#i still have to work up the nerve to fuckin. send asks. i have not interacted with ppl in fandom since. 2016? i'm still getting used to thi

[samiferboy]

WIP ask game 2

tagged by @quietwingsinthesky thanks!!

was tagged in this the other day but fuck it i'll do it again LOL

RULES: post the names of all the files in your WIP folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous. Let people send you an ask with the title that most intrigues them and then post a little snippet or tell them something about it! and then tag as many people as you have WIPs.

these are just my spn wips, my titles are completely inscrutable, you're welcome <3

WHAT AM I SUPPOSED TO DO ABOUT THAT??? YOU TELL ME WHAT TO DO!!!!! (aka nyfic aka the giant samifer fic i've been working on since august)

i needed more stanford era so this happened

terrible time for swesson

if i'm going to hell for anything in this folder it's this one (already discussed here <3)

is this unethical science

relapse but make it sexy :3

oops all hallucifer noncon

overstimulation station

you know how it is in the cage

still too shy to tag ppl sorry i'm just a little guy!!!! i also think all my mutuals who write have already been tagged by someone else i follow lmao but if you haven't feel free to do this and say i tagged you!

[ceilidho]

take me home, country road

[ao3]

You have nothing on your person apart from a hastily packed suitcase and the dress you came into town wearing, on the run from trouble back home. Too bad John's missing a bride that matches your description. Or: the 1800s (mistaken) mail order bride au (chapter 16 + 17) tw: violence, injuries, and misogynistic language

first chapter >> last chapter

-

Sinking into fear is the body’s natural response. You let it envelope you without putting up a struggle. It wouldn’t be one that you’d win anyway. Resistance already leaks out of you like tar, pooling around your quivering legs.  

It makes you feel lighter than air, almost buoyant; and conversely, heavier than lead. 

You can’t feel the cold metal of the gun through the layers of fabric separating it from the skin of your back, but you can feel its weight. And you can imagine it burning into you, burning a ring into the flesh, the muzzle leaving faint depressions behind, circular indents.

“Don’t feel so clever now, huh?”

Fear chokes as well as it binds. When the man you remember as Graves (appropriately named, you think, the gravity of the situation sinking into you as well) drawls the words into your ear, any moisture in your mouth dries. 

“Well?” he prompts, shoving the gun harder into your back, almost sending you toppling into the shelf still in front of you obscuring you from sight. “Got anythin’ to say?”

You open your mouth but nothing comes out.

“You a mute, girl? I know you ain’t deaf since you heard I’d been sniffin’ around lookin’ for ya. ‘Least I’m guessin’ you did, since you managed to give me the slip for the whole time I was in town.” He sniffs. “Took me a while to find out you were shacked up with the sheriff. Hiding in plain sight. Couldn’t believe I missed ya when Sheriff Price was damn near the first person I met in this two-bit town.”

You finally muster up the nerve to speak. “Y-you’re making a mistake.” 

The furled upper lip is audible in his voice. “I’d try not to piss me off too much, sugar. Lyin’ just rubs me the wrong way is all.”

“No, you—you really don’t—” 

He shoves the gun harder into your back, making you wince. “Now, I know you’re a slippery little bitch, so I’ll level with you, alright?” Graves murmurs, pitching his voice low to ensure that only you hear. “You make so much as a peep—so much as a fuckin’ whisper—and I’ll shoot. Wink and I’ll shoot. I am dyin’ for you to give me a reason to go with the better half of the dead or alive question.”

There’s no point in lying. It might’ve worked had it been anyone but the man holding you hostage; not a man as stubborn and mulish as him. You nod when he asks if you understand.

“Now get to steppin’.”

He doesn’t tarry long, leading you out of the shop with a hand on your shoulder and . You stare at Miles with mounting horror, wordlessly begging him to look up from the ledger open in front of him on the counter. Your prayers go unanswered though; he doesn’t so much as glance towards the door before it’s swinging shut behind you.

“Remember,” Graves says in a low voice as the two of you step out onto the porch, “not a word. I will shoot anyone that tries to interfere.” 

That kills the impulse to shout for help. 

The thought of letting Graves take you away without voicing so much as a single plea fills you with horror, but you can’t see any other way out. He walks you through the streets like an old friend, the pistol still wedged into your back obscured by his coat. No one seems to notice the wild look in your eyes or the strained edge of your smile. 

Your behavior infuriates you. Demural and soft and wretched. You’ve only allowed one man to put you under their thumb; only one has ever earned the right. 

The thought of your husband is an ache in your chest that doesn’t abate. It thumps with the terrified flutter of your heart. You half wonder if he’ll suddenly appear from around a bend and wrench you into his arms, gun already drawn and aimed at the man attempting to take you away from him. 

“My husband—” you start, tripping over your words. Almost tripping over a rock as well since your spine is too stiff to let you look down at the ground while you walk. “—He can—he can pay you.”

He laughs, a nasty, mocking sound. “I’m sure he’d like to, sugar. Jus' ain’t sure he’s got the cash to pay your price.”

“At least let me ask—”

At that, he jams the gun violently into the small of your back, making you wince agaun. Petrified. Sweat sluices off your brow and drips down your face. “What part of shut the fuck up don’t you get?”

That silences you. Hard to muster up the nerve to retaliate with a gun lodged against the base of your spine. Still there’s so much that bears asking. Why did he come back? Why here—why now? 

The town takes on a dull, listless quality as he steers you away from the more crowded areas. It’s almost like looking through muslin; a veil between you and the world. 

Your eyes dart from person to person as they pass by in the opposite direction, but even those that bother to meet your gaze only smile politely, a couple passing gentlemen chirping, “Morning, Mrs. Price” before sweeping by in a hurry. 

None question the wild, frantic glint in your eye, the look of a horse about to bolt. If they paid you more than a moment’s notice, they might, but even the lady who frowns curiously at Graves, his hand still resting gently on your arm as if he were an old, dear friend, abandons her momentary curiosity when her companion says something of interest, pulling her back into their conversation. The flicker of hope in your belly dies a soundless death. 

There’s something almost phantasmagorical about the entire ordeal. Almost like it isn’t quite happening, like you can’t quite make yourself believe that this is, in fact, real. Like you’re watching from outside of yourself. Though you can see the wooden facades of the nearby buildings and smell the scent of hay and manure from the livery stable, it doesn’t resonate within you as real. 

He meanders through town with you stationed in front of him. A meat shield. Collateral damage. Simply by the way he maneuvers you through the crowd, he reduces you to a body, stripping you of any semblance of personhood. You’re less than meat to him, less than human even—no more than a meal ticket. 

When you muster up the courage to open your mouth the next time someone passes you by, Graves’ hand slides up to your shoulder and he digs his fingers into the bone. A warning. 

“If you think I was kiddin’ before, just try me,” he sneers into your ear, thumb pressing into your shoulder blade until you wince. 

Again, his voice dispels any thought of getting someone’s attention. 

He doesn’t lead you towards the train station like you expect. Instead, he heads to an awning beneath the saloon on the periphery of town where a couple horses are leashed to a post, waiting for their riders to come untie them. The roof of the awning is strung with a dense cluster of overlapping cobwebs. A spider scuttles across the web and into the dark inner recesses of the canopy. 

This far from the center of town, there’s hardly anyone. When you give your surroundings a quick glance, you can’t find a single other soul within earshot, only a single man pushing open the batwing doors on his way into the saloon. Then you’re alone again. 

A tawny gelding chuffs when Graves approaches.  When he suddenly unhands you, it doesn’t click until he’s several paces away from you, running his hand down his horse’s neck and rifling through the saddlebags, emptying the contents of his coat pockets into them. You have to glance down at your shoulder just to be sure. He sheathes his gun as well, tucking it into the holster fixed to his belt. 

“Bought the horse off a drunk three towns back,” Graves explains while loading up the horse.

You don’t respond, still unsettled. It’s the first time since he led you out of the general store that his gun hasn’t been aimed at you. It wouldn’t be practical for him to dress and load the horse one handed. The sun beats down on you, burning the top of your head. This could be your moment—a moment to scream or run away.

But you don’t. You don’t scream and you don’t run because you are, above all else, a coward. Through and through. You’ve been running from your problems for months now, leaving someone else to take care of the mess you left behind. 

Fear paralyzes you; it makes you think too much or not at all. Even now, with Graves giving you the perfect opportunity to turn and run, you can’t stop thinking about the potential consequences. What if he were to shoot you? What if he were to haul you back into town and expose your sins to everyone who gathered around? What if the people in town that have come to see you as one of their own were to gather around your crumpled form and stare at you with vitriol and disgust? 

“How did you—” you start, then pause to breathe, the nausea building again. “I thought you’d left town.”

“You’d’ve liked that, huh?” 

You don’t answer that. You know better than to antagonize a man with a gun. 

He sighs when you don’t rise to the bait, almost pettish. “Wedding announcement. I saw it in the paper—by then, I’d moved on to Lexington, so it took me awhile to backtrack, but I just knew somethin’ about that bit in the paper about the sheriff’s wife hailing from the east coast didn’t sound right. Too big of a coincidence. Had to at least be sure—retrace my footsteps. Lotta money on the line, you know.”

You stare straight ahead at that. You ought to have known. 

(“In the paper. The county sheriff got hitched—of course it’d be a story.”)

“To be honest, that kinda cracked me up. Murderess marrying the county sheriff.” He snorts out a laugh, shaking his head. “Sorta thing you’d read about in a dime novel.”

A new emotion wells up within you. It simmers in your belly, hot and cold at once. Righteous fury. All this time, you’ve been betraying yourself with your silence, allowing men to read your fear as guilt. Complicit in your own ruin. 

“I’m not a murderer.”

The look he gives you is withering. “Sugar, I hate to break it to you, but you did kill a man.”

You open your mouth, but nothing comes out. Nothing ever does, it seems.  But the more you hold it in, the uglier the thought seems, until it erupts from your chest like Vesuvius, lava and tephra shooting out. 

“He deserved it,” you finally spit out, the words coming from deep in your chest. 

Graves doesn’t even pause in his ministrations, back to tightening the saddle straps. 

“He deserved it,” you repeat, spittle flying out of your mouth and landing in the dirt between the two of you. 

“That’s not somethin’ I usually concern myself with,” he finally says, looking distinctly unimpressed when he meets your stare. Bored blue eyes. 

You’re struck by the sense that your life means so little to him that the circumstances surrounding your bounty hardly merit more than a passing thought. If he could spare less, he would. 

It’s the vilest thing in the world to be regarded with such bored contempt. 

“He would’ve—he would’ve raped me otherwise. I didn’t have a choice.” 

At that, Graves pauses. When he looks towards you, his eyes are curiously blank. 

“Better that than what’ll happen now,” he says, the words so perfunctory that it takes a moment for them to sink in.  When they do, you have to swallow back bile.

His glibness shatters whatever hope you’d had left. 

In that moment, you finally acknowledge that appealing to his sense of decency won’t lead you anywhere because it simply doesn’t exist within him. You’ve known men like him before—those more concerned with lining their own pockets than taking care of the vulnerable people around them. The archetype is not uncommon. You should’ve expected it even, especially from a bounty hunter. 

There won’t be any bribing him or talking your way out of the situation you’ve found yourself in. Whatever facinorous end awaits you back east, he’s happy to shepherd you there so long as it earns him his thirty coins. 

How many times do you have to ask yourself if you’re brave enough to do something before you answer? 

When Graves turns to face you again and takes a step towards you, likely to urge you up onto the saddle, you recoil, stumbling away from him. His eyes sharpen at your movement, fulvous wolf eyes narrowing on you. 

“And here I thought you’d stopped pissin’ me off,” he says lightly, a hard edge underlying his words. His hand lifts to rest against the handle of the revolver tucked back in its sheath, thumb flexing over it. 

“What’s the point?” you retort, nostrils flaring. “You either kill me here or I die there.”

You sound braver than you feel, fear making you shake so hard that your knees almost knock together. 

Graves’ smile is all lip, no crinkling around the eyes. “Oh, I won’t kill you, sugar. I’m a better shot than that.”

Your heart pounds against your ribcage, stomach turning over at the thought of him putting a bullet through your shoulder or leg. 

“I’m surprised you won’t just come quietly. You think the sheriff wouldn’t hand you over to me himself if he found out what kinda woman he married?”

That’s been your fear from the very beginning. The one thing that’s kept you awake at night, the nightmare shaking you out of a dead sleep. You’d convinced yourself that him calling the authorities or even escorting you back east himself was an inevitability. That John Price, paragon of virtue, wouldn’t bend the rules for anyone, much less you. 

But the more you think about it, the less sense it seems to make. Every tender word and touch rises to the forefront of your memory. If John has shown you anything, it’s love. He’s proven his devotion a thousand times over, shown you time and again that were you to leave, he’d come running. 

Suddenly, the thought that your husband would let someone take you away from him seems preposterous. It doesn’t align at all with the man you know. He’d go to hell and back for you, would rip out a man’s tongue for speaking to you the way Graves speaks to you now. Hindsight makes that clear. 

You meet his eyes, intention set. “I’d rather just ask him.”

Blue eyes turn to flint, flat. Droll candor shed for ruthlessness. Silence before a storm. 

He’s on you before you even have a chance to whirl around and make a run for it, arm cutting into your windpipe when he wraps it around your neck. He drags you back into the shadows of the awning, out of sight from anyone on the street; your heels score lines in the dirt. You choke, wheezing on your next breath, but his arm tightens, trapping the scream in your throat. 

“Shoulda done this before,” Graves grunts, reaching into his back pocket and pulling out the pair of cuffs he had tucked away. 

When he unhooks his arm from around your neck, you gasp for breath, sucking in deep lungfuls of air. Panic swirls and rises in your chest. 

“Get your hands off—” you hiss, beating his arm with your fist to no avail. He yanks your arms in front of you until your wrists are pressed close together. Your blood curdles at the feeling of cold iron against your skin and the gut-wrenching sound of handcuffs being fixed around your wrists, tightened to the point of pain. You can hardly flex your hands with how tight they’re bound. “Let me go, let ME GO—”

He pulls you in close again. “Don’t think I won’t tape your fuckin’ mouth shut too,” Graves snarls in your ear. Nausea swells in your belly. 

“Please— please don’t do this—” you beg, a sob breaking from your chest now. 

He sighs, long suffering. “Lord knows I tried to warn you.”

Despite the threat, Graves doesn’t tape your mouth shut. Instead, he fastens a rough piece of rope around your head, fitting it between your teeth like a bit. You don’t have it in you to be thankful for small mercies this time. The hemp cord scratches the corners of your mouth when you try to move your lips around it. 

“There,” he says, giving you a rough shake, satisfied. “That’s better. Can finally hear myself think.”

The tears leak out of the corners of your eyes in big, fat droplets, clouding your vision. When he wipes your cheeks with a calloused hand, the nail of his thumb catches on the delicate skin under your eye, leaving a thin cut. The pain makes you flinch, staring daggers at the man in front of you, but he doesn’t apologize for his rough handling. 

Graves heaves himself up onto the saddle first, swinging a leg over with practiced ease. You yelp when he hauls you up after, setting you on the saddle in front of him. Heat crawls up your neck when your skirt billows around your waist, horrified. 

“Save your tears, sugar,” he tells you, gathering the reins in one hand. “You’ll need ‘em for later.”

The horse whinnies when Graves pulls upward and guides him towards the road leading out of town, hooves clopping against the dirt. Your heart shoots up into your throat. 

Galloping out of town, you chance a glance back, head spinning as the world blurs around you. A man stands under the awning you just left, his head cocked as if stupefied. He’s too far away for you to get a proper look at his face though, no way to tell if he’s someone that might recognize you and alert John. You try to scream or wave your hands—anything to get his attention, to let the stranger know that something is wrong. 

You watch until the figure melds into the surrounding town. 

You keep waiting for someone to appear from behind you. A tall figure to darken the horizon, blot it like the moon passing over the sun. 

The last bastion of your hope collapses into rubble the farther away you ride, no man nor horse following you in pursuit. And then a hand grabs a fistful of your hair and wrenches your head back around, cutting off your view.

The plan is to leave the horse in the next town you reach and take a train back east. Graves would’ve done that back in the town you just left, he tells you, but he wanted to put as much distance between you and the sheriff. 

“You never know with men who’ve gotten a taste of married life,” he says when he finally deigns to stop miles from town, sitting on a rock and having a drink while he leaves you tied to the horse by your wrists. You shift from foot to foot, a cramp winding up your legs. “They get themselves a little pussy and lose all sense of dignity or morality. Can’t be trusted to do the right thing.” 

Steam practically billows out of your ears. You have the good sense to keep your mouth shut though, cognizant of the fact that you’re alone out in the middle of nowhere with a man who’d be happy to bring you back dead or alive. Though he hasn’t been quite so explicit, it’s apparent in the way he doesn’t offer to untie you or let you rest as well. The skin under the cuffs on your wrists are rubbed raw from your attempts to free yourself, and from the journey itself, with all the jostling and the persistent cramp in your right shoulder. 

The animal awareness dawns on you during that first rest. He’d taken the rope out when you were far enough outside of town that it didn’t matter if you screamed or not. That’s what stays your tongue now—the creeping notion that you are far from anyone that would be remotely sympathetic to your plight. 

“How much was the bounty?” you ask, more out of morbid curiosity than anything. You balance on one foot to shake the cramp out of the other. 

“Now, I hate to be rude, sugar, but what does it matter to you? It ain’t you collecting the reward.”

Your lips flatten into a taut line, already regretting prying. It’s not like knowing would change anything. 

The break ends sooner than you’d hoped, Graves urging you back onto the horse before taking a seat behind you. It troubles you because you’re not far enough away from town that you couldn’t still be rescued. There’d be more of a chance of John or someone else—one of his deputies, perhaps—coming across you out here. But you don’t have much of a choice. 

Out here, the land stretches on without end. Only the faint blue of a mountain ridge paralleling your route breaks the horizon. The land is flat, sparse apart from the dense shrubbery and trees twisted and bent by the wind. Cottonwood and boxelder. Chokecherry. Dogwood and hawthorn. Lush blooming saltbrush. 

The clear blue sky overhead is almost mocking, the rain from earlier long since abated. There’s hardly a cloud in the sky now. It’d be scenic if you could abstract it from the circumstances. A perfect day for gardening or a brisk walk after being kept indoors because of the rain. You’re still damp from riding through the rain earlier. 

A few bison congregate in a small dip in the terrain, grazing on the wild grass. You stare at them wide-eyed as you gallop along the upper ridge, startled by the sight of so many in one place. 

Despite the sublime beauty of the land, you remain on edge, unable to take anything in or truly enjoy it. Panic and revulsion leave you as gnarled and knotted as the krummholz trees out in the middle of the open plains. Riding with Graves feels nothing like the few times you and John shared a horse. It’s impersonal; transactional. Entirely against your will. 

