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creepswrites · 28 days

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TIRED OF RUNNING | Sinclairs x Reader

YET ANOTHER REWRITE i have no idea why Tired of Running is so popular but i've always been proud of it :) the original can be read here but i will be rewriting all existing chapters to finish it!!

SINCLAIR BROTHERS x GN!READER (they/them)

SUMMARY: "We got a visitor, Vince." Bo said, leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed over his chest, watching Vincent work. The latest sculpture was of a woman in a flapper dress, perfect for the House of Wax. He nodded, assuming it was just Lester. Though he didn't see a reason why Bo would bother him just for that. So, regrettably, he looked up from his work. "They got kids."

WARNING: mentioned child abuse

Sighing, you hit your head on the wheel with an exhausted groan. The Louisiana heat had been suffocating you ever since the AC sputtered to nothing a few hours ago. You'd left the windows open to prevent frying the inside of the car but it was still too hot. Even after living here for a few years, you never got used to the heat. It was fall for god's sake…

You lifted your head and tried to blink back the drowsiness aching behind your eyes. Driving for a week now had exhausted you and the heat wasn't doing you any favors. Everything felt warm and sleepy, making it difficult to focus on the road. A glance at your gas tank only made you groan. Nearly empty tank with no cell phone reception and two kids to take care of.

Speaking of kids, you glanced at the rearview mirror. Your twin boys - Peter and Michael - were passed out in their carseats and dead to the world. They were good kids, rarely fussy, and full of energy. They were why you'd been on the road for so long. You'd fled home with whatever belongings you could pack in your car and never looked back. Seeing their peaceful faces reminded you that it had been the right decision. Watching your ex husband strike Mikey for "misbehaving" had been your last straw. They were only two years old and he expected them to just simply know what behaviors were acceptable without teaching them anything.

He'd been the one who wanted kids yet showed no real interest in parenting. That had all been on you.

Which led you to where you were: off a dirt backroad in the middle of nowhere with the sun setting in an hour. If it had just been you, you would have sucked it up and walked to the nearest town in search of help. But with two toddlers, the feat seemed impossible. You didn't want them getting lost or hurt in the dark with no way of you helping them.

You got out of the car to survey your situation. The road you were on was mainly dirt and not well traveled. You hadn't even been certain they were roads if not for the signs just before you'd turned. Grass grew in wild, untamed patches and stretched out into a field to your left while the forest was close to your right. The trees offered minimal shade but were better than nothing. At least it was cooler under them instead of your hot car. But the prospect of sleeping in the dirt didn't sit well with you. Who knows what animals were even out there.

You pressed the heel of your hands to your eyes and tried not to cry. This was absolutely the worst possible thing that could have happened. If your husband was following you, which he most certainly was, then it was only a matter of time until he found you.

So you slid down the side of your car to sit against the wheel and curl in on yourself. It had been awhile since you cried since your husband would slap you for it, threatening to give you something to really cry about. You'd only withstood the abuse for so long because you didn't want Peter and Mikey to grow up in broken homes. But after you noticed they were being hit, you couldn't stay still. It had still been hard and you kept second guessing yourself all week if you were doing the right thing.

Hopefully you were.

A few hours passed before your luck changed. The sun had just begun to set, painting the skies in pinks and purples like a beautiful watercolor painting. It was finally cooler out now too, the breeze brushing your arms and face periodically. You'd just finished feeding the boys whatever food you had left in the duffle bags still and had decided to let them play in the little clearing nearby. You'd all been cooped up in your tiny car for days and you could tell they needed a break. They promised to stay close to you, running around nearby with sticks and their toys. Peter roared, running up to you with a tiny blue T-rex in hand. "'m gon' eat you!" He giggled.

You scooped him up and held him in your lap, watching his brother poking at the dirt with a stick. "Mikey, don't wander too far okay?"

Mikey didn't answer and you sighed. He always had problems listening, always content to drift off in his own world without a second thought. You'd read a book about childhood trauma and worried about Mikey sometimes. You stood up and were about to approach him when you heard the sound of a car rumbling. You'd never understood the phrase "your life flashes before your eyes" but in that moment you did. "Mikey!" You shouted, white-hot horror shooting through you. "Peter, get in the car!"

As soon as Peter squirmed out of your arms, you shot off like a rocket towards Mikey. His wide, terrified eyes were trained on the car headlights, which felt like a spotlight as you picked him up. The ground was illuminated with bright white light, making it impossible to hide from whoever this was. You practically threw Mikey into the car, slamming the door behind him and locking them inside.

The truck came to a stop and you faced it, squeezed your eyes tight, and prepared for the worst.

You heard the sound of the car door open and you turned to face the figure. When he finally stepped into the light, you nearly cried from relief. It wasn't your ex nor any of his friends. You felt your knees give out as a sob wracked your body, the adrenaline crash hitting you hard.

"Woah, woah!" The guy said, hurrying over and crouching in front of you. "Hey, it's alrigh', I ain't gon' hurt'cha." His voice was calm, the southern drawl making your eyes feel heavy. The headlights obscured a lot of your vision but you could make out his face. He was a little scruffy, covered in dirt, and looking at you with more concern than anyone had looked at you with in quite some time. "Shh, it's alrigh', you're okay…" You could tell he was scrambling, unsure how to help you but desperate to do so.

"S-sorry," you babbled through broken sobs. You didn't know what else to say and you couldn't stop the tears. "I- I thought you were- I'm sorry, my ex, he-"

He took you in his arms, hugging you to his chest. He was warm and smelt of dirt and rot but you didn't even care. You couldn't remember the last time you'd been hugged. Over the years, your ex had isolated you from your friends and most of your family so you knew it had likely been a good few years. So you wrapped your arms around his neck and sobbed.

But he didn't falter. "Shh, 's okay, you're okay. I gotcha." He rubbed slow circles in your back and smiled down at you, like an angel come to save you. "Y'ain't gotta 'pologize. I ain't mad."

You sniffed, wiping your eyes and leaning back slightly to look at him better. Definitely scruffy but charming in his own way. The look on his face was impossibly soft, so unfamiliar to you yet you craved that gentleness. "Sorry, I, um, I'm on the run. My ex, he, uh… Well, doesn't matter now. I got myself and my boys out 'n that's what matters."

The stranger's eyes widened slightly. Bright and pretty and you felt safe under his gaze, for some reason. "Your boys?"

You nodded and started to stand. He didn't hesitate to offer his arm, letting you steady yourself on him when you felt your head swim. "Yeah, they're in the car. Probably scared 'em shitless with my screaming." Your legs felt unsteady when you walked and you didn't miss the way the guy hovered, like he was braced to catch you if you fell. It was sweet.

You swung your car door open and the boys peered up at you, scrambling to try and hide their animal crackers. "Boys," you sighed, "What did I say about desserts?"

"To ask." Peter said plainly, too distracted by the stranger. "You're dirty, mister."

"Peter-!" You gasped, ready to apologize on his behalf.

But the man just laughed, clapping his hands together in his amusement. "Yeah, yeah, y'ain't wrong lil guy. Been workin' all day, hauling dead stuff 'round."

Peter looked morbidly intrigued, scooting closer to whisper like the two of them were sharing a secret. "Like… dead people?"

"Nah, nah, nothin' like that." The guy knelt down to talk with him easier, lowering his voice as well. "Animals who, uh, get hit by cars. Ain't got anyone to take care'a them, ain't like pets. So I come 'round 'n clean 'em up off the road."

Nodding slowly, Peter reached behind him and held out one of his dinosaur toys. "Have ya seen one'a these?"

The man seemed bewildered but offered him a sincere smile. "Nah, but, uh, if I do, I'll let'cha know, 'kay?"

Peter seemed satisfied with that answer and went back to his crackers. "I never got your name." You said as the man stood back up.

"Name's Lester." He gave you a gap-toothed grin, tilting his cap in a greeting. "Was headin' back home 'n saw yer car. Figured I'd come check on ya."

You smiled, hugging yourself shyly. "I, uh, ran outta gas. And with the boys, I can't exactly walk for help. No cell service either."

Lester frowned, scratching at his face as he seemed to think it over. He surveyed the three of you before looking out towards the setting sun. "Well, I ain't usually do this," he drawled slowly, "But there's a town nearby. 's called Ambrose. Could drive ya there so y'all could sleep for the night. An' in the mornin', we can swing by the gas station 'n get some gas for yer car."

"Really?" You stared at him with your mouth agape. "You- You'd help? Wh-what's the catch?" You couldn't accept he'd do this for nothing. If being with your ex taught you anything it's that no one was good for no good reason.

He smiled again, sliding his hands into his pockets. "Ain't no catch, honest. Jus' breaks my heart to see ya so freaked out."

You rubbed your arms nervously. "Sorry. I, um, thought you were my ex…"

Lester's face screwed up. "Well, whoever he is, hope he goes to hell if he'd scare ya that badly, sweetpea."

Sweetpea was new. You felt your face warm up and you looked away shyly. He seemed trustworthy and he was cute, in a scruffy boyish way. You liked him. "I- I really appreciate it, Lester."

"'Course. Got two brothers'a my own so I get it." He watched you open your trunk and shuffle the bags around. "They ain't as well behaved as yer boys though."

Shouldering two of the bags, you snorted. "Yeah, you see 'em when its bathtime, then talk to me 'bout behaving."

The two of you were able to move most of your belongings along with the boy's car seats without issue. The truck smelt of rot and you scrunched your nose up when you spotted the dead deer in the back. "Sorry," Lester said, noticing your gaze. "Was workin' when I caught'cha. I promise everythin' in the car is clean though."

"It's okay." The smile you gave him was genuine even if he seemed surprised by it. "You're helping me. I ain't gonna shame you for your work. 'sides, someone's gotta do it, y'know?"

Lester, incredibly, gave you a surprised little smile as he watched you round up the boys. "Yeah. Yeah. You get it."

"The car smells weird." Peter said bluntly as you fastened him into his seat. Mikey had gone quietly, only squirming a little to voice his discomfort at being buckled in. He never liked confined spaces.

"Be nice, Peter." You shot him a look. "Lester's being kind to us, be kind to him, yeah?"

Peter glanced over at the man and smiled, all gap toothed and sweet. "Thank you for helpin' Mr Lester."

"'Course, lil man." Lester said, climbing into the front seat and rooting around in the glovebox. "Always happy to help."

You climbed into the passenger seat beside Lester and felt the truck rumble to life. The truck was clearly old but you could tell Lester loved it dearly and took good care of it. Even if the engine shook the whole frame. The homemade charms littered with bones and feathers rattled like raindrops and he let out a little cheer. From out of the glovebox, he pulled out an old air freshener that smelt of disgustingly fake pine and strung it over the rearview mirror. "Best I got for the smell, sorry." He said with a sideways smile.

Your heart clenched. He was so kind to you for no reason and you almost teared up from the sweet gesture alone. "Thank you."

The truck rattled and the skull sitting on the dashboard unnerved you but you brushed it off. He worked with dead animals, something about it all just made sense. The boys didn't seem to care too much, happily nodding off only ten minutes into your drive.

"So how old're they?" Lester asked in a hushed voice, trying to not wake them.

"Just turned two a few months back. Twins, if you can believe it." You chuckled, sparing the boys a glance. They weren't identical in the slightest which you were slightly grateful for. You didn't want to be one of those parents who dressed their twins to look even more the same. "But, um, I guess they got to be too much for my ex. Managed to get out 'bout a week ago and we've been on the road since."

You felt Lester glance at you, giving you a once over. Unlike with most men, you didn't find yourself repulsed by his gaze. "He put his hands on ya?"

Shrugging, you turned your attention to the window to watch the trees. The sky was slowly getting darker, making them look like just black voids. At that moment, you became hyper aware of the ring still on your finger. The compulsion to throw it out the window was strong. "Yeah. A few times." You confessed quietly, closing your eyes to keep yourself from crying again. "More the boys than me, which kills me."

You didn't miss the way Lester's hands clutched the wheel tighter. "Well, there's a special place in hell for people like that. 's fuckin' repulsive." He grumbled that last part, like he didn't want the boys to hear it.

It made you laugh though. "You're right… It's just refreshing to hear." You tried to swallow around a lump in your throat. "All his friends were the only friends I had. Was allowed to have. And none of them were interested in helping me, much less believe me."

Lester scoffed. "Scumbags, the lotta'em. What happened ain't your fault, sweetpea don't let any of 'em get in your pretty lil' head that you did anythin' wrong." He paused, chewing on his lip before sighing. "My dad, he wasn't always the kindest to my brother. An' don't go telling this to nobody, ya hear? But I always hated folks who can jus' hurt their loved ones and keep goin' 'bout their damn business. Like it ain't botherin' em."

You knew he was right. It still brought tears to your eyes to have someone believe you. Someone who had no idea what your situation was and he was still defending you. Like your ex had no reason good enough for Lester to even ask about.

You definitely liked Lester.

"Town's just up this way," he said softly. The sight of streetlights was almost relieving to you after a long day of being on the road, hopping from gas station to gas station and only stopping at motels long enough to sleep. "Might get a lil' bit bumpy."

Bumpy was an understatement. You almost thought you'd crashed as you felt the wheels bounce against rocks, shaking the car so violently you felt sick. Your arm shot out to try and catch your balance against the window and you only let out a breath when the truck came to a complete stop.

You and Lester shared a wide-eyed look. "Forgot to lay the planks down."

Nothing about it was funny. But after the evening you had, you couldn't help but laugh. A genuine laugh. Something you hadn't done in a long time.

When Mikey began to cry from being woken up so violently, Lester got to him before you could. "Shh, s'alright lil' man, go back to sleep, shhh." He reached behind his seat to brush at his knee. "Sorry, almost there bud, jus' a bit further."

Eventually, Mikey settled back down, sniffling until he fell back asleep. When Lester sat back in his seat, he noticed your staring. "You have kids of your own or something? You're a natural at that."

He looked embarrassed, rubbing the back of his neck with a shy chuckle. "Nah, but, uh, used to babysit 'round here. Was always good with kids, I s'pose."

With the car on paved roads now, the drive up to the town was smooth. As expected of a tiny town, nobody was outside. The lights in the little shops were out and the houses were all dark. Except one house atop a hill, lit up like a lighthouse in a sea of darkness. Lester drove towards it and pulled to a stop just outside. It was a modest house, paint peeling off in places along the outside and cobwebs in high places of the awning over the door. "What's this place?" You asked as you quickly followed Lester out of the car. You were incredibly appreciative of Lester’s good deed but his car did smell like rotten meat.

Hopefully he wouldn’t be too offended.

"Family home. Inn's prolly closed for the night but I betcha my brothers'll let ya stay for the night." Lester said as he opened the backseat and began to undo the straps of Mikey's car seat.

You were struck silent. "I- Lester I can't impose on your-"

There wasn't any time to protest as the front door swung open. A large man stood there, dressed in a mechanics jumpsuit and wearing a hat over thin curly hair. "Les? The hell's this?"

Lester smiled all innocently, like this was a perfectly normal thing for him to do. "Heya Bo. Brought guests."

Bo stared you both down before running a hand over his face in exasperation. "When I toldja to come by for dinner, I ain't meaning to bring your pretty lil' girlfriend with ya."

You blushed and stammered but Lester spoke up, lifting a sleeping Mikey into his arms like he was a precious artifact. Bo took notice and his eyes widened at the sight. "I, uh," he stammered inelegantly. "What's with the, uh…"

"His name's Mikey." You mumbled, suddenly feeling unwelcome. It wasn't uncommon for people to look at you strangely for the twins, like they were some curse. Or maybe it was just your exes friends who felt like that.

Bo nodded slowly. "Mikey. Right." He looked at Lester and stepped aside, letting him pass into the house with your baby. "Well then. You folks like lasagna?"

You blinked. "Excuse me?"

"Whenever Les comes to visit for the eve, Vince always makes lasagna. Easy for him to take home 'n whatnot." Bo gave you a warm smile as he approached you slowly, like he was afraid you'd bolt. "If my lil' brother thinks you're good people… Well, I'm obliged to trust him. He ain't ever been wrong."

You watched Bo grab the bags you brought, only hesitating when he saw Peter, also fast asleep. "Sorry, um, I can-" You stuttered, reaching for the bags in Bo's hands.

He held onto them though, tilting his head towards Peter. "Don't even think 'bout it. You just bring your lil' one in. The gentlemanly thing to do is carry the bags." Bo gave you a flirtatious wink and went back inside.

You were left standing in the chilly, night air. The only light came from the inside of the house, which bathed the front porch and gravel walkway in warm, yellow light. You were cold and confused and absolutely exhausted. A part of you screamed against all instinct to accept their help, to trust these strangers. It had been so long since you'd trusted anyone, after all. You were desperate.

So you did.

Peter was already blinking awake from his short nap when you pushed the screen door open more and took in the house. It was a comfortable state of disarray. Throw pillows were propped against the couch at odd angles, family photographs decorated the walls in mismatched frames, and the room smelt of meat, cheese, and marinara sauce.

Lester and Bo's heads snapped to look at you. They'd clearly been whispering but they both smiled at you when you entered. Mikey was sitting on the couch, still a little bleary eyed, curled up against one of the velvety throw pillows that looked rustic and homemade. You sat Peter down beside him, brushing hair from their sleepy faces, and tried to ignore the brothers whispering. "Sorry," you mumbled as you approached them.

They both seemed surprised. "Why're you sorry?" Bo asked with a frown. "Y'ain't got nothin' to be sorry 'bout."

You fidgeted with the hem of your shirt, hung head low like a child being scolded. Fawn, your brain screamed. Fawn and they won't hurt you. "'m intruding with two kids, I- I know I'm not supposed to have come here, I just- Lester said the inn was closed, I didn't know where else to go, my car broke down-"

Lester cut your spiraling off by taking your hand and squeezing gently, grounding you. "Hey, hey, sweetpea," he kept his voice low and soothing, "We're happy to have ya. All three'a ya. Honest."

Bo nodded along, frowning at how quickly you retreated inwards. Lester had mentioned to him very briefly while you were outside about how your ex laid hands on you and the boys. It was what got him fully on board with offering you help. So seeing you like this broke his heart just that little bit more.

"I'm gonna go talk to Vince, let him know we got guests." Bo said as he swung open the basement door. "Les, make sure our guests are comfortable, yeah?"

Lester nodded, humming his agreement as he pulled you to his chest for a hug. You went willingly, your hands curled up in the fabric of his shirt as he hooked his arms around your shoulders. "Yeah, I got 'em." He said, shooting his brother a smile as he hugged you.

Bo nodded and descended to the basement.

Vincent hated to be disturbed while working. His brothers especially knew how entranced he'd get in a project, focused on perfecting every piece. Their mother had made him an incredible artist, which often meant he'd neglect everything, even himself, for the sake of his work. Oftentimes, Lester or Bo had to come downstairs to make sure he didn't collapse from exhaustion or dehydration. Especially when summer hit and the basement's heat was suffocating.

So Vincent didn't even lift his head when Bo came to a stop in the entryway, too focused on mending a crack in the cheek of his sculpture. "We got a visitor, Vince." Bo said, leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed over his chest, watching Vincent work. The latest sculpture was of a woman in a flapper dress, perfect for the House of Wax.

He nodded, assuming it was just Lester. Though he didn't see a reason why Bo would bother him just for that. So, regrettably, he looked up from his work.

"They got kids."

And that made Vincent straighten up. "Kids?" He signed slowly, like he wasn't sure he heard him right.

"Yeah." Bo said through a sigh. "Two lil' guys. Too old for breastfeedin' but too young for preschool. Hard to say though, been awhile since any of us were that old." He chucked humorlessly.

Vincent looked towards the wax figure slowly. "We promised Lester we wouldn't hurt children."

Bo nodded, looking annoyed. "Yeah, yeah, I know. They're a pretty lil' thing too. Would be perfect for the museum, but, of course, Lester found 'em first."

"They can't see me," Vincent suddenly became frantic. "The children will be afraid."

The other man winced, hissing through his teeth. "Sorry bro, already promised your cookin' tonight." But Bo didn't seem that remorseful, even when his twin leveled him with an unimpressed look. "When's dinner, by the way?"

"What time is it?" Vincent signed, finally aware of the passage of time. It was easy to get lost in his work, though he promised himself he'd only come down for a few minutes to double check something. But it was easy for him to get lost.

"'s only quarter past 9. Why?"

Vincent finally moved, hurrying past. Bo was only able to make out "oven" before his brother was out of sight.

Thankfully, nothing was burnt. Vincent hadn't even spared you a glance yet, too focused on not burning the house down. Once the food was set atop the stove to cool down, he turned around to face you.

You were sat on the couch with Lester and the boys, who were trying their best to stay awake. "You must be Vincent," you said with a sniff. You knew your eyes were red from crying. Lester had sat with you, holding you while you wept. It was hard, feeling cared for. Especially by strangers.

Pain was familiar. This kindness overwhelmed you.

Vincent became shy when you addressed him, hiding behind long hair and doing his best to keep out of your sight. But Bo, never one to let his twin have peace, grabbed his arm to keep him from hiding. "Yep, managed to finally pull 'im outta that basement for dinner. Whaddya say, Vinny? You up for a proper meal with our guests?"

If looks could kill, Bo would have erupted into flames, reduced to ashes on the carpet. "Do I have a choice?" Vincent signed, managing to look annoyed even behind his mask.

"Nah." Bo smiled, all teeth and no kindness. "You set the table, I'll get enough chairs ready."

Lester turned to you, brushing stray tears away. His heart hurt when you'd started bawling after Bo left, babbling to him that you felt horrible for intruding and forcing his family to help you just because of the kids. He swore if he ever got his hands on your ex, they'd wish Vince or Bo had gotten to them first. "You okay?" He asked you gently, giving you what he hoped was a sincere smile.

You nodded, sniffing once. "Yeah, um, sorry for-"

"If you 'pologize to me for cryin', I'mma beat the ever lovin' shit outta your ex, sweetpea." Lester said, relishing in your chuckle. "We're happy to help ya, really."

Sniffing again, you nodded and wiped your eyes. "I really appreciate it. More than I think you know."

The look he gave you was impossibly soft. Like you were something precious. Lester's hand cupped your face as he pressed a gentle kiss to the crown of your head, making your mouth fall open in surprise. "You deserve it, sweetpea. Y'really do."

