#it's longer than even one piece. which is fuckin saying something

[sim0nril3y]

The Honeymoon

Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Civilian!Reader Scenario: Fun, fun, fun on the honeymoon, need I say more? Warnings: No mask Simon (It's my personal headcanon in his regular life he probably wouldn't wear it), very soft, very fluffy, very smutty, p in v sex, honeymoon sex, breeding kink, wife kink all things good, feral Simon, canon-typical swearing.

You weren’t sure that you’d seen another time where Simon was more relaxed than on your honeymoon. Whilst the wedding had been exceptionally small and intimate, he’d spare no expense on the honeymoon. Mykonos, three weeks. There was a private beachside villa which also had the most amazing pool, Simon had hired a car for the time you’d be there, he’d organised everything perfectly. “Nothing less for my perfect wife.” He'd told you, railing into you passionately from behind as you gazed out over the balcony that first evening.

In ways that his sex-drive typically fluctuated back home, there was something about being here that seemed to send it sky high. Maybe it was all the beautiful beachy outfits that you were wearing, or maybe it was the way you lounged under the bathing sun, or maybe it was that ring that lay so prettily on your left hand now. It was official, you were his and he was yours and everyone fucking knew it. Whenever he’d see that piece of jewellery sparkling under the sun he had to have you, he was practically insatiable. It didn’t seem to matter where you were, lounging on a sunbed by the pool, walking through the streets home from dinner, even shocking you in a vineyard tour where he snuck you away into a nearby cupboard to have his way with you.

After an evening of good wine and even better food the two of you returned to the villa. You collapsed back onto the sofa, beginning to remove your strappy heels whilst Simon made himself busy pouring a couple more glasses of wine. “’ere, Mrs Riley…” He saunters towards you, looking mouth-watering in his thin linen shirt, very few buttons keeping it together now. “Thanks.” You say softly, throwing one shoe aside and accepting the glass from his hands as he took a seat on the artsy coffee table in front of you, carefully taking your other ankle into his hands and lifting, stroking your calf in a soothing way as you leaned back and let out a low sigh.

Those meaty fingers were so delicate as they began to untie the straps of your heel, unravelling them slowly. “Y’look a knockout, babe.” He mentioned, voice soft and eyes cast down to remove your shoe, pressing the pads of his thumbs into the arching arch of your foot causing a moan to pull from your throat. “Fuckin’ glowing…” He mentioned, you bit the inside of your cheek. “My beautiful fuckin’ wife…” Then those dark eyes drifted up your frame finally coming to a stop on your face. “Show ‘er to me.” Simon’s voice was a low drawl, needy having being away from your precious cunt for more than a few hours. “Si~” You purred. “Jus’ quick…”

Slowly you licked at your lips before being unable to fight your smile, fingers curling tightly around the hem of your dress before dragging it up to display your naked pussy to his hungry eyes. “No knickers?” His voice was dangerous low, eyes no longer on your own and watching your cunt, you shook your head. “All night?” Another shake whilst raising your leg to plant a foot on the sofa beside you, spreading yourself further to his wonting eyes. “Dirty fuckin’ girl…” Simon muttered. “Y’killing me here.”

A tender giggle pulled from your throat, leaning your head back, your left hand drifting down as two fingers traced over your cunt lips, spreading them, gliding across your slit and all the while your wedding ring gleamed and glistened. Simon watched, his mouth popped open just slightly, ragged breaths escaping. “Fuck me.” He whispered, watching eagerly as those two fingers sunk into your wanting walls. “Fuck~” You hiccupped softly.

Simon shuffled closer, watching as your fingers pressed in and out of your walls with a quiet ‘shlck, shlck, shlck’ all the while. “Good girl.” He breathed, falling to his knees, pressing a few wayward kisses to your thighs as he leaned close. “Pretty fuckin’ wife.” It seemed as if he was talking to himself, pushing down his trousers and his cock bobbing out, painfully hard, cum dripping from the tip. “Gonna let me fuck you?” He asked then, looking up at your pleasure filled face, brows pinched, breaths low and pulled from deep. “I know, I know. You wanna cum. Let me help.” His lips ghosted over the back of your hand as those fingers buried deep. “Let your husband help.”

To say that Simon was obsessed with calling you his wife and himself your husband was an understatement. It was beginning to sneak into almost every conversation, but especially in the throes of passion. Simon had you pressed into that sofa moments later, fucking you deep, calling you his pretty wife, his perfect wife, his beautiful wife, loving his wife’s beautiful cunt, feeding his wife her husband’s cock because she needed it. God, if it didn’t drive you wild too. There was something so unhinged yet so tender about it all that really made you both crave it.

And when he finished there was a promise on his lips. “Knock you up.” It was a faint growl but you heard it clear as day and you wished for his words to come true. He pumped you full, seated inside of you for a good long while as if allowing his seed more time to truly take hold, but during that time his words were sweet and his lips were warm against your skin, whispering the most beautiful and endearing things.

This was the place you wanted to stay forever, this was the Simon you always wanted to love.

Masterlist | Ask | 26-05-2024

[bonezone44]

Weighted Vest (18+)

Bisexual!Frankie "Catfish" Morales x nb!afab!Reader

word count: 864

Summary: You ask Frankie to "fuck you like men fuck" and you both get more than you bargained for.

Read The Tags: Consensual Non-Consent. rough P-in-v, gender play, male stereoypes, heavy degradation. no orgasm. Allusions to past sexual assault (on Frankie, not by Frankie. And not involving Reader). Angst. Reader has hair long enough to be pulled.

A/N: this is my first time really writing Frankie. this kinda came outta nowhere.

"Goddamn, dude. I been thinkin 'bout this dick all day," you grouse. Your pants are gone and you lower yourself onto Frankie's cock.

He hisses and grabs at your breasts through your shirt. "Yeah, man. You like this cock?" He says through gritted teeth. "You like takin it up this boy pussy you got?" He thrusts upward.

You moan. "Fuck yeah, Frankie. Fuck yeah, I do." His lips are tight and he looks angry while you ride him. You wanna let go and collapse into him. You want his mouth on yours. You wanna taste his tongue. You lean forward to kiss him and he pulls you back by the hair.

"Men don't kiss when they fuck," he grunts. He lets go and his fingers pinch and twist at your nipples through your shirt. He tugs hard.

"They don't?" You ask, even though you know that isn't true at all. You can barely keep your eyes open.

"Nope," he says matter-of-factly, shaking his head. "They just fuck."

"Fuck, Frankie," you moan. "C'mon, man. You gotta give me something!"

"I don't gotta give you shit!" He says. "You're lucky I'm fuckin you at all."

You scoff. "C'mon, dude. If you didn't wanna fuck me, you wouldn't be fuckin me."

"I'm doin you a fuckin favor, asshole--"

"Bitch, I'm doin you a favor by givin you a hole to fuck!"

"You asked me to show you how men fuck and I'm fuckin showin you."

You roll your eyes. "I'm not seein much of a difference."

"Alright, fine," he spits. "How's this?" He tosses you off his dick and throws you back on the bed. Before you can do much, he flips your body over, and roughly pulls both your arms back. He brings your wrists together, but one falls as he puts his dick back inside you. He grabs it again and starts pounding into you, his hips slapping loudly against your ass. He hits a spot inside you that makes you shout. "No," he chides. "You keep that mouth shut!" He grabs the nearest thing he can find, which is his own underwear, and shoves it in your mouth. "You keep quiet and you take it! No matter how much it hurts!" He knows you well enough to know those were cries of pleasure. "You're lucky I don't stick it in your ass right now! Split you in half and make you bleed everywhere like a little bitch!" He huffs and pants as he drives into you again and again. "That's how men do it. They don't give a fuck. They use you however the fuck they want if you're too fuckin weak and stupid to fight 'em off!" He growls from deep in his gut. "Guess that's you, huh? Weak little bitch! Fuckin pathetic for lettin me do this to ya, huh? Huh?!"

Your forehead is pressed into the mattress. You don't know what the right answer is. You don't know if there is one. You turn your head to the side and nod.

"Jesus christ! You're not even gonna fight back? You're just gonna admit it? Have some fuckin self-respect, ya fuckin idiot!" He grunts loudly. "Goddamn! Who fuckin raised you, boy? Huh? Who fuckin raised a piece uh shit like you? You're lucky I don't do worse to ya!" His thrusts begin to falter, but his shouts get louder. "You are so fuckin worthless! You fuckin deserve this! You fuckin deserve it!"

Frankie pulls out and you open your eyes, glancing back over your shoulder. His face is red and his lips are parted. His eyes dance around and he blinks rapidly. You pull the underwear from your mouth and turn around.

"Are you okay?"

He flinches and holds his palm up with his eyes closed. His chest heaves with each breath. You wait patiently for his eyes to open again. It takes longer than you anticipated but you're patient. It's Frankie after all. You had no idea this request of yours would trigger him. You don't think he realized it either.

Once his eyes do open again, he stares down at the bed with his hands on his knees. He chews his lips. His body trembles and you see him tense against it.

"Will you hold me?" You ask because you know he never will--he'll never ask you to hold him. He never asks you for anything. Not really. Not like this.

His eyes meet yours briefly before they find the sheets again. But he nods. "Yeah," he mutters out with a hot breath.

You lie down and he falls in place behind you. He wraps his arms around your torso and rests one leg over your own. You know he'll never talk about it. But that's okay. It's not your pain to handle. It's not your history to digest. You just hope that maybe this is enough. Maybe it's enough that you stuck around. Maybe a part of him knew this was the only way it could come out. You grab one of his hands into your own and interlock your fingers. "Thank you for doin that for me."

He sighs against the back of your head. "'S nothin," he says and pulls you closer.

----

[the-100-days-of-junkan]

Day 30

Alright this is a fuckin big one, for a variety of reasons. One of which being that this is the 30th Day, meaning we've hit another Milestone Piece!

First off, last time I’ll link this here, but if you like this comic and want to see it realized in a slightly more fullfilling way, go check out this fanfic which i posted across October.

Secondly, I’m about to Yap. A lot. So i’m gonna put this all underneath to read because it is a lot, which is to be expected since this is a pretty big piece for the project. And alongside that I wanna talk about the Vampire AU fic.

Okay so “where the fuck did this come from,” you might be wondering. Up till now every pic I had made was sketches with the most color being just the eyes. All of those colored pieces were given that color work long after this one, so what the hell possessed me to make a two page comic.

Well you see. I’m a bit of a fuckin weirdo who completely lacks a concept of self control. And I was starting to really, REALLY get into the idea of Vampire Junkan (No fucking surprise there.) And while I had drawn a few pics involving blood sucking up to that point, I hadn’t drawn their first time doing this, and I am very much into the intimacy that comes with Bloodsucking in the context of vampire yuri. And I can’t imagine their would be anything more intimate than the first time a vampire sucks your blood.

So it spiraled out of control from there, and boom, we have a fuckin two page comic.

Before I start talking about the actual Vampire Fic I should detail that this piece was the pivotal shift in the timeline for this project. Because it was with this one (if I remember right) that this BECAME a project. I had joked about drawing 100 Junkan pics a few times with Val, since by this point I was still drawing these at a crazy speed. As I said in a previous post, from Day 3 to Day 30 I did this all in under 2 fucking weeks, even if they weren’t colored that’s wild pace. 

I’ve never asked her but I wonder what that was like from Val’s perspective, just some random chick on tumblr comes up to you and is like-

“Hello there I like your fanfic, do you want to have Junkan art thrown at you nearly every day for the next 2 weeks???” 

That sounds like a fucking fever dream. And that’s not even considering everything else I would just, send to them for the remainder of the projects production. Some would say I’m built differently, I would say I was built concerningly.

Anyway, so by this point I made the official decision that when I hit 100 Pics, I would start posting them to the public. This eventually would be named The 100 Days of Junkan. So thankyou Vampire Junkan you are somehow vital to this whole thing.

Another thing this comic caused is that it was the trigger for me to just say “Fuck it” and just fully lock in on these pieces. I started doing full color on some of these pieces asI was making them initially rather than going back to color them retroactively, I started putting more effort into the pieces even when they were still just sketches, and as a spoiler, once we hit Day 45 i just drop the pretense that I’m not putting effort into this and every fucking pic is full color. There are literally only two of them I did not color and there was actual artistic intent behind it probably i can’t fucking remember.

Also once we hit Day 45 do we hit the point where I just no longer have pics where I feel like they were a dud. Cause I will admit, while I’m glad ya’ll have been enjoying these I can’t lie and say I don’t see some of the pics posted so far and feel like I’ve wasted some of ya’lls time. This is admittedly influenced by the fact that I know what’s coming up and as a result I know the massive jump in quality we’re gonna hit soon enough (in my opinion at least, i feel like I’m being a pretentious bitch about this).

Anyway so how’re you doin. I hope you were snacking on something while you read this because now I’m going to ramble for an unknown stretch of time about the Vampire Junkan Fic and this comic. I’m so fuckin sorry.

So anyway I’ve said briefly before I think but prior to actually writing the Fic I only had this fucking comic. I had vague ideas around it, but never a setup, an overall plot, nothing. I made this fic solely because I thought this scene would be significantly better written rather than drawn by my hands. 

I would not consider myself much of a writer. I have plenty of experience writing action from years and years ago, however in terms of telling an actual story through just writing, i’m an amateur and only had one small fic to my name, however i’m going to retread ground and go over that in much more detail, much later. I am a funny drawing woman first and my biggest desire in life is to make a webcomic called Happy Trigger. That said, ever since getting into Junkan I have had multiple urges to write stories with them since i cannot justify doing full comics as often as would be required. And one such story is that of a vampire nurse who’s never sucked blood before falling in love with someone who desires to have their blood sucked. 

I did start writing this fic a few months prior to the completion of the project. How many? Who fucking knows, it’s been a long time though.

The original first chapter actually went through a pretty big rewrite, mostly because the way I was interpreting vampires in this fic might have been racist?? Maybe???? I did have friends look it over and they said it could be interpreted as such (though they also said I would probably be fine), and I’m going to be real with you this was back when I was deeply paranoid about everything so hearing that there was even a small chance i might have fucked up like that, while also dealing with a ship which at the time I assumed would get me hated by the community, I just went ahead and rewrote. I couldn’t tell you what the original was like because it’s been a long time and i don’t even know if I have the original file. And I honestly don't think the original details would have really or added or changed much.