The sun has only just begun to descend under the horizon when you and Graves approach a ramshackle house situated by itself in the middle of the open plains. Barely more than a barn, and long since abandoned by the looks of it. Age has done the place no favors; wooden slats sag and separate from the exterior of the house, the gaps in between the boards letting in all manner of insects and rot. 

Graves dismounts his horse about a stone’s throw from the hovel. His brow furrows with dissatisfaction as he surveys the abandoned property. 

“Shit,” he remarks, sucking his teeth. “A local back in town swore a family still lived here. Don’t look like anyone’s lived here since Abraham.”

Part of you wishes the former tenants still resided here, on the off possibility that one might take pity on you, but a much larger part of you is grateful for the dwelling’s vacancy. You’ve heard stories before, of families living out in the middle of nowhere. Rumors. Not all bad, of course; it’s common enough for families migrating west sometimes to stop along the way for a generation or two, building more permanent dwellings than the caravans they began their journey in. Many such families were also known for putting up travelers passing through in exchange for goods or help with chores. 

But you’ve also heard other stories. Like the Riley family out near Cherryvale and their homestead just off the Great Osage Trail. They lived out there for more than two decades before the number of lone travelers vanishing off the trail within walking distance of their property pointed the finger of suspicion at them. When the authorities finally got around to procuring a warrant for their property, they found the house deserted apart from the furniture that couldn’t be loaded into the wagon and an infant boy, dehydrated and petrified. 

You shake the story from your head. “…Are we spending the night here?” you ask tentatively. 

He looks at you from the corner of his eye, nostrils flared. “Don’t go gettin’ any ideas in that head of yours. Jus’ because a man’s gotta rest his eyes, don’t mean I gotta give you a peaceful night’s rest. No, I’m leavin’ those hands of yours tied.”

Your hopes deflate at that. 

He helps you dismount before hobbling his horse with a pair of leather straps around its front legs to keep it from darting off in the middle of the night. You wince sympathetically; you have more in common with a horse now than any man. 

The inside of the cabin is just as derelict as the exterior. At the very least, he feeds you. A couple scoops of pemmican straight from the tin. The fact that he insists on feeding you instead of letting you feed yourself puts you on edge. Your spine is stiff as a board through it all, your mouth barely opening up to receive the spoonful of pemmican, the metal clanking against your teeth. You wince, the sound itself tasting of rust. 

At all times, you are aware of the precarity of your situation. You can’t imagine there were any stipulations in the bounty to bring you back unscathed. Though he hasn’t tried anything untoward so far—not so much as made a licentious remark—you don’t know how long your luck will last. You flinch every time he so much as twitches in your direction, sure at any moment his mood will flip and he’ll drag you across the floor and haul himself over you. 

It’s enough to make your stomach hurt, turning over itself. He doesn’t try anything though, and for that you exhale shakily, the tension running off you in rivulets. 

One hour drags into the next. Night blackens the sky, seeping in through the crumbling walls of the cabin. 

“Well,” Graves says, wiping his hands together to dust off any lingering crumbs. “I’m gonna hit the hay.”

“Do…do I get to sleep as well?”

He cocks a brow. “Not much I can do to stop you.”

“It’s just that…” You lift your hands as you trail off, silently pointing out the handcuffs still secured around your wrists, the implicit assertion being that you won’t be able to sleep with the metal digging into the bones of your wrists. 

Graves scoffs. “You can’t think I’ll just uncuff you ‘cause we ain’t in town no more. I got a little more sense than that, sugar.”

“You could use rope instead?” you suggest. 

The seconds he spends considering it are long. You hold your breath as you watch him weigh the pros and cons. 

Finally, he shrugs. “Alright.”

The relief that washes over you is almost palpable. 

He pulls a blanket out of one of the saddlebags to function as a makeshift pillow, setting it up on the floor in the center of the room. True to his word, Graves uncuffs you and loops a double knotted rope around your wrists instead, fastening the rope tying your hands together around his own wrist. Your stomach sinks as he pulls the knot taut. 

He levels a heavy stare on you after giving the rope one last tug. “I don’t usually repeat myself, sugar, but I will this one time. Don’t go tryin’ anythin’ stupid. I’m gettin’ a good night’s rest and so help me if you wake me up—” his eyes flash, gray going steely “—you won’t like the consequences.”

You nod. Swallow back the phlegm clogging your throat. 

True night plunges the old house into darkness, cricket songs slipping in through the cracks in the walls. The temperature also plunges with the setting sun. It gets cold at night, even in the summer months; the draft makes you shiver, the rotting exterior letting in the elements. 

You keep to the wall with the least amount of rotting boards, as far as the rope tethering you to Graves will allow you to go. It would probably be in your best interest to try and get some sleep, but you’re far too restless to calm down. The atmosphere in the house is far too eerie to settle your nerves either; you can’t help but wonder about the family that must have left this place to rot and fade away into memory. 

It’s all you can do to blink back the tears that spring to your eyes when you think about the memory of you that John will have to carry into the future now that you’re gone. It isn’t fair. After everything you’ve had to endure in this lifetime, you thought maybe that this might have been your reward. That John was your reward. 

Your hands drop from your chin to your knees, hopelessness plaguing you again. The thin, sharp whistle of defeat. High and reedy as a death rattle. 

Then your eyes drop to your wrists.

The cord is fastened in a bowline knot around your wrists, difficult to undo without considerable effort, but the material is softer than the cuffs Graves had you in before, and it gives when you pull one hand down while pushing the other up. Your skin bunches around the cord, but it doesn’t cut into you the way the metal did. 

Graves is still fast asleep when you glance over at him. He doesn’t snore, but the rise and fall of his chest under the blanket is steady. Stable. 

The fatigue dissipates from your body the second you put it together. That there’s a sliver of a possibility of slipping your hands out of the rope tying you to Graves. The exhilaration is almost overwhelming. You have to sit with it a beat before acting, wary of letting your guard down too fast.

Time passes slowly as you fiddle with the knot, reaching your fingers as far as they’ll go and gritting your teeth through the ensuing cramp in your wrist. You nearly groan in frustration when your hand twitches and you accidentally retighten the knot. A near crushing blow. 

Please, you mouth more than whisper, frustrated tears clumped in your lashes. Teeth sinking into the flesh of your bottom lip, pinching off the wail rising up your throat. 

Your heart skips a beat when the rope loosens around one of your wrists, enough for you to wiggle a pinkie underneath and slowly shimmy it up the length of your hand. A cramp makes your pinkie spasm, almost causing you to lose your grip. Sweat pools in the cup of your palm. 

When your wrists are finally free, the rope clutched in trembling hands and the basal joint of your thumb scrapped raw from the fibrous rope, you can only sit there, heart beating wildly in your chest. You have to force yourself to remain calm, wary of waking Graves up after all that effort. His eyelids quiver only with his dreams though. 

You glance towards the door on the other side of the cabin. It seems either farther away now that you know it’s within reach. You know better than to just run straight for it though. Weeks of being on the run before finding John have taught you to pace yourself, to push down the fluttering evocation in your chest to make a mad dash for the closest way out. 

Instead, you take a deep breath out, closing your eyes until you’ve calmed down. Then you rise slowly to your feet. 

Your eyes, having long since adjusted to the darkness, scan the room for any loose floorboards. Aside from one obvious corner of the house which has begun to rot away and collapse, it’s hard for you to discern at a glance which boards will groan under the weight of your feet. You have no choice but to guess.

Each step has you on edge, heart in your throat. Your focus shifts quicksilver between the floor and Graves. Waiting for any sudden movement. 

Halfway to the door, you take another cautious step forward and the floorboard creaks under your foot. Your heart stops, eyes flitting instantly over to Graves’ sleeping form. He doesn’t so much as shift. It’s another beat before you’re able to move again, confidence shaken by the noise. You keep imagining him suddenly shooting up from the floor, pistol in hand, the hammer striking the primer, the hiss of gas escaping the barrel. 

The door gives a faint creak when you push it open, so you open it only enough for your body to slip through, wincing when you twitch and accidentally push it open another inch, dragging out the creak. Still, he doesn't wake. You slip past the door, shutting it quietly behind you.  

The moon glows cornsilk gold in the sky. A vast, uncharted land stretches out around you, untouched by human hands, or so changed over the years that any human presence has long since been buried beneath the loam. But when you stare out into the distance, you realize that you have no idea where you came from. Everything looks the same in each direction, no landmark familiar enough for you to orient yourself. You’re out in the middle of nowhere and nothing looks right. 

If you had less strength, you’d fall to your knees. The despair is so immense that you hardly have the strength to hold it all at once. 

The silence lulls you into a false sense of security. You linger for too long, stuck contemplating your options. Coyotes yip in distant packs, their barks carrying across the plains. You shiver at the sound. It reminds you again that you’re on your own now. No husband to come chasing after you if things get sticky. 

Your first few steps away from the cabin are tentative, gliding your legs through the grass and staring up at the cornsilk moon. A combination of indulgence and bewilderment. If you knew the right way home, you wouldn’t waver, but these days, you have no faith in your instincts. They’ve only ever led you off course. 

The gelding that Graves rode in on sits in the grass with its hind legs folded underneath it. With its legs still hobbled, you know removing the leather will take more time than you'd like, but you figure it'll be easier to make your way across the plains on horseback, with the added bonus of leaving Graves stranded. If God were just, he’d starve out here and leave his corpse for the coyotes to feast on. 

You approach the horse cautiously, conscious not to make any sudden movements. Its ears angle towards you as you draw near. Attentive to your presence. 

“Hey there, honey,” you whisper, reaching out a hand and trying to show that you aren’t a threat. Its nose twitches.

Another step forward. Easy does it. One leg in front of the other.

“I won’t hurt you. I promise.” You try to mirror your memory of John in your voice, honeysuckle soft words. 

You aren’t John though. Not even close. You take another step towards it.

It brays when you get too close, skittish. The sound pierces through the night, louder than the coyotes in the distance. Louder even than the creaking door.  

The hair on the back of your neck raises, lips numb. Then the prickling awareness of movement in the house, like an itch on a phantom limb. 

Behind you, the door to the cabin bursts open with a bang, slamming off the wall and ricocheting back. You whip your head around to look only to find Graves’ towering form under the shadow of the doorway, his hair mused and clothes askew. And he looks enraged. 

“Hey!” Graves bellows from the doorway, breaking into a run towards you. “Get back here!”

There’s no time to sit with the regret, no time to bemoan the fact that you didn’t exercise enough caution, that for some reason without a gun leveled at your head, you allowed yourself to forget the very real danger this man posed to you. 

All you can do is run.

The grass whistles around you. You run so hard that your lungs burn, your arms pumping furiously beside you, dress swishing between your legs. You don’t have to look behind you to know that Graves is gaining on you. His body is built for pursuit. Still, you push yourself past your breaking point, not stopping even when you taste blood in your mouth. Mindless; directionless. No idea where you’re going—just away from him. You’d jump off a cliff if you came across one. 

He’s close enough for you to hear now, heavy breathing right behind you. But by then it’s too late. A heavy body rams into you, sending you careening towards the earth, the ground rushing up to meet you halfway. The dirt hardly cushions the blow. 

You hit the ground hard. Head knocked loose of thought, agony ripping across your face. The double blow of a body heavier than yours forcing you into the dirt, so solid that it crushes the breath from your lungs. 

Blood leaks from your lip, most likely split. When you breathe in to fill your lungs, you taste dirt and rust and earth. 

“Insufferable bitch,” Graves snarls, putrid breath wafting under your nose and making your eyes water. He grabs a handful of your hair and wrenches your head up before slamming it back down. Something crunches. Distantly, you wonder if your nose is broken. 

Your ears ring, the rest of his words drowned out by the blood rushing to your face. 

“Please—” you beg, blood dripping from your split lip. 

“Knew I shouldn’ta trusted you—conniving little cunt—c’mere now, get up—”

He rises to his feet over your body, big hand curling around your wrist. You hear your shoulder pop when he yanks your arm behind your back. A rush of cold. A sweat breaks on the nape of your neck. Shock sets in the moment after, adrenaline flooding your body. 

Then a sharp, focused surge of pain. It radiates from your shoulder outward, so intense that you can’t believe it at first. Your whole world reduces down to it. Feathering out down your back; irradiating waves of it. Thoughts scattering and then coming back together around the pain. If you scream, it comes out unbidden. 

“Ah, hell, I didn’t mean to do that,” he grumbles from behind you, likely staring at the unnatural jut of your shoulder. “Alright, sugar, one second—I’ll pop that back in.”

“Nononono—” you gasp, panic lancing through you, but he pays no attention to your words. 

The pain of popping your shoulder back in is excruciating. Relief follows shortly after, but the time between dislocating and relocating your shoulder is so short that it hardly comes as a balm to the pain.

“You…bastard…” you gasp. 

“Wouldn’ta had to do that if you hadn’t run,” he sighs, the sight of your pain subduing his rage. 

It doesn’t stop him from grabbing you roughly by the arm he just dislocated when he finally gets you on your feet though, steering you back towards the house. The pain that radiates up your arm is almost blinding. 

He drags you back to the cabin with a punishing grip. There’s no sympathy when you stumble. Moonlight illuminates the path back to the cabin and shows you the trenches in the wild grass made by your feet. Hardly more than a couple rods. 

The defeat that courses through you upon being dragged through the ramshackle front door is ten times that of earlier. When he lets go of your arm, you collapse in a heap on the floor, aching and sweating. A bag of bones and blood. You’d rattle if someone shook you. 

“I hate you,” you mumble from your spot on the floor, shaking through the pain. “Rot in hell.”

Graves doesn’t respond, but you can almost hear the way he grins.  

No rest for the wicked or the good this time. Graves wakes intermittently throughout the night to check up on you, wary now that you’ve tried to run. Your regret is palpable. You should’ve waited. Bided your time. There won't be another chance now, not after you played your hand so soon. 

The ache in your shoulder keeps you from finding sleep. Every time you get close to it, the pain radiates down your arm and it slips from your grasp, your hand closing around the empty space it leaves behind. Teeth grit, breathing through the pain. Loosening your jaw and panting because the pain overwhelms you when you so much as shift onto your side, the hard floor digging into your elbow. 

Right on the edge of sleep, just as you're about to latch on, a boot catches you in the ribs, jostling you back into the realm of pain. You wheeze, breaking into a coughing fit. 

“Get up,” a hoarse voice grunts above you, empty of sympathy. “We got places to be.”

He has the two of you back on the horse as soon as dawn breaks. Your escape attempt the night before must have spooked him, and you regret it now in the light of day because you know he won’t let you out of his sight again. The metal handcuffs digging into your wrists assures you of that. 

There’s no time for breakfast or time to wash up. Graves makes it a point to be back on the road as fast as possible, repacking his bedroll and stuffing it back in the saddlebag before dragging you up with him. 

The pain is a dull throb after sleeping most of the agony away. It comes back when you move too quickly though, which is hard to avoid on horseback when each gallop echoes through your sore bones and joints. 

The arching sun immixes with the heavens above, rising higher as the hours pass. You ache for a hat; something to keep the heat of the sun off your head. On the horizon, the mountain ridge sits like a spine bursting out from the earth. It’s all wastelands and portents. Evil omens. 

Your heart feels swollen and bruised, like something trampled under elk hooves. 

“Cheer up,” Graves says, tipping your chin up when the sun reaches its peak around midday, the gesture making you so uncomfortable that you almost shudder out of your skin. Your face still throbs with pain. “You should be glad I didn’t jus’ shoot you.”

Your lips pull back, baring your teeth to nothing. 

A shot rips through the air at that, his words commanding it into being. Your head instinctively ducks and even the horse under you staggers, spooked by the sound. Graves curses, tensing up behind you.

"What in the hell—"

You whip your head around to stare behind you, looking for the source of the gunfire. When you find it, your eyes widen.

[moonlight-prose]

since you kindly offered this brilliant piece I have a thot for you. giving logan nasty nasty head as he’s trying to eat dinner 🤭

note: i sat with this for several hours after we hung up and i could not get it out of my head. he's a munch. we know this. it's a fact (disney grow some balls and say it outloud). but my god is he a whore for some good head. give him sloppy toppy and he's wrapped around your finger; he's yours, ready to put a ring on it and drag you to the courthouse himself.

Dinner is a quiet affair in the Howlett household. It's mixed with soft conversation and intimate jokes. Comments about your days, hands held over the table as candle wax dripped over the yellowed cloth. It's warm - domestic.

But on nights when adrenaline ran a bit too high and wine began to drip heat down your spine, you found that you couldn't resist the pull of him.

He sat in his usual chair, legs spread and eyes tracking your movements as you left the kitchen. A bottle of wine in one hand, his whiskey in the other.

His grin is soft. A docile man who'd been tamed by the lover he never expected. And you can feel the heat begin to curl around your stomach. Tugging on the nerves that thrummed beneath your skin. He'd never realize how far gone you were for him; how every move and choice depended on whether or not he'd smile your way.

"Smells good sweetheart." His voice is low, the grit of husk behind each lilted drawl.

You could feel warmth flicker to life beneath the supple skin of your cheeks as his gaze continued to track how you sat in your chair. Eyes dragging down the figure clad a t-shirt that had seen better days and jeans with a gaping hole in the knee.

There was no denying you dressed for comfort. Logan still felt his cock stiffen at the sight of you in dark washed denim though.

The smile is pulled from the depths of your chest. "I couldn't decide what to make."

You know you sound flustered. You know your voice is higher than normal.

You know he caught it by the sharp glint of his teeth poking through an already crooked smile.

"I'll eat anythin' you make," he admits with a soft clack of his fork tapping his plate.

The double meaning isn't lost on you. In fact it shoots a hole right through your chest, floods your body with that syrupy thick heat that you feel drip down to the tips of your fingers. His nostrils flare - eyes glancing down to the table that covers your lap - before he's filling his mouth with food.

Honestly you can't even recall how it happened. The entire ordeal a hazy cloud of lust that had you slipping out of your seat, and dropping to your knees beneath the table. His eyes went wide as your hands pushed at his legs, forcing them to spread. And when he made no move to stop you, the rest clicked into place with ease.

Logan smells of his cigar he smoked after work. He smells of spice and the musk of sweat and leather from his jackets that hung in the hall closet.

He is everything you could possibly want in a husband. Everything you asked for checked off with a flourished hand and a welcomed smile.

"Baby what-" He chokes on his food when your hands undo his belt, the button of his jeans, and pull him free with a choked whine. "Oh fuck."

That. That's what you were looking for after a day filled with his absence. The stifled moan at the back of his throat when your tongue licked up his cock - whining when the taste of him burst across your taste buds. You couldn't deny yourself him when he let you suck on the head, spit trailing down your chin and into his lap.

His hand moves to cup the back of your neck, fingers tightening around his fork, and it isn't until you've got him halfway down your throat does he understand what you want.

The clink of metal scratching porcelain sends heat down your spine. He moans around a mouthful of food as your head bobs, mouth sucking him in deeper, further, until he hits the back of your throat and makes you gag.

"You're fuckin' filthy for me aren't ya," he mutters, thumb rubbing into your skin. "Makin' me eat while you get dinner of your own."