Bo coughed, making Lester roll his eyes. The two shared pointed looks before Bo turned to you. "Your lil' ones need high chairs or, uh, somethin'?"

You glanced down at the boys and sighed. "I think they're down for the count."

"You can use my room upstairs." Lester said. "I ain't sleep there much anymore so it oughta be clean." Before you could even think to protest, he tapped your nose. "And don't you get all apologetic on me. I wouldn't offer it if it weren't alright."

Honestly, you were a bit relieved to get to sleep in a real bed. So you thanked them quietly, gathered the boys up in your arms, and carried them upstairs. "Second door on the right," Bo called up after you.

As soon as your footsteps couldn't be heard on the creaky wooden stairs anymore, Lester was the first to speak. "I hope you two ain't forgotten your promise."

"Lester, I toldja to find someone for the museum-" Bo hissed, anger sharp on his face.

But the younger Sinclair didn't back down. "If Mama knew you two'd killed two lil' boys, whaddya think she'd do? She'd say somethin' 'bout how if someone took y'all from her, she'd raise hell."

"Don't bring Mama into this." Bo glared daggers at Lester.

Vincent knocked on the countertop to get their attention. "He's right. We made a promise."

"We can't fuckin' keep 'em here!" Bo said, careful to keep his voice down.

"Don't gotta." Lester said, crossing his arms over his chest defiantly. "They ran outta gas. Let 'em stay the night, drop 'em back off at their car, they'll go on. Ain't no trouble."

Bo groaned, rubbing his face with his hands. "Why do you even care so bad?"

Lester flushed, blotchy pink spots on his cheeks, and shrugged. "They're nice. 'n I feel bad. Their ex laid hands on those lil' babies an' I'd do anything to get five minutes alone with that sonuvabitch."

Vincent's eyes widened. "You didn't mention that!" He signed harshly at Bo.

"Didn't exactly have a moment to tell ya." He sighed with obvious frustration. "Fine, alright, we keep 'em for one night. They're gone in the mornin', ya hear?"

The three of them were quiet for awhile, listening to your footsteps overhead as you set the boys up in Lester's old room. "Swear on Mama," Lester said, keeping his voice low, "That I ain't gonna be seein' any lil' boy statues."

"Lester-!" Bo hissed.

"Swear!" Lester shot back. The two were up in each other's faces at this point.

Vincent, ever the peacemaker, knocked on the counter again. "We swear on Mama."

"Don't fuckin' speak for me, freak!" Bo huffed. But Vincent fixed him with a glare and he sighed in defeat. "Fine. Swear on Mama. Ain't nothin' gonna happen to those three."

The youngest seemed satisfied. At that moment, you came back down the stairs, frowning slightly when you noticed them. "Everything okay?" You asked as though sensing the tension in the room.

"Yep!" Lester said with a wide grin. "Hungry?"

"Starving." You smiled back.

Dinner was awkward at first, especially since you struggled to understand Vincent. But Bo and Lester happily translated and conversation began to flow easier, which you were grateful for.

"So, how long has it just been the three of you?" You asked as you took a bite out of the lasagna. Warm and cheesy and exactly what you needed after a week of gas station food.

Bo hummed as he swallowed. "'Bout ten years now. Went by in a blip, feels like."

"Oh," you frowned, "What happened? If, um, I can ask."

Vincent nodded, still nervously picking at his food. You'd noticed he only ate when you weren't looking so he could lift the mask, which saddened you. He seemed like a nice guy and you wondered what happened in the past to make him hide his face. But you did your best to look away periodically to give him a chance to eat and hopefully let him know it was fine. He probably got enough grief for it as is, you didn't need to add on.

Judging by the slowly disappearing food on his plate, you figured that was the right thing to do.

"Mama got sick. Real sick." Bo sighed sadly. "She was a really great artist, losing her hit the town hard."

"I'm sorry." You said gently. But Lester was the only one of the brothers who seemed sad. Something about that confused you. Why wouldn't they miss their parents?

You took a bite of the food. That wasn't your business.

Vincent began talking about his art then. Bo seemed to roll his eyes and ignored his signing, uninterested in translating. But Lester picked it up in his place, helping his brother talk about his art. He enjoyed painting in his free time but he primarily sculpted with wax.

Your eyes widened in surprise. "You sculpt?"

"Vinny's the main artist in the House of Wax down the street." Bo nodded, answering for him. "Maybe t'morrow we'll take you 'n the boys to see it."

Vincent fidgeted with the ends of his hair, clearly embarrassed. You shot him a warm smile. "I'm sure Vincent's art is great. I look forward to it."

Once dinner was over, Bo and Lester disappeared into the living room with a couple of beers so you and Vince had the chance to wash dishes. The peaceful white noise of the running water and the simple swirling of washing dishes was nice after a long day. Vincent helped, taking whatever dish you passed him and drying it, setting it aside on the nearby dishrack.

He seemed to appreciate the silence. You almost wished you knew sign language so you could talk to him beyond yes or no questions. But you tried to ignore the shock you felt when your fingers brushed sometimes.

If he noticed, he didn't bring it up.

The soft sound of crying alarmed you. You spun around and saw Mikey standing in the doorway of the kitchen, sniffing and sobbing silently. He cried for you and ran towards you, wailing for comfort. You'd barely dried your hands before you were reaching down, scooping him up into your arms. "Shhh, it's okay," you soothed him gently, Mikey had always been the more sensitive one. Waking up in a new, unfamiliar place must have startled him, you thought to yourself as you swayed with him gently.

He nodded, whimpering. "Scared."

"I can imagine." You kissed his cheek gently, rocking him like you'd done when he was an infant, needing to be settled before bed. "It's okay baby, you're alright," you repeated the mantra over and over as you heard Vincent turn off the water behind you.

Hearing his heavy footsteps behind you, you turned to face him and shifted Peter so he could see him. The tall man blinked slowly at Peter, tilting his head curiously at your son. "Mikey,, this is Vincent. He and his brothers are letting us spend the night so you and Peter can sleep in a bed."

Mikey seemed to consider this before reaching up to try and touch Vincent's face. "Hi," he whispered.

Vincent flinched slightly but didn't step back. Instead, he offered his hand for the young boy to grab at. Mikey giggled as he grabbed at Vincent's fingers and hand, seemingly satisfied. "Did you wake your brother?" You asked after a moment and winced when your son nodded. "Where did he wander off to?"

"Over here," You turned your head to see Peter half asleep slumped against Bo, barely even keeping his eyes open. Neither of the men seemed bothered though. Bo even raised his beer bottle jokingly, "Seems he's ready to get drinkin' already." He teased and you snorted.

"God I wish they'd just stay small forever. I can't even imagine them starting school yet, much less drinking." You paled at the mere thought. It seemed like only yesterday they were just born and now you felt nauseous whenever you think about them starting kindergarten. Being away from your kids for extended periods of time felt terrifying.

You were pulled from your thoughts by Vincent signing something to you. Shit. Luckily, Lester translated from his seat on the couch, "He's askin' if ya want help bringin' em upstairs?"

Blinking a few times, you nodded at Vincent with a smile. "Yeah, I'd appreciate it! Here," you adjusted Mikey before passing the toddler into Vincent's arms carefully, "just support him here," you guided his arms to the right spaces and ignored the way your heart melted seeing him asleep in someone's arms. Reminded you of easier times before you and your partner split. "Lemme grab Peter and we can head upstairs." Vincent nodded to you and waited patiently by the stairs as you stole Peter back from Bo.

You felt the pair's eyes on you as you wished them goodnight from over your shoulder and headed upstairs with Vincent trailing behind. He carried Mikey like he was fragile, breakable, and you found it incredibly endearing. You set Peter down onto the bed, nestled back in the little blanket fort to prevent them from rolling off the bed, kissing him softly goodnight. Vincent mirrored your actions with Mikey and just stroked his cheek with his thumb in lieu of a kiss. "Thanks for your help. All three of you," you whispered to him. Vincent looked at you, shadows hiding his eyes from you. "It means the world to me that you're all willing to help. I know the boys appreciate it too." You smiled at him as you stood quietly. "I should get to bed," you trailed off and Vincent nodded but didn't leave the room.

Instead, he reached his hand out towards you before tilting his head, asking permission. You gave him a curious nod and felt his hand touch your cheek, stroking under your eye like he'd done to Mikey. "Night Vincent," you whispered and ignored how your face warmed up.

He shut the door as he stepped out of the room,padding down to rejoin his brothers in the living room. None of them said a word to each other but they all had the same thought: they wanted you to stay.

The next morning, Bo collected your car and brought it to the gas station to fill back up. You'd chatted about your plans to keep going west when he'd mentioned missing you. "Place jus' feels more lively with you 'round, s'all." He'd shrugged, feigning nonchalance.

You'd gestured to the empty streets before climbing into the passenger's seat. "You sure that ain't just because this town is quiet as is?"

Bo just gave you a smile.

When you tried to start your car, it seemed to spur, dead. "What the-?"

"Everythin' alright?" He asked, leaning against the window frame.

"It sounds like the battery's dead?" You frowned, trying again to start the car.

Bo jerked his head, urging you to follow him. "Lemme take a look." You followed him around to the hood of your car and he flipped it open. He hummed as he looked around, face screwing up in surprise. "Your fan belt tore."

"My what?" You blinked owlishly at him. He gave you a look of bewilderment and you just sighed. "You definitely know more about cars than me."

He snorted at you and slammed the hood closed. "I don't think I got any in the shop but I could order one for ya and have it in a few days."

That wouldn't do. "I- I need to get back on the road soon." Panic began to rise in your chest and tighten your throat. "If we're found here, then I'd have to…" You didn't want to think about it, you said to yourself as you squeezed your eyes shut. Obviously you had a plan if you got caught but you really, really, didn't want it to come to that.

Bo nudged you gently and gave you a warm smile. "Hey, we'll look out for ya. Ain't no one gonna hurt'cha here in Ambrose. Not get many tourists anywhere, doubt they'd think to look for ya here."

You sighed. You didn't exactly have much of a choice. If your car wouldn't start, you'd just have to wait.

The two of you were walking back to the house and you felt Bo kept glancing at you. Right before you were going to ask about it, he spoke up. "I know ya wanna go see the House of Wax. Which is all fine 'n good, but ya gotta know somethin' 'fore you go there."

"Sure..?" You said plainly.

Bo sighed loudly, rubbing his hand over his mouth. "So, when Mama got sick, Vince had been away at a real good art college." You nodded along to show you were listening. Bo looked guilty. "When she got worse, I needed help takin' care'a her. Lester and I were away workin' and she needed someone at home. So, uh, near her end…" He sighed again. "I called him back home. It's, uh, still a sore spot. Wasn't able to go back, since he got in on scholarships. An' we didn't have the funds anyway, her bills were too much."

The silence was deafening. "I'm sorry." You said, at a loss for words. "I- I won't bring it up then."

"I 'preciate it. He an' I don't talk 'bout it anymore. If he goes with ya, just don't ask."

You nodded, giving Bo a small smile. "I'm sure he doesn't blame you for it."

The man smiled back at you but you could see it didn't quite reach his eyes. "Yeah. Maybe."

Taking a small sidestep, you bumped your shoulders together. "I know so."

Later that night, things changed.

You'd gone to bed after showering and bathing the boys, the three of you all fast asleep in the bedroom. Vincent and Bo had gone to their own rooms while Lester slept on the couch. None of you heard the two cars that pulled into the town, driving slowly down the streets looking for any sign of life. After no luck at the first few houses, a small group of people approached the Sinclair's house, heavy footfalls making the little porch staircase creak under the stress.

They knocked on the front door and a dog could be heard barking in the backyard.

Lester had stumbled awake in surprise, his brain taking a minute to catch up. No one should be at the door because nobody else was alive in Ambrose. He still went to the door, opening it with a tired yawn. "Yeah?"

A man smiled at him, an acidic look that made bile burn the back of Lester's throat. "I'm looking for someone. Do you happen to know if there's been someone visiting your town?"

Freezing, Lester immediately recognized the man. Even though they'd never met face to face, he knew everything about this man. All child abusers look the same, Lester thought as he recalled his father. They all look like scum.

"Well, I ain't too sure. I work the night shift, I jus' got home. But my brother Bo might'a seen 'em. He works down at the autoshop." He said through a yawn.

"I'd hope so. Considering their car is in his shop." The man smiled, trying to force his way into the door, calling your name.

Lester shoved him back, slamming the door and locking it with a loud thud. He ignored your ex's screaming as he ran up the stairs.

Bo was opening his door before Lester could even knock. "The hell're you-?!"

"Guests." Lester panted, frozen in place as he kept an ear out in case your door opened. "Their ex is here."

His brother's eyes widened and he stormed to Vincent's door, knocking once before opening. He tore the blankets off Vincent and shook him viciously. "Get up, get the knives, we got intruders."

Vincent snapped awake, blinking through sleep-mussed hair. "Mm?" He said around his exhausted yawn.

"Intruders! Vince! Now!" Bo snapped. "I'll get my shotgun. You helpin' out, Les?"

Lester huffed, thinking it over. "Y'know I ain't a killer, right?"

Bo didn't have time for this. "You helpin' or NOT, Les?"

The younger brother sighed. "Does dad still keep a spare gun in his office?"

"Did he ever stop?" Bo said with a smirk, pulling his boots on his feet.

Vincent stumbled to his feet, putting his own boots on to sneak back down into the basement. If he went down and through the House of Wax, they could pin the group down. Bo'd meet them head on while Lester slipped around the side of the house to catch the strays. They vowed to make quick work of all of them but save your ex for last.

The Sinclair brothers were going to protect you. No matter what.

#🔪 creeps writes #slasher x reader #slasher fanfiction #slasher x s/o #house of wax #bo sinclair #vincent sinclair #lester sinclair #bo sinclair x reader #vincent sinclair x reader #lester sinclair x reader #bo sinclair x y/n #vincent sinclair x y/n #tired of running

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reginaldqueribundus · 1 year

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the Sarek family is hilarious to me because you have so much drama in one place. there have got to be at least 3 like, holo-documentaries or whatever about them. how could you not?

you have Sarek, the patriarch: one of the UFP's top diplomats, who knocks up a Vulcan princess then goes “hrm I am ambassador to Earth therefore I should marry a human” and he does, upsetting all sorts of the worst kinds of people on his home planet and causing racist hate groups to try to blow him and his family up multiple times, and seems honestly more put out by his son joining Starfleet than his other son becoming Vulcan Moriarty

Amanda, the matriarch: an accomplished educator and quite possibly the only well-adjusted member of the family, but when her son Spock shows up on her doorstep after growing a beard, having a mental breakdown and apparently murdering several medical staff she still shrugs and hides him in the family mausoleum

Sybok: Amanda's stepson from the aforementioned princess fling, who becomes an antiestablishment criminal mastermind with an edgelord fake name, hooks up with a hot space pirate, finds religion, starts a cult, takes an entire colonial government hostage sparking a diplomatic incident involving three galactic superpowers, and hijacks a Starfleet ship to the galactic core to find the Vulcan Garden of Eden, where he dies fighting god in hand-to-hand combat

Michael, a traumatized human girl Sarek brings home from a work trip, who joins Starfleet, becomes their first-ever mutineer, goes to prison, saves the Federation from a war most people think is her fault and gets “killed” in a highly classified, very suspicious incident involving an experimental starship and a series of red lights that appeared across the galaxy like a divine omen (oh, and returns 900 years later to solve the dilithium crisis, kill the head of the Emerald Chain and save two entire star systems including her siblings' homeworld)

and last but not least Sarek & Amanda's one-of-a-kind hybrid baby. Spock, who gets accepted into the Vulcan Science Academy, tells them to go fuck themselves when they're racist about it, runs off to Starfleet instead, gets so famous his arranged marriage falls apart resulting in him publicly strangling his own captain to death except not really, steals the Federation flagship twice, invents time travel, saves the entire planet Earth, dies and comes back to life, goes into his dad's line of work and achieves peace with the freaking Klingons as his opening act, then after a long successful career suddenly dips to go do extremely dangerous underground activism on one of the most paranoid authoritarian worlds in the galaxy to unify the Romulans & Vulcans who've hated each other for over a thousand years — and he isn't around to see it but it eventually works. then he fucks off with the VSA's high-speed prototype ship full of the most dangerous substance known to science and gets sucked into a black hole of his own creation, never to be seen again. and this is just the stuff that's public knowledge!

then you dig into the novels where Sarek's ancestor basically makes out with Zefram Cochrane 5 seconds after meeting him and Amanda tells the press her husband has a huge cock

I love them

#star trek #amanda grayson #spock #michael burnham #sybok #a post by me™#1k #s'chn t'gai family

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pparadiselost · 11 months

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crying wolf.

werewolf michael kaiser x red riding hood fem reader clichés always hold a grain of truth to them. warning(s): nsfw, noncon, murder of an uninvolved character, breeding, knotting minors do not interact.

a big bad wolf lives in the woods near your village.

that much you know.

the wolf has been the talk of the town for years now, and no matter how many men set off to kill the wolf or how many traps had been set up to catch it once and for all, the sly beast always managed to escape the trickery of your town.

there came a point where you stopped caring about it. you had no reason to step into the woods, satisfied with your quiet life in town, and outside of the stray sheep being killed and eaten every few months, the wolf really didn’t do anything to disturb your quality of life. it must suck to be a sheep farmer while this was all going down, but you weren’t a sheep farmer, so you didn’t care.

“you ought to be more careful!” the old cheesemonger’s wife scolds you as she hands you a generous chunk of cheese. “you know, the huntsmen are saying that they’re going to form an escort group in about a week’s time. shouldn’t you wait until then to go visit your grandma?”

you shake your head. “mama said i should go as soon as possible. grandma hasn’t been feeling well for a while, and ever since the whole wolf scare, we haven’t been able to visit her frequently. i just want to make sure she has enough food, because she can’t really do much herself.”

the old wife clicks her tongue and waggles her finger. “i keep telling my husband here, they really ought to catch that wolf quickly. this is how these things always begin. a couple sheep here and there, and next thing you know, the wolf’s run off with a toddler. who’s to say it won’t develop an appetite for a pretty girl like you?”

“oh, please.” you snort slightly. “the only things with an appetite for women like me are the drunkard sleazebags that waste their money away in the taverns.”

“well, you can say that again,” she laughs. she winks as she tucks you an extra slice of sweet cheese into your basket, and she waves you off before you finish off your errands and head home.

the chilled autumn breeze nips at your skin, and you huddle under the red cape your mother’s lovingly sewn for you. it’s become your best friend when winter starts to draw close, and you’ve worn the garment for years. you’re sure you’ll wear it in due time when you’ll set out through the woods to your grandmother’s, where the bright crimson ought to serve as an identifying beacon of sorts for your ailing grandmother.

the sun threatens to set in the distance by the time you gather up all your supplies and head to the outskirts of the village, where your home is. you double check the contents of your basket at your front door, not wanting your mother to scold you for having forgotten anything.

a bottle of hearty wine? check. loaves of bread that won’t go bad soon? check. cheese, meats, and fruits? check.

“i’m home!” you called out, swinging your front door open. your mother jumps and places a hand over her heart, exhaling deeply when she notices it’s just you.

“you scared the wits out of me, dear!” she scolds, stirring intensely at the pot in front of her. “a knock before you come in wouldn’t hurt, you know!”

“says the person who leaves the front door unlocked.” you toss your boots off and hang your cloak up, and you set down the heavy basket on the already set dining table. you swing in to a seat at the table, stomach growling at the scent of fresh stew. “i got everything for grandma tomorrow. is there anything else you need me to bring to her?”

“do you think i should pack some jam for her? i have a few jars that mr. ah… what’s his name again- well, he gave me some because his sister had made too much, and i reckon that your grandmother wouldn’t have too many sweet things to eat while she’s sick,” your mother suggests. you shrug, and she wipes her hands down on her apron before grabbing at the pot’s handle. “stay put where you are, dear. hot pot coming through!”

“i don't think it'll hurt. might as well bring it over if i’m headed there in the first place,” you offered. your mother smiles at you fondly as you practically lunge for the pot, spoon in hand to scarf down a well-deserved meal.

“slow down, or you’ll get a tummy ache,” she reminds you. you swipe at your mouth with your sleeve, earning a wince from her, but she doesn’t say anything. the night quickly melts away into the everyday hum of dinner followed by a quick berry pie dessert.

you haven’t even thought of the wolf until your mother tells you to go fetch the rest of the laundry she forgot to get earlier in the day. you balance a laundry basket on your hip as you drag your feet outside, wishing you were snuggled up in your bed with a book instead. the cold wind bites at your exposed neck and face, and you scowl as you haphazardly yank at the clothes and socks hung up on the laundry line.

“stupid wind,” you grumble under your breath. you stuff some shirts into the laundry basket, but when you reach to grab at the last pair of socks on the line, the wind tussles it free from the clothing pin and the socks go flying off in the distance. you let out a yelp before running after it, watching the white socks flutter like a pair of doves before landing onto the dirt.

“stupid, stupid wind!” you doubly curse as you bend down, yanking your nightclothes up so that the hem won’t be stained by the dirt. you reach to grab the socks before something in the ground catches your eye, and you shift to take a closer look.

your eyes widen in horror.

pawprints. wolf pawprints.

you shudder and quickly stand up, racing back to the safety of your laundry line and basket. the cursed beast must have been wandering around the wilderness near your home. a shiver runs down your spine at the thought of some stinky mutt of a wolf sniffing at your laundry, and once you see that there are no more clothes left on the line, you march back home and shut the door firmly behind you.

you have nothing to fear. you’re no sheep and definitely not meal material for the big bad wolf. you don’t even bring up the pawprints to your mother once you’re inside, and you don’t even think of the wolf again when you go to bed, bracing yourself for the long journey to your grandmother’s cottage tomorrow.

…

“do you have everything?”

“yes, mama.”

“are your boots comfortable?”

“yes, mama.”

“will the cloak be enough to keep you warm?”

“yes, mama.”

you swear the entire day’s going to be over by the time your mother’s done fretting over you. she’s not only gone over the contents of your basket once, twice, thrice, four goddamn times, and she’s still convinced that somehow she magically forgot to add everything to it. she keeps fretting over you, pulling the cloak tighter around your throat and making sure the hood covers your head comfortably.

deep down, you know she means well, but she keeps fussing over you like you’re a newborn baby. you’re old enough to take care of yourself, old enough to know how the world runs, old enough to stand on your own two feet without having her circling you like some kind of anxious mama bear. which she is, you suppose.

she kisses your forehead gently, looking at you with the weathered affectionate eyes only a mother could ever muster up. “i know you’re sick of me worrying over you like this. i can’t help it—you’re my baby.”

“i’ll be back before you even know it, mama,” you joke back. “and if i’m not back by dinner, you can assume i’ll be at grandma’s for the night. either way, i’ll be back by tomorrow for sure.”

“i’ll be waiting for you,” your mother promises. she clasps your hands, rubbing her calloused palms over yours. she squeezes your fingers carefully, grinning at you despite her obvious nerves. “my baby’s all grown up! going through the woods by herself and everything… what am i going to do when you actually leave the nest?”

“oh, you’ll be fine.” you hoist the heavy basket up, flashing your mother a thumbs-up. “i’ll be on my way then. i shouldn’t dally around too much, or it’ll get late.”

“right, right. i guess i’ll bake something to pass the time while you’re gone. maybe making your favorite pie ought to incentivize you to come home faster!” she agrees with a hearty laugh. you’re just about to turn around and set off before your mother cries out a panicked “wait!”

you look over your shoulder. “huh? what is it, mama?”

“i know this is probably just me fretting,” she looks at you firmly, and she wrings her hands slightly, “but it’s better safe than sorry. make sure to never wander from the main road, okay? you’ve heard about the wolf that’s been terrorizing our village. i don’t want to risk you getting hurt.”

you’d snark back at her a bit normally, but the pure fear in your mother’s eyes makes you bite your tongue for once. “i’ll stay strictly on the path, mama. besides, the wolf’s never taken a human before. and i’m sure there’ll be huntsmen and all sorts of other people out and about at this time of day, so i’ll be okay.”

“i know,” she sighs. “it’s a mother’s instinct. i can’t help but fret over you constantly.”

she waves you off, and you’re on the path to your grandmother’s before you even know it. the weather today is perfect: brisk refreshing air, a few cotton-white clouds in the bright blue sky, and the mischievous twinkles of sunlight streaming through forest trees’ branches.

truth be told, you like these solo adventures more than anything else in the world. living a quiet life in your village has its perks, but when everyone knows everybody, you rarely get a chance to set out by yourself without the scrutiny of your entire town on your back. you hum a little song while you skip through the beaten path in the woods, savoring the solitude. it shouldn’t take you more than a few hours to make the round trip, save for a quick lunch break in the middle and maybe a snack for the road at your grandmother’s abode.

you couldn’t be happier right now. the basket swings from the crook of your arm as you stroll through the woods, admiring the wilderness. a pair of butterflies flutter every now and then, and you can make out the melodic warbles of birdsong. you wonder if it’s mating season for the creatures; the closest you ever got to romance were the fairy tales in your book (your mother’s old hand-me-downs, from when she lived in the port city before moving her to marry your now-absent father) or the occasional wedding that took place in your village (the last one was 7 years ago, when the wheat grinder’s daughter married the postman. you pressed the flowers from your corsage between the pages of a heavy dictionary).

either way, you wish your village had more to show a young woman like yourself. everyone seems happy living their rustic life, and while you were satisfied with the peace that your mother strove so hard to provide you with, you knew that the world had more to show you.

and you crave it. just as the horizon of the woods seems to stretch on forever and ever, you wonder if there’s something beyond it just waiting for you.

maybe there ought to be a great marble castle, blinding white in the distance, complete with a prince charming inside atop his great steed. or maybe big markets with all sorts of treasures from afar! sometimes when a stray merchant stumbles across your town, you’d eavesdrop on the stories they’d tell to the little kids (you always dreamed about tasting the delicious spices they bragged about. cinnamon, was it? oh, that sounded fabulous).

but instead, you’re stuck with this bumfuck, hillbilly country town. there aren’t even any good looking guys here, and you know it’ll take at least a decade to convince your mother to let you move out away from the safety of her arms. the height of gossip here is a stupid wolf running around the woods. your village is so boring that they can’t even find a human to gossip about.

sweat dots your brow once you’re a good way into your journey. parts of the woods clear out into patches of grass or the sporadic lake, and your stomach starts growling slightly. you debate pushing yourself a bit further before you decide otherwise—your mother had packed you a delicious lunch, and it wouldn’t hurt to give your feet a quick break while you wolfed it down.

you scan the nearby woods for a clearing you could sit at, and after a few more feet of walking, you’re greeted with what looks like a meadow of wildflowers in the distance. you keep your eye on the main path before plopping down on the side of the beaten track, leaning your back against a tall tree.

‘lunchtime, lunchtime,’ you excitedly think to yourself as you peel back the cover of your basket. in the corner, all wrapped up, is a pair of sandwiches, a bottle of water, and a whole apple that your mother has prepared for you. the bright noon sun above your head indicates to you that it's the perfect time for lunch, and you lick your lips as you unwrap the sandwiches.

you go to town on your food. you have to force yourself to slow down a bit so you won’t choke on your food, and you listen to the back-and-forth of bird calls as you savor the taste of tasty bread. the crisp tanginess of the apple is welcomed by your tongue after you finish your sandwiches, and you chew thoughtlessly.

crunch.

‘hm?’ you don’t even move when the sound of rustling comes from behind you. it’s probably a deer or something. the sound of rustling wasn’t uncommon this deep into the woods, and huntsmen often told stories about daring foxes or squirrels that would venture close to the tracks to fight over scraps that other travelers had dropped.

crunch.

you swallow down the final bite of your apple, inwardly wishing you had more. you dangle the core in between your fingers, and you wonder if you should toss it into the woods. yeah, that wouldn’t be too bad, right?

crunch.

the birds could pick at it for a bit, and then maybe the bugs could enjoy the sweet treat. what use would you have for an apple core? you stand up, dusting yourself off the best you can, and without looking too far into the woods, you rev up your arm and throwing the apple core as far as you can into the trees with as much force as you can muster-

-only to hit something square on with the apple core.

you blanche. what did you just hit? you weren’t looking too closely, and you had expected the apple core to unceremoniously fall somewhere on the ground and be forgotten. but instead, something of considerable size lurks in the woods, and you hold your breath as you haphazardly grab your basket and your cloak, getting ready to run for it.

“ow…,” a boyish voice whimpers.

huh??? you freeze in your place, confusion flickering through your brain as a shadowy figure rustles around the place you had tossed the apple. a voice? you hadn’t expected that. you were supposed to be the only person here.

did you accidentally hit a wandering huntsman on accident?

“w-who’s there?” you call out. “come out and show yourself!”

“i was trying to-,” the voice grumbles. you hear footsteps and the crunching of breaking branches and leaves, and you keep your distance from the voice. the figure shifts closer to you. “-before you hit me in the face with your leftovers.”

your breath stops just short in your throat when you see a young boy around your age step out into the light. you clearly look confused—you’ve never seen him before, and no one’s mentioned anything about a boy this deep into the woods.

“who are you?” you ask, your own voice hushed. “i’ve never seen you before.”

“i should be asking you that,” he huffs. he folds his hands over his chest, and he pouts. “i want to know about you first.”

“i live in the village.” you point the way you came, down the path. you make the wise decision to casually leave out your name and any other important information you can. “are you from there too?”

he shakes his head. “i live in the woods.”

the woods! you’d never heard of anyone living in the woods. it was pure wilderness, dangerous and scary, no less for someone who wasn’t even a veteran wilderness expert! for someone that lived in the woods, the boy looks surprisingly well groomed. his long blond hair pools over his shoulder and down his chest, and it looks clean and well maintained. his cheeks are rosy and pink, and his bright blue eyes stare you down with a kind of pride you’ve never seen before.

“that’s dangerous, you know,” you point out. “there’s a wolf that's been running around these parts lately. it’s not safe for you to be out here all alone.”

he raises an eyebrow. “a wolf, huh?”

“yeah! it’s been killing sheep in my village. everyone’s been talking about it,” you remark. “i’d take you back to my village if i could, but i can’t.”

“i’m not welcome there,” he coldly remarks. his eyes narrow slightly, as if he’s leering at you. “besides, i wouldn’t want to live in a stupid village anyway. i’m happier on my own. everyone else and their stupidity would make me mad.”

annoyance shoots through you, and you shrug. “suit yourself. i can’t force you to go if you don’t want to. but i’d rather not have blood on my hands.”

“blood on your hands, huh?” the blond boy steps closer to you. “where are you headed to?”

“why do you want to know?”

“because it’s not often that i see a girl wandering around this deep by herself. you said it yourself: it’s dangerous out here.”

you hold your ground as he steps closer, circling around you. he’s tall when he stands at full height, almost enough to rival some of the tallest men in your village. his body is toned, most likely from living in pure wilderness for however long he has, and despite the lighthearted banter between the two of you, something in your gut swirls with anxiety when he prowls around like a wild animal.

“i’m headed somewhere,” you answer vaguely. “i have some stuff i gotta deliver.”

“and it’s that way, isn’t it? opposite your village?” he approaches closer, and you whimper when he sniffs at your ear. “lemme guess… that old lady’s house on the other side?”

your stomach drops. the boy grins, his sharp canines on full display when he sees the awestruck look on your face.

“bingo! you smell like her,” he laughs easily. “that’s a long journey for a pretty girl like you.”

you pull your cloak closer to yourself, instinctively wanting to shield yourself from the strange boy. “that’s enough! i’m going to get going.”

“sure, sure.” he sends you off, still grinning like he’s won some grand prize. “be careful out there though, darling.”

he cocks his head, watching you as you start running away from him. the blond smirks to himself, your sweet scent still clinging to his nose as your silhouette flickers from his view and then disappears into the distance.

“a wolf, huh?” he murmurs. he sounds amused, still thinking about the flabbergasted expressions on your face. something inside of him stirs sinisterly.

he’s hungry, he decides.

and suddenly, sheep meat doesn’t sound as appetizing anymore.

…

horror weighs on your heart like a brick thrown into a pond. it ripples and quivers violently, forming merciless waves that spread out, swallowing up anything in its path and leaving things warped in its wake.

your grandmother’s house is trashed. the windows are smashed in, and the front door is broken. your heart hammers in a panic, and your mouth goes dry. your pupils shake as you stand a distance away from the house.

your mind is blank. what happened? robbers? wild animals? a murderer?

you know deep down in your heart that the correct thing to do is turn on your heel and run, run until you find someone else, run until another person could take care of the issue for you. but your feet stay glued to the ground, and your thoughts swirl over with terrifying ideas.

your grandmother is inside! she’s a weak, defenseless lady, practically confined to her bed because of her old age and her illness… there was virtually nothing she could do to defend herself if anyone attacked her.

what if you were already too late?

“g-grandma…!” you cry out. your basket bounces next to you as you run into the house, tears clouding over your vision. the house seems too big, like it’s swallowing you up without the safety of your grandmother. the inside of the cottage looks just like the outside. furniture overturned, big claw marks etched into the walls, and absolutely no sign of your beloved grandmother.

your blood turns cold at the claw marks.

was it the wolf?

“grandma, if you can hear me, say something…!” you whisper, too scared to raise your voice properly. “o-or move something! grandma, you’re in here, right?”

your body trembles uncontrollably. the only room remaining that isn’t within clear sight is your grandmother’s bedroom. your gut tells you to leave immediately. you don’t want to go in there, but you have to. who’s going to help your grandmother if not for you? what if by the time you ran away and brought other people, it was too late for her?

your steps echo throughout the ruined house like the toll of church bells, and you press your lips into a thin line. you reach out for the door, which, despite its dilapidated state, somehow managed to stay partially attached to the hinges. you push, forcing your head to quit spinning from your fear.

“we meet again, darling!”

your heart drops to the ground. blood paints what seems like every inch of the room, and you immediately stumble backwards, tripping over your own feet and landing like a sack of potatoes onto the ground.

‘move…!’ your brain screams at your body. ‘get up and move!’

but you can’t. the scene unfurling in front of your eyes makes your limbs feel like they were made of lead. you can’t bring yourself to do anything. you can’t crawl, can’t scream, can’t do anything except stare back up at the blood-drenched young man that looms above you with a wolfish smile.

he licks his lips. he looks exactly as he did in the woods. tall, with long blond hair and dazzling blue eyes. except this time, there’s a pair of pointed wolf ears that sprout from the top of his head and a bushy tail in between his legs. he’s splashed with crimson, and his mouth is smeared the deepest red.

“see, i knew this was where you were headed to,” he laughs. “are you looking for the old lady that was in here? sorry to tell you, sweetheart, but i think i was a step ahead of you.”

you can’t bring yourself to breathe.

“you- you’re the wolf…,” you choke out. the smug smirk never leaves the boy’s face as he leers down at you, and another wave of pure dread drops like a deadweight into your stomach when he nods.

“about time you pieced it together, stupid girl.” the boy clicks his tongue mockingly. “i always watched that stupid village of yours get their panties all in a twist trying to catch me. i mean, human or not, did you guys really think you’d catch anything with stupid traps like that?”

you raise your arms instinctively when he leans down. “please don’t kill me…! i won’t say anything- please don’t eat me!”

he pauses, and he takes a long inhale. you clench your eyes shut, bracing yourself from the crunch of your bones under his sharp teeth, and for the smell of your blood to fill the room. this is it. this is how you die. another victim to the weird werewolf that had terrorized your town for god-knows-how-long, gobbled up mercilessly in the same way the boy had devoured your poor, helpless grandmother.

he laughs again, and you shudder. you tentatively peel your eyes open, only to scream when you see yourself at eye-level with him.

“did you think i was going to eat you too? nah, i’m not gonna do that to you. i’ve had my fill with that bony old grandma of yours.” he grabs your wrist, and you yelp when pain shoots up your arm. he yanks you up to your feet, and you shakily lean against him when he drags you into the heart of the scene of the crime. you don’t want to look at all the blood splattered against your now-dead grandmother’s bedroom, and the boy flings you like a ragdoll onto her bed.

he looks so monstrous, towering over your cowering form. in every other way, he looks like a normal human, like any other boy you’d see frolicking in your hometown, but his animalistic features betray him. the gleam in his eyes mark him as unmistakably a ruthless predator, and your heart feels like it's going to give out.

“what are you going to do to me?” you eke out. “are you going to take me hostage?”

“hostage? for what? do i look like the kind of person to bargain with stupid humans?” he snorts, and when he shakes his head at your foolishness, his long hair tumbles over his broad shoulders. you look like a deer caught in headlights as he clambers onto the bed, and he presses a hand on either side of your face as he cages you in between his body and the mattress.

he’s smiling, but you can’t detect any trace of goodwill or kindness on his face. “do you really want to know what i’m going to do with you, my darling?”

you didn’t know how to respond. he leans down to your level, and you whimper when you can smell the stench of blood and death on his mouth. despite this, he presses his lips against the outline of your jaw, and you quiver underneath the boy as his tongue darts out to lick at your skin.

“i’m going to make you my mate.”

your head feels like it’s caving in.

“what-?” you flinch. “no- no, no- nonono- you can’t do that… i can’t- no, i can’t do that! i can’t be your mate…!”

he narrows his eyes, yet his lips never leave your face. he keeps kissing you greedily, and you push at him to no avail, unable to wrench his heavier, stronger body off of you. you start sobbing and crying out, yet the boy pays no attention to you as his mouth tastes your skin like a starved man.

“be good, or i’ll force you. you wouldn’t want that, would you? i don’t want to hurt a pretty thing like you,” he hisses. you sniffle and swallow back your oncoming sobs and you avert your eyes.

“i promise i’ll be gentle. besides, i’m way better looking than any of the men in your village,” he attempts to cheer you up. “c’mon. look at me. isn’t something like this more exciting than a drab country wedding? i’ll treat you like a princess. just love me, darling. does it matter if i’m a wolf or not?”

“you’re a wolf that kills! i don’t want to be with someone like you!”

he frowns, and his hands move to your cloak. your heart pounds painfully against your chest as his fingers twist at the material. your mother’s painstaking handiwork dissolves like sugar in water under his grip, and you know moving to defend yourself is futile. he quickly shreds your clothes as you cry quietly.

“you would do this too, if you were me.” his fingers trace over the bare skin of your collarbones and dip towards your breasts. his hands are sticky and warm against the chill of your body, and he cups your chest. it’s insane, how well your body fits into his big palms. he watches you with lust-stricken eyes, and his cock strains against his pants when he sees your tears wetting your pretty face and you laying there underneath him, not bothering to fight him off.

he knows. he knows you’re being obedient out of fear rather than true submission, but it’s good enough for him.

“i’m lonely,” he whispers. “you don’t know how it feels. having to kill to live. having to stay in the shadows. having to always yearn from afar because all of those stupid humans can’t see that i’m more similar to them than i am different.”

“t-that’s no reason to ruin my life…!” you protest. it’s a last ditch effort, but you shakily inhale anyway. “please… let me go. we can pretend like none of this happened. i promise i won’t tell anyone anything. i’ll give you my word. just… i can’t be a wolf’s wife- i can’t- i can’t do that-”

he shakes his head. “i want you. you talked to me in the forest. offered me help. treated me like a normal boy my age. i was too scared, so i hid my ears and tail, and you were none the wiser. that- that’s enough proof, isn’t it? that with enough time, you’d come to love me for who i am…”

you let out a strangled cry as a hand starts groping your tits, rough fingers brushing over your sensitive nipples. it feels foreign, having your boobs touched like this, but a dull heat thrums deep inside your stomach. the boy looks entranced as he stares down at your form. the way your plush chest molds and bends to his hands makes him desire you even more, even if he’s aware that you’re terrified to death of him.

“i can’t let you go. i can’t,” he doubles down. any of the remorse you had managed to wrench out of him disappears bit by bit, and he groans as he paws at your body greedily. “god, you’re just so pretty… i have to have you.”

you clench your thighs together. his lips meet yours, and you nearly vomit at the taste of iron on your mouth. he’s clumsy, but he kisses you so hungrily, eager to lap up any semblance of affection. you grip at the sheets as his hot tongue swipes at your closed lips, and you’re determined to deny him. he frowns into the kiss, and you feel a twinge of pride well up.

the wolf exhales angrily. the hand that’s been roaming your chest twists at your nipple harshly. you yelp at the pain, and the boy shoves his tongue into your mouth, moaning into the kiss. you start thrashing slightly. he doesn’t heed any mind to your discomfort, and if anything, he begins grinding his clothed hips against your thighs.

he can’t get enough of how you feel. your kisses are like honey to his mouth, and his body melts at the feeling of you against him. you know he’s going to leave bruises all over your tits from how hard he’s grabbing at them, but despite everything that’s overwhelming you, the heat that pounds against your core only builds.

you can’t breathe. you clench your eyes shut and try to bear it, try to work through the sparks of pleasure that cloud your mind from having your breasts molested, as the wolf kisses you how he wants you. your mouth tastes foul when he finally pulls away, and a string of saliva connects the two of you momentarily.

you glare up at him.

“i want to fuck you…,” his voice trails off. “i want to fuck you so bad. but i have to be gentle. i promised to treat you well…”

your pussy curls at the thought of taking the wolf’s dick. he bucks his clothed erection higher and higher up your legs, and he moans shamelessly into your mouth as he kisses you again. he slobbers all over your mouth like a feral dog, his tongue slithering into your throat like he’s fucking your mouth.

you don’t enjoy this. you don’t want this at all. yet you can’t ignore the throb that pulses at your core, the way your walls squeeze every now and then painfully against nothing. you’re not turned on by this—you’re not. you want to convince yourself of that so badly, but every time you realize the situation you’re put in, pinned down to a bed with a werewolf that wants to stuff every inch of his dirty cock into your cunt, arousal swirls inside your body.

his hands trickle down to your pants, and fear pricks sharply at your heart.

“i’ll be a good mate.” he peels the rest of your clothes off, mimicking the gentleness of a human lover the best he can. “i can be like a real human husband. no, i can be better. i know i can be better than any of those stupid boys in your village.”

you shudder when cold air rushes at your bare cunt. the slick that coats your slit is undeniable, and the boy’s pupils widen at the sight. he swallows, and you watch as his neck bobs. even by human standards, he’s handsome, and your body betrays your mind as he coaxes your thighs open.

“you want me too, don’t you?” he asks. he offers a weak smile. it’s almost sickening, how someone who mercilessly took everything from you can pretend to be a human in hopes that you’d grant him any pity. “i’ll make you feel good. i’ll be everything you want me to be.”

he lets go of your legs, and he grabs at his own clothes, shredding them apart. he groans when his cock springs free of his pants.

your heart drops into your stomach.

“i-i can’t take that-,” you choke out. “that’s too big! you’ll kill me- i’m not kidding…!”

he tilts his head to the side, and he shrugs. his cock is inhumanly huge, and if he were to put that inside your cunt, you swear that you’d be able to feel it in your throat. it’s long and thick and swollen up to an angry red. a few prominent veins run along his length, eager to stuff itself into your soft and vulnerable cunt. his balls hang heavy and big, undoubtedly filled with all the cum that he wants to fuck into you.

he grabs at your thighs again, and you squeal loudly in protest as he keeps you pinned in place.

“stay still-,” he grunts, “it’ll hurt less if you stop squirming like that! you’ll get used to it with time. it might hurt a little, but it’ll feel good with time… now shut up, and let me fuck you already-”

you grit your teeth and brace yourself as he starts rubbing his length against your lower lips. he moans softly, savoring the way your warm body feels against him. you can feel his cock twitch dangerously against your folds, and you whimper in a mix of pleasure, disgust, and fear whenever his cockhead catches at your sensitive clit.

he lines his cock up at your fluttering hole, and you stop breathing. your chest feels tight, and your head feels blown out. you prep yourself for the oncoming pain, but he pauses for a moment.

“give me your name.”

you blink. “huh?”

“if- if i’m going to take you to be my mate, i should know your name at least. before i do this,” he whispers sheepishly. your stomach twists with hatred. why should he care? he’s going to do all of these horrible things to you, so why is he even bothering to pretend to play the act of a caring lover?

“yours first,” you hiss. “if a wolf like you even has a name.”

“i do.” his response surprises you. “michael. it’s michael. i have a human name like you do. i heard that it means ‘he who is like god.’ now tell me yours.”

you lay there for a moment, dumbfounded. you didn’t expect a monster like him to have a label like that. and less so a name as blessed as “michael.”

you hang your head. “...(y/n).”

he hums, and you flinch when his cockhead threatens to break into your hole. “it’s a pretty name. a perfect name for a perfect mate.”

you bite the inside of your mouth and properly brace yourself. he pushes his hips in slowly, his gaze fixed on where his cock connects with your pussy. you weren’t sure exactly what you were expecting, but the pain comes faster than you thought. it burns and stretches, and you cry out, stiffening and lashing out, trying to get him off of you.

“hurts…! ‘t hurts-!!” you screech. you pound and claw at his shoulders, yelling and immediately bursting into another onslaught of tears. the tears are hot and heavy as they trickle down your face, and your legs shake uncontrollably. it genuinely feels like he’s splitting you into two, and the torturous pain makes your head flash white.

michael nearly falls on top of you. your cunt is disgustingly warm and inviting, and it stretches out and envelops him. it’s hot and wet and tight, and despite your constant protests, your pussy is heavenly around his cock. you’re so small, and he knows his wolf cock is about to break you. but god—he wants to break you. if breaking you feels this good, he’ll eagerly shatter you into a million pieces so that he has the depraved honor of being the one to destroy you and strip you of your humanity.

he clenches his jaw. he couldn’t lose his mind. not like this, not when his endgame was right there. “take it. i’m going to be your mate, so you better get used to taking my dick and get used to it fast.”

you hold back a strangled sob. your tears are freeflowing, and it’s hard to breathe. his cock feels like it’s pressing straight up against your womb, and he’s not even giving you the mercy of adjusting to his size slowly. his length invades every inch of your cunt, and his ridiculous girth has you stretched out thin. you know you can’t take this. he’s actively molding your tight hole into the shape of his cock, and if he keeps himself in here any longer, you might actually go insane.

your words slur sloppily. “you’ll kill me- you’ll fuck me to death-”

his breathing is strained just from the pleasure of putting it in, but he still manages to snort at you mockingly. “you won’t die. no one’s ever died from sex.”

you wish you had the spirit to shout back at him, to put up more of a fight. but that instinct has been long extinguished at this point, and you’re nothing more than a sniveling mess as you struggle to breathe through the tightness in your chest.

“c’mon, don’t be boring now.” he truly can’t get enough of the sight. the pretty girl from the village, face stained with tears, legs spread out all for him to fuck into her pretty cunt. to put it as frankly as he can, the boy doesn’t know what he wants to do first with you.

the sweeter part of him wants to kiss away your tears, to comfort you the best he can with a low voice and whisper his undying love to you, to convince you that a life as a wolf’s wife won’t be all that bad. you’ve caught his eye for a reason, and he wouldn’t want to have you snatch away whatever dregs of humanity the hybrid wolfboy was clinging desperately too. even if everyone else regarded him to be some kind of barbaric monster, deep down, even he has a soul that yearns painfully for love. for a romantic partner that could accept him as an equal and open their heart up to him.

but maybe this other part of him is what makes him a monster.

he loves seeing you reduced to this broken mess. he enjoys it, the primal fear that’s evident on every inch of your face. the way you’re nothing more than prey in his arms, with no other choice but to let him fuck your tight pussy out on his monstruous cock, to be the direct cause of all the pain and anguish you’re going through and to enjoy it like it’s the thrill of a fresh kill… it makes the wolfish streak inside of him go wild with delight, and he wants to keep you pinned down and helpless underneath him so he can soak up that bliss a little longer.

your stomach coils up on itself when you feel him slide his hips back slowly. the strangled noise that leaves your mouth is a mix between a pained shriek and a pleasured moan. he’s really too much for you to fit inside, and your strained walls cling to his cock. you’re barely hanging on for dear life just from him penetrating you. you can’t even imagine what it would be like once he would start actually thrusting and having sex with you.

“ahhh, you’re just too cute,” he teases you. “i never knew love could feel like this… it’s so good, isn’t it? no regular human dick could even come close to what i’ll make you feel, my little wife.”

you sob as he slowly bullies his cock back into you, once more making sure that you can properly feel the torturous stretch. the pain wobbles dangerously on edging you towards pleasure, and your vision blurs over slightly as the mounting heat in your gut tightens up. it’s gross, it’s inhuman that you’re getting off on having sex with a wolf, but your own self-restraint is being tested with the small cries you’re letting out.

“ah-,” you pathetically squeak out, “ahh…! michael- michael, please- i can’t do this!”

“yes, you can,” he promptly corrects you. his thrusts are shallow, granting you the rare mercy of sparing you from being speared in half on his entire length. “look at you… you’re starting to feel good, aren’t you? i can feel everything… that little cunt of yours won’t stop tightening up around me. you’re squeezing so much! it’s like your pussy knows better than you who you’re meant to be with.”

your mind shakes. it’s all you can do to keep yourself conscious. all the stimuli are too much: the anxiety, the pleasure, the adrenaline. your thoughts are being smoothed over, all logic coming to a screeching halt as the tightness welling up in your womb is all that your body can focus on. you hate how easily his name falls out of your mouth, how easily you find it to moan, and the wolfboy eagerly devours the attention you give him.

how angelic you must look to him right now! his mate, his precious mate, moaning out his name in pleasure, no matter how terrified they are of him! he moans softly too, and he can’t help but buck his hips deeper and harder into you. your voice and all your little noises are too adorable to him, and he just wants it all.

“you like it, don’t you? yeah, i know it’s starting to feel good. give in to me. you don’t have to do anything but let me have my way.” his breath is hot and heavy and tinged with the sharp tang of blood. you cringe when he kisses at your neck and cheeks again, but with how rapidly his hips are picking up at the rhythm, your thighs tremble dangerously. “i’ll make you cum again and again… oh, you’re just so lovely…”

your cunt sucks him in greedily. feeling his cock rub against your walls and prod dangerously at your cervix makes you grow blank, and your body keeps reacting more and more to what the wolfboy is doing to you. you wonder if this is what people mean when they say they’re being fucked stupid, and if it isn’t, whatever he’s doing to you is coming horribly close.

“fuck…! fuck- no- michael- michael, please-,” you whimper out. you two both know perfectly well that your cries are from how good it feels, but you still refuse to verbalize it properly. michael smiles into the curve of your throat, and he kisses your jugular with what you can only describe as a sickly kind of affection.

“what are you asking for, my love?” he chuckles endearingly. you sob, and your toes curl into the disheveled bed when his cock slides into you just right. your vision skews its axis slightly, and you let out a sharp exhale, mouth lolling open a little. he nips at your skin with his sharp teeth to snap you back to life. “tell me properly with those human words you’re so proud of. ‘please fuck me harder, michael! make love to your wife! give me more of your cock!’”

your cheeks burn with humiliation when he ridicules you, but deep down, you don’t know if you can wholeheartedly refute him. you do want more of him. you do want him to fuck you harder. your cunt purrs in delight every time he slides in and out of your slick hole, and his cock manages to ruthlessly hit all the right places.

it’s unfair. it’s unfair how everything’s stacked against you.

you must have ignored him for too long. michael frowns disapprovingly, and a low growl vibrates in his throat. he ducks his head and bites down on your shoulder, sharp teeth digging themselves into the curves of your soft flesh. you scream out in pain, your walls clamping down on him and another flurry of torturous pleasure shreds your stomach.

“p-please fuck me harder, michael…!” you’re fully crying. your words don’t sound like your own, and you certainly don’t feel like yourself. the tears and snot smeared all over your face makes you feel like some lowlife, and you hate the way he forces you to beg for him. “make love to me… give me- give me more of your cock!”

“see?” he licks his lips, and he grins devilishly as you as he pulls away from your now-marked shoulder. “that wasn’t so bad, was it? nothing wrong with you for wanting more from your husband. i’ll gladly indulge my darling.”

a shaky scream pounds at your chest, and blinding hot pleasure overwhelms your head as he picks up his pace. your moans reach a high-pitched squeal as he fucks himself into you, his cock rapidly pulling in and out of your pulsing hole. it’s not like you make it particularly easy for him either; your disgustingly tight pussy walls cling to him and almost refuse to let him go.

does your body love his dick that much? does your cunt want to savor the feeling of him stretching it out that badly? those thoughts make kaiser swell with pride as he reaches a fast rhythm. despite how sloppily and quickly he’s ramming his whole length into you to make sure you feel every single bit of his dick, he still makes sure that each thrust has his heavy cockhead drilling right at your womb.

he prods at your deepest parts, shamelessly making sure that your womb knows it’s time to be bred. it’s time for him to fill you up with his cum, to fuck a baby into you, to force every part of your body to be tainted with him. from inside and out, from outside to in, kaiser wants to selfishly claim every part of you. that’s what good husbands do to their wives, don’t they? that’s what your folk—the human folk—did, right?

the tightness that gnaws at your core refuses to relent. your arousal runs rampant through your veins, and it feels like your guts are tying themselves into a knot. you don’t know how else to describe the heat that mounts in your core and inside your head. your body and conscience are at odds with each other. your brain rejects michael, your mouth begs for him to hold you and fuck you harder, and your hole sucks him in like it doesn’t want to let go.

“that’s my pretty wife. you have such a fucking slutty body- begging for your husband feels good, yeah? i know, i know, darling,” he drinks up your tears, his hot tongue lapping languidly at your face. you choke back another sob, and he moves to steal a kiss. his tongue invades your mouth, and your eyes gloss over. you’re overwhelmed with his presence. it smells like him, tastes like him, feels like him. you’re crying out and mewling in pleasure into his mouth, and he literally eats up every single one of your lewd noises.

his balls slap against your ass, desperate to empty themselves into you. his cock twitches and throbs inside you, making you shudder in delight. it’s a sick kind of lovemaking, if you could even call it that. your own slick dribbles down between your legs, and the lubrication only makes it easier for michael to greedily shove his cock into your fluttering cunt.

“can’t take anymore- michael, ‘m gonna lose my mind-!” you breathe out. you hate to admit it. you don’t want to tell him how stupidly close you are. you blame how monstrously huge his cock is; how else would he be destroying your body in such an inhuman way? your vision is unstable, blurring even more around your teary edges, and the heat that licks inside of you is unbearable.

michael knows it. he can feel it. the way the velvety lining of your cunt coaxes his cock right up to your cervix, the way it keeps squeezing him and writhing around his sensitive inches, the way your own voice seems to hike higher and higher. your legs tremble underneath him, and michael is thrilled to know just how far he’s successfully broken you. the shame and embarrassment that’s scribbled all over your face makes him almost uncontrollably giddy.

“are you gonna cum, darling? did my cock make you feel that good?” he laughs mockingly. his words are like thorns against your ears, yet with how roughly he’s pounding into your pussy, having mounted you like the uncivilized animal he was, you couldn’t deny it. he’s a predator through and through, and with you trapped in his reach like prey, you know all too well that he’ll be moving in for the kill soon.

the insatiable tightness inside you teeters on the brink. you’re barely holding on, each breath growing more strained than the last. michael doesn’t let up his pace, continuing to rut into you. each snap of his hips has you close, so close, so fucking close—you don’t want him to stop. you clench your eyes shut, bracing yourself to hurtle headfirst into the crash, to topple finally past the point of no return where you would irrevocably become the wolf’s.

“i’m cumming…! ah- michael- cumming- cumming…!”

heat rips through your body in half. you throw your head back, the foreign feeling consuming you whole as if you had been thrown directly into fire. your cunt clamps down on the boy’s cock, and it feels like he’s about to split you into two. your vision completely blurs, and the world rushes around your senses. it’s too much yet not enough at the same time, and you rake your nails down the wolf’s bare back with such a fervor that you must have shredded up his skin and drawn blood.

you shake and squirm and thrash underneath him, but no matter how much you writhe against his body, michael won’t let his grip on you go. he relentlessly fucks you through your orgasm, leaving you a sobbing mess as your juices squirt out of your abused hole and drip down onto the shaky bed. his cock pounds harder and harder, and he groans out as he feels your slick and pulsing walls flutter and clench around him.

“hah- that’s what i thought-,” he chuckles. you can’t breathe. you can’t think. the incessant throbbing in your stomach is still there, but it’s morphed from arousal into something a little more painful. he’s overstimulating your already overrun cunt. “your husband’s dick is that good, isn’t it? don’t worry; i’ll fuck you like this as much as you want… i’ll get you to cum over and over again.”

you dumbly shake your head. your head is foggy, and the throes of your climax don’t want to let you go. “n-o… can’t take any more- no more- don’t want any more…!”

“you’re going to take it, like the good wife you are. you don’t get a choice in this. i’m your husband,” he snarls. you shudder, whimpering in weak protest as he continues using you. it hurts, and it burns, and the coil that refuses to let up in your stomach makes you feel sick. how much longer could this monster last? it feels like he’s been having sex and using your body forever, but even after ripping an earth-shattering orgasm from you, he still hasn’t cum yet.

“it hurts- i can’t do it…!” you smack at his chest again, but you know he won’t let you go. your tears sparkle cruelly on your cheeks, and michael sighs lovingly as he laps at your face. he swings back and forth constantly between treating you like you were a mere bug to cherishing you. was this some kind of karmic revenge from the universe for thinking so lowly of your own village? the home that seemed so far away now?

“take it- take it- fuck- let me make you my proper wife…” fear floods your body when you can feel his cock twitch dangerously deep inside you, your bruised cervix contracting and sucking him in. his balls tighten and continue to slap against your ass, but with how quickly and frantic his movements are, he’s going to cum. “fill you up with my pups… we’ll be such a happy family together-”

your eyes shoot open. cold reality splashes over you as if slapping you back to your senses, even in the midst of being manhandled. “no! no, no…! don’t! please, please, michael- that’s the one thing you can’t do! don’t cum inside- i don’t want to get pregnant with your babies!”

he grits his teeth, and he presses his entire body weight on top of you, determined to keep you physically where you are. he’s determined to make sure you can’t escape from his grasp, as if you’d be able to go anywhere with how disheveled and haunted you are. it’s a good look for you, second only to the loving glances he knows you’d never spare him.

“shut up, shut up…! this is your job, this is what you’re supposed to do! this is what lovers do!” he thrusts once, twice, and when he brings his hips down one final time, your fate is sealed. his own cry dies out, buried deep inside his throat as he cums deep and hard into you. your breath lodges into your neck, leaving you with nothing but bitter defeat and the taste of uncertainty all over your mouth.

his cum spurts everywhere, and it floods your womb. it burns and goes everywhere, painting your insides a pretty shade of ivory white, and you can feel every drop of it flowing into you. it’s poison, it’s heavy, and it’s awful, yet your cunt has no choice but to take every little bit of it. you bite down on the inside of your cheek as it starts to eke out, and you force yourself to endure it. you have no choice but to; this is what survival is for you now. this is the only answer you have now.

you don’t know how you’re going to live with this. you try to console yourself by telling yourself that you had gotten over the worst, but you know that you haven’t. you never will.

“nnghg…!” a stray cry slips from your mouth when something tight and way too big for you to take invades your strained hole. a sharp pain invades and spearheads through you, and your entire body stiffens as his large knot shoves its way into your plush and stretched out pussy. his cum overwhelms your body, stretching out every inch of your battered womb. your stomach bulges just slightly, feeling stuffed to the very brim.

michael nearly collapses on top of you, keeping you folded in half and in a perfect, vulnerable breeding position. his eyes are blown open wide and glossed over in a kind of drunken stupor, yet he refuses to let you go in any capacity. it’s not like you have the physical means to anyway; you’re already so weak from having him force himself onto you, and the pain of being bred and knotted is taking everything in you to not pass out right there and then.

he reaches towards your face, cupping your tear-stained and broken expression with his large palm. you don’t know if the feeling that stirs in your gut is simply the aftershocks of sex or pity towards yourself, but seeing michael look down at you with such a triumphant yet lovestricken gaze isn’t doing your any favors. you know you have no choice but to get pregnant with his children, to watch in horror as your body turns into nothing but a host for these parasites he’s determined to fuck into you over and over, not a single squeeze of semen going to waste with the knot he’s plugged you up with.

“we’ll be perfect together,” he whispers. his words are almost like a mantra he’s brainwashing you with. you wonder who needs it more, the manipulator or the one being manipulated. everything feels like a punishment to you. just where did you go wrong? were you too ambitious for your own good? too hopeful? too willing to jump at the first opportunity for escape that came your way, not caring to see if any part of the rosy details were traps?

or maybe the worst part was that you might have done nothing wrong at all. maybe this was all a twisted machination of the universe. maybe just like what michael believed, you were destined to fall into the wolf’s grasp one way or another, to disappear from the face of society and the world as you knew it, to have him drag you off into the darkness and to become the broken but beautiful wolf’s bride that he must have dreamt of forever.

“i love you.” he kisses you, and you don’t have the strength nor the courage to say those blasted words back to him. it’s not like you could say them back sincerely either. instead you avert his gaze, turning your face towards the red scraps of your cloak that lay on the ground as if they were miniature corpses of their own, left over from a long lost war.

you hope your mother can forgive you when she realizes you won't ever come back home.

KINKTOBER 2023—le cinquième jour, le dernier jour.

#blue lock #blue lock x reader #blue lock smut #bllk #bllk x reader #bllk smut #michael kaiser #x reader #my writing

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7-wonders · 5 months

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Requiem

Michael Langdon x Reader (Mad Love Act II, Chapter XVI)

Summary: It's all led to this, and now, you have to face off against Michael to get your world back.

Word Count: 6.3k

A note from the author: This chapter is so, so dark. Sorry? Also, this chapter relies a lot on the she/her pronouns this story was first started with btw. (more notes at the end)

I noticed when posting this that it looks like the previous chapter didn't load a lot of tags. If you got tagged in this and are like "wait how did we get to the fight already?" you missed the last chapter! Click on the Mad Love Masterlist to read Chapter 35. :)

Content warnings for this chapter include graphic depictions of injury and death. Reader discretion is advised.

Mad Love Masterlist

Mallory warned you prior to leaving your room that the residents of Outpost 3 were all dead, murdered at the hands of Ms. Venable and her poisoned apples (you try not to dwell on your own poisoned apple experience). All the preparation in the world doesn’t prepare you for the shock of seeing two dead bodies, those of Coco and Dinah, in the large foyer of the Outpost. Shock turns to revulsion as one of Mallory’s friends and other witches yanks a knife out of Coco’s skull with little more than a wince. When she stands, she points the knife at you.

“She gonna help us?” she asks warily.

“She is.” Mallory turns to you, pointing first to the woman with the knife and next to another woman standing near the stairs. “This is Queenie and Zoe.”

You wave sheepishly. “It’s nice to meet you two.”

Zoe smiles kindly, but Queenie just appraises you with a look that says she doesn’t trust you. You can’t say that you blame her, though you wish she didn’t have a reason for this reaction. Mallory leaves your side to kneel in between the two dead women, and you watch as she takes a deep breath and breathes out onto Coco’s face before repeating her movements with Dinah.

It takes mere seconds for the two to shoot up, gasping for air and trying to get used to once again inhabiting a body.

“Welcome back,” Mallory says.

“What just happened?” Coco asks, her elaborate hairdo impressively staying put after all of that.

“You died. And now, you’re no longer dead.”

“Oh.” She frowns, rubbing at the spot where a knife sat moments ago. “Fuck, that sucked.”

“Are you going to explain why you tore us from our afterlives?” Dinah snaps, standing up.

“It’s time to fix this entire mess. To defeat Michael, we need all the help we can get.” Mallory eyes Dinah specifically. “From both of you.”

“You’re on your own with that shit,” Dinah declares. “I’m not here to defeat anyone.”

Maybe it’s not your place, but you feel like you can help to convince Dinah. You take a step toward here. “Please, I really think that—”

“How can any of you defeat me, when I’ve already won?” A voice, so familiar to you that it could be your own, comes from the stairs.

You almost don’t want to look at him. If you don’t, maybe you can remain in this stasis where you’re simply preparing to undo the apocalypse, instead of being faced with the reality that you’re about to fight your own husband, the man who, despite all of the horrors he’s committed, remains your love. When you do tear your eyes away from Dinah, you see that he’s not even taking notice of your presence. No, he only has hate-filled eyes for the Supreme.

Michael’s changed into a blood-red jacket, which makes it obvious that he was expecting this showdown to happen. Ms. Mead stands off to his left side, ever the small, imposing bodyguard. Mallory steps forward, along with most of the group. You can’t bring your feet to move, so you remain back with Dinah.

“You haven’t won,” Mallory says.

“Perhaps you haven’t noticed the state of the world.”

Queenie scoffs. “At least the world can be saved. Unlike your bitch ass.”

Michael smirks proudly. “The seventh seal has been broken. Wormwood has fallen from the sky and turned the rivers to blood and fire. The bottomless pit has been opened and my swarms of locusts and scorpions have ravaged humanity. The world has been remade in my father’s image.”

When he speaks like this, of biblical imagery and prophecy, he turns into a person you don’t care to know. He turns into the Antichrist.

“Almost.” Mallory smiles. “Pretty sure he didn’t imagine a world where there were still witches, so you failed there.”

Michael finally takes in the full group, and his haughty demeanor falters when he sees you. Softly, he utters your name. “What are you doing?”

You swallow thickly, willing your voice not to shake. “I think you know.”

“I do. You’re going to betray me?

Mallory tries to grab your arm as you move in front of her, but you can’t be stopped now. “This is not betrayal. I’m doing this because I love you, and I can’t bear to be faced with the monster that you’ve become any longer. Now, we have a chance to save the world, Michael. Help me undo this mess.”

“Michael,” Mallory gets his attention once more. “Your father never commanded you to end the world in this way. Jeff and Mutt, the two that ran Kineros, were the ones who thought a nuclear apocalypse was the solution. They controlled Ms. Mead and gave her the commands to tell you that this was Satan’s plan. Satan was just happy to take credit when he realized that you were going to cause anarchy.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Michael says.

“Is it? They told me so themselves, when I went to Kineros to ensure that Coco would be in this Outpost.”

He rolls his eyes. “This is such an obvious lie, I’m a little offended that you would think I’d fall for it. Right, Ms. Mead?”

Michael looks to his left, expecting to be backed up, only to see Ms. Mead with a look of bewildered shame on her face.

“Ms. Mead?”

“They—I do as I’m programmed,” she stutters.

You gasp at the revelation. Satan didn’t come up with the plan to end the world like this? All of this could have been avoided?

Instead of being faced with the same reckoning, a look of absolute murder appears on his face. “I’m going to do what I should have done that day in the Murder House and kill you all personally.”

“Mallory,” Dinah calls, walking towards the Supreme. “You raised me from the dead so that you would have the power of voodoo on your side. But if you know anything about who I am, you know that the only choice I’d pick would be the winner.”

She comes to a stop just before the stairs, bowing her head respectfully. Michael raises a hand out to her, ready to welcome another acolyte. You throw Mallory a panicked look, but she’s barely holding back glee.

“You’re half-right, Dinah,” she admits.

“She needed the help of a powerful voodoo queen,” a deep Southern voice says. You turn and watch as a tall woman with long braids struts up to Dinah. “But that ain’t you, sis .”

“The former Voodoo Queen, Marie Laveau,” Mallory whispers into your ear.

“To release me from hell, Mallory promised Papa Legba the darkest and most corrupt voodoo queen’s soul for mine. You’ll serve him well in my place.”

“You’re a fool, Marie Laveau,” Dinah spits. “You would have done no different if you were queen.”

“No!” Marie says, before disappearing in a puff.

Not even a second later, she reappears behind Dinah wielding a machete. When Dinah turns to face her, Marie brings the machete down in one swing on her throat. Dinah gasps and screams as blood begins to gush out of her neck, falling to the floor and bleeding out in a matter of seconds. Nobody else seems to be affected by this, but you feel a little faint, and you hold onto Mallory’s arm to keep from collapsing.

“Out with the trash!” Marie declares. “Give Papa my regards.”

Michael, apparently having enough of this, nods to Ms. Mead. The android removes her hand to reveal a machine gun hidden underneath it. Though you want to say something along the lines of, “What the actual fuck?” Zoe says a word in what you assume to be Latin before you can.

Instead of shooting, Ms. Mead begins to shake and whir mechanically. Mallory uses Michael’s confusion to usher everybody back towards the open fire, where you watch as Ms. Mead explodes and sends Michael flying over the railing. He lands harshly on the floor below, staring in horror at Ms. Mead’s head next to him.

It’s only a matter of time until his horror turns to rage, and Queenie scrambles forward to grab Ms. Mead’s machine gun hand. When Michael rises, she rises with him, gun trained on his chest.

“Sorry about your little toy,” Queenie says before placing her finger on the trigger.

Michael turns to be met with a firestorm of bullets, more than enough to kill even the Antichrist. You scream in horror at the sight, his blood spattering against the wall as he falls and comes to rest against it, very obviously dead.

“Michael!” You try to stand, wanting to save him even though he probably (definitely) deserves what’s just happened to him. Before you can, Mallory pulls you to her.

“This won’t keep him down,” she assures you. “He’s too powerful to be truly killed. But this will buy us time.”

Though you don’t know if you believe her, you need to in order to keep from emotionally collapsing, so you nod.

Queenie walks to Michael’s body, kicking his foot as she checks to make sure he’s dead…for now, at least. “Do we need his hair or something for this? Because I’m more than happy to rip off a chunk of it.”

“No. The spell only requires that we have something personal of his.” Mallory smiles at you. “And we have the most important person in his life here with us. As long as you’re still in?”

You force yourself to look away from Michael, closing your eyes and taking a couple of deep breaths to recenter yourself. Finally, you look at her again. “Of course, I’m still in.”

“Good. Have you picked a time that will work to stop him?”

“I think so,” you confirm. After some internal deliberation, you think that the best way to get through to him is going to be when you had the big fight about the poisoned apple, before you stormed out and got yourself kidnapped by the witches. He wasn’t too powerful or too far gone with his father’s plan yet, but you were both in love with each other—albeit, you hadn’t actually realized it at that point.

“Alright. I’ll need you to focus on that, okay? Then I’ll say the spell, and we’ll be able to go back in time. We just need somewhere safe to cast the spell, somewhere with a large tub we can fill with water.”

You definitely found a room like that when you were exploring the Outpost your first couple of days here. “Okay. Follow me.”

Everybody stands, but hesitates when they remember the issue of Michael. If he’s going to come back to life like Mallory says, shouldn’t there be some safety measure in place to buy you more time?

Queenie sighs and rolls her eyes, realizing that she should probably be that safety measure. “Go,” she urges, readjusting her grip on the gun to ensure she’ll be quick to the trigger when Michael rises again.

Mallory darts forward to hug her quickly. “Thank you.”

“Enough with the sappy shit.” Even as she says that, you can see the affection in her eyes when she looks at Mallory. “Go!”

You do as she says and hurry up the stairs. Before you turn the corner, you allow yourself a moment to meet Michael’s open, lifeless gaze.

The hallways are much less of a maze than they were when you first arrived here, but the layout is still unfamiliar to you. After leading your group down what you thought was going to lead to the door you were sure contained the room with the tub, you’re met with a dead end.

Sheepishly, you look over your shoulder at Coco. “I think I’m a little lost. Isn’t there a room with a really large washtub for laundry around here?”

Her eyes light up, and she lightly pushes you to keep you moving. “Yes! We’re super close.” It’s going to take a bit to get used to her actually being helpful, you think as you follow her directions. “We’re going to go down this hallway here. Now, the weird little junction up ahead? Take a left and then it’s the third door on the right.”

Now you know where you are. “Thank you! I found it my first time going through the Outpost, but I haven’t lived here for eighteen months like you.”

You’re just about to turn left at the junction when a man appears from the other side of the hallway, jabbing a knife into your abdomen before you can even be surprised at the sight. You cry out, the pain sharp and sudden as he pulls the knife out of you with nothing but malice on his face. When he looks up at you, his scowl is replaced by a horrified shock.

“Oh my god, I thought you were—” He sees Coco, standing just behind you. “She was supposed to be you !”

Your shaking hands try to press down on the wound, but blood rushes out through your fingers, and your knees go weak as you crash into the wall. Down the hall, you can hear Mallory scream your name. She runs for you with Zoe hot on her heels.

“What the fuck did you do?” Mallory yells to the man, landing next to you on the floor and gently pulling your hands away so that she can assess the damage. By the way her lips start to tremble, you assume it’s not good.

The man that stabbed you ignores her, instead focusing on Coco. “You ruin everything!” he yells at her, lifting the knife once more.

Coco pushes him over the railing before he can do any more damage. He screams the whole way down, and Coco peers after him. “Sorry?” she calls with a grimace, no love apparently lost.

“This is…a lot of blood,” you note, watching your black dress becoming even darker from the rapidly expanding bloodstain. You’re also in a lot of pain. Fuck, you didn’t think being stabbed would hurt so much.

“It’s okay! It’s alright!” Mallory soothes; you can’t tell who she’s reassuring, herself or you. “I’m going to fix this. I’m going to—I’ll heal you, and then you’ll be fine.”

Your heart is pounding from a mixture of fear and adrenaline. For the first time since your arrival to this Outpost, you’re truly scared. This is a different fear from when you were worried about Emily and Timothy being executed, or when you realized that Michael wanted to have a child with you. It’s even different from the fear of knowing that you and Michael would be on opposing sides now. This is primal—this is terror.

Mallory’s hands hover over your abdomen as she begins to chant in Latin, eyes screwed shut in concentration. Nothing happens, and as the seconds tick by, your entire body starts to go cold. It’s like somebody’s taken a syringe of ice water and injected it right into your veins. You become more faint than before, and decide that laying flat will probably be the best way to rid yourself of this feeling.

“Why isn’t this working?” Mallory cries in frustration, catching your head and placing it in her lap. Tears begin to build in her eyes as she tries the same breathing technique on you as she did Coco and Dinah to bring them back to life, to no avail. You cough wetly, and when you wipe your mouth, your hand comes away red.

The realization hits you then: you’re dying. The overpowering cold, being unable to sit up anymore, the faintness—your body is beginning to shut down against your will.

“Mallory, I’m scared,” you admit.

“I know. I’m sorry. I promise I’m trying.”

“I know.” You smile at the repetition even as you begin to feel so, so tired. Maybe if you close your eyes and rest for a moment, you’ll be able to get enough strength back to help you fight to stay alive.

Your eyes barely close before Mallory starts shaking you. “No, no, please don’t close your eyes!”

Marie Laveau appears at the far end of the hallway you first ran down and yells something to Mallory, but you can’t quite make out what she says over the rushing in your ears. Mallory takes one of your arms and Zoe takes the other, both working together to pull you down the hallway. You watch dizzily as Coco runs to Marie, your vision warping as the two disappear around the corner.

Mallory continues trying to heal you once they have you in the room where you’re meant to go back in time. Her hand, soaked in your blood, runs over your forehead comfortingly as she becomes more frantic in her chanting. Even Zoe tries to help, pressing down on your abdomen in the hopes of slowing the bleeding as she joins Mallory in spellwork. It’s becoming more difficult to hold on as you become weaker, the two taking turns making you open your eyes again.

“Please, please, please,” Mallory begs any and all forces beyond her power that might be listening.

“I’m sorry,” you mumble, the effort to produce sounds near herculean.

“Don’t apologize,” she says sternly through tears, earning the smallest of laughs from you.

“Yes, ma’am.” Your hands shake as you feel around for Mallory’s, and you weakly squeeze when you find them. “I love you, Mal. I’m so happy I got to see you again.”

“Stop saying goodbye. I’m going to bring you back, this isn’t goodbye.”

For now, though, it is, and you both know it. When your eyes close this time, they don’t open again, and you feel yourself being dragged down, down, down, away from consciousness and life itself.

With your last remaining strength, you become introspective. You have so many regrets, so many words that you’re going to leave unsaid. You wish you had gotten the chance to actually complete the spell and go back in time, sure that you would have been able to change Michael’s mind. You want to thank Queenie and Zoe and Coco and Marie for their help, for believing that you can help fix the mess the world has become. You wish you could—

•••

Michael has had enough of witches on this Earth, he thinks as he blows Queenie’s head clean off her shoulders after coming back to life. She had been distracted by a body falling from two floors up—whose body it was remained a mystery that Michael didn’t care to solve—providing Michael the element of surprise. Even if she were still prepared, it wouldn’t have mattered. He’s too powerful for anything to stop him now.

Maybe he was naive to believe that a simple nuclear bomb or two could kill them. No, he was definitely naive. After all, Mallory knew that the world would be ending, and soon. That was more than enough time for her to gather her chosen forces and figure out a way to survive. He knows now that his path, the one that Satan had created before he had even created Michael, was always meant to lead to this. In order to truly inherit this new world and rule Hell on Earth, he must eradicate the remaining witches with his own hands.

But what to do with you? You’ve chosen your side for this battle, and it’s not his. He nervously hopes that you’re simply mad at him after how your last conversation devolved into a fight, that Mallory reached you at a vulnerable time and used that to her advantage to recruit you. Once he defeats the witches, you’ll come back to him and he’ll concede that he was perhaps wrong to bring up the idea of having a child at such an intimate moment. Still, seeing you standing in solidarity with the witches hurt, which is likely what the Supreme was planning.

When Michael makes it up the stairs, the reanimated voodoo queen blocks the hallway that he knows you and the witches have gone down. Grabbing a pouch off of her belt, she pours a powder into her hand and spreads it in a line in front of her with a chant.

“You shall not pass,” Marie declares with a smirk, wiping her hands of the powder. Michael juts his hand forward, prepared to rip her heart out of her chest, but an invisible barrier stops him. “You’re dealing with the HBIC now.”

He smiles ruefully. “Clever,” he admits. “Normally, that would work.”

He’s about to show that voodoo magic is no match for him anymore when his blood runs cold and his heart drops. At that same moment, he becomes aware of sobbing coming from far behind Marie. Though Michael’s never felt anything like this before, he can feel the certainty of what it means down to his very core: something’s happened. Specifically, something’s happened to you.

“Let me through,” he demands. Marie falters, taken aback at the fear in his eyes. “Marie Laveau, if you value your second chance at life you’ll let me through.”

She recovers from her hesitation with a haughty laugh. “Nice try.”

Michael makes quick work of her with a simple snap of his fingers, snapping her neck and sending her right back to the Underworld. He’s just about to clear the barrier and figure out just what is going on when he feels a presence behind him. Rolling his eyes, he turns around to face this distraction as well and comes face to face with Coco St. Pierre Vanderbilt, who was with you when he was shot. Surely she must know something about what’s going on.

“What’s happened?” Michael asks. The knife that Coco was prepared to stab him with goes limp in her wrist, and she gapes at him. “Where’s Y/n?”

“She was…Brock…” She weakly mimes a stabbing motion.

“No.” He feels sick at the mere implication. “No!”

Coco now the least of his worries, he runs down the hallway, the whole time hoping that it’s a mistake, that Coco misinterpreted what she saw, that the cold emptiness now residing in his chest is simply a fluke. The sobs that become more clear as he nears the entryway, however, don’t do much to reassure him.

“Mallory!” Michael gasps.

The Supreme is on the floor with you in her lap, and for a moment, Michael can delude himself into thinking that you’re okay. The excessive amount of blood on the floor—your blood—and the unnaturally limp way that your hand is lying force him to face the obvious. Michael’s knees give out, and he falls to the floor harshly.

Mallory looks up at him, forgetting that they’re meant to be enemies right now. “She got stabbed, and—” a sob rips from her chest, “my healing spells aren’t working. And neither is Vitalum Vitalis. It should be working, Michael, I’m the fucking Supreme.”

“Okay. Um, let me…” Michael’s brain is fighting a war between shutting down from the agony of this situation and kicking into overdrive to figure out how to get you back. After a moment, he thinks he might have an idea. He tries to pull you out of Mallory’s arms and into his own, but she refuses to loosen her hold on you. “Mallory, I need to hold her.”

While he does need to be able to touch you for the spell, he’s not really asking for that purpose. He feels that he might soon lose his grasp on sanity if he can’t hold your body. No, he needs you as close to him as possible, to try and capture the warmth of your body so that he might remind himself that you’ve only just left, that he can still get you back. Begrudgingly, Mallory allows him to hold you, but she still keeps one of your hands in hers.

He’d like to say that it looks like you’re sleeping, comforting himself with the platitude most mourners claim upon seeing a body. He’d be lying, though, because he knows what you look like when you’re sleeping. The way that your face scrunches at the smallest sensation, how your eyes move under their lids and your mouth forms silent words when you’re dreaming particularly deeply, the intermittent light snoring that you swear you don’t do. If you were simply sleeping, he’d play the prince to your Sleeping Beauty and wake you with a kiss, revealing your amused smile and your fond gaze.

Now, there’s none of that. You’ve been dead for mere minutes, but already the signs of death are here. Your face is as slack as all of your muscles now are, making your cheekbones more prominent and your mouth hinge slightly open. A sallowness has started to take over your skin, and he finds himself tracing the apples of your cheeks in a futile attempt to coax blood back to the surface. He even swears that he can feel your body growing colder, just like he feared.

It takes Michael some time to remember what he’s meant to be doing. All of this grief and pain will hopefully be for nothing, so long as he can hold himself together for a little bit longer. He takes a deep breath, hesitating for a moment before dropping his forehead against yours. Tears are threatening to fall, and when he closes his eyes to try and hold them back, it only hastens their arrival. They roll, hot and thick, off of his face and onto yours, and he wipes them off with a silent apology.

Finally, Michael slips into a dissociation as he begins to walk between the realms of living and dead. He’s done this more than a few times now for varying reasons, becoming pretty adept at finding a soul and bringing it back to the living plane. The hardest part by far is always calming his mind enough to be able to attempt this in the first place; the fact that he’s been able to achieve it in this circumstance is a small miracle.

Now that he’s in the so-called in-between, he begins his search. Every single soul has a signature to it, so as long as he knows who he’s looking for, he usually finds the rest of this process to be pretty straightforward. Since your soul is so near and dear to him, he’s expecting this to take a couple of minutes at most.

A minute passes, then another, as he tries to track your soul down. Michael begins to grow concerned; considering you just died, he shouldn’t be having to search this hard. There’s a complete lack of you anywhere, and he begins to shake as he’s faced with the increasingly likely potential that your soul is gone. But how? Why? With a chilling clarity, he knows exactly what’s happened.

His father has become displeased. Whether he’s had enough of your and Michael’s collective disobedience over the years—Satan holds a grudge like no other, after all—or your declaration that you would never bear Michael’s child or be the perfect wife that Satan had planned for you to be. He’s had enough, and now, he’s taken this opportunity to make good on the threats he first warned Michael about during the poison apple saga. He’s made sure that you’re out of the picture for good. If Michael knows Satan, he’s probably already picked out some girl back at the Sanctuary to be wife number two, and this time, she would be the most devout, demure Satanist who would never even think of going against Satan’s will.

But Michael doesn’t want another wife. No, what he wants is to lay here on the floor and die right along with you, following you into whatever afterlife you’ve found yourself in in the hopes that he can continue to love you there. How can he ever be expected to love another person that’s not you? What kind of a life is there for him to live if you’re not here to share in it?

“Is everything okay?” Mallory asks, reminding him that there’s another person in this room, one who’s going to feel her own devastation at this news.

“I can’t find her. My father…” He chokes on his own words, unable to actually say the fate that’s befallen you. Instead, he can only cry.

Mallory picks up on the context clues, and her face drops. “So that’s it? She’s gone?”

The nod Michael gives her is the most painful movement of his life. When Mallory collapses, he also forgets the pretense of enemies and allows her to fall against him. It’s mainly for his own benefit—were he not using Mallory for support, he would be in a heap on top of you.

They remain without words for a while. Distantly, he’s aware of Zoe talking to Coco down that damned hall, the two wondering what to do now. He hopes that they come up with an answer, because he has no clue. In his opinion, there’s nowhere else to go from here. Though he may not have physically died, his life has ended along with yours in this room.

“Were you telling the truth?” Michael asks finally, making Mallory look up. “About Jeff and Mutt?”

He almost doesn’t want to know, but before he can change his mind, she nods. “All they cared about were themselves. They were fed up with minor inconveniences—having to wait for coffee, traffic woes—and wanted to ‘wipe the slate clean.’ They thought that they could reshape the world to how they wanted, and they used a vulnerable Antichrist to do so. Ms. Mead changed her tune from magic to fire and blood because Jeff and Mutt were feeding her the commands.”

He so badly wants her to be lying, but even if he couldn’t sense her truthfulness, he has his own memories to rely on. How suddenly Ms. Mead suggested that world destruction was preferred to world domination (and that the two cokehead idiots would be the guys to talk to about that) had always seemed a little odd to him, but he simply went along with it, believing Ms. Mead to still be his trusted advisor. This revelation simply makes Michael cry harder until he’s almost matching Mallory’s earlier sobs. She puts her free hand on his shoulder in comfort. Though he appreciates the gesture, nothing can bring him comfort.

All of this pain and death and destruction has been for naught. Michael spent years chasing his father’s approval and doing terrible things, things that made him so sick to think about that he forced himself to compartmentalize them in order to not drown in his shame. He’s shirked friends, love, and basic morals, only to find out that his father didn’t even care if the world ended this way. No, all Satan wanted was power and sin, which he got in spades these past eighteen months.

“How were you going to stop me?” he asks.

Mallory hesitates. “We…we were going to go back in time. There’s a spell that I found when searching through the coven’s grimoires to help with your Cordelia issue. I practiced it a few times before the bombs dropped, trying to figure out the right way to do it. Y/n was going to be both your personal tie and the one convincing you to stop the apocalypse. She had a time in place where she thought that you would be most willing to listen, to change your mind.”

It’s a smart plan, and it probably would have worked. After all, you likely know (knew, he’s reminded harshly) him better than he knows himself. As he thinks about the what-ifs, Michael realizes that this doesn’t have to be something that never happens.

“So, if you and I were to go back in time together, then we could change all of this?” Michael asks.

Mallory gapes at him. “You’re willing to give all this up?”

“What, this empty, decimated kingdom that I don’t even want?”

In the eighteen months since the apocalypse, Michael had found that he was not suited for being a ruler—he didn’t like the pomp and circumstance, nor did he like people fawning over him. Still, he pretended to be the cold, uncaring king of this “New World,” because he thought that was what Satan wanted, that he was fulfilling the destiny that he was born to.

Now, there’s nothing left to fight for. The world didn’t even need to be ended, let alone in this way. He’s been nothing but a pawn to people his whole life—the Satanists, the warlocks, the stupid fucks that ran Kineros, even Satan himself. He’s done. Done with this stupid, useless path he’s taken, done with hurting everything and everyone, and done with bowing to the whims of anybody.

After all, what has he got to show for any of this? He’s been a good little soldier, doing unspeakably horrific acts and acting like he wasn’t affected, like he wasn’t the Michael that he was before the apocalypse. How did Satan reward him? By ensuring that he would never get back the one person in his life that he has ever truly loved, and who had ever truly loved him.

“I can’t—I can’t live a life without Y/n. There is nothing without her. What do I need to do to help you?”

“Promise me,” she says. “Promise me that you will not use this second chance to end the world once again.”

“I just found out I ended the world for no reason, Mallory. A world that I was slowly coming to love, before Cordelia informed me that I needed to speed up the apocalypse plans I had been led to believe were created by my father. Before I was upset by people trying to convince me that blowing everything up was a bad idea.” Because of course, Satan would take credit for those plans if it meant that he would be closer to getting the complete chaos it would create. “Why would I try to end it again?”

Mallory searches his face for a moment before nodding. “I believe you.”

She’s known him for long enough now to know his tells, and she sees none of them. Right now, he’s too much of a wreck to even consider trying to lie, not that he was planning on it.

Mallory slowly stands, but not before kissing the back of your hand and laying it gently on your chest. “Come on.”

“I’m sorry,” Michael whispers to you, kissing your forehead. “I’m so, so sorry. I’m going to make this right.”