I had a relatively thin outline for this in my brain once I started. And said outline got pretty much entirely thrown out the window.

Fun fact, the original plan was for Mikan to just run away because people knew she was a vampire, and part of getting her to open up was Sayaka and Ibuki going public about being Vampires as well. Which would then lead into Junko coming in and then all the rest happening.

Scrapped most of that obviously.

So I just ended up taking the approach of “just write it and hope” which would eventually lead to the outline in my brain that became the whole of this fic. Chapter 3 is when things really solidified for me. It’s also where I decided to include a few more characters, Seiko and Ruruka.

I have wanted to draw art involving Ruruseiko and Junkan for so fucking long. Mikan and Seiko are already a dynamic with a lot of potential despite their lack of interactions in canon, meanwhile Junko and Ruruka I imagine would just fucking hate eachother. Tolerating each other only out of bitch girl solidarity and the fact that their girlfriends are besties. 

Originally they were not going to take such an important role, once again I scrapped planned scenes involving Sayaka and Ibuki alongside Mukuro, this would eventually get redone a LOT and reused for the epilogue as the twist that the two are vampires. (Hi, slightly in the future Jem here, I scrapped the epilogue lol. Couldn't get it to feel right, maybe someday!)

However  just couldn’t think of a way to make it work. And then, I considered the idea of Junko getting her wakeup call from a total bitch who she hates rather than her actual friends. And I fucked with it, and I had fun. 

This was my first time writing Junko in a non-despair context, which was a pretty interesting (and difficult) experience. Equally so this is my first time properly trying to write Mikan, even if it was via the lens of her being a vampire which does switch things up a little. I think if I really thought about it Mikan was the harder one to write for though, I was constantly worried that I might be going a bit too overboard for the tragic aspects of her character whenever they came up.

Another thing cut from the story is that Chihiro was supposed to be genderfluid (which is genuinely just how I headcanon Chihiro) in the fic with Junko making specific note of it during her inner monologue. However as I was looking over the chapters again I got extremely paranoid that I did a horrible job depicting that and opted to keep things ambiguous. Was this the right move? Probably not, but this is just how bad my brain can get when I’m doing things other than drawing.

If you were at all curious "Hey Jem, what was the most stressful chapter to work on?" it was the fuckin Aquarium chapter. Not only was it the one I procrastinated on the most but my confidence in it was at at it's lowest for some reason. Fun fact about that one, Junko really was going to ask Mikan about sucking her blood at the end of the chapter, but I decided to keep things simple with a confession and kissing scene. It didn't really change much beyond a bit of inner monologue stuff.

The entire experience was a constant flip flop of me in two different headspaces. I was either-

“Oh hey this is pretty fun, it’s going well”

Or

“Fuck, shit, fuck am I doing this right? Fuck this is gonna suck, shit dammit, I never wanna write again.”

This is what happens when I don’t say in the lane I’m most comfortable with (drawing), self confidence is liable to just completely plummet at some point. Quite frankly if I did not force myself onto a deadline of getting this fic done before day 30 it would not have been finished, at least not for a drainingly long time. I originally wanted to have the whole fic finished before the event started, but time got away from me and the fic itself ended up being way longer than intended. I think this was supposed to just be 6 chapters at first? And it kinda spiraled out of control from there.

I’m just glad I fucking finally got the idea of this comic onto text, it’s been haunting me for the past 9 months. 

I’ve come to the conclusion that I have a very love-hate relationship with Writing, similar to how I feel with painting. I love having a way to get my ideas out there that isn’t super strenuous for me (imagine if I took this whole story and made it a comic, i’d explode), but where it lacks in physical strain, it makes up for in extreme mental strain due to my self confidence and paranoia issues.

That said I likely will write again, the results generally end up outweighing the hellish process, and people seem to like it despite my worries. And I just have far too many ideas and not all of them can be done justice with art alone.

I’ve got a few potential One-shots left that are set in the Vampire AU, one of which i’ll probably write soon. I’ve also got the Cybertron AU that’s been my head for a good bit now which will probably be my next big writing project. I’ve got a few storylines and ideas based on future pieces of this project, and even an idea kicking around from a recent pic I did which I likely won’t execute because I don’t think in a million years I could do the idea justice.

And I also wanna do fics for other ships, like Ruruseiko or Mikuzono (Mukuro x Ibuki x Sayaka). And even outside of Danganronpa I wanna do Flarelu, since I’m a huge Fairy Tail fan and that’s my favorite ship from the series. Imagine if Mikan’s hair was even more skrunkly, and instead  of having an extremely high body count, Junko was just a very friendly girlfailure. There’s like, nothing for that ship, so I’d like to do something like what I’ve been doing for Junkan . . . Y’know just maybe a bit less excessive.

And I've posted them before, but if you'd like to read the fics that inspired the entire Vampire AU . . .

Chapter 10 of Soft (But Only for Her) by Kayleen756894

She Hits Like Ecstasy by VanadisValentine

Check out the rest of their stuff too!~

Anyway, sorry for killing your time with my incessant rambling! But I had thoughts from my brain which I wanted to get out since this is another milestone.

Your kind words are appreciated!~

[starcrossedxwriter]

Date Night (MBJ x Famous Black OC)

Warnings: it's just our favs being horny as hell lol NSFW

A/N: Fluff was requested because of what I put y'all through in Part 9 lmaoooo so here you go! Enjoyyyyyyy!

“What do you think?” Charlotte spun around in her third outfit of the night. She did a couple fake model poses as if she were in front of a photographer. 

Michael glanced up from his cell phone, a whistle escaping his lips. He was already dressed, a graphic tee, black jeans, jacket and boots. He had been ready for the last 30 minutes. His girlfriend, however, had brought half her closet to his house and between those clothes and the ones she kept there, she still could not decide on an outfit.

“Sexy as fuck… just like the last two outfits. We gotta go soon if we actually want to make the game.” 

She turned in the mirror, ignoring his urges to hurry. “None of these are good. I dunno. I think this makes me look a little pudgy. These jeans barely fit anymore. Look at my legs… short and stubby… And my waist is huge.” She gestured down at her body, which had gotten a bit thicker since Michael first met her. But unlike Charlotte, he loved it. Relationship weight, happy weight, looked damn good on her. 

“I like it, your body looks great. Just gives me something good to grip when I’m fuckin’ you from the back.”

She rolled her eyes and smiled at him, “You are so vulgar for no reason,” she laughed. “Ugh.” She stepped out of her jeans and threw the sweater onto the bed. 

“And you won’t be saying that when I get fat… then you won’t be attracted to me anymore and you’ll be dragging me to the gym with you,” she mumbled as she walked into his massive closet and went to her side. Michael had cleared out a nice section for her to keep clothes there, making it far easier for her to stay as many nights as she wanted without having to pack a new bag. “It’s just our first date at a public event since the premiere. I wanna look nice.” 

“That’ll literally never happen. You’re sexy at any size and every outfit you’ve put on since you started getting dressed an hour ago. But if you need help choosing,” he jumped off the bed and jogged to her side, pulling out a black mini dress she had in the closet. “This dress with those thigh high boots, andddd,” he jumped off the bed and jogged to his side of the closet before pulling out a dusty rose colored bomber jacket that matched one of the many colors in his t-shirt. “This. I bought it during filming so it’ll be oversized.” 

She raised her eyebrow before stepping into the fourth outfit. Even she could not deny that she looked damn good. The dress accentuated her shape and curves, the boots made her legs look longer, and the jacket pulled the whole look together. It was clearly a men’s jacket, which she knew would turn a head or two, but its oversized nature made her look chic and cozy. And their coordination was just subtle enough that it wouldn’t look like they tried too hard.

“What do you think?”  

“You look better in that jacket than I did,” he remarked as she stood in front of the mirror. “Sexy and sleek. Comfy and will look good in photos court side.” 

“Look at you. A secret stylist too?? I might have to keep you around, Mr. Jordan,” she mused, her hands working to put on her earrings. with a playful smile as he grabbed her hips and watched her.

“That’s the plan, beautiful. You know what would look good with that dress?” 

“Hmm? More of your clothes?” 

Michael produced a thin Tiffany blue box, a perfectly tied white ribbon and bow surrounding it. 

“What’s this?” Charlotte moaned pitifully, her heart soaring at his thoughtfulness. “It’s not my birthday o-or Christmas or anything.”

He shrugged. “I don’t need a special day to give you a gift. I just saw it and thought you’d like it.”

You couldn’t have wiped the smile off of her face as she opened the delicate box to reveal a rose gold necklace. The diamond pendant set at the center was large and beautiful but the whole piece still had a certain understated quality about it. It was not gaudy and loud but it still drew your eye like moths to flames. She was surprised at how well he knew her style. She was not even a big jewelry wearer on an everyday basis but it fit the simplistic vibe of the jewelry she did own and was subtle enough that she did not need a special occasion to put it on. 

“Bakari,” she took a sharp breath. “I-It’s beautiful. Bu-” 

He immediately shook his head. He was still trying to get Charlotte to accept him spoiling her without questions. “No buts. You like it?” 

“I l-love it. It’s amazing and so timeless. It’s perfect.” 

“That’s all I need to hear. Turn around for me.” She turned to face the mirror again, her eyes trained on his hands as he placed it around her neck and fastened it for her. 

Her hand immediately went to caress the pendant, studying the most expensive piece of jewelry she had ever had in her possession. 

“It’s…” she was at a loss for words as she looked at herself. 

Michael pressed a soft kiss to the back of her neck before he let her curls fall back into place. “Perfect.” 

She turned back to face him, his hand adjusting the piece on her chest. 

“Thank you, it’s beautiful.” 

His fingers lingered on her skin for a moment, her breath hiking slightly. She leaned in and kissed him, the pair’s lips and hands exploring each other as he lifted her into his arms and carried her to his bed. 

“W-what about the g-game?” She asked in a teasing tone as he tossed her down. “Weren’t you j-just rushing me about being late?” 

He smirked at her as he hooked his hands on the fabric on her thong and pulled it to her knees. 

“You want me to stop?” 

Cocky mother fucker, she thought to herself. He knew exactly what she wanted him to do. Feast on her, love on her, send her to other dimensions. However, she merely gave him a noncommittal shrug that she knew would rile him up, pretending she did not care if their quickie continued or ended. 

“Oh really? Aight, ma,” he muttered as he dove between her legs. 

Charlotte’s thighs clamped around his head as he slid two fingers into her pussy, which was already dripping with need. 

“F-fuck!” She cried out as he curled his fingers into her g-spot, his tongue spelling out his name against her clit. He pulled out every trick he knew, every action he knew turned her into a blubbering weeping mess. And it was not his usual slow build, he hit the gas pedal hard, going 0 to 100 in seconds. “J-just like that… fuck. I l-love it.” 

However, Michael was, too, in a teasing sort of mood. The moment he noticed her telltale signs of cumming, he slowed down, stealing her orgasm from her. The first time, she merely groaned, realizing his game fairly quickly. An expletive or two might’ve slipped, her words calling him a few colorful names. But she refused to back down. She knew what he wanted and she was convinced she would not cave. 

However, what she did not account for was how much stronger the sensations would feel every time he restarted. Each flick of his tongue and stroke of his finger felt amplified by 10. She bit down on her lip to keep the pleas from falling from the tip of her tongue. 

She knew when he finally let her cum, it would be heavenly but the build up was nothing short of torture. Glorious torture… the type she would gladly sign up for again and again but torture nonetheless. However, when he stole her orgasm from her the third time, all that ego and pride flew out the window. 

“B-Baby, p-please,” she begged as he brought her to the edge and slowed for the third time. Tears started to spring to her eyes as he detached his lips from her clit. 

“You want me to stop?” He asked again as his hands continued fucking her, slow and deliberate, this time knowing exactly what the answer would be. She rocked her hips to meet every thrust, her mind wishing she would will him to speed up, add another finger, or fuck her harder. However, it wasn’t enough. She knew she would have to give in. “Tell me what you want, baby.” 

“N-No. D-don’t stop… P-please don’t stop,” she begged, a loud sigh of relief escaping her as he devoured her clit once again. And this time, he did not stop. 

Her hands gripped the comforter on his bed, the fabric bunching up in her hands as he finally took her all the way to her peak. He was a God carrying her to Mt. Olympus and she wished she could stay in that moment forever. 

A gentle tap to her thigh brought her back to Earth and reminded her to release him from the confines of her thighs. 

“S-sorry,” she whispered. 

He shook his head as he leaned over her lucid body and kissed her. “That’d be my preferred way to die, if you were wondering.” 

“Noted.” His hands grabbed her arms and helped pull her up so she could stand. 

“You ready?” 

Her eyes grew wide and her jaw fell. She assumed the game was a thing of the past. “You still expect me to go to the game after that??” She gestured toward the bed.

“Yes, and there’s more of that when we get back.” 

She wiggled her eyebrows. She did not much care about this basketball game but she most certainly liked the sound of that. 

***

Charlotte stayed close to Michael as he weaved them through the crowded stadium. She had never been to a basketball game in person but she had certainly never expected to go to one like this. Security escorted them through back doors and hallways directly to their seats, they did not even get to see the stadium. She had to keep reminding herself that while the perks of fame were new to her, they wasn’t to her boyfriend. 

She appreciated that Michael could tell she was a bit overwhelmed. Their hands stayed interlocked, his body close to hers as security directed them. She did not think his sexiness could increase in her eyes but in this light, it did. He was a true Hollywood star. It radiated off him, seas parted as he walked, she watched as he drew the eye of almost every woman they passed by. And it was effortless for him. 

By the time they reached their seats, Charlotte was so taken and turned on by his energy that she did not really care to watch the game at all. She wanted to drag him back to his place and finish what they started before they left. 

She tried to resist it, resist the way lust always curled in her belly at his smirks and playful glances her way and his touch. Fuck… his hands. Even the most mundane, chaste of touches sent jolts of pleasure and longing through her body that made her want to rip his clothes off. She was just overwhelmed at times by her lust for him. It seemed to never end and was never satiated. But thankfully, she knew it was not one-sided. He seemed just as smitten and taken by her, just as turned on by the simplest of tasks, looks, and touches. 

However, one downside of fame was that she had to, at least, appear as though she was not fucking him with her eyes every five seconds. She knew they’d be on camera throughout the night, which meant a level of decorum was required of them both. However, in this honeymoon stage of their relationship where lust and longing were at their peak, decorum was a feat in and of itself. 

“This your first Lakers game, right?” 

“My first NBA game at all, any team. Another first for you to collect. I’m excited. Don’t really understand it though…” 

“Well good thing you got an expert with you.” 

She nodded and pecked him on the lips. “Good thing I do.” 

Charlotte’s body leaned into his as they settled into the game, one of his arms on the back of her seat while the other rested across her thighs. His hand gripped the meat of her outer thigh and rubbed the soft exposed skin throughout the game. Every so often, he’d lean over and whisper facts or explain things in her ear, his basketball and Lakers knowledge appeared limitless. 

She settled back and watched the game and watched Michael and Kevin Hart who sat next to her. They were both thoroughly invested in the game in a way Charlotte was not but found more entertaining to watch than the game itself. They were hilarious and animated, acting as if they were coaches on the sideline instead of spectators. But she imagined it felt that way to them watching from their seats, up close and personal.

Michael’s tutorials throughout the game did not stick, Charlotte too taken by his voice and the discreet but sensual touches on her thigh to retain any of the information coming out of his mouth. By the time halftime started, she realized she had little to no idea what was even happening in front of her as her mind had floated away thinking about the bliss that awaited her when she and Michael finally got home. 

They both started chatting and joking around with Kevin Hart and his date as halftime progressed, their conversation cut short by cheering throughout the crowd. The two couples glanced up to find the Kiss Cam on the Jumbotron. It caught a few unsuspecting couples, each one playing along and offering a very cute but conservative kiss for the cameras. 

“Awwww… they’re really cute,” Charlotte whispered to Michael, pointing at one elderly couple.

However, she was shocked to look up again and find the camera suddenly on them, the Jumbotron already having their names across the bottom of the screen.

Michael leaned in and whispered, “What do you say we give ‘em a show?” 

She pretended to contemplate as if she wasn’t sure she wanted to kiss him, which made him scrunch his face up in faux offense. She laughed and gave him a quick peck before the announcer called out their chaste kiss. 

“You two can do better than that!” 

Michael’s finger went to her chin, lifting her gaze to his, before he grinned and pressed his lips against hers. It was sensual and slow but still tamed as he knew the entire stadium watched. However, she savored the few seconds it lasted. His lips lingered against hers for a moment, such a featherlike touch that let her know he was exercising extreme control and restraint. 

Her legs tightened together as they pulled away, offering a polite wave to the crowd before the camera moved on to spotlight another couple. 

“What’d you say we get outta here before the fourth quarter?” He whispered in her ear, his intentions clear with every word. 

“I’d say even that’s too long but I’ll manage.” 

“Y’all two are nasty,” Kevin remarked, teasing the couple, which caused both of them to turn their heads in embarrassment. “Been a couple in public for 10 minutes and don’t know how to act. Get some couth about you, damn.” 

What came next were the longest 12 minutes of Charlotte’s life. Followed by the longest car ride of her life and the longest walk into Michael’s house. By the time they entered, they did not even make it to his bedroom. They just stumbled into his kitchen, their limbs moving on pure muscle memory through his dark house and into the kitchen. As soon as his hand met the counter, he hoisted her up and got on his knees between her legs.

However, before he could hook one leg over his shoulder to continue worshiping her, she sat up. 

“No,” she shook her head, pulling his face to hers. “I don’t want that. I want to taste you.”

He stood up, allowing her to fall to her knees below him, licking her lips as she unbuckled his jeans. She had been dreaming about this for the last hour. It had taken her a few days to get over her own hangups about giving head. She was good at it but it was a chore to her. Now she laughed at how nervous she had been the first time, surprised that Michael laid back and gave her complete control. Control over his pleasure and the pace. Since then, she found the act made her feel powerful and sexy. She had control, his pleasure at her mercy, and she loved every second of it. And she could tell he did too. It was far from a chore to her now, it was something she looked forward to and craved almost as much as Michael did.

She started off slow, the tip of her tongue lightly licking the underside of his dick. She basked in every moment of it as if he was the best lollipop she had ever tasted in her life. She gathered all the moisture in her mouth and spit on his dick, her spit sliding down his shaft. She slid her lips over the head, just taking the tip of him and sucking lightly as her hand massaged him, spreading her spit along his length. She could feel him twitch beneath her, a groan escaping his lips. 

“Don’t tease me, baby.” 

“Not enjoying a taste of your own medicine?” She asked, reminding him of his little game earlier that almost had her weeping for release. 

He chuckled, nodding. “Aight. But when you don’t get a break later, I don’t wanna hear shit.” 

“I think you’re underestimating how much I like a challenge, baby.” 

She grinned before enveloping his length into her warm, wet mouth. Though she wished she could tease him, the reality was… she lacked his patience. She wanted to feel him cum and not even proving a point would stop her. She kept her eyes trained on him, loving his facial expressions as she sucked him. His eyes were the most expressive, windows into his soul. And when she was on her knees beneath him, she saw it all: desire, bliss, pleasure, pride, and love.

Her eyes watered as she worked to accommodate him, light and lewd gagging noises filled his kitchen. She was thankful for weekends like this when his parents went back to New Jersey because they could utilize the many surfaces and rooms throughout his house with no fears of interruptions. Lazy sex on the couch while watching a movie? Say less. A quickie bent over the counter while they cooked dinner? More of that, please. 

“You take me so well,” he moaned, his hand twisted in her curls. As much as he wanted to take the reigns and fuck her throat, he restrained himself, allowing her to maintain the pace and control she wanted. “You like sucking this dick?”

He could tell she lit up at his praise, a moan vibrating around him as she nodded.

“You look so fuckin’ sexy… that’s right, Els. Take all this dick, baby.” 

He panted lightly as Charlotte increased her efforts. Her gagging and slurping sounded filthy as it grew louder and louder as she sucked him, sneaking gasps of air every chance she got. 

“I’m g-gonna cum,” he warned her, Charlotte increasing the intensity for a few moments until she felt him bust down her throat. He held her head against him for a moment as she swallowed before releasing her, both of them panting for a moment. However, he did not give her much time for a break. 

He did not even give her a chance to strip down before he helped her to her feet and pushed her, face down, onto the counter. She hissed as her bare arms came in contact with the cold granite, thankful she still had her dress on though it was now bunched around her waist. He did not even take her thong off this time, he just pushed it to the side.

She moaned as he filled her, his nails digging into the skin of her hips. There was nothing slow and sensual about it. This was pure fucking. Fast. Rough. Uninhibited. Their bodies were the other’s drug and they were in an outright chase to get their fix of each other.

She used her forearms as leverage to throw her ass back to meet every thrust, not allowing him to do all of the work and proving she still had some stamina to play with. However, Michael would never be outdone so he lifted one of her legs and pressed it against the counter. 

Charlotte let out a gasp at the position, the stretch of her hips and how deep she could feel every stroke. All she could do was pant and beg for more as he fucked her fast and deep, her one leg almost giving out beneath her as she came around him. But his grip and strength kept her standing as always. 

“I’m cl-close, baby. You want me to cum in this pussy??” 

Lost in the clouds of lust and desire, Charlotte did not quite calculate the long term implications of that statement. She could only think minutes ahead and she wanted to feel him fill her.

“Y-Yes,” she moaned. 

She let out a content sigh as she felt him fill her, warmth spreading inside her. Her arms collapsed beneath her for a moment as Michael leaned against the counter opposite of her, his eyes never leaving her ass, which was still perched high in the air for him. 

As the haze left them both, realization seemed to hit them both like a train. 

“You took your birth control today, right?” He asked, scratching his head as Charlotte immediately busted out laughing. 

“You know, I feel like it would’ve been smarter to ask that before you came inside me?” She joked, pushing her dress back down her thighs and adjusting her underwear. “But yes, I took it. We,” her voice dragged out the word as she contemplated before deciding it was better to be safe than sorry. “Should still probably pick up some Plan B though… unless you want an oops baby?” 

He let out a belly laugh. “If I’m gonna have an oops baby, I’d want it to be with you.” He kissed her on the cheek. 

“Awwww,” her lips twisted into a little pout. “That might be the sweetest thing you’ve ever said to me.” She kissed him. “But we are definitely going to get the Plan B,” she whispered against his lips. “Can’t have your mom and the rest of the world thinking I’m a whore trying to trap you. Put on your shoes.” 

He groaned, his body exhausted, “We gotta go right now?? Isn’t it a ‘morning after’ pill? Like it’s still gonna be effective in the morning right?” 

She nodded, teetering on her heels. “Yes,” she admitted. “But… I’m starvinggggg. So on the way back from the drug store, we’d already be out and we could stop by… In & Out Burger?” 

“I can’t eat that stuff… my diet remember, babe?” 

“Come onnnnnn… one cheat meal for me?? We just put in serious work just now, Bakari. We earned a few extra calories.” 

He laughed, knowing his trainer would not accept such flawed logic. “Fine but when Calliet gets on my ass tomorrow, you’ll owe me.” 

“Deal.” She pulled him in flush to her body. She nippled lightly on his ear, teasing his favorite spot for a moment before whispering. “Tomorrow, I’ll give you a massage.” 

“I dunno if that’s gonna be enough.” 

She offered him a sly smirk. “Well, I’m sure I can get creative about how to make these calories worth it.”  

He nodded and grabbed his car keys. “Come on. I already got some ideas I can tell you in the car.” 

Tag list: @certifiedlesbianbaddie @bangtanxmegan @reelwriter19 @prettyisasprettydoes1306 @hi888888sworld @msniaimani @destinio1 @lynaye1993 @chaoticevilbakugo @blackerthings @pipsqueak-98 @miyuhpapayuh

***

A/N: I hope this helps ease the pain! And I'll go ahead and write some fluff to accompany part 10 cause y'all are just gonna hate me again lmaooooo

Drop a comment and let me know what you thought!

[docholligay]

When you hear an accent/dialect/we're not going to get into that debate here that sounds 'odd' to your ear, think about that! Not even in a "Wow, I hate that" way, or a "I need to examine my classism/racism/etc way I am a bad person way, but in a secret third way called, "curiosity and openness to experience"

I was EXTREMELY EXTREMELY FORTUNATE to have a required class in college called "History of the English Language" which was one of the 'weeder classes' for the English majors at my school. It was very very difficult, but the man who taught it had an INSANE passion for English. He LOVED IT, he would talk about it all goddamn day, and it taught me so much about how and why things get changed and said the way they do, and it made me so CURIOUS about why something is unusual or fun for my brain to listen to.

So now, anytime I hear someone pronounce something or verbalize something in a way I think of as "odd" I get so excited and curious*. What is it I haven't heard before? Sometimes my tongue will move around my mouth trying to figure out how they make that sound (I am REAL bad at this. Accents are in no no no way my forte, which is annoying because I'm very good at HEARING them and hearing the differences between them, I just can't DO it) because it is so interesting and cool all the different ways one fucking language has been DONE over so many years.

Anyway I so far off track I am no longer a train, but looking at dialects as you might look at an interesting bug instead of like a pop song on the radio or a sign font is a really good way to start opening your mind to language as something other than a value marker. And that doesn't HAVE to be another way of whipping yourself for being a piece of shit--I assume you have plenty of reasons--but a way of going, "Oh, something unexpected!"

*Also not to attempt to introduce nuance on the 'no nuance we die like men' website, but I think there is a big difference between loving teasing and mockery/cruelty. I don't actually mind if friends, especially ones with VASTLY different ways of speaking, imitate my accent I think it's fuckin funny as hell! Jetty has the WORST rural western accent on the planet, and I love to make fun of whatever the fuck she's got going on there, but it is FUN and there is a sense of LOVE that comes with it. And it's not even a "well yeah, Holligay, when you've known someone for a long time" No no, I once sat in a shitty pub on the east end, now closed (rip) and me and my mom ending up striking up a conversation with two old-school cockney guys, and as soon as he tried to say "Montana" the way I did, the race was ON, and it was FUNNY, and we all laughed and had a good time, it is about attitude.

And I know I'm gonna get something about "well how do you KNOW and that is why i turned off reblogs but come on y'all, 9 times out of 10 you can tell when something is done with deep affection or camaraderie or because even just something feels cool in your mouth it's fun to try. I can't do 87% of the linguistic features I think FUCK SEVERELY (intrusive R, the way a word that genuinely does not start with the letter h has a different sound than a word when the h is uptaken (this has a fucking word and I cannot find it it's making me nuts)) but I LOVE them.

Quick quiz to help though: Are you affecting this accent to in some way sound stupid/ridiculous? We can go back and forth about that a little: one of my buddies says "well shiiiiit" exactly the way I do, for funsies, but it just...feels neat. What I'm saying is you have to use some discernment here and I know we are all allergic to that but give it a shot/go/whatever the hell Australians say for this.

Post script: All of this reminds me also about how I studied the phonemes and linguistics of English with intense fervor in college, and got REAL COCKY, and then in the Orkneys had my very first ever, in life, "We are both speaking English but damn" moment. Normally I am The One for this. I am unruffled. My wife gets confused by the word takeaway (she is smart I swear) but I'm rock-solid. Until. Hubris.

This guy is rollin on up in his van, which is the 'bus system' on Rapness, and it's cute as hell as a system, but I ask him something stupid about the timetable, and he answers me in what I can only describe as a Nordic-flavored Scottish accent. It is actually really remarkable and I went on a weird deep dive of the Orkneys afterward because I had never heard anything like it but I digress. I DID NOT GET A FUCKING WORD. And so, because I panic, I do what I always do when I feel flustered or emotional or angry: I sound like Yosemite fucking Sam. So now he can't understand what I am asking him!

Good news is, we both give a little bit of a laugh, I go, 'Let's try that again" and I do manage to exchange that this van picks up outside of the Pierowall hotel in time for the ferry.

[dameronscopilot]

selfish

Rhett Abbott x f!reader

summary: In which you return to Wyoming, and Rhett finally lets himself be selfish with you for once.

word count: 2k+

rating: 18+ explicit

content: NSFW, smut, fingering, oral sex, unprotected p in v, creampie, best friends to lovers

SENSORY DRABBLES SERIES -> prompt: Rhett Abbott + cologne + forest green

“I’m no fuckin’ good for you.”

His voice is rough and pained—he bites the words out like each one burns as it hits his tongue. But there’s an edge of desperation to them as well, one that you can feel in the way his warm palms slide up under your shirt, callused fingers pressing into the smooth skin of your back. He holds you there, anchored in his lap, breath heaving in his chest as he looks up at you. You run your thumb over the cut on his bottom lip, and his eyes fall shut, a nearly imperceptible shudder coursing through his body. 

“You’re wrong, Rhett,” you murmur, hand trailing over the frayed collar of his t-shirt.

It’s a deep shade of forest green, and as you take the soft material between your fingers, you’re seventeen again.

You’re seventeen and you’re lying in the bed of Rhett’s pick up truck, parked in the middle of the woods and staring up at a thick, lush, dark green canopy of trees blocking out the bright blue sky above. Sunlight lazily filters in through the cracks as the leaves rustle and sway with the occasional breeze. 

Rhett’s beside you, eyes narrowed in concentration as he fiddles with a knotted piece of rope. He’s trying to act like he doesn’t care that Maria’s got a new boyfriend, and you’re pretending like you’re not at all bothered by the fact that you broke up with your own mere hours ago. 

Which is why you nudge your best friend with the toe of your boot, laughing as you say, “We both have shit luck, Abbott. Might as well just marry each other some day.”

Despite the humor in your voice, a part of you doesn’t want it to be a joke. 

And it’s why your heart sinks when Rhett finally glances over at you with the same sentiment he offers you now—”Me? Hell, I’m no good for you. We both know that. You’ll be off writing your books in some big city while I’m still here chasing cattle.”

You let it go back then.

You let Rhett go. 

You graduated high school and packed your bags, trading in Wyoming’s lush, rolling landscape for crowded streets and skyscrapers. 

But now you’re back in Wabang. You’re back, and Rhett’s still here, just like he promised. 

And your heart still fucking aches with longing every goddamn time you look at him.

You’ve been dancing around something since you strolled back into town, something that makes Rhett stare at you like he still can’t quite believe that you’re here. The weight of his gaze throws you off-kilter, because now, he’s too tired to hide it—the longing he’s always acted like he’s not allowed to feel. 

But even so, he’s still digging his heels into the dirt, his self-deprecating mouth contradicting the way his fingers are idly tracing the curve of your spine. 

“You deserve better than me. This town.” He can’t look at you as he says it, gaze focused on the room beyond, over your shoulder.

“The city’s too loud,” you quietly reply. 

Rhett’s breath hitches in his throat as you let your fingers tangle in the hair at the nape of his neck; it’s longer now than when you saw him last, watching his figure fade through a rearview mirror, dust kicking up from the truck’s tires in the wake of your departure. Something flashes across the blue of his eyes when you tug at the dark strands.

His voice is strained. “Keep lookin’ at me like that ‘n I won’t let you leave again this time. You make me wanna be so goddamn selfish.”

You lean your forehead against his, your noses brushing, and you inhale the rich, earthy notes of his cologne. Of course he’d still be wearing the same one, even after all these years. It’s a scent that lingers starkly in your memories, one that clung to his sweatshirts when you borrowed them and greeted you every morning as you sat in the passenger seat of his pickup truck on the way to school. 

“Make me stay,” you whisper, feeling the warmth of his breath curling against your lips.

He cups the side of your face, thumb stroking your cheek. “I ruin just about everything I touch, sweetheart.”

“I’ve been ruined for anyone else since the day I met you, Rhett Abbott.”

Silence hangs in the space between you for a beat, and then the buzzing current of desperation in the air seems to ignite as his lips finally come crashing into yours. 

You’ve imagined this far too many times, kissing Rhett. 

But your hazy, teenage fantasies are a far cry from this, from reality—the tangible, searing touch of his mouth against your own. The body heat radiating off of him. The rapid beating of your heart as he grasps your hip with one hand, cradling the back of your head with the other. The press of his tongue against the seam of your lips, and the heady rush to your head as he deepens the kiss. The groan that rumbles in his throat as you press your body into his while he nips at your lower lip. 

You break for air, but Rhett doesn’t stop. His lips trail across your jaw, leaving a searing trail as he makes his way down your throat, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses against your pulse point.

And if this were any other guy that you were kissing for the first time, you might think about climbing out of his lap right about now. You’d wink, pressing a chaste kiss to his cheek before grabbing your purse and heading for the door—something to be continued. 

But this is Rhett.

Rhett, who you’ve been more than a little bit in love with for over half of your life. 

Rhett, who’s made it damn near fucking impossible for you to care about anyone else. 

Rhett, who’s kissing you like he might feel the same, like—

“I love you.” He sounds wrecked as he says it, holding your face in both of his hands, pressing another kiss to the corner of your mouth. 

It feels natural, the way the words echo on your own lips, the final knot in your chest loosening as they finally clear your throat. 

This is Rhett. And it’s why, when you shift out of his lap, your feet don’t hit the carpeted floor in pursuit of the exit. Rather, you lay horizontally across the vacant couch cushions instead, pulling him down on top of you for another heated kiss.

His hair brushes across your face as he slots his lips against yours, and when you wrap your legs around him, Rhett doesn’t hesitate to press down into you, hard and straining in his jeans. Fingers grasping the hem of his shirt, you tug it over his head, lifting yourself up to press a kiss to his chest.

Your shirt follows suit, and Rhett makes quick work of your bra. His eyes meet yours as he leans down, tracing a circle with his tongue around one of your pert nipples before taking it into his mouth. A needy, wanton sound escapes you as he sucks at your breast, your fingers scrambling for purchase against the cool metal of his belt buckle. His mouth is at your throat again, a warning tone in his voice as he gasps your name. 

Ignoring him, you tug off his belt, tossing it aside and unbuttoning his jeans, prompting Rhett to bite at the junction between your neck and shoulder as you grasp his hard cock through the fabric of his boxers, already damp with precum. “Yeah, Rhett?”

“Fuck,” he rasps as you slip your fingers past his waistband, the soft skin of your palm wrapping around the throbbing heat of his shaft.

You’ve only just begun to stroke his length before he’s hastily tugging your pants and underwear off. Rhett spreads your thighs apart, and all notions of embarrassment at the wet trail of arousal already dripping between your legs quickly fade when he runs a finger through your folds and moans appreciatively. 

Fingers tightly gripping the couch cushions, you can’t help but gasp when he slips a digit inside of you, his other hand grasping the top of your thigh as he meets your gaze. And then he’s stretching you open with another, his fingers wetly pumping in and out of your slick channel. You’re nearly disappointed when he pulls both of them out, only to cry out as he buries his head between your thighs, back arching off of the couch in pleasure as he laps firm, broad strokes against your weeping cunt.

“God you fuckin’ taste like heaven,” he rasps, tongue probing into your tight channel.

And you could come like this, whimpering and crying out Rhett’s name as he tongue fucks your pussy like his life depends on it. Because Jesus fucking Christ, he’s good at it. Part of you wants to shift positions, taking his heavy cock between your kiss-swollen lips as he eats you out, bobbing on his shaft until his cum hits the back of your throat in thick spurts.

But right now—

Fingers tightly threading into his hair, you tug as you whine, “Need you inside of me, Rhett.”

He doesn’t need to be told twice as he kicks off his pants. But rather than lining himself with your slick, waiting entrance, he sits and pulls you back toward his lap instead, staring up at you intently as you slowly sink down onto his cock.

And it’s so fucking intimate, the way his arms wrap tightly around you as he bottoms out inside of you, face buried into the crook of your neck. Rhett rocks up into you as you begin to ride him, lips slotting against yours, fingers skating across your naked skin.

“Don’t leave me again,” he gasps out between kisses.

You won’t.

You can’t.

“Be selfish with me, Rhett.”

The rhythm of his thrusts falters as he begins to slam up into you, electricity pulsing through your veins at each push and drag of his thick cock through your slick inner walls. 

Rhett can take his time with you later. 

He can take you apart again and again with the press of his fingers, the touch of his tongue, the stretch of his cock as it disappears inside of you. 

He can have his way with you any way he wants, till you’re both too sated and fucked out to do anything but lie tangled in the sheets, boneless in the aftermath.

But right now, you can’t wait. You can’t hold back the roiling wave of pleasure curling in your gut, burning white-hot through your nerve endings each and every time his shaft plunges back inside of you. Rhett’s struggling, too, rutting into you sloppily as he palms at your breasts and licks his way into your mouth. 

When he brings a hand between your bodies to stroke at your swollen clit, the dam inside of you bursts, your body trembling as you reach your climax. Rhett fucks you through each echoing pulse of pleasure, your cunt greedily quivering as he continues to ravage your sensitive hole. 

You can feel it when he’s about to come, and you gasp, “Inside,” as he reaches down to pull his shaft out of you. 

The moan that leaves Rhett is feral as he grasps your hips, slamming back into your cunt to the hilt just as ropes of cum begin spurt from his cock, filling you with his hot seed. 

Even when you’ve milked every last drop from him, neither of you move, content to feel the warmth of his softening shaft nestled inside of the wet heat between your thighs.

You run a hand through Rhett’s sweaty hair, pushing it back out of his face, and the unabashed affection in his eyes has your heart racing all over again. 

He tentatively runs his fingers along your jaw. Careful, slow. Like you’re not completely naked in his lap. Like he didn’t just fuck you so hard you saw goddamn stars. Like his cum isn’t leaking out of you right now.

Like he’s still worried you’re going to leave.

His lips hover over yours, eyes falling shut. “Stay with me.”

And you thread your fingers with his, holding his hand against your heart as you whisper, “I’m home now. I’m not leaving again.”

—

Comments, reblogs, and/or asks are always appreciated!

» RHETT ABBOTT MASTERLIST

[fictionalcharactersaremypassion]

But When I'm Way Up Here, It's Crystal Clear (That I'm In A Whole New World With You)

“Man, it’s fuckin’ boring,” Mickey presses his arms into the front counter, his body bent forward with an open magazine that he flips to the next page but doesn’t really pay attention to. Across from him is Ian, who sits in the chair and absentmindedly winds a loose piece of fabric from his worn out hoodie around his finger. He’s as bored as Mickey is given that business is slow today, somehow even more than usual. 

“Yeah,” Ian murmurs without looking up. 

“Why don’t you do something about it?” Mickey hints, wiggling his eyebrows. 

Ian doesn’t get the hint, only frowns. “We almost got caught last time,” he reminds him. “We shouldn’t press our luck.” 

It’s not what Mickey means, although he’s not opposed to  quickie. “No fuckwad,” he huffs through his nose, annoyed. Ian furrows his brows, staring in confusion. “Jesus Christ,” Mickey gestures towards the flock. “Can’t you just...I don’t know, move time or whatever?” 

“No,” Ian says pointedly. 

“Why the fuck not?” 

“I don’t want to get in the habit of using it that way,” Ian says. 

“You ain’t getting in the habit. You’re just doin’ it so we’re not stuck here any fucking longer.” 

Ian hops off the chair, deciding to put his time towards doing something useful like cleaning off the sticky handle of the donut container. “Sorry, Mick, but you’ll just have to deal with it.” 

“Asshole,” Mickey mutters. “Jesus, what’s the point of having you around if you’re not gonna use it?”

The cloth gets dropped. Ian turns to face him, cocks his eyebrow, flicks his tongue over his bottom lip and it’s got Mickey instantly bothered. “Thought you liked having me around for a good fuck?” 

Maybe it’s the way he stands there, a gleam in his eyes that challenges Mickey to deny it or he might just be horny already, but he has to fight the urge to strip right there in the middle of the shop. 

“Man, whatever,” he scoffs, and he’s about to grab himself a Gatorade from the freezer when Ian takes hold of his chin to turn him back around. The kiss is soft, chaste since they’re at work, and it sends waves of electricity down his spine. 

Shit, he thinks as Ian parts from his mouth briefly but recaptures his lips. It’s so fucking good that he can’t stop himself even though there’s a part of him that knows he shouldn’t be doing this, that warns him of the danger he’ll be in if Terry catches word of what his son is doing. 

But for once, he doesn’t give a shit what Terry thinks. He kisses Ian back, feels his stomach swoosh violently and his entire body goes feather light. 

Ian pulls away for a second time, but he’s not far, lips just centimeters away. “Meet me in the park at midnight,” he whispers through a pant. 

“For what?” Mickey’s mind calculates where his dad will be at that time. Either out gallivanting from one bar to the other or passed out in the house after mixing too much alcohol and drugs together. 

“I wanna show you something,” Ian’s got this grin of excitement. Fuckin’ dorky is what it is. 

“Show me what?” Mickey asks. 

“My broom,” Ian says, adding nothing else for dramatic effect, probably. 

There’s a smart ass remark on the tip of Mickey’s tongue. He holds back, mostly because his interest is piqued. He knows Ian has a broom he rides but he’s never actually seen it, but that isn’t because Ian refused to show him. 

“Thought your sister didn’t want you taking it out right now?” Fiona, from what Ian’s told him, was nervous about him getting caught after a couple close calls so she told him not to fly for a while. 

Ian smiles mischievously. “What she doesn’t know won’t hurt her.” 

*

It’s breezy when they sneak out of their respective houses. Leaves float through the air, their hair is blowing every which way, the chill that nips at them a little more than it had been earlier. Mickey pulls his jacket closer, shivering. 

“Jesus, it’s cold.” 

“Oh, here,” Ian snaps his fingers. Instantly, Mickey’s warm again, it starts at his head and goes all the way down to his toes. “Warming spell.” 

They resume walking. Mickey stifles a yawn.

They get to the park and it’s deserted as it’s expected to be at this time of night. There’s a dim light that casts over the playground but otherwise, it’s dark. 