Your eyes roll back, pussy clenching down hard around nothing. Because fuck he's right. You'd stay on your knees until pain flared up. You'd keep him down your throat until you lost the ability to speak.

You'd suck him dry morning, noon, and night to hear the noises that slipped past his lips.

"'M gonna give you want ya want baby," he grunts.

His hips rock up off the chair, hand pushing your head down further until your nose was buried in the dark hair tinged with the musky scent of him. It's wet and messy and spit has formed into globs that roll down the expanse of your throat.

You're so far gone all you can do is give a choked moan, body trembling as your lungs screamed for air.

That's the fucked up part though. You'd die on his cock if it meant getting to please him.

He cums with a harsh snap of your name, chest heaving and plate long forgotten. Shudders roll down your spine, slick pooling between your thighs as he spurts down your throat. Spilling out the sides of your mouth.

"Eat your dinner sweetheart so I can have some fuckin' desert."

[sonamytrash]

A good fuckin' show

Electrician Toji Fushiguro.

Porn trope Toji series, part 1🖤

Warnings: MDNI, Dom!Toji x fem!reader, shameless smut, smut with minimal plot, smut with porno plot, vaginal fingering, eating pussy, eating ass, fisting, squirting, oral sex (m and f receiving), cum swallowing, dirty talk, probably more, not proof read.

I don't know what to say for myself. I got carried away, but there's no way any Toji in any universe wouldn't be this feral. Wrap up, don't let your electrician fist you unless it's Toji. Enjoy you nasty sluts 🖤

Dividers by @cafekitsune

The rain pattered against the windowpane, casting a rhythmic pattern of shadows across the living room carpet. You pull your hair into a messy bun as you stare at the clock. It was 2:58 PM on a dreary Saturday. The TV hummed with a cooking show, the only company you had while waiting for the electrician you'd called earlier that week.

The sudden knock at the door startled you. You peered through the peephole, and there he was: Toji Fushiguro, the man who'd been recommended by your friend. He was tall, his broad shoulders almost filling the doorframe, and his handsome face was a picture of confidence. You felt your heart skip a beat, not from fear but from the electric charge that seemed to pulse through the air around him.

You undid the lock and opened the door. "Hi," you said, trying to keep your voice steady. "You're the electrician?"

Toji nodded, flashing a grin that made your knees weak. "Yep, that's me," he said, his eyes shamelessly roaming over your figure. "Toji Fushiguro, at your service." He stepped inside, his work boots squeaking slightly on the polished floor. The air grew thick with tension as he moved closer, invading your personal space in a way that was both intimidating and tantalizing.

You led him to the flickering light in the lounge, trying to ignore the way his gaze lingered on your hips.

"So, what seems to be the problem?" he asked, his voice a low rumble that seemed to resonate through your very core.

You pointed up at the light fixture. "It's been doing this for a few days now," you said, your voice a little shakier than you'd intended. "I don't know much about electrical stuff, so I figured it was better to call a professional."

Toji nodded, his eyes still fixed on you as he pulled out his toolkit. "Might just be a loose wire," he murmured, setting the tools down on the floor. He walked over to the switch, turning the light on to see the issue for himself before turning it off again. He reached up, his strong arms flexing as he unscrewed the cover. "Let's see what we can do about that."

As he worked, his shirt rode up slightly, revealing a trail of dark hair that led down to his waistband. You couldn't help but stare, your thoughts drifting to the powerful body that lay beneath. The room grew warmer, or maybe it was just your imagination. You licked your lips, feeling a familiar ache building between your legs.

Toji must have noticed your gaze because he glanced down, catching you in the act. He smirked and leaned in closer, his breath hot against your neck. "You like what you see?" he said, pulling you from your thoughts.

You blushed, trying to play it cool. "I'm just admiring your... work ethic," you replied with a roll of your eyes, your voice a breathy whisper.

Toji chuckled, his deep laugh sending a shiver down your spine. He stepped back and bent over the toolkit, his pants stretching tight across his muscular ass. You felt your eyes wander, taking in every inch of his body. He pulled out a pair of wire cutters and a screwdriver, his movements deliberate and precise.

"Might need to get up there to take a better look," he said, his eyes twinkling mischievously, "Could you help me out?"

You nodded, a mix of excitement and nerves bubbling in your stomach. You stepped closer, reaching to hand him the ladder from the nearby closet. As you did, your breasts brushed against his hand, and you felt a spark of desire ignite. He took the ladder and set it up under the light fixture, his biceps bulging with the effort.

"You can just stay down there," he said, his voice gruff. "I'll let you know if I need anything."

You watched as he climbed the ladder, his thighs flexing with every step. When he reached the top, he leaned over, giving you a perfect view of his ass. You bit your lip, trying to focus on the task at hand, but the anticipation was too much.

"You can go ahead and hand me those wire strippers," he said, holding out his hand without looking down. You reached up, your fingertips grazing his palm as you handed them over. Fuck, his hands were so big.

As you watched him work, you couldn't help but let your thoughts wander. The way his muscles moved beneath his shirt, the scent of his cologne, the roughness of his hands. Before you knew it, your own hand was resting on your thigh, squeezing slightly. You could feel your pussy growing wetter with every passing second.

Toji paused in his work, sensing the shift in the air. He glanced down at you, his eyes darkening. "You okay down there?" he asked, his voice a little gruffer than before.

You nodded, trying to regain your composure. "Yeah, I'm fine," you said, your voice strained.

Toji took his time climbing down the ladder, his eyes never leaving yours. When he reached the bottom, he stepped closer, so close that you could feel the heat emanating from his body. "You sure about that?" he asked, a knowing smile playing on his lips.

Your breath hitched as his hand reached out, brushing against your cheek. His thumb traced a line along your jaw, sending a shiver down your spine. "I can see you're a little... distracted," he murmured.

You swallowed hard, unable to form a coherent response. His touch was like a brand, searing through your skin and igniting a fire within you. The ache between your legs grew more intense, and you realized you'd been subtly shifting your weight, trying to relieve the pressure.

Toji leaned in, his breath warm against your ear. "Maybe I can help with that," he whispered, his hand sliding down to rest on your hip. His fingers dug in, holding you in place as he stepped closer, trapping you between his body and the wall.

You gasped as he brought his mouth to yours, his kiss rough and demanding. His tongue slid past your lips, exploring your mouth with a hunger that matched your own. Your body responded instinctively, arching into him as you wrapped your arms around his neck. His hands roamed over your body, one sliding up to cup your breast, the other slipping down to squeeze your ass.

With a growl, Toji picked you up, your legs wrapping around his waist as he carried you to the couch. He set you down, his eyes never leaving yours as he stripped off his shirt, revealing a chest that was a sculpted masterpiece. You reached out, your fingers tracing the lines of his muscles, feeling the heat of his skin.

He kissed you again, his hands deftly unbuttoning your blouse. Your breasts spilt out, and he took one in his mouth, sucking and biting gently. You moaned, your body responding to his touch with a fervour that surprised you.

"Fuck," you breathed, as his hand slid up your thigh, pushing your shorts aside. His rough fingers grazed your wet panties, the fabric already soaked through. He leaned in, capturing your mouth again as he ground his hips against you, his erection pressing into your core.

You reached for his belt, eager to feel his bare skin against yours. He let out a low growl as you unbuckled it, his erection straining against his pants. He stepped back for a moment, pulling his pants down to free himself, revealing his thick, hard cock.

You couldn't take your eyes off it, the sight making your mouth water. "Suck it," he ordered, his voice a low growl that sent a bolt of excitement through your body. You didn't hesitate, sliding off the couch to your knees. The scent of his arousal filled the air as you leaned in, wrapping your hand around the base of his cock. You took the tip into your mouth, feeling the heat and the velvety skin against your tongue.

Toji's hands tangled in your hair, guiding your movements as you took more of him in. "That's it, baby," he murmured, his voice thick with desire. "Take it all." His curses and praise grew more fervent as you worked him, your mouth sliding up and down his length, taking in as much as you could and using your hand to pump the base. The salty taste of his precum mixed with the musky scent of his skin was driving you wild.

"You like that, don't you?" he groaned, his grip tightening. "You like being a good little slut for me." You nodded, unable to speak around his cock and tears pricked the corners of your eyes. The idea of being his, of being used by him, was intoxicating.

"Mmhmm," you managed to murmur, your voice muffled by his shaft.

Toji's grip in your hair tightened as he thrust deeper into your mouth, his hips rocking slightly as you gagged on his cock. "Such a good girl," he groaned, his voice a mix of pleasure and dominance. "So eager to please.

You moaned in response, the vibrations travelling along his length as your throat spasmed around him. He was heightening your arousal with every filthy word that left his lips. You could feel your own juices trickling down your thighs, your pussy begging for his attention.

"Look at you," Toji said, his voice a gruff whisper. "Such a greedy little whore. You want more, don't you?"

You nodded, your eyes watering slightly as you kept up the pace. His grip in your hair tightened, pulling you back and forth as he fucked your mouth. You could feel his cock swelling, growing harder with every stroke. "That's it," he growled. "Take it all, baby."

His praise was driving you to be the best you could be for him. You moaned around his length, the vibrations sending shivers through his body. His curses grew louder, his hips bucking as he reached the edge. "I'm going to cum," he warned, his voice strained. "Be a good girl and swallow every fucking drop."

You nodded, eager to please. His cock pulsed in your mouth, and you felt the first hot spurt of his cum hit the back of your throat. You swallowed, the salty taste flooding your mouth. He pulled out, stroking himself the last few times, spurts of cum landing on your face and chest. You sat back, a proud smile playing on your lips.

Toji pressed you back onto the couch, His hands deftly found the waistband of your shorts, tugging them down with a harsh jerk. Toji's gaze raked over you, his pupils dilating with desire. He slid his thumbs under the elastic of your panties, pulling them down with a slow, deliberate motion. You felt the cool air hit your skin, making you shiver.

He dropped to his knees, his breath hot against your thighs. "Spread 'em," he ordered, his voice thick with lust. You obeyed, your legs parting as he moved closer. His hands slid along your inner thighs, his rough fingers sending shivers up your spine. You felt his mouth on you, his tongue tracing the line of your pussy before delving in. You moaned, your hips bucking as he began to eat you out.

His tounge found your clit with ease, pressing down with just the right amount of pressure. He teased it mercilessly, flicking and circling as you squirmed beneath him. Then, without warning, one of his thick digits slid inside you, filling you up. You gasped, the sudden intrusion making your eyes roll back in your head. He chuckled against your skin, his teeth grazing your clit as he added a second finger.

Toji's fingers began to move, pumping in and out of you in a rhythm that grew more frantic with every passing second. You could feel yourself getting wetter, your juices coating his hand as he worked you closer to the edge. His tounge remained on your clit, rubbing it in time with the thrusts of his fingers. It was as if he knew exactly what you needed, as if he could read your mind.

With a wicked grin, he pulled away, leaving you panting and desperate. He leaned back, his eyes traveling over your exposed, trembling body. "Ready for more?" he asked, his voice low and dark.

You nodded, unable to form words as he repositioned himself between your legs. He spread your cheeks apart, his breath hot on your sensitive skin. You felt his rough fingers slide into your pussy, coating them in your wetness before moving to your tight asshole. "Look at this perfect little asshole," he murmured, his voice a mix of awe and lust. "So tight and pink. Do you want me to play with it?" He began to massage the entrance before you could reply, loosening you up with gentle pressure. The sensation was foreign and thrilling, making you squirm with anticipation.

With a wicked smirk, Toji leaned in, his tongue darting out to taste you. He licked around the edge of your asshole, the sensation sending shockwaves through your body. You tightened your grip on the couch cushions, biting back a moan. He circled the tight ring of muscle before pushing his tongue inside, making you gasp. The feeling was intense, a mix of pleasure and pressure that was driving you wild.

As he ate your ass, his fingers remained busy, plunging in and out of your pussy. He stretched you wider, filling you with his digits until you were begging for more. You felt a third finger slide in alongside the first two, stretching you even further. The sensation was almost too much to handle.

He pulled away, smacking his lips. "You're so fucking tight," he murmured, his eyes dark with lust. "But I think you can take more." He pushed a fourth finger inside you, the blunt pressure making your eyes water. You gasped, your body tensing, but he held you down, his other hand keeping your pussy filled.

Toji began to pump his four fingers in and out, stretching you open. You felt your body start to relax, to accept the intrusion. You groaned, the sensation overwhelming. It was too much, but at the same time, it wasn't enough. You wanted more.

He looked up at you knowingly, his eyes dark with hunger. "Beg for it," he growled.

You couldn't believe the words that slipped from your mouth. "Please, Toji," you whimpered, "Fist me."

"Nasty fuckin' slut." He teases with a wicked grin, but he complied, adding the addition of his thumb, his hand disappearing into your pussy. You felt a brief moment of panic before the pressure grew, stretching you wider than you ever thought possible. He pushed in, inch by inch, his fist disappearing into your body. The pain was exquisite, a delicious agony that had you crying out in a mix of pleasure and pain.

As his fist filled you completely, his other hand moved back to your asshole, slipping a digit inside. The sensation of being so full was overwhelming, making your eyes water. You couldn't believe how much you enjoyed the feeling of his hand buried inside you, his knuckles pressing against the walls of your pussy. It was as if every nerve ending was on fire, the pleasure searing through you.

Toji leaned back in, his tongue licking your clit as he fisted you. The combination of his hand moving in and out of your tight hole and his tongue swirling around your sensitive nub was more than you could handle. You felt your orgasm building, a crescendo of sensation that was about to crash over you.

"Fuck, you're taking this so well," he murmured, his voice thick with desire. "You like that, don't you?"

You could only nod, unable to find the words to respond as he began to move his fist in and out of you with a steady rhythm. Each thrust sent waves of pleasure through your body, making you arch off the couch. His tongue danced around your clit, licking and sucking as his fist pumped in and out of your pussy. The sensation was like nothing you'd ever experienced before, a delicious mix of pain and pleasure that had you begging for more.

Toji's hand was a blur of motion, his fist disappearing and reappearing as he fucked you with a ferocity that left you gasping for air. Your orgasm grew closer, the tension coiling tight in your belly. You could feel your muscles spasming around his hand, the pleasure building to a fever pitch.

With a final, desperate thrust, your body let go. You squirted, your juices spraying all over his hand and the couch beneath you. The force of your climax was so intense that you saw stars, your body convulsing as wave after wave of pleasure washed over you. Toji's eyes widened in surprise, but his smile grew even more wicked as he watched you come apart in his arms.

As your body trembled, he withdrew his fist, your muscles clenching around his retreating hand. He licked his lips, his eyes never leaving yours as he took in the sight of your quivering form. "Damn, you're a squirter," he murmured, his voice filled with approval. "I fucking love a good show."

[cybrs4pphic]

camgirl pt 2!!

camgirl!reader x abby

afab/fem!reader, squirting (:p), full nelson (:0), abby yearns to be inside you, fuckin on the first date, reader has no idea abby knows abt her sex work, kinda awkward first-time sexual tension lol, abby has a fat dick (:D), this is so long???????

18+ mdni (goodbye minors)

it’s the next day and abby is still trying to work up the courage to text you. she doesn’t want to sound boring, but she also doesn’t wanna overdo it. she’s laying in bed, your number typed into the chat, her fingers hovering over the keys.

‘hey, you gave me your number at the coffee shop yesterday and i thought you were really pretty so… i’m abby,’

her thumb was now just hovering over the blue arrow to send the message before hitting it, eventually sending the message. abby immediately shuts her phone off tossing it on the bed trying to find something to distract herself with while she waits.

abby decides to just turn on some show she’s seen a million times. a few hours later you text her back with a ‘hiii abby!! thank u!! sorry, was at work :( i’d love to do somethin w you sometime soon if ur down :p,’

she’s almost, almost, embarrassed at how fast she replies. ‘you’re okay, how was work today? and i’d love to. what did you have in mind?,’

‘well, if u wanted to hangout today, i wouldnt mind just gettin to know you like at mine or somethin, i’ll cook u dinner too whatcha want :3,’

abby’s gonna blow up. ‘i’m not picky, surprise me. and that sounds great, how does 7 sound then?’

‘perfect, i’ll see you soon!’ you send her your address in a separate message with a little heart. abby could actually pass away right now.

2 hours later it’s 7:05 and abby’s standing outside your door, not wearing anything too special— just jeans and a shirt taking a deep breath before knocking. a few second later she hears the door unlocking and opening.

she sees you, looking cute as ever. she then hears the sweetness of your voice inviting her in, abby mustering up a smile through the nerves.

“okay, so, i‘m makin’ chicken alfredo if that works for you?”

“s’perfect,” abby slurs out, practically soaking her underwear watching you cook, mainly your ass in those stupid leggings. is she wearing underwear? floods abby’s thoughts.

“almost done. if you wanna go sit down i’ll get everything ready,” you turn around giving abby a quick smile before returning to your cooking.

abby’s in heaven right now. you sitting across from her, just getting to know each other. finding out you both actually have so much in common makes her feel ecstatic. you guys are having such a good time talking you both nearly forget about the food.

“you’re a great cook,” abby says as you, blushing, take her plate from her placing it in the sink after rinsing it off.

“thank you! tried really hard on this one actually,” you say, giggling. yeah, abby’s obsessed. she needs to be inside you, making you a mess on her cock-

“wanna watch a movie ‘er somethin’?” you interrupt her thoughts.

“what kinda movie?”

“was thinkin’ something scary, if you’re down?”

“works for me,” abby replies, moving to sit next to you on the couch as you scroll through the vast amount of horror movies on whatever streaming app you picked.

“oh! how ‘bout the new texas chainsaw?” you don’t even give abby a chance to reply before you hit play— not like she really cares what you guys watch anyway.

abby has her arm around the back of the couch manspread while you have your knees tucked under you half sitting on your butt half on your heels next to her. within the first five minutes of the movie, she has her arm draped over your side mindlessly drawing patterns into your hips and thighs while you lay on her chest.

you guys get about halfway through the movie before abby breathes out, “hey.”

“yeah?” you reply, picking your head up to meet her eyes.

abby glances at your lips, before asking, “can i kiss you?” to which you just nod a bunch.

abby leans in meeting you halfway to finally kiss you. not long after, she’s grabbing your hips pulling you onto her lap so you’re straddling her, deepening the kiss.

you pull away first, gasping for air. abby’s also gasping for air, but she could kiss you til she passes out, honestly.

“tell me if you want to stop at any point, okay?” abby breathes out as she toys with the hem of your shirt. you nod as a reply.

“words,” abby says bluntly.

“yes,” you breathe out, still catching your breath. abby wastes no time pulling you out of your shirt and bra before taking her own off.

“god, fuck, c’mere,” she’s pushing your hips up so that your tits are eye level with her before she immediately latches onto your tit. one hand is groping your ass while her other hand is toying with your other nipple. jesus, her hands are so fucking cold you’re practically shaking under her touch.

your hands run down her chest, stopping to play with her tits before sliding down to the button on her jeans.

