin.

"Rhett," whispering as quietly as you can, "get your hands off me."

It only serves to make your situation worse because he leans over to whisper directly into your ear, "seems to me you're in need of someone to keep you warm."

Teeth nip at the lobe of your ear, tugging on it for a fleeting second. His hand slides off your knee, if only for a muscular arm to drape over your shoulders instead. Great, absolutely wonderful.

But God, he's warm, and he's changed his started wearing that seasonal cologne he wears every December. Something bordering hot chocolate and vanilla, not overly sweet but so, so warm. It matches him in the strangest of ways, you conclude, as you reluctantly melt into his side.

Okay, this is...alright. There are several couples doing this very thing in front of you, nothing weird about this at all. It's not like you can argue when Rhett is practically a blazing furnace right next to you; this dress is cute, but it definitely was not made for the colder months. 

For a long minute, all you find yourself doing is curling into Rhett Abbott's side and listening to the preacher's voice as it grows louder and louder. A relaxed conversation about coming clean to those around you devolves into a rant about sinners and sex before marriage. The longer it goes, the stiffer Rhett becomes next to you, until all of a sudden, he's drawing away from you.

Without a word, he gets up and walks out. 

Strangely, you don't hear the front doors squeak open, nor do you feel the icy draft that always sneaks inside. For a minute, you reckon he's just gone to the men's room. The more time passes, the more you don't think that's so true. 

Fifteen minutes after Rhett vanished, you excuse yourself and quietly venture out into the hallway. 

"Rhett?" You try, but your voice vanishes under the preacher's louder one.

Even so, the felt brim of a cowboy hat pokes out from behind a door, dark brown in color and a little ripped in the front. You only know one man with a hat like that. It seems he didn't hear you because he's eyes brighten at the sight of you like he's been waiting on you to come looking for him this whole time. 

"There you are," he breathes, struggling to fight off the shit-eating grin that's working its way across his face as he reaches for you. "Did I even manage to get under your skin?" 

"I thought you were kidding when you suggested this shit," you hiss, but you don't stop him from guiding you into this tiny little office space with its large mahogany desk and beat-up loveseat. "Of course, you got under my skin, you ass!"

Rhett shoves you down onto the couch with a soft thump and drops to his knees so swiftly that you hear them hit the floor. The force of it jostles his hat, but he's not concerned in the slightest with readjusting it, "good." 

There's no teasing or beating around the bush in the way he pulls your hips toward the edge of the couch, rucking the skirt of your dress up in the process, "then I suppose you won't mind me making it up to you?" 

Hot breath ghosts up your cold thighs, sparks a newfound heat directly between your legs. Okay, that, that...

"Was this your plan all along?" Leaning into the cushions of the couch, this is all so sudden, but you're not one to complain when his nose is brushing against the only fabric he hasn't pushed to the side yet. 

"Do you expect anything less from me, darlin'?" Long lashes bat themselves up at you as he speaks, bordering devilish in tone and something soft in gaze. 

A hot tongue drags up the front of your panties, forces eye contact as he does so. So much all at once, but not enough. The vague pressure of his tongue isn't enough when there's such a thin layer of cotton separating him from where you want him. Only when you're about to pull them off yourself does he reach up and hook his fingers under the thin elastic waistband. 

"Bring your hips up, doll," murmuring into your thigh, and you're just barely able to muster the strength to do so. 

Finally, finally, he pulls your panties off, neatly folding and tucking them into his back pocket like a trophy. Sure hope you get those back; those are one of your current favorites. 

Your thoughts are cut short by the sudden sensation of a dripping tongue swirling at your clit, sloppy and oh-so-wet. It's so abrupt that you find yourself jolting away, only to be drawn back in by steady hands on your hips, holding you in place as he licks you up and down in fat stripes. 

"Rhett," gasping for a breath you can't seem to catch, "fuck, did you forget we're in church?" 

He hums into you, sends a shock wave up your spine with it. His wandering tongue finds your entrance, lapping at it incessantly but not quite pushing inside at first. The tip of his nose bumps against your clit, "been thinkin' of havin' you on my tongue since that alarm went off this mornin'." 

"So that's why you volunteered to come along?" Whining as he nods his head, "bastard—ah!" 

Just like that, Rhett's tongue slips inside of you, working in and out in languid thrusts as his nose presses harder into you. This little room is so quiet that you can hear the slick sound of his tongue working itself into your quivering cunt, his mouth so wet that it feels like he's drooling. 