Ian reaches into the pocket of his jacket, pulls out something that’s covered by his whole hand. He flicks his wrist, while Mickey watches that tiny thing expand to a broomstick. 

“Ready?” Ian grins at him. He angles the broom down, throws a leg over. “Come on.” 

Mickey sits behind him, leaning back a bit so he doesn’t get Ian’s floppy hair in his face. 

“You’ll have to hold on,” Ian says. 

“Hold on to what?” 

“To me,” Ian stretches his long ass arms behind him to pull Mickey’s around Ian’s waist. 

“This is fucking gay,” Mickey grumbled. 

Ian rolls his eyes. Mickey doesn’t see that, of course, from where he’s sitting but he damn well knows Ian does it. “You take my dick up your ass and this is gay?” 

“Fuck off or I’ll beat your freckled ass.” 

“You’re paying attention to my ass?” Ian sounds smug. 

There’s silence. Mickey’s face is fucking flushing. He’s snuck a glance at it when he thinks Ian isn’t looking.“Just do the damn thing, Gallagher.” 

Ian laughs. It’s like he knows the effect he’s having on Mickey. “Okay.” 

Mickey doesn’t have time for another smart ass remark, because they’re zooming off towards the sky now. They’re going at lightning speed, the wind whipping at their faces. They hurl hundreds of feet into the air towards the twinkling stars and brightly lit moon, and the ground below is getting further away from them the more they go. 

It’s fucking incredible. 

Ian sours them through the air, agilely maneuvering them around the clouds. It’s a surreal moment that has Mickey speechless, a rarity for him. 

Shit, he’s in the air with the fucking birds flying past them. 

“Cool, huh?” Ian shouted to be heard over the wind. 

It’s really fucking cool but Mickey’s never been particularly good at having a conversation, even with his fucking boyfriend. It’s like he can’t reveal too much of himself because maybe to some extent, it’s just hard to fully trust Ian after he’s had to suppress so much because of his dad.  He's trying, though. Ian's chipped away at so many walls that Mickey's built over the years.

Ian slows them down. The broom glides through the air, and Mickey takes it all in. 

“I like coming up here,” Ian says, voice kind of far away like he’s thinking. “It’s nice to get away when I can.” 

Mickey thinks about himself, imagines if he had the same opportunity. 

“Sometimes I think about leaving and not coming back,” Ian admits. His voice is hushed, like he’s just confessed a secret. “Monica and Frank just get too much sometimes...you know.” 

He can get that. There’s no doubt that Mickey would use this to get away from Terry. And maybe, Ian knows that, even though he still has difficulty wrapping his mind about the danger that Terry truly is. 

“You can come riding with me if you want,” he offers. “If you want to get away from your dad.” 

Mickey doesn’t have to answer him now -  though he’s all but completely sure he’ll take him up on that because any time he doesn’t have to spend it within Terry Milkovich’s vicinity is a good day as far as he’s concerned - because Ian’s not thinking about that anymore. He stops the broom mid-air, behind a white puffy cloud that conceals them from view, twists himself so he’s facing Mickey somewhat. And maybe it’s his ducking eyes that sparkle from the moonlight or Mickey’s still struggling to make sense of this whole magic thing he’s got going on, but the whole world slows down right then. It’s just them, and Ian’s so fucking close his damn heart is beating so fucking fast.   

“Come on, Mick,” Ian whispers. Mickey already feels himself giving in. “It’s just us up here.” 

He leans in, kisses Ian back with abandon and lets himself get whisked away through the starry night sky. 

[crashdevlin]

Forbidden Fruit 1- Just Helping Out

Author’s Note: This is part one of Forbidden Fruit. It is a high-school set, adopted sister Wincest, non-Supernatural, a/b/o series. This is brand new, never been posted (not even to my patreon). There was an Omegaverse week over on @spnkinkevents and there was a prompt of Heat/Rut which I think this will fit pretty well.

Summary: When John and Mary Winchester adopted Y/n into their family, Dean never imagined he'd grow to think of her as anything other than a nuisance. Imagine his surprise when his sister becomes the single most important person in his life.

Pairing: Dean x Sister!Reader, Michael x Reader

Word count: 3342

Story Warnings: sister wincest, alpha!Dean, alpha!Michael, omega!reader, 18+! HERE BE SEX!! DON’T READ IF YOU’RE A YOUNG’UN!!!, masturbation, phone sex,

~~~

Dean Winchester stepped out of his car and slung his backpack over his shoulder, long bowed legs carrying him toward the last building in town he wanted to be in. His brother followed at a slower pace. His friend, Richie, approached him as soon as he entered the school, looking around pointedly.

"Where's your hot sister this morning?"

Dean rolled his eyes. He was more than tired of his friends trying to get with Y/n. Just like he was tired of reinforcing that she was adopted. "Fuck if I know, man. She was sick or something this morning. Mom told me and Sammy to head out without her."

"Sick, huh? She ain't pregnant, is she?" Richie asked. He always took it to a sexual place.

Dean scoffed. "Be real hard 'less it's the second coming of Christ, man. She's a virgin."

"You sure? 'Cause word around the locker room is-"

"You finish that sentence and I'm gonna rip your fuckin' lungs out. That's my sister and she is not a topic for your locker room bullshit," Dean growled. He knew there was no way the rumors might have substance but the very idea that Y/n let some guy touch her made his alpha show itself.

"No, no, man. Not me! I would never disrespect you and yours like that, but...I mean, Mike...Cas' big brother...he was sayin'..."

All anger flowed out of him. "They went to one movie and I escorted them. Nothing happened. He's a lying piece of shit."

"Maybe...but he's telling everybody that he nailed her so…"

"I'll deal with it."

Dean wasn’t sure how he'd deal with it, but he knew he would. There was no way he would let everyone think his sister was a ho.

"Well, don't hurt Mr. President too much. You don't want to get arrested."

"I'm not gonna hurt him," Dean argued. "Well, I might, but if I say that then it's premeditation and I don't have the 'crime of passion' thing to fall back on." He scoffed as the bell rang through the PA system. "See you in English, Richie."

"She wouldn't want you to fight with him. She likes him," Sam said, walking up to his brother as Richie rushed down the hall.

"She doesn't like liars and she doesn't deserve to have him spreading rumors like that about her."

"Then let her deal with it."

"She's not here today, is she?"

"And you gotta deal with it today?"

Dean turned on his little brother and let out a growl. "The longer he's out here spreading this shit with no pushback and no one defending her, the longer it has to take hold and the more people are gonna believe it. I am not going to let that happen."

Sam sighed, his hair swinging as he shook his head. "When she gets upset and cries about you beating up her boyfriend, I'm not gonna hold back the 'I told you so'."

"He ain't her boyfriend!" Dean called before heading into his homeroom. He threw his body down into his desk and rested his head against his fist.

He never would have thought he would end up so protective of Y/n. He hated that girl when his parents decided to foster her. They put a seven-year-old boy who only ever had a little brother with a brand new six-year-old 'sister', they were naive to not expect some pushback. She was living with them for almost a year before he called her anything other than 'Foster' and he remembered making every single thing a fight even after they decided to adopt her and make her his sister. He was an unbelievable ass to her and that still showed up sometimes.

But despite the genetics, despite the rocky start, Y/n was his sister. Y/n was his little sister and he was not about to let the student council president get away with telling everyone that she gave her virginity up to a piece of shit like him. Fuck Michael Novak.

Four other people mentioned "the rumors" before lunch. By the time he saw the tall green-eyed teen across the cafeteria, Dean was seething. He was laughing with a group of other wealthy, popular seniors and Dean was itching to hit the smile right off his face. At least it wouldn't be an unfair fight. Michael was the same age, same height, same build, and both were alphas. In a lot of ways, Michael Novak was just like Dean Winchester, so much so that people sometimes mistook them for each other in the halls during hotter months when Dean only wore t-shirts instead of his many layers of plaid and leather.

"So tell me, how'd you manage to get some from my sister when I was with you the whole damn night?" Dean asked without preface and definitely without tact as he walked up to the group.

The group collectively blanched before turning to the gruff boy. Michael's blank green eyes found Dean's rage-filled ones. "What are you going on about, Dean?"

"You been tellin' everybody that you had sex with my sister and I'm just wondering exactly how that could have happened when I was with you the whole date. I picked your lame, Abercrombie and Fitch-wearing ass up. I drove you to the theater. I sat next to her in the movie. I drove your lame, Abercrombie and Fitch-wearing ass home. When did you put her ankles behind her ears and make her see God?"

Michael looked caught for a moment, obviously unsure what to say. "You weren't around the whole night," he responded, eventually. "She and I were alone while you went to the anime store in the mall."

Dean nodded, angrily. There was a short gap where he let them out of his sight but… "I was gone for ten minutes. I just needed to grab the new Twilight Princess manga. My baby didn't smell like sex when I got back in and you really think anyone's gonna believe you talked Y/n out of her virginity in the backseat of my car in ten minutes? Also, dude, if you're only giving girls ten minutes of time, you're doing sex wrong. Have you ever had sex?"

Michael obviously took offense to the question, eyes going wide. "More than you, I'm sure, you...white trash, thrift store-shopping, piece of-"

"Well, you're wrong there. I steal my clothes and if you think I'm trash, what do you really think about Y/n?"

"I think she's been trying to get me to knot her for months and she would have been easy if you hadn't been a constant presence during the date!"

"Did you just call my sister 'easy'?! And like hell, she's been tryin' to get your dinky little dick!" Dean's fist clenched and he moved to step closer, but his phone vibrating in his pocket stopped him. He growled as he pulled it out, softening a little at his mom's contact pic on the screen. "Yeah, Mom?"

"Hey, I need you to take Sam over to Bobby's after school. You boys and your father are going to be staying there for a few days."

"Wait, wha--Why? What's goin' on?"

"Because Y/n's becoming a woman and having two alphas in the house when an omega is going through her first heat would make everything harder and Sam is going to want to be with you wherever you are so...meet your dad at Bobby's, we'll see you in a few days, okay?"

"Y-yeah." Dean turned away from Michael and his friends, phone pressed to his ear. His cheeks went hot as he heard Y/n moan in the background. "Is she...she okay?"

"She'll be fine. First one's the worst one. You remember your first rut, how you wanted to fight everyone and went through half a bottle of lotion?"

"Com'on, Mom," he groaned.

Mary laughed. "I'll take care of her. We'll see you when she's on the other side."

"Yes, ma'am. See ya then." He sighed before pushing his phone back into his pocket. "Stop lying about my sister, you dickbag...and lose her number because no way is she going out with you again," Dean called over his shoulder as he walked away. Y/n was under enough stress. She didn't need to come back to school to find out that Dean got in a fist fight with Michael over her.

"You didn't hurt him?" Richie couldn't believe he just witnessed Dean walk away from an opportunity to defend Y/n's honor. "Who was on that call, man?"

"My mom. I'm not gonna…not gonna hurt him. I called him out, his friends know he lied, and I'm never gonna let Y/n go out with him again so…" He shrugged and sat on the table, boots resting on the seat. "He really said she'd'a been easy if I hadn’t been on the date, blockin' him. He obviously doesn't know anything about her."

"You let that slide?! 'Cause your mommy called you?"

"Richie," Dean started, licking his lips. He had a hundred things he wanted to say to his friend, but his mind kept replaying the moan he heard in the background of his conversation with his mother. He adjusted how he was sitting as he started to get hard. "Shut up."

~~~~~~~~~~

"So, we gotta sleep at Bobby's until Y/n's feeling better?" Sam asked from the passenger seat of Dean's Impala.

"Yeah. Dad brought clothes over for us and we're gonna be sleeping on the couches. Dad gets the guest bed, of course."

"How long does an omega stay in heat?"

Dean looked over at Sam for a second before looking back to the road. "Aren't you takin' sex ed? Isn't there a whole section in that book about gender presentation?"

"It's all vague. 'One to five days'. That's not helpful. Come on. You know stuff. Cassie was an omega, right?"

Dean rolled his eyes at the mention of his ex. "Yeah, Cassie was an omega...and her heats lasted three. Mom's last two. So...we'll probably have to stay at Bobby's 'til Saturday."

"Thank you. Was that so hard, jerk?"

"Harder than you think," Dean said, shifting on the bench seat. Just thinking about Y/n in heat gave him a hard on...which was wrong. So wrong. That's his sister.

Bobby's front door opened and Ellen stepped out. "Hey, boys. Jo Beth and I put pillows an' blankets out on the couch and loveseat and y'all can do your homework in the library. Bobby and yer dad'll be back from the body shop at 6 so you got plenty'a time to get that stuff finished before dinner. Fried chicken. Come on in." The Winchesters followed the brunette woman inside. "As always-" she started as soon as Dean walked in.

"'Hands off Jo'. Yes, ma'am," Dean finished for her.

"Good," she said before disappearing into the kitchen.

"Get caught playing doctor once, ten years ago...never let us live it down," Dean grumbled under his breath as he tossed his backpack through the open doorway into the library.

"She'll get over it one day," Jo said, walking up to pick Dean's bag up.

"Not fucking likely. But it doesn't matter, does it?" Dean chuckled as he slid the door closed and sat at Bobby's desk. "Her threats didn't actually stop us."

"Hush yer mouth," Jo whispered, furiously. "Momma would kill us!"

"She'd kill Dean." Sam flopped down on the loveseat and dropped his backpack to his feet. "No big loss."

"Yeah, shut up, you little bitch."

"Are you going to do your work or just-" Sam cut himself off when Dean put his feet up on Bobby's desk and pulled out a comic book from his bag. "Right." Sam rolled his eyes.

"I don't need to do the homework to pass the tests and all my teachers know that shit, man. They don't fuck with me about it."