“take ‘em off,” you whine out. abby happily obliges, gently grabbing u by the hips before laying you down on the couch. she gets up undoing her pants sliding them off. she’s immediately on top of you, thumbs under the waistband of your leggings breathing out a “can i?”

“please,” your voice barely above a whisper, but abby’s already peeling your leggings off realizing you, in fact, were not wearing underwear.

“s’like you wanted to get fucked tonight,” abby lets out a small laugh.

“by you,” you shoot back as you spread your legs in front of her making abby blush as she leans forward to kiss your inner thighs, seeing your glistening cunt clenching around nothing. she starts sucking like she’s about to leave a hickey, making your legs shake from the sensitivity.

“abby, please,” you breathe out.

“please what?

“fuck me, abby, please need to feel you,” you whine out reaching out to wrap your fingers in her hair.

“don’t have a strap, ba-”

“i do,” you cut her off. “come with me,” you pull her up by her hair giving her a quick kiss before getting up, taking abby’s hand, and practically skipping to your bedroom. once you open the door abby immediately recognizes it. your bed in the center of the room against the back wall, a desk across from the bed, probably where you set up your camera. what’s new to her is all the decorations that she didn’t usually see when you were live.

“cute room,” abby states as you’re digging through your closet for a dildo.

“thanks! what kinda cock you want?” you ask her it so casually abby nearly.

“how many do you have?” abby questions you back.

“a bunch,” you giggle.

“what, are you some kind of pornstar?” abby smirks and you can practically hear the smirk in the way she asks the question. you have the dildo in your hand, but you freeze at her question. you know it’s a joke, a rhetorical question, so you just laugh it off bringing her the dick.

“you seem like a fat cock kinda girl,” you smile handing abby the harness and dildo.

“and you seem like you love taking fat cock,” abby fires back sliding the harness up her legs, securing it. “now where were we?” abby says, sliding her hands up your stomach to your breasts watching them spill out from her fingers. you lean up to catch her lips in another kiss, quickly deepening it by tilting your head to the side and allowing abby’s tongue access to your mouth. she’s grabbing your hips and placing you on your bed before attacking your neck and chest with kisses.

“fuck, these tits are perfect,” abby says as she slides two fingers down your cunt, teasing your entrance. “you can take two fingers, right, baby? gotta get you ready for my cock,” you practically moan at her words and she’s barely touching you. is she even real?

“yes, yes! please just touch me, abby,” abby responds by sliding her middle and ring finger into you searching for that soft spot. she’s fucking her fingers back into you,, eventually finding your g-spot, hitting it with the tips of her fingers making you let out a mix between a gasp and a moan.

“found it,” she smirks to herself. she really can’t believe she’s actually touching you right now; this is like a dream come true for her. countless nights of her watching you touch yourself and her finally being the one to make you shake and moan under her touch. she has to fuck you.

“do you have lube?” she asks to which you nod telling her where it is. abby gets up squirting some lube onto the cock you gave her, taking her hand making sure it’s covered.

“are you ready?” she asks looking up at you, her hand still on her cock, stroking it like it’s attached to her. you give her a few eager nods followed by a ‘yes’. abby walks over to you, pushing you on your back before asking if you’re ready again like she’s scared she’s gonna hurt you

“please fuck me, abby,” you get right to the point and abby nods before pushing the dildo into your weeping cunt with her hips. the way you’re gasping and whining just from her putting it in makes abby want to absolutely ruin you. abby needs to fuck you so well every time you touch yourself on camera all you can think of is her.

abby begins rocking her hips back and forth at a pretty slow pace, nearly pulling out completely before pushing herself right back in, where she belongs, you letting out little whimpers every time she pushes back in.

“faster, please, abby,” you whine out as she’s pulling out.

“gladly,” abby takes your legs, throwing them over her shoulders before leaning forward to properly fuck you. abby’s fucking you faster like you requested but it’s still not deep enough for your liking.

“abby abby deeper, please please,” you plead for her.

“can i try somethin’?” abby questions to and you, obviously, tell her yes. before you know it abby’s completely pulled out of you, whining at the empty feeling, before she’s leaning her upper back on the bed frame, patting her lap for you to straddle her.

“face away from me, baby,” abby says.

“what’re you plannin’?” you giggle out, smiling at her.

“‘ts a surprise,” she smiles back before patting her lap again to which you throw a leg over her lap (abby definitely slapped your ass) before settling right in front of the dildo.

“now what?” abby put her feet up on the bed and threads her arms underneath your thighs beginning to pull them up towards your chest.

“relax f’me,” she says quietly from behind you causing you to relax into her hold, your back to her chest. once you’re fully in abby’s grasp, you take her cock sliding it back into you.

“you good?” abby questions to which you nod and abby’s hands snake around the back of your neck, forcing you to watch you take her cock.

before you can comprehend it, abby’s fucking you like you’ve never been fucked before. you can feel how tight it is, how deep she is, all of it— you practically feel her in your throat and all you can do is take it and watch.

abby’s grunts mixed with your whines and moans is making abby soak through her fucking underwear

“fuckfuckfuck abby, y’re too deep! please please,”

“you can take it— know you can,” abby replies not letting up on her assault on your cunt. you’re a fucking mess of moans and tears and drool and you can barely handle it when abby’s hand snakes to your clit rubbing it in fast tight circles with her two fingers.

you’re practically fucking sobbing with how she’s stimulating your clit and constantly fucking up into your g-spot. your eyes closes shut as you’re so close to coming.

“eyes open, breathe,”

“can’t— i can’t s’too much, ‘m gonna come,” you’re shocked you can even get out even that much.

“‘m not stoppin’ you,” abby says, not letting up in the slightest. you do your best to keep your breaths steady, but the way your orgasm is building up, it feels different.

“abby… abby abby,” you chant her name, whether it’s a warning or a plea, she doesn’t care. all abby cares about right now is the way her hands and thighs are being soaked right now. your mouth is hanging open in a silent scream just watching the way you gush all over abby’s cock.

“did you just fuckin’ squirt,” abby’s giddy right now.

“are you even human?” you breathe out to which abby just lets out a laugh, releasing you from her grasp causing you to practically collapse on top of her.

“so the answer’s yes,” abby smirks, brushing her fingers gently along the back of your neck, where she knows she definitely put too much pressure on while fucking you.

you feel her slide out of you as you roll onto your stomach eyeing her up and down. you freeze as you hear her say

“i know you’re a camgirl,”

“what?”

pt 3 maybe :3 this is the longest thing ive ever written

[rentumblsstuff]

NPMD!Steph: I asked Pete to Pasquali’s on the first date.

AC!Steph: I asked Pete to shower with me.

YJ!Steph: Who the fuck is Pete and why are we thirsty for him? Get a grip, ladies.

NPMD!Steph: Okay, okay, imagine the biggest nerd you can think of?

YJ!Steph: Oh the bow tie kid.

NPMD!Steph: That’s him.

AC!Steph: But then also like make him funny and sarcastic.

NPMD!Steph: Yeah! And sweet.

AC!Steph: And weirdly sexy and secretly jacked and you just kinda wanna break his brain so that the only thing he can think about is pinning you to the wall of the shower even though it’s nasty, so-

NPMD!Steph: Wait the other one is right. Get a grip. Please.

AC!Steph: *shaking* I’ve been stuck at Camp Idontwannabang for a month and he’s the only sane one here other than me. There’s only one thing I’m trying to ‘get a grip’ on around here, and it’s down the shorts that his ‘Virginity Rocks!’ camp tee is tucked into.

——

AC!Peter: I broke my leg trying to improvise a weapon to protect Steph and myself.

NPMD!Peter: I almost sacrificed my life for Steph!

TGWDLM!Peter: I STILL HAVEN’T GOTTEN MY HOT CHOCOLATE.

AC!Peter and NPMD!Peter: NEITHER HAVE WE!

TGWDLM!Peter: Also who is Steph and why are we willing to hurt ourselves for her?

AC!Peter and NPMD!Peter: *OFFENDED GASP*

AC!Peter: Imagine you have really low blood sugar and all you have to fix it is fuckin’ raisins… And Steph gives you a chocolate bar. Relief, finally, you can think straight for what feels like the first time in your life. That’s Stephanie.

NPMD!Peter: Imagine an eldritch god tells you that you have to give up what you treasure above all else and you suddenly realize in the worst way possible that your Pokémon cards and comic collection mean nothing to you in comparison, and as weirdly slimy and wiggly fingers brush the hair from your neck, you realize that the girl who’s suddenly become the most important person or thing in your life thinks of you the exact same way and that one of you has to die before you’ve even worked up the nerve to admit to the coolest girl you’ve ever met how you feel. That’s Stephanie.

AC!Peter: … Are you okay?

NPMD!Pete: Better than that guy’s doing.

BF!Pete: I watched a man get kicked in the head until he died… I can still see the bomb falling through the air as I spent my last moments alive with my big brother…

——

NPMD!Grace: I can explain!

AC!Grace: YOU HAD A SEXUAL FANTASY?!

PB!Grace: NASTY!! JAIL FOR YOU.

AC!Grace: HELL EVEN.

NPMD!Grace: Wait, no no no! It’s okay, I killed the guy it was about!

AC!Grace: You better have!

NPMD!Grace: But then he came back to life and I had to sacrifice my chastity to send him back, so we had sex in the middle of a football field and five evil gods dragged him to Hell! Also by the way, Jesus isn’t real and it’s up to us to cleanse the earth of all perverts for our new gods, the Lords in Black!

AC!Grace and PB!Grace: …………… WHAT THE FU-

[hazbinshusk]

18 or 29 with blitz please🤍

prompt #29: a kiss to the back of the hand.

“How d’ya know ya won’t like it if ya don’t try it?” Blitzø insists, scurrying along at your heels. You sigh; he’s been bugging you for the last forty – you glance at the watch on your wrist – seven minutes about trying out his latest kink-of-the-week, and while his eagerness is kind of endearing, he’s starting to get on your nerves. Just a little bit.

“Satan, Blitz,” you roll your eyes, blowing past the others and making your way into the conference room. While Blitzø had absolutely no qualms about having these conversations in front of your co-workers and his daughter, you like to at least pretend you have some semblance of privacy in the workplace. “Would you let it go? At least while we’re at work?”

“Noooope!” he shakes his head. “If I do that, you’re gonna distract me and I’ll never get an answer.

“Damn,” you deadpan, flouncing into your usual seat. “You’ve seen through my insidious plan.”

Blitzø sniggers, rounding the table and wrapping the end of his tail around the arm of the chair. He tugs it, turning the chair towards him.

“C’mon…” he taunts, leaning over you, caging you in with a hand on each arm of the chair. “You know you can’t say ‘no’ to me.”

You scoff, pushing him away, and you try and fail not to smile when he laughs again. He wiggles his eyebrows at you teasingly and his smile widens when you do laugh despite yourself. You lean forward in your seat, hooking your finger under his chin and drawing him into a kiss. He melts into it, his tail waving happily behind him. You let the kiss linger for a few wonderful moments, your tongue sliding against his, before sitting back again.

Blitzø blinks, the punch-drunk smile on his face shifting into something more devilish. “Is that a ‘yes’?”

You roll your eyes again, exhaling an exasperated breath. “You’re a pain in my ass, you know that?”

“Well…” he draws out the word with a snicker, raising an eyebrow snidely. “There’s something you can do about that, isn’t there?”

You scoff, shoving at his shoulder before he grabs your arm and pulls you into another kiss. He pushes up against you, forcing your knees apart with his hips, cupping your face in his hands. You nip at his bottom lip, and he hisses as he pulls away.

“Bitch.”

You smirk at the lack of venom, the hint of affection, in his voice. “Ass.”

“You fuckin’ love it.”

“Do I?”

He smirks, pinching your thigh. “And I bet your ass that you’d get all giddy and cum hungry over this, too, you little tease.”

“Oh, for fuck… I never said I wouldn’t like it.” you say with a sigh. “I just… you could romance me a little, y’know? Instead of just blurting out your horny-ass ideas in the middle of Hellbucks at eight-thirty in the morning.”

“Ohhhh…” he drags out, raising an eyebrow in a way that makes you pretty sure that he’s entirely missed your point. “Why didn’t you say so…”

“Blitz, what—?” you ask as he lowers himself onto one knee in front of you, taking one of your hands in his. His eyebrow is still arched devilishly, and you feel yourself flush at the tableau he’s created between the two of you. You glance hastily over your shoulder towards the door. “Would you get up before someone walks—”

“Shh…” he hushes you, pressing a kiss to your knuckles. He lets it linger for a moment, his eyes holding yours. He smiles when you blush. “I’m doin’ a romance here, you sappy bitch.”

You choke on a laugh.

“Now,” he clears his throat, putting his free hand on his chest, the picture of a gentleman. “Will you, please, do me the honor…”

“Blitz.”

“Do me the honor,” he repeats pointedly. “Of wearing a fucking strap and fucking me in my ass?”

send me a prompt and either husk or blitzø

[whimsicalpolitical]

Use me - Matty Healy x Reader

in which you always come to matty when your boyfriend doesn’t get you off

content warning: 18+mdni, smut, p in v, cheating, face sitting, fingering, oral (m & f receiving), dirty talk, handjob, aftercare,

“Sorry, where you uhm, going somewhere?” You ask Matty, pointing to his loosened tie and shirt.

“Nah, came back from dinner,” your eyes shoot up at his face. Dinner sounds romantic. He sees right through you though and eases your nerves, “dinner with my mates, love.”

You nod, taking another sip of your hot tea which matty brought you five minutes after banging on his door in the middle of the night.

“D’you need something else?” He asks, “anything at all?”

“No, thank you,” you smile, sinking deeper into the couch, hoping you could stay here forever.

Matty hums and sits next to you, at the end of the couch. He’s throwing his head back slowly, rubbing his forehead.

You watch. You trace the vein under his neck until it disappears into his shirt. His tousled hair reminds you of all the times you tugged at his curls because it was too much. Fuck. You’re still sticky between your legs. You were not able to chase your own pleasure because it doesn’t matter to your boyfriend, it never did and it never will.

Matty always gives a shit, perhaps that’s why you’re here, because you know you’ll feel good. Or maybe you’re here because he shows you an escape from the reality and he’s the only one who has that ability.

“Do I have something on my face?” He jokes, his eyes on you.

You shake your head, “no, it’s perfect as always.”

“Charmer.” Matty spreads his legs further and turns to you, “now, would you like to talk about why you came to mine at two in the morning or should we skip that part where you tell me your little boy isn’t enough for you?”

“Matty-“ you tilt your head and want to apologize, that you’re not using him for your own good but to tell him you enjoy his company.

“Actually, I would like to know what happened this time. Couldn’t he make you finish or did he not care in the first place, c’mon what was it?”

You sigh before locking eyes with him. The brown eyes you can’t stop thinking about. Ever.

“The second,” you respond with shame, “but I don’t care anymore, I just want you, can’t stop thinking about you.”

Matty lets a laugh slip out of his mouth before he moves closer to you, taking your legs and dragging them across his lap.

“Oh, darling, that’s a fucked up situation you’re in, s’ a real shame though- for him I mean.”

His hands are going up and down your thighs, teasing you, making you go crazy.

“What did you say to him ‘fore you left, sure didn’t say you were going to see me.”

You shrug, “told him I need to get work done, I guess.”

Matty hums, his hands now closer to the place you want him the most.

His knuckles brush against your lower stomach which is on display because your shirt had risen up. He sends goosebumps down your body at the feeling of his warm hands on your bare body and you want nothing but to feel them everywhere.

Matty wants to be close to you as well so he takes the opportunity and drags you onto his lap with his arms under your knees.

You don’t have time to make a sound because his mouth is on you again.

You part your lips willingly, gasping when he lurches forward and slides his tongue along yours, biting and sucking at your lips. Matty groans softly at the faint noises you make, your fingers tightening in his hair, the pleasing sting in his scalp sending jolts down to his hard cock.

“mmm matty” You’re panting, desperate for air he won't give you. He likes this—making you gasp, making you weak, making you forget entirely about your boyfriend.

Your hips move over his’ one slow time, gasping at the friction.

“Fuckin’ hell,” he grips your hips and drags you across his bulge again, enjoying the pleasure himself, “is’ good?”

“Yeah-“ you breathe out, his hands kneading your hips to pull you back and forth over his hard cock beneath his jeans. With his eyes closed, lost in the feeling of your tongue in his mouth, his hands finding his way to your ass.

“Matty-“ you gasp, as his jeans hit your clit over and over. You can’t wait, it’s impossible. You tried all night to chase your pleasure but how, if your boyfriend stops when he’s done and doesn’t help you.

“Please, can we-“

Matty is quick to lay you down on the couch, dragging your jeans with your panties down your legs. He shakes his head though when he throws your jeans down the couch.

“I don’t want you to beg, alright? M’sure you’ve done enough of that tonight. I just want you to use me, make yourself feel good, the way you deserve.”

You bite down on to your bottom lip, nodding.

“Want to kiss you here first, that alright?” He asks, spreading your legs with his hand.

“Fuck- yes.”

“Mhm,” he leans down, eyes looking up at you one more time before his gaze fixates on your dripping cunt.

"Fuckin' christ. You're a mess down here. You really tried, hm?” he says, and you can feel every word blow against you.

"Uh-huh," you say, a kiss sucked to your thigh striking stealing all thought from your mind.

"Get close?" he asks, with another kiss, hands kneading at your thighs and ass as they wrap around you and try to tug you closer.

You nod, hoping he can see you as your eyes slip closed with the feeling of him right here, between your legs.

“That’s fucking cruel though,” he chuckles, “fucking dickhead, would make you come everyday for the rest of my bloody life.”

He bites the inside of your thighs until you feel a soft, teasing kiss to your clit. You shudder and whine and your hand falls to his curls to encourage him to give you more.

“Please just-“

“Darling, ease up, like I said, use me, c’mon let’s switch places.”

You frown, not knowing what he actually means but it gets clear when Matty shoves a pillow under his head and you straddle him but he tugs you up his chest.

“Wait-“ you slow him down, “shirt off?”

“Sure,” he says, opening the four buttons that were closed, “now.. up.”

He's licking his lips and looking up at you - all over every inch of you - eating you alive with his stare.

He pushes and pulls you then, dragging you up his chest until your knees are settled either side of his face. You can feel the gust of his breath against your thighs iust before he hauls you forward a little more until his half face is completely covered by your cunt, only his eyes and the bridge of his nose visible now.

“Fuck, love, need me so bad you’re dripping down your thighs. I’m not making you wait, sit down, darling.”

“That’s it.” You settle down slowly onto his face, listening as he guides you down until you feel the first broad swipe of his tongue up through your folds.

"Perfect,” he says, swallowing the taste of you.

He kisses around your clit, nudging it with the curved tip of his nose when he finally licks up into you again.

And then, he's pulling your flush to his face and feasting.

