#i think its 'why the fuck are you kicking him out' but who can say

[sephirthoughts]

Vincent's New Kid Just Dropped CH 15: (fucking finally)

prev. chap here

back in the present, sort of ollie-centric, reeve is bewildered, nero gets several surprises in a row

RATING: teen and up there are several swears

WARNINGS: baby drooling a lot, giant spiders

NOTES: er-ge (ahr-guh): second elder brother, gege (guh-guh): elder brother affectionate. ollie's baby babble uses these terms

this man needs several lifetimes of vacations

darkness tentacles cause i think they're neat

“Stop that,” Sephiroth scolded. “What are you doing?” 

“I’m getting some juice,” Nero replied.

“If you want something, ask politely.” 

“Why is it more polite to ask someone else to pass me something, when I can get it myself?” 

“Because it’s rude to reach across the breakfast table with your disgusting tentacles.”

Cid, who had never heard Sephiroth sound even mildly annoyed since he’d begun constantly being here, looked up from his bowl of eggs and rice. “What’s goin’ on, you two?”

“My brother is jealous because I slept with our father,” Nero cheerfully announced, as one of his darkness tendrils poured juice into his glass, from the carafe.

Cloud choked on his coffee, Ollie burbled gleefully, and Vincent pretended not to hear any of it, from behind the week-old edition of the Wutai Times, he was reading. 

“Don’t say ambiguous things to intentionally cause misunderstandings,” Sephiroth said, tugging the carafe from the tentacle’s grasp.

“You know, Sephi had a duel with my brother Weiss, once,” Nero intimated to Cloud.

“Your older brothers fought each other?” Cloud asked curiously. “I didn’t know that. When?”

“It was years ago, when Weiss was sixteen. Shinra broadcast it on live television.”

“Holy shit. How’d that go?” 

“Sephi was the favorite to win, but Weiss nearly killed him,” Nero smiled beatifically. “In the end, he had to cheat. Isn’t that right, Sephi?”

“What did I just say about intentionally causing misunderstandings?” Sephiroth replied flatly. “You are mischaracterizing the situation.” 

“Oh? Then do correct me.” 

“I never wanted to fight Weiss. I was called back from an important mission and forced to participate in a product demonstration, for the executives. Hojo deceived him and used an implanted control chip, which was the product, to cripple him, halfway through the fight. The point was to demonstrate its effectiveness to the board.”

“And how very effective it was,” Nero sneered. “By the way, did you know that Genesis visited us, in Deepground, before the fight? He sparred with Weiss, and gave him tips on how to beat you. He said it was time you were knocked down a peg.”

Sephiroth’s brow knit and his jaw tensed, but he ignored the taunt, and spooned some cubed peaches into Ollie’s bowl. 

“Nero, that’s enough,” Vincent’s deep voice said from behind the newspaper. “No reason to needle your brother’s old wounds.”

“Sorry, father,” Nero replied dutifully.

“I liked it better when you sulked in your bedroom all day,” Sephiroth muttered.

Breakfast continued in silence, but for Ollie’s cooing and babbling, and the occasional rustle of Vincent turning the page of his paper. All the while, unobserved by anyone, a spider-silk-thin strand of darkness had been creeping along under the dining table, climbing the leg of the baby’s high chair, like a vine.

Now, it slithered up and coiled around a chubby ankle, disappearing inside a lavender sock. Ollie gave a loud squeal and kicked her legs, but when Sephiroth looked, assuming she’d dropped some peaches into her lap, there was nothing amiss. 

“Are you all done, Ollie?” Cloud asked. “You want to go play?”

“Mama,” Ollie agreed, reaching out her little hands, which were dripping sticky peach juice. 

Nero rested his chin in his palm “Why does she call you mama, when Sephi is clearly the maternal one?” 

“Uh…” Cloud looked at Sephiroth, who was carefully cleaning the baby’s face and hands with a damp cloth, while she wiggled and refused to cooperate. “Who knows. Maybe because I’m small?”

“Why are you so small?”

“You know we’re the same size, right?”

“Yes, but I was born in prison, and suffered from severe malnutrition, as a child.”

“I was malnourished, too. Grew up poor, with no father, in a tundra climate. My mother and I hunted, as much as we could, but…we weren’t welcome in the men’s hunting parties. They’d clear out most of the small game, before we got a chance. Got pretty rough. Especially in winter.”

“So, it was just you and your mother against the world,” Nero sighed. “You must miss her.”

Sephiroth stood abruptly and left the room.

“Why do you have to say shit like that?” Cloud said irritably, after he’d gone. “You know it’s a sensitive subject.”

Nero looked genuinely taken aback. “I was only asking casually. I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s fine. Whatever. Come on, Ollie. Let’s go find gege and we’ll all play a game.” So saying, Cloud gathered up the squirming baby and left the dining room. 

“I know you didn’t intend to be malicious,” Vincent said, folding up his paper. “Just be more careful, from now on.”

Nero crossed his arms sullenly. “I was being careful. No matter what I say, it’s wrong.”

“How d’you think Sephiroth’s gonna act, when you been primin’ him with all that shit talk?” Cid pointed out. “He’s got no reason to give ya the benefit of the doubt.”

“He’s just too sensitive,” Nero groused. “I don’t cry about it, if people mention the horrible things I’ve done. I don’t care.”

“But he does care,” Cid said. “He ain’t you. Can’t judge other people by how you feel.”

“People are so confusing,” Nero said dolefully.

“Tell me about it,” Vincent snorted. “I’ve spent my entire life trying to learn how to interact with other humans, to little avail. I’m afraid I’m still as lost as you are.”

The doorbell rang just then, and Cid got up, tossing his napkin into his bowl. “That oughta be Reeve.”

Vincent nodded. “Go ahead. I’ll join you once I’ve cleaned up, in here.”

“I’ll do it,” Nero said, at which both men turned and stared at him. He scowled. “What? I’m not an idiot, I can figure out how to deal with a few dishes.”

“Well…alright,” Vincent said tentatively. “Thank you, Nero.”

Still looking understandably dubious, the two men exited the dining room. 

Rather than get up to begin clearing the table, Nero remained sitting exactly as he was. Instead, several dozens of darkness tendrils snaked out of his skin markings, waving and wriggling, like the fronds on nightmare anemones. 

At a thought from him, they descended upon the table in a writhing swarm, and sucked up every item: plates, bowls, coffee cups, half-full glasses of juice, even the napkins and silverware. 

Having enveloped everything, the tendrils darted off to the kitchen, with lumps of various shapes visible in their ‘throats’, as if they were pythons that had swallowed prey. Only the prey was shaped like forks and mugs and bowls, and the like. 

The leftover food and other refuse never reappeared, but the flatware and dishware were all spit back out, into their proper places in the cupboards and drawers; every single item sparkling clean, as if they’d all been scoured and polished (which they had been, by the ravenous darkness of the all-consuming void).

The entire process took about sixty seconds, and that was only because the tentacles didn’t know where everything went, and had to figure it out by trial and error. Meanwhile, a few of the larger ones slithered all over the table, leaving it immaculate, as well, while Nero sat perfectly still, apparently in deep concentration.

His mind was not on the mundane task, however, which the tentacles were perfectly able to complete without his attention, but on his father. Despite his taunting Sephiroth with it, he was still reeling inwardly, from the flying lesson in the rain, with Chaos, the other day. And even more so from having awakened, the next morning, to find he’d been sleeping in his father’s arms. 

His knee-jerk reaction was anger, with himself, to have been so weak and vulnerable, in front of the man. But he couldn’t deny that he was moving closer to his goal. The red-cloaked bastard was even beginning to trust him, a little. His reaction when Nero upset Sephiroth, just now, was proof enough that he at least wasn’t considering him guilty till proven innocent.

Though, to be fair, Vincent never treated Nero that way. From the moment he set foot in this house, he was pretty much unsupervised. They’d even let him go out to a grocery store full of civilians. Since he was finished cleaning up, he sent a few thread-thin tendrils slinking into the living room, to listen in.

“Good to see ya, Reeve,” Cid’s voice was saying.

“Thank you for coming,” Vincent’s added. 

“Anything for you two,” replied a pleasant, mature, male voice. “Sorry it took me a couple of days to get here. I was in Midgar, with Rufus, putting together a redevelopment plan for the city’s infrastructure. It’s going to be a hell of a lot of work.”

Cid sounded dubious. “Why do you look so happy about it?”

“Well…I love my job. I mean, my real job as an engineer, now that i don’t have to be Shinra’s single voice of sanity. Rebuilding is going to keep a lot of people employed, for many years, and the result will be a safer, cleaner place for everyone to live. What’s not to be happy about?”

“You’re a weird dude, Reeve,” Cid observed. 

“Yeah, I get that a lot,” Reeve laughed.

“Nothing wrong with being weird,” Vincent’s low-toned voice put in. “Nero, if you’re going to eavesdrop, anyway, you may as well come in here and meet our guest.”

Shit. Busted. 

Having no choice, now, Nero retracted his spy tentacles and went gloomily to the living room. The visitor looked pretty much exactly like he’d sounded. A tall, forty-something man, with greying, dark-brown hair and a neatly kept beard. A little older than his picture in the Shinra company directory, but good looking, overall.

“You must be Nero,” he said. “I’m Reeve Tu—”

“I know who you are, Director Tuesti,” Nero cut him off icily. “What’s a Shinra dog doing in my father’s house?”

“Sorry, Reeve,” Vincent interposed. “Nero wasn’t aware that you’re a friend. Nero, Reeve is with the WRO now, not Shinra. And even when he was, he worked with us and helped us.”

“Reeve, hey,” Cloud’s voice said, from the hallway arch, as he came in, carrying Ollie. “Been a while.”

“Oh, Cloud, it’s good to see you,” Reeve answered cheerfully, then his expression changed and he went white as a sheet, stumbling backward. “S—Sephiroth! Sephiroth’s right behind you!”

“It’s alright,” Vincent said, materializing beside him, to steady him on his feet. “He’s not here to make trouble.”

“You’re…serious,” Reeve faltered, looking around at the perfectly calm group. “What exactly is going on? How is he here?”

“Uh. This is going to take some explaining,” Cloud said. “You may want to sit down.”

Nero was pretty curious as to how Sephiroth was here, too. From what he could tell, the man wasn’t really alive. He was full of the planet’s pure life force, though, which made no sense at all. Dead things can’t interact with the Planet's energy.

Thus, he listened attentively, while in a clear, concise, and perfectly calm manner, Sephiroth related the entire story to Reeve, in broad strokes:

Jenova’s control over him, his madness and death, his becoming conscious in the lifestream, with no memory left but for those Jenova hadn’t torn away, which were all of hatred and pain. His eventual overpowering of her will. His confrontation with Cloud in the ruins of Shinra Tower, using the life force of the remnants, to manifest himself. 

Then his fight for his very existence, when Chaos and Omega awakened, and how, after they returned to the Planet, he was forcibly rejected from the lifestream. How Cloud found him, how they reached an accord of forgiveness, and how the dormant seed of love, buried deep in both their hearts, sprouted again. 

“It’s a new seed,” Cloud interjected. 

“What?” Reeve asked, bewildered.

“Seph claims the seed was already there, for him, but it wasn’t, for me. It’s a new seed.”

“So you say, now,” Sephiroth returned. “I happen to know that you were already in love with me, when we first met.”

“Yeah, the idea of you. Not the very real asshole you turned out to be.”

Sephiroth tossed his head. “I was not an asshole. Not until the incident.”

“Either way, the main point is that Sephiroth is sane, now,” Cloud said to Reeve. “Oh, shit, I forgot to explain why he’s here, specifically. He’s Vincent’s son.”

Reeve nearly fell over again, despite being seated on the sofa. “He—he’s what?”

“Sephiroth is my biological son,” Vincent confirmed, from where he was leaning against the wall, with his arms crossed. 

Reeve passed a hand over his brow. “So, you have three children? Two of whom are augmented former Shinra personnel?”

“That we know of. Hojo used my DNA to conceive Sephiroth before I died, and Nero afterward. There’s no telling how many others he made.”

“Sephiroth wasn’t conceived…you know. The traditional way?”  

Vincent didn’t answer. 

“Uh. Sorry,” Reeve said sheepishly. “That was a weird question.”

“Speakin’ of weird, why’d ya bring the cat-bot?” Cid piped up.

“She has the database you wanted.”

Cid squinted at the perpetually cheerful-looking feline robot. “Uh…she?”

“Why don’t we go out to Cid’s workshop, to talk about this,” Vincent cut in. “I’m sure the boys are tired of listening to us old men.”

This was an obvious excuse, since it had been Sephiroth doing most of the talking, but it was good enough. Carrying the cat-bot on his shoulder, Reeve followed the pair out the back door.

“So, you are some kind of ghost,” Nero said to Sephiroth, when they were gone. “That explains a lot of things.”

“I am not a ghost,” Sephiroth replied tranquilly. “My original body was destroyed, but I never died. This body is just as real. It’s made of physical matter and sustained by my will, as well as the Planet’s life force. Technically, I am more alive than you are.”

“Unless your connection is severed,” Nero said, narrowing his eyes shrewdly. “Right?”

“Nero, don’t,” Cloud warned.

“But I wonder, is it enough to be remembered? Or must you also be loved?”

Sephiroth’s eyes flashed. “What are you implying?”

“You say your body is sustained by your will, but is that true? Is it not actually…his will?” Nero turned his scarlet eyes on Cloud. 

“Mama,” Ollie put in helpfully. 

“All the pain he caused,” Nero went on. “All the destruction and suffering and death, and still, you didn’t let go. No matter what atrocities he committed, you couldn’t make yourself let go of him. Could you.”

Sephiroth opened his mouth to say something, but Cloud interrupted. “No. I couldn’t.”

Nero’s catlike pupils dilated imperceptibly. “And you don’t regret it, do you. Even knowing that you holding onto him, acting as his tether to existence, cost thousands of human lives.”

Cloud’s blue eyes were glistening, but he set his jaw defiantly. “No. I don’t regret it. Not for a goddamn minute.”

“I think…I'm beginning to understand you, Cloud Strife. We are both people whose love outweighs every other consideration, including so-called righteousness and morality.”

“Love makes its own law. Isn't that what you believe?”

“It is. I'm glad to know that you believe it, too. For my brother's sake.”

Nero turned to go upstairs, but at that moment, he felt something he hadn’t, in a long time. It was a tug! Through the darkness! It was extremely faint, almost undetectable, but it was a tug! That was the way Weiss used to connect to him, he’d never mistake it! 

He stopped where he was, breathless, quivering with anticipation, every nerve fiber on high alert, waiting to feel it again. Unfortunately, Ollie had begun jabbering loudly in Cloud’s arms, and it was quickly evolving into a fussy noise, which was frustratingly distracting. Nero needed to go to his room, where he had at least marginal privacy. 

He stepped onto the bottom stair, but as he did, he felt the tug again, and froze in place. This time he caught hold of it, and connected to the darkness. The world around him dissolved into inky blackness.

“Weiss! Weiss!” he shouted, into the formless void. “Brother, where are you! I felt your pull and I came! Brother! Weiss!!”

As he was calling out for his brother, he felt a tickling sensation and looked down. There, at his ethereal feet, grabbing at his shin with its forelegs, was a black spider, the size of a housecat.

Its legs were rather stubby, its carapace was covered with thick, plushy, black fuzz, and its eight crimson eyes were too large, in proportion to its head. The result was that it looked weirdly adorable, despite being an abyssal abomination. 

Nero curled his lip in disgust, shaking the thing off his spirit projection’s leg. “What the fuck are you? Why are you here?”

The big, glowing eyes blinked stupidly up at him, but he felt a wave of exuberantly friendly intent, coming from it, as it reached up and began to prod him with its palps, again. It must be a juvenile, and unable to communicate in more complex terms. That would explain its inane cuteness.

“But how did something so small and stupid escape from Chaos, and get into my void?” he asked, rhetorically. 

The thing kept batting his shin and shooting waves of idiotic enthusiasm at him. 

“I’m looking for my brother. You haven’t seen him, have you?”

When he said the word ‘brother’, he felt a strong pulse of affectionate intent, from the thing, and its forelegs smacked him even more excitedly. 

For half a second, he almost thought the creature might be Weiss, but dismissed that idea, immediately. Weiss wasn’t a spider, on the other side, and this thing was made of darkness, like him. It was probably just some random anomaly, generated by Chaos.