Sam just rolled his eyes again.

~~~~~~

Dean's phone ringing on the floor beside the couch woke him at a little after midnight. He was barely awake enough to recognize Y/n's contact picture before he had answered and put the phone to his ear.

"Dean?" Her whisper through the phone made him sit up, more awake.

"Yeah? You okay?" he whispered back to keep Sam from waking.

"Mom told you?"

"Yeah."

"I don't like this," she whined and Dean was struck with the desire to go home and comfort her. "I've never been so…"

"Horny?" Dean guessed.

"I was going for 'uncomfortable' but...yeah," she admitted. Dean swallowed thickly and licked his lips as blood rushed southward. He felt a little bad about getting hard over his little sister's first heat, but it wasn’t something he could control. "I don't know what to do. I just wanna...make it go away."

"O-only thing that would m-make it stop for a few hours would be...an alpha, but, um...you can...you know...and that'll...take some of the edge off."

"I can't," she squeaked.

"Can't...what, masturbate? It's totally natural and okay to-"

"No, I just...maybe I'm too stupid or I'm doing it wrong but it...I've tried before and it d-doesn't work."

Dean's face went hot as his dick twitched. "Um...you could--you aren't stupid, you just don't--um, I could send you a few videos from Pornhub and-"

"I can't watch those kinds of things!"

"Don't be such a prude," he snapped before sighing. "Sorry. That was rude. I'm an ass."

"It's okay. I'm sorry, too. I'm just...I'm not eighteen yet. I really shouldn't look at those videos."

"Right, well…" An idea came to his head and it left his mouth before he could realize how wrong the idea was. "I've seen a lot of those videos. Maybe I could help you."

There was silence on her side for a minute and Dean almost laughed it off and pretended it was a joke until he heard, "You could do that?" Her voice was so small and hopeful that he couldn't call it a joke.

"Y-yeah. I could do that...for you."

"And that’s...okay? It's not-"

"I'm your big brother. If I can help make this a little more bearable for you...I should. So, uh." Dean shot a look at Sam's sleeping form and got up to tip-toe into the bathroom at the foot of the stairs. "You in bed?"

"Yeah," she said on a breath.

"Okay, so...I guess, just get comfortable and, um, close your eyes."

"Okay."

"And just get a clear picture in your head of somebody that you'd wanna touch you. It's better if you can imagine someone...when you can think about their voice and how they might look when they're hovering over you...looking down at you...runnin' their hands down your body like you're about to be doing."

"So, I should run my hands down my body?"

"Did you come up with someone to imagine?"

"Uh-huh."

"Okay, now, imagine that guy and let your hands drift until you find a place that feels good. Imagine him kissing your neck and telling you how fucking pretty you are." A sharp gasp from Y/n made Dean's dick twitch and he reached down to run his hand across the front of his pajama pants. "Some girls really like their nipples being played with. Some like tugging and pinching real hard, but others like it to be all light like a feather touch. So you should-"

"Oh my god!" she whispered through a moan and Dean had to bite his lip to keep from moaning himself...and to keep from asking how she likes her nipples played with.

"Now, um, put your hand in your underwear, whichever hand feels better...usually dominant hand, but sometimes that left hand is just a bit different and that can be fun." He wrapped his fingers around his erection through his pants and tried to control himself. "Keep your other hand playing with your nipples and don't just go straight for it. Tease yourself before you get the fingers going."

"T-tease what? My…"

"You need to play with your clit, baby," he said, cursing himself for calling her that before squeezing his erection and moving on. "Gentle pressure, circular motions...when you-"

"Oh! Oh, fuck!" Hearing her curse was too much. His goody-two-shoes, Student Council Vice President, church choir soloist little sister was playing with her clit and moaning for him. It was so wrong...and a-fucking-mazing. He reached into his pants and boxers and pulled out his cock, sweeping his thumb over the head. "It feels so good."

"If you're...if you think you're wet enough, you can slip your middle finger in-inside you and...just kinda feel around. Don't thrust, just press your fingertip into your pussy." His hand started moving slowly down his erection and back to the tip. "Gotta find the spots you're gonna be aimin' for when you start thrusting."

"How do you know-"

"Dirty movies, nasty mangas, and some hands-on experience. Now...fuck...um, take as long as you want with the teasing, ya know. There's no such thing as too much foreplay, even when you're playing with yourself."

He started tugging at his cock as he listened to her breathing heavily. Something in the rhythm of her breaths told him she had found her pace and started fingering herself. "How's that workin' for you, baby sis?" He needed to hear her voice. He needed to know what she sounded like all wrecked with bliss.

"It's workin'," she whimpered.

"Yeah? You think you can make yourself cum like that?"

"Yeah. Oh, I'm so close."

"I bet you are. Bet you're about to gush all over those pretty little fingers, aren't you?"

"Fuck, so close. Alpha, I'm so close."

Dean dropped his phone in the sink as his whole body jerked and his toes curled, a powerful, unexpected orgasm taking his breath as he shot cum all over the counter. "Shit!" he hissed, grabbing his phone as he continued fucking his fist. He got the phone to his ear just in time to hear Y/n let out a shuddering breath and a relieved moan. "You...you feel better, Y/n?"

"Uh-huh. I...I'm sorry I called you that. It just came out."

Dean chuckled, grabbing some toilet paper to clean up the evidence of what her calling him that did to him. "It's okay. It's natural. You're an omega in heat. I'm an alpha you trust...you were doing that. It's not a big deal. As long as you're feeling better, that's the important thing."

"I'm feeling a lot better. Thank you. I knew it was the right choice to call you."

Dean tossed the toilet paper in the bowl and flushed before securing his boxers and pants. "Why did you call me?"

"Something in me said you'd be able to help."

Dean licked his lips and swallowed. "I'm glad I could help. Um...but we should probably not tell anybody that I did, ya know?"

"Yeah. People probably would think-"

"Yeah."

"Thank you for helping, Dean. This won't be so miserable now."

"Try to get some sleep, Y/n."

"You too. Sorry I woke you up for this."

Dean smiled. "Don't be sorry. I'm glad I could help."

"Oh, um...can you collect my schoolwork for the week? It's gonna be in the front office tomorrow."

"Yeah. I'll, uh, grab it and drop it off for you tomorrow."

"Okay. Thank you. Love you, Dean. Night."

"Night." Dean disconnected the call and stared at himself in the mirror over the sink. "That’s your little sister, man. What's wrong with you?"

He shook his head and sighed, checking the time on his phone and wiping at his tired eyes. "Nobody has to know. Doesn't have to be a thing. I was just helpin' her out like any good big brother would." He flicked the light off and headed back to the couch in the library.

The Kitchen Sink Tags- @flamencodiva @sacriceria @lyarr24 @440mxs-wife @nancymcl @mariekoukie6661 @alwayskeepfightingsweetheart @cosicas-cuquis @queenoftheunderdark @myheartbelongsintz @squirrelnotsam @akshi8278 @muhahaha303 @agirlwithdemonblood @this-is-me19 @mrswhozeewhatsis  

[shiftingmuse]

Francis Begbie x The Hierophant - Kindred Spirit;

ao3 link x

{Based on an old roleplay which I went back and read today; Basically Hiero and Begbie had a night together and he ends up leaving her only to come back and find Hiero is gone.}

-------------

Franco sat on a beat-up couch, reviewing the night he had experienced away from his mates. The blonde had come into his life without warning and left him feeling inadequate without her near him. It had only been a week, but he was certain something was wrong. In the time away from her, June had come looking for him going on about a baby. It hit Begbie like a ton of bricks, thinking she was with a child. He'd only been with her a few times; he knew he couldn't be the father. 

That had knocked him off his feet and on his arse; he hadn't forgotten about the blonde, but he sure as shite went into hiding. So much so that he got himself pinched for a few days. When he got out, the first thing he did was try and find the woman's apartment. 

It took him longer than he expected, but he found the pub and then made his way to where she led him that night. Franco noted the keypad on the door and waited until someone went into the apartments before he could sneak in after them. Her apartment was on the second floor; he remembered that, and the door was not so difficult to spot either. His knocking didn't lead to anyone coming to check up on him. When it became too apparent no one was in, he pulled the knife from his back pocket and jimmy the door open. 

He could tell right away no one had been in the apartment for some time. The bottle of whiskey they finished together was still on the couch. 

As he looked around the space, it felt empty; it felt like someone had left town. 

It took him a moment to register what he was feeling before he ran through the place. Anything he could open and check, he did so. He was trashing the place from the living room to the kitchen and then the bedroom. When everything set, when he realized she was gone, Begbie stood next to the bed with the knife in his hand. 

"Whit did Ah dae, whit did Ah fuckin dae!?"

He flipped the knife open and then just went to shit about the situation. His anger that had been building up dove into the bed. Franco just lunged at the mattress and stabbed the item over and over again. The man kept stabbing at the thing until a spring came loose and cut his hand. "Fuck!" He shouted before his eyes focused on the blood dripping on the mattress.

"Fuckin psychopath..." 

The whimper came a moment later before he got himself off the torn-up piece and hauled himself into the living room. His blood dripped through the apartment as he went, even as he came to sit on the couch.

No tears were shed, but the man was disturbed. 

"She's gain." 

Her blonde curls, those blue eyes, a short skirt, floral-pattered blouse, and kitten heels. Begbie closed his eyes and leaned back on the sofa. Those red-painted lips came into his mind watching her giggle as she called him bitter names. As she riled him more and more, wanting him to thrash and lash out. He set the blade down on the opposite side of the couch, then himself. 

One of his hands reached up to touch a bit of flesh on his neck. It wasn't completely healed yet, but he knew the cut would scar. 'What is it, Franco? Don't think I won't cut you!?' Oh, that threat became a reality; she left him with a wound that she lapped at. His little minx, his wee bonnie missus, his...

"Hiero." 

Begbie opened his eyes before he looked around the room for a moment. His hand wasn't bleeding as badly when he looked at the thing again. A frown on him before he reached for a handkerchief out of his pocket to wrap up the item. 

"...she's gain." 

A sigh came from the mustachioed Scotsman before he went to stand. "Ye waur nae a waste ay fuckin' time, ah was." He says leaving the knife behind on the couch. Feeling like his heart had been ripped out, knowing she was truly gone. 

---------

Notes;

The knife Franco leaves at the apartment is the knife Hierophant gives him in the roleplay.

The rage he feels stabbing at the mattress is the idea he feels as if he's been fucked over. His rage is a mixture of loss and fear that he'll never see the woman again. Bleeding through the apartment is him trying to leave a part of him behind. While leaving the knife is letting go of Hiero because if she's just left without letting him know she's gone, then in his mind she wants nothing to do with him. 

We can play on the idea she knows about June and the baby or just that she left because she's an assassin and was never meant to stay long. Either way, it's just an angsty little drabble piece.

[st-danger]

hey! i'm really not a writer but i have to take a class on it next year and i'm really scared by it, so i'm trying to get opinions and whatnot from people who do write. (that's why you might see this ask in a lot of authors' inboxes heh) i'm wondering if there's anything that helps you get in the mood to write, if there's anything that causes/makes worse a writer's block, if you find it easier to write when given a prompt or if you prefer to make things up completely, if you prefer writing a story or more of an essay, how long does it take you to finish something and how do you know it's finished? and i know a lot of these could be answered with "it depends" but please avoid saying that if you can! thank you for helping me!

MISSED THIS, TOO. I hope you see this, I'm so sorry I'm just only now responding. In order:

1.) Don't wait to get in the mood to write. The best thing you can do is avoid waiting until the mood strikes you, and just sit down and do it. If you can sit down and write a ton because you have a mighty need, fantastic. If you sit down and feel uninspired but find a groove, suddenly you'll hit your stride and be in the mood. This is fantastic. Or, you might sit down and write three sentences and close it up for the day. This is also fantastic. Writing is a muscle to be worked out, and the more you do, the better. Don't wait for inspiration to strike. Create your own.

2.) In my opinion, writer's block is caused by one of two things: getting burnt out by it, or getting in your head about it. If you're feeling burnt out on a particular project, start something new. If you're getting in your own way, remind yourself not to edit as you go. Write down whatever comes to you and don't worry about quality. Just get it out. I find that I do best when I push through, and I do my very best to sit down and write every day, even when I don't feel like it. Even when I write next to nothing. I think that doing this has improved my writing a lot. Of course, I'm just one guy, and this approach might be frustrating instead of helpful. Some people do best taking a break for a few days and coming back to things with fresh eyes. If you're stuck on a particular part, you're always allowed to skip to another scene you feel like writing. I tend to only write in order because that's what's comfortable for me, but skipping around can help you keep momentum.

3.) I don't know if I have much of a preference for prompted versus my own thoughts. Both allow for creativity, and if you ever find yourself in a rut, being handed an idea and asked to run with it can help you get out of said rut. If the prompt is open-ended, I have more than enough space to put my own spin on things. If it's very specific, then I have a very clear framework which often makes things easier. If it's my own, I get to play in my sandbox and fuck up the sand castles however I want. Benefits to all, and I would encourage you to do both.

4.) How long varies greatly, especially with fanfiction, especially as I write different characters and figure out how I want to write their voices. On average, if I'm in my groove, I can write between 1,500 to 2,000 words in an hour, though "Reap What You Sow" is about 3k and I got that out in slightly over an hour. Usually takes about 3 hours for me to write and revise something around 3k. Anything above 5k I usually have to do in multiple sittings, and I'll space it out over two days. My ADHD tends to make marathon writing sessions unhelpful, and I don't think I can maintain quality.

5.) I struggle writing longer pieces, I really do. I've played with shorter pieces for so long, and because I have more familiarity and confidence in those, I would say I prefer it. But I'm really, really trying to write longer things- more flexibility, more room to play with. But oh my fuckin' god, it's really difficult for me. As I push myself more in that direction, though, I can see myself being much happier working with it.

6.) This is a tough one to quantify. It's more clear-cut in fanfiction than it is my original writing. Sometimes it just feels right. Other times you'll nitpick for ages. Eventually, though, the story needs to be finished because...it needs to be finished. There's always more editing and revising you could be doing. Always. If you're unsure, leave it alone for a few days, come back, and read it out loud. If there's a good sense of satisfaction when you finish reading the last line, go for it. Be done and get it out to be shared so others can enjoy it. It's an intuitive thing that will be clearer and easier to decide upon the more you do it.

Don't be scared for your writing class!! Be stoked that you have a new muscle to train and a new hobby to dive into.