The noise that leaves you is stupid. Somewhere between a gasp and a moan and a question all at once. His nose is pressed against you, his laughter fanning out across your mound as you try not to squirm and wiggle against him, fearful of crushing his head beneath your weight, or at the very least suffocating him.

His face burrows deeper, his hands holding you firm, squeezing and scraping calloused fingertips against your delicate skin.

His hands move from anchoring you to his face, locked around your thighs, to pressing against your ass, gripping the globes of them in each of his broad hands.

He grunts, squeezing your thighs up to your hips as he pulls your clit into his mouth, lathering it with his spit and your wetness. It's white-hot: the pressure on your sensitive little bundle of nerves, the insistent bump of his nose against your clit as he teases his tongue around your tight hole.

"Matty, Matty, fuck," is all you can manage, sweet little gasps that he drinks in, his hips bucking involuntarily with the delicious pain of your fingers pulling at his scalp. You're losing grip on the real world and slipping elsewhere, and he wants to get you there.

One of Matty’s hands slides between your legs, easing them open even more, and rests on your belly, shifting to your ribcage and helping you steady yourself atop him. His fingertips graze your breasts under your shirt.

“Mhmm, fuck, perfect,” he mumbles.

The sounds are slick and obscene, mingled with your drunken sighs and words of encouragement as you curl your fingers against the couch uselessly.

"Matty,” you whimper, your hips rolling against his face, “so good, shit.”

He groans, his hand smacking your thigh, feeling your cunt gush on his tongue as he flicks his tongue against your clit repeatedly.

He groans, his hand smacking your thigh, feeling your cunt gush on his tongue as he flicks his tongue against your clit repeatedly. He'll imprint the feeling of him on your skin forever-if he hasn't already. He'll make sure you never have another man like you have him.

"I'm... oh, fuck, I'm gonna..." Your hips buck wildly, and a growl rumbles deep in his chest, holding you steadfast and firm to his face. He sucks your clit back into his mouth and fixes his tongue to you, wiggling slightly as he feels you stiffen above him. "Matty, shit.”

He knows. You're already coming. You’re both not surprised, you’ve been trying the whole evening and the orgasm that’s been stolen is now more than back.

“Yeah, like that, darling,” he praises, lapping at your cunt in the same pace.

Your hand leaves his hair and braces next to your other one on the couch, ensuring you don't fall over as your thighs shake uncontrollably and your mouth drops open in a keening whine. Matty keeps sucking at your clit long after your orgasm fades and you cry out from the overstimulation.

Gently, you reach down to tug his hair, and he reluctantly pulls away. He's so hard he can't conjure much mental activity besides getting his dick wet.

“Alright?” He asks with a big grin on his face.

“More than,” you respond.

Your chest is heaving as you try to pick your leg up and get off him, but your strength fails you. Instead, Matty grabs your hips and sits up, your cunt sliding down to sit on top of his erection. Experimentally, you grind down on him, watching a muscle in his jaw feather.

"Need you. Are you going to let me take your pants off?" you ask him, teasing, your finger tracing the metal of his belt buckle.

He grits his teeth, letting you take control for a moment, sliding the belt achingly slow out of each loop.

“Do anything you want to, you’re in control. Don’t need to act all modest with me.”

You dip your body low to his chest and press gentle kisses all the way down to his stomach.

Matty moans brokenly when you shuck his jeans down his legs and squeeze his hard length before it can slap up against his stomach. Your tongue darts out and licks up the precum pooling at his slit, making his cock twitch in your grasp. “jesus,” he groans. “You don’t have to, darling, you can make this all about yourself.”

You ignore him.

Your soft lips part around the throbbing head of his cock. Squeezing his strong thighs to ground yourself, you swirl your tongue around the tip and take him deeper, your throat expanding to accommodate him in your mouth. Your thumb rubs over his ‘we are kings’ tattoo like you always do, you look at him as you do so. His eyes are watery, blinking hard to expel the tears, his hand instinctively cradling the crown of your head to keep you on him, keep you choking around him.

“Christ, fuck,—” His fingers curl in your hair and gently urge you off his cock; you pout, a string of saliva connecting your lips to his length. His dick jumps at the sight, lying hard on his stomach.

“Don’t pout, don’t need to come in your gorgeous mouth if you want me again,” he rasps.

“Fine,” you playfully roll your eyes but of course you listen and crawl up his body until your hips are flush, his hardness slotted, thick and throbbing, between your folds. The hum that leaves your mouth is wanton, your teeth tugging at your bottom lip. His hands move to your lower back, digging into the flesh just above your ass so you’re forced to roll your hips along his shaft.

“Have at it, darling,” he says.

You lift yourself up but instead of sinking down you take his cock into your hand and start moving up and down.

Matty shudders and grips your wrist, “fuckin, d’you want to kill me?”

You only giggle and shake your head innocently, “want you to fuck me now, I’ve been good.”

“Yeah, you reckon you are?” he reaches down, his hands going to your hips and guiding you down onto him. You both let out a moan as he fills you, the sensation almost overwhelming.

“You feel so good, love,” he breathes, looking down at where his cock disappears, “want you all the time n’ I can’t fucking stand the thought of you being with him.”

You look at each other, pupils dilated, mouths parted. You don’t move, not just yet, but you lean forward to crash your lips against Matty’s as a response.

Your hand grips the back of his neck to keep him exactly where he is, his tongue gliding across yours, filthy sounds coming from the both of you when you finally start to move.

“Yeah- fuck, you’re so good.”

You can feel his gaze on you, and it only served to heighten the pleasure building inside you. You start to ride him properly, your hands grabbing onto his shoulders.

His fingers dig into the flesh of your hips, his grip almost painful as he struggles to maintain control. The sounds he is making are sinful, the low moans and gasps escaping his lips spurring you on.

“Oh fuck, Matty,” you moan, “you make me feel so good.”

“Y-yeah?” He gasps, his thumb coming down your body to rub your clit in a torturous, slow pace, wanting to build the pressure, “s’ what I want, babe, need you to feel good.”

You moan again when he lowers his face to kiss you all over your breasts, sucking and biting at your nipple, offering you another way of stimulation.

“Need you, Matty, need you,” you repeat, your head falling against his shoulder while you keep your pace, your hips moving up and down.

“You have me, love,” he groans, moving his thumb a bit faster.

You clench around him and he can’t help himself but thrust into you so deep it makes you scream his name so loud you thank yourself he doesn’t have neighbors.

“Keep doin’ that,” he moans, “fuck.”

“Please,” you beg, just wanting to come with him all together, “Matty please.”

“I’ve got you,” he says, his brown eyes melting when he sees your fucked out face, “wanna come so badly again? Couldn’t feel good all evening and you need me for it?”

“Yes,” you admit, your hips slowing down, not having the energy like you had in the beginning, “fuck- I can’t.”

Matty hums and grips your hips, helping you to ride him faster, “like that, s’good, rub your clit for me though.”

You don’t waist a second and start as fast as when he stopped.

“Fuck, matty.”

“You’re perfect,” he says, moving his hips with yours, doubling the pleasure, “I- fuck, are you close?”

You know he is. His thrusts are faltering, eyes closed, head thrown back, his hands definitely bruising you but you don’t care. You want him to mark you. And honestly you couldn’t care less, not when you’re at the edge, letting yourself fall into him completely.

You clench around him again, a sign that you are close.

“Kiss me,” you whine, “plea-“

He does, it’s not a perfect, sweet kiss. He’s moaning against you, lips messily on yours, licking into your mouth as you both move together.

"You deserve this, you deserve to be fucked like this every day. Not treated like you're worthless."

Matty’s mouth is everywhere-his lips moving over your neck, nipping at your skin before kissing and licking at the sensitive spot just below your ear.

His tongue flicks out, tasting the salt of your skin, and you moan, your fingers digging into his shoulders as his cock hitting that perfect spot deep inside you.

"You're so fuckin' gorgeous," he groans, “fucks sake, my girl.”

He spurs you on and you can’t go any longer.

“Matty, im gonna come, can I- fuck.”

You whimper, your body trembling as the pleasure mounts, your mind going blank as Matty’s cock slams into you harder, deeper. Your hand on your clit, his mouth on your neck, his body pressed tightly against yours-it is too much, and you feel yourself spiraling toward release.

"You don’t need to ask for permission, are you mental?" he laughs, “come for me, love, whenever you want to.”

With a final, devastating thrust, the coil inside you snaps, and you scream his name as your orgasm tears through you, your body shaking violently as wave after wave of pleasure washes over you.

Your pussy clenches around his cock, milking him as he groans deeply, his hips never stopping, prolonging your pleasure as he fucks you through your orgasm.

“Fuck,” he groans, your hips slowing down as his hips slam into you one strong time, releasing in you with a whimper, groan and moan, “jesus fucking christ.”

You whine, only grinding softly against him until you’re both too fucking exhausted to move.

You stay like this though- with him softening inside of you until he accidentally slips out making the both of you hiss.

“I really really like you,” you say, not being able to lift your forehead from his shoulder just yet, “I swear I’m not using you for this.”

“It’s alright,” he soothes you, hand brushing through your hair, “I’m the last to judge, m’just glad you’re here.”

“Me too,” you whisper.

After a long while Matty decides to lift you up, keeping your legs wrapped around him. You whine at the new coldness, air hitting your naked form.

“I’ll just need to clean you up, darling, you okay?”

“Mhm,” you hum holding on to him, “bed though, please?”

“Course,” he says, pushing the door with his foot softly that leads you into his bedroom, “I’ll be right back then.”

He lays you down softly but before he can walk to the bathroom you pull him down, holding his face to give him a sweet kiss.

He’s kissing all over your face then, asking you multiple times if you need anything, praises leaving his mouth, “you’ve done so good, love, going to let me get you a towel?”

“Fine,” you groan, rolling your eyes and pushing him away.

While he waddles over to the bathroom, slipping a pair of boxers on while doing so, you get yourself a piece of clothing as well. A simple black shirt from Matty’s drawer.

You flop down onto the bed then and not even a minute later he’s back, a wet towel in his hand and a lotion.

“Let me take care of you,” he says, kneeling on the edge of the bed and spreading your legs, “it’s what you deserve.”

You can’t help but smile at his sweetness, letting him drag the towel up your thighs to your core, hissing at the soreness.

“M’sorry,” he apologizes, being as careful as he can be, “even used warm water, thought it would be more pleasant than cold.”

“It’s alright,” you nod, “thank you.”

His brows are furrowed in that intense way of his, and you are lost, as always, in the precision of it all — how someone so careless about most things could be so careful with you.

When he finally sets the towel aside, his hands replace it, gliding along your thigh with a gentle grip. He reaches for the lotion he brought, squeezing a bit into his hand before warming it between his fingers. The scent is faint, familiar, like something he’d chosen just for you, and he slowly works it into your skin, thumbs pressing softly in circles along the tops of your legs.

You hum, a sound low in your throat, and he glances up at you, his mouth quirking into a half-smile. "Feel good, love?"

You nod, letting your head rest back on the pillows, eyes drifting shut as his hands continue their slow, steady rhythm.

"Matty?"

"Yeah?"

There is a pause, the silence stretching as you weigh the words you’re holding back. You swallow, feeling the weight of them settle in your chest before you finally let them go. "I think I want to break up with him."

For the first time that night, his hands still, his fingers still warm against your skin as he looks up, his gaze locking onto yours, eyes dark and searching. "You sure?" he asks, voice rough but soft. "I mean… I’d definitely drop that wanker if I were you. But… are you sure?"

You nod, your own voice quieter than you expected. "Yeah, I’m sure. I don’t…" you hesitate, trying to find the right words, "I don’t feel right with him. He’s a selfish bastard, Matty. Only cares about himself. Never really… I don’t know. Not like you do."

The corner of his mouth lifts, just a hint of satisfaction, but he covers it with a quick raise of his brow, setting the lotion bottle aside.

"About time, I’d say. I mean, you deserve better than some bloke who’s all talk and no bloody follow-through." He moves closer, leaning in so his face is just inches from yours. "What kind of idiot would treat you like that? He’s the one who’s missing out.”

"Yeah… I just kept thinking things would get better, you know? Like maybe I was the problem."

Matty’s scoff is loud, dismissive, and his hand finds yours, fingers threading through yours with a surprising softness.

"Nah, not a chance. Don’t you dare let him put that on you. You’re the best damn thing that’s ever walked into his life, and if he was too stupid to see that? Then he deserves what he gets." His fingers squeeze yours, grounding and reassuring. "But you already know that. Just needed a little push?”

You nod, squeezing back. "Guess so."

He lets out a soft chuckle, leaning back just enough to take you in, his gaze lingering on your face as he tilts his head.

“You shouldn’t be with someone who’s not good for you, you know?”

You nod, leaning forward to kiss his cheek and pull him up by his biceps, “you’re right, and that’s why I’m here.”

Matty gets the hint immediately, letting himself be drawn up until he’s lying half on top of you, chest pressing against yours, his weight warm and solid as he settles against you. His head dips down, burying into the crook of your neck, and he lets out a soft, contented sigh, his breath warm against your skin.

“Been wanting this all day,” he murmurs, his voice a little rough, like he’s barely holding back some deeper feeling. “Just you, here with me. None of that rubbish, none of him messing with your head. Just us.

You hum, the sound vibrating in your chest as you feel him relax against you, his hand reaching up to stroke your hair, brushing it back from your face with a tenderness that sends warmth flooding through you.

“Can I bring you anything? Water? Tea? Anything you need, just say the word.”

You smile, shaking your head slightly. “No, Matty, I’m good. You’ve done enough already, honestly. Thank you.”

He lifts his head, just enough so he can see your face, his eyes searching yours with that familiar intensity. “Enough? Don’t say that. Not a chance I’m leaving you without everything you could possibly want, got it?”

You squeeze his arm gently. “Well, in that case, just stay here with me. That’s all I want.”

His lips curve into a grin, his eyes warming. “Now that’s the easiest thing you could’ve asked for. I’m not going anywhere.”

“How about this: we sleep in tomorrow. Really let ourselves be lazy, yeah? Then I’ll take you somewhere nice, like that bakery on the corner. We’ll get those ridiculous pastries you like so much. What d’you think?”

You smile, the thought of it filling you with a cozy sense of comfort. “That sounds… perfect, actually. Can we get those chocolate croissants?”

“Anything you want.” He chuckles, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. “I’ll get a dozen if that’s what it takes to see you smile like that.” His thumb brushes across your cheek, his expression softening as he looks at you. “Deserve to feel like this all the time. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise. Least of all some idiot who doesn’t know what he’s got.”

“Thank you, Matty,” you whisper, meaning it more than you can say.

“Just glad you’re here.” His eyes hold yours for a long moment, then he settles back down, pulling you closer until you’re tangled together. He murmurs one last thing, just as you’re drifting off.

“Sleep well, darling. Wake me if you need something or just feeling lonely.”

You giggle as you start to rub small, slow circles along the back of his head, your fingertips grazing his scalp. He lets out a soft sound, almost a purr, and relaxes even more against you, his kisses drifting down to the corner of your mouth, lingering there as if he’s savoring every second.

“I definitely will,” you joke, “good night.”

“Night,” he murmurs, kissing your shoulder blade before you’re both drifting off.

[silverwolf-108]

Yandere Ghost x Fem! Reader x Yandere König

Two Predators and One Prey

Description: You catch two mysterious soldier’s who fall hard on you and will keep you as theirs and never let you go.

Warning: Kidnapped, obsessive behavior, strong language, violence, blood

Codename: Widow

“Hey Widow, another letter from you secret admirer. This is twentieth time this month.” You sigh heavily grab the envelope from Soap and put it in your nightstand drawer.

Your tired after having so many letter by your secret admirer. You don’t know who is this mysterious person but you will found out who and tell them to stop because it’s getting on your nerves.

“This need to stop, I’m gonna find out who did it.” You grab one of the envelope from your drawer get up from your bed walk pass by Soap as he follow you behind. You walk around the base asking one of the soldiers is your secret admirer but none of them said they were and give you proof.

You sat on the chair of cafeteria and Soap sit by you. “Damn, none of our teams are secret admirer. I swear if this keep going I’m gonna quit this job and find a new job.” Soap pat your back to cheer you up. “Widow” both of you turn around see König holding a tray of food. “What’s wrong?” He worry.

“Nothing it’s just this secret admirer keep sending me letters non-stop. It really get on my nerves.” You scoff. König place his tray on the table grab the envelope from your hand open it and read it.

He look back at you “I‘ll find ‘em later.” He walk out the cafeteria leaving you both deadpanned. “Wanna grab some lunch?” You nod at Soap.

———————————

Your in the training room working out til suddenly König came up to you. “I found your secret admirer.” He point a the man fiddling his fingers and staring at the ground. “I told him to leave you alone so he won’t bother you anymore.” You smile at him. It’s a good thing he cover his blush since he wear the mask.

He drag the man out from the training room leaving you to continue your workout.

——————————-

The next day, Soap told you that your secret admirer is fired and was found dead at his house. “Damn, sound mysterious to me after he got fired and found dead.” You said. “Yeah, seems like it. Anyway I gotta go train some of the new rookies that arrive here today. Catch ya later.” He walk away.

You about to head Price office to give him the report file you finish. Suddenly you bump to someone cause you to fall but pair of arms caught you. You look up who caught you only to meet Ghost. You thank him for saving you then walk pass by him.

You didn’t notice he stare at you watching you walk away behind with lustful look in his eyes. “Ghost” he turn his head hearing his codename only to meet König.

He glare at Ghost “Why are you looking at Y/n?” Ghost scoff “None of your fuckin business.” He about to walk away but König stop him held his arm front of him. “She mine” he growl.

“Do you have a death wish?” Ghost and König glare at each other.

——————————-

You walk in the hallway staring at your phone checking on messages by your parents who are really worried about you but they send you gifts. “WIDOW!!” You look away from your phone see Gaz and Soap run toward you.

“Hey guys, what’s going on?” They stop front of you catching their breath’s. “It’s Ghost and König! They fighting each other in the training room and it’s about to be blood bath there! We try to stop them but they refuse and growl at us! Price try to stop them but they ignore him! Hurry!” They grab your hands dragging you to the training room.

Once all of you made it in you were shock what your seeing. All of the recruits watch Ghost and König fighting each other and their blood stain the mat. “STOP!!!!” They stop fighting look at you. “What the bloody hell! Why are you both fighting each other in such massacre?! Both of you with me! Now!” They get off each other follow you behind.

The recruits watch you three leave the training still shock. “Do you think Widow will try to make them up each other?” Gaz question. “Hope so, come on, let’s clean here.” Soap sigh.

—————————————

You and the tall man’s went into medical room, you made them sit down on the chairs and grab the med kit.

“Just hold still König.”

“Looks like you had too much bruises Ghost.”

“I’m gonna stitch your arm König.”

“This may hurt to pop your arm back to it socket Ghost.”

“Don’t move König or else more blood come out.”

You put away the med kit after patching up them up. You look at them with glare daggers “Now… explain why you two are fighting?” They look away. “Don’t you look away from me boys! Explain!” You scoff.