It takes strength he didn’t know he possessed to lay you down and let go of your body. Even as he walks away, going against every instinct and leaving you on the floor, he can’t take his eyes off of you.

Mallory climbs into the large washtub in the corner of the room, flicking her wrist and filling it with water. Michael follows her in, ignoring the uncomfortable sensation of sitting in wet clothes.

“Think of a time that you believe it will be easiest to completely stop the apocalypse before it goes too far,” she instructs.

There are many times in the past two years that Michael can see as a good time to stop the apocalypse. First, he’s tempted to go back to the beginning of this mess, when the witches killed Ms. Mead. Plans for the end of the world hadn’t even been drawn up yet, and he would have the added benefit of having Ms. Mead back. Plus, you wouldn’t have gone through the trauma of being kidnapped and forced to be the Antichrist’s bride.

It’s incredibly selfish, but the more Michael thinks about that avenue, the less he wants to take it. While it’s unfortunate how you came to know each other, he wouldn’t trade the way that you and he fell in love with each other for anything. But on the practical side, he wouldn’t have the influence that he has over important people and organizations were he to go back that far, and he needs that if he’s going to have enough power to keep the world from ending altogether. That’s off the table, then.

He wishes that you had told Mallory of your idea before being fatally wounded, because he probably would have agreed with your assessment. If it was any time after you moved in with him, he was already so in love with you that he could easily be swayed. What makes the most sense?

Finally, Michael has it. The time where he can be most effective at changing the fate of the world and ensuring there will not be an apocalypse by his hand, can remain powerful enough to not be usurped as Antichrist (for he’s sure that Satan will be very displeased by the change of plans if he finds out about Michael changing fate), and can still have you.

He opens his eyes and nods. “I have it.”

“Okay,” Mallory says with a hopeful smile. “Focus on that as hard as you can, place us both there.”

It’s all he can think about now, but he does as she says and recreates that time in his head. The sights, the sounds, the smells. How your hand felt in his, and the brightness of your smile. The possibilities that, at that time, seemed endless. Mallory holds her hands out and Michael takes them, feeling their magic bouncing off of each other like sparks from two exposed wires.

“Balneum infinitum. Dona salui conductus.” Mallory repeats the chant two more times, the water bubbling around them furiously and turning darker with each word.

Michael knows even without Mallory’s instruction that he’s needed to say the last part of the spell, and what that last part is. Just before they submerge themselves under the water, their voices join together to cast the most important spell of their lives.

“Tempus Infinituum.”

•••

Endnotes: Wow. I thought this would be a particularly tough chapter to write, but as I got going, the story flowed easily. I think because I've had this scene stuck in my head for so long! My FBI agent is definitely concerned by how thoroughly I read those "what happens to a body after a person dies" articles.

ALSO the Jeff and Mutt thing is canon!

Anyways, I'm gonna go watch some cute animal videos to feel better. Take care of yourselves, alright?

@ajokeformur-ray @iamavailablesstuff @narwhal-swimmingintheocean @nsainmoonchild @redroses07

@xo-angel-ox @littleangel4996 @iamlivingforturner @thatonehumanbeing05

@codycrazy @love-on-the-murder-scene

#michael langdon #michael langdon imagine #michael langdon x reader #american horror story #ahs imagine #american horror story imagine #michael langdon imagines #mad love musings

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maddiethedogstories · 2 months

Text

New You Gym - 8

PREVIOUS CHAPTER

Kylee, startled awake by Michael, quickly popped out of bed and shoved her saliva covered hand to her ass. She looked down, and, to her horror, the pull-up she was wearing was dangling heavily between her hips, signaling to her that it was full to the brim. However, Kylee, despite being in a glorified diaper soaked in her urine and her husband's cum, let out a sigh of relief when she pressed the padding of her training pants into her ass and only feel wet padding, not poop.

"Thank god!" Kylee said with a sigh of relief.

"Thank God?" Michael questioned Kylee, "I just woke up to you humping my leg and sucking your thumb, which was cute at first. But, then you started moaning, 'No! Stop!' I can't!' and I got really worried for you."

"Oh, yeah, um, I just had a bad dream, I'm alright," Kylee said unconvincingly, as she poked at her very-well used diaper.

"Did we really have sex while I was wearing this thing or was that part of the dream too?" Kylee asked.

"Oh, that wasn't a dream, Little Miss Pissy Pants," Michael said mockingly as he walked over to comfort Kylee.

Kylee shied away from his touch. "Please, love, please don't call me that. I'm so embarrassed," Kylee said, blushing at the new nickname and thinking back to her dream. "I feel so itchy and disgusting, I just want to get out of this thing and take a shower."

"Alright," says Michael, somewhat defeated and angry at himself for angering his wife, "how about you get cleaned up while I take care of the bed."

"Take care of the bed?" Kylee said as she looked down at the sheets where she fell asleep. Right where her pull-up would have been was a big wet spot. Kylee's cheeks reddened for the hundredth time that day.

"Good idea, thank you," were the only words Kylee could muster before running into the bathroom in shame, shutting the door, and letting her pull-up fall to the floor with a wet thud.

Kylee turned on the shower, climbed in, and cried as she aggressively washed her body. What the fuck is wrong with me? She thought to herself.

As Michael changed the wet sheets on the bed, he heard Kylee sobbing in the shower. Hearing his wife cry like that made his heart hurt, but he had been with her long enough to know to give her space when she was upset. He knew that she would eventually come to him for help when she was ready.

While waiting for Kylee to decompress, Michael threw on some pajama pants, put the urine-soaked sheets in the washer, and went downstairs to make Kylee her favorite breakfast--french toast and eggs.

While Michael cleaned and cooked, in the shower, Kylee felt like she was cleaning herself both physically and emotionally. Her sobbing allowed her to physically process all of the complex emotions she had experienced this morning. At the same time, letting the water and soap wash the urine (and semen) off her body gave her a clean feeling that made her feel like a new person. It was much harder to feel like a dirty little toddler when you smelt like lavender and eucalyptus.

Kylee stepped out of the shower with a smile on her face and feeling like a new woman. That was until she saw what she had left on the floor.

The yellowed padding of the pink pull-up she had been wearing all morning was staring at her from the floor of the bathroom. Just looking at it filled Kylee with embarrassment, rage, and, curiously, arousal.

Naked and still wet from the shower, Kylee walked over and picked up the offensive object, pinching it between her thumb and forefinger. The used training pants were heavy in her hand. Kylee walked over to the bathroom trashcan and chucked the offensive object into it. She looked at the trashcan again and saw her well-used pull-up sitting on the top.

"That's not going to work," Kylee announced to the world. Still naked and wet, she bent over the trash can and pushed the pull-up deep into it, forcing it to disappear beneath the other trash.

"Better," Kylee said as she washed her hands.

Kylee proceeded to towel off, get dressed in her sexist, most adult pair of panties, a pair of jeans and a black t-shirt, and try to forget about her morning. As she was changing, the smell of french toast and eggs from the kitchen called out to her like a siren.

Kylee quickly went downstairs to find her husband standing at the stove, making her favorite breakfast. She had never seen a more beautiful sight. She walked up behind Michael while he was cooking, hugged him from behind, and spoke to him.

"I love you," she said sincerely.

Michael smiled, looked back at her, and responded, "I love you too. I'm sorry you had such a rough first day at the gym. But, on the bright side, we burned so many calories, we can eat as much french toast as we want!"

Kylee laughed, "You're right!"

"Go take a seat at the table, I'll make your plate and bring it over," Michael offered.

"That sounds wonderful," Kylee said as she found her seat at the kitchen table.

Once Kylee and Michael were both seated at the table and eating, Michael decided to broach the subject of what happened this morning.

"So, do you wanna talk about it?" He probed.

Kylee set her knife and fork down and sighed. "Yeah, I guess." She took a deep breath as she settled in to tell a truncated version of the story.

She told Michael about what happened when he wasn't there. She told him how she went down the creepy hallway to the empty daycare. She told him about the giant baby furniture and Julie. She told him about how the training pants and juvenile tights were her only option. She did leave out some key details, however. For instance, she never mentioned using the child's training potty, being wiped and brought to orgasm by Julie, or the deal she made to be allowed to cum. Some things were too much to relive, even with her husband. Further, Kylee was afraid that if Michael ever found out she let another person make her cum, that he would leave her.

"Wow, love, it sounds like you had a rough morning," Michael said supportively. "If it makes you feel any better, you were hot as fuck in that pull-up." Michael winked at Kylee, trying to lighten the mood.

Kylee grinned back at Michael, "You bet I was. My ass is so nice it makes anything covering it look good."

Michael smiled at Kylee's statement, but his face grew more somber.

"Love, I still do have one question," he said.

"Yeah?" She asked.

"I know you wet yourself the first time, that time in front of the class, because you didn't have time to pee, were in a weird position, and Emily pushed on your bladder," Michael said delicately, "but, when and why did you wet the pull-up? And the sheets were wet? Did you wet the bed too?"

Kylee's smile left her face and she froze momentarily. She had wet that pull-up sometime between the daycare and having sex with Michael. It also got wetter while she was sleeping. Kylee could not recall peeing, or even noticing that she had to pee, at all.

"I… I don't know," she told Michael.

Michael looked at her with concern on his face.

"Let's chalk it up to first-day-at-the-gym jitters for now, but, if it keeps happening, we might need to see a doctor," Michael helpfully provided.

"Yeah, it's probably just jitters," Kylee said, lost in thought as she replayed her morning and her vivid dream in her head.

NEXT CHAPTER

#ab/dl diaper #ab/dl kink #ab/dl story time #ab/dl couple #ab/dl caption #diaper stories #ab/dl babygirl #ab/dl girl #ab/dl #ab/dl daddy #ab/dl stories #humiliation kink #diaper regression #New You Gym

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shelbgrey · 1 year

Text

Adventures in babysitting(Squinterns)

Paring: wife!Reader x Lance Sweets, Oc!Child x squinterns

Summary: not really an 'x reader' just the Squinterns having to watch Lance and y/n's daughter while they go an unexpected case.

A/n: AU where Vincent didn't die. the beginning of this sucks but it gets a bit better, I just had this idea but didn't know how to start it.

Master List

“mama look! a Firetruck” Charlotte smiled from the back set of the car, she hugged her stuffed penguin tight as watched on of her favorite vehicle pass by.

Y/n smiled at her daughters knew obsession that was firetruck, last week it was helicopters.

“yeah, isn't it cool” y/n smiled.

“maybe we have a future firefighter on our hands” her husband Lance smiled.

Y/n's eyes widened as she thought about her precious daughter in dangers line of work.

“I want to find skullys like Aunty Bones n mama” Charlotte said.

Y/n smiled at her daughter then looked at Lance as he continued to drive towrds the Museum that was connected to the jeffersonian. It was the first time in a while they both had the day off and the whole family was just a little too restless to stay home.

“I have to stop by my office first and give Cam a file though” y/n responded. Lance nodded. “okay”

“you wanna go see mommy's work?” Lance smiled.

“yeah!” she smiled as Lance let out a chuckle at his daughter's enthusiasm.

Once they got to the jeffersonian y/n carried Charlotte in her arms as she walked into the lab. Charlotte eyes wondered as her mother carried her around. The little girl was always amazed by the lab.

After she got what she wanted from the lab and gave Cam the file, Lance's phone rang.

“Hey Booth...” he said.

Lance let out a sigh, meaning Booth probably need us. He looked at his two favorite girls with disappointment as he hung up.

“what's up?” I asked.

“Booth neeeds us to Interrogate a few people and then you need to look at some remains at the crime scene with Brennan”

Y/n sighed and looked around. “one normal day... That's all I ask”

Lance nodded and gave her a quick kiss on her lips. Charlotte giggled making Lance smile, he quickly kissed his daughter's forehead.

“what are we gonna do about Charlie? The sitter is out of town for the weekend and I don't know about Arastoo” y/n said as see looked around the lab.

Charlotte, who didn't know what was going on, ignored her parents panic and played with the necklace around her mom's neck.

“don't panic... I'll head over to Bureau and get things sorted out, maybe you can drop Charlie off with Angies' dad, I know he's babysitting Michael Vincent today” Lance said. His wife nodded as they kissed each other good-bye

Y/n let out a sigh, as mush as she loved her brother's father-in-law she just didn't want to dump another baby on him unexpectedly.

“what's wrong mama? Are we gonna go see the pictures?” Charlotte asked.

“maybe later baby, mama and daddy have to work now” she looked around the half empty lab then stopped when she saw her favorite Squintern.

“Fisher!” she walked towrds him just as he clocked in. Before he could even say 'hello' y/n put Charlotte in his hands.

“Fishy!” she smiled as Fisher held the child out confuse. The little girl's feet dnagled as he held her like a child would an over sized doll. “wha-”

“I need you to watch Charlotte just for a bit, please Fisher” y/n pleaded. Fisher honestly couldn't say no, not because she was indeed his boss, but because he genuinely liked her and her family. Y/n Sweets or 'Lady Sweets' as she's referred to at work was the only one who saw Fisher as more than a depressed, Gothic Squint.

“but-”

“thanks Fisher, I owe you one!” she called out and left the building before he could protest, even if he got the chance he wouldn't but he just didn't know how to interact with kids.

“Fishy” Charlotte smiled as she dubbed over in his arms. “Fisher... And don't do that” he said pulling her back up and wrapping both arms around the small child so she was secure to his chest.

“ummm.....” Fisher said, confused on what to do. He jogged into the lab, the movement made Charlotte giggle. He set his boss' daughter on one of the examination tables.

“play with this” he said handding her the small flashlight that was in his breast pocket. She turned it on and pointed it at the stuffed penguin she brought, after awhile she started waving it around making bright light fly everywhere.

“ah” Fisher said in a very monotone voice as the light hit his eyes. “okay never mind” as he took and put it back in his pocket, he picked up the penguin and put in her arms so she wouldn't feel the loss of the flashlight.

“stay there” he said after the Computer dinged, he turned his back to her for a second. The little girl watched him move around and started to follow him not realizing she was still on a high table.

Fisher didn't relize it and Charlotte almost walked off the edge. “woah Charlie” Arastoo yelled and quickly grabed the three year old before she fell off what looked like a cliff to someone her size.

Fisher quickly whipped around with a panicked look. “sorry Charlotte” he said coming up to the little girl that was now in tan interns arms.

“unca asteroid!” the little girl smiled, she could never pronounce his name properly so it was always 'asteroid'.

“what is Lady Sweets' Daughter doing here?” Arastoo asked, adjusting the little girl to one arm. “she never let's her in the Lab unless she here”

“Lady Sweets and... Dr. Sweets got pulled into unexpected investigation and was deemed soul protector of this tiny life force for the time being” Fisher explained.

Arastoo and Charlotte gave him weired looks. “so your babysetting” Arastoo said simply, Charlotte who now under stood nodded quickly. Fisher shook his head and turned back to his computer as the security system dinged.

“Fishy!” Charlotte cheekily smiled as Fisher turned his back. “what's baby sweets doing here?” Wendell asked as him and Vincent walked in.

“and what are the rest of you doing here?” Fisher asked. Wendell smiled as Charlotte waved at him.

“Dr. Brennan required us to examine some century old remains while she's away” Vincent said as he walked up next to Arastoo. Charlotte smiled and reached for Vincent. The British Squintern smiled and shook her little hand. “hello little one”

“I'm guessing I'm out of this project” Fisher sighed as he closed a few tabs on his computer. Arastoo gave him a questioning look. “Fisher, when was the last time you actually watched a child?”

“well, both Sweets are very protective of Charlie, you must be doing something right for her to trust you” Wendell said.

“you here to work on the Bones too?” Vincent asked Wendell. He shook his head no. “actually im here to take over for Hodgins while he's in Seattle with Brennan and Angela.”

“I'll help if you like” Wendell added.

“just give the child back” Fisher sighed and held his arms out to Arastoo.

“we can help out with Charlie” Arastoo said as he set Charlotte on the one of the wheely chairs and spung her around. She giggled making the the young guys look at her in aw.

“we can take shifts, one of us can watch her while the others look at the Bones for Dr. Brennan” Wendell suggests, everyone agreed suprisenly.

“will Abernathy and Edison be joining us?” Vincent asks, the other men shrugged not sure who all Dr. Brennan had hired.

~~~~~~~~(.......)~~~~~~~~

“please tell me that's one of the fake skulls” Edison said coming into y/n's office with a file.

Edison watched Charlotte play with the jaw and mouth of the plastic skull without a care in the world. She tossed it up then crawled after it. She quickly forget about it and ran towrds Arastoo as he entered the office as well.

“of corse it's fake” Fisher said rolling his eyes as he stood up from the ground. “did you guys find anything?” he asked.

“not really, Abernathy came by while you were in here and is helping out” Arastoo said picking Charlotte up and holding her on his hip.

Fisher let out a depressed sigh. “I see I've already been replaced”

“I wouldn't say that, you have the most important job today” Arastoo smiled as Charlotte stuck her toung out.

“her laughter dose sofen the stonyest of hearts” Fisher said.

“why she here in the first place?” Edison asked trying to remain professional but also not let his heart melt at the sight of the little girl.

“Lady Sweets got called into a crime Scene last minute” Arastoo said.

“unca asteroid... I'm hungry” Charlotte said looking up at Arastoo. Wendell walked in hearing the conversation. “I can get McDonald's... Anybody want anything?”

“can I have some nuggies? Pweez” she said giving all the male Squinterns puppy eye. “I'll go get it Charlie” Wendell smiled and ruffled her curly hair.

“chicken nuggets for the little lady” Wendell said emptying out the bag as Arastoo tried to get cartoons on the screen Angela installed in y/n's office.

“do any of you know how this works?” Arastoo asked. Wendell set down Charlotte's french frys and grabed the controler from Arastoo. “it's just like Angela's, I got this”

Wendell logged into the screen then turned on Hulu. “she likes Regular Show” Arastoo said as he took the controller and typed in the show.

“Did you know the average American eats almost 30 pounds of French fries a year?” Vincent said as he sat on the floor next to Charlotte to eat his fries.

He then turned to Charlotte. “we call these chips from where I'm from” he told the small girl.

“cool” she laughed.

“here ya go honey” Finn smiled giving her a small milkshake.

Once the show was set up and the food was out, it was technically the Squintern's lunch break, so they all(aside from Edison) filed into y/n's office to watch Cartoons and eat.

The commotion and child like giggles made Cam walk into what was supposed to be y/n's empty office.

“Hi honey” Arastoo said nervously as he waved at his fiance.

“hi Aunty cam!” Charlotte waved from her spot in Arastoo's lap.

“what are you guys doing?” she gave them a strange look as they all froze like deers in a pair of head lights, the only one who wasn't affected was Charlotte, who continued to eat her chicken nuggets.

“babysitting” Fisher said.

“on our lunch break” Wendell added quickly.

She sighed and walked out of the room, not wanting to get into it after she saw the bizarre cartoon. “ya know... don't want to know, carry on”

“bye Cam!” Charlotte shouted as the doctor left.

After lunch the Squinterns basically took turns taking care of the small child, while one was exmaing the century year old bones the other one was intertaning Charlotte.

~~~~~~~~(.......)~~~~~~~~

“where could she be” Abernathy looked around the lab. He stoped at one of the tables then tried to jump scare Charlotte. “I gottcha!” he looked at her favorite hiding spot but she wasn't there. “hmm”

He looked around, moving chairs and files around, trying to find the little girl's hiding spot. This cought Edison's attention, he didn't really want to get involved with the little girl, but that didn't stop him from being curious.

“what are you doing Abernathy?” he asked, not taking his eyes off the skull he was examining. Abernathy peaked under one of the examination tables then back at Edison. “playin' hide-n-seek with Little Charlie” he smiled like it was the best thing that ever happened to him.

“she’s Slicker Than Pig Snot on a Radiator” Abernathy said as he looked around the lab some more. Edison looked up annoyed. “she's a good hider or you lost her?”

Abernathy sighed and gave him a 'really?' look. “look, I didn' loose her... I have a kid sister, I know how to take care of a kid”

Edison looked up and watched the little girl run into Cam's office to hide under her desk. He watched the little girl quickly run back to the threshold beacuse she dripped her blue penguin plush, before Abernathy could see she ran under the desk.

“she's over yonder” Edison said in a terrible Southern accent.

“Aw man!” Charlotte wined as she heard Edison give out her hiding spot. She came out hugging her penguin.

“that's not nice” Charlotte grumbled, they didn't know if she was talking about cheating or the fact Edison was making fun of Abernathy's slang. She was talking about both.

“well, you won little lady, I couldn't find ya” Abernathy shrugged with a smile. Charlotte smiled up at Abernathy as he called for Arastoo, it was his turn and Abernathy had to help Edison for a bit.

Arastoo glady took his tern next, he had Charlotte on his back, running around with his arms out while making airplane noise.

“to infinity and beyond” Charlotte giggled as Arastoo ran past Cam's office. She of course saw and scolded them as her motherly instincts started to show.

“please don't run in the Lab! One of you might get hurt” she sighed. Arastoo stoped, making his shoes squeek on the shiny floor. Charlotte rested her chin on Arastoo's shoulder and gave Cam puppy eyes. “aw”

Arastoo gave his fiance a sarcastic pouty face like Charlotte's real one. “aw” he repeated.

She rolled her eyes and gave Arastoo a quick kiss. Charlotte giggled and made fake kissy noises. Cam laughed at the little girl she considered her niece, she kissed the little girl on her cheek and went back into her office.

“have you heard from Sweets or Y/n?” he asked before came went into her office. “they should be back soon” cam respond.

Arastoo nodded as Charlotte let out a yawn then rested her head on his shoulder and wrapped her arms tighter around his neck so she wouldn't fall off.

Cam tilted her head and smiled softly. “she looks tired”

He turned his head so he could see the sleepy child. “I'll take her to y/n's office, so she can nap”

As Arastoo walked into y/n's office Fisher came into with his lab coat off. “well I'm done for the day... With the remains that is”

“that's good” Arastoo said gently setting Charlotte on the couch in her mother's office and used his lab coat as a blanket for her.

“you can go if you like, I'll stay with her while Cam dose some last minute paper work” Arastoo said setting on the couch next to her.

Fisher shook his head. “no, lady Sweets truted me, so I should do my share”

“she's not going anywhere... She sleeps like a rock” Arastoo said as Fisher made his spot on the ground infront of the couch.

Y/n and Lance came in about an hour and half later with a soft smile. Lance gently picked up his daughter while she remained fast asleep.

“thank for watching her guys, I know you weren't expecting to spend your day like this” y/n smiled.

Fisher shrugged. “it was quite interesting... It wasn't hard to intertaning ourselves”

“and I had some help...” Fisher added.

“little angel like always” Arastoo added with a smile as Cam walked in with her coat. “ready to go?” she asks softly so she didn't wake up Charlotte.

“yup, good night guys” he smiled and left with Cam. “night” Lance said holding his sleeping daughter close.

“thanks again guys” y/n waved at the other Squinterns as her and her family left the Jeffersonian, the tired parents thankful their little ball of energy will sleep well tonight.

#Squinterns #Bones #Bones imagines #Colin fisher #Wendell Bray #Finn Abernathy #Arastoo Vaziri #Lance Sweets x reader

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pastelwitchling · 4 months

Text

Hi! Love your work!

So, on discord, there was a consensus that Michael’s truck was a 69’ chevy c10. And there’s a sexy fic just begging to be written about Michael bragging about his 69’ bed… would you tackle that? ;)

@dayscrazed

***

Michael was getting desperate. He would be the first in his marriage to loudly announce how much he and Alex loved each other, how often they showed it, and how hungry Alex usually was for him – much to Alex’s eternal embarrassment. But Michael didn’t care. He loved his husband, he thought he was married to the hottest guy in the world, was he supposed to hide it? Who would believe him anyway?

Oh, yeah, Alex Manes? Michael definitely hasn’t tasted every inch of him. Sure, okay.

In fact, it only hit Michael one day as he parked in their driveway after a long day at the junkyard, eager to touch Alex and let off some steam, that there was one place where he and Alex hadn’t slept together yet, and it taunted him. He thought it would be easy the next Sunday, pulling Alex outside to their truck, kissing him along the way, but then Alex got a text that he said was too urgent to ignore.

The week after that, Alex claimed to have a stomachache. Michael was kind of astonished at how hard it was to get Alex naked and in his truck bed, and he was sexually starved in a way sex in a bed just wasn’t fixing anymore.

“Guerin,” Alex chuckled breathlessly as Michael immediately turned him onto his back, their bodies sweaty from Alex having just ridden him until they were screaming. “I’m exhausted.”

“You don’t have to do a thing,” Michael said, sucking on the sensitive skin of his neck. When Alex arched against him like he couldn’t help it, Michael grinned. “I thought you were tired.”

“Oh shut up,” Alex groaned, sliding his hands up Michael’s back and pulling him closer. “You know I’m never actually too tired for you.”

Michael grinned, sliding a knee between Alex’s thighs, and grabbed his hip, encouraging him to rut against him and harden all over again. He nuzzled Alex’s jaw, sucked a bruise onto his collarbone, his shoulder, his chest.

He nibbled on the shell of Alex’s ear. “You know what’d make this even hotter?”

“What?” Alex panted. Michael grinded his knee upward, digging hard, and Alex hung his head back. “Michael.”

Michael kissed his earlobe. “Know where I’d love to see you break?”

Alex’s eyes were fluttering, his face red, his words dazed. “Where?”

“Outside,” he groaned.

A second of silence, and Alex took his face in his hands, pushing him back just enough to meet his eyes. “Is this about your weird thing of wanting us to have sex in your truck bed?”

Michael’s shoulders fell. “You knew?”

“You’re many things, Guerin,” Alex smiled, brushing back Michael’s curls as though those many things were all precious. “Subtle isn’t one of them.”

“Then,” Michael sat back on his haunches, frowning, “why haven’t we done it yet?” He was fully aware that he was whining, and didn’t care. “You’ve never said no to me before.”

Maybe Alex heard the petulance and hurt in his voice because he chuckled and sat up, scooching back until he was sitting against the headboard. He pulled Michael in until he was straddling him.

“Baby,” he said softly, “I never want to say no to you, it’s only. . .” he shrugged, his smile turning a little sad. “It’s the cold.”

“I have blankets there!” Michael defended. “And we always work up a sweat, and –”

“Michael,” Alex laughed, “that doesn’t matter. The pain in my leg kind of stretches to my whole body when it’s cold out. That’s hard enough to deal with on a good day, and it’s never that soft out on the truck. I can handle it when it’s warm out, but . . .”

“Not when you’re already always in pain,” Michael finished and shut his eyes, moving most of his weight off Alex’s legs. So that was why Alex, who had found any excuse to touch Michael even against the Wild Pony bathroom’s walls, had been unwilling to have sex away from the fireplace and heated bedroom since October.

He rubbed his face, sighing. “I’m an ass.”

“No, you’re not,” Alex said, amused. “This is our first winter together, and I should’ve said something. It must’ve felt like I was pulling away a little bit.”

“I should’ve known there was a reason for it, Alex,” he said. “I’m just –”

“Horny?” Alex’s smile widened.

“It’s not funny!”

“You think I’m upset that my husband always wants me?” He wrapped his arms around Michael’s waist and pulled him in, nuzzling his nipple. “If I was, I’d be a hypocrite because I always want you, too.” He moaned, pushing his face into Michael’s chest. “And the idea of you taking me in the truck bed? I want it so bad.”

Michael’s heart pounded and he slid his hands into Alex’s hair. “Yeah?”

“Oh yeah,” Alex said in a gravelly voice that sent shivers down Michael’s spine. He suddenly let Michael go and plopped back against the headboard, sighing dramatically. “But if you want to wait until spring to touch me in the truck bed, then I guess we can wait –”

Michael used his powers to pull on Alex’s hips and put him on his back again, hovering over him. “You can wait. I need to see your body covered with my bruises now.”

“Oh?” Alex smiled against Michael’s cheek as he wrapped his arms around him. “I thought you just wanted the truck?”

“Shut up,” Michael moaned into his neck. “You know I’m never too picky when it comes to you.”

***

Happy Malex Monday ❤️

#alex manes #michael guerin #malex #malex fic #roswell new mexico #roswell nm #tyler blackburn #michael vlamis

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dominantslasherking · 2 years

Note

H-hear me out:

Listening to Hannibal whisper some of the most arousing things in your ear during a party. Scenarios of you two being caught fucking or him disappearing under the table to suck you off. Once all the guest leave you bend him over the closet counter or table and immediately get to work on fucking him.

Becoming aroused by listening to Michael's breathing becomes deeper and more shaky as you palm his c*ock through his clothes. Sucking and kissing on his exposed neck as you play with his nipples too. Enjoying the fact you know your the only one he has let you do this to him.

Ik absolutely disgusting but what can I say. Your literally the perfect author for stuff like this. Literally a god-sent angel that deserves to be praised more.♥️♥️♥️

P.s hope your doing ok ♥️♥️

(imma call myself ♥️ anon if that's ok)

Hannibal Lecter with Dominant Male S/o

My Stories are meant for the much more mature audience, 18+

Also, it's not really disgusting, I've become rather numb to these types of horny requests, because what can I say, except I get them all the time. Plus I also indulge myself in writing them soooo---

Slightly stretching your limbs, you watch Hannibal interact with people, close to you, he was basically glued to your side. This really wasn't a big 'party' that Hannibal normally through, just with a few respectable guests, early wanting to taste the delicious foods your husband makes---oh only if they knew.

Your chair was right next to Hannibals, as your cold gaze fell onto him, lust drawing near, he was also so neat in clean, however, when it came to both of your sex lives, he was always messy when you were finished.

Hannibal did seem to notice, as he easily stopped the conversation he had with his guest, leaning forward to you a bit, he whispered into your ear.

"Imagine, my lips wrapped around your most appetizing cock, I'm sure the other would be utmost jealous to not receive such an untouchable treat." His thumb traced along your tensed jaw, before leaning straightly back into his seat, responding to someone's comment about his food.

The teasing, didn't seem to stop, as the side dishes were served, and Hannibal had finished putting the plates up, he looked at one of the men at the table, "Why don't you show the guests one of the most famed paintings in my collection, hm? You were all talking about it earlier." He continued a bit, as they agreed to go there for a short time, all of the guests leaving the table, as they assumed Hannibal couldn't come because he was making the main dishes.

Hannibal trotted closer to you, his husband while peppering kisses on his jaw, before slowly getting on his knees and under the table, this, of course, was a very scandalous thing of him to do, but he didn't care, his husband needs come first.

Hannibal's large hands, trace against your stiffly confined cock, rubbing against it a bit, before letting it lose. He was always amazed at the girth and length.

His wet mouth, eagerly took your cock in, bobbing down a few inches and enjoying the salty taste of your pre-cum.

The guests quickly return, dr Alana bloom, the most frequent guest you both had over, looked around, "[Name] I assume hannibal is cooking---why do you look--so stiff?" She prodded a bit, some others guests eyes falling onto you, while others were busy chatting with one another.

You gulped on your Sailva, feeling Hannibal's mouth take your cock in deeper, he was careful enough not to allow his gag reflex to make itself knows, so he slid your cock down his throat carefully, letting his tongue trace every part.

"I-Its---nothing...." A groan nearly escaped your mouth, as your cock was being completely slobbered on.

Alana, stopped chatting with you, after her words died down the chatting got louder, and it was so loud that it was able to drown out, Hannibal repeated sounds of gagging down on your cock and the wet noises his mouth was making from impaling his head down hard, on your dick.

Hannibal felt you twitch which made him stop gagging and sucking n your cock, not allowing you the pleasure of cum.

he gripped your thigh as a signal to distract them, much to your complete displeasure, Hannibal shoved your hard cock back into your pants..

A fake cough escaped from your throat, "Excuse me? I'm afraid Hannibal shall take a while, making the food, why don't we bring this discussion to the living room?" Everyone perked up at your suggestion, they were rather scared and intimated by you, as you never really bother conversing with them, hardly ever.

After everyone dragged themselves out of the dining era, Hannibal got himself out under the table and headed to the kitchen, smirking at your clenched fists.

<<<>>>><<<<<>>>>>><<<<<<>>>><<<<<<<<<<<<<<>>>>>><>><<<>>

The guests finally left, After Hannibal had sucked your cock and refused for you to cum, he continued to relentlessly tease you, whether it was whispering the most sensual things into your ear or palming at your cock when no one was paying attention.

So here you were, having a disheveled Hannibal, bending down on his kitchen counter, bending him over, while fucking him.

Your cock was reaching every single part inside of him, you were hard and fast, and every time, your cock was completely balls deep inside him with each thrust and pound.

"Agh-!~" Hannibal slurred out as you gripped onto his hair for another area of support, your other hand on his waist.

Digging your cock into him, hard. Your pounding was ruthless as your cock hammered hard into his twitching hole. Hannibal's cock was twitching so much, as he came all over his and your chests.

This didn't stop the roughness, even when his puckering walls, squeezed you immensely, the clobbering of your force didn't stop.

Unexpectedly, you empty a large load, deep inside Hannibal Coating his fleshy walls white. It made his hole clench in pleasure, he purposely tightened his hole to suck up all your cum and made sure not to let a single drop fall.

"Let us move to the bedroom," Hannibal whispered seductively as much as he could with his emotionless-like voice when he felt your cock harden inside him again.

#hannibal x reader #hannibal lecter x reader #hannibal x you #hannibal lecter x you #hannibal imagine #hannibal lecter imagine #hannibal lecter imagines #hannibal lecter x male reader #slasher x reader #slasher imagine #slasher imagines #slasher fanfiction #Hannibal x reader smut #Bottom Hannibal Lecter x top male reader #Bottom slasher x top male reader #Hannibal smut #Hannibal gay smut

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kintaroworldz · 7 months

Text

The Miz x Twink husband Twitter links (bonus Miz and Morrison link )

Hey guys so it’s been awhile since y’all asked for this.

I’m sorry It took so long, I was just having some stuff going on in real life not only that but my phone broke so.

Anyways you’re not here to hear me rant y’all here for them links LETS GOOO ✨😜

Y’all know the standard rules: No minors, Female/Women it’s literally guys getting pounded so like…, Any homophobic comments will be deleted and blocked .

I think that’s it but if you would like to recommend anyone I should do next let me know.( Also will be using Miz real name for this )

-Michael Fucking you so deep it makes you squirm

-Michael loves it when he’s fucking you and you moan loudly

-Michael using you as his personal little sex toy

-Michael making you suck him after an argument

-Michael fucking you rough in his locker room even though he knows people can hear it

-When you and Miz first started dating ( 2010) a video surfaced of your sex tape.

( Also fans weren’t mad they found it hot but management did have a talk and told you to delete it. You both did 😭 )

( Bonus Miz And Morrison)

The Miz had a party after he won the wwe championship everyone was there. The party was great everyone had their fun and left except for one person that being John Morrison.

Morrison asked Miz if he could stay over reasoning being both him M/N and Miz have to go to the same ppv the next day so it was just easier for him so of course you both agreed that it was alright. You noticed Morrison staring at you during the party but though non of it.

Which leaves us to present time you being sandwiched between you’re husband Miz and Morrison. Their fucking you’re hole hard and grunting a lot.

You didn’t think you’re night would turn like this

-Miz and Morrison Link

Tysm for enjoying this ik this took a long time for me to even start this but I really hoped you enjoyed it.

soon I’ll be starting my ( Male wwe star) x feminine male reader story so Twitter links might be on hold idk yet but I’ll let y’all know

but I think that’s it thanks again for interacting with this and I’ll see y’all soon.

#wwe x male reader #twitter link #the miz #twt links

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kissagii · 1 year

Text

diamond-studded delights

michael kaiser x gn!mikage!reader ; wc 1.7k

tw: kaiser exists. references to reader getting insulted. cursing. pet names used: pretty, darling.

There are three kinds of people present at business galas. Firstly, the old, rich, notorious entrepreneurs that could be a business’ savior or its downfall. Second, the young entrepreneurs, fresh on the scene and desperate to suck up to a rich executive and get a business deal. And third, the begrudgingly attending spouses and children only there to add to the chatter and be something for the old men to brag about. You and your brother fall into the third group - you the heir in name, and him the heir in practicality.

Business was never your goal in life, so your role at the galas amounted to looking pretty, chatting up older women to keep them entertained, and disappointing business executives that were scandalized by the thought of an eldest child uninterested in the empire they were set to inherit.

This particular gala is shaping up to be nothing out of the ordinary – you’re dressed to the nines in classic navy and silver, not a hair out of place. Your mother’s friends shower you with compliments, calling you charming and mature and pretty, and their husbands look at you with pure disdain.

You can sort every attendee into one of the three groups as soon as you see them. Except for one, a young man whose two-toned hair and lack of a jacket immediately piques your interest. Just who does he think he is? Whoever he is, he’s new, and you want to know more.

As the chatter builds around you and the music is drowned out, you approach the newcomer. Your question is simple - “You’re new, aren’t you?”

“Do you make it a habit to keep tabs on all your guests like this?” The young man turns on his heel, blonde hair fluttering around his shoulders. His eyes are a striking blue, lined in deep black and vibrant orange, and his black shirt is almost scandalously unbuttoned. He’s pretty, you have to admit, but at the same time clearly destined for trouble.

“Who are you with?” You ask bluntly. Foreigners like him are a rare sight at these events, and as far as you remember, none of the European executives had sons.

“Oh, you don’t know me?” He smiles cruelly at you, almost as cruel as his silken voice. “Michael Kaiser, with the Blue Lock project.”

Blue Lock. You know that project all too well – it had swallowed up your brother just a few months ago, and your father insisted on funding it.

Before you can mention that you haven’t actually heard of him, he’s walking towards the party with long, languid strides. He stops beside you, lowering his voice to whisper in your ear. “If you’ll excuse me, I have some old geezers to flatter. Money doesn’t grow on trees.”

This is where the conversation should end, you know that. He’s some soccer star (you assume) here to charm old men into funding his career and probably cause trouble in the process. But still you call after him – “You won’t make any connections looking like that, you know.”

Kaiser turns slowly back to face you, that stupid cruel grin plastered across his face once more. “Oh? And what do you suggest I do, then?”

“Go to the restroom, wash your eyes, fix your hair, button your shirt, and pray that nobody remembers what you looked like before. Going around like that will only start a scandal and I’d rather not spend my time picking up after you.” You look him straight in the eyes as he slowly approaches you, steps calculated like a hunter approaching its prey. You don’t scare me, your eyes say, so don’t think you can walk over me so easily.

Suddenly you’re very aware of how close he’s standing – close enough that you can smell his earthy cologne and see the flecks of green and gray in his eyes. Close. Too close.

“And have you considered that I don’t want to change that?” He croons, voice soft, emphasizing how very, very close he stands.

You take a step back, praying he can’t hear your heart hammering in your chest. “Then go ahead, run your funding attempts into the ground. I don’t care.”

Again, that grin. That cocky grin of a man who knows he can get exactly what he wants, no matter what it may be. He steps toward you again, a ring-wearing finger hooking under your chin and pulling you close. “Don’t act so apathetic, pretty. I see how you look at me, undressing me with those eyes of yours. I know you love it.”

The breath hitches in your throat, and for a moment, your heart ceases to beat. Any words that form in your mind fall silent on your tongue, and you stare at Kaiser, completely speechless. This bastard sees right through me. His eyes glimmer at the sight of you silenced.

“See what I mean? Now come on, let’s go outside, since you clearly don’t want me in here with everyone else. That’s a bit selfish of you, don’t you think? Wanting me all to yourself?” His finger on your chin pulls you closer to him, his breath fanning over your face. Close. Too close.

You stumble back sharply, heartbeat pulsing in your ears. “You’re delusional.”

“You tell yourself that,” Kaiser says, stepping beside you, his shoulder against yours. “I’ll see you outside, pretty.”

There’s absolutely no reason to even consider following him. In fact, you should be glad that he’s leaving, taking his arrogant and flirtatious attitude outside where he won’t bother you or any of the other gala guests. And yet you still think about how easy it would be to follow him out the doors, to escape the chatter, stuffy small talk, and disdainful glances. It almost sounds like a good idea.

With a steadying breath you begin wandering through the crowds once more in search of a conversation to start. Has it always been this noisy? Have the people always been this close together? You don’t want to be in this room any longer, it’s too restrictive. Like you’re being crushed by the very atmosphere. Leaving – following Kaiser – is a recipe for scandal. But a scandal in the form of Michael Kaiser is too tempting to resist.

Your legs take you there before you can fully think through your choice, the hot summer night a refreshing break from the cacophony inside. And there in the garden Kaiser is waiting, leaning against a wall, poised to see you the moment you walk out the doors.

“I knew you’d come, pretty.” He said as he strode over to you. Even in the darkness his eyes sparkle sapphire blue, reflective like the gemstones on his cufflinks, dark lashes casting shadows over his face. “Just admit it, you’re losing your control.”

No matter how right he was, you wouldn’t let him know. “Me, losing my control? Come on, don’t act like you weren’t waiting for me like a dog waiting for its owner. You’re just as desperate.”

“And if I said I wanted you? What then?” His arm snakes not-so-subtly around your waist, “What will you do, darling?”

Words are overrated, you decide abruptly, pressing your lips against his. Your hand rests on the blue roses inked onto his neck, pulling him into you. He kisses you back with a passionate fervor, chasing your lips when you pull back. In the mere moment that your skin is against his, every ounce of breath is stolen from your lungs, heart racing and mind begging for more.

Kaiser is poison. But he tastes oh so good.

Who can blame you for wanting to go back for more?

“Let’s get out of their view,” He whispers, guiding you away from the doors, deeper into the garden where you are safe from prying eyes. In this corner of the world it’s just you, Kaiser, and the crickets chirping in the warm summer air

The moment you’re far enough away from everyone else, he’s on you again, all lips and hands and ardent passion. You can taste the remnants of the pomegranate-ginger party drinks on his tongue as it passes by your lips, hungry for more of you; you lean into him without hesitation, as desperate for him as he is for you. He’s a horrible decision, but a horrible decision never tasted so good.

He whispers your name when he finally separates his lips from yours, the word rolling so sensually off his tongue. When’d he learn that? It hardly matters, though, because he’s said it and all you want is for him to say it again. And that he does, bringing his lips to your ear, “Fuck, I want you so bad.”

Maybe words aren’t so overrated after all. Because those words are the final drop in the cup that breaks the surface tension – there’s no going back now. You want him and he wants you, and the world’s opinions be damned, you’ll kiss that stupid soccer player in the shadows of your father’s business gala if it’s the last thing you do. You’ll kiss away any thought he has that isn’t you, you’ll let him dishevel your clothes and hair, you’ll explore every facet of him while the night grows late and the last traces of daylight vanish into inky blackness.

“You’re like a fucking diamond,” he murmurs breathlessly between kisses, “Sparkly and tantalizing and so damn unbreakable. Do you know what you do to me? Playing hard to get and acting like you can’t fucking stand me.”

You pull your face away, fingers tangled in his hair preventing him from leaning into you. Despite the darkness you can tell his face is flushed a warm and pretty pink. For such a cocky bastard, he sure looks pathetic, pulling against your grip in an effort to get close to you once more.

“Hmm… how about you show me? Make sure I understand?” You can’t help but smile as you egg him on, giving him the opportunity to do what he’s oh so good at – getting what he wants.

His reply is whispered, hurried, breathless, and desperate: “Fuck, just kiss me again.”

You indulge him.

i hate that he has such a strong grip on me

#imagine ⋆｡°✩#kaiser x reader #kaiser #michael kaiser #michael kaiser x reader #kaiser x gn reader #kaiser x gender neutral reader #blue lock x reader #bllk x reader #blue lock kaiser

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altschmerzes · 3 months

Note

Hello! I would love to know more about 'The Ghosts are On the Porch' (Ted Lasso) and 'The Wild Dogs are Hungry' (The Bear)

which put together sound like the stanza of a poem :D

SO 'the ghosts are on the porch' is the name i gave to the zipties nightmare fic! aka my bad things happen bingo fill for 'zipties' which i described briefly here. some further information now includes that a prominent feature of this fic is jamie being like. why would i tell anyone what happened here there's no point. nothing even happened. my wrists are a little fucked up and i've got a few bruises but i'm otherwise unharmed. i've been hurt worse falling during a match. cue him needing it outlined very clearly that like. you were like. kidnapped actually. that was incredibly fucked up and of course you aren't okay. ft. this summary of his attitude in this fic from a discord message:

buddy bikes to training because he can't stand to get in the car and has a panic attack when he tries. he wears long sleeves to hide the damage and ignores it until someone sees and the cat's out of the bag. and then we get to explain to jamie that bad things that happen to him ARE bad actually and he's not being a whiny baby.

'the wild dogs are hungry' is, in short, about natalie and richie planning michael's funeral.

i think a lot about how it had to have been the two of them. how there is no way donna was... in a state to be involved in that and carmy was in new york and didn't come and like. who else could it have been. it had to be them. and the like... strange bedfellows effect of 'you're the only person i have to do this with' and how that would've been for both of them to like. only really have each other to lean on in that process, because their relationship was rocky prior to richie's transformative forks experience lmao.

there's a specific scene i have in mind where like. donna is at natalie's house, where she and richie have been working on getting things together, and things sort of. go badly. and she gets... the way she is. and it's too much to handle and donna makes natalie cry, to which richie actually kicks donna out of the house which is. it's a lot. it's a lot for richie to like... do that. in the moment. because this is his best friend's ma, his very recently dead best friend's ma, and someone he owes more than he will ever be able to repay, and kicking her out in this situation feels like anathema to everything in him but also. she cannot be doing this to nat right now. and the scales of Which Berzatto Needs Me The Most Right Now tips in natalie's favour and he steps in to handle it.

and it's obviously a lot for natalie too which is like... this is one of the worst days of her life, easily, and she's got this person she does not like in her house standing up and protecting her from her mom and helping her plan her brother's funeral and like. at this point it's very she doesn't like richie but she loves him, y'know. he's family. and she needs him. they need each other. sometimes all you got is This Specific Person and so you stick together and you do what you need to do because you lost someone you loved and everything fucking sucks and you want to scream and your husband didn't grow up in your fucked up nightmare of a family and you love him but he doesn't get this shit and he's trying to help but you kind of can't stand talking to him about this right now but you can't do it alone either. so here's this asshole. this asshole you grew up with. you lost your brother. he lost your brother too.

#gav gab #long post #readwing #you indulge me and i love you for it sldfkjs #unfortunately for you you are in fact i think familiar with both of these concepts lmao #fic: the ghosts are on the porch #fic: the wild dogs are hungry #death ment #writing liveblog #ask box games

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treason-and-plot · 1 year

Text

“I don’t like it,” says Anya’s father Michael. “I don’t like it one bit. You’ve only known each other a couple of months. It’s much too soon to be moving Anya into your apartment. How can we trust your intentions? What do we really know about you?”

Roy concentrates on finishing his mouthful of turkey while fantasising about leaning across the table and ramming his fork through Michael’s septum.

“I know quite a bit,” murmurs Anya’s mother Jane. “From what Anya tells me. And from the internet.“

“The internet is a purveyor of lies, disinformation, malevolence and treachery,” says Michael. “How many times do I have to tell you, you foolish woman?”

“Oh my God, Dad! Don’t be so rude,” says Anya.

Roy swallows and smiles at Jane.

“I’m an open book,” he says. ”If there’s anything you want to know, just ask. But I can assure you, my intentions towards your daughter are motivated by nothing except my desire to make her the happiest person in the universe.”

Jane blinks at him happily while Anya presses her leg against his under the table. Michael's scowl deepens.

“Another thing that seems to have slipped your mind is that Anya is still at college,” says Michael. “I highly doubt that your living arrangements or your lifestyle will be able to provide her with an atmosphere conducive to study. And what about this ridiculous concert in Paris that you’re taking her to in a few weeks’ time? Her weekends should be spent studying, not gallivanting across the world!”

“Paris is the fashion capital of the world,” says Roy. “I’m sure the trip will be as educational for Anya as it will be fun.”

“That’s right, Dad,” says Anya. “It’s practically going to be a study trip!”

“And I really hate to be the one to tell you this, dear,” says Jane to her husband, “But our daughter's a grown woman and there’s absolutely nothing you can do to stop her. So you may as well just suck it in.”

“Suck it up,” says Anya.

“Suck it up,” repeats Jane obediently. "Now, would you like more salad, Roy?"

#Anya #5 years later #Roy #michael simko #michael #Jane simko #sims 3 #ts3

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sourb0i · 14 days

Text

Just got out of Beetlejuice 2! I'd give it a 4/10 overall

Pros:

All the original actors (Michael Keaton, Catherine O'Hara etc, Wynona Rider) reprised their roles really well; Catherine O'Hara in particular

The relationship between Lydia and Delia was nice; I enjoyed the whole 'you did it to me, now it's happening to you' between Celia, Lydia, and Astrid

Practical effects were good; honestly it was just refreshing to have any at all. I especially liked Charles' shark-bite effect

There were some genuinely funny parts, especially the (first part of) the wedding musical number

I thought Dolores was interesting as an antagonist, and I liked her character design (though I have gripes- see below)

Cons

The vibe just wasn't there. The plot didn't really feel committed to any one thing, and when the movie ended my first thought was "what the fuck was that about?"

There were also a lot of plot holes-- or at least, worldbuilding holes. Why was Beetlejuice working in the Afterlife office? Why is there a crime unit (and laundromat)? Why couldn't Lydia see her dead husband, even though he said he "checked up on [her and Astrid]" periodically?

I am honestly really pissed about how Barbara and Adam were written off. Obviously they can't have the original actors reprising their roles, but they deserved a better ending than a hand-waved one liner.

While Dolores had a lot of potential as an antagonist, she wasn't given nearly enough character. Her only lines (as far as I can remember) were "Where's Beetlejuice". Why is she so obsessed with him? What does she hope to gain by reuniting with him? What's the deal with her soul-sucking quest for immortality? So much wasted potential

The same was true of...the Murderous Boyfriend Who Was Such a Non-Character That I Forgot His Name As Soon As He Said it.

Seriously. They could've set up a great plot twist if they'd given him more character/more set-up with the parents. Instead the guy was a walking red flag.

I also wasn't a huge fan of Astrid's character. Like they set her up to be this girl who is ostracized bc of her mom (fair), but then instead of leaning into that they made her into this Gen Z Feminist/Eco-Warrior archetype, and it just felt like the writers were trying to make fun of that instead of actually making her into a whole person. Like, ok, she knows who Marie Curie is (even tho she got the nationality wrong), but what does she do for fun? What kind of music does she like? Does she have any hobbies outside of activism?

While I enjoyed some of the musical numbers (the wedding, and the soul train particularly) on their own merits, they just felt really out of place. The original had a solid musical theme, but this felt all over the place

Also! I wish we'd gotten to see more of Lydia interacting with ghosts in her day-to-day life! That seems like something that could be really traumatic and/or played up for comedic purposes. I loved the gag with her and the other actress in the bathroom! Give me more of that!

Overall, the movie felt like it didn't really know what to do with itself. There were so many out-of-place cameos (Burn Goreman, I'm looking at you), and stylistically and thematically it never really felt committed to one thing. It was an empty movie with nothing to say, and that's really disappointing, because it had a lot of potential to be something fun.

(Also. Produced by Brad Pitt?????)

#sour speaks #sour watches movies #beetlejuice #i grew up on the original so i was especially looking forward to this #not that i had high expectations #but still. disappointing even for what I expected out of a sequel.#beetlejuice 2 #beetlejuice beetlejuice #beetle juice 2 spoilers #beetlejuice beetlejuice spoilers

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loveroftoomanyfandoms · 10 months

Text

Angel of God, My Guardian Dear Chapter 20: Reader

Pairing: Matt Murdock x F!Reader

Rating: Explicit (18+, MINORS DNI)

Story Summary: While speaking at a local school for visually impaired youth, Matt runs into his childhood best friend, with whom he lost touch almost 20 years prior.

Warning/Tags: Smut, oral sex (f receiving), p in v sex, bit of breeding kink in this chapter

Word Count: ~ 3k for this chapter

A/N: Well, we've finally reached the end! Thank you to everyone who has read and liked/commented on this story -- I appreciate each and every one of you!

I'm definitely planning on continuing with The St. Agnes Years, plus I'm in the process of writing 3 one-shot sequels, so stay tuned for those!

"Let's give one more round of applause for the new Mr. & Mrs. Murdock!" The deejay said as Matt and Y/N made their way through the tunnel of well-wishers to the limousine that was waiting to whisk them away towards their new life as husband and wife.

Man, I'm glad I thought about bringing a going-away dress, Y/N thought. As beautiful and comfortable as her wedding dress was, she was happy to have had the thought of having something to change into before she and Matt had left their reception.

Matt motioned for Y/N to get into the limo first, then slid in after her.

As soon as the door was shut, Y/N pulled Matt in for a kiss. "I'm so happy to finally have gotten to marry you."

Matt let out a happy hum against her lips. "Mmm, me too, and it only took about 15 years later than I originally had hoped.”

Y/N laughed. “Hey, better late than never though, right, husband ?”

Matt chuckled. “Right you are, wife .”

Y/N turned towards the darkened window as the limo pulled out of the church parking lot and turned in the opposite direction of Matt's -- our , she silently corrected herself -- apartment. "Hey, wait, we're going the wrong way."

"Oh no, sorry angel, I forgot to tell you," Matt replied as he shrugged his tux jacket off and loosened his tie. "I got us a place for tonight so we wouldn't have to spend our wedding night at the apartment."

Y/N cuddled into Matt's side, feeling slightly guilty. "Oh, okay. That was sweet of you, Matty, thank you.”

As much as they had tried, she and Matt had been unable to find the perfect affordable home that would suit all of their needs, so about a month before the wedding they had agreed that Y/N would just move into Matt's apartment after they were married and that they would keep looking. She knew that as much as she had tried to hide it Matt could still sense her disappointment, so she figured he had booked a room at a hotel in order to try to make their wedding night special.

Matt wrapped his arms around her and pressed a kiss to the top of her head. "You're welcome, angel."

The car weaved through traffic, and after a few minutes it pulled to a stop.

Matt grabbed his tux jacket then opened the door and stepped out before offering a hand to Y/N.

Y/N took his hand and slid out of the limo.

Her brow furrowed as she realized that they were standing not in front of a hotel, but in front of the townhouse that Y/N had fallen in love with back when they had first started looking for a bigger place.

As the limo drove off, she turned towards Matt, who had a wide grin on his face. "Wait a minute, what are we doing here?"

Matt pulled a set of keys out of his pocket. "Welcome home, Mrs. Murdock."

"Welcome home? Wha--" Y/N sucked in a breath. "Matthew Michael Murdock, you did not."

Matt chuckled and nodded. “I did.”

"How ? How could you possibly have afforded this?"

Matt shook his head, a bright grin on his handsome face. "You remember the money my dad had left me when I was a kid?"

Y/N nodded. Matt had confided in her when they were kids that since the odds were so stacked against his dad during Jack's final fight with Victor Creel that he had wound up inheriting well over a million dollars. "Well yeah, but I figured that money was long gone. I know some of it was used to pay for your eye doctor visits as well as your training with Stick, and on top of that law school sure isn't cheap, nor is a penthouse apartment in Hell's Kitchen."

Matt shook his head. "Actually, even with my medical bills and what St. Agnes paid Stick for my training I had plenty left over for college, but since I wound up getting a full scholarship to Columbia I didn't actually wind up using any of it for school. Then I got a really great deal on my old apartment because of the neon billboard outside of the living room window, so most of the money has actually been sitting in the bank collecting interest for the past 28 years. I figured why not finally spend it by surprising my wife with our dream home as a wedding gift?"

Y/N shook her head. "But we weren't even engaged at the time."

Matt shrugged, a small smile on his face. "Yeah, but I was already planning on proposing on our Friendiversary and knew you were gonna say yes."

Y/N laughed. "Oh you did now, huh?"

"Mmhmm. Or at least, I was sure enough to spend most of my life's savings.” Matt nuzzled her nose with his. “As soon as you were headed back to your apartment after we toured this place and knew for sure that it was our dream home, I went back in and made an offer the previous owners couldn't refuse."

“No wonder it went so quickly!” Y/N playfully swatted him on the arm . "I can't believe you kept this from me for months , Matthew. What happened to 'no secrets between best friends', huh Murdock?"

Matt grinned and shook his head. "I figured you wouldn't mind me keeping this one secret from you for a while, although I did almost give up the surprise several times because I hated knowing how upset and stressed out you were about us not being able to find a place that we liked nearly as much as this one."

"I'm sorry, angel," he had said when Y/N had looked up the listing for the townhouse a few weeks after they had toured it and discovered that it had sold almost immediately. "I know how much we both loved that place."

"It's fine," Y/N had replied, the words sounding flat even to her ears. "No matter how much we loved it and how perfect it was for us it's not like we could ever have afforded the mortgage, even with both our salaries. We'll find something, I'm sure of it. We'll just have to keep looking for something within our budget."

Matt had wrapped his arms around her and given her a gentle kiss. “It'll be okay, angel, I promise. I just want you to be happy.”

Y/N's eyes filled with tears as the selflessness and love behind Matt's gesture fully hit her. "So this is really ours?"

Matt nodded. "Yeah, angel. It's really ours. Right now it's in my name only, obviously, but I drew up a new deed this morning to make us officially co-owners on paper. We'll just have to wait for our signed marriage license to get filed on Monday before we can get Foggy to notarize and file the new deed for us."

Y/N wrapped her arms around Matt and gave him a kiss. "I love you so damn much, you know that, right?"

Matt wiped the tears from her eyes. "I love you too."

Y/N looked up at their new home once again. "So can we go in?"

Matt chuckled. "Yeah, angel, of course."

They headed up the stairs to the entrance.

Y/N let out a giggle as Matt unlocked and opened the door then scooped her up in a bridal carry.

She gave him a kiss. "Love you, Mr. Murdock."

"And I love you, Mrs. Murdock," Matt replied, carrying her over the threshold before setting her down.

As they walked through their new home, Y/N was surprised to see Matt's dining set, sofa and coffee table in their respective areas as well as the boxes of belongings that she had moved over to Matt's earlier in the week. "Wait, when and how did all of our stuff get in here?" she asked as they walked up the stairs to the living room.

"This morning after Karen dropped your suitcase off at my place," Matt replied, draping his tux jacket over the back of the couch and taking his glasses off. "Foggy helped me pack my stuff up yesterday and I hired movers to actually move everything."

“What's going to happen with your apartment? Are you going to lease it out?”

Matt shook his head. “I sold it to the current owner of my building a couple of months ago with the stipulation that he let me lease it back until after the wedding.”

He gestured around the mostly-empty space. "I know we'll have to do a lot of furniture shopping when we get back from our honeymoon, but I wanted us to be able to spend our first night as husband and wife in the home that we'll share for the rest of our lives, so I figured bare minimum was better than nothing."

Y/N gave Matt a tender kiss. "Matty, sweetheart, this is perfect . Thank you so much.”

Matt chuckled. “I was so nervous that you’d find a place that would work for us and that you'd like better than here.”

Y/N shook her head. “Despite all of the apartments and condos we toured, this was honestly the only place I could see us building a life together in.”

She trailed a finger down Matt's torso, stopping just above the waistband of his pants. “And speaking of building a life together, since we actually did find our dream home I guess that means I'm going off of my birth control now, doesn't it?”

A grin spread across Matt's face. “Does that mean we can try for a honeymoon baby?”

Y/N huffed out a laugh as she wrapped her arms around his waist. “Even if I stop taking my pill today I don't think it would happen that quick, but that doesn't mean we can't start working on it.”

Matt hummed, a slight smirk blooming across his plush lips. “In that case, lead the way, Mrs. Murdock.”

Y/N took Matt's hand and led him upstairs to their bedroom.

As soon as they entered Matt wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her back to his front. "Thought about this while we were touring this place, angel," he murmured into her ear. “Making love to you here in our bedroom… and all of the other rooms in the home that we'll share for the rest of our lives."

Y/N hissed in a breath as Matt began trailing kisses down her jawline to her neck. "I did too, Matty. Imagined you fucking me up against the shower wall, getting down on my hands and knees for you on the couch in the garden room…"

Her breath hitched as Matt gave a gentle nip to her throat. “...Riding your cock in the library.”

Matt growled deep in his chest, his already-hard cock twitching against Y/N’s ass. “Shit, yes, angel, can't wait to get to do all of that with you.”

He nipped at her throat again as he unzipped her dress. “But first, I want to take my beautiful bride to bed.”

Y//N shivered as Matt slid the straps of her dress off of her shoulders, the smooth silk pooling at her feet.

She stepped out of the dress, then turned and gave Matt a gentle kiss as she unbuckled his belt and unbuttoned his pants. “Then take me, my handsome groom.”

Matt smirked as he slid his hands down to her ass. “Oh I definitely plan on taking you, angel, over… and over… and over again.”

Arousal flooded Y/N’s system. She gasped in surprise as Matt picked her up and carried her over to the bed, gently setting her down before quickly divesting himself of the rest of his clothing and climbing in after her.

She let out a moan as Matt settled himself between her legs and nosed at her silk-covered core.

“Mmm, so needy,” Matt purred. “Practically dripping for me already, aren't you, sweetheart?”

Y/N nodded, her mind already hazy with lust. “Uh huh. Want you, Matty.”

Matt groaned. “Want you too, angel.”

Y/N whimpered as Matt pulled her underwear to the side and licked a broad stripe up her folds.

He slowly dragged his tongue up her folds again, swirling his tongue around her clit as he worked two fingers inside of her.

Y/N’s back arched off the bed in pleasure. The only thing better than the feel of Matt's long, thick fingers stretching her out was his long, thick cock. “Fuck, Matt.”

Matt moaned against her as he began to fuck her with his fingers. “That's right, angel, don't hold back. Make those beautiful sounds for me, let me know how good I'm making you feel.”

Y/N cried out as Matt hit a spot inside her that made her see stars. “Yes, right there --”

“That's my good girl,” Matt crooned. “I got you, angel, let go for me.”

Y/N could feel the coil of an oncoming orgasm tightening in her stomach. “Matty, Matty yes, please, don't stop -- ahh!”

She gasped as she reached her peak, legs shaking as Matt worked her through it.

Matt gently withdrew his fingers before raising them to his mouth, his eyes closing in bliss as he sucked them clean. “Mmm.”

He slowly peeled Y/N’s underwear off of her. “You make the prettiest sounds for me, Y/N. Love to hear you.”

Y/N sat up and pulled Matt to her for a kiss. “Need your cock in me, Matty,” she whispered against his lips. “Want you to fill me up.”

Matt nodded as he took himself in hand, sliding his cock through Y/N’s folds a few times before guiding himself to her entrance. “Gotta start slow, angel, don't want to hurt you.”

Y/N sucked in a breath as Matt joined their bodies together, the snug fit of his cock inside her tight channel making her involuntarily clench around him.

Matt groaned as he waited for her to adjust. “Fuck, sweetheart, you feel so good, so perfect. Love you so much, my angel, my beloved, my wife.”

Y/N let out a soft gasp as Matt slowly drew himself out and pushed back in, the slow, lazy rhythm of his cock sliding in and out of her fueling her desire for him. “I love you too, Matty, my husband, my forever.”

She slowly raked her nails down Matt's back. “Can't wait to grow our family with you here in our home, sweetheart, raise our children here together.”

Matt’s hips stuttered slightly. " Shit, yeah, gonna fuck a baby into you as soon as possible, angel, make you come on my cock over and over, taking every single drop of my seed deep inside your needy cunt until I'm absolutely certain I've gotten you pregnant."

Y/N gasped loudly as Matt adjusted his angle, his cock reaching even deeper inside her. "Yes, want that so badly, sweetheart."

Matt slid a hand over her stomach, his cock pulsing against her walls. "God, Y/N, you're gonna be even more beautiful than you already are when you're round and full with my child, with our child. Can't wait to hear and feel the life we'll create together growing inside you."

Y/N whimpered. She could picture Matt gently kissing and caressing her growing stomach as he talked to their unborn child. “Please, Matt. Want to have a baby with you.”

Matt began to rub tight circles against her clit with his thumb as he drove into her. "Don't worry, angel, I gotcha, gonna make sure I come nice and deep in you so your cunt has no choice but to take it all."

Y/N gasped, right on the edge of ecstacy and just needing one little push to send her over. "Fuck, Matty, I'm right there baby, please don't stop."

Matt growled deep in his chest. “That's right, sweetheart, be a good wife and come for me.”

He dropped his voice into his Daredevil tone. "You're mine forever, aren't you, Mrs. Murdock ?"

"Oh fuck, yes, yours , Matt, always --" Y/N cried out as the coil inside her snapped.

Matt slammed into her twice more before finding his own release, his cock pumping his seed deep inside her throbbing cunt. "Shit, Y/N ."

Y/N wrapped her arms around him and hummed in bliss as she began to descend from her sex-induced high. “Mmm.”

She shivered as Matt stroked a hand through her hair then down her arm to her side.

Matt gave her a tender kiss before carefully pulling out of her.

He lay on his side and reached for Y/N, caressing her cheek with one hand while wrapping the other around her waist. “I'm so happy I get to spend the rest of my life with you, angel.”

Y/N snuggled up to him and hummed as Matt began lightly tracing his hands up and down her back. “I am too, Matty.”

She was silent for a few moments. “You know, you always thought I was your guardian angel, but actually I think it was the other way around.”

Matt's hands paused as he tilted his face down towards her. “Really?

Y/N nodded. “Yeah, I mean think about it. You were literally the answer to my prayers, Matty.”

Matt chuckled. “Ironic that I grew up to become a vigilante known as ‘The Devil of Hell's Kitchen’ then.”

Y/N huffed out a laugh. “In that case I guess you were actually my ‘guardian devil’, but the sentiment still stands. I am who I am because of you.”

She gave Matt a kiss. “Now, how about we keep practicing making our own little devil?”

Matt rolled onto his back, guiding Y/N to lay on top of him. “That sounds like a great idea, angel. After all, you know what they say -- practice makes perfect.”

#lotmf writes #AoG Masterlist #matt murdock x reader #matt murdock x f!reader #matt murdock x fem!reader

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