Again, sorry this took so long to get answered, and I hope there's something of value in here for you. My ask box is open if there's any follow up or anything else I can (hopefully HELPFULLY) answer.

<3

[slaasherslut]

The Commission

Summary: Bo goes to Ava right before Christmas with a very important task for her, which is sure to sweep Percy right off her feet.

Warnings: some platonic!bo x ava (oc), slight cursing, mentions of sex, mentions of killing

3.4k words OC Percy belongs to @the-pinstriped-hood

Ava sat laying awake in bed. It was already 3am and she didn't expect to get much sleep tonight. Her phone softly buzzed as the phone's screen lit up. “Fuck it.” She thought. “I’m not going to be sleeping anyways.” She unplugged her phone from the charger and checked the notification. It was a text from Bo? She never really got texts from him unless it was necessary. 

“Avana. I require your particular set of skills. Tell no one. You're headed to the garage. 5am don't be late.”

She read over the text confused. The last time she got a text like that he needed some help with a few bodies and didn’t want Lester to know what the two of you were up to. Her lack of squeamishness around blood and innards made her a good partner in crime for Bo. She opened it and typed.

“Particular set of skills? Did you need help cleaning up or tracking someone down again? I'll be there soon. Just give me some time to get dressed.”

She sent the message as she slowly pulled Lester’s arm from around her waist and rested it down on the mattress so as to not wake her sleeping possum. She noticed the text was immediately read as she got dressed in the dark. She slipped on a pair of black leggings and an old Metallica hoodie. She had a quick snack and an energy drink from the fridge before writing Les a short note.

“Couldn't sleep. Went for a walk. Text me when you wake up. I love you xoxo Ava”

She placed it on his nightstand before giving him a soft kiss to the temple. Lester hummed at the contact of her lips, still fast asleep. She slipped on a pair of shoes and grabbed her patched up denim jacket as she headed out into the darkness of Ambrose towards the garage. By the time she got there she saw Bo with the garage wide open and saw him walking around inside. The older man paced back and forth in front of her, his brows knitted together in deep thought. She could tell he had a lot on his mind. She had never seen him quite so on edge before and it made her nervous.

“Bo come on, you're freaking me out, what's going on?”

He hesitated for a moment as he stopped in his tracks and turned to her, seemingly still trying to collect the right words in his mouth from his brain. He glanced down at the small silver bird skull that hung on a velvet string around her neck, he pointed towards it.

“Made that yourself, didn’ you?”

“Yeah, why? What's that gotta do with anything?” Ava fiddled with the piece of silver. 

“What else can you make?”

“Just about anything I guess. Necklaces, bracelets, chains, rings, you name it. Looking for something for Percy?”

“So you can make a ring? Like from scratch?”

“Yeah I can do that, just depends on what you-” Ava froze. The realization of what Bo was asking hit her like a goddamn freight train. The biggest smile stretched across her face.

“Bo Sinclair, are you going to do what I think you are going to do!?” Her voice seemed to rise a few octaves in excitement. Bo hushed her, grabbing her by the shoulder and pulling her deeper into the garage.

“Keep your fuckin’ voice down!” He hushed. “No need to wake the entire town.” Ava stared at him with questioning eyes and a smile that wouldn't falter as she waited for him to say it. Bo hesitated. The last thing he wanted was to be viewed as ‘soft’ like his brothers, but he couldn't help it. He had many women in his thirty plus years, whether it be one night stands in dingy bars or girlfriends who didn't last longer than a few months. Nothing was quite like her. Percy Jones. Something about that woman jump starts his heart and sends it into overdrive. He was putty in her hands even if he didn't show it, much like she was for him. He adjusted his hat on his head to distract from his nervous thoughts. His eyes hung at Ava's shoes as he spoke.

“I wanna ask Perc to marry me.” The garage was silent. The only sound being the early morning birds and the humming from the fluorescent lights overhead. He raised his eyes to look at Ava, her crossed arms dropped to her sides as the look of shock across her features turned into excitement.

"That's amazing!" Ava yelled, she immediately covered her mouth upon realizing how loud she was. "That's great Bo!" She repeated quietly. She was shocked. Not that Bo wanted to marry Percy, hell even a blind man could see how madly in love those two kids were. She was shocked that he was actually telling her. She started jumping around with joy. She couldn't wait to see the look on Percy’s face when he gets down on one knee and pulls out the ring. She was so excited she forgot about the whole first half of their conversation.

“When?! Where?! How?!” Ava almost yelled, grinning from ear to ear. She couldn't stand still. She was just too excited for her big sister to get married! Bo started genuinely laughing, he was sure he had never seen her exude so much energy when she wasn't playing music. It was kind of entertaining.

“Calm down, calm down. I haven't decided all that jus’ yet. The only thing I've decided on so far is the ring I want you to make for her." The beginning of their conversation rushed through her brain once again. Ava was confused to say the least. There is no way Bo wanted her to make Percy's fucking wedding ring. No way! It wouldn't be nearly as good as a ring he bought in a store.

"What? No! B-Bo I can't do that!" Ava started to panic once the excitement wore off.

“Ava -”

“No! Bo I can't! If it was just something little it would be different but this is way outta my league! A wedding ring!? That's insane! I can't risk-” 

“AVA!” Bo shouted through her panic. “I want you to do it and that's final, you ain't changin’ my mind… Now will you make your sister's wedding ring for me?” Ava inhaled as she bit the inside of her cheek, she nodded. Bo leaned back against his truck that he had parked in the garage with crossed arms.

“Good, cause I don't trust a nobody with a task like this.” Ava shook out her nervous hands as she took another long breath before nodding again.

“Okay.” She huffed out as a small smile began to cross her face. “Let's get this started, the earlier the better.” Ava rooted around in the inside pocket of her denim jacket looking for her current song book that she always carried around and a pen. She pulled two chairs up to his workbench as he cleared enough space for her to take notes. Her heart was filled with pride that Bo had asked her of all people. Bo Sinclair isn't exactly known for playing nice with others so this was quite the rarity. They both sat across from each other and Bo began to describe what he wanted for Percy. Ava listened carefully and took detailed notes of his words, adding a little sketch if she thought she needed some extra details. She made sure to give him suggestions for different kinds of metal and gems and answered all his questions to the best of her ability.

"How hard is it to carve a skull out of a pearl?" Bo questioned. Ava giggled, she was loving all his ideas so far and she knew Percy would too. She was so excited to bring his ideas to fruition.

"It's extremely hard to carve a pearl!” She said with a laugh. “That'll cost you extra, sir." She pointed her pen at him before making a note of his request.  

"Darlin'. I promise you, money is no problem. I can pay you as much as you need.” Ava looked up from her book at him with a smile.

"Bo I'm just joking, the happiness this ring will create will be more than enough compensation. Consider it your Christmas gift.” She looked back down as she started sketching the pearl skull. “Lester and I are going into town today, I'll buy some supplies then and I can get started as soon as I can.” Bo smiled to himself. He couldn't believe he was getting one step closer to fully claiming an angel, his own little piece of heaven. “I'm just gonna need her ring size before I get started. It's very important that it's accurate. Can you get that for me?” She looked up at him with a raised eyebrow.

"I can get that for you." Bo smiled. He was going to have to wait until Percy took one of her melatonin fuelled naps so he could get the size without her knowing. "And I hate to give you a deadline but I need that ring by Christmas Eve if that's possible”

Ava huffed in thought, sitting back in her seat. She tapped at her notebook filled with sketches and notes with help from Bo. She thought for a moment. It was the end of November already and she still had many plans for Christmas gifts she intended on making everyone. She would be cutting it close but she was optimistic. "I can do it but if anyone asks why I'm hiding away in your garage all day it's up to you to use that manipulative brain of yours to come up with an excuse."

“I'll do my best.” Bo chuckled. Ava’s phone vibrated on the table as she was sketching last minute touches to her plans. It was a text from Lester asking where she was. It looks like he had woken up to his bed half empty and her note. She said she ran into Bo on her walk and had been hanging out at the garage. Les told her he’d pick her up in an hour and then go into town and get lunch like they had planned. Ava would have to make up an excuse to Lester about why she was spending so much time away from home. As far as he will know, she's making Christmas gifts. Which isn't a lie, she's making everyone's gifts. One was just very secretive and she couldn't risk someone walking in halfway through the process.

Later that day with Lester, she made sure to get him to make a few extra stops for her to collect a bunch of the materials she needed. Not just for Bo’s ring but for a couple other projects she had in mind. 

“Whatcha need to go to all those places for, sweetpea?”

“It's a surprise!” Those three words being said so close to Christmas were enough to get him to stop asking questions.

At least five days a week, Ava spent a few hours working away in Bo’s garage basement. Bo would sneak into the basement every now and again to check her progress. He would ask her to explain what she was doing in extreme detail. He wanted to know everything that went into making this ring. He always made sure to ask if she needed any more materials or brought her something to eat when she spent longer days there. There was even one time he brought down a tourist and it completely slipped his mind. 

“Oh fuck, sorry Ava!” He started to drag the bound and gagged tourist back upstairs. 

“Don't worry about it! Do what you've gotta do, I don't mind.” She said to him, waving her hand and not even turning to look at him. Bo chuckled with a smile, looking at the tourist.

“It's your lucky day! Little Ava here is willing to share her space with us! How polite! She's making the ring I'm gonna propose to my girlfriend with.” They screamed behind their gag. “I know, it's very nice of her.”

A few hours later, once the person he brought down was dealt with, he returned to the basement. He walked up behind her, patting her back harshly. She almost dropped the rag covered in polishing wax that was in her hands.

"Thank you again, Ava. Words can't fuckin' express how much this means t’ me."

Ava smiled while covered in metal shavings and polish. "Of course, you know I'd do anything for you guys. You're family."

It was roughly two weeks later when Ava slipped the completed ring into a dark red velvet ring box, breathing a sign of relief. She was so happy and so proud of herself. She admired her hard work in its temporary home. The piece turned out one thousand times better than she could have ever expected. She imagined how the ring would look on Percy’s finger and she couldn't help the tears that welled up in her eyes. She didn't even have to wonder what her big sister would say when Bo got down on one knee, she knew her answer would be ‘yes’. She closed the box and held it tightly in her hand as she leaned over the table and cried happy tears for her sister. Once Ava pulled herself out of her tears she snatched her phone off the table and opened up Bo’s contact.

"Come to the garage, I've got something special for you!"

Ava sent the text and leaned back in the chair of her temporary workspace, knee bouncing. She was excited and happy throughout the whole process but as soon as she sent that text her stomach dropped. She was terrified. She had made jewellery before but never at this calibre, nothing that someone would be giving to a loved one at the altar. This was supposed to be something big. This would be a ring Percy would wear forever. What if she didn't like it? What if Bo was disappointed in her work? Her brain rattled and her stomach felt like it was moments away from propelling itself up her throat as she waited. 

////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

Back at the Sinclair home Bo laid in his bed next to Percy, on his back with arms behind his head. Both were bare due to their escapades from the past few hours, sweaty bodies covered by the thin sheet of their bed as moonlight leaked through the open shades of the bedroom window. Bo looked over at his girlfriend fast asleep, her back facing him as her black hair lay in silky rivulets across her pillow. He reached out to slowly trail rough fingertips up her exposed waist. The feeling of her damp skin was smooth under his touch. Percy let out a small sigh from the contact of her lover, still in a deep slumber. Bo couldn't help but smile at the serenity in their shared space. A vibration from the floor pulled his attention away. His phone must still be in the pocket of his jeans that were haphazardly tossed to the floor earlier. If it was any other time he would have ignored it but he didn't want to risk any updates or questions from Ava who was probably still in the gas station basement so late at night. He would also have to remember to apologize to Les for keeping Ava away for so long.

He snatched his jeans off the floor and rifled through his pocket as he pulled out his phone. The time, 11:58pm lit up his screen along with a text from Ava. He couldn't contain his excitement as a large grin plastered across his devilishly handsome features. He glanced back towards Percy to make sure she was still asleep as he carefully sat up. He quietly slipped away from underneath the warm sheets and into the cool night air of their bedroom. He scooped his clothes up off the floor and silently slipped them on. His mind raced with excitement and fear. He had full faith in Ava to make this ring, he wouldn't have gone to her if he didn't. He would have got some big city schmuck to do it for triple the price. What he was worried about was Percy. What if she didn't like his design? What if she said no?

As Bo approached the front door of the gas station he saw Ava inside standing in wait, leaning against one of the counters with her fingers wound around something crimson red. He strode through the door and they exchanged excited smiles, walking up to her eyeing what was in her hands.

"Is it ready?"

Ava held out the box to him, nerves gripping her as he opened it. A smile almost split his face in two as he stared in awe. In the box was a pure silver band with six beautiful stones. There was a glistening bright red ruby with a pear cut, on each side of it were two polished dark bloodstones with hints of a crimson red that matched the colours of the ruby and the box it was in. Underneath all those stones was the main attraction, Bo was speechless as he stared. An absolutely stunning white pearl that was meticulously carved in the shape of a human skull minus the jaw. The stones above it gave the skull a lovely gemstone crown. Bo delicately pulled the ring from the box and studied it from every angle. The craftsmanship was almost professional, only a few minuscule bumps, marks and uneven cuts gave away the fact it was made right below their feet. He noticed some markings on the underside of the band, he could just barely make out the word “Angel” in a typewriter font. 

"I knew I could count on you." He carefully slipped the ring back into its place in the box before snapping it shut and shoving it into his coat pocket. His eyes were glazed in a way Ava had never seen before, it was an unexpected sight. Bo pulled her in by the collar of her sweater and hugged her tight. “Thank you so much.”

Ava was frozen for a moment, not expecting the physical contact. She started tearing up at his show of emotion and hugged him back with the same vigour. 

"Of course, and thank you for giving me the honour of making it." Bo gave her one final squeeze before pulling away. He had tears in his eyes as he smiled down at her. He initially had a look of bewilderment across his handsome features. Ava could see a shift in his eyes as a different emotion started to take over. His smile slowly started to falter as his mind started overworking itself.

“You think she’ll say yes?” Ava laughed, not meaning to. She felt bad when she saw the look on his face.

“Are you kidding? Of course she will. I know my big sister really well, probably better than most people. She is absolutely head over heels in love with you, Bo. She wants you and nobody else. That girl looks at you like you carved the ground beneath her feet, hung the moon and the stars in the sky. She wants nothing more than to take your last name."

"Persephone Adriana Sinclair." He smirked as he spoke to himself, wanting to hear his future wife's name on his tongue. "That has a lovely ring to it..." He took a deep breath and smiled. "Thanks again Ava." She gave him a sweet smile and a nod as he opened the gas station door. He hesitated for a moment, staring at the ground. He finally looked up at her after a few moments.

"You're gonna make a great sister in law one o'these days, Ava. Promise you'll make a good man outta Lester?" Bo started to leave.

Ava giggled. "He already is a good man. The greatest man I've ever been with. Thank you Bo."

☾ notes: AH okay ive had this one in the works for Pin for a while now and we planned it our together. i think it turned out super cute and we have big plans! as for Pin, i really really hope you like it, the last thing i wanna do is let you down girly. youre amazing ilysm <3

☾ tag list: @rottent33th @cries-in-latino @vincent-sinclair-deserved-better @the-pinstriped-hood @allthingsblood @25bohemianmoons

message me if you want to be added to my tag list!

[troublewithvampires]

@yaksha-garden said: [SMACK]

(punch him. do it. - open)

It's around two in the morning, and the latest meeting of Bloodsuckers Anonymous is in full swing. The dilapidated apartment building they've chosen for this event is alive with undead monsters, cheering and laughing among themselves as they stand in a circle, watching other vampires beat the everliving shit out of each other.

If asked directly, Sal would deny actually enjoying these meetings. He'd say he comes for stress relief and nothing more. After all, even getting to break some bloodsuckers' teeth in isn't worth having to be around the annoying fucks any longer than he has to. But, well... he does enjoy them. He has fun, fucking sue him.

Like tonight. Tonight, Sal is doing fucking great.

"And we have our winner!" the announcer, a tall woman with a spiky mane of fiery hair, crows as she hauls him off of the vampire he'd just beaten into submission. "Everyone give it up for Two-Shoes!" The crowd echoes his name, and Sal grins viciously back at them.

"Who's next?" he calls. Despite the lack of blood in his veins, Sal feels alive right now, adrenaline thrumming through him. And it seems the others are loving every second of it. "Come on! We ain't got all fuckin' night!"

The announcer laughs, her own expression deadly as she rests a clawed hand on his shoulder. "Come on, you fuckin' cowards!" she shouts. "Who wants to kick this shithead's ass?"

This goes on for another thirty seconds, until someone actually does step out of the crowd: a short, somewhat slight stranger with warm brown skin and short, wavy hair. A jagged crack, like a broken piece of pottery, stretches down their face, which is currently set in a determined frown.

They aren't someone Sal's seen here before, and at a glance, they definitely don't look like a vampire. Maybe not human, but certainly not a vampire. Still, they clearly know what they're doing, and the announcer recognizes them. Her eyes glitter as she steps forward to welcome them into the ring.

"And we have our challenger!" she calls. "Soma vs Two-Shoes. Y'all know the rules by now, so I'm not gonna rehash them--just give us a good show." Something darkens in her expression as she watches Sal and the stranger square up with each other. She holds up one hand.

"Ready?" she says. Sal glances at her and nods, before he turns his attention to the stranger before him.

Normally, Sal isn't that cocky during the fights, but he's still riding the emotional high of his repeated victories. So, he decides to indulge in a little shit-slinging, see what happens.

"You can back out now," he tells the stranger. "I won't tell anybody--might save you a few broken bones." He's only guessing if the stranger's bones can break, but he assumes they will. "'Course, I'd love to kick the shit out of you, so-"

Before he can finish his sentence, the stranger lunges forward and punches him hard in the jaw. There's more force behind the blow than he thought there'd be, enough to snap his head back momentarily, stunned.

The message is clear: Shut the fuck up and fight.

Sal can respect that. Once he recovers, he grins down at the stranger, eyes wild with excitement at the chance for a real fight.

"Good choice," he purrs. And then he pounces.

[actualaster]

Something pretty personal below the cut, just. If I seem off for a little while that's why.

After a life much longer than most (94!!!) my Gramps passed last night.

I was pretty close to him, my grandparents being some of my favorite extended family members and all.

It wasn't sudden--he's had major scares for like a decade, but over the last few years especially he was in and out of the hospital a lot more. He had cancer, but a lot of it was also just advanced age. Also highly treatment-resistant infection in the end. We knew for a little while now this most recent time that he wasn't going to pull out of it--it was just a matter of how long.

He had family with him for most of it--but I fuckin' swear, he timed it. He waited for us to go home to let go. That's exactly like him, right up through the end. He was the sort who didn't like asking for help and didn't like people seeing him weak--he wouldn't want us to see him go. I swear he waited until we wouldn't before letting go.

It was peaceful--by that point they had the morphine drip and an anti-anxiety one going so honestly it was harder for us watching the pause between breaths get longer and more staggered than it was for him.

(The hospice nurse said it could possibly be days in that condition--it's impossible to tell at that point if it would be hours or days. We're honestly glad it was hours, not days, because every indication we had while he was still coherent is that he was ready. But since we had no idea if it would be hours or days... That's why folks went home. Personally I figure that even if somebody stuck around he'd have just waited until they stepped out to go to the bathroom, that's just the kinda person he was.)

He was the first family member I've seen between when they pass and when there was a funeral, though. We live so close to the hospital, like less than 10 minutes. It wasn't super long between when The Call came and we got there to make sure they had directions on what to do with the body.

It's surprising, really, just how fast heat goes out of you after that last breath. I hadn't realized just how quickly it dissipates.

But I got to see him before he was totally gone, too. He couldn't really talk--too weak to shape words. That was the hardest, the point where he was obviously aware and able to sort of look around and respond and we could tell he knew what was going on but he couldn't articulate anything.

He apparently sort of drifted between that and being able to talk for a few days beforehand, but I wasn't there for those moments.

By the end we could tell, he wasn't really responsive but just enough to know he could hear us even if he couldn't open his eyes anymore or really respond beyond a bit of a twitch in recognition of a voice in his ear.

But I'm glad I could be with him so close to the end, too. Looking back a bit over 14 hours later, I think I would have regretted it if I hadn't had a chance to say goodbye one last time regardless of how much he was aware in those last 2 hours.

I'm just glad it was peaceful, his health had been deteriorating and there was a lot of suffering up until those final days.

And, in a way, I'm also glad it's over for us. There's all the aftermath to deal with, and Grams is gonna need a hell of a lot of care and help because they've been together for decades, but... No more jumping every time the phone goes off afraid it's The Call, no more wondering, worrying he's suffering. There's closure there now. I knew I wasn't gonna be able to even start processing everything until after. But now I can, and we can help each other pick up the pieces and move on.

It'll all repeat when Grams goes, of course, and I worry that she'll deteriorate pretty fast without him--grief does that to people, sometimes. But for the moment we can breathe, and keep going. A little bit of stability will return slowly, not having to take everything day by day and hour by hour (which has been torture for my autistic ass that needs some kind of predictability to avoid panic--so a bit of stability slowly returning will go a long way towards getting back together.)

In the end, it could have been so very much worse--I'm glad that it went the way it did, and that he knew he was loved as long as he was able to be aware.

[iamtytherium]

STORY TIME

(tw: antidepressants, hallucinations)

when i was in high school and taking Trintellix (antidepressants) I used to get these waking hallucinations, but at the time I didn’t KNOW they were hallucinations, which resulted in the following:

One night I woke up from a dream where I was in a car surrounded by locusts (NOT a fun dream) and I woke up to look at my blinds. Mind you, I had those big wooden ones painted in white, each piece about 1.5” in height, not the small plastic ones. Looking at the blinds, my freshly woken up eyes saw 3 GIANT ASS HORNETS CRAWLING INTO THE BACKSIDE OF MY BLINDS, EACH OF THEM JUST A BIT BIGGER THAN A QUARTER

SO of course I freak tf out, run and get my dad (who is NOT happy to be woken up at 2am) and groggily pulls up my blinds to reveal… NOTHING! Not a single damn thing, not even a gnat, which means either they’re hiding somewhere ELSE in my room, or I just hallucinated this. Considering I didn’t KNOW I could hallucinate, I am befuddled and horrified, and I did not SLEEP very well. Dad did not seem to CARE, but I digress.

Skip to a week later.

Wake up from dream, look down at my pillow, and LO and BEHOLD, I see a TARANTULA the size of my hand, just casually crawling underneath my pillow, right in front of my face. BUT! At this point I’m starting to question myself, and I let this thing go underneath the pillow fully out of sight, then immediately pick up the pillow to try and see it-

Nothing there. Again.

Now my brain is racking itself trying to figure out what’s going on, but I know that thing couldn’t have gone anywhere else, and it just fuckin hits me:

Oh fuck, I’m seein’ creepy crawlies in my goddamn mind

Now SOMETHING about this makes it a lot easier to deal with. Insects, spiders and flying bugs in my bedroom are MUCH more palatable to me if they’re not actually there, so I can deal.

A few more occurrences of this go by, ants on my pillow, hornets on the ceiling, etc. Then I stop taking the antidepressants for… maybe 2 weeks? Just making sure none of these effects are permanent (because for some reason I wasn’t phased by any of this shit???) until I got back on it for a little while, and one day took a little nap.

Woke up from about a 30min lil sleep, go into the kitchen and get some water… Forgot my phone in my bedroom. Go back inside-

…When I TELL you I saw this motherfucker exactly-

…CLEAR AS DAY. Like… I walked around it and it just stayed right there… for all of 10 seconds and then it just vanished before my very eyes. Poof, gone. The most insane and realistic hallucination I’ve ever seen just flashed before my eyes.

NEEDLESS TO SAY I’m no longer taking Trintellix, nor any other anti-depressant. Though I still have a tester bottle of it, and I think about that experience from time to time.

TL:DR: Antidepressants made me hallucinate bugs and then a Magic Anomaly from Skyrim. What a world.

[hellmouth-manor]

Branching Paths || Kamiya || MM trial || Re: Micah

Honestly? It was a surprise to see Micah's full reveal like this, Kamiya hadn't really pieced together too much, but, even after the constant attempts to do right Micah always had been a positive figure there... Hell, there were many times where Kamiya even referred to him as one of the normal people there.... It was funny how he was made the fool again like that, but, it was at least something he had come to terms with in this case.

Listening to him speak, and others speak up as well caused his gaze to dart around, shooting between those who were showing kindness, and those who were rightfully angry about the struggles the assistant in front of them forced them to encounter.... Honestly? Kamiya was struggling to choose his own path in this case as well.

There was a path where Kamiya would stop trying to be nice, embrace the fact he's stuck as a demon and show what anger he was feeling about it all... About all the opportunities that had been ripped away from him, all the dreams and goals he had crushed in an instant... A part of him really wanted to express just how angry he was about that.

Yet the next side of him wanted nothing more than to believe there was some good deep down, something that he could hold onto hope about. He was the forgiving type, after all! That side of him wanted to try holding onto hope a little longer... Which is why Kamiya offered Micah a little grin, it was clear there was a part of him that wanted to be rude but...

"...So, I'm really stupid, was the Miku stuff an' act fer the show, or, are ya a fan of her? An' did ya have t' research Jerma stuff so our talk b'fore made more sense? Real serious questions t' ask man."

Kamiya let out a small laugh, it looked as if he was trying to find the right thing to say, but, his smile faded, turning into a frown as he turned his gaze away from the other. It wasn't anger, or, hatred in his eyes... Just regret in this case.

"...I was kinda happy knowin' ya weren't some serial killer or somethin' uh... Ya know, when that whole reveal b'fore came t' be, was actually real hyped t' talk t' ya since ya just seemed like a good dude... I uh... I'm pissed man, I'm really pissed 'bout everythin' ya've done, but it's hard t' bring myself t' hate ya when you forgave me fer what I did... Which makes this all fuckin' hard man, really fucking difficult actually."

Kamiya closed his eyes, letting out a tired laugh as he shook his head.

"I...I wasn't even s'posed t' be here man, this is fucked up... If ya knew that part why couldn't ya have just... I dunno? Told yer boss t' send me back home? It just don't make fuckin' sense why ya did this all man. If yer boss was so high an' mighty how'd they fuck up that hard in gettin' a dumbass like me 'round here?"

[jonquilandlace]

Storytime because I just took an advil

So background: my family has long been an advil family. Of the pain relievers, ibuprofen was the one we all swore by; idk if it was our biochemistry or what, but any other pain reliever someone always said didn't work, so we were just always stocked on advil or off-brand. Well, about a year and a half ago now, my mom had a surgery that came with the side effect of "she can no longer *have* ibuprofen." Something something "weak stomach lining and ibuprofen can hurt it" I think.

So for the past year, we've suddenly and abruptly switched the primary pain medicine in the house to tylenol. I am the one in the family who tylenol doesn't fuckin work for, so Mom has long kept a single bottle of advil in my bathroom's closet that we can restock whenever I need (clarity: I don't take it often, but I am prone to migraines and period cramps during that time of month, both of which only respond to advil). Well, I've been noticing randomly that my advil has been running out faster than I recall. When asked about it, my dad gave me the blankest look and said "there's still advil here?" (he is a himbo, I say with affection, so I buy that he had no clue). When my mom was asked, she repeats that she's not able to take advil and has said, her mantra, "Tylenol works just as well!"

One more piece of background information: my mom's back was injured about 10 years ago now, and she now suffers from chronic pain. She does not take a daily pain medication, but can take it incidentally, especially when her thrice-yearly cortisone shots wear off.

Yesterday was one of those days, when her back was Really hurting her and she was being a bit cranky at the world because of it. I had my advil downstairs yesterday, because we were doing a bunch of house cleaning despite me having cramps, when my mom sat down at the computer with a sigh, complaining about her back. I offered to go run to get her a dose of tylenol.

She looked me in the eye and said, to my absolute oh my fucking god-ness, "Tylenol is such a fucking placebo. It doesn't even work, Jonnie. I'm not supposed to have Advil because it's bad for your stomach, but Tylenol is just a fucking sugar pill and a prayer, and my back fucking hurts. It's fine if I only take Advil like twice a month, right? Right, I'm taking some Advil." So long story short we have learned the boundaries of the placebo effect in this household