“Why don’t you go away?” he said irritably. “I’m here to look for Weiss, I don’t need any annoyances tagging along.”

The thing stopped jabbing at him, pushed itself up on its hind legs, then toppled theatrically onto its back, where it proceeded to flail its legs about, exuding unbearable woe, as if nine generations of its ancestors had been wronged. 

“Fine, whatever. You can hang around with me, just don’t make any noise,” Nero said, as his body warped and expanded, swiftly becoming the massive, nightmare spider of the void. “And don’t annoy me, or I’ll toss you out of here.”

The little spider vibrated with joy as it skittered up one of his enormous legs, and positioned itself happily on top of his head. It was physically impossible, of course, for a thing the size of a cat to traverse his planet sized body, but this was the void, and they were conceptual beings. When he grew, the little spider grew, in direct proportion, so it still seemed the same size, relative to him.

For time untold, the colossal spider traversed the endless darkness, with the little spider perched atop his head, searching desperately for any trace of Weiss. But no matter how he called out to him, there was no answer. No sign of his light, to be found. 

Sensing his deep dejection, the little spider (who he’d entirely forgotten about, till that moment) wiggled its legs and radiated comfort, like a miniature hot-water bottle. Or an impossibly titanic hot-water bottle, depending on one’s perspective.

“Maybe he’s not strong enough, to keep up the connection, and had to drop it right away,” Nero sighed, as he shrank back down to his humanoid form. “All I can do is wait, and hope he’ll reach out again soon.”

The cat-sized spider on top of his head patted his face sympathetically, with two fuzzy, clawed forelegs. He pulled the thing off and set it on the (purely metaphorical) ground. 

“I’m going, now. I don’t know how you got in, but don’t wander around this place, alone. You could get lost.”

The thing bucked up and waved its pedipalps, sending an impression that it understood. With a nod, Nero winked out of the void.

In the material world, he was still standing with one foot on the bottom stair, and no more than a few seconds had passed. Ollie was yowling and Cloud was trying to soothe her, while Sephiroth hurried away to warm a bottle. 

“It’s ok, Ollie, gege will come back in minute,” Cloud reasoned.

“Ah-guh,” she wailed piteously. “Ah-guh guh guh!”

“I think she wants you,” Cloud said to Nero, who looked back with a sneer. 

“How can you tell any of that drool-machine’s noises apart? Half the blabbering she does sounds like that.”

“Guh! Guh! Ahhh-guhhh!” Ollie howled, even louder, stretching her little hands toward him and struggling in Cloud’s arms. 

Nero almost laughed at the stupidness of her stubby arms and legs flailing about, but then he was struck dead-on by a sensation like stepping off a short stair, and finding it’s a cliff. 

“Oh, fuck. Chaos is going to fucking kill me.”

Cloud didn’t hear him, over Ollie’s howling. “What?” 

“I said…I’ll h���hold her,” Nero managed to make himself pronounce aloud.

“Are you sure?” Cloud asked, doubtfully.

“Yes. Just give her to me,” Nero said, sticking his arms out, and trying not to grimace too obviously.

The squirming bundle was pushed into his arms and Cloud adjusted his grip to the proper position, before he let go. There. He was doing it. He was holding a human infant. There would almost certainly be some horrifying or disgusting consequences, but—

“Hey, it worked,” Cloud said. “She stopped crying.”

“Ah-guh,” Ollie’s suspiciously chipper voice squeaked, close to his ear. 

Nero realized he’d had his eyes shut and opened them. Cloud was grinning smugly, and Sephiroth was standing beside Cloud, with the bottle, thunderstruck.

“What are you doing?”

“Holding my baby sister,” Nero retorted. “What does it look like?”

“But…why?”

“I thought it sounded like she wanted him to,” Cloud explained. “Seems like I was right.”

“Gege, ah-guh, mamamamama,” Ollie babbled, grabbing handfuls of Nero's long, jet-black hair.

Nero very clearly and distinctly felt impressions of Sephiroth, himself, and then Cloud, as she made each of the sounds. “So, you really are calling him mama. Huh.”

“Ah-ah-ah guh-guh-guh,” she said, and blithely stuffed a chubby fistful of his hair into her mouth. 

“Cut it out, gremlin!” Nero protested. “I don’t want your gross slobber in my hair!”

Ollie looked at him solemnly, then spat out the lock of hair with an explosive ‘pffbbbt!’, spraying drool all over his face.

He stood frozen, blinking in stupefaction, while Cloud nearly went blue stifling his laughter.

“Well, I couldn’t possibly separate you two, now,” Sephiroth said. “You’ve clearly bonded.”

Nero glowered at him, as darkness tendrils snaked out and indignantly cleaned the drool from his face, which made Ollie squeal delightedly. Before anyone could react, she grabbed one and yanked joyously on it.

“No, Ollie, don’t!” Cloud exclaimed, but Sephiroth stopped him. 

“It won’t harm her. She’s a child of Chaos.”

“And I wouldn’t let it, anyway,” Nero scowled. “What do you think of me?”

Cloud squinted. “Uh…do you really want to know?” 

Nero ignored him.

Sure enough, the tentacle appeared to have no ill will toward the infant. It just lay there, wriggling helplessly, as Ollie held onto it with both hands and gnawed on it with her pink gums, like corn on the cob. It looked rather disturbing, but the upside was, no matter how much she drooled all over it, the tendril would just absorb it, so it was far less messy than all her usual chew toys (which included but were not limited to, her actual teething rings, her other toys, her own hands, and people’s clothing and hair, especially Sephiroth’s).

“Well, it looks like Ollie has a new favorite,” Cloud sighed. “I guess I’m just an old shoe, now.” 

“Nonsense,” Sephiroth reassured him. “If you were an old shoe, she’d be chewing on you, right now.”

[dauntingdeclan]

tk takes exception to torts getting kicked out of the game

PHI v TBL 3.9.24

[robotpanties]

uuuuuhhh no reason just wanna see the robot get preggers because nobody is really taking advantage of the narrative consequences of the robots of ULTRAKILL having fleshy bits inside them (in my humble opinion hahahaha...hahaha....hah....). Anywhosen also a sucker for general Bad End especially when it involves a psycho-sexual (breeding) binding to a greater entity but also I wanna see the murder-robot get knocked up. And the galaxy brain bit of this is instead of calming down they just get Worse.

YEAH NO ONE REALLY TAKES ADVANTAGE OF THAT. and well i mostly assumed a very small percentage of people actually want to breed the robots like that which is why.

also i don't think this as a bad end, but a bad path that can lead to some other.. inch resting things (my stupid ass is trying to craft a plot with horror and drama from this path and how it'd change the story slightly despite knowing I will never get around to writing it in fic form except tiny excerpt ideas and art)

also i have so much to say abt the 'it doesn't calm down it just gets worse' bc its So true

[hauntingblue]

Inept 8 year old boy dragon tries to save floating island is such a concept

[713-4th-ward-g]

.

[rafeandonlyrafe]

crash

words: 2k

warnings: car crash, drinking, partying, soft!rafe, descriptions of blood, rafe and sarah actually get along, underage drinking? (i guess sarah but this doesnt fit in with the obx timeline), topper and sarah dating, established relationship, surgery, hospital setting, injuries, fluffy, they say i love you a lot

“you good to drive top?” rafe tosses the keys towards his friend. rafe usually wouldn't trust anyone else with his truck, but he wouldn't drive with even one drink in his system when he has such precious cargo.

“yeah, man.” topper catches the keys one handed with ease, pulling sarah behind him with his free hand.

rafe looks to you, wrapped against his side, steps slightly wobbly, a small giggle escaping your lips as he opens the back door for you.

“why thank you.” you step in with rafes help, immediately flopping down in the seat. 

“gotta buckle up, baby.” rafe may be slightly tipsy as well, but he's not as far gone as you are, having indulged with your girlfriends at the party, including sarah who is clearly the drunkest out of the group as topper has to physically lift her into the passenger seat.

“mkay.” you hum, letting rafe do up your buckle in the middle seat before you collapse against his side, eyes closing instantly as your tiredness sets in.

“did you have fun?” rafe asks as topper gets in, his arm wrapping around your shoulders.

“mhm.” you hum out again, not wanting to actually open your mouth to speak as the truck moves out of its parking spot, topper carefully driving down the road as he squints slightly into the darkness before turning the brights on to illuminate the road more.

“just head to mine, top.” sarah says, reaching over to place her hand on his bicep. “you can spend the night.”

“in the guest bedroom.” rafe adds on. he can't see sarah roll her eyes, but he knows she does.

“shh, young love is cute rafey.” you mumble, rubbing your head against his chest like a cat would snuggle into their owner.

“im like only three years younger than-” sarah can't finish her sentence as topper blares on the horn seconds before another truck rams into the passenger side, sending the truck spinning through the intersection. before you even realize what is happening, you're upside down, then right side up, then upside down again before the truck ends up on its tires once more, now off the side of the road.

“fuck!” topper shouts out, his hands running over his body, checking to see that he’s okay before turning to look to sarah, who is clearly shaken but uninjured. “everyone okay?”

“baby?” rafes arm caged you against his body during the impact, but the rolling dislodged you as the top of the car crunched down.

“shit…” you groan, reaching up to touch your forehead, having smacked it against something in the crash. you pull your hand away to realize that your fingertips are red with blood.

“im bleeding.” you wheeze out, panic suddenly setting in as you try to move before realizing you’re trapped, leg pinned under sarah’s seat which has been pushed in towards you from the impact.

“baby, baby!” rafes voice breaks through your panic as his hands grip at your wrists until you stop your flailing. “stay calm, im getting us out.”

topper is able to kick his door open before rounding the now completely wrecked hood to get sarah out. he looks at the intersection to see the truck that plowed into them now blocking the center of the roadway. 

“i-i can’t get out rafe. my leg is pinned. i-i think its okay though.” you’re not sure if your words are the truth, afterall, your head feels completely fine and judging from the blood you have to wipe away from your eye, its not.

“okay, shit.” tears stream down rafes face as he looks over you, allowing himself a split second of panic before he instantly begins to move in the crumpled truck, tearing at the bottom of his shirt until he’s able to pull off a chunk, moving it to your forehead and pushing against the cut despite your grimace.

“its okay.” rafe assures you softly. “ive got you. you’re okay. you’re okay.” the repeating words are partially for rafe as he reaches with his free hand to under the seat, feeling that your leg isn’t bleeding, just stuck at the ankle by a bar under the seat.

“call 911!” rafe yells, and sarah instantly pulls out her phone from her back pocket, glad it survived the crash.

“fuck-i-” tears form in your eyes as the pain sets in, as you see the panic in rafes face and realize how bad you must look. “im scared.”

“im scared too baby, but its gonna be okay, just stick with me.” rafe can’t help himself, he leans forward and presses a kiss to your cheek despite the sweat and drops of blood, he needs to reassure you that everything will be alright.

when rafe pulls away from the kiss, his eyes are blown wide, brows raised. “what is it?” you begin to squirm again.

“nothing, i got you.” rafe works to unbuckle his and then your seatbelt as the fabric of his shirt is now dyed completely red with your blood. he doesn’t want to tell you how shockingly cold and clammy your skin felt when he pressed a kiss against it.

“topper!” rafe shouts. “try to move this fucking seat!” rafe can’t just sit still, managing to push at it with one of his legs as topper pries at the seat, the sound of sirens approaching.

“see that, baby?” rafe looks at you, even able to tell in the dim lighting that your face has gone unnaturally pale. “help is coming, okay?”

it’s a fire truck that arrives first. they do a quick assessment of everyone at the scene before helping topper and rafe, who have not given up on moving the seat. they get it to budge just enough for you to pull your leg out with a sigh of relief as the ambulance arrives.

“come here.” rafe feels a pang of pain is side, but he ignores it as he climbs out of the car, pulling you into his arms. “she needs to go first.”

rafe knows eventually they’ll all get taken to the hospital, but you’re his priority.

“the other guys got a broken leg-” a firemen begins to explain to the emts as they lower the gurney. 

“and hes the one that fucking hit us!” rafe shouts. “my girlfriends got a head injury, she’s going first.”

the emt takes one look at you and nods, motioning for rafe to lay you down. the emt instantly takes over, applying more gauze to your forehead but leaving the crumpled bit of rafes shirt there, hoping that it’s clotting underneath.

they raise the gurney up, rafe climbing in the back with you as a second ambulance pulls up, probably to take the other driver.

rafe tries to talk to you as the emt moves around the back of the ambulance, checking the rest of your body, grimacing slightly when she sees your ankle, which is already swelling and turning purple.

the ride and transfer into the hospital is a rush, and despite rafe not wanting to leave your side, you’re taken for further examination while he has to stay behind.

“sir, we should get you checked out too.” a nurse says softly, his voice too calming for rafe, which just causes the anger he’s been holding inside to bubble over.

“not until i know y/n is okay.” he says firmly, walking out of the waiting room before he can say another word or start punching shit and get himself kicked out. rafe moves towards a tree, pummeling his fists into the bark until they’re bloody and bruised. 

with the anger now at a simmering level, rafe walks back into the emergency room entrance, looking for an update on your condition, only grunting his disapproval before slumping into one of the uncomfortable plastic chairs.

rafe doesn’t even realize that he’s fallen asleep until he's being shaken awake by topper.

“y/n.” rafe stands suddenly, cursing at himself for falling asleep in the first place, but his body crashed from the adrenaline.

“shes alright. the doctor just updated us.”

rafe walks past topper, noticing sarah sleeping in one of the other waiting room chairs, relieved to see that they're both fine and not admitted.

“room 1007.” topper calls out as rafe moves past the nurses station to find you.

you are still groggy as the medicine works it's way through your system, and the feeling of stitches on your head is an unusual weight against your skin, yet you still smile widely when rafe enters the room.

“im okay.” you confirm instantly as he rushes to the side of your bed.

“god,” rafe places his hand on your cheek, his gaze darting between your eyes and the gash on your forehead, looking a lot less serious now that the bleeding has stopped. “im so sorry baby.”

you shake your head. “i really am fine. this nice nurse was explaining to me that head injuries bleed a lot and always make it seem worse than it is. and my ankle is just bruised and sprained, not even broken.”

“you won't be using that ankle any time soon anyways.” rafe leans forward to press a gentle kiss against your cheek. “you're getting carried everywhere, i hope you know that.”

you laugh before suddenly stopping, watching as rafes face turns pale, a sheen of sweat seeking to suddenly appear over his face.

“rafe?” you watch as he blinks heavily, once, twice, then his eyes slide closed as he drops forward, landing on the bed, body completely slack.

“nurse! nurse! help!”

--

“ma’am, you should be resting in your own bed. you're still a patient here.”

you're well aware you're a patient, moving around the floor in your hospital gown and hauling the iv attached to your arm.

“ill rest when i know my boyfriend is okay.”

“he had internal bleeding and wasn't seen for hours after the crash. he's in surgery but it won't be short, we are being as thorough as possible to make sure he's going to be okay.” the nurse explains to you gently.

“ill go sit.” you say, mostly because you feel like your legs might give out at any moment, and you're tired of hopping around on your one good ankle. “but i will not be resting until i know rafe-”

a bell dings and cuts you off, the nurse rushing off without another word.

“shit.” you groan, just glad she ran off in the opposite direction of where rafe is in surgery. 

you hop back to the waiting room and drop into the seat next to topper.

“im so sorry, y/n.” topper says, apologizing yet again.

“it wasn't your fault, top.” you shake your head. “he hit us out of nowhere, you couldn't have done anything.”

“maybe if id just gone a little slower-” you tune out whatever else topper is saying, stomach churning as you watch in waiting for an update on rafe.

--

“he's awake and asking for you.”

“thank god.” you jump up, cringing when you land on your hurt ankle. 

“im taking you there in a wheelchair whether you like it or not.” the nurse whose been with you all night says. “but ill walk fast.”

you sit on the chair, needing to get to rafe as fast as possible, and you know the nurse understands just how much you need to see him as she rushes down the hallway.

“baby.” rafe is sat in bed, looking so much younger and vulnerable in that moment. “are you okay?”

“me?” you laugh and shake your head, moving to carefully sit on the bed next to him. “you just got out of surgery. you needed a blood transfusion.”

“mmm.” rafe shakes his head. “are you okay?” he asks again.

“yes.” you nod, tears coming to your eyes. “im okay now that you're okay. don't you ever put your health off again just for me.”

you lean forward and press your lips against rafes, kissing him softly even though he can barely manage to move his mouth to meet you.

“i love you.” you tell rafe. “and i don't want to live without you.”

“i love you too baby.” rafes cheeks stretch as he smiles, and your chest flutters with relief as the spark in his eyes comes back.

sfw tags: @winterrrnight @bejeweledreverie @ladyinbl00d @ethanthequeefqueen @drewsephrry @wearemadeofstardust0

[qqueenofhades]

I just feel like even if we all vote and Biden wins, Trump won't accept the loss, and eventually they'll just put him in anyway. And then there won't be another real election. Even if Biden wins and somehow is actually confirmed (which again, I think is unlikely) we're going to have to do this for 30 more years because of the SC, and that isn't at all sustainable.

All this isn't to say I won't vote but I just think people are being way too optimistic about what happens if Biden wins. I don't think him winning will keep Trump out or the horrible fascist future at bay.

Look, I get the fear. I do, I do... but this is also one of the times when you have to ask if it's actually telling you something true, or if it's just preying on that generalized feeling of doom to make everything seem hopeless even if we win again. And that is... there is absolutely no actual mechanism for Trump to be installed as president if Biden wins the Electoral College (since as we have repeatedly seen, the popular vote is immaterial). SCOTUS is horrible and evil and are trying to interfere as much ahead of time for Trump as they can, but part of that is because they can't simply issue an order for Biden to be removed and Trump to become God King By Fiat. That is not how it works. If Biden wins in November, he will be president until his term ends, he steps down, Kamala takes over, or anything else.

Trump tried a coup with all the entire overwhelming might of the US government as the sitting president last time; fortunately, it failed. Reforms to the Electoral Count Act have been made to prevent another January 6. The Department of Defense and the military are still under (and would be on another January 6) Biden's command, not Trump's. That's not to say that Trump won't try some shit with his insane cult followers, but he is just a late 70s conman from Queens out on bail and under sentence for a criminal trial, who is already the biggest and most disgraced loser and asshole in American political history. He is so desperate to cheat his way back into power because in a real sense, this IS the last-chance saloon for him. He can't put off the legal proceedings, however long they take, for another four years. He's losing his marbles at a rapid rate. I'm just saying: we don't know what or when, but there will be (and already have been) real consequences for him. That is why he is scrabbling so hard.

"Even if we vote, nothing matters and Trump will win anyway" is another of those insidious lies that works to make you feel as if the battle is endless and pointless and none of its victories matter. Of course it will not all be magically fixed forever if Biden wins. We will still have to figure some godforsaken fucking way to expand SCOTUS or kick Alito and Thomas off it. But we will have bought ourselves, our democracy, our country, and the world time to do that, and put another nail in Trump's coffin. That matters. It matters a lot.

Fascism wants to present itself as overwhelming, irresistible, inevitable, and ready to happen no matter what you do, and that's what your brain wants you to buy in now. But that's not the case, Trump is not inevitable or some all-powerful monolith (in fact, another of the debate takeaways seemed to be that Biden looked bad but people still hate Trump too much for it to really shift anything). He is a loser, a fraud, a conman, a liar, and a crook, and he WANTS you to fear him like an almighty god. Don't give him or the MAGAGOP the satisfaction.

Frankly, having to endure another four months of this might kill us all, and I know that we are tired and scared (me too). But IT IS NOT INEVITABLE THAT WE ARE DOOMED. Not at all. Let's hang onto that and tell that anxiety doom voice to shove it.

Hugs.

[pucksandpower]

Best Laid Plans

Carlos Sainz x Vasseur!Reader

Summary: you were just supposed to be a means to an end — a way for Carlos to get back at your father for dropping him — but the best laid plans often go awry and you quickly become so much more than that

Warnings: 18+ content and manipulation

Note: did I spend the whole day writing this to celebrate Carlos’ win? Maybe …

So much love to @struggling-with-drivers for always giving me the best ideas

The warm Portuguese sun beats down on Carlos as he strolls through the luxurious resort grounds, trying and failing to shake the anger simmering inside him.

How could Ferrari do this to him? After all he has given to the team over the past few seasons? To be so unceremoniously dumped for Lewis fucking Hamilton is a slap in the face he can barely comprehend.

He kicks at the pebbled path, hands jammed in his pockets, catching the eye of a young woman lounging by the pool up ahead. She gives him a warm smile that does strange things to his insides for a moment before he recognizes her — Y/N Vasseur.

The reality of who she is hits Carlos like a truck. The daughter of the team principal who betrayed him.

An idea begins to form in Carlos’ mind, a cruel little seed taking root. If Ferrari wants to play hardball, he can play harder. And what better way to get back at Fred than through his precious daughter?

Putting on his most charming grin, Carlos changes course to approach you. “Y/N, fancy running into you here,” he lies easily. “I didn’t realize you were vacationing at this resort too.”

You sit up, shielding your eyes against the sun’s glare. “Carlos! What a pleasant surprise.” Your smile is bright and genuine, setting off warning bells in the back of Carlos’ mind. He quickly silences them — this is just collateral damage.

“I was just getting ready for a dip. Care to join me?” You gesture towards the welcoming blue waters.

Carlos pretends to consider it for a moment. “You know what, I would love to.”

Stripping off his shirt, he can’t help but sneak glances at your swimsuit-clad figure as you slide into the pool, telling himself it’s just for show. You really are stunning though, he has to admit. This might not be so difficult after all.

“So what’s a beautiful young woman like yourself doing all alone at a place like this?” Carlos asks once he’s waded in beside you.

You let out a tinkling laugh, sweeping wet hair away from your face. “Taking a much needed break from real life, I suppose. My job can be … demanding at times.”

That piques Carlos’ interest — to be quite honest, he had just assumed you did nothing all day. “Oh? Do tell, I’m fascinated.”

With a bashful look, you launch into an explanation of your high-powered career that genuinely impresses Carlos despite himself. You’re whip-smart, articulate, and passionate about your work in a way he can relate to.

“Wow,” he finds himself saying once you’ve finished. “I don’t know why, but I wasn’t expecting that from you. Not that I’m judging a book by its cover or anything!” He adds quickly at your arched eyebrow.

You let out another of those bright laughs. “Don’t worry, I get that a lot. People see a privileged girl and make all sorts of assumptions.”

There’s a hint of bitterness underlying the lightness of your tone that Carlos picks up on all too well. He knows what it’s like to be looked down on and underestimated.

“For what it’s worth, I think what you do is really impressive,” he finds himself saying honestly. “And anyone who thinks less of you for it is a fool.”

The words seem to catch you off guard for a moment before your expression melts into a warm smile. “Why Carlos Sainz, I do believe you’re flirting with me.”

He grins back unrepentantly. “Is it working?”

You pretend to consider it for a moment before laughing again. “Maybe a little.”

The flirtatious back-and-forth continues as you both float lazily in the pool, Carlos quickly getting caught up in the effortless fun of it. You match him quip for quip, parry for parry, in a way he’s not used to from women. It’s exhilarating and unexpected.

In fact, he’s so caught up in your company that he nearly forgets his original intention entirely. Until a stray thought brings the memory crashing back down … you’re Fred Vasseur’s daughter.

The realization is like a bucket of cold water being upended over Carlos’ head. What is he doing? This woman hasn’t done anything to wrong him. Going after you just to get petty revenge on your father is ugly and uncalled for. He should just be the bigger man, swallow the insult Ferrari dealt him, and move on.

But then he thinks about the disrespect, the callousness of dumping him like dead weight after all he bled for the team. Perhaps a little payback is in order after all.

With a wicked grin, Carlos begins swimming slowly towards you, an unmistakable glint in his eye. You seem to pick up on it, cheeks flushing ever so slightly. “What’s that look for?”

“Just thinking,” he murmurs once he’s close enough for you to feel the warmth of his breath. “About how I could make this vacation even more … memorable.”

His heavy-lidded gaze drops to your lips for just a moment, but you catch it. You bite your lower lip unconsciously as heat blazes between you. “Is that so?”

“Mhmm,” Carlos all but purrs, reaching out to gently cup your jaw, thumb stroking over your cheekbone. You shiver despite the warmth of the day, eyelids fluttering. “If you’ll allow me?”

For a long stretch, you seem to be rendered speechless, pupils blown wide as you study his face intently. Then, so softly, “Yes.”

That’s all the permission Carlos needs before he’s crashing his lips against yours in a searing kiss.

The moment your lips meet his, it’s like a jolt of electricity courses through Carlos. He kisses you deeply, urgently, all thoughts of revenge or ill-intent evaporating from his mind. This is pure want, unbridled desire singing through his veins.

You return the kiss with equal fervor, tangling your fingers in his hair and pulling him closer. Your mouth is warm, soft, pillowy — everything Carlos didn’t know he was craving until this very moment. He skims his hands over the slick curves of your body beneath the pool’s surface, marveling at the gasps and sighs he pulls from you with each exploratory touch.

When you finally break apart, you’re both panting heavily, faces flushed. Carlos drinks in the sight of you — hair tousled, lips swollen, and eyes dark with wanting. He’s never seen anything more beautiful.

“Carlos ...” You breathe his name like a prayer and something primal uncurls in his lower belly.

Instead of responding, he simply crushes his mouth to yours once more, walking you backward until your back gently hits the pool’s tiled edge. You let out a muffled moan as he settles between your parted thighs, the heated line of his body flush against yours.

One of his hands slides up over the soft skin of your ribs to cup your breast as you arch shamelessly into his touch. He drags his lips in hot, open-mouthed kisses along the line of your jaw and down the graceful column of your neck, relishing the way you keen beneath his attention.

“You feel so good, cariño,” he rumbles against the feverish skin just below your ear, punctuating the words with a deliberately slow roll of his hips that has you releasing a broken whimper. “So fucking perfect ...”

In this moment, with you writhing and mewling in his arms, Carlos has never been more grateful for his commitment to physical fitness. He knows he can keep this up all day if need be, ravishing you over and over until you’re a limp, sated puddle.

He runs his tongue in a scorching path up the side of your neck before returning to that sinful mouth, swallowing your desperate little moans hungrily. You cling to him as if he’s the only thing keeping you tethered, nails raking deliciously over his back and shoulders in a way that will surely leave marks. Carlos loves it, loves the proof of your passion painted on his skin in thin red lines.

Trailing his lips across the hinge of your jaw, he murmurs “Should we take this somewhere more private, princesa?”

You let out a shuddering breath, hips canting up instinctively to meet each roll of his. “God, yes ... please ...”

The sound of your needy whine sends a molten thrill straight to Carlos’ cock. He’s fully hard and aching for you, straining against his swim trunks with every second that passes. If possible, he wants you even more.

With a grunt of effort, he hooks his hands beneath your thighs and hikes your legs up around his waist in one swift motion. You let out a startled squeak that quickly dissolves into a moan as he shifts against you just right, creating delicious friction. Your arms wind around his neck as you bury your face in the curve where his neck meets his shoulder.

“You feel that, cariño?” Carlos rumbles darkly. “I can’t wait to be inside you. Stretching you so perfectly full of me. Will you be a good girl and take it? Every. Last. Inch?”

He emphasizes each of the final three words with a firm grind of his hips, rutting his rigid length against your clothed heat. Your back bows in response, mouth dropping open on a silent wail of pleasure. Carlos can feel your sticky wetness soaking through the thin material of your swimsuit bottoms and groans harshly.

“P-please ...” You keen, worrying his earlobe between your teeth. “I need you, Carlos. I need it so bad ...”

And just like that, the trance is broken. Carlos blinks, suddenly acutely aware that you’re grinding shamelessly against each other in the very public pool area of this high-end resort. A few pointed looks from other guests are enough to have a flush of embarrassment creeping up his neck.

Clearing his throat, he reluctantly pulls himself back and sets you on your feet. You let out a disappointed whimper that goes straight to his groin.

“P-perhaps we got a bit carried away, princesa,” Carlos huffs out a laugh, running a hand through his damp curls. “Why don’t we go somewhere a bit more … private to continue this?”

You bite your plump lower lip and Carlos has to resist the urge to lean forward and free it with his teeth. Nodding eagerly, you cast a look around before tugging his hand and heading for the exit, leaving a trail of water droplets in your wake.

Carlos follows eagerly, openly ogling the way your soaked swimsuit hugs every tantalizing curve. He’s never been so grateful for his decision to book one of the private beachfront villas at this resort — just a stone’s throw from where you’re leading him, he’ll finally be able to have you all to himself.

The thought has him semi-frantically fumbling for the keycard as you press urgent, open-mouthed kisses to any patch of bare skin you can find — his shoulder, his neck, the line of his jaw. By the time he gets the door open you’re both panting like you’ve run a marathon, desire thrumming white-hot through your veins.

The second you’re inside, Carlos has you pressed back against the door, forearms braced on either side of your head as he towers over you. For the first time, a flicker of uncertainty crosses your features and he’s abruptly reminded of who you are.

“Are you sure about this?” He murmurs lowly, searching your eyes. “Because if we do this, I can promise you there’s no going back for me, cariño.”

You visibly swallow hard but then give a small, determined nod. “I want this, Carlos. I want you.”

That’s all the confirmation he needs before he’s capturing your lips in another searing, desperate kiss that has you melting against him. He walks you backward, never breaking contact until the backs of your legs hit the edge of the plush bed. With a growl, he hooks his hands beneath your thighs and hitches your legs around his hips once more.

You let out a breathless giggle as he tumbles you both down onto the soft cotton sheets, immediately rolling until he’s blanketed by the gorgeous expanse of your body. God, you’re even more stunning like this — hair fanned out in a tousled riot, cheeks flushed and lips swollen, eyes glazed with naked wanting.

Carlos takes a moment just to appreciate the view, raking his eyes over every inch he can see. A tremor goes through you beneath his weighty gaze and he smirks, leaning down to trail open-mouthed kisses along the column of your slender throat.

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this, princesa,” he rumbles against your overheated skin. “How many times I’ve thought about having you just like this, spread out beneath me and begging for it ...”

The truth is, he hasn’t thought about it at all until this very day. But something about the way your breath hitches and your hips cant up instinctively at his words makes Carlos want to keep going.

“I’ve watched you, you know,” he lies smoothly, relishing the full-body shiver that wracks your frame. He nips along the graceful line of your collarbone and you whine softly in the back of your throat. “Couldn’t tear my eyes away whenever you were around. Imagining what delicious little sounds you might make with my cock buried inside you ...”

You moan then, loud and unabashed as you tug needily at his hair to bring his mouth back up to yours. Carlos chuckles darkly into the kiss, reveling in how utterly desperate he’s managed to make you for him so quickly.

“Is this what you want, princesa? You want me to fuck you?” He keeps his tone a low, filthy rasp against the plush of your lips. “Hard and deep and ruthless until you can’t remember anything but my name on your tongue?”

“Yes!” The word rushes out in an urgent whine and Carlos lets out a feral growl, slamming his hips firmly against yours in one rough grind that has your mouth dropping open on a broken cry of ecstasy.

Moving with purposeful efficiency, he hooks his fingers in the waistband of your swimsuit bottoms and tugs them down over the swell of your hips and off completely. He shoves his own trunks down just far enough to free his throbbing length, giving it a few firm strokes to spread the pearling bead of precome over the swollen head.

With a low, heated look, Carlos hitches your legs over his shoulders and lines the blunt head of his cock up with your entrance. Just from this angle, he can see how slick and swollen you already are for him, glistening with arousal.

“Last chance, cariño,” he rumbles, rubbing himself in one deliciously torturous swipe through your folds and back again. You moan loudly, back bowing off the bed. “After this, I won’t be able to stop until you’re utterly ruined for anyone else’s touch ...”

The sound you make is practically inhuman, hand shooting out to grasp at his hip almost painfully hard. “Carlos … Carlos, please!”

Never one to deny such a desperate plea, Carlos braces one hand beside your head and slowly, inexorably begins to sink into your welcoming heat.

The tight, slick heat of your core enveloping Carlos inch by agonizing inch is utterly sublime. He has to grit his teeth and squeeze his eyes shut to keep from embarrassing himself right then and there. You’re impossibly tight, so perfectly molded to his shape — he’s never felt anything quite like it.

Beneath him, you keen softly as he stretches and fills you in one steady glide. Your fingernails bite crescent moons into the firm planes of his back as if you’ll fall apart if not anchored to him. Carlos rumbles his approval low in his chest at the sweet sting.

Once he’s fully sheathed, hips flush with yours, he pauses to simply bask in the feeling for a long moment. You feel so indescribably good wrapped around his throbbing length — hot and snug and fluttering subtly like your body can’t decide whether to grip him tighter or ease his way.

“Fuck, cariño ...” The words tear from Carlos’ throat in a ragged groan. “You feel incredible. So perfect for me.”

You whimper wordlessly in response, flexing and releasing your inner muscles in a way that has him seeing stars behind his eyelids. He captures your mouth in a filthy, demanding kiss to swallow your desperate little noises. It’s all he can do not to start pounding away with reckless abandon.

Pulling back slowly until just the thick head of his cock remains inside your clutching heat, Carlos locks eyes with you. Your pupils are blown wide, lips parted enticingly with each panting breath, the picture of wanton desire. He’s never seen anything so erotic in his life.

You must read the promise in his expression because suddenly you’re nodding frantically and chasing his retreating hips with a needy whine.

“Please, Carlos!” You keen desperately, nails scoring lines of fiery pleasure-pain down the rigid plane of his back. “I need it, I need you to-”

He doesn’t let you finish, snapping his hips forward in one hard thrust that buries him to the hilt. The broken cry that tears from your perfect lips goes straight to his dick.

Carlos repeats the harsh, punishing rhythm over and over, relishing the snug drag of your velvet walls against his aching cock. He soon has you a mewling, mindless mess beneath him, whining his name like a holy mantra with each powerful stroke.

“That’s it, princesa,” he rasps against the flushed curve of your neck, lips brushing saltily over your overheated skin. “Take it all for me. Every. Last. Fucking. Inch.”

As punctuation, he slams home with a sharp roll of his hips that has you keening shrilly and throwing your head back. You clutch at him desperately, meeting each heavy thrust in perfect counterpoint as he picks up the pace. The air is thick with the obscene sounds of skin sliding relentlessly together and your punched-out whimpers and moans.

Carlos has never felt so deliriously consumed by physicality before. It’s like his whole world has narrowed down to this moment, this connection of your joined bodies moving as one. He wants to burn the memory of how you feel, how you sound, how you taste, into his mind forever.

“Look at me,” he growls against the sweat-slick curve of your jaw when your eyes start to drift shut in ecstasy. “I wanna see those pretty eyes when you fall apart on my cock, princesa.”

You force your lids open with obvious effort, irises wild and hazy with lust. Carlos feels a molten surge of possessive desire lash through his veins at the sight. He slams into you with renewed fervor, savoring the high, desperate whine it punches from your parted lips.

“That’s it, cariño ... fuck, you’re exquisite like this.” His praise comes out in a ruined rasp but it seems to spur you on. Your nails dig bruising furrows into his lower back as you meet him thrust for bruising thrust.

Carlos can feel the telltale tightening and fluttering in your inner walls that signals your impending release like a vise grip around his cock. He wants nothing more than for you to shatter apart on his length. Slipping one hand between your sweat-slicked bodies, he finds the swollen bundle of nerves and rolls it firmly between calloused fingertips.

You release a strangled scream, back bowing off the mattress as white-hot pleasure spikes through you. “Carlos! Oh my god, Carlos, I’m … I can’t ...”

“Come for me, princesa,” Carlos encourages hoarsely against the side of your neck. He continues to work you over with nimble fingers in time with the punishing snap of his hips. “Let me feel you come apart all over my cock. Fucking soak it ...”

The guttural river of carnal filth coming from his lips seems to be the final straw, sending you crashing violently over the edge. You seize up around him with a shrill, sobbing wail, inner muscles clamping down in hot, pulsing waves. Carlos curses roughly, eyes squeezing shut against the unbelievable sensation of being massaged and milked for every drop.

If he thought the vice grip of your orgasm was intense, the aftermath is even more sublime. You lie utterly limp and boneless beneath him, still aflutter and fluttering in sweet, rhythmic clenches around his cock. He grits his jaw and fights to keep control, knowing he won’t last much longer buried in your intoxicating heat like this.

When you finally regain some coherency, eyes fluttering open with a dazed murmur of his name, Carlos pulls back slowly until just the throbbing crown remains inside. He intends to give you a brief respite before chasing his own thunderous release, but the moment he starts to withdraw your legs lock high around his hips.

“No ...” You keen, nails raking pleadingly down his back. The desperate craving in your tone very nearly undoes him. “Carlos, please. Don’t stop ...”

Growling low in his chest, Carlos immediately buries himself home once more — this time with a single, powerful thrust that has your brows shooting up as the air rushes from your lungs in a strangled cry. Clearly, you still need it as much as he does.

He fists one hand in the tousled hair at the nape of your neck, using the grip to tilt your head to one side as he lays a searing path of nips and sucking kisses along the exposed column. You shudder and whimper beneath him, utterly pliant and receptive to his claiming touches.

“Tell me what you want, cariño,” he rasps between rough drags of teeth over your thundering pulse point. He remains buried to the hilt, muscles bunched and quivering with the effort of holding himself rigid and still inside you. “Use your words and tell me.”

For a long moment, you seem too dazed and overwhelmed to reply. Then, in a small, wrecked voice, “I want … I want you to fuck me, Carlos. Please ...” Your eyes are glazed yet earnest, boring into his from beneath sooty lashes. “Don’t hold back. I need to feel you come too.”

A harsh groan is punched from Carlos’ lungs at your plea. Letting himself go and really taking you the way his body screams at him to would be heaven and hell all at once.

There’s likely no coming back from it — he’ll ruin you for anyone else’s touch, just as he warned. Once all is said and done, you’ll be irrevocably his in a way that frightens and exhilarates him to his core.

For a heart-stopping moment, he hesitates. And then you moan again — a thin, keening sound of utter desperation — and it’s like the last thread of Carlos’ control snaps completely.

“Hold on tight then, cariño ... because I won’t be able to stop.”

That’s the only warning he gives before pulling almost fully out and slamming back home in one brutal thrust that drives the air from your lungs on a high, shocked cry. He doesn’t let up from there — turning you over onto your belly and dragging your hips up onto his thighs so he can take you from behind in a series of ruthless, punishing strokes.

You quickly become an incoherent, sobbing mess beneath his onslaught, hands clawing uselessly at the sheets as he pounds into you again and again like he’s trying to split you apart. Carlos relishes the sharp smack of sweat-slick flesh on flesh, the strained crescendo of your hoarse wails, the drug-like delirium of being utterly surrounded and consumed by your scorching velvet grip.

It’s too much and not enough all at once. He clutches you flush against him, one big hand spread over your lower stomach like he could somehow force his cock impossibly deeper. The other winds around to toy and tug almost cruelly at your taut, reddened nipples — drawing out a stream of broken, overwhelmed whimpers.

Carlos has never felt more powerful. Body and mind, he owns you utterly in this moment. The thought is nearly enough to send him skating right over the edge into oblivion.

Instead, he jerks you up onto your knees fully so he can plunge into your straining, overworked sex at a different angle — this one hitting something deep inside that has you screaming hoarsely. He captures the wild thrash of your head in the curve of one sweat-slick bicep to bare the elegant line of your throat to his hungry mouth.

“Could you possibly have taken any more of me, princesa?” Carlos husks against the side of your neck, relishing the way it makes you tremble and clench even harder around his pistoning length. “You were made just to be split open on my cock ...”

You let out a garbled sound halfway between agreement and overwhelmed protest. Carlos snarls against your racing pulse, sucking a blatant mark of possession just below your jaw where everyone will be able to see before abruptly rolling you both back over.

He looms above you once more, grinding steadily into your core with deep, purposeful strokes that leave you writhing and wailing with over-stimulation. But Carlos isn’t finished yet — isn’t anywhere close to getting his fill.

“Look at me, cariño,” he commands in a guttural rasp, waiting with molten, heavy-lidded eyes until your lust-drunk stare meets his. “I need to see that pretty face when I come inside you ...”

His words seem to energize you somewhat, your eyes snapping sharper with renewed awareness.

And then, incredibly, you cunt flutters and grips down around him again in the unmistakable clutch of another orgasm ripping through you like a livewire. Carlos has to use every ounce of stamina and control not to follow you right over that blinding edge as you thrash and shriek beautifully beneath him.

By the time you come back down, cheeks flushed and chest heaving, Carlos is practically vibrating with the force of his impending release. His movements have taken on a desperate edge, hips snapping in erratic, forceful jabs as he chases that final blissful oblivion.

When your sated, velvety heat squeezes rhythmically one final time, Carlos throws his head back with his own roar of release. White-hot rapture spikes through every nerve ending as his balls tighten in excruciating bliss. His world narrows down to the exquisite pulsing of your sheathed depths rippling and drawing every last drop from him in endless, blistering waves.

It seems to stretch on forever, Carlos unable and unwilling to move from his impaled position even once the final shudders have wrung him dry. He simply remains blanketed over you, lungs heaving and muscles quaking with the aftershocks of his orgasm.

When he finally regains enough presence of mind to open his eyes and look down at you, the devotion burning in your spent, glowing expression makes his breath catch. For a long, fragile moment, it’s like you’re the only two people in the world.

Eventually, your eyes drift shut on a contented sigh and your body goes lax and pliant against the sheets once more. Carefully, Carlos eases out of your swollen, used entrance and rolls to collapse in a sweaty heap beside you. He immediately tugs you into his embrace, savoring the feeling of your damp, feverish skin pressed to his.

As you drift off to slumber coiled against his chest, Carlos presses a lingering, tender kiss to your crown and tightens his arms around you. He can feel the words pressing at his lips, straining to be released into the silence of this moment.

For now, he keeps them locked behind his teeth. But already he knows this isn’t simply lust or passion or a primal need for revenge that will fade with time. This was always meant to be more — something deeper …. everything Carlos never even realized he was missing until you stormed into his life in a whirlwind of smiles and secrets and blinding desire.

He’s in trouble now. Trouble of the very best kind.

***

Pale morning light filters in through the sheer curtains as Carlos blinks awake slowly. For a disoriented moment, he’s unsure of his surroundings — the rumpled white linens tangled around his naked body are certainly not what he’s used to waking up in.

Then the previous night’s events come rushing back in a heated wave. The pool … the frantic, desperate passion as he took you again and again until you were both hollowed out and sated … finally collapsing into a sweaty pile together. Carlos feels his chest tighten with a complicated swirl of emotions.

He turns his head on the pillow to find the source of the delicious warmth pressed along his side. And just like that, everything else falls away.

You’re tangled up with him still, one shapely leg hooked over his and an arm flung possessively across his torso. Loose riotous locks tickle Carlos’ skin where your face is half-buried in the curve of his neck.

He has to tamp down the overwhelming urge to pull you even closer, to wrap you in his arms and inhale the sweet, clean scent of your hair.

Like this — sleep-rumpled and soft in the morning’s buttery rays — you look almost unbearably lovely. An ache blossoms behind Carlos’ ribs as he studies the delicate fan of your lashes brushing flushed cheekbones and the gentle part of those full lips. Disheveled and without a stitch of make-up, you’re somehow even more breathtakingly beautiful.

Unconsciously, Carlos’ fingers find their way into your tangled tresses, lightly stroking and playing with the silken strands. You make a small, snuffling sound of contentment and burrow infinitesimally closer. He freezes, worried he’s disturbed your slumber, but your features remain smooth and serene.

He should get up. He should definitely get up and extract himself from this warm, addictive little bubble you’ve created before things go any further. This was only ever supposed to be a fling — a deliciously vindictive way to get back at your father for how he so callously cast Carlos aside.

Yet even as Carlos turns the thought over in his head, it rings hollow. What happened between you last night transcended anything so petty and cruel as revenge.

When he was sheathed so deeply inside you, your bodies moving in perfect sync like they were made for each other, Carlos felt something far more profound than just physical gratification. It was spiritual … cosmic, even, like every star in the universe had finally clicked into perfect alignment.

He should be disgusted with himself for having such saccharine notions. Carlos has always considered himself a realist — someone grounded in facts and figures, not given to romantic flights of fancy whatsoever. Yet here he is, helplessly mooning over a woman he barely knows all because of one night of incredible sex.

Except … Carlos is self-aware enough to recognize there was more to it than that, even if he can’t put words to the feeling yet. Some invisible cord has been lashed between you in a knot that feels unbreakable. Some intangible shift has occurred in his perspective that he can’t seem to walk back from.

Perhaps you sensed it too in the way you gazed at him afterwards — not just satiated, but glowing with a sort of wondering, naked adoration far too profound for a mere fuck. Carlos knows he should have been unnerved by the depth of emotion in your spent, happy features. And yet, he only felt it mirrored and compounded tenfold within himself.

With a frustrated huff, he tugs you closer and burrows his face into your hair, allowing your warm, comforting scent to soothe his wildly spiraling thoughts. You make another soft sound and your fingers twitch where they’re splayed over his ribs — reflexively trying to pull him in even tighter.

“What are you doing to me, princesa?” Carlos murmurs, low and graveled, against the crown of your head. “This isn’t how it was supposed to go at all ...”

Because the truth is, this was never meant to be anything more than a fleeting dalliance — an explosive joining of bodies and nothing more. But now that he’s had you, had this bone-deep connection to you, Carlos doesn’t think he can let it go so easily. The prospect of never again feeling you wrapped so perfectly around him in every sense of the word is abruptly gut-wrenchingly awful.

Which leaves him at an impasse. Because you … you are the daughter of the very man who unceremoniously discarded Carlos like an old rag after he gave everything to Ferrari. The offspring of the person who threw him away in a way that cut all the way to his core.

How could he possibly pursue anything real with you after that? It would be a horrific conflict of interests and constantly make things unbearably awkward, to say the very least. Not to mention Carlos has no idea if you even want more than just this one night of passion between you anyway. Perhaps to you he really was just an itch to scratch, a bout of impulsive lust to take the edge off before moving on.

The thought makes his stomach churn with jealousy so potent he has to physically swallow it back. Which … is not great, all things considered.

Tilting your head back with the lightest touch beneath your chin, Carlos studies your soft features searchingly. Perhaps if he stares hard enough, he’ll find some hint of deception or shallowness there. Some glaring evidence that this insane sense of yearning he feels is all one-sided — a misguided obsession brought on by the sort of euphoric sex one can never quite recapture once the high fades. He could use that as his cue to bow out now while you’re still tangled up together so prettily.

But even as he looks, really looks, all Carlos sees is the serene picture of a thoroughly satisfied, openly contented woman. There’s no shuttered gaze or pinched expression betraying any darker thoughts and feelings. Just blissed-out joy written in every relaxed line of those lovely features.

Something in Carlos’ chest cracks wide open at the realization that this is real for you too. You’re not just some meaningless one-off fling, but a woman who seems to have had her entire world upended in the same way his has been over the span of one incredible night.

“Carlos?” You murmur then, voice husky and slurred with the remnants of sleep as your lashes flutter open. “What’s wrong, mon beau?”

Your endearment sends a shockwave of tenderness and want pulsing through him straight to the roots. Carlos shakes his head minutely, winding one hand into your hair to hold you steady so he can simply … bask in your presence for a while.

“Nothing’s wrong, princesa,” he assures you lowly, thumb stroking gently over the arch of your cheekbone. “I just woke up early and got a little lost in my head for a bit there, that’s all.”

That small, secret smile he’s rapidly becoming addicted to tugs at your lips as your eyes rove languidly over his face. Your hand comes up to rest over his thundering heartbeat with surprising tenderness.

“Well then allow me to bring you back to the present. Right here with me.”

Your tone has taken on that rich sultriness from last night that shoots straight to his groin. Before Carlos can so much as draw breath to respond, you’re rising up to seal your mouth over his in a searingly passionate kiss.

He groans instantly, every atom of his being tuned to your frequency in a way that’s swiftly becoming terrifyingly natural. Carlos’ hands roam hungrily over your naked curves of their own volition, relearning each dip and swell through the silken glide of skin on skin.

When you break apart at last, you’re both thoroughly breathless and aroused. Carlos splays one big hand over the small of your back and simply holds you flush against him, savoring the feeling of your racing heart thundering in tandem with his own. He brushes kiss-swollen lips along the line of your jaw, prompting a delicious shiver.

“Don’t think for one second that I’ve had even a fraction of my fill of you yet, cariño,” he rasps against the feverish skin just below your ear, using his free hand to tug your head back so he can access the soft column of your throat. “You’ve addicted me beyond any chance of recovery now.”

Your breath hitches as he latches his mouth just above your thundering pulse point and sucks a blatant mark. Carlos revels in the needy whimpers spilling from your lips with each pass of his tongue over the tender patch of skin. He needs to mark you, claim you, render you unmistakable as his in every possible way.

“Carlos ...” You keen, back arching like a drawn bow as he continues trailing open-mouthed kisses down the slope of your neck and over your collarbones. “What are you saying?”

He pulls back to meet your heavy-lidded gaze, searching intently for permission to continue with what he suspects you’re asking. And there it is — desire and hope and invitation burning brightly in your soulful eyes, practically begging him to put words to this singular thing blazing between you.

Cupping your face in both hands, Carlos holds your rapt stare as he slowly, reverently presses a soft, lingering kiss to your slightly parted lips. You melt into him, one hand coming up to clutch desperately at his bicep.

“I’m saying,” he murmurs against the plush give of your pretty mouth. “That I can’t simply let this be the end, princesa. Not anymore. Not after experiencing what it feels like to be so exquisitely connected with someone in every possible way.”

The smile you give him in answer is as incandescent and warm as a living flame. You don’t attempt to contain the rush of emotion threatening to overwhelm you. Instead, you simply wind your arms around Carlos’ neck and pull him down into a molten kiss that somehow manages to convey every single infinite feeling ricocheting between your bodies.

He suddenly feels so overwhelmingly lucky in that moment. Lucky to have crossed paths with you by happenstance. Lucky that, by some miracle, he didn’t allow bitterness or pain or preconceived notions to blind him to your kindness and warmth and inherent goodness despite how this whole crazy thing started in his mind.

Because yes, you are the daughter of the man who turned his life and career upside down. But here, pressed against you, Carlos can feel the truth resonating through his bones — you are so much more than any of that.

And for the first time in his life, Carlos cannot fathom the idea of anything frightening him away.

***

The frantic Melbourne nightlife whirls and pulsates around Carlos in a dizzying kaleidoscope of neon lights and pounding basslines. Normally he would revel in the thrum of energy and excess — drinking in the atmosphere and feeding off the infectious exhilaration. But tonight, seated alone in the VIP lounge of one of the city’s most exclusive clubs, he finds his attention utterly undivided.

You stand out like a siren among the raucous crowd, every tilt of your hips and toss of your hair captivating Carlos completely.

He tracks the line of your body shamelessly as you sway and twist to the driving beat, that tantalizing little red dress riding up to reveal glimpses of toned, silky thighs that make his mouth water. A fine sheen of sweat glistens enticingly along your collarbones and in the hollow of your throat, no doubt making your overheated skin taste like salted caramel.

The urge to slide up behind you and drag his tongue along that slender, tempting slope is damn near overwhelming. He can vividly picture himself molding his larger frame against your softly undulating form, one hand spanning possessively across your lower belly to grind the rapidly stiffening ridge of his arousal against the lush swell of your rear.

He imagines precisely how you would react — arching back against him with a shuddering gasp, fingers threading into his hair to tug his mouth down upon yours in a frantic, needy kiss. How you would whimper and writhe against him, uncaring of the very public surroundings as desire rapidly whited everything else out ...

Almost as if sensing the scorching path of Carlos’ thoughts, you glance over your shoulder and catch his eye from beneath the veil of your lashes. That sly, inviting little smile immediately kicks his pulse into overdrive and lights a slow bloom of liquid heat unfurling in his lower belly.

With a crooked finger and a subtle uptilt of your chin you summon him to your side. And like the hopeless fool he is, Carlos rises instantly and crosses the small distance to enfold you in his arms from behind.

“Having fun out here without me, cariño?” He murmurs in your ear, lips brushing the sensitive shell so he feels the full-body shiver that wracks through you.

You lean back into his embrace, all soft curves and intoxicating jasmine scent. “I’m always having fun when I’m with you, Mr. Race Winner,” you sigh as your fingers trail delicately down the solid line of his biceps. “Even if we’re just sitting around doing nothing.”

The words are simple — honest and unguarded in a way that makes Carlos’ heart seize in his chest. For two people who came together in a wild collision of lust and passion, it’s moments like these that continually remind him of how much deeper your connection truly runs. Far beyond mere physicality into some soul-binding and unbreakable place.

You must sense the shift in his energy because you turn in his arms, expression questioning but so openly caring it nearly steals Carlos’ breath away. Tenderly, you cup his jaw and search his eyes.

“What’s going on in that beautiful head of yours, hmm?”

He shakes his head minutely, leaning down to brush his lips across your forehead before pulling you snug against his chest. You settle easily into the circle of his arms like that’s the most natural place in the world, cheek pillowed over his steadily thrumming heart.

“Nothing to worry about, princesa,” Carlos assures you gruffly, stroking soothing circles over the warm bare skin of your back. “Just feeling … lucky, I suppose. To have found someone like you.”

The words seem to catch you off guard and you pull back slightly to study his face, mouth curved in that secretive little smile that always makes Carlos’ stomach swoop.

“Well, I certainly feel the luckiest woman on Earth,” you tease lightly, booping his nose in a playful gesture that somehow serves to implant roots deep in Carlos’ soul rather than make him roll his eyes.

Instead, he just gazes at you for a long, weighted moment, allowing himself to simply bask in your presence. In the soft beauties that first drew him in — that delicate blush that finds its way across your nose and cheekbones, the little crinkles that bloom when your smile widens to that mega-watt, face-splitting beam, and those soulful eyes that never fail to pin Carlos helplessly in place.

Then there are the quieter, more intimate details he’s gradually uncovered the deeper he delves into your connection. The barely-there laugh lines at the corners of your eyes when you’re feeling particularly pleased about something. The trick of tugging on your lower lip with your teeth when you’re aroused and trying not to show it. The subtle furrow that appears between your brows when you’re concentrating intently on something.

Carlos knows them all now like geography he was born to navigate.

Without conscious thought, he smooths his thumbs over your jaw and guides you up into a slow, thorough kiss that has both your pulses kicking into overdrive. You whine quietly into his mouth, winding your arms around his neck and arching against him in ways that instantaneously have him hard and aching. But Carlos doesn’t give in to the heated urgency coursing through his bloodstream.

Instead, he keeps the languid glide of his lips over yours unhurried and leisurely — savoring the sensation of you pliant and receptive beneath his seduction. You seem to shake off your initial fervor as well, melting further into the molten drag of his mouth claiming yours over and over.

This too is a geography Carlos has long since mastered. The precise angle he needs to tilt his head to slot your bodies effortlessly flush together. The soft, mewling noises he can coax out of you with carefully applied suction to your plush lower lip. The tiny shudders when he swipes his tongue in long, slick caresses over the roof of your mouth.

You’re practically vibrating with restraint by the time he finally releases your mouth with an obscene, wet pop. Your lips are swollen and glistening, glistening with shared wanting. Carlos hums deep in his chest and brushes the pad of his thumb over the slick fullness reverently.

“So impatient, cariño,” he chides with a wolfish grin that has your nipples visibly peaking beneath the thin lace bodice. “You know that’s not what I had in mind for tonight.”

With an adorable little pout, you wind your arms around his neck once more. “And what, pray tell, did you have in mind?”

A dozen filthy scenarios immediately clamor for attention in Carlos’ head. Having you right here, up against the wall of this secluded VIP area. Bending you over the sleek lines of one of the low leather couches. Finding a shadowed alcove and sinking to his knees before you, nosing aside those delicate strips of lace to ...

He banishes each carnal thought before it can take root and produce visible effect. Tangling his fingers through the soft tresses at the nape of your neck, Carlos brings your foreheads together with a soft smile.

“I thought we might enjoy a moonlight stroll along the beach actually,” he murmurs, relishing the way your disappointed huff ruffles against his skin. “Just you and me under the stars, far away from the noise and crowds for a while.”

You regard him dubiously for a moment before seeming to melt at whatever expression Carlos doesn’t realize he’s allowed to show through. As always, you give in far too easily to his indulgent whims.

With a soft, fond roll of your eyes, you press up on your toes to drop a lingering kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Of course, mon amour. Just you and me under the stars.”

Twenty minutes later finds you ambling hand in hand down a pristine stretch of beach in the Middle Park suburb. The warm, salty breeze gusts gently over your skin, carrying traces of coconut sunscreen and the briny musk of the sea. Foamy waves lap invitingly against the silvered sands as Carlos steers you towards a small, isolated cove.

He procures a large woven blanket from his bag and unfurls it in a clear spot before tugging you down into the plush nest of fabric. You immediately gravitate into his space — curling against his side and tucking yourself beneath his arm like that’s where you were always meant to fit. For Carlos’ part, he cherishes the easy affection and careless intimacy of the simple gesture more than you’ll ever know.

You spend what could be minutes or hours like that — exchanging lazy kisses and sipping from a shared bottle of wine as the moon rises ever higher overhead. After a while, Carlos sprawls onto his back and you quickly drape yourself half-atop him so he can leisurely card his fingers through your windswept tresses.

The soft, steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath your ear combined with the soothing sounds of the lapping tide soon have your eyelids drooping. Carlos has never felt so at peace — this sublime bubble with you the single point around which the rest of the universe spins, perfectly in balance.

“Hey,” you mumble against the warm, sleep-rumpled fabric of his shirt. “Aren’t you the one always saying we should be living in the present?”

He huffs a quiet laugh, stroking one hand down the dip of your spine to rest possessively at the base. “What brings that up all of a sudden?”

You shift enough to look up at him through your lashes, eyes molten with a familiar heat that shivers down Carlos’ spine.

“I’m just wondering what’s got you stuck in your head so often these days,” you counter smoothly, punctuating the observation by swinging one leg over his hips so you can settle atop him fully, careful not to disturb his still-tender stitches. “We’ve barely been able to share … intimate moments at all the last month or so.”

Carlos sucks in a sharp breath as your weight settles over the rapidly stiffening ridge of his arousal. His hands find your hips of their own volition, squeezing reflexively as you begin moving atop him in a slow, undulating rhythm.

“Perhaps I’ve been overtly romantic,” he allows through gritted teeth, letting his head thunk back against the blanket as desire rapidly thrums through his veins. “Missing out on more … physical expressions of passion just because I wanted to remind both of us that this is built on so much more than lust.”

You hum thoughtfully, sitting up fully and swaying atop him in a way that has Carlos rapidly losing his tenuous grasp on reality beyond this blissful patch of the world containing just the two of you. He’s fully hard and straining against the loose linen of his slacks within moments.

“Then maybe we should do something about that right now,” you breathe huskily, arching your back in an inhumanly graceful roll that leaves Carlos’ mouth dry as the Sahara. His hands track helplessly up the delicious curves of your waist, bunching the delicate material of your dress around your hips.

He sits up to meet you so suddenly your foreheads nearly crack together. You release a breathless giggle that Carlos hungrily swallows with his lips, trapping you in a searing kiss filled with all the smoldering hunger he’s been studiously keeping banked for weeks now.

Mindlessly, he chases the taste of you over and over — salty and sweet and everything he’s been desperately starving himself for. His fingers fumble at the tie closures along your ribs until the bodice finally falls away, baring your breasts to his gaze and seeking hands.

You gasp softly into the heated seal of his mouth when Carlos’ calloused palms close over your soft, pliant flesh. He cups and kneads with reverent, possessive strokes that have you quickly arching your chest further into his touch and throwing your head back on a wanton moan.

“Carlos ...” You breathe his name like a prayer, riding his lap with increasing urgency and bringing your mouths back together in a clash of teeth and tongues. Your fingers slide up beneath the hem of his shirt to map the shifting planes of his abdomen, nails raking over the taut, quivering muscles. “Don’t hold back with me any longer. Not tonight … need to feel all of you.”

A shudder wracks Carlos’ entire frame at your breathy plea. He knows you’re right, can feel that same desperate yearning driving you magnified inside himself. Every cell of his body is vibrating with the need to take you fully — heart, mind, and body aligning in euphoric harmony after so many weeks of well meaning denial.

Seizing your hips in a bruising grip, Carlos surges to his feet and simply holds you against him with easy strength. Your legs immediately wind around his waist as you giggle deliriously against his lips.

“Is this what you want, princesa?” He murmurs lowly, swaying subtly to grind his straining need over the lush juncture of your thighs in counterpoint. “For me to finally have my way with you the way we’ve both been craving?”

“Yes,” you hiss out through clenched teeth, back arching as Carlos nips and sucks a path down the slender column of your neck. “God, yes, Carlos. Will you just fuck me already? Here on the sand and beneath the open sky like something out of one of those romance novels you pretend not to love.”

The easy teasing breaks through whatever lingering threads of Carlos’ control were still intact and he growls low in his chest. In one deft motion, he divests you both of the rest of your clothes and spreads you out on the blanket before him in all your unabashed glory. His gaze tracks over your form hungrily, drinking in every dip and swell as you watch him with dark, wanting eyes.

“Princesa ...” Carlos breathes, gratified to see his own desire and reverent longing reflected back at him tenfold in your heated stare. “No more waiting, no more teasing.”

His meaning is clear even without the punctuation of sinking down to settle fully over your smaller form, blanketing you with his weight and forcing your thighs apart to cradle his hips. You immediately writhe beneath him, winding limber arms and legs around him in a vice grip that sears every point of contact between you.

“Carlos, mon cœur ...” You keen breathily into the scant space separating your lips, every word punched from you in counterpoint to the sensual roll of his hips grinding his arousal through your slick folds. “Please. I need you. Need to feel you all around me again after so long.”

He crushes his mouth to yours in answer, tongue instantly delving deep to taste the exquisite velvet heat of you. You clutch him closer even as Carlos shifts his weight to one forearm so his other hand can roam freely over every inch of bare, pebbled skin he can reach. When his calloused palm finally finds your breast and gives a rough squeeze, you shudder and cry out into his waiting lips.

There’s no more waiting after that. Carlos sheaths himself in one powerful, purposeful thrust that buries him to the hilt and your gasp dissolves into a broken moan. He stills for the briefest of moments, just reveling in the unbearably tight clutch of your molten sheath, every nerve ending alight and thrumming. Then he slowly withdraws until just the swollen head remains inside before immediately surging forward once more.

Your nails score lines of liquid fire down his back at the first deep, dragging stroke. But Carlos barely notices the delicious sting. He’s utterly consumed by the feeling of finally being surrounded by you again — hot, snug, and so utterly perfect. Every sound and shudder and arch of your form against his own is like the sweetest plea washing over him.

He sets a demanding pace, relentlessly pounding into you from that first jarring thrust onward. The only sounds are your mingled cries and the wet, obscene smack of flesh on flesh echoing out over the lapping ocean waves. Carlos wants to make sure there’s no doubt in your mind how much he’s craved every inch of you.

“There’s my good girl,” he rasps hotly against the bullet-hard peak of your nipple before laving it soothingly with his tongue. You release a strangled cry, back bowing sharply off the blanket as you clench down on him in rippling, vice-like pulses. “Fuck … taking me just how you were made to. So damn perfect, cariño.”

Your garbled whimpers and keens of his name drive Carlos to new levels of feverish intensity with each hitching breath. He snakes an arm beneath your sweat-slick lower back to position your hips at a slightly higher angle, seating himself even more deeply inside.

Every purposeful thrust now grinds against that tender cluster of nerves in a way that quickly has your eyes rolling back. You go boneless and whimpering, allowing Carlos to manhandle and use your plaint and plush form in whatever way he craves.

Pressure rapidly mounts within Carlos like an incoming tidal wave as your inner walls begin fluttering around him in telltale pulses. He can feel his own imminent release building in tandem at the base of his spine, that familiar molten curl of pleasure threatening to crest.

“That’s it, princesa,” he grits out raggedly against the sweat-slick arch of your throat. He slides the hand not anchoring your hips down to toy with the engorged pearl at your apex — drawing out a stream of sobbing wails. “Take what’s yours. Fucking milk me with that greedy little cunt. You were made for this cock, made to be split open and ruined on it over and over until you’ve got no idea where you end and I begin.”

The filthy words seems to be your undoing. With a sobbing cry of Carlos’ name, you seize up — inner walls rippling and convulsing like they’re taking him for everything he’s worth. Carlos hardens his jaw and summons the last threads of his control to keep himself from shattering apart at the very first fluttering pulse.

As the shattering waves of your release gradually crest and ebb, Carlos chases them down with powerful thrusts designed to prolong and intensify every aftershock. You writhe and whimper beneath him in overstimulated pleasure, rapidly going boneless and sated.

That’s when he finally surrenders to the smoldering inferno in his belly, hips snapping forward in a few final, erratic strokes before Carlos throws back his head and allows his own orgasm to rip through him. White-hot euphoria explodes across every nerve ending as he empties himself in heavy, throbbing pulses deep inside your spasming core.

“Ah fuck … just like that, cariño,” he rasps out hoarsely, grinding himself as deeply inside you as physically possible and simply shuddering through each exquisite contraction. “Taking every last fucking drop of me right where you were made for it ...”

Utterly spent, Carlos collapses forward with the last dregs of his stamina — just barely managing to catch himself on shaking forearms so he doesn’t crush you beneath his weight. You immediately latch onto him, peppering his flushed face with sweet kisses.

For several long moments, you simply hold each other through the aftershocks, chests heaving and bodies trembling. Carlos has never felt more peaceful or completely at ease in his entire life. His every sense is utterly surrounded and suffused by you in the most blissful of ways.

When his lashes finally flutter open, the first thing he sees is your adoring smile glowing up at him in the moonlight. It nearly steals what little breath remains in his lungs.

“Hi,” you murmur shyly. Carlos huffs out a breathless chuckle and tugs you even closer until your overwarm bodies are aligned from navel to sternum.

“Hi yourself, princesa,” he replies, just as softly against your lips before sinking into another deep, leisurely kiss that tastes equal parts salt and sex and forever.

When you part again, your eyes are sparkling with so much uncomplicated happiness that Carlos nearly melts into a useless puddle on the spot. He’s drowning and he’s never felt more gloriously unmoored.

“I love you, y’know? Like … down to the depths of my soul,” your fingers trail over the sharp jaw and cheekbones you now know better than your own.

The words should terrify Carlos with their intensity and implication. Instead, they simply roll through him in a cresting wave of overwhelming tenderness and clarity.

Of course he loves you. How could he not, when his existence now seems to revolve around your presence as the only fixed point in a dizzying orbit?

So rather than balk or deflect or shove those emotions back down, Carlos allows every infinite but of love and adoration and soul-deep need to shine through unfettered. He cradles your face between his palms and simply stares, committing every minuscule detail of this moment to memory before leaning down to brush his lips over yours in the sweetest, most loaded caress.

“I love you too, princesa,” he murmurs the words directly into your mouth like a sacrament. “With every fiber of my being. You are my everything.”

You tug him down into a heated, clinging embrace, holding him like you never intend to let go.

And at last, Carlos knows without a shadow of doubt that he never will either

[evilminji]

Dani should Kidnap The Clones.

It's basicly protective custody. Preemptive child services, if you will. NONE of these fuckers out here makin adorable clone baby just cause they want kids!

*kicks down the door to your shady lab* Knock Knock! ITS THE POLICE! *Walker's Shock troopers swarm the place as Dani secures the kids*

Look me in the eyes. You KNOW he'd love an excuse to enforce The Rules on people technically outside his jurisdiction. It's for The Children(tm)! Why, he simply had no CHOICE!

Meanwhile? Dani is shoving all these mal-adjusted Murder Clones into her Lair? Which is? Basicly a Door style Lair she hid inside Danny's Lair for safe keeping. It's shoved behind a vending machine just outside the observatory. And the inside? Goes on for DAYS.

Like national parks and every beautiful beach she ever came across. She smashed together the BEST sights and places she's found in her travels, like a collection. Always adding more. New waterfalls, new noodle shops, new fields of wine grapes. It's... beautiful. Snapshots of every wonderous little thing about Earth, stitched together.

They can't hurt anyone. Can't achieve their "objectives". Are just treated like actual individuals and the children they truely are. Are surrounded by other Clones. So it's NORMAL here. Just? All of it.

But also?

Dani and Dan? Teaming up to make History's Scariest Adoption Agency(TM). Dan runs it. Dan wants to know why EXACTLY you want a kid. Explain yourself to Dan. What are your references? Qualifications. He's doing a home visit to inspect the premises. He BETTER not find any suspicious Labs.

And? It just? Appears out of nowhere. It's powered by Zone Bullshit. One second you're thinking "oh woe is me D:> I will never have a child to fill my lovely home, because of all my Superhero Secrets and also because government bureaucracy!" And the next?

.....wasn't that an out of business taco bell? "Zone Adoptions"?

"....Free Clone Baby?"

Okay that is HIGHLY suspicious and as a hero you are basicly legally obligated to investigate. But now it's bigger on the inside? Fancy waiting room? You are being interrogated? Wait, no, you're supposed to be the one doing the-?

Somehow? You leave with your Clone Son from another Dimension. And a pamphlet. You're scheduled for a home visit in three days. You... you never told them where you live.

Somehow that doesn't seem like it will slow them down.

Did the Fae just Suprise Baby you with a clone baby? Can they DO that? W... what's happening? What days is this? Who ARE YOU PEOPLE?! HUH!?!?

Just? Imagine. IMAGINE. I was gonna say Bruce... but?

Damian.

He finds himself... pondering What Could Have Been. Had his Clones not wanted him dead. Wondering if he could have saved them. If, perhaps, he had found them as infants. Raised them. Could he have given them a good life? Been a good father?

He gets emotional. Fatherly. He's about 14.

Dan's been around Ghosts too long to remember how humans age or how age relates to development. This one TALKS like An Adult. Must be one. Probably just short.

And Damian? Never backs down. The second Dan starts challenging him? His character is flawless and his morals divine. He has never done anything wrong, ever, in his LIFE. Fuck you. And on TOP of that? He not only will be the SINGLE GREATEST FATHER TO EVER FATHER, his home is the most loving and beloved ON THE PLANET!

In entirety of EARTH'S history, no less!

....what are they arguing about?

*is handed a baby and kicked out of Dan's adoption agency*

See you in a few days!

(o.o ) *happy gurgling from the baby* *Damian.exe has stopped working*

Smash cut, after Damian speed runs his stages of grief at his own Dumbass Life Choices, to his rocking back up at the Manor like? Congratulations, Father. I have brought you your first grandson! Do Not ask how I obtained him. It was likely dubiously legal but I will not be returning him. We have bonded.

And just? Annihilating the collective Bats on one go. You did what? You have What?! That is a baby! WHY IS THERE A BABY?! How is there a baby!? WHOS BABY!? *sirens going off and everyone panicking*

Will Damian be allowed to KEEP the Baby? Ha! Hell no. Bruce will. Damian is a child. But it will be a Needlessly Dramatic Bat Cold War Of Dramatic Drama to pry that small cherubic baby from his grip long enough for Bruce to fill out the paperwork.

Child thieving bastard that he is. How dare he. That is Damian's SON! D:<

*happy oblivious baby noises as Alfred feeds him in the background, while the Bats do their Dramatic Custody War*

@hdgnj @babbling-babull @hypewinter @nerdpoe @lolottes @mutable-manifestation

[kimuzostar]

YOU CAN'T HIDE

ᝰ bountyhunter!terry x black fem reader ᝰ warnings: 18+, smut, degradation kink, mask kink, headlock, blackmail if you squint, and more ᝰ a/n: thank you to Epiphany for the tips and tricks! it's still bad tho

divider by @cafekitsune

“Springville Police are looking for a black female suspect regarding the committing of an armed robbery that occurred last Wednesday night.”

“The sheriff’s office is offering $50,000 for the capture or information leading to the capture of the suspect.”

“The suspect is said to have last been seen somewhere ne-“

You turned off the tv, tired of seeing and hearing yourself be talked about. Looking around your 5th cheap,shabby motel room, you sighed. 

You had yet to be identified, but your picture was plastered on every local news channel. And considering the small town, anyone could recognize you.

“Time to move again.”, you say to yourself. 

Grabbing your bag, you scan around, making sure you’re not leaving a trace of yourself. You leave through a back window, being wary of those who could be hanging out front. You were aware of the bounty hunters wanting to take you in for their prize. 

You glanced at your watch. 

6:19pm

You needed to find another motel. You did not want to be out after dark and you did not want to sleep outside. It is never that serious. 

Looking around the backlot, you take in your surroundings: trees, trash, a truck and who you assume is its owner leaning on against it. 

The man was tall and burly. You couldn’t see his features from this distance but you could see he was looking directly at you. 

Thinking he was just being weird, you brush it off. Pulling your hood over your head, you turn and begin your journey. You head west, following the sunset.

……..not noticing the man get in his truck to begin following you.

-

8:27pm

After two hours of walking, you finally found a suitable motel to hide out in. It’s secluded with the nearest building being a mile and a half back. 

Majority of the building was dark and there were only two cars: a van and another truck, eerily similar to the one you saw earlier. 

The front desk clerk was hardly interested in you, not even looking at you as you handed him your cash. Too focused on whatever was on the tv. 

Good. He didn’t see what you looked like. 

Entering your room, your turn on the dusty lap that’s set on the bedside table.  It looks better than the last few so called “best getaways”. You kick off your shoes and unzip your jacket, throwing it on the corner chair. Plopping down on the bed, you sigh with relief. 

“Hopefully I can get a few days of peace," you say. 

You get up to run a bath, needing to soak the stench of the day away. It’s summer time in Louisiana and you couldn’t hate it anymore. 

After bathing, you put on a pink camisole and a pair of shorts to match. As you climb into bed, you throw the comforter on the floor, keeping only the sheets. It’s too hot for all that. 

You wrap your curls into a bun and reach over to the lamp to turn it off. 

Finally being able to relax, you eventually found sleep. 

-

You’re jolted awake by a sharp knock on the door. Looking at the bedside clock, you see the time. 

3:14am

Who the fuck could that be at this hour? 

There’s no peephole nor a window so you can’t look to see who’s outside. You slowly walk to the door, putting your ear to the cold metal. 

Feeling a bit uneasy, you call out. 

“Who’s there?”, you say. 

“I’m Terry from the front office. Housekeeping forgot to stock towels so I brought you some fresh ones.”, a man replies. 

Why couldn’t he just bring them in the morning? Curious of his arrival, you unlock the door. 

Before you could turn the handle, the door suddenly pushes open. You fall back on the floor, hard, knocking the wind out of you.

“Hey, what the fu-,”

The man forcefully grabs you by your hair, causing you to cry out. As he pulls you up, you meet his gaze. He’s wearing a mask, only his eyes being visible to you. His irises were a mix of brown, green and gray. 

“What the fuck is wrong with you ?”, you ask. 

“You’re what’s wrong with me.,” he replies. “You doin’ all this runnin’ and can’t even hide properly. Did you not see that bounty on yo head? What kinda criminal are you?”

You thought back to where you went wrong. You always covered your face. You only paid in cash. You made your voice deeper. You never walked along the streets. How did he find you?

Then it hit you: that fucking truck. 

He releases his grip on your hair, dropping you to the ground. He quickly flips you over, cuffing your hands behind your back. 

He lifts you up with one arm, throwing you onto the bed. 

“If you want the money, you can have it. Just lea-,”

“Oh, I don’t want the money.”, he says, cutting you off.

You felt his deep voice directly in your core. 

You watch his eyes as they scan you. Your hair cascaded around your face, as his previous grip undid your bun. Your camisole had slid off your shoulder and your shorts were now bundled up around the top of your thighs. 

You were exposed and at his bidding. 

His big, tall body loomed over you, his chest heaving. He was wearing a skintight, gray shirt that accentuated every ridge of his muscles. He moves forward, closing the gap between you. You rub your legs together absentmindedly. 

“What do you want?”

”I think you know what I want,” he says while running his fingers along your shoulder. “I’ve been chasin’ yo ass all over Louisiana. Ima teach you a lesson.”

Aware of his intentions, you cringed at the excitement you felt. 

-

“Look at me.”, Terry demands. 

You looked up, teary and wide eyes

You were, cuffed, sitting on the end of the bed, throat stuffed with dick. Your camisole was ripped and your shorts were thrown somewhere in the corner. 

Terry’s hands were tangled in your curls as he fucked your face. He pulls back, leaving behind strings of saliva. Your chins and breasts are covered in spit. 

“Stick out your tongue,” he demands. He adjusts his hands in your hair, making two ponytails with his fists. 

You oblige, opening your mouth wide for him, tongue hanging out.

He starts to rub his tip against it, using your hair to help you meet his thrusts. 

“You look so pretty like this,” he mocks. 

He continues to rub his tip before putting his dick back in your mouth. He thrusts a bit more before holding your head steady at his base. You see him throw his head back as his cums down your throat. The sudden intrusion catches you off guard and you gag a bit. 

Terry pulls out of your mouth and you take a deep breath. You look at him again, wondering what he will do next. 

Terry pushes you on your back. He wraps his arms around your thighs, pulling you to the edge of the bed. 

His rough hands travels up your body, rubbing against your hips, stomach, and all the way to your breasts. He begins to fondle them, rolling your nipples between his thumb and forefinger. You let out a low moan. 

“You’re so soft,” he coos. 

Terry lifts one of your legs on his shoulder, gripping your thigh to keep it stable. He starts to rub the underside of his dick on your clit. You whimper at the contact. 

“You like that, don’t you, slut?”, he says. 

You nod vigorously. “Yes, please give it to me!”

Terry pushes into you. His dick was so big, it felt like you were being split in half. 

“Oh, fuck!”, you moan out. 

Giving you no time to adjust, Terry begins to pump in and out of you. He put his hand on your lower stomach, applying a bit of force . 

You felt every vein of his dick. It curved left, hitting that spot you like. 

“That feels so fucking good,” you say. 

You felt so full. The feeling is a bit too much. You couldn’t push him away as your hands were still cuffed beneath you.You back began to arch off the bed. 

“You’re such a good slut, maybe I won’t turn you in after all,” he says. 

You ignored him, only focusing on the orgasm you so desperately needed. If you were going out, you were going out with a bang. 

Terry drops your leg. He lays down, putting his full body weight on you. 

He begins to roll his hips. Your eyes rolled back in your head. That and the pressure of him laying on you was sending you over the edge. You’d never had dick like this before.

He grabs your cheeks, making you look in his eyes. 

“You got some good pussy on you. You gonna cum on this dick?,” he growls. 

“Yes it feels so good daddy, I’m gonna cum,”you cried out. 

Terry starts pounding you harder, his balls slapping against your ass. His hand was still on your face, making you watch him as he fucked you through the mattress. 

Your toes curled. Just a few more strokes before you felt your release. 

Terry suddenly stops, pulling out of you. He stands up, looking down at you. You can see the smile in his eyes. The sensation of your orgasm leaving you. 

“No!”, you groaned. 

Terry laughs. 

“I can’t let you do that just yet.”, he chuckles. 

He grabs you by your hips and flips you over. Tugging at your cuffs, he pulls you back, making you arch. 

Without warning, he enters you again. Thrusting into you like he wanted to break you. 

You tried to scoot forward but his grip and the cuffs kept you in place. 

“Nah, ain’t no running. Stay right there and take this dick like a good slut.”, he growls. 

“I can’t, it’s too much,” you cry. 

He pulls you up by your cuffs, bringing your back to his chest. He rubs his mask against your face. 

“You’re a big girl, you’ll be alright.”

Terry wraps his arms around your head and neck, putting you in a headlock. He slows down his thrusts. Pulling out just enough to leave the tip, then slowly pushing back in. You felt his dick kissing your cervix. 

The knot in your stomach started up again. He was fucking you so good, you couldn’t speak. You begin to fuck him back, doing you best to catch what he was heaving.

Terry’s breathing became louder in your ear and his thrusts became faster. He reaches down to rub your clit, the rough pad of his finger going in circles. The sensation send you over the edge.  

“I’m cumming!”, you cry out. 

Your orgasm hit you like a freight train. Your vision went blurry and you saw colors you’ve never seen before. 

Terry tenses up, releasing him cum inside of you. You felt every rope as he continued to fuck you through your own orgasm. 

You both take a moment to catch your breaths. You fall forward, too weak to continue sitting up. He pulls out of you, watching himself leak out. He reaches over, unlocking your cuffs, freeing you. Before leaving, he leans down to your face once more. 

“Time to move again,” he says. 

PLEASE GIVE FEEDBACK

@nahimjustfeelingit-writes @skvrpion @avoidthings @jimmybutlrr @persethegawd @nayaesworld @mymindisneverhere @theereina @thabiddie23 @planetblaque @megamindsecretlair @melaninpov

[envy-of-the-apple]

A Mutual Hatred

Dark!Gojo Satoru x reader

finally kicking out the fic that’s been a draft for three years:) ahaha...aha...ha if its obvious this was written for another character...no it wasn’t

(Warnings: implied non-con, implied drugging, college!AU, dark content)

Gojo Satoru did not like you. 

He didn’t make it obvious. But, you could see the way he slowly inched away from you. And the fake fake smile he stretched on his lips anytime he was forced to talk to you. 

It was a little offensive. You never obsessed about people liking you, but the fact that someone super popular would rather not exist when you were around...well, it stung. 

It could’ve been worse. At least he didn’t openly admit his hatred of you. It was just the tiny, little things he did that made you know there were boundaries. 

But you weren’t Gojo’s friend, you were Geto’s friend. Which meant, as much as you’d rather not to go the party celebrating their latest win, you were still dragged anyway. 

A loud cheer erupted across from the room. Still nursing your drink, you gave Geto a look. 

“The baseball team,” He sighed, “Shit, sorry. I didn’t know they were gonna be here. I know they’re fucking crazy but they won’t bother you. I promise.” 

You have to laugh at his genuinely apologetic look. You wave him away. 

“It’s fine,” You say, “I don’t mind, Besides, they look....fun.” 

Your words come a bit too late as you spot the team captain trying to do a handstand on top of an extremely fragile vase. That would end well. 

“I’m glad they’re supportive of you, at the very least,” 

Geto is sighing, ready to apologize again. He promised you this would be low-key, just the basketball team and a few mutual friends. 

Now it’s just the basketball team, along with a hundred other people. 

If anything you’re impressed at how quickly the numbers formed. The music was loud, booming, nearly blowing out your ears. People were dancing, at the very least, moving together in disjointed clumps because you are pretty sure alcohol doesn’t help you with dancing. 

Voices tear you away from the scene, and your gaze settles on Geto’s volleyball squad. They eagerly start to wave him over. He shakes his head. You frown. 

“Don’t babysit me,” You tell him, “Go. Have fun.” 

He gives you a look. You roll your eyes. 

“I promise I’ll be fine. The only reason I’m here is for the free beer.” 

You’re planning on throwing your cup of cheap booze away the second you can, but you don’t want him to think he has to guard you for the night. That’s who Geto is, a self-proclaimed protector. You don’t even know him all that well but he’s still more than happy to forfeit hanging out with his friends to sit here with you. He’s a good person. 

You still can’t understand why a guy like him would ever be friends with Gojo. 

They had been childhood friends. Best friends. Stayed together until college. Maybe it was just proximity that kept them so close, because you couldn’t imagine it were their personalities. 

Geto sighs, reluctantly slipping away. 

“If you need anything, lemme know.” You nod, keeping your smile on as he gives you one last look before joining his friends. 

Finally alone, you drop the cup in the trash as soon as you can.

At least, you thought you were alone. 

“Too strong?” 

You jump at his voice. Gojo tilts his head, gazing at you with pretty blue eyes. His glasses are off tonight. 

“I-” you stumble, not really sure what to say. He was going out of his way to talk to you? “I was just-” 

“Don’t worry, I get it,” he laughs, light and airy and you’re starting to get why he has a fanclub, “Nazumaki has shitty tastes. Wanna try what I’m having?” 

He hands you an opened can. Still a bit confused, you accept. It’s slightly better. With a fruity aftertaste. When you go to hand it back, he waves you off. 

“Take it, I gotta’ drive home.” He reasons. 

Not wanting to look a gift horse in the mouth, you accept. This was...weird. Really really weird. Gojo Satoru didn’t like you. Not even the slightest. Then, why was he being so...nice?

Or maybe you had it all wrong? You were overreacting? 

“Congrats on winning your game.” You tell him, when the silence stretches on for far too long.

“Yeah,” he responds, “you went?” 

You shake your hade. 

“Too busy,” you responded sheepishly, “but I watched the highlights. You guys were awesome.” 

“A huge improvement from fall semester.” he agrees. “Fuck, you should’ve seen us those first couple of weeks. Like a bunch of....coked up squirrels or something. Horrible passes, jumping all over the place, just-” 

He’s cut off by your laugh. “I’m sorry...coked up squirrels?” 

“You didn’t see our freshmen,” he argues, “It’s a great analogy.” 

“I’ll take your word for it.” You smile.

 It’s definitely the alcohol. On his part too. But conversation flows like you are two old friends. It’s so easy to talk to him. Laugh with him. For a moment, you almost forgotten how much disdain Gojo Satoru used to show you. 

Almost.

“You know....for a while, I thought you hated me.” You confessed, because you had to bring it up eventually. The suspense was killing you, eating you alive.

“What?” 

“I mean.” The floor looks weird. You don’t like the carpet. “On campus, you were always so stand-offish. Like you were mad at me.” 

He shoots you an amused look. “I didn’t hate you. I guess I was kinda’ just pissed.” 

You scrunch your forehead, “Oh, you were? Why?” 

“’Cuz you had a nice ass and I wasn’t allowed to touch it.” 

You blink. And then the world tilts sideways. 

What?

Hands grip your shoulders, holding you upright. 

“Woah, baby. I think you had a bit too much. Let’s go lay down.” Gojo purrs into your ear, as he starts leading you away. 

You weren’t drunk. You knew that. You barely had anything. You make a meager struggle against his unwavering body as your dazed mind starts to piece what’s happening. 

You nearly stumble into another group of people. Gojo takes the reigns immediately, apologizing on behalf of his ‘drunk friend who doesn’t know limits’. It’s so deranged that at one point you’re convinced you’re having an out-of-body experience. That this isn’t real. A dream. A nightmare. 

But this is real. He shows you the moment he shoves you into a closet, shutting the door behind him.

“Wh-what are you doing-” your pleas are interrupted by soft lips. You’ve never once thought about kissing Gojo but his lips are like pillows. It’s his strength that suffocates you. Biting and licking up your blood. 

“Would’ve done this sooner, but your bodyguard would never leave you alone for long. The bastard. Keeping you all to himself.” 

Bodyguard? He’s kissing you again, groping you through your clothes and you can’t stand to even think. Geto, it eventually clicks. His helpful protectiveness. You-you thought he was like that with everyone. 

Something, a second wind maybe, kicks up at you. You struggle against his large hands. Gojo grunts, as though your desperation was a minor inconvenience for him. 

“Stop it, fucking stop.” He hisses, pulling at your hair. You yelp. “Stop fighting this when we both know you-” 

The door opens, swinging in blaring light and the sounds of the party with it. Satoru stills, blinking up at the newcomer. You look up too, heart crackling with relief. 

Geto stands there, chest heaving, and it takes a minute for you to realize he must have ran here. You open your mouth, nothing but a warbled plea comes out. 

You expect him to do something. To grab Gojo by the hair and pull. To save you. 

But he doesn’t. He just stands there. 

When you search his eyes. You don’t find anger. You just see hunger. 

Gojo’s pretty laugh rings through the air. Undisturbed. Expectant. 

“What took you so long?” 

[pinkcowzz]

dick had bruce as a partner. there was a mentorship there yes, but at the end of the day dick & bruce were a team.

jason had bruce as a father. bruce took him and made the extra effort. he actually adopted jay and stayed home when jason was sick.

tim had bruce as a liability.

tim went to bruce- bruce never found him. i just really love the idea that because of the difference in dynamic, tim is one of the few people who can shame bruce into compliance so easily.

dick and bruce will get into shouting matches that neither one of them walk away from being satisfied, bruce is an unmovable object and dick is an unstoppable force. when they meet, its not pretty and there is almost always collateral damage.

jason and bruce are like setting off two firecrackers next to each other when they fight. it's loud, it's bright, but it burns off fast. the anger and righteous fury is there one moment but then gone the next.

tim and bruce fight differently, because a lot of the time, tim understands where bruce is coming from. he saw bruce start on his path to self destruction and managed to get him to switch tracks. bruce was never the same after jason's death (what parent is after seeing their child die) but batman was able to correct himself. after stepping into the role of robin, tim understood. he too lost so many people he cared about because of the weight of the cape he wore.

and i think the first time that damian and bruce go head to head, dick may be the one who comforts damian and assures him of his place in the family, but tim is the one who goes to bruce. it's the first time bruce has ever seen tim this angry. tim is seething with a fury that would put the devil himself to shame. he is so angry that he is shaking and bruce can the restraint that tim is using to keep the discussion from becoming physical. tim tells bruce, or rather lectures him, in all the ways that he has fucked up with dick ('kicking him out, never officially adopting him, forcing him to go through with the spyral mission- you treat him as your partner when its convenient but the moment it's not he is your soldier again. its unfair bruce. he's more of a man, more of a father than you have ever been'), with jason ('do i even need to say it? actually, let me address it. you cannot see the forest past the trees. jason isn't who he was before he died. he never will be. same as you. he lost a lot more than his life when the joker blew him up. he lost his innocence, he lost his faith in you. i'm starting to think he may have been right') and with himself ('i love you bruce. i have always cared so deeply about you and your mission. it's why i came to dick in the first place. but this isn't about me.').

and bruce remembers why his relationship with tim is so different. tim trained overseas, tim got to patrol on his own as robin so much sooner than his other boys did. tim was largely unsupervised during his run with the young justice. tim had made up an entire fake uncle to keep his indepence. tim would never argue with bruce about himself in this way, but he would argue about- ('this is about damian. and i swear to god bruce. if you can't pull that stick out of your ass and find a way to apologize to damian that leaves him feeling properly taken care of. superman himself wouldn't be enough to save you from my wrath.')

and it's only later, after bruce does apologize to damian in a way that leaves dick speechless. when barbra happened upon the cave's security footage that she shares with dick who shares with steph who shares with jason that his family figures out just how fitting of a last name that drake is for tim.

[imyourbratzdoll]

I crave a good fluffy fic with wolverine, his wife is a badass and when someone threatens him she loses her shit and kicks their ass🫡 with so much disrespect.

hey baby, I'm so sorry for taking so long! I hope you enjoy what I did, it's a bit more violent than you probably wanted.

summary - a dumb 'bad guy' lures you and your husband out, things take an escalated turn when he threatens your husband.

warning - SUPER violent, like extreme level probably, swearing, mentions of sex, dude talks of touching what's his but nothing triggering, dick and balls suffer rip.

18+ only please, the gif I use isn't mine, divider by @newlips

You couldn’t believe this guy, he was really threatening your husband right in front of you. Thinking he was all tough because he could throw fire or some shit? You didn’t know what he could do, except talk a lot of shit. That was probably his power. What was his name again? Captain Talks Shit? Shits A lot? Little Fucker? Who cares, all you care about right now is that he’s threatening your man. 

You walk out of the shadows, having heard enough because honestly. Why do the bad guys always talk for so long? Have none of them realised or picked up from past bad guys mistakes? It was tiring and a waste of your time because you and Logan could’ve been gone by now, screwing each other silly, probably somewhere extremely risky. But, noooo. You had to listen to this jackass.

“Listen, dick licker. If you don’t stop threatening my fucking husband. I’m going to rip your arm off and beat you with it.” You growl, moving to stand in front of Logan. (Sure, he would have protected himself and it may look weak to the other guy that a woman is standing in front of an extremely large man, in more ways than one, wink wink. But you happen to know that this turns your husband on and who are you to deny him his fantasies?)

“Is that a threat?” Captain Dipshit sneers.

“Did it sound like a fucking compliment, Princess?” You watch as he eyes you, sizing you up and in his mind he’s probably thinking ‘yeah, I can take this chick.’ You hope his ego deflates before you kill him.

“Listen, Babe. This is between us men, now why don’t you run along and go make us a sandwich or something. Maybe put on some cute lingerie and wait for me in the bedroom ‘cause once I’m done with your husband here. You’ll be creamin’ around me.”

Logan shakes his head, stepping way back. He remembered when he accidentally said something similar and he was in a coma for a whole month, not even his fast healing could help him. 

It was like a switch turning on, the beast that lived within you had been released from its cage and not even God could save this man now. You stalked towards him, he still smirked thinking he was safe. You jump, wrapping your legs around his neck and twisting, bringing him down using a move your good friend Natasha had taught you. You move swiftly while he is down, sending a harsh kick to his face, hearing the satisfying crack of his nose and possibly jaw breaking. You grab him by his hair and lift him, a large grin covering your face as you bring him eye level with you. 

“You wanna repeat that, Princess?” You bring him closer, whispering in his ear. “How bout you go make me a sandwich, put on a cute set and I’ll bash your dick in with a baseball bat. How do ya like the sound of that? Cause I love it.” 

He struggles within your grip, trying to swing at you but with your other hand that isn’t gripping his hair. You snap his arms, relishing in the sound of bones breaking. His screams echo the warehouse, dumbarse had lured us in here without a backup plan or backup. 

You let go of your grip on his hair, immediately switching to gripping his throat instead. “You don’t like my plan, Princess? Rethinking the whole thing? Cause ya already pissed me off by threatening the man I love, but then you had the balls to say THAT? Tell me, Princess. Just between us girls. Did mummy not give you any hugs as a kid? Cause how did you think this was gonna go? You could’ve ‘killed’ the Wolverine, but he wouldn’t have stayed dead. No. But if he heard you touching me, touching what’s HIS. He would’ve torn you to shreds, but slowly. Very slowly. It’s what makes me love him.” You pat the man’s cheek, grinning as he winces. 

“How bout an apology and I won’t kill you.”

“F–fuck you.” He spits at you, SPITS. Not even clear fucking spit, this shit has blood in it. You lift your hand, wiping the spit with the back of it and then onto his clothes. 

Your face screwed up. “Well, that was stupid.” With quick movements, you throw him, watching him crash into a wall so hard that it leaves a dent. Your hand reaches out and a bat flies into it. “You’re not wearing that cute set and I don’t have a sandwich, but this will do.” He tries to shuffle away, his eyes wide. You stalk toward him and swing, smashing his dick and balls with one hit. Think Superman merged with Hulk strength, how do you think his twig and berries did?

A scream rips out of his mouth before his eyes roll back and he falls backwards. You frown and poke him with your bat. “Hey mista, you dead?” You look at Logan, “Bitch passed out.” He shakes his head at the pout on your lips. 

He walks over and places a kiss on your head, “C’mon, let’s go home now or better yet. You ready to do something real risky, Sweets.” Your eyes light up.

“Do you mean…?!”

Logan nods, smirking. “I’ll finally let you fuck me while I drive.” Your squeals escape as you jump into his arms, smothering his face with kisses.

“OH THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU! You’re the best husband a woman could ask for!” And with that, Logan carries you out as you stare at him dreamily.

thank you for reading!

feedback and reblogs are greatly appreciated.

[gh0st-in-green-c0nverse]

golden

percy jackson x reader — you take his place on the throne

cw: EPISODE 5 SPOILERS (ish), swearing

The boat bobs along the water slowly. You feel sick. For a while, the two of you just sit there, still reeling.

“You okay?” Percy asks after he catches his breath.

You’d reached out and grabbed his hand without realizing it in your panic. You’re suddenly very aware of his skin on yours, warm and kind of clammy. You disentangle your fingers without comment.

“Yeah.”

He’s about to say something to fill the awkward silence when your eyes widen.

“There’s the shield!” You exclaim, standing.

He follows your gaze to a golden statue, the shield wedged between its hands. The boat doesn’t stop, though. He looks at you, and then back at the statue.

“We’re gonna have to jump,” he says, and you grimace. The artificial waves are getting choppier.

You eye the water.

“On three?” You finally say.

Percy smiles in a way that he hopes is reassuring. “On three.”

“One…two-!” Before you can say three, the boat lurches and you both topple over the edge.

As soon as the water closes over your head, you’re struggling and kicking. You can’t tell up from down. Your lungs squeeze, your eyes sting. Somewhere in the haze, you see Percy, and you reach out, but he’s so far. He disappears in a whirl of water, and you think, wow, after all of this, I’m about to die in an amusement park.

Suddenly, something solid rushes to meet you and there’s air on your face and you can’t stop coughing.

Percy places an unsure hand on your back as you suck in rattling breaths. He says something, but it still sounds like everything’s underwater.

You shake your head sharply, hand pressing your ear flat until the water drips out and you can hear again. “I’m alright,” you say, before he asks. He helps you stagger into a standing position. For a few moments, the only sound is your wheezing.

Percy squints at the chair. “This is Hephestasus’ park, right?”

You nod.

“I think this is Hera’s throne,” he says slowly, glancing at you for confirmation.

You vaguely recall that story. “She sat in it and couldn’t get up,” you think aloud.

“It was a trade,” Percy continues. “Aphrodite’s hand in marriage for Hera. The shield for…”

One of us.

Oh.

“I’ll do it.”

He catches your arm as you start forward. “Wait a minute!”

“Whoever goes in there isn’t coming back,” you explain, brows set in a hard line.

“I know, that’s why I said wait!”

You yank your arm back. Percy’s face flickers with something you can’t read.

“You need to stay alive,” you say, stressing every word.

“So do you!”

You shake your head. “You have your mom. You have Grover. You have people who need you.”

The I don’t hangs in the air, unsaid.

He opens his mouth, then shuts it again.

I need you, he wants to say.

But he doesn’t.

“The gods chose you, Percy. This is your quest.”

This is wrong. This is so wrong. It’s cruel, and so unfair that they have to choose. Fuck this. Fuck all of this.

“This isn’t about that,” he protests, though he knows he can’t beat you. You’d always had a sharper tongue than him.

You unhook your dagger. He remembers the arch, only yesterday. Is this how you felt? This burning in his chest?

“It is. It all goes back to that prophecy. To fate. To the Fates.”

Your eyes burn with tears as you hold out your dagger for him to take.

He blinks hard. “This is wrong,” he says, voice wavering, and you’ve never seen him like this before. Always tough, always witty. Unserious, sure, but never afraid.

You push it towards him, and he takes it.

“I know.”

Your fingers twitch. You’d hug him, one last time, but you remember how he froze back in St. Louis.

So you don't.

You walk over to the chair, heart pounding. This is a death sentence. This is it. This is it.

“Hey, Percy?”

His head snaps up, lip tugged between his teeth as he holds back tears too.

“Go save your mom,” You say. “Save her, save the bolt, and tell Grover I’m sorry.”

You picture Grover’s face when he finds out what happened to you. You turn away, stand right in front of the throne. It glints in the swimming light.

“And if you have a chance, I don’t know, maybe swing back around here and try to get me out?”

He laughs sadly. “You think you had to ask?”

“Just making sure.”

You sit.

For a moment, nothing happens, and you're worried that you’d said all that for nothing. You’d feel pretty stupid.

And then—

“This is weird,” you say. “It’s warm.”

There’s fear in his eyes and your dagger in his hand.

Something snakes its way up your leg, smooth and fast. It feels like wax, almost, hardening over your skin.

“This is a bad idea,” Percy says, eyes tracking something at your feet. “Stand up.”

You don’t look at what he’s looking at. You don’t want to.

“I can’t.” Panic rises in your chest, fast and unwelcome, and you’d be shaking if you could move.

“y/n—”

“It’s okay,” you whisper, voice hoarse. The words don’t sound right in your mouth. Your legs are completely immobile. Your breath comes in short gasps. “I’m okay. I’m… okay.”

You look at him, trembling and still pretty damp, mouth open like he wants to say something.

Whatever’s seeping onto your face is warm and brittle. You stare hard at his eyes. They’re a shining blue. They’re afraid.

It’s the last thing you see.

a/n: sorry guys cliffhangers make me giggle ‼️ I’ll write another part If u guys would want me to !

[remotewatch]

handprints, footprints all on my glass

Jack Schlossberg x reader | 1.6k wc

minors dni please and thanks, this is hag business

summary: it’s a short ride from the afterparty to the airport, theoretically

cw: shameless smut, she comes first 💪, dry humping, dom reader sorta, pathetic simp Jack enjoyers make some noise!!!, oral (f receiving), fingering, we’re degrading him a bit whoops, accidental vabbing (?????) girl idk, reader wears the pants not the panties, they’re in one of those Mercedes vans, wear your seatbelts everywhere but here

The jet lag was undoubtedly winning. As luck would have it, the busiest weeks of the year for you and Jack overlapped nearly entirely. It had been nonstop flights, engagements, meetings, press releases, dinner parties, galas, openings of buildings for charities for either dogs or orphans, orphaned dogs maybe, for so long you’d entirely lost track and were ever thankful that most of your speaking assignments were behind you. This last afterparty had fried you both; you didn’t have a single networking conversation left in you. Collapsed opposite you in the jump seat, Jack looked just as spent as you felt.

Of course, he still looked too good. It was fucking sweltering in that venue, and he had loosened his evergreen evening tie and slightly unbuttoned his dress shirt the very second you were shielded by the limo tint. Faint wisps of chest hair peered out from the opening, a fresh tan making his teeth look even whiter. Gun to your head, he’d had his pants taken in too much at the hips, but you’d never say anything that would threaten such a view.

There wasn’t time for that; you were in the home stretch of this hell month and had a packed 16 hour day tomorrow. One last email once over, and you could abandon your work iPad and pass out for the flight back to New York.

“Have you been like that all night?” he asks tentatively.

“Like what?” There’s no immediate response, so you look up from checking tomorrow’s agenda to see Jack shamelessly staring up your cocktail dress at your lack of underwear. The spell breaks when you recross your legs and playfully kick his shin.

“Eyes up here. So what if I was?”

Jack blinks dumbly at you and clears his throat. His eyebrows draw together out of confusion.

“But I saw you get dressed this morning. Where’s that pair I just bought you?”

“They’re wrapped in your pocket square. Did you forget to switch it out for a dry one before lunch?” you ask, holding back a shit-eating grin.

It’s hard to deny the rush you get watching Jack go pale and fish the handkerchief out of the breast pocket of his discarded suit jacket, still sticky from cleaning you up a few hours ago. Sure enough, there’s a crumpled La Perla thong cradled in the middle. You interrupt his stuttering protests when you kick your pumps off and slide a foot up his leg.

“Oh please, like you don’t love walking around smelling like me.”

“I do,” his ears are turning red. “but I hugged like twenty people today!”

“Page six has been trying to pin down that musky “cologne” you use for ages. I think you’re safe.” You briefly wonder if you’re leaking onto the leather seats, but that train of thought is halted by Jack’s hand reaching to remove his tie.

“Keep it on.”

He snaps to attention at the direct order.

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah, I like my handle.”

“Do you come with an off switch?”

Break lights flash on in the surrounding lanes. Just your luck; it’s complete gridlock in the few miles between here and the airpark. Maybe there was a little time.

Your foot slides higher, and Jack hisses through his teeth at the contact.

“Why don’t you try and find it?”

There’s barely a millisecond of hesitation before he falls onto you, licking stripes of sweat off your skin from your cleavage to your cheekbones. As always, he’s loud in the way that only a guy who never gets told to shut the fuck up can be: every breath shudders its way out, and he’s basically whimpering into your mouth by the time he gets there, louder when his right hand finds you, in fact, dripping all over the seat. You doubt you’ll ever get used to how thick his fingers are, or the vulgar noises they make when he’s showing off his grip strength knocking on your g spot.

He’d rolled his shirt sleeves up for the afterparty, but his watch was still squarely in the splash zone, and for the briefest of moments you wonder if it’s as waterproof as the cheaper ones he wears surfing. The thought is quickly pushed aside as Jack works you until you’re jolting off the seat trying to get his fingers deeper.

One good yank on his hair gets him off your neck, and he’s so dazed and fucked out already that you almost cum right there.

“Someone looks hungry,” you tease.

“Fuck, please let me-“ He’s cut off by the van suddenly lurching forward and throwing you both off balance, leaving only your vice grip on his tie keeping him in place. There’s a filthy squelch when he pulls his fingers out to suck them clean as he sinks down to his knees. It’s so warm that your dress is sticking to your thighs, and he rapidly loses patience trying to slide it up to your waist.

“This is a rental!” you squeal when the fabric rips, spraying sequins all over the floor. Jack doesn’t even flinch and wraps his lips snugly around your clit.

“Whatever, I’ll buy it,” he mumbles without breaking contact. You find yourself sliding down the sweat slick leather to grind against his face, and he has the nerve to lean back to watch your hips buck desperately.

“I love when you chase it,” he grins. Without missing a beat, you lock your legs around his head and shut him up against you.

“Don’t fucking tease me. I’m not the one humping the floor like a dog.” The mumbly, docile “sorry” that vibrates through you is the hottest thing he’s said all day. And he really is, if his overly enthusiastic slurping indicates anything. Those rapid, precise little strokes of his tongue always froth you up like he’s got a mouthful of soap. By the time you get tired of spelling your name on his nose and shove him to the floor to straddle his face, he’s completely lathered in you.

He lets out a little bleat of surprise when you roughly grab his hair and start manhandling him as if he’s a wet wipe, though he really should expect it by now. Normally, you’d be distractingly aware of the very real possibility the driver can hear the way you’re snarling his name, but time is not on your side right now. The last break lights recede, leaving the compartment only lit by dim blue under-seat bulbs. Your movements grow more frenzied; you’re totally disregarding Jack’s lung capacity and not even aiming for his mouth anymore, just using his whole face like it’s all he’s made for. Right as you begin to worry you have nothing left in the tank due to the lunch commute, a muffled, drawn-out “please” from beneath you sends you tumbling right over the edge. Your orgasm hits you more like a tranquilizer than anything else as the last dregs of your energy drench his face.

As soon as he feels your contractions lessen, he’s tossing you off to sit on his thighs and fumbling with his belt buckle. The van makes a hard right turn onto the final road to the airpark, and Jack lets out a frustrated groan knowing the clock is ticking. Still, he knows not to get in your way when you shove his hands away and slide right back on top of his dick, so hard you can feel the heat radiating through the fabric. You know you’re fucking up his dress pants grinding on him like this, but if nothing else, the linen will dry fast.

“I’m sleeping on the plane whether you finish or not, so make it work.” He doesn’t have enough time to be pissed at you, and he knows it. The sight of him so desperately rutting up against you is nearly enough to get you there all over again. All the tendons in his neck stand out as he presses his lips together trying to focus. His legs splay frantically in an attempt to ground himself, one jet black Oxford wedging under the jump seat and the other pressed flat against the far window. Jack’s head tips back and his eyes screw up in concentration, but you can’t have that, no matter how tasty his Adam’s apple looks. You loop his tie around your hand one more time and yank him back to earth,

“Uh-uh. Look at me when I’m making you cum.” That’ll do it. His expression softens then freezes as his eyes unfocus and his mouth falls open. He sounds downright melodic when he cums, just one long note that gets bounced up and down the scale before trailing off to a whine, and you relish every little twitch of him spilling into his pants, so far from you but certainly close enough.

The van rolls to a stop, and suddenly it’s a fumbling nightmare of you both trying to fish your shoes out from under the seats and smooth each others hair. You snatch Jack’s blazer to cover the rip in your dress, shove the iPad and pocket square-thong mess into your work bag, and throw the door open with what you hope is a believable amount of nobody-get-between-me-and-my-lie-flat-seat urgency.

Wobbly legs insist you grab his hand to step out of the van, and, of course, there’s a fucking pap pressed to the tarmac fence. Jack’s reflexes don’t stand a chance at turning him away in time after what you’ve put him through. When the flash catches his face, you can only look horrified as it perfectly captures the shine you’ve left on him.

Gossipy headlines and vague, tasteful PR statement drafts are already zipping through your head. Add it to the agenda: 16.5 hour day incoming.

[frudoo]

How would slasher! 141 react to a reader who isn’t a fan of violence but goes absolutely HAM when one of the victims escapes and injured her boyfriends? (I know the guys are good at what they do but let’s just pretend lol)

maybe she’s dirty from doing chores outside and the victim assumes that she’s an escapee as well, says something about ‘stabbing that fucker with his own knife’ and she just sees red because this piece of shit hurt her boys and she CANNOT let that stand.

Without even thinking, she starts absolutely wailing on this person, punching, kicking, etc. She's got blood on her clothes and shes breathing heavily when the boys finally make their way outside.

how would they react? 😳

This AU has me tweakin I swear

Warnings: Dark!Fic/DDDNE. Explicit gore. Emetophobia.

You gently pick up the little rabbit and giggle, pressing a kiss to its fur before sending it off somewhere else that isn’t your vegetable garden. The pesky things have been terrorizing your poor crops, and while it’s a nuisance, you just can’t stay mad at the little fellas, let alone ask your boys to get rid of the problem. There’s a rustling in the bush next to you and you suspect it’s another bunny looking for a tasty meal, but before you can go investigate, a loud scream coming from the barn startles you.

     Typically, you’re able to drown out the sounds of your husbands’ victims—it freaks you out to hear a person in so much pain, no matter how badly they deserve it. But this is not a victim’s scream. You know that scream. It’s the same one you hear any time he stubs his toe or gets a cramp in bed. That’s Simon’s scream. Immediately you’re on alert, standing from your knees and starting towards the barn.

     Instead of seeing your husband rush out, seeking medical aid or some kind of comfort, a random man covered in dirt and blood comes stumbling outside, looking terrified. You recognize him as the guy Simon, the big, unbreakable brick wall of a man, had even said wasn’t an easy one to catch. When the man sees you also covered in muck, he laughs like he’s just won the lottery, relieved. He rushes up to you, grabbing your hand and trying to pull you towards the fields, no doubt to look for some kind of escape. 

     “C’mon, we- we gotta get outta here. Now! We have time- fuck, lady, come on! I stabbed that fucker with his own knife, so we have time,” he rambles, digging his filthy nails into your skin to get a better grip.

     His words seem to make your heart stop beating in your chest. So that’s why Simon was screaming in pain. Your Simon, your sweet baby, one of your protectors, hurt by an inferior piece of meat. A special brand of scum. You’re scratching at his face before you even realize it. 

     “Wha- bitch! Stop! I’m trying to save you, lady!” Any other time, you’re sure a man like him could have easily overpowered you, but you feel fucking invincible right now, kicking the backs of his knees until he falls.

     You pounce on his back and trap him on the ground, grabbing a handful of his hair and pulling his head back just to smash it into the dirt. He’s screaming in agony and you’re sure his nose is broken, but you can’t stop. He hurt one of your boys, and if you know anything about the pieces of shit your husbands get rid of, you’re positive nobody is going to miss the one struggling beneath your weight. You bash his head into the ground over and over—his nose is completely crushed and his teeth are busted, but you just keep going and going and going until your arms are finally tired and you’re heaving with effort.

     When you climb off of him, you see just how much blood has tainted the grass, and you feel nauseous. The man is no longer screaming, not even grunting or moaning, and you know you’ve killed him. You roll him over just to make sure, and the sight of his mangled face makes you lean forward to vomit. You end up tripping over one of his untied shoelaces and falling right on top of his body. Sobbing, you scramble away, screaming when your back hits something solid.

     “Hey, hey, it’s just me, darlin’. Just me,” John coos, helping you up and pulling you into a tight hug.

     “I-I di- I didn’t mean to,” you weep, blood and bile still sour on your tongue. “H-he… he stabbed Simon, and- and I-”

     “Okay, sweetheart, it’s fine. I’ve got you now, yeah? Deep breaths, baby, breathe with me,” John instructs, cupping your sticky cheeks in his palms and forcing you to look at him.

     Distantly, you see Johnny rushing towards the barn and Kyle dragging the man’s body out of sight, but John makes you focus on him. Only once you’re calm, sniffling instead of hyperventilating, does he explain what’s going on. 

     “Kyle’s cleanin’, and Johnny’s gettin’ Simon all patched up. He’s gonna be okay, baby. You were so brave for us, sweet girl. Do you hear me? I'm so proud of you. We all are.” 

     You nod, but you need to see Simon, make sure that he’s really okay. Make sure your efforts weren’t in vain, that the blood on your hands wasn’t shed pointlessly.

     “I wanna see him,” you hiccup, and John nods, turning you around so you can watch as Johnny helps him walk out of the barn.

     You let out a sob of relief, rushing towards the pair and wrapping your arms around Simon, who grunts in pain. You gasp and move to pull away, but Simon just holds you tighter, letting you take as much comfort as you need from him.

     “I love you,” you murmur, and he smiles.

     “I love you more, perfect girl.”