They didn’t speak or look back at you and it made you frustrated. “Alright listen up! You two need to make up each other. I’m not leaving until you two make up each other. Now, shake hands and apologize.” They glance each other and scoff.

They brought their hands out grab each others hands and apologized. You sigh “Good, now no more fighting each other to death. Got that? Now get some rest, both of you are totally beaten up.” You left the medical room leaving two men’s alone there.

Once you left they glance each other. Ghost was first to spoke “Hey… I think I had an idea.” König titled his head confused “How about we share her instead.” König think for a moment.

About few second he brought his hand out “Deal” Ghost grab his hand and shake it. They smirk behind their masks.

——————————-

You head to your quarter room after finish up paperwork’s and train the new recruits. Your excited that tomorrow your going home to see your parents after long month of war.

Once your in your room you change into comfy pajamas. You wore black tank top and grey sweatpants. You tuck yourself in bed turn off the light then pass out to slumber.

You didn’t notice your closet door open wide as two figures walk out staring at your sleeping form. The first one place the rag on your face, you jump in surprise trying to fight the intruder but the second figure pin you down.

When you sniff the rag the chloroform kick in and you pass out. The second figure carry you in their arms and place you in rugged luggage that the first figure bought out from your closet. They tied both your arms and legs and cover your mouth with duct tape.

“Remember the plan?” The second figure nod their head. “Good let’s go.” They carry the rugged luggage out of your quarter room heading to the hallway.

——————————-

Today is the day, the Task Force 141 are heading back home after month of war. Once the plane landed they exit out. “Excuse me!” They look ahead see two people running toward them “We don’t see our daughter. Her name is Y/n L/n, have any one you seen her?”

Ghost walk toward them open his hand front of them reveal a dog tag, your dog tag. “Your daughter… she didn’t make it. She was found dead outside the base, we figure she was attack by the enemy assassin. Sorry.” The parents covered their mouths in shock.

The father grab the dog tag bringing it closer to his chest as his wife clench his shirt. “Thanks… for telling us…” they started to whimper and walk away. The team look hurt watching them walk away being sad.

————————-

You flutter your eyes open, you about to yawn but you felt your mouth won’t open and your feel both your wrist and legs are stick together. You look at your wrist and your shock see your tied up.

You look around see your in unfamiliar room. You rip the duct tape from your mouth ignoring the pain from the sting “Help! Someone help!” You scream. Suddenly the door slam open causing you jump in surprise, you look where the door is slam only to meet König and Ghost.

“Guys! Bloody hell your here! Help me untied.” You smile in relief. They walk toward you and sat down on the bed front of you staring at you. Their gazes made your spine shiver. “G-guys…what’s going on?” You almost stutter.

Ghost bring your form closer to him and König crawl behind you wrap his arms around your waist. “What’s going-“ “Your staying with us.” Your eyes wide in shock what your heard from Ghost.

“What? What are saying-“ “Your ours Liebe.” König whisper your ear. You try to break them away from you but their grips are hard like steel.

Your head perk up realizing what they’re saying “Guys! This is insane! I’m not your obsessed object! This is wrong!” Your yell at them. Ghost grab your face forcing you to look at him, when your meet his eyes, it made you froze.

“Yes you are, your ours and your never leaving us.” He growl. You gasp feeling König lick his tongue behind your neck. “Mmm… du schmeckst köstlich.” He hum.

“Guys… why are you both obsessed with me?” You started to cry. Ghost pull his mask reveal his jawline as he lick your tears and it almost made you throw up. “Because… we love you and we never letting you go. Your our obsession and our prey.” He chuckle darkly.

“Guys stop! I don’t love you two!” You yell. They stop what they’re doing and look at you with dark glare in their eyes. You gulp knowing your fuck up what you said. “You will Liebe, your going to learn to love us.” König growl.

Ghost brought out a dagger from his holster belt and stab one of your thighs causing you scream in pain. “Scream all you want because no one is near. Your somewhere far away with us and it’s impossible to escape.” Ghost said in dark tone.

“Now then… let’s have fun.” Both of them chuckle darkly. ‘Oh no… please god… help me’ you pleaded though hoping for someone to help and find you to escape two predators who will devour you alive.

[sentientcave]

It's WIP Wednesday once again! I've got some Impound for you because it's been a while and it's still not finished (I've been working on Sparrow instead and just hit 55k today which is pretty exciting).

Contains: Blue collar Simon, Price as a cop, petty nonsense from men who should know better, but they're unfortunately not very emotionally intelligent

That’s when he saw the cruiser, parked on the street out front, too close to the fire hydrant.

Not blocking it, exactly, but still too close. If it were anyone else, he’d’ve let it slide, since the fire crew would still be able to get to the hydrant. But it was Price, and he’d just warned him about this very thing.

He pulled out his phone. “Hey, Johnny?” he said as soon as the line picked up, not waiting for Johnny to speak. “Send Roach out to city hall. Got someone parked by a fire ‘ydrant.”

“Fer fuck’s sake, Si, isnae the feckin’ cop again?”

“It is. I’ll come round to handle the paperwork. Won’t make you do it.”

“Awlright, but dinnae let him catch Roach at it neither. Ye know he’ll say somethin’ stupid and get his arse arrested.”

“Oh I know. Lad dun’t know ‘ow to keep his trap shut.” Simon hung up and headed back inside, hardly paying attention to the meeting, his eyes flicking back to Price over and over again, and holding whenever he found Price looking back. It was clear that neither of them retained anything said, too busy glaring at each other over the heads of the people sitting between them.

Simon got out of the building first, and stood off to the side to smoke another cigarette, leaning against a tree where he could get a good view of Price’s reaction when he came out to find his cruiser missing yet again.

He didn’t disappoint. He came out of the building a few minutes after the initial crush of humanity, talking to Kate and Nikolai. Price stopped in his tracks a little ways out the door, focused in on where his cruiser was supposed to be, and immediately scanned the vicinity, his whole body going rigid, hands tightening into fists, shoulders squared up for war, jaw set like concrete. His blazing blue eyes found Simon, and he marched over without saying a word, leaving Nikolai and Kate looking confused, and then amused when they realized what must have happened.

Price stopped in front of him, fury radiating off of him like heat off an engine, all that energy practically warping the space between them. “What’s your fuckin’ problem, mate?” he asked, jabbing a finger against Simon’s chest.

“No problem. I was ‘ere the whole time, wasn’t I?” Simon batted Price’s hand away, resisting the impulse to punch him for having the nerve to lay his bloody hands on him in the first place. Price was lucky that Simon was so rehabilitated now. That he had his temper on a good strong leash these days. “If you din’t want to get towed, you shunt’ve parked there. Not my problem if my people know ‘ow to do their jobs and you ‘aven’t got a clue ‘ow to do yours.”

“You don’t want to start a war with me, son,” Price growled.

Simon leaned forward, the barest curve of a smile on his lips, eyes narrowed and flinty. To his credit, Price didn’t flinch, didn’t move back, didn’t drop his eyes. He wasn’t intimidated by Simon’s size, like a lesser man would be. “You don’t want to start a war with me, old man.” He wasn’t sure there was much difference in their ages, if any, but if Price was going to try and talk down to him with the son shite than Simon was going to shovel it right back, like he was an unruly teenager in a rebellious phase. “I’m not goin’ to be pushed around by a fuckin’ badge. You don’t get special treatment because you wear a bloody uniform.”

Price’s jaw clenched even tighter. He had an impressive scowl, one that could probably level anyone else. “Watch yourself,” he grit out, like each word cost him something to force from his mouth.

Simon leaned a little closer. Their noses were almost touching. He could feel the currents of air stirred up by Price’s breath on his own face. “Or what?” he asked.

“Or else,” Price said, too angry to come up with anything resembling a real threat.

Simon pulled back with an amused grunt, and turned away, glancing over his shoulder dismissively. “See you as the impound lot, hm? I’ll be waitin’.”

In the end, it was Gaz who came around to pick up the cruiser.

[darklydeliciousdesires]

Nobody's Girl - Chapter Five.

Thank you everyone for your kind praise of the last chapter! I appreciate you all so much :)

Previous chapters - One Two Three Four

Taglist - In the comments, please DM to be added/removed

Words - 3,554

Warnings - Adult content throughout, minors DNI!

“God, you are so fuckin’ beautiful, doll, but if you don’t look even prettier when you’re takin’ a pounding. God damn,” he cussed, hands gripped onto her thighs as he held her spread before him, cock driving into her like a jackhammer. Now he’d gotten over his fear that anything even bordering on brutal would shatter his pretty little creature like she was heirloom glass, he was very, very much enjoying letting the beast in his nature run wild.  

After all, she had demanded he fuck her harder, reducing his blood to pure magma.  

As for Emily... not words existed. Merely static where her thoughts once resided, mouth dropped open, crying out as her lover fucked her so hard, she was sure he was attempting to actually go through her. The sexual finesse, the dirty talk, the way he fed her his thumb while grasping her jaw, slowing the savage onslaught of his thick cock as he leaned to her, kissing her neck sumptuously. God... it was both too much and not enough, if such a juxtapose could exist. 

His mouth met hers, kisses of filthy indulgence shared, hand still clutching her jaw as he drove himself into her hard, but slow, oh so blindingly slow. He kissed every little sob that fell from her pretty mouth, the twitch of her slick walls around him sending a flare over his nerves, willing himself not to give in to it. He didn’t, hanging onto his own release until she shattered beneath him, both lying there in a state of blissed out contentment in the aftermath.  

“You have all those books over there,” she began a while later, lying on her side as she gestured to the packed-out bookshelf across the apartment, “but I never see you reading any of them.” 

“Don’t get much chance to these days,” he confessed, his hand wandering over the curve of her ass. He’d never seen an ass that perfect in all his damned life. “All my good stuff is at my house upstate, anyways. Gotta small library up there.” 

“Yeah? Wow, that’s my dream, to stay in one place long enough that I can accumulate books, rather than sitting in a library for hours on end while I read,” she revealed, Luca looking interested. 

“Who do you enjoy reading, hm?” he asked, fingers skimming back and forth over the curve of her waist and hip.  

She took only a second to ponder. “Edith Wharton, the Brontë’s, Anton Chekov, Franz Kafka. God, I love Kafka. I get giddy on Kafka!” she enthused, watching his eyebrows rise significantly. 

“Chekov and Kafka? Really?” 

Her mouth dropped open, poking the centre of his chest with her index finger. “Hey, enough with this face of disbelief!” 

“No, no, cara mia,” he was quick to speak, shaking his head. “No disbelief, just surprise. Kafka is my favourite author, yet I can’t think of a single other woman I have ever met who has even heard of him, let alone read his work.” He hummed a chuckle, his eyebrows fluttering. “Then again, the kinda broads I meet ain’t exactly bookworms.” 

Her eye roll displayed a little bit of attitude he’d never witnessed in her before, and it made him chuckle, reaching to stroke the side of her neck. “Do I detect judgement there, Miss. Mortensen?” 

She looked a little uncomfortable for a second before raising her eyebrows, her mouth twisting into a lopsided grin. “I suppose, but that’s only because I don’t know how people can’t find reading somebody else’s words fascinating, especially when there’s so much affinity to be found with them.” 

“Gimme an example,” he requested, curling a piece of her hair around his middle finger.  

“Kafka once said, ‘I am free, and that is why I am lost.’ It resounded with me so much, after leaving my mother and San Francisco behind. I finally felt free, but so lost for so long, not rooting myself anywhere. Moreso, never finding a place or a person to root myself with,” she spoke, her hand drifting up to cup his face, taking a brave breath. “Until I found you.”  

The breadth of his smile made butterflies burst in her tummy, Luca covering her hand with his, turning his head to kiss her palm. “Let your roots wrap around mine all you want.” 

“Like two vines curling together?”  

“Mmm,” he hummed, leaning to kiss her, “just like that.” Peeling back the protective layers that surrounded her, he was finding a woman who seldom let people see what lay beneath. Quiet still, but so, so intelligent. Well-read and thoughtful, his absolute dream. He had yearned for a woman both of beauty and the intellect to discuss literature.  

Why oh why had he wasted his time with whores?  

He knew why, actually. Since he’d hammered in the final nail into the coffin that was his marriage, he had not sought women for permanence, merely a means to an end. And now here she was, the permanence he hadn’t been searching for at all, but who he now couldn’t see himself letting go of without a fight. 

“So, tell me more about these.” Her hand wandered from his chest, over to the tattoos upon his arms, a seemingly random, haphazard collection of black brandings that marked his olive toned flesh. 

“Whaddya wanna know?” he asked, his eyes following where her finger trailed down to his inner elbow.  

“What does omerta mean?” 

“The code of silence. It’s a Sicilian thing.” 

She arched an eyebrow. “You mean a mafia thing?” 

Laughing softly through his nose, he nodded. “Yeah, honey. A mafia thing. It’s a code of honour as well as silence. Very big in my world, omerta.”  

“And the snake?” she then asked, her finger tracing the swirl of the viper upon his inner forearm. 

“No reason, I just liked it.” 

Good enough reason as any, she thought, to have a certain pattern of ink etched into your flesh for the rest of your life. Her finger continued to glide, reaching his hand and swirling over the number six. “This?” 

“It’s my lucky number, solidified even more lately. I met you on the sixth, and your birthday is on the sixth, too. The sixth of...” he trailed off, frowning with thought. 

“The sixth of?” she repeated, winding her hand around.  

He looked pained, face creasing as he wracked his brain. “The sixth of one of the months of the year.”  

She couldn’t help but fall apart laughing, Luca grumbling softly. “Hey, it’s eleven thirty in the morning and I already blew my load twice. You have to forgive a fella for havin’ a scrambled-up brain.”  

“Okay, you’re forgiven. April, by the way.” Leaning in, she kissed his jaw a couple of times, resting her head down on his chest, her fingers gently tickling over the dark hair. “How long do I have you here for today, then?” 

“As long as you like. That call I made earlier, it was me tellin’ Angelo to handle everything ‘cuz I knew I’d be busy with somethin’ or another. Glad it was the way I wasn’t expecting to be.”  

“You weren’t?” 

“Nah, not just yet, I wasn’t. Thought I’d have to deal with why you suddenly stared acting like a rabbit caught in headlights,” he told her, fingers slowly stroking up and down her arm. “Why was that?” 

“I’ll tell you another time.” 

Oh, she should be so lucky. “Tell me now.” 

“No.”  

“Why?” 

“Because it’s embarrassing,” she muffled, hiding her face. 

“Can’t hide behind your hair forever,” he snorted, popping his shoulder against her face to make her look up at him. 

“No, but I can burrow.” Detangling herself from his embrace, she grabbed the pillows, piling them atop her head and then pointing. “See? Successful burrowing,” she muffled, making him laugh quietly.  

He grabbed the pillows, throwing them off and reaching an arm beneath her, hauling her body atop his. “Successful unearthing. Now, tell me.” She made a small noise of discomfort. “Emily.”  

“I had a sex dream, alright? Are you happy now, mortifying it out of me?” 

He laughed again, louder this time. “Sweetheart, when my tongue has been pushed right up in your holiest of holes, I think we’re past embarrassment, ain’t we?” 

Her concession came at the expense of a very pink face. “Hmm, suppose you’re right.” 

“Was I as good in your dream as I am in reality?” 

Of course, he’d ask that. “It was more of a combined effort.” 

The grin he fixed her with had her blushing, hiding her face against his chest. “I demand to be shown.”  

Just then, her stomach gurgled. Loudly. “And I think my belly demands to be fed.” Save by the rumble. Phew.  

“You wanna eat?” he asked. “I can make that happen for ya. Whatcha want?” 

Her head shot up from his chest, her eyebrow arching. “Are you going to cook?” 

“I am not,” he chuckled, “Luca Changretta does not cook. He burns. Seriously, I decided to try and be a good husband one morning, when Filomena was days away from giving birth to Milania. Attempted to make her breakfast and started a small fire.”  

“Not a good cook, huh?” she laughed, watching him grimace slightly as he shook his head. “Tell me, what are you good at?”  

He eyes slowly found hers, grinning widely before sticking his tongue out and giving it a very rapid wiggle.  

“Yeah, I think I might know that already, Luca!” she snorted with soft sarcasm, moving to lie at his side again. “What else?” 

“I’m a mean shot,” he began, watching her widen her eyes. 

“I think that’s standard for a successful wiseguy.”  

“I did mean animals opposed to people. But yeah, them too,” he informed her, linking his fingers through hers and squeezing her hand. “I hunt when I’m up at my place in the Catskills. Always manage to get a clean head shot.”  

“What else?” 

“I’ve been told I’m a good listener. I prefer listening to talking. Trust me, this here, this is real fuckin’ chatty for me,” he spoke, pointing between them. She had noticed that the usually quite verbally concise man had indulged a little more than he normally would. It made her belly tingle. And then it rumbled, quite audibly.  

He looked down, running a fingertip around her navel. “So, food?”  

“Pastrami and Swiss on white bread, with lots of sauerkraut and mustard, please.”  

He kissed her head, detangling himself. “Comin’ right up, doll.” While he walked to the telephone, she admired his form, chiselled back, a few scratches here and there from her nails, more tattoos as well. Oh, and the most perfectly pert ass in existence.  

He made a call to the deli just up the block, putting in their order for the shop boy to bring down on his pushbike, her request followed by something loaded with mozzarella and assorted deli meats for himself, returning to the bed as soon as he’d hung up.  

“Fifteen minutes. Just enough time for you to give me a live rendition of your dream.” 

She should have known that he wouldn’t let it go. “I will, one day. When you’ve forgotten about it.”  

He raised en eyebrow, shaking his head. “I’m a guy, darlin’. Trust me, we don’t forget things like that. Ever.” 

Leaning to him, she tickled his cupid’s bow with the tip of her tongue, squeaking when he rapidly, but gently moved to bite it. “I’m still not showing you now.”  

She got up to fetch herself a water, leaving him grumbling in mild agitation in her wake. Once they’d eaten, they returned to the bed, lying there talking for much of the afternoon in between bouts of sex that only got even steamier than the session before. They did finally make it out of bed, Luca taking her out for dinner in the city before they arrived back at Bella Vita.  

While he went for a sit and a drink with his buddies, Angelo and Donny raising their glasses to her, she slid into a seat at the bar, being greeted with a cheek kiss from Maggie.  

“So, I hear somebody was enjoyin’ herself with the big boss this morning, huh?” she grinned, her red lips curving to reveal a huge, beautiful grin. “I’d say tell me how you like his cock, but baby love, I fuckin’ heard!”  

Emily’s eyes widened in an instant, reaching for the glass of vodka rocks she was furnished with, her hand missing the receptacle a few times before Maggie steered it into place. “Oh my god, how? I didn’t think I was that loud?” 

Pointing up and to the side, the barmaid’s grin continued to widen. “Air vent, sugar. Trust me, when the music ain’t blastin’ out down here, the sound travels well. I ain’t even ashamed to admit it got me all hot in my undies, hearin’ you two goin’ at it!”  

Her booming laugh filled the space at Emily hiding her face in her hands, reaching to squeeze her shoulders. “Next time you get that hot with ya man, at least let me come up and watch, eh?” 

“Jesus, Maggie!” she cried, her friend reaching to pinch her cheek playfully.  

“Come on, miss lady!” she laughed, pouring out a measure of rum for a waiting patron, sliding the glass over to him. “You’re the boss’s gal now, you gotta carry yourself like you are. No more wallflower behaviour. Lift that pretty chin, ‘cuz round these parts, you’re the fuckin’ queen now, darl. Everybody knows it, therefore so should you.”  

The words absorbed like ink to blotting paper, Emily sitting up a little straighter, casting her glance around the room. She’d walked in there with her hand in Luca’s, and the patrons had noticed. The way they viewed her, it was with nothing but respect from the men, and envy from the women. She wasn’t nobody’s girl any longer, elevated to the most coveted position in that particular corner of Brooklyn.  

She turned back to an expectant Maggie, paused in a lull, waiting for her thoughts on the observation. Her eyebrow rose, lifting her chin, remembering. Remembering the way he’d barely let her go for even a second all day, the way he’d praised and lavished her, the way the words cara mia had rolled so effortlessly off his tongue... the way his eyes had shone like peridot wildfire when he came for her.  

“Hm,” she hummed, sipping her drink. “I guess I am, and honey...” Leaning close, she made a motion with her finger for her friend to lean closer, Maggie obliging, “...you should see how glorious my throne is.”  

A very mischievous wink was delivered, and her mouth fell open, squealing as she drummed her hands repeatedly off the bar, pointing at Emily with both forefingers. “And that is how you be a queen, my gal!”  

They shared laughter, Maggie counting down the minutes to her break, taking Emily with her when she went out back to the small rear alleyway behind the speakeasy, where it was quiet and free of people. Well, as quiet as Brooklyn could get on a Friday night.  

“There is a way you could help me become queenlier, you know, Maggie,” she spoke, her friend lighting herself a cigarette, offering the case. “Ah, why not?” Cigarettes were a rare treat she couldn’t usually afford. Pulling one out, the redhead offered her light, snapping the lighter shut again.  

“Ahhh, my regal acolyte comes to the oracle for her sage advice,” she nodded, blowing smoke down her nose. “Whatcha need help with?”  

“Can I be blunt?” 

“Are you gonna blush while you do it?” she couldn’t help but tease. 

“Probably,” Emily confessed, taking a drag on her cigarette. “I need tips. Blowjob tips. Luca is nothing short of giving – and very talented – when it comes to pleasing me with his mouth, but I’m just so stunted by inexperience that I don’t want to shame myself by trying to return the favour when I have no real clue what I’m doing.”  

Maggie began nodding rapidly, pointing her cigarette at her. “Now this, sistah, this is my mother fucking forte! Oh, you have come to exactly the right place, and please do feel free to mention I was the one who taught you to suck dick like a champion. I could do with a pay bump.” They shared giggles, Maggie continuing. “Alright, so first, you gotta make like his manhood is the most amazing thing on god’s green earth, like there ain’t nothin’ you want in your mouth more.” 

“I’m there already,” she confirmed, smirking. “Continue.”  

“Alright, so with your technique, think popsicle. Don’t go at it all guns blazin’ to begin with, give him a few strokes with your hand, couple’a licks over the head a few times, which you’ve probably noticed already is the most sensitive part of a cock.” A nod confirmed that such had indeed been noted. “Few little sucks, and I cannot stress this enough, get his dick real fuckin’ wet. It’ll feel amazing for him, think mimicking your pussy in terms of wetness.” 

“So yeah, keep teasing, taking a little more of him back, go an inch at a time, and for the love of all things holy, cover your teeth. I mean, some guys like a gentle graze, so if he does, he’ll probably tell ya. Keep ‘em away until you know for sure, though. Tease the fuck outta him with your tongue, don’t give him too much at once, and yeah, just build on it. Speed up the closer he gets, then once he’s come, slow it down, be gentler.” 

Nodding rapidly at her own advice, she was all done until something popped into her brain, her eyes widening as she flapped her hand. “Oh, just a warning, too. If you let him come in your mouth, be warned. Cum ain’t exactly tasty, so be prepared! He don’t smoke no more, though, so you have that goin’ for ya. Always tastes like salty bleach when they smoke, for some reason.”  

“Gotcha, I think I can remember all that. And the warning? Appreciated.”  

“Don’t panic about it, though. I mean, it don’t taste the best, but shit, darl. It’s fuckin’ sexy to have a guy blow right in your mouth, and he’ll love ya for it if you swallow. All men do.”  

Armed with her new information, Emily made rapid mental notes, feeling herself growing aroused at the mere thought of having his cock in her mouth. She and Maggie walked back in, returning to the bar, unable to stop herself from swinging her ass as she walked, feeling her man’s eyes right upon her, turning to wink at him.  

The conversation at his table was much, much more concise over the matter, but conveyed all it needed to.  

“Oh, so she finally let you in there, huh, cuz?” Angelo chirped, waving to Emily before grinning at Luca.  

He sipped his whiskey, enjoying the buzz. “A gentleman never tells.” 

His statement earned a snort. “Yeah? I’ve heard all about your exploits, amico. You ain’t no goddamned gentleman!” he laughed, leaning closer. “So, how many times you jump her today, huh?” 

“Yeah, I might not be,” Luca began, putting a fresh toothpick between his teeth, “but that gal over there is my fuckin’ lady, and you don’t get to hear shit.” He then paused, rolling his tongue around the inside of his cheek, a devilish grin beginning to widen his mouth. “Four.”  

“You horny bastard.” 

Luca raised his eyebrows, sinking his drink. “That’s what she called me, too, cugino. Now, cousin or not, you talk about my gal like that again and I’ll crack your teeth out your goddamned jaw.” Angelo knew he was only half joking, Luca winking as he rose and left the table, gliding across the room and over to the bar.  

Emily felt his hand touch against her bare upper back, sliding down at he leaned in close. “Havin’ a good night, doll?” 

It could stand to be better. “I am, but I think I need you to take me back upstairs.” Waving to Maggie, she sank her drink and slid from the stool, fingernail running along his jaw before she sauntered off in the direction of the heavy door. It was surprising to nobody more than her, how different a woman she was walking through it than she’d been two weeks before, carried through by Luca a bloodied and battered mess.  

She could feel him behind her, her back tingling from his presence, sliding her feet from her shoes and her stockings from her legs once she reached the top of the stairs, moving to the couch and sitting down. “Get over here, handsome.”  

“Oh, look at this now, making her demands of me,” he drawled, walking over to her all the same, halting once he was right in front of where she sat. “And what can I do ya for, now I’m here, huh?” 

Without a single word, she stood, pushing the jacket from his shoulders, his waistcoat, tie and shirt following before sitting back down again, her gaze never leaving his while undoing his pants. “Stand there and enjoy, is what you can do.”  

He had a distinct feeling he was about to do just that. 

[pacifymebby]

Since it’s the holidays, what would the peaky boys do if their SO knitted them a truly horrendous sweater and they have to pretend to like it so they don’t hurt her feelings

aw this is cute, I would highly encourage people to send more festive themed requests for both Peaky Blinders and Scream hehe <3

Tommy

🌿You're nervous about giving him this present because you spent so much time on it, and because you struggled to know what to get him? What do you get the wealthiest, most notorious gangster in the midlands? He can already buy himself whatever he likes...

🌿Thats why you chose something homemade... You worked for several months on this, knitting it whenever you had the opportunity to, it was something to fill the time and distract you from your nerves whenever he was away on Peaky Business

🌿And Tommy knows you're nervous, he can see it in your eyes. He also already knows what you've made for him (come on you didn't think you could keep a secret from this man?)

🌿So he's prepared. The ugliness doesn't surprise him because he's already spoilt the surprise, he found it two nights ago, before you had the opportunity to wrap it.

🌿He unwraps it carefully, he already knows exactly what he's going to say so as not to hurt your feelings. He's planned his "surprised" face in advance.

🌿"so this is what you've been doing whilst I've been away?" he chuckles giving you a warm smile. He holds it up, displays it to the rest of the family with a sheepish/knowing smile. He takes the L graciously and lets his brothers smirk

🌿but if anyone says anything rude or makes an actual joke... well, lets just say they've seen the warning in Tommy's eyes. They aren't going to say anything. In fact they're probably all going to swallow their laughs and cough and say something about how lovely it is.

🌿Tommy would kiss you on the cheek and thank you again, he'd probably say something about how thoughtful you are. He's actually very touched that you would go to all that effort to make something for him. It kind of makes him nostalgic for when he was a child and his mother used to knit them jumpers.

🌿 he's not exactly sure why you've done it though, it's not like you live on artillery square these days.. you could have bought anything with all the money the two of you have.

🌿still, he will wear it, inside the house, only in front of the family. And, he's already warned his brothers that if they tell anyone about the sweater, they're for it.

Alfie

🐻 Alfie finds it amusing, he unwraps the jumper and holds it up in front of his face and chuckles.

🐻 "You were feeling artistic this year my little ziskeit... well now ain't that just adorable... yeah thats what this is, fuckin adorable poppet..."

🐻 He's go on a long little speech about how beautiful it, admiring the craftsmanship, he'd ask you about the details of it, "what made you pick this colour... and why did you choose that pattern?"

🐻 He would wear it for the day, as long as it was just you and him.

🐻 Because he doesn't celebrate Christmas, he'd be at your house with your family, so of course he's going to wear it and compliment it, he doesn't want to look like a bad partner.

🐻 And if any of your family members, say you had an annoying little brother, said it was ugly or that it was a stupid gift, Alfie would stand up for you.

🐻 "Nah mate, what we have here right, what this gorgeous specimen of wool-work right here is, is a gift from the heart... and you know the thing about gifts yeah, gifts should always come from the heart."

🐻 He might also mutter something about them being a little shit. You may or may not get to hear that part.

🐻 He'd keep it safe for the next year and surprise you on Christmas morning by wearing it, "Alfie! I honestly thought you hated that thing!" "What this? Nah poppet, how could I hate something you put so much time and thought into...."

Arthur

🍂"what the fuck..." he'd breath without thinking when he first sees it. He'd be completely taken by surprise.

🍂but then he'd remember that you were right there with him and that even if this was the ugliest thing he'd ever seen, you'd made it for him

🍂so he'd cough and say something like, "I... I mean... you make this for me yourself love?" and then when you nod timidly, nervously, he'd force a big grin and act amazed.

🍂"I didn't realise how talented you were sweetheart, how'd you keep this secret eh?" he wants to know so that next time you try to surprise him with something so ugly, he can be prepared.

🍂 He would definitely wear it. He'd be embarrassed and it would be impossible for him to hide that embarrassment, his blush would be burning, but he'd wear it and he'd try to wear it proudly.

🍂 Like Tommy, it would remind him of when he was a child and his mother used to make their clothes for them. He knows it takes a lot of love and care to knit a whole jumper for someone and he'd grateful that you love him enough to invest so much time into his gift.

🍂 he probably then feels a little guilty for thinking its so ugly.

🍂 he might physically threaten Finn or John if they make a joke about how daft it looks.

John

🌼 will straight up tell you its the ugliest thing he's ever seen... he can't lie to you about it, he knows that if he doesn't say it someone else will, and also.... it may be ugly but he absolutely adores it.

🌼 in short he thinks its hilarious and pulls it on right away.

🌼 however, only he is allowed to laugh at it. If any of his brothers say anything to him about how stupid he looks wearing that "thing" he'll threaten to hit them

🌼 but there's no fighting on Christmas so a threat is all it takes. Nobody wants throttling at midnight when its technically not Christmas anymore.

🌼 he'd apologise to you for saying its ugly but he won't take it back, he'll kiss you and chuckle and say "honestly flower its so bad, I love it, I love you... thank you."

🌼 he will definitely tease you about it. "What am I getting next year? matching trousers I hope..."

🌼 he will be genuinely impressed that you managed to knit him a whole sweater thought, there will be a level of admiration and curiosity there. Next time you have your needles out he'll be watching you, trying to pretend he isn't watching you... but definitely watching you, kind of fascinated.

🌼 he'll joke that you should knit one for yourself too, then you can be matching.

Bonnie

🍀 He is so touched that you've gone to all the effort to make him something. You always give each other handmade gifts but he knows how long this will have taken you

🍀 he's pretty used to ugly sweaters... he's been getting them since he was wee, but he's really touched that you've made him one.

🍀 It definitely reminds him of his mother and the ugly handmedown sweaters he wore as a small boy, all of which had been made for his sisters by his mother, none of which suited him

🍀 He doesn't even really see it as ugly. It is ugly, everyone else can see that its fucking awful, a horrendous piece of clothing.. but Bonnie sees a sweater you knitted for him, that his little dove made just for him... so he thinks its great regardless.

🍀 of course he wears it. He wears it proudly too, tells people without any shame that you made it for him. He's genuinely incredibly pleased with it.

🍀 he will wear it every day of winter if he can get away with it.

🍀and if any of the other lads say anything to him he'll just gloat at them, "oh aye and what did your girlfriend get you eh? oh wait..."

🍀 the next year he'd try really really hard to learn how to knit so that he can make you something. You get an ugly scarf... thats a bit too long... that you have to finish off for him because he didn't really know how to do it.

Isaiah

🐀 again... he won't really be able to lie to you. Not very well at least.

🐀 he'll tell you it's lovely, but you'll be able to see straight through his awkward smile. Apart from anything else this is one of the first times you've seen him speechless. His eyes have gone wide and he's looking at the sweater like he thinks its about to bite him

🐀 "you don't have to pretend to like it Isaiah... It's pretty bad right..." you'd say with an awkward smile of your own. He'd be able to see the sadness in your eyes though, the way you're wincing and biting your lip. That would make him feel guilty so he'd shake his head and insist.

🐀 "no love, no it's perfect... you really made this all by yourself? Just for me? It must have taken you so long!" he'd try extra hard to convince you of how good it is. "Wish I could do stuff like this... you're one talented lass."

🐀 he'd wear it for five minutes. Long enough to see himself in the mirror, remember how stupid he looks in it, and then think of a genius idea.

🐀 "you know doll, you know what would look really nice? If you wore this? Come on, you know I think it's hot when you wear my clothes..."

🐀 and it does look much cuter on you... he thinks you're pretty enough to get away with wearing it. Nothing is too ugly for you, you look beautiful in everything.

🐀 makes it much easier to lie about how nice the sweater is when it's on someone as pretty as you.

Michael

☘️ He would look at it... his eyes would go wide... he'd shake his head...

☘️ he would sigh, really really trying not to say anything bad.

☘️ "well?" you'd ask nervously.

☘️ Polly would be watching with an amused smirk, but when he son still doesn't say anything she'd roll her eyes and she'd say something instead, "well isn't that just lovely Michael a homemade sweater! This looks just like the ones My sister used to knit for the boys when they were little..."

☘️ then Michael would finally find some words and cough, he'd be super awkward about it but he'd say something about how nice it was that you'd been so thoughtful

☘️ he doesn't get it though, he doesn't understand about homemade gifts being meaningful. He's a materialistic kind of lad and does wish you'd just bought him something nice from the stores.

☘️ however, he knows that if he doesn't out that sweater on and pretend its the best gift he's ever been given, Polly will twist his ear off and potentially kill him for being such an ungrateful shit.

☘️ so he'd force a smile and kiss your cheek and tell you "its marvellous love, its great, really great..." and when you ask him to try it on he will. But he won't wear it in front of Tommy and his other cousins. Actually he won't be seen wearing it by any one other than you and his mum.

☘️ he might lose it before the New Year.

[catierambles]

follow up to this

She was quiet as she lay in bed, her thigh open to the air so it could dry. The wound was ugly, dark furrows and pock marks where the holy water had eaten away at her flesh, the area around it deep red and angry, already shiny with plasma. She tensed every so often as the angry nerves acted up and hissed as it jostled the wound.

Taking the gun from his waistband, he checked the safety before popping the magazine, ejecting the round from the chamber and putting the bullet back into the magazine before sliding it back into the gun. He didn't chamber a round again, keeping it empty as he double checked the safety, putting it back into the holster behind the headboard. Never have a round chambered unless you're planning on shooting it in the near future, always treat a gun like it's loaded even if you know it isn't, never leave the safety off if you're not actively handling the weapon. Old habits from the service, but good ones to maintain.

He hadn't said anything as he worked, but he could feel her eyes on him. Once the pistol was secured, he sat down on the edge of the bed with a sigh, running a hand over his scalp. His hair was starting to get a bit long, might need to buzz it down again soon. Another old habit, but it was easier to take care of like this.

"Three years." He said, "Three fuckin' years, Annalisa, we've been together and you never thought to tell me?"

"I thought about it everyday when we started getting serious, when you started keeping some of your things here."

"Why didn't you?"

"I was scared."

"Of me?"

"Of how you would react." She said and he sighed again, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees.

"Have I ever given you the feelin' I would hurt you? Ever? About anythin'?"

"Never."

"Then why didn't you tell me?"

"I was going to."

"When?" He asked, "When it started gettin' impossible to hide? When I was old and gray and you were...exactly how you are now? Fuck, Annie."

"I'm sorry." She said and he got up, grabbing his T-shirt from the floor and putting it on, stepping into his boots without his socks and pulling the laces tight. "Where--where are you going?"

"Out for a drive." He said, "Clear my head."

"I love you." He stopped at the bedroom door but didn't say anything, leaving and closing the door behind him.

He sat in his truck for a long while, his key in the ignition but the engine quiet. He wanted to drive away, but he didn't want to take the chance of the wannabe Winchester's coming back while he wasn't there and she was injured. The sun started to rise, casting the sky in red and oranges and still he sat there. He's seen her out in the sun, he knew she had a reflection. The crucifix that had been shoved in her face hadn't seemed to do anything, but the holy water had severely burned her.

With a sigh, he got out of his truck, locking the doors and heading back into the house. He kicked off his boots in the entryway, pulling off his shirt as he walked up the stairs. His jeans were off by the time he got to the bedroom, left on the floor of the bathroom. She was laying on her side, her thigh wrapped in an ace bandage, but he could see the padding of gauze underneath. She had treated her injury herself, something he should have done for her, but he wasn't here.

Three years. He loved her, more than he's ever loved any woman he's been with. She loved him better than he's ever been loved and she was it for him. His endgame. He was even thinking about calling up his ma and asking her to send him his grandmas ring.

Sliding onto the bed, he scooted close to her and wrapped his arm around her waist, hearing her wake with a gasp.

"Shh, baby." He whispered, "It's me."

"I'm sorry."

"I know."

"I love you."

"I love you, too." Sy said, "Go back to sleep, I'll be here when you wake up. I'm not goin' anywhere."

[msallurea]

Yall are pissin me tf off

Sadly darlings I have to be the tough cookie of 2024 today...so brace yourself but do know if you have any issue with anything I say just know you may be part of the bunch that is proving my point in everything I'm about to say.

I would first like to say that everything I'm stating right now isn't directed towards anyone specifically and I'm only speaking generally but I am not about to sugarcoat when I say this post are about the anons...and unfourtanetly I have to give yall the donkey of the day. (AGAIN this isn't towards anyone specifically I'm speaking generally)

First and foremost anons, QUIT SENDING THE SAME GODDAMN QUESTIONS TO MULTIPLE LOA BLOGS!!!!KNOWING SOMEONE!! ALREADY!! ANSWERED!! YOUR!! FUCKIN!!! QUESTION!!!!!????

At first I really didn't understand what loa bloggers meant when they said that anons can sometimes be pretty annoying and honestly before really taking my loa blog seriously I never knew what they meant til now and honestly this THIS first reason is why I'm so upset with yall anons right now. While it isn't everyone it is very very VERY annoying when anons come on here and ask questions and while asking questions isn't an issue at all, IT DOES become an issue when you decide to take your ass to not just 1 not just 2 hell not even 3 but damn near EVERY! SINGLE! LOA! BLOG! YOU KNOW ASKING THEM THE SAME GODDAMN QUESTION YOU JUST ASKED THE LAST ONE and will still have the NERVE, THE FUCKIN AUDACITY, THE BRAIN CELLS to still sit up here and say "omg I don't know what to do" "I don't know how to manifest" oh and the crowd favorite "I've tried but nothing is working because..." 😑😑😑😑 loa bloggers could tell you the ABC 123 version of how to consciously apply the law and manifest your desires and you will STILL sit up there asking multiple blogs just to see if something will change in what we're saying. Honey let me tell you RIGHT NOW, everything loa blogs have said is literally the EXACT. SAME. THING the ONLY difference is how it's explained and the millions of different fonts it's written in 😑😑 and the worst part about it is that if a loa blogger decides that they don't want to tell you because they already know that YOU ALREADY KNOW THE DAMN ANSWER TO YOUR OWN QUESTION all of a sudden they're mean, they're rude, they aren't helpful, etc. Do yourself a favor AND GO TOUCH SOME GODDAMN GRASS!!

This leads me to my next point:

Loa blog or not WE! ARE! NOT! YOUR! THERAPIST!!!

I know I said I was speaking generally but this is specifically for the anons who come on here and decide to TRAUMA DUMP on loa blogs KNOWING they've already done it before. Now before yall come in my comments attacking me do understand, the problem isn't you venting and wanting someone to listen and hear your cry and you needing a slight shoulder to cry on before you can finally say enough is enough and pick yourself back up again. That isn't the problem. The problem comes in when someone who's an loa blogger who btw, unless it is said by the blogger personally that they are actually licensed for,ARE NOT THERAPIST!!! YOU ARE CONSTANTLY TRAUMA DUMPING ON THIS PERSON AND TO PUT THE CHERRY ON TOP YOURE NOT EVEN TRYING TO TAKE THE ADVICE THAT THIS PERSON HAS GIVEN YOU!! to make it even worse, it isn't just when you don't actually try the advice and listen to the help you've been given but you have the NERVE, THE AUDACITY to not only go to 1 not 2 hell not even 3 BUT MULTIPLE bloggers with this same story. Yall finna hate me for saying this but knowing that I too was once this way I don't give a fuck how yall feel about this because you NEED to hear it: STOP LOOKING FOR SOMEBODY TO FUCKING BABY YOU!! IF YOURE NOT GONNA ACTUALLY TAKE THE ADVICE GIVEN QUIT TRYING TO DRAG OTHERS IN YOUR DAMN SOB STORY!! YES YOU MAY BE A VICTIM TO YOUR HARDSHIPS BUT YOU ARE NOT! A! DAMN! VICTIM! WITH HOW YOU CHOOSE TO HANDLE IT AFTER RECIEVING HELP. STOP FUCKING CHASING ATTENTION!! STOP TRYING TO MAKE OTHERS FEEL SORRY FOR YOU!! AND GO ACTUALLY HELP YOURSELF!!

This leads me in with my final point and honestly I think this one has pissed me off more than anything in the world and actually ties in with what I said in my first point.

While I love and admire all anons because of course there was a point in time where your fav loa blogs you see now living there dream life amd have there success stories and what not were once like you where they too struggled and had there ups and downs with the law of assumption...these many different blogs took time out of there life to commit to helping you guys so just like them, you can live your dream life as well. They have created countless post and advice and tips and even the cutest fun ideas to make consciously applying the law daily a super fun and cute experience all the time no matter the situation....with this being said, if you as a anon are looking to find out how to manifest your dream life or whatever desire, and you fix you FUCKING FINGERS TO TYPE IN VERBATIM "I don't feel like going through all these post" and "omg that's too much work" and "I'm not reading all that" and "I don't feel like going through that masterlist" ....while literally not only the question you're asking has already been answered for you SO THE ANSWER TO YOUR QUESTION IS FUCKING AVAILABLE but I've seen time and time again of loa blogs showing anons where to find the info they are looking for, not only is it for FREE but it is also WRITTEN OUT AS SIMPKE AS POSSIBKE SO YOU CAN UNDERSTAND AND YOU FIX YOUR DAMN FINGERS AND SAY YOU DONT FEEL LIKE GOING THROIGH ALL THAT. Let me just be the tough loving logical one out the bunch and say to anyone who is in fact like this: YOU!! ARE!! FUCKING!! STUPID!! AND YOU DO NOT DESERVE THE HELP YOU ARE RECIEVING FROM THESE BLOGS ...at least not for free and honestly your wasting not only the bloggers time BUT YOURS AS WELL. If you seriously don't wanna take out a couple minutes to really get the gist of the law FOR YOUR DAMN SAKE BECAUSE YOURE THE ONE WHO IS "STRUGGLING TO MANIFEST" FOR THE LOVE OF GOD JUST LEAVE THE DAMN COMMUNITY. I'm not saying that you being here isn't your right but if you're here just to be here and to just follow a trend and complain to others while at the same time being LAZY ASF not even TRYING to truly better yourself and your life by USING THE KNOWLEDGE GIVEN..seriously you are quite literally worse than a lazy person YOU. ARE. AT. THE. BOTTOM OF BOTTOMS!!!! At least someone who is lazy can work themselves to be a bit productive by tweaking what they know to suit who they are as a person so it works for them...but if you're really about to come on this loa blogs pages ans don't do ahit but mindlessly scroll, criticize, shame them, judge them for THERE MANIFESTATION JOURNEYS, constantly asking questions you ALREADY KNOW THE ANSWERS TO AND WILL STILL HAVE THE AUDACITY TO NOT APPLY IT!! With all due respect fuck you. Like deadass. Because you're not really hurting the bloggers you're hurting yourself and dont sit up there coming and crying in these loa bloggers asks talking about "my life is just so miserable" "nothing is working" "I'm so sick of everything I'm just gonna leave" ..knowing GODDAMN WELL YOU DIDNT EVEN TRY TO APPLY THE LAW EVER SINCE YOU STARTED AND JUST OVERCONSUMED EVERYDAY TIL YOU WERE TIRED AND READY TO DO IT ALL OVER AGAIN TOMORROW. Like real shit this is NOT FUCKIN FUNNY AT ALL, loa bloggers have a life and are human JUST. LIKE. YOU. We are NOT your parents, your babysitters or your heros. We are simoky people who found the law just like you, applied the information given and actually succeeded just as you could to if you STOP FUCKING PLAYING AROUND.

The most sickening part is that yall expect loa blogs to baby yall and be all soft with yall. Honestly this doesnt even just apply to situations with loa bloggers but also many other blogs specifically self help and beauty blogs and really any blog that gives advice on certain aspects of life you may or may not need help in, want to enhance or are interested in...literally bloggers being nice isn't the problem. The problem is when loa blogs like myself and others help you and you do absolutely NOTHING and eventually when we get to a point of no longer wanting to help you because we already know that you know exactly what you have to do...then you wanna have THE GODDAMN NERVE to disrespect them and calling them all kinds of things all because your little ass ego was hurt and you can't handle the truth. NOBODY IS ABOUT TO DO SHIT FOR YOU THIS IS WHY YOU WANT WHAT YOU WANT AND NOT THE OTHER WAY AROUND. SO QUIT BEING SO GODDAMN VICTIMISING AND ACTUALLY GIVE YOURSELF A FUCKING REALITY CHECK!!

Ima be 100, I genuinely could've said WAY more in this but ima just say this for now because it's plenty of yall anons who either needed to heat this or you've witness anons like this and this is also for any loa blogs or just helpful bloggers in general who take time out of there life to come on here and share you knowledge to the world in hopes that it may help others as well as enhance your growth in your own journey. Bloggers I completely understand that with what you do naturally we help but PLEASE for the love of God we are in 2024 ..I dont want to be a mean person but in all honesty, if you're running into anons like this that genuinely fit the description please just block them or something. You as a blogger are a person as well, yes you help others when they are in need of assistance and guidance but because you are a person who needs help sometimes too...please don't forget that YOUR PEACE, YOUR SANITY is just as important that person you're helping amd do not forget. And to the anons that hopefully don't fit into anything I've said above, thank you so much for supporting loa blogs as well as other helpful blogs such as mine and many others. Yall are the reason why we do this despite if the foundation of it is to improve ourselves, knowing that we inspire others is why we continue to do what we do and why spreading our knowledge of things we've learned is all the more valuable and for that, for THOSE anons, on behalf of loa blogs WE FUCKIN LUVS YOUUUUUU💗💗💗🎀🎀🎀

Xoxo, Ms. Allurèa

[whimsicalmonstrosity]

Full Revenge For an Empty Trade

There was a procedure for when certain friends of Gamzee's didn't answer texts or calls in a timely manner. It wasn't that Gamzee was a fretting Franny or a nervous Nelly. Gam just had a bad habit of...bad habits and Gamzee put it on himself to help keep an eye on Gam. Not only that, but he had questions he had to ask before he forgot them.

After teleporting to Gam's front door, Gamzee sees a trail of purple from the opened doorway that leads directly into the sea. He quickly steps in, expecting the worst and unfortunately, this time, he sees what he feared. Gam is lying in a pool of black and purple blood, completely still. At first he wants to check on him, but the ones who did this are getting away and fast. He's conflicted and decides to do a quick and sloppy stitch job to at least hold his torso closed. just 10 minutes of work before he gets up and starts sniffing for the culprit. He finds a scent of sea water, old wood, fish, and gold. PIRATES.

The yellow of his eyes shift to orange, and then red as he angrily follows the trail, ripping his shirt off. His wings erupt from his back and he glides across the air over the ocean, eyes scanning the surface for anything. He KNOWS who did this and he just has to-- he spots a pirate ship heading the opposite direction and a growl emits from his throat as he descends. Just as the pirates are about to dock, he hits the deck with his heels. Before any of the crew on deck can act, he brings out one of his swords he never gets to use and starts slicing off limbs and thrusting the sword into throats. Is it really fair for him to kill 3 or 4 for one brother who might just get up again a day later? Leave the morality to someone else, this is business. What good are pirates for anyway? He paints the deck with blood, his wings having retreated back into him. He sniffs around, so angry that he's grinning. "Where's the captain? I JUST WANNA MOTHER FUCKIN' TALK." Another poor crewmate, who hadn't been smart enough to flee with the others once they settled at a port, stood their ground. "Get OFF OUr SHIP, C-Clown!" Their voice shakes as their nerves get the better of them. Gamzee has no remorse or concern and grips the smaller troll by the throat, flinging them off the ship into the water with relative ease. He glowers around the deck, "Now where's the runt running this raggedy run down romp slomp?" Then, he stomps towards the big door at the center of the ship and he snarls, it twisting into an ugly grin as he tries the handle. "OH- locked? WELLLLL SHIIIIIT, however will I--" He scoffs and punches the door in the same place 5 times in until his hand busts through to unlock the door. He sniffs through the new hole in the door and even peeks in. He can smell Gam's blood and the origin of the faint scent he caught near Gam's body. The captain glares at him, bloody spear in hand. She threatens him that she'll send him to his Brother if he doesn't back off. The door is kicked and Gamzee's arm is sliced by the broken wood of the door. Once he loosens himself from it, he doesn't stop the captain from stabbing him in the neck. In fact, he takes it by the handle and slips it in more, proving a point. He uses his still developing power of healing using his voodoos. He slowly heals the wound closed as she abandons the spear for her guns. He doesn't hesitate to bring his wings back out, which startles the pirate. As she tries ascending to the Crow's Nest of the ship, Gamzee flies up, trying and failing to dodge all bullets. He launches at her and knocks her down onto the deck once more, knocking the wind out of her. More insults and gunfire happens before Gamzee gets tired of this game. He keeps teasing her, saying when Gam gets better, they'll LAUGH at what a dumb bitch she was for going after a Gamzee Makara. It falls on mostly deaf ears as she just keeps trying to shoot him. The purpleblood scoops her up and flies to the Crow's Nest, weaving and shaking her to throw off her aim, which just makes her drop her gun. She uses her sword to swing at him and hits him enough to let her go. "ah fuck-" He dodges the sword when she tosses it towards him and watches her fall 80 feet head first onto her deck. Once he figures she's dead, he kneels and scoffs again. "Flimsy fragile motherfuckin' bitches." In his hand goes right through her abdomen, tearing her apart from the inside out. She taunts her corpse as he mangles and rips her into many pieces before finally ripping her head from her body, snapping it from her spine. He pikes it and stabs the sharp end of the spear he used into the board of the deck. "YA CAPTAIN'S MOTHER FUCKIN' DEAD, YO. COME GET THAT MONEY." He's past the point of revenge now, having not only slaughtered her, but humiliated her in the process. Gamzee slaps her cheek before licking up her face to clean her bronze blood off it. Was it an intimidation factor for those watching from the docks? Or was he just feeling a type of way right now? Who knows.

"DON'T FUCK WITH GAMZEE MAKARA CUZ THIS WHAT HAPPENS. think you can take me on? NO. you ain't shit." Gamzee ignores the pictures being taken and flies off, heading right back for Gam's hive, his chest heaving and his hands still covered in bronze blood. He swoops down and runs his hands into the sea water to clean them off a bit as he approaches the shore of the beach. Once back, he runs into the hive and drops to his knees, shaking as he starts putting Gam back together the best he can, seeing he's missing some organs. He hisses to himself as he tries his best using both physical mending tools and his healing voodoos. He continues until his head starts hurting. After a while, Gamzee finishes and frowns, concerned that Gam isn't stirring yet. When he lifts his head to see the mess around, there's another trail of purple and black leading away from Gam and into one of the rooms. He cautiously follows the trail and opens the door, frowning.

Laying there is someone he remembers from visiting the bubbles. Someone he wasn't EVER expecting to see while awake. A horrorterror Gamzee. He sees his leg is severed, yet it doesn't explain just how in the FUCK he was laying unconscious right there in person-- Gamzee glances back over at Gam's body, his ears drooping downward. This...wasn't going to be easy for anyone involved.

[burning-fcols]

Travis can't help it. He doesn't like what he's seeing & why should he? Anthony was practically hanging all over that cat looking guy! Drooling by the looks of it! It stirs something ugly in the pit of his stomach & a growl bubbles from the back of his throat. Yes, Angel is a porn star, yes he was bound to flirt. But to where he could see it? When it wasn't even for work? That guy looked like he was getting genuine flirts & that alone wasn't fucking fair! After all he cared for Anthony. Was even going so far as to having his back during a tough work day & this was what he got to see in turn? Hands are clenched into tight fists as he waits until the other guy left the scene before striding up to Angel, looking clearly torn between angry & just disappointed. "You've got some fucking nerve. Who is he, huh?" ( uh-oh :'3 -sends another jelly bean- ) - ✧ ˖ ˙ 「 @Qᴜᴇꜱᴛɪᴏɴᴀʙʟᴇᴍᴜꜱᴇꜱ 」 ˙ ˖ ✧

「 ☆ 」 Ever since that first after-work conversation with Travis— a genuine, surprisingly non-creepy one —things have been changing between them. Not intentionally; Angel is smart enough not to seek a listening ear from the guy whose life mission is to get back in the porn star’s pants. That’s just asking for obnoxious attempts at manipulation. But Travis is a persistent sort. Only lately, his relentlessness has reared its head in ways that DON’T make Angel want to rip out the other’s feathers. Who would have thought Travis could be kinda sweet when not drooling all over the place? In a way that, reluctant as Angel is to fully believe it, doesn’t seem fake.

Still laced with selfish intent ( as things always are ) but— crazy as it sounds —it feels more like he’s being romanced than seduced. As if the crazy avian thinks he has a shot at MORE than another fuck. As if Angel could ever be allowed to pursue more, even if he wanted to. Which he doesn’t. He can’t. Not letting himself entertain such stupid hypotheticals, Angel had tried to leave such troubles BEHIND him along with the work day. But apparently, he wouldn't be allowed even that reprieve.

Startling at the unexpected newcomer, Angel abruptly stops before he can follow Husk through the doors of the hotel. Having ran into the bartender taking a breather outside— needing to get away from whatever bat-shittery was going on in the lobby —Angel hadn't wasted the opportunity for good-natured flirting banter. Hoping to distract himself from the headache of a Director he THOUGHT he left behind and fervently trying to ignore how his actions felt more playful than serious. How interacting with Husk ( despite being a comfort ) didn't elicit the same... confusing tightness in Angel's chest. One would think that'd be a good thing.

It's not.

Tensing, he rolls his eyes with a mutter of ❝ Stai scherzando, cazzo. ❞ before sharply turning on his heel to face Travis. Speaking louder so the other can hear, fur bristles as he emits an indignant scoff and dryly retorts, ❝ Oh— I've got some fuckin' nerve? Big talk comin' from th' STALKA' on my fuckin' doorstep. ❞ Fists clenched at his sides, one arm dramatically sweeps across himself as if motioning in the direction of the V Tower, ❝ What, suffocatin' me durin' work ain't good enough fer ya anymore? You gotta stick yer beak inta my business here 'cause I won't let ya stick yer dick inta my ass THERE? ❞

Bitterly barking out a laugh, Angel crosses his arms and questions through a sardonic smile, ❝ Or are ya here on ❛ official bus'ness ❜ ? Hmm? Y'doin' th' Vees dirty work like a loyal li'l bitch? Did one of THEM send ya here ta ruin my fuckin' night. ❞ Frankly, he doubts it. If Valentino wanted something, his phone would be blowing up. Vox likely would have sent one of his other assistants. Someone less liable to get distracted from the task at hand... and Velvette isn't the type to work through people who aren't directly under HER influence. But Angel spats out the accusation regardless, hoping to remind Travis exactly WHAT connects them.

They both happen to belong to the same shitty group of people. Nothing more.

He purposely ignores the question about Husk— he's not about to throw around specific names to someone with a jealous demeanor and access to Valentino —hoping to throw Travis off-balance enough for him to neglect to realize he didn't actually get an answer. 「 ☆ 」