Reaching down, he gets ahold of your thigh and guides your leg up over his shoulder, gives him better access to your writhing body. Practically fucks you open with his tongue, the soft tip of his nose bumping into your clit over and over. Enough to make you squirm, not enough to get you off. 

"Rhett, if you don't," the beginning of your threat is shaky, not intimidating even in the slightest, "get off that floor and fuck me right now."

His eyebrows raise, and his tongue slips out of you with the wettest noise you've ever heard. Fuck, he really must have been drooling, swollen, spit-slicked lips and wet chin glistening in the light, "yes, ma'am." The bastard just has to say it with a smile, too.

He makes no move to come up, though, and as his dominant hand lowers between your legs, you realize he's planning to lick you as he works you open. But you really, really want to kiss him right now. 

Lowering your leg from his shoulder, you seize him by the collar and pull. It takes him a moment to comply, and for a brief second, you think he's glued himself to that thinly-carpeted floor. With the softest whine, he rises, settling into the empty space next to you like a big ol' puppy. His eyes wide and confused, and it's not until you curl your fingers into his hair and drag him in that he realizes what you're doing.

"Kisses?" Whispering directly against your lips, surprised, but oh, does he just melt right into it. 

Soft, at first, just the simple mesh of lips that haven't touched each other since you first woke up, but then Rhett's finding his footing. Kisses you with a dizzying intensity, one hand cradling your cheek, the other slipping between your legs to tease the pad of his finger against your dripping entrance. 

You can taste yourself on his tongue. Your fingers grip his hair, pulling him closer, impossibly so, and it's so sloppy that you can't tell who's in control or who's calling the shots here. His thick finger presses into you, working in and out until he's knuckle deep, but he kisses you so softly, following your motions like a shadow. 

"Is that you clenchin' on my finger, or have I really not fucked you in a while?" His finger works in and out of you so slowly, a soft, simple motion that drags his knuckles against a gooey spot inside of you. Shit, when was—when was the last time you actually...?

"Both," you blurt, breathless, "I think this is the longest we've gone." Coincidentally, you think the last time you had sex was also on a couch. Given it was your couch and not some dingy thing in the back office of a church. 

It's only been a few weeks, three at the most, but it's been long enough for there to be a little bit of an ache as a second finger works into you. There's no way you're going to be walking out of here without a slight waddle in your step.

In and out, over and over, until he can work in a third. A thumb on your clit distracts you from the stretch, rubbing soft circles for every centimeter he eases into you. You're squirming, not sure if you're running away from the stimulation on your clit or chasing the feeling of those thick fingers delving in and out of you in short little thrusts. 

"Why are your fingers so fucking big?" Gasping as he kisses down your neck, those fingers curling against that little spot again. 

"Are they big?" And he's nibbling at the meet of your jaw, almost speaking directly into your ear, "or are you just small?" 

He's just big. 

Shaky, you fumble with his belt, absolutely relieved when you find that he isn't wearing one of those oversized rodeo buckles that are so hard to get open in times like these. Rhett chuckles against your skin, makes no effort to help or stop you as you pop the button to his jeans open. His fingers only quicken, properly fucking you with them now, and it makes it that much harder to reach past his waistband. 

"Shit," he hisses, jolting as your hand wraps around him and draws him out. Only letting him go to spit into your palm, wetting it just enough to stroke him smoothly. He's hard as a rock in your hand, heavy like one, too. Slow, he eases out of you, and with how empty you're feeling now, you hate to imagine how it's going to feel in a little bit. 

Your back hits the couch with a soft noise, the furniture creaking under the sudden placement of your weight. Then, Rhett's between your legs, the tip of his cock teasing against your freshly stretched rim but not pushing inside yet. 

"Didn't bring a condom," he breathes, "sure hope that ain't a problem, sweetheart." 

He sure doesn't sound apologetic. 

"Has it ever been a problem?" And there's more you want to say, but it's hard to speak when he presses into you, makes your back arch as he splits you wide open. 

Your legs clamp down around his lithe waist, lungs burning as you try and fail to regain your long-gone composure. Don't quite realize you had made a noise until he's shushing you, easing deeper inside until you feel his head fully enter you. Moves so, so slow that it's agonizing. 

Rhett pauses for just a second, chest heaving, "so tight, baby." 

"Can you move any faster?" You're intentionally leaving out the part that the longer he takes, the harder it is for you to keep your thighs from shaking around him.

"Hold on, darlin'," seizing your hips in his hands as he speaks, holding you still as he just about fucking stops, "I'm a little big for you, ain't I?" 

Big is a fucking understatement. Rhett's only about halfway in you, and you already can't fucking breathe. Never can. No matter how many times he's fucked you, slow, hard, it doesn't matter; you can never seem to get used to how big he is. 

His hands aren't big just for show; they're a fucking warning.

Finally, finally, finally, his hips come flush to yours, and you don't think there's any room for your lungs even to function anymore. Panting so hard that you don't realize Rhett's dropping to his forearms, kissing sweetly at your cheek. Such a stark contrast to the devilish roll of his hips between your legs. 

"Such a good girl for me," he soothes, "takin' every single inch just like that." 

His hips roll in tight little circles, getting you used to his size until you can catch your breath, long enough for your head to stop spinning, at least. All you have to do is nod your head once, and he's drawing back out of you, so familiar with your cues that he knows exactly what you're asking for. 

Then he's pushing back into you, and it's not even a long stroke, but it's enough to have you whimpering anyway. So thick that the head of his cock effortlessly massages the gooey spot inside your stretched pussy; you think you could cum just from this alone. 

"That preacher don't know what the hell he's talkin' about," and it's only now that you realize the sermon is still going, muffled but very audible through these old walls,  "every little lady deserves a man that can fuck her right." 

Rhett punctuates his sentence with a harder thrust, sending stars sparkling behind your eyelids like a light show.  Well, you can't argue with that statement. Not when he's doubling down and drilling into you in sharp, deep strokes that bullies his fat cockhead right into your sweet spot, kissing it with each and every stroke inward. 

"Rhett!" Fingernails dig into his shoulder blades, threatening to tear right into the thin material of his dress shirt. It's a kiss that smothers the whimper that boils out of your throat, dizzying but so, so tame compared to how his hips are working between your legs. 

"Look at you," leaning back until he's on his haunches, "innocent little thing gettin' fucked good by the big, bad cowboy." 

With that, he draws his hips back, snapping them back into you with a force that has you yelping. Hope nobody could hear that. Rhett's pace is changing, unrelenting, as he punches each and every breath out of your burning lungs. Feels so, so good that you can barely keep your eyes from fluttering shut, and it's all you can do to keep quiet when he licks his thumb and presses it into your swollen clit. 

"Oh, your hips are buckin' like mad now," and he has the absolute audacity to chuckle as he says it like he isn't in the middle of ruining you, "damn, girl."

"Hard to keep still when—" you can't finish your sentence, cut off by a wickedly sharp thrust, and he just holds it there. Grinding into you and eliciting this wet squelch that sounds absolutely sinful. 

It feels so good that the edges of your vision is starting to go white, and you don't know when you've started shaking, but you can't stop. Pussy throbbing as he settles down atop you again, legs just barely able to stay hooked over his hips. Rhett's moaning into your ear, deep and breathy, and you're not doing all that much, but it sounds like you're making him feel just as good as he's doing to you. 

"Do you wanna feel me cum inside you?" He whispers, biting at the shell of your ear, "do you wanna feel that?" 

All you can do is hum, barely able even to nod your head. The simple notion of Rhett cumming inside you is enough to have a coil tightening between your legs, clamping down impossibly tight around his thick cock. 

"Oh god," he's just barely able to keep talking, and the longer he goes on, the closer you can feel yourself getting, "so bad," punctuating it with another heavy thrust, "so bad."

You want to reach down between your legs and urge his thumb to rub you a little bit faster, but you're not even sure you can take any more than what he's giving you. Not when he keeps whispering dirty things in your ear, with these breathy little grunts that keep adding to the fire burning up in your lower belly. 

"So bad, but you make it so good," no, no, now you're batting his hand away from your clit, because if he keeps rubbing it while he's talking like this, your orgasm is going to his you right this very second. With another little grunt, Rhett starts talking again, "oh, baby, I'm gonna fill you up." 

His thrusts are quickening, hips getting twitchy and messing up his rhythm in the most delicious of ways, "'m gonna fill you up with my cum." 

All of a sudden, you can't breathe anymore, your body going taut as you cum around his twitching cock. Eyes rolling into the back of your head, heart pounding so heavily it just might break its way out your ribs. Everything's spinning; you can't fucking think; all you know is Rhett's grunting quietly into your ear, and his hips are stalling. Filling you with hot spurts of his cum, until there's not a single millimeter of empty space left inside you. 

"That's right," you can just barely hear him, but he's there, "that's fuckin' right, takin' every last drop of me." 

You're not sure how long it takes you to come back, to get your head out from the clouds and back down to earth, but when you do, Rhett's already eased himself out of you. Tucked away inside his jeans again, hair stuck to his sweaty forehead as his thumb pushes his cum back inside your swollen cunt. 

"You alright?" He asks sweetly, kissing the inside of your knee. 

It takes every fiber in your being to bring yourself to nod your head. Yeah, yeah, more than alright. 

"How 'bout I carry you outta here before they start lettin' folks out," he's so soft compared to just a few moments ago when he was drilling into you and whispering such filthy things, "get all settled up in a bath and have a nice, lazy day." 

All you have to do is hum your consent, and he's gathering you up into his chest, lifting you like it's the easiest thing he's ever done. It's hard to be cold when he picks his coat up off the rack on the way out, draping it over you like a big blanket. Yeah, a nice, lazy day sounds better than whatever the hell you had planned. 

And if anybody notices your sudden disappearances or the unmistakable sounds that came from the preacher's old office, they don't say a damn thing. 

[hiemaldesirae]

Arrax here: this idea is kinda funny/weird, but I'm in a weird mood so: (also Hannibal/Hazbin Hotel crossover) Vox has NEVER told anyone how he died. EVER not even Alastor knows....well one person knows. Lucifer. Vox and Lucifer made a deal--because Hannibal killed Vox. Vox at least wanted to know if 'the fucker,' ate him. (The answer is no. Why did Hannibal kill Vox? The FBI team picked up Vox the Priest cough-cult leader-cough as a suspect, and Vox figured out who the real killer was via the clues given in his interrogation and because of Hannibal's fucking name.) ("Like, Hannibal the Fucking Cannibal? He was right there, the whole TIME! AND THEN THE MOTHERFUCKER DIDN'T EVEN EAT ME!") The deal with Lucifer is simple show Vox what happened to his body after death, and Vox will be....Lucifer's best friend?? Uh, okay whatever his majesty wants.

It goes well during the 7 years Alastor's gone. It's okay during his return, as most of the dates? Friendship meetings? Are at the palace and they play video games and just genuinely fuck around having fun. (Vox may give Lucifer ideas on how to fuck Mammon over, time to time. It is funny.)

However, do to helping Lucifer deal with Mammon Vox gets pulled into something....else. Apparently, some sinner is playing dad with the princess, and Lucifer doesn't want his first visit with her in ages to go wrong. So he takes Vox along--Vox doesn't want to go--AT ALL, but a deal is a deal, and....in all Honesty Lucifer is one of the few beings he can call a friend now. So he goes, thinking it's probably Husk or Maybe Angel Dust--easily dealt with sinners for the King of Hell with his overlord best friend cheering him on.

This unfortunately is not the case. Vox feels his suspicions rise when Lucifer winks at him and says wait out hear for a minute, and don't worry about anyone sensing you. I've hidden you.

It's not until Vox it literally summoned into a middle of a song off-- "Have you met my bestie, Vox? (Shared duet between Vox and Lucifer with Vox in his Priest outfit:) They say, when you're looking for assistance (Vox takes over every electric device and broadcasts Lucifer's Voice, here, cutting out Alastor's parts.) It's smart to pick the path of least resistance

Others say, that in your needy hour (here Vox drops to his knees in prayer while Lucifer unfolds his wings and surrounds Vox with them)

There's no substitute for pure angelic power! " They finish their part of the song off, with Lucifer gently picking Vox up and setting him on his feet, easily giving the TV overlord a side hug.

With Lucifer's right arm around him, and the sudden screech of radio static mixed with angry stag echoes through the air as the princess claps her hands--"Dad, you have a friend?!? Besides the sins?!?"

Vox however is wide eyed at the very angry Alastor, whose radio dial eyes are on the King's arm, still wrapped tightly around Vox's shoulders.

It's then, the TV overlord realizes he really should have taken the damn joint Val offered him that morning.

IM GONNA CRY. where the HELL did that first part come from arrax your mind is wonderful LMFAOO i can just imagine the absolute shock and indignation on voxs face (screen??) when hes going like 'MOTHERFUCKER DIDNT EVEN EAT ME??' thats perfect. thats great thank you so much for that contribution

OH MY GOD. alastor would be fuming at the part where vox starts praying i just know it he'd be like '...whys he not praying for me. why is it for that 4'2 little gremlin absentee father BITCH' im going to scream and cry this is SO FUCKING FUNNY HAHAHAG

like. like. look at what i see okay i will illustrate it (metaphorically) for you guys

vox: heyyyy uh. luci, your majesty, big man, could you consider letting me go since the song's done and all.... (very vehemently not looking in alastors direction)

lucifer: no can do bestie! so, char-char, have you been introduced to my Best Friend (has also noticed alastor's Very Negative Attention and instead of looking away is locking eyes with him)

charlie: um! well.............. about that......... (thinking back to the meeting with valentino) so. uh,

meanwhile alastor looks like a rabid animal in the background

[dark-elf-writes]

I love that tbh

Reno: Lily I swear to god if you don’t stop fucking screaming at-

Ky: don’t tell her what to do you ugly motherfucker -_-

Reno: 💡

Reno: I’ve just had the funniest idea that you all are going to hate.

Seraph: More than every time you wake up in the morning?

Reno, shouting over to Cloud: … Hey Blondie did I ever tell you you look great in that SOLDIER get up

Ky: Wait.

Reno: More like First Class Ass am I right

Lily: Wait stop. This ain’t funny anymore

Reno: You free tonight?

Jayden, whispering: I will kill you

[elle-cross]

#bkdk | fluff

Where Kacchan thinks they're married, but they really aren't.

CW: alcohol drinking

They both stumble into Izuku's apartment after one of those pro-Hero parties. Izuku, being the more coherent and more sober one, fumbles for the switch.

He chucks off his own shoes by the entrance. He'll remove Kacchan's too because knowing the only love of his life, the blond will probably set it on fire because he can't remove it himself.

Kacchan's body is a lightweight when it comes to breaking down alcohol--he's always been.

Meanwhile, Izuku just simply outdrinks everybody. Must be because of OFA or something, or the other.

They barely get past the entrance and Kacchan flops down immediately on the floor, almost completely passing out. He better not throw up there, Izuku just got it cleaned this morning.

"Ngghhh... I am Great Explosion Murder God Dynamight!!" He shouts at the floor. Izuku bites his lips to suppress his laugh, but the slight alcohol buzz in his system is making every single thing hilarious.

Yep, Kacchan's gonna have a terrible hangover tomorrow.

With his own shoes off and giggling to himself, Izuku peels the mighty Mr. Dynamight off the floor to take him to bed.

As soon as Izuku deposits him on the bed, Katsuki snuggles his face on Izuku's pillow. God, Izuku would do anything and everything for this man. It's a good thing they're both on the same, good side.

Anyway, they'd better get sleeping. Izuku starts removing Kacchan's shoes but the blond kicks him off weakly, "Get the fuck off me, I'm married to Deku. Ya know him? He's a bad-ass motherfucker and he'll kick your ass! DIEEE!!"

"Kacchan, it's me, you idiot." Both shoes are now off. Izuku gets up from the bed and puts them away.

"Deku?!!" His voicealthough incredulous, softens a little, "Come here! It's hug time....!" Kacchan rolls on the bed, to lie on his back and stretches out open arms at Izuku.

It takes so much effort for Izuku not to jump him right now. Izuku's face grows warm and so does probably the rest of him, "You know we're not married, right?"

"What?! YOU DIVORCED ME?" Sparks start igniting on Kacchan's palms, "DEKU! WHO the fuck coerced you into unjestifiable marriage?!? WHO?! I'll fucking explode them!"

"No, you won't." Izuku puts a tiny, little bit of OFA to his own palm as he gently weaves his and Kacchan's fingers together. He brings one scarred hand to this beautiful face and kisses Kacchan's knuckles.

It'd be very convenient if Kacchan will not set his bed on fire. "Get some sleep, Kacchan."

"...kay, but you didn't divorce me, right?"

"No, babe." Izuku grins and brushes Kacchan's hair up to place a kiss on his forehead.

"Good." Katsuki groggily mumbles against Izuku's chest. Soon, his chest rises and falls as he falls asleep.

But Izuku lies there, his chin on top of of his boyfriend's chest and watches him breathe, with a small smile on his face.

He can't wait to spend every waking moment of his life with Katsuki. Soon, he'll be brave enough to ask him.

Izuku stares at the bottom-most drawer on his bedside table, where a black velvet box quietly lies in wait.