#its even worse along along the bottom of my feet

[ethan-acfan]

I have this fuckass scar on my back (long story) but it's like really bad and huge, and normally, I wouldn't really care because "omg main character design lmao" but I have to deal with those stupid fucking bad weather aches at the rip old age of FUCKING 14 WHY AM I AUDIBLY GROANING IN PAIN SAYING "yeah, it's gonna rain soon." GENIUALLY THIS IS SOME FUCKED UP SHIT

But at least I have some insane lore😙✌️

[toxicanonymity]

DOMESTICATION

MR. GHOSTFACE x F!READER 🔪 1.8K WORDS SUMMARY: He has his way with you while you're stuck. WARNINGS: 18+ Noncon, unsafe PIV, knife/blood, collar. Inspired by this scene and ask 🔪 Divider 🔪 MY FICS

Down on all fours like the prey you were, you tore the cloudy, plastic flap off its hinges and began to squeeze through the little door. You thought to scream but choked on the air you drew in. With your head through the hole, you coughed and glanced around. No one in sight. Fallen leaves tumbled and scraped across the driveway over the muffled sounds of the party.

No one was coming to save you.

You managed to wriggle halfway out, but no further. In the process of trying, your skirt got all bunched up. The cool air of the garage was hitting your ass, and your lace panties with their heart shaped cutout were doing nothing to help.

He had to be enjoying this. Probably admiring his knife with a smug tilt of his mask. Why was he so quiet?

You stopped struggling, taking a moment to catch your breath and think. He should've caught you by now. Was there any chance he left the garage? Any chance he wouldn't kill you?

He didn't have a habit of leaving them alive.

When you began to struggle again, a weak motor droned awake, making your stomach drop. The garage door began to lift, and the bottom edge of it dug into your stomach. Your heart sank with dread. Within seconds you’d likely be dead or mangled. Seconds, IF you were lucky. The thought of him dragging out your demise was even worse. You had seen his crime scenes.

Your knees lifted off the ground as the door made its ascent.

“Please,” you begged, shoes sliding against the floor.

The garage door creaked as it came to a halt. Your feet pedaled in futility, searching for the floor. You lifted your chest, trying to wriggle backwards. The only way out of this cursed little door-–if there even was a way out-–led right to his knife.

“Please, please, I won't run. I'll be good,” you begged through tears.

Silence. Unlike him.

“I'll be good,” you repeated quieter. "Please, Mr. Ghostface."

The motor started again, and you winced. But the door began to lower, allowing you a moment of relief as your bare knees met the cool, smooth floor.

His footsteps got louder and clearer as he crossed the space. Despite being unable to see him, you knew his presence loomed behind you-–you could feel it in your bones.

Sure enough, two gloved hands gripped your thighs, lifting your lower body for a moment and spreading your legs before setting your knees down further apart.

He made a place for himself between your knees, spreading them even wider. The smooth fabric of his robe pooled over your legs with him between them. He ran his gloved hands up your torso from your hips to your waist, pushing your skirt up further so it was up around your navel. Then, two satin thumbs lightly brushed your skin, tracing the heart-shaped cutout of your underwear.

After a moment of rustling behind you, a gloved finger slotted between your panties and ass. He pulled the garment out from your body, then the elastic tension released with a slice of his knife.

More rustling. His movement made the robe graze your butt. You weren't sure if you were imagining the sound of his belt coming undone behind you, but the thought of it made your face heat up.

The heavy fabric of his robe lifted off your calves, removing any doubt about what he was about to do. You tried to ignore the way your pussy throbbed.

The smooth head of his cock nudged your entrance, then slid wetly along your slit, forward and back. You hadn't realized just how aroused you were until feeling cock glide so smoothly against your well lubricated cunt. The head lingered at your front, nudging just the right spot. Your hips tilted all on their own, and he paused before sliding back to your wet little hole, resting the curve of his tip just inside.

He gripped your hips and pushed forward, intruding into your tight, warm sleeve with his thick, hard cock. Inch by inch, his stiff manhood pushed its way into you, the pressure of his girth pushing the breath out of your lungs. He slid all the way in without much difficulty and paused after bottoming out.

You took a much needed breath.

The skin of your chest radiated warmth. Your whole upper body was hot, despite the cool air.

Your lower body was warm and stuffed.

Two big, gloved hands wrapped around your thighs, then lifted. Your body lurched forward as far as it could, then he pulled you back on him, bottoming out deeper before he let your weight back down.

You braced your forearms on the driveway and he moved his hands up to hold your hips. He withdrew most of his length then squeezed your hips and pulled you back again as he slammed all the way back in. This wasn't bad… he was slow, almost careful.

Almost as though he could hear your thoughts, he seemed to drop all restraint. He buried his cock in you at a steadily increasing pace. You were shaken by just how good he felt inside you.

You bit your arm to stifle your moans, but it was no use. He'd have to hear your sounds of pleasure, as humiliating as it was. You removed your mouth from your bicep, leaving a string of spit as you took a deep breath.

As you inhaled the night air, it smelled like someone was having a bonfire... Someone, somewhere had come outside. Maybe even the neighbors.

But you didn't cry for help.

It was as though the cock in your cunt had gagged your throat, paralyzing you. It couldn't be that you didn't want him to stop, could it? No, you told yourself.

With every thrust, it felt more like a lie.

The rhythm of his pounding made your breasts jiggle. Your arms and wrists rubbed against the driveway, but you hardly felt it. Any discomfort was drowned out by the pleasant stretch of his girth, and the grip of your pussy clinging to his length as it pushed through you.

You closed your eyes and went somewhere else, giving into the feel-good chemicals coming to boil in your blood. You couldn’t tell how much of it was the rush of survival and how much was his dick, but the combination had you hurtling toward the stratosphere. Full, you were packed full. God, it felt good. Even better, the more you let yourself feel it.

There was something freeing about completely submitting to his will. Letting him use you like a fucktoy. Giving in, letting him win, you could relax and let it all wash over you. With your body held in his hands and wrapped around his cock, you felt weightless. There was no longer pressure to fight back or flee. The only pressure was low in your gut, building toward something unthinkable. Closer with each heavy stroke.

You spasmed with a whimper.

He abruptly sped up to jackhammer pace, pushing you to the brink within seconds. You rode that edge for longer than you thought anyone could keep up that pace. You remembered to breathe, and then you saw stars. The hair on your neck stood up as you clung to the ethereal force that rippled through your loins. Pleasure shot through your core to each limb.

He slowed down as you clenched around him, then bottomed out deeper. It was like he’d created more space in you and packed it with more cock than you ever thought you'd take.

Until the warmth began to spread inside, you didn't realize he was coming. He had given no outward indication of it. You could hardly distinguish your throbbing from his, until yours faded and he was still twitching.

The grip of his hands eased up as he finished. He held you with your ass flush against his wiry hair, anchoring you. Plugging you.

After a minute, it started to feel colder outside. You felt more exposed, vulnerable, but still dared to imagine he might leave you alive.

One hand let go of you, and his robe shifted, brushing the back of your thigh. He pulled back your ruined underwear again. This time, he cut through the side and took it all the way off. Then, the surprisingly warm flat of his blade pressed against the side of your butt cheek. It slid up over the curve of your flesh.

Your heart pounded, reminding you to fear for your life.

The metal left your skin, only for the point of the blade to then prickle the center of your lower back. He held you still, and his cock twitched inside you as he began to draw blood.

You pleaded, “don't," but your insides throbbed.

A sharp, white heat followed the blade, curving upward, out, and down toward your crack. He repeated it on the other side to complete the heart. Your ears burned and pounded with their own pulse. Your inner ears began to ache.

Finally, his cock slid out of you, and after a moment of jostling, he got out from between your legs. Then, facing your side, his robe grazed your back as he hovered over you and grabbed hold of your waist. He tugged gently. You extended your arms in front of you and held them together as he pulled you back into the garage. warm blood trickled into your crack as you sat up. His gloved thumb smeared it upward.

Clear snot was coming out of your nose. You sniffed and he wiped that too, with a knuckle.

Holding his knife, he showed it to you as he stood up. He crossed the garage in just a few strides while you obediently sat back on your knees, adjusting your bra and fixing your hair.

He returned with his hands full.

Your face fell blank when you looked up to see a collar with a leash hanging off it. Your lips parted, but no sound came out. He tilted his head, then stooped down to reach around your neck and fasten the it. The arms of his robe created a curtain of darkness as he adjusted the buckle and tested the tightness with two fingers between it and your neck.

He stepped back, holding the leash, and tilted his mask, waiting. There was something else in his other hand. He clicked it, then tossed it aside as the garage door began to rise. He reached down and helped you up. Then, he walked you down the driveway and into the night, with a warm mess trickling down your thighs.

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thank you for reading 🖤

and tysm for your comments and asks 🙏the feedback and encouragement really helps me.

[norafaye]

max verstappen x fem!reader

⟢ summary. max wasn’t doing a very good job at being an attentive boyfriend, always busy and not paying you any mind, so when you voice your dismay he gives you exactly what you want.

⟢ contains. slight angst, nsfw, smut : unprotected séx, côckwarming ♡, softdom!max, crybaby!reader, he’s stubborn and mean asf (madmax hehe), you ride him in his gaming chair, dirty talk, creampie, begging, mention of alcohol consumption, usage of petnames (e.g. baby, sweetheart, love), wc : 6.4k

nora's ☆ note. peek-a-boo! srry for being gone, this has been in my drafts since jan LMAO. it’s my first time writing something angsty, hopefully it’s up to par w the rest of my writing (o´罒`o) anyway love u all, i’m going through all my work that’s been collecting dust <3

Your feet padded down the endless hallways of the penthouse you currently resided in, searching for Max with a glass of gin in hand. One of his favorites.

The boisterous district of Fontvieille Monaco has gone long quiet as the evening begins to fade in. It was the most treasured part of your day—when the sunset casts over the ocean and how the crowds of people start to diminish slowly one by one. Loud voices and laughter simmering down, back into their homes or into fancy restaurants and bars to enjoy the rest of their night.

Each roll of the blue waves along with the golden disk already beginning to touch the surface ocean water is a view you could never get sick of. The sun slips quickly behind the line of the horizon as it spreads its last rays—stunning hues of oranges and yellows seeping through the windows of your living room, allowing to emit a shadow of your figure on the floor and walls with each step you take as you continue your hunt for your boyfriend.

It is where you feel the utmost of tranquility—the calmness of this environment is a way for you to wind down without having to care for anything else outside of the place you call home, to help wash away any troublesome thoughts. Usually these hours are spent with you and Max watching a movie or making a home cooked meal together. Usually your limbs would be tangled with one another in sacred and intimate ways.

Though this time around, your surroundings don't put you at ease, it doesn’t shake away your worries. In fact, it’s worse than usual.

This current lifestyle by all means, was everything you could ever dream of. You were incredibly lucky to be the partner of someone like Max. The Dutchman who is portrayed and misunderstood as a villain half of the time is actually a gentleman.

Your lover was so genuine and kind, as sweet as the gleam of sun that is currently kissing your skin—the warmth filling your whole body, bringing an overwhelming sense of comfort. It’s the sole reason why you fell in love with him, and you fell hard.

His own love for you is like a garden—blossoming into heavenly flowers within his fast beating heart.

He dotes on you, cares for you when you need it most, like tending to a single daisy amongst a field of grass. Nurturing and watering it with the most fondness, just like he does when kissing you, and god his kisses are to die for. His lips soft against yours like a warm embrace, so tender and delicate, melting into each other's souls. It always felt as if it were the last, as if the world was crumbling beneath the bottom of your feet. Nothing around you mattered, just the two of you in that space sealing in the gap.

He’s a race car driver for crying out loud—bound to be blunt and direct. But the persona he shows to the crowds of people and millions behind a tv screen is only half of who he truly is. Sure he can have a nasty temper at times during the highlights of his career but those were all under heavy stressful circumstances. In no way shape or form has his impatience and anger on track reach you from behind closed doors…until recently.

That familiarity of admiration for you has suddenly turned into rushed and quick pecks on the lips, hugs lasting only a fracture of a second. There wasn’t any long lasting gentleness to those intimate actions anymore, no adoration laced behind them.

This switch in attitude has you dwelling on it in an unhealthy way. Concerns filling your brain as he hardly devoted any time to you recently. Perpetually blowing you off with an “I’m busy.” and other broken promises to make it up to you whenever you’d suggest going out together for the day.

You genuinely didn't mind it at first, you out of everyone understood how important his career was to him. But, he’s constantly conducting business calls, in emergency meetings, or practicing on the race simulator. You were aching for him, in more ways than one.

It’s lonely enough with him having to travel all around the world 12 times a year with an extra addition of other flights for further business matters. And, with your own work you aren’t usually there to accompany him more than you’d wish. So with the rare occasions of him actually having a break with you at home and to have him not pay any attention to you was, without any exaggeration…starting to annoy you.

In contrast to the beautifully painted sky outside your windows showcasing its eternal beauty of lovely colors, your mood was somber and gloomy. Almost like the soon to be night sky beneath a cascade of iridescent stars on the sandy shores of Monaco—the air thick with a cold breeze and scent of salt, the feeling melancholic.

With an intake of a breath through your nose, the tracks of your light footsteps halt when you finally reach the blackwood door that leads into his office you were positive he was in. You make sure to knock three times—an order you mustn't forget, not wanting to walk in on him potentially streaming a game or being in a meeting with his camera on.

Upon hearing a faint, “Come in.” from the other side of the door, you enter the office with caution. Staring into the dreary space, anyone would be aware of how grim it was; pens and papers scattered across his work desk messily, the trophies resting on the display shelf held a sheer layer of dust, and the cold temperature didn't make it any better. The atmosphere alone coerced goosebumps to emerge onto your skin.

Max himself looked disarrayed, sat in the race simulator on the other side of the room. You walk over to stand beside the makeshift car seat to get a better look at him. All the noticeable tell-tale signs didn't go unnoticed by you, he was pushing himself too much. It was really displeasing to see him not taking care of himself. His light brown hair framed his forehead with eye bags digging into his skin, and there was a prominent little line in between his eyebrows—indicating that he’s been focusing for too long.

“Hey, everything okay?” Setting down the cup of gin on the wooden desk concernedly, you pull off his headset and brush your hand through his locks—pushing them back into place. Max doesn’t tear his eyes off the screens of his multiple monitors, barely sparing you a glance or reacting to the contact of your touch like he normally would.

“Hi baby, yeah…yeah ‘m alright,” he mumbles slowly, almost as if he didn’t register what you said.

“I got you a drink.” A frown makes way onto your features when he doesn’t say anything after that, not even acknowledging the alcohol in front of him. With a tilt of your head you wait expectedly, continuing to burn holes on the side of his face—like you were trying to read into his thoughts. “You coming to bed soon? You should get some rest.”

“Mhm…in a bit.”

You didn’t know why you thought the outcome would be anything different. The monotone lack of response from him had you sneering as a combination of anguish and irritation consumed your body. He’s still looking at the screens, an intense focus in his irises—a need to complete the race laps of the simulator even with his headphones off.

You knew then that he’s not honest with his intentions, being dismissive as usual and leading you to the feeling of neglect yet again. Though this time you’ve reached your limit, patience running thin.

Whilst huffing out an annoyed breath you toss the headset into his lap without a care, “Liar.”

That was a terrible mistake.

His reaction was just about immediate, bewildered at your sudden outburst. “What was that?” Max finally turns his head, eyes narrowing to look at you as you saunter off to the door. You intended to just retire into your shared bedroom alone, tears already pooling at your lash line from all the pent-up frustration with your back facing him.

“If you knew what was good for you, you wouldn’t dare to walk out that door.”

Halting your footsteps, a shiver bolted up your spine, the previous anger briskly replaced with unease. You’d like to think it was from the cool air that was blowing from the vents instead of his bleak words.

“Get back over here,” he spoke assertively, voice low and ominous—like he was disappointed in your unexpected change of mood, making your skin crawl with uncertainty.

It was a dangerous gamble between wanting to defy him or to finally have all of his attention after two weeks. But you knew better than to test his warnings and tolerance especially after hearing that irked tone. Blinking away the unshed tears, you steel yourself to shift your body and face him again.

“Now. Sweetheart, don't make me repeat myself.”

Your breath hitches, this was probably the first time in days where he’s held eye contact intently with you for longer than twenty seconds and it just about has you stumbling over your feet. The icy glare spoke for itself, already irritated with the way you lashed out at him, which is rare coming from you. He’s got a pounding headache and the last thing he wants to deal with is your little attitude.

His mean demeanor nearly made your eyes water again by the time you returned to his side, following his order. Within a split second, Max chucks the headphones to the ground bitterly. The loud clank! it makes when it hits the wooden floor has you jolting out of your skin, his annoyance radiating off of the small scowl on his face and actions.

In swift movements he pulls you down to straddle his lap without a word, a squeak of surprise leaves your lips since you didn’t have time to process what was happening.

The proximity has your heart skipping a beat, a rush of heat spreading throughout your entire body with nervousness. It was slightly cramped in the space between him and the pc steering wheel—leaving you little to no room to breathe, chest brushing against his to not have your back pressed into the metal material.

You felt that familiar ache in your stomach building up from how close he was and how he was holding your waist to keep you steady. It really didn’t take much for you especially since you’ve missed his warmth—his big veiny hands on your body. Your mind begins to whirl already, making you desperate for more right away, it was easy to tell from your quickened breath.

He observes your small frame all but quivering atop of him, dressed solely in one of his t-shirts that was evidently larger on you and a pair of panties peeking from underneath.

“What’s gotten into you huh?” His eyes lingered a while longer on your bare thighs that were scantily covered. He strokes it with his hands lightly, the contact igniting a trail of fire in its wake on your supple skin before his sharp gaze snapped to return to your face, “always interrupting me.”

You can practically hear the erratic rhythm of your heart beating in your ears because of his fierce scrutinizing eyes, and it doesn't benefit you in the slightest when the expensive cologne he knows drives you crazy wafts into your nostrils—making it even harder to concentrate. The air gets thicker by the second around your heated bodies.

“What’s gotten into me?“ You’re muttering under your breath, looking everywhere but his burning stare to try and rein yourself, “Max you…you hardly have time for me anymore.”

He’s a busy man, engrossed and occupied in his job. You get it, you truly do, you understand the fear he must bear of not wanting to be last. Carrying that title of being number one is both a blessing and a curse. It doesn't help that he's his own worst critic, correcting what he thinks he could do better by practicing on the simulator as much as he possibly can—it’s the only thing that occupies his mind.

The amount of pressure he must feel has to be overbearing—all the more for a non-stressful winter break, he’s been losing too much sleep and he couldn’t even bother to mind your concerns. All you wanted was to take care of him in different ways, you’ve tried for days but those days turned into two weeks and you’ve had enough.

One of his hands smooths over your back, humming gruffly while the other jerks your chin to force you to look at him with a firm grip so you don't pull away, “Y’know I have to be on top of my work right?”

“Yes! Of course I do but—“

“I’m doing this for us.” He then takes both of his palms, dragging them down your sides tantalizingly to grasp your hips. Max kneads the flesh briefly before guiding you with a secure hold to have your clothed heat rub at his crotch that's already flinching, growing hard underneath you. He does so almost mockingly, knowing just what you want and eliciting a shocked choked gasp from you, “working so I could get you the things you want.”

Your small hands went to hold onto his broad shoulders at the unexpected friction, it was getting tougher to keep yourself grounded—body trembling with the effort to stay in check, to stop yourself from grinding down on him greedily like you so desperately wanted.

“Max,” your face is sullen as you speak just above a whisper, he was mere inches away, so close you can almost taste him. You could just…lean forward a bit, claim his lips and have him again, “I don’t care about that, I just want to spend—“

“Time with me.” He interrupts again, stealing the rest of the sentence out of your mouth like he’s heard it a hundred times before and you can't seem to get snarky with him at the moment because of the way he was gradually rolling your groin against his. A rush of butterflies stirs in your tummy from the staggering sensation.

Max reaches under the hem of his baggy shirt that's draped over you with an exasperated exhale, his touch ticklish as his fingers dance along the soft skin near the band of your underwear. You can start to feel your body seeking more of his attention, so close to being obtainable you can taste it on the tip of your tongue.

“Is that it? Fine. If that’s the case, then you’re going to sit still.”

His words pique your interest at once that you seem to ignore his condescending behavior—content with just getting to be in his presence again.

He takes notice of your tongue peeking out to wet your lips in expectancy, earning a flicker of amusement on his features before quickly masking it back with a stoic expression. You can feel him trail lower and lower until the tips of his fingers reach your sensitive bud to circle it delicately over your panties, almost feather-light to tease you. The response from your body was instant, mewling and arching your back. Your clothed breasts were now flush against his chest, allowing more warmth to exchange between the two of you.

“All you wanted was to get your little pussy wet huh?” He lets out a scoffing chuckle, making a wave of humiliation wash over you from the way he puts it. You shake your head in denial, not wanting to give him the satisfaction that you are in fact sexually frustrated.

“N-Ngh! No!” But he can see right through your miserable bluff, especially with your heavy puffs of breath and stammering.

You were utterly touch-starved that your underwear was already dampening under his touch with your growing arousal. All from just sitting on his lap and light traces of contact.

“No? Then why are you soaking my fingers right now?” A sense of pride always filled his body knowing the affect he had on you, to have you heat up and slip into that sweet headspace with just a few ministrations. “Aww my sweet baby, you just needed a bit of my attention? Is that it?”

Max continues to work you up with a lazy smirk on his lips, watching you closely for each little face twisting reaction, “answer me sweetheart.” He lightly taps at your clit, another chuckle almost slipping from his throat when you sit up straighter because of it.

“Yes Max, I…want you.” Your voice comes out a bit whiny than you intended but you don’t seem to care because of the way your brain is clouding, craving more without question.

“There’s my good girl.”

With your lower lip sucked between your teeth you brace yourself for more, blood pumping with excitement. He was finally going to fuck you like you’ve been wanting for days, right?

Wrong.

What you didn’t expect was to be fully naked, straddling his cock whilst he ignored you.

Dumbfounded was an understatement.

As you watch the clock on the other side of the office—perched on top of the door behind him, your sanity quickly dissolves with each passing tick. It took you about ten minutes to realize the vast amount of self-control he held. So while you were sitting on his lap, firm length sheathed deeply inside you—Max simply returned to the simulator, superbly content with this proposal. You on the other hand, couldn’t stop the tremor of your thighs.

Breaking the tense silence with an unsatisfied grumble, you wrap your arms around his neck in hopes to get more direct contact of his skin on yours. Your frame was taut and rigid above him, trying your damn hardest to not make any sudden movements like he ordered.

Being able to finally feel him again like this but not allowed to do anything about it has you on edge, you eagerly wanted—no needed some sort of relief. So with much contemplation your movements get bolder with a grind of your hips, though it only makes him give you a stern look in exchange, enough for you to force into a stop at once.

He clicks his tongue in disapproval, giving a light smack on your plush ass as a warning. “Stop fuckin’ moving,” he hisses through gritted teeth, still annoyed with you and it had your heart aching uncomfortably.

You should be the one that was upset but you felt so vulnerable and deprived, especially with him still being fully clothed, his shorts and briefs pushed down just enough to free his cock making you feel all the more exposed and in the mercy of his hands. You so miserably needed more of him, all of him.

“Max please,” you can’t help but beg now, knowing that it’ll usually weaken his resolve with that angelic voice of yours, “I can’t.”

It doesn't seem to deter him though. A sense of disappointment engulfs you, he was so hellbent on teaching you a lesson that you know you don't even deserve.

“You can and you will. What happened to being my good girl?” His hands never leave the steering wheel behind you and his voice, not even in the slightest—doesn’t waver whenever he speaks, practically like he was unaffected with your warm wet cunt wrapped around him, “besides, isn’t this what you wanted? Don’t make me punish you.”

He’s mocking you. You can almost see his lips quirking up into a smile as you nuzzle your face into the crook of his neck with no retaliation afterward, so eager to please him.

The only thing you can possibly do was snuggle closer for the little bit of warmth his clothed body can radiate in the cold office and listen to the loud roar of V6 engines coming from the game. With tightly shut eyes, you try to think of something to distract you but nothing works as your mind parades itself from the feeling of his fat tip kissing your cervix, stuffed full.

This was already punishing enough, none of this was painful oh no—it was the complete opposite. But, the pleasure rising up and not having your desires fulfilled was tearing you apart. It was borderline torture.

The stretch makes slick from your pussy drool on his girth, a mess pooling straight down his balls and whenever he would move his feet on the pedals of the simulator—his thigh jumps, making you shift on his lap and bounce ever so slightly on his shaft. It has you whining against his ear like a bitch in heat.

Max’s eyes burn into the screen of his pc after perceiving the sound of your soft whimper and whines against his ear, breath tickling his skin and making it prick up. He always loved any noises that he could pull from you, his possessiveness and ego feeds off it. He's transfixed—entranced by how sweet it sounds. He can’t lie, he did miss you. Missed having you close like this, desperate and easily acquiescent for him, your soft voice all breathless and needy.

Just the feeling and connection of you.

He clenched his jaw when your velvet walls fluttered around him, his own self-control was close to snapping. But being an asshole just to spite you seemed more pleasing, he purposely moved his legs more forcefully on the pedals to elicit more of those pretty little cries of pleasure.

Though he completely freezes up the moment he hears you sniffling against his neck, hot tears hitting his shirt seconds after.

Max knows he's been a shit boyfriend but he's too prideful to admit it, so frustrated and harsh while his sole center of attention was on how to be better, better, better with his work that he seemed to forget your own needs. He’s conflicted at the moment as he thinks about it, infuriated at himself for taking it out on you.

You were trying so hard for him, to be his good girl that you always were despite your own discontentment and bitterness to his treatment towards you. You didn’t want to upset him any further even if this was his own doing, it made both his heart stammer and his cock twitch from how kind you are to him. He didn't deserve you.

When you feel that certain jerk inside of you, your one track mind really couldn't stop your lips from speaking once more through your small sniffles. “P-Please Max,” you attempt again with hesitation, lip bitten raw from your constant chewing, “I can’t take this much longer.”

His self-restraint finally snaps.

Your ears perk and pick up the sound of him sipping, completely downing the glass of alcohol that was disregarded earlier in one go. He hisses harshly after the burn cascades down his throat with each gulp and then leans forward, muscles flexing slightly as he places the now empty cup on the desk with a soft clunk before turning off the gaming system.

The unexpected silence causes your stomach to twist in a knot, no longer capable of hearing the thunderous engines of formula one cars—just his ragged breathing and ticking of the clock.

Anticipation nags in the back of your mind, a hundred things running all at once while you sit there pliantly and unmoving, silent tears cascading down your face.

You can't help but think that you’ve surely done it this time, you’ve pissed him off now haven’t you?

“So ungrateful for all the things I give you, hm?” He eventually speaks amidst the strained quietness. The words he utters out didn’t hold any actual malice, voice softer now. His anger giving away to more vulnerability as his hands went to pry your face away from his neck, holding it in his palms gently.

It ached to see you hurt, the pain in your features mirrored in his own heart. His hands trembled subtly while he cradled your soft cheeks, thumbs brushing away the salty tears that fell—trying to comfort and soothe you, “always complaining.”

You lean further back slightly to get a better view of his features, seeing a mixture of emotions swirling in his irises.

Pity. Sadness. Longing.

You could feel it with the way he held you with care, you could feel it in the air—through his soft breath against your skin. Your own heart tugs a bit when you realize that he was feeling guilty. Guilty for doing this to you, for mistreating you.

“I miss you.” You hiccup whilst his thumbs continue their calming motions on the apple of your cheeks.

He focuses on your pretty face stained with wet tears before brushing some loose strands of hair framing your face, tucking it behind your ear and he couldn’t help but marvel at how cute you looked. You were nuzzled into his hands like a kicked little puppy—doe glassy eyes staring into his own.

Max lets out a shaky breath out his nose when a pout adorns your pretty pink lips, he wants to kiss it away, hear those moans you’d make against him. But first, he really needs to apologize for his negligence.

He coos at your broken voice, torn between his self pity and yearning for your presence even if he didn't deserve the slightest bit of your leniency, “‘m right here baby.” His chest continues to sting as your tears increase, the weight of his words hitting you harder than he expected.

He knows that his reassurance has touched a nerve, that you've been longing to hear those words for days. That he was never really gone, he still cared for you the same, just too stubborn about his own emotions. While keeping his tender hold on your face, his gaze never leaves your watery eyes. He wants you to feel his unwavering love, a necessity to put your mind at ease, “let me kiss you, can I?”

A soft hum coming from your throat and a small nod is enough confirmation for him to pull you into a fulfilling gentle kiss, one that you were familiar with, the kind that you yearned for so severely. The adoration was felt again as he put much effort and devotion behind it. It felt so good being cherished like this again.

With a pleased sigh passing through you, Max tilts his head—removing one of his hands from your face to hold your nape, intending to deepen the kiss even further. He takes the opportunity to push his tongue past your lips when you part your mouth.

The taste buds on your own wet muscle begin to flood with the flavor of bitter alcohol as it dances and tangles along with his. It was all so, so intoxicating. And he revels at how your lips always manage to be plump and soft, as tasty as he remembered. He mutters against them gently yet firm as he speaks, trying to convey his conflicted feelings, “so sorry my love, ‘m so sorry.”

He places a few chaste kisses on you before pulling away slightly so he can stare up at you for a moment, his pupils tracing every inch of your naked body. He can't get over how beautiful you look with desire and need whirling in your eyes. His heart stutters again with so much regret when you sniffle and hug his shoulders, pressing closer like you were trying to meld into one.

A small glimmer of light breaks through the storm of emotions when the sound of a sheepish giggle comes from your mouth. The lighthearted noise that he’s grown to love over the years of knowing you filling the tense air. Your saccharine voice overflows his ears with words of forgiveness, too compassionate for your own good. He muses at the fact that even through the stressful and pressuring times—the neglect, you were always there to welcome him with open arms.

Max rids the confines of fabric still clinging to his body with a sense of urgency, like a man on a mission to make it up to you. He tosses them to join the pile of your clothes forgotten somewhere on the floor before returning his mouth on you, this time on the column of your neck, peppering it. Starved and parched for you, just as much as you were for him.

His kisses are hot and wet, tongue lapping at your skin while his hands wander over your chest. He can feel you responding to his touches once more, pulse quickening just beneath his fingertips, your breathing coming out in faint gasps.

Small “I love you’s.” tumble from him like a mantra without stopping his focus on your skin. The once pained expression on your face now changed into an alluring one within ticks—cheeks flushed, eyes blown wide, and mouth slightly parted from all the attention.

It only fueled his hunger even more, growing impossibly harder inside of your pussy. “So fuckin’ pretty, I could stare at you like this forever.” His lips work their way up to your ear, licking the shell of it provokingly, the action has the hair on your arms standing stiffly. Max’s voice was direct and rough as he whispers, “fuck yourself onto me, go on baby you can move for me now.”

It's like a fire switch has gone off in your brain. At last, you lift yourself up until his flushed pink tip peeks out to the point of almost slipping out and slowly sink back down. Both of your mouths fall open to let out a low satisfied moan in unison. Your eyelids flutter, half-lidded now, barely being kept open with furrowed brows as you gape back at him.

“Haah!—“ your breath gets caught in your throat as he braces his feet on the floor and plunges his hips up to meet yours when you lift yourself again, stuffing his fat cock into your soaking heat in one instantaneous push. Your small hands claw on his shoulders in surprise, leaving red scratch marks on his pale skin.

“Breathe for me baby…yeahhhhh just like that. I can see you dripping for me, my needy girl look at you—so fuckin’ wet,” he bites his lip to stifle the guttural moan that threatened to slip at the sight before his eyes, “Missed you so much too—shit.”

He continues to run his filthy mouth with a vein protruding his neck and stills his hips so you can set your own pace, your walls shuddering around him in response to his all of his words. Whilst you repeat the same action again and again, you’re already not able to formulate a single thought from the mind numbing sensations. Just mentally saturated at being filled to the hilt over and over and over.

“F-fuuuuuck, so good Max—feels so good!”

“That’s it, just focus on feeling good, ‘m here s’okay. You have me now.” He devours your mouth once more, this time with great fervor—his tongue exploring every inch of the wet cavern more hastily, tasting every bit of what you can give.

He swallows each and every little sound coming from you, every whimper and whine because of each drag of his length, feeling it reverberating through his mouth down to his chest—now full of warmth and contentment.

Max’s hands on your breasts continue to squeeze, fondling your mounds until his calloused fingers pinches and rolls your nipples between them to pebble up in the cool air, adding a jolt of pleasure in the mix. The feeling of you taking him inside, the sounds of your sweet gasps—it drives him insane. He groans deeply, breaking the kiss to have his head fall back against the chair.

You’re fucking him so good all of his tension and worries are melting away from each roll of your hips. Maybe a little too good that he’s biting the insides of his cheeks to stop himself from ramming into you like a madman.

"Keep using me however you want sweetheart, don’t stop ‘till you're satisfied,” he mutters, ragged and hoarse.

You can hardly focus, it was too much for you to endure. All you can make out is how good he feels, how his mushroom head hits that spongy spot with the way you’re taking him in so deep at this angle. This is everything you've ached for, so it’s no surprise how easily you’re falling apart so early on along with him. So overly sensitive and responsive to each stroke of his stiff cock, being able to feel every ridge and vein.

The observation of him splitting you open was incredibly arousing to gawk at. Strings of slick connects where the two of you continuously meet, hot and sticky with a translucent white painting the base of his length as you continue to cream around him.

He swears he feels like he’s floating, going absolutely delirious, and it’s obvious with the way he wouldn’t shut his mouth. Max always gets this way from the taste and feel of you, it’s like his mind couldn't fathom anything else around him.

“You're so good baby, so good for me," he praised, palms going to grip at your hips tightly. He’s clutching you so securely as if he can't bear to let go, leaving crescent shaped indents on your hips from his blunt nails. "You love this, you love being filled up by me, don't you?"

“Y-Yes, Max," you moan out needily, your own fingers digging into his shoulders, "I love it so much. Mnnh—so big.”

His grip on your hips tightens as he tries to hold back, to prolong the need to just pound into you, his breath coming in ragged, shallow pants. The sound of wet plaps! from skin slapping against each other fills the office walls when you move a little faster—air thickening around you further with the smell of sex. His brain clouds, losing himself in the pleasure you bring upon him. He can feel his willpower slowly giving way to his desire and need for you, but he wants you to have this.

The view of you riding him and your sweet whimpers was making it harder for him to control himself. He shuts his eyes and clenches his jaw to focus on not coming so quickly, “You're so tight, so perfect. Can’t even fuckin’—hah! Can hardly think straight.”

He makes it a point to hold out for you, so you can come at the same time just how he always likes. But you whine and suddenly stop, legs starting to strain. The vulgarity of his words, the sensations, it was all getting too overwhelming.

Max groans at the loss of pleasure, reopening his eyes to look at your flushed disheartened face, “What's wrong baby?”

“Need you,“ you whine frustratedly and press your forehead against his, swapping breaths as you both pant, “I can’t…”

"Need my help?" He grabs your hands to place it behind you so you can grasp at the steering wheel, this allows you more leverage and support to slam down onto him, “Lean back and hold onto this sweetheart, hold on tightly.”

For extra measure he snakes a strong arm around your back, holding your waist sturdily as he helps guide you to fucking him more harshly now.

“Oh f-fuck! You’re s-so deep!” You tip your head back, bearing your hickey covered neck to him. He almost came from the sight alone, a low groan bullying it’s way out of his mouth.

“Yeah? That’s better isn’t it baby?” He asks softly but there’s a clear hint of teasing, a playful mocking in his tone. Though his voice is finally starting to waver, all of it sends him into overdrive as he draws close to bursting at the seams. His fingers from his free hand tease the skin of your inner thigh, making your hips stutter slightly. “Oooh, s-shit just felt you squeeze around me, you like that?”

“No teasing Max,” you whine and cinch your brows together, looking back at him with a small scowl but it looks more of a pout in his eyes, “touch me please.”

“Demanding now are we?” Deciding to not be mean anymore than he already has been tonight because of how precious you looked—he licks the calloused pad of his thumb and presses it harshly against your clit, neglected and swollen. He circles it, spreading his spit and your wetness slowly. You shriek at the added stimulation and grip the steering wheel so hard your knuckles turn white.

“My good girl, my everything, all I ever need.” He’s babbling again when your pussy clamps down on him at the praise. Both of your brains seemingly go fuzzy yet in tune with one another, only thinking of one thing and it’s that sweet release.

With each moan from you, a sharp groan and grunt comes from him. His own hips begin to move with you again, no longer capable of keeping still, his thrusts matching each lift of your body. The pleasure builds and builds, becoming almost unbearable.

“So. Fucking. Good.” He punctuated his words with each buck, becoming more sloppy as time goes on—hanging so dangerously close to the edge. And he knew that you were almost there too, he could feel it in the way you were moving against him desperately, clenching and shaking around him. "You're close, aren't you, baby?"

Incoherent babbles of yes's and pleas were all you can respond with. Each drive of his hips were now constricted because of how hard you squeezed around him, your walls pulsing like a vice as your body goes taut.

He didn't stop, couldn't stop, he needed you too badly, needed to feel you as you fell apart for him, all because of him. His thumb rubs more vigorously against your bundle of nerves to heighten the pressure in your core, ready to burst at any given moment.

“Y-Yeah I know I'm right there with you, come on baby,” he urges and leans forward, licking and speaking against your ear, knowing that it’ll drive you even closer to your peak, “I want you to come for me–come with me.”

Your vision begins to blur, nerves on fire as you can only focus on the blissful pleasure. The moans coming out of you now louder and more high-pitched as you chase for your orgasm. He angles his hips and snaps up into you harder, now hitting your sweet spot more incessantly. You suddenly go quiet, eyes rolling to the back of your head as you come around him in a silent scream.

“Holy shit, gooooood fucking girl,” his concentration switches to pure ecstasy when he watches you shake atop of him, he can feel everything—every muscle and contraction around him, it was enough for the heat burning in his abdomen to explode along with you. The base of his cock throbs as spurts of cum shoots inside of you while a guttural moan rumbles deep within his throat.

His thrusts begin faltering as he tries to coax the most of your orgasm out of you, pushing his cum further into you as much as he can until the fat head of his now flaccid cock burns in overstimulation.

You collapse onto his chest blissed out and limp when you finally come down from your high. Completely fulfilled again as he hugs you to his sticky body, not caring to pull out, keeping you plugged full of his cum. His chest heaves against your head, rising and falling almost like a soothing lullaby, sitting there and just listening to each others heavy breathing.

“I’m sorry again my love,” he speaks after a while of calming quiteness.

“Shhh don’t talk about it anymore,” you chide playfully, resting your chin on his chest to stare up at him, “just don’t ignore me like that again.”

“Oh I don’t plan on it.”

The familiarity of your bond re-emerges. The tension and hurt from earlier is entirely gone, replaced by a sense of comfort and ease with you lax in his arms. His eyes drinks in the sight of you with a content smile plastered on his face. He’ll have to book a getaway for the rest of his winter break and take you over and over to make up for lost time.

© 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟒 𝐍𝐎𝐑𝐀𝐅𝐀𝐘𝐄 𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐒 𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐕𝐄𝐃 𓈒ㅤׂ 𝜗𝜚 please do not plagiarize, translate, or repost.

[the-fandom-is-now-my-life]

The creator had a:

sea streaked child

WC:800

Cw: reader is said to breastfeed but isn't written doing so

Checking the blinds to make sure they were clean, remaking the ruffles so they are even.

Furina had spent her entire morning jittery walking everywhere in the palais mermonia.

Now across the room she is digging in between the blue roses hiding any less than stellar bloom under one of its prettier sisters.

Changing the tea set on the table in the middle of the room, cerulean blue, cobalt blue and sky blue swapping places faster than Neuvillette can pay any mind to.

She sighs, looking defeated at the sets and almost begging them to tell her which one is supposed to be best yet for one second the teapots looked like mocking faces. Throwing herself on a loveseat the room starts to feel smaller and she isn't even totally sure what tea to serve.

“Breath” neuvillette says from the desk, ever since he took over the leading role in Fontaine he spent more time between pages of legal documents, if that is even possible “they are arriving for a simple chat to check on the general management of the region”

“How do you even expect me to be calm when they themselves asked for my attendance for this meeting!” she sits up wobbly, the soft swirling getting worse “I can't even remember what cake you told me they liked… this is going to be a mess”

“Their grace has quite the sweet tooth, as long as what you planned doesn't have coffee it's going to be alright”

“Why no coffee?”

“miss furina… they gave birth a few days ago, it’s disadvised to breastfeed and have caffeinated drinks” seeing her nod and her little ahoge bobbing along he feels the need to confirm “that not only includes coffee and variations but also most teas” and with that she jumps to her feet, quickly excusing herself to make some changes.

“That child…” he sighs as he reviews the documents he wanted to show you and a rough overview, his head resting against his hand and a finger between his teeth. Feeling the door whining softly he laughs from the bottom of his throat “back soon early?”

And as his heart skipped a beat as you spoke “Oh, my, I know I am 30 minutes early but I thought you would like to meet me particularly” you walk deeper inside the room, past the meticulously fixed flowers that you wouldn't have noticed the mistakes on and past the three teapots on the table, each a slightly different shade of blue. Now standing besides neuvillette and facing the documents he just noticed the bundle of white cloth you held onto.

“Did the crops get better with the method I recommended? It left me worried when I left”

“The production got better, if you want to check the report is here” he offers the three papers stuck together by a metal clip when he notices that doing it with a single hand might be hard “if I might help you” he positions his arms to grab the baby and you let her between his arms

“Let's hope she stays asleep, she is such a colicky baby” you whisper but as soon as you finish the sentence she opens her eyes and starts wailing “my goodness…” you sigh deeply.

“Let me take care of it, just focus on that” he stands up and tries to mimic what he saw parents do with their small children whenever something upsetting might come up during the trials and small children would cry.

He grabs her neck and head with one hand and her legs with another, cradling her like you. As he was swaying softly the blanket covering her hair slid down to show pointy ears and softly cartilage mixing on her thin white hair.

“Is she…” but is soon shushed by you, pointing at the door and then to your ears, the message very clear ‘someone might be listening’ but he keeps his eyes glued to you only to catch you mouthing a soundless yes. His hands cradle her head onto his neck, soft blue cartilage sneaking past his fingers.

Now soothed, you two find comfort on the soft sound of passing the pages and Cordelia's breathing, the baby's name he would later find out.

“NEUVI I managed to get a cheesecake and fontas did i save this?!” Furina pushes past the door, holding a full size strawberry cheesecake and hugging three fontas against her chest but seeing you head on thinking you weren't on Fontaine yet “HIYY”

The screech caused Cornelia to get startled and start wailing “Miss Furina.” neuvillette says sternly, almost like a father telling off his daughter. But the only thing it caused was for her to see him hugging a baby suspiciously similar to him which didn't take her long to join the dots.

“OOAH!”

“Furina please stop scaring my daughter!”

[killerpancakeburger]

One man's penalty is another man's prize

SUMMARY: When agreeing to lend a hand with the organisation of some military tests, you thought it would be limited to marking times and keeping scores. Statistically, there was no way that the... "creative" penalty you came up with would be selected, right?

And the chances for your boyfriend to be the one subjected to it had to be close to zero, right?

PAIRING: Soap x f!Reader (Soaps calls Reader Ma'am twice, that's it)

TAGS: Civilian!Reader, Fat!Reader, Smug!Soap x1000, a bit Possessive!Soap, Established Relationship, flirting, banter, teasing, partial nudity. Making Shit Up for the Plot/military inaccuracies. Suggestive content but nothing graphic.

WORDS COUNT: 2k

A/N: crackfic...? Soap does push-ups fic. Soap wears booty shorts fic. That actually no one One (1) person asked for.

If you need "visual on the target", this piece by @rusticfurnace and this one by @wombywoo have been on my mind. (Hoping its ok to tag, if not, tell me)

For @glitterypirateduck Cod Vacation Mode Challenge, prompt 27.

A drop of sweat falls from your temple and lands onto the stack of papers you were scribbling on. You wipe off your dripping wet forehead with the back of your arm.

The torrid sun is beating down hard on the ground and bodies alike.

This unforgiving heat left you no respite all day long, despite the fact that all you did was sit and take notes. Drenched in sweat, you fan yourself with your notepad. Perspiration keeps accumulating between the rolls of your stomach no matter how many times you dry it off. Today's the base annual testing day, an unofficial gathering meant to measure soldiers’ performance and entertain some friendly competition.

You would almost regret committing to helping today by playing scribes, but the sadistic satisfaction of seeing others toiling away while you twiddle your thumbs is enough to thwart that feeling. That, and Soap's little… display.

Your eyes almost bulged out of your head when you arrived this morning and stumbled upon him stretching his legs, bent over, fingers aiming for his feet, wearing the shortest, thighest shorts you've ever seen. Then he greeted you as if nothing was out of the ordinary. You glanced in interrogation at Gaz and Ghost, who were respectively wearing Bermudas and tracksuits, and were met with a shrug and an eye roll.

To make matters worse, he traded his blue shirt for a sleeveless top that did wonders for his arms and shoulders - as if his tanned biceps weren't already a work of art and a weapon of mass destruction all at once.

You don’t know which incubus possessed him to wear booty shorts, but you definitely aren't complaining.

You spend the day ogling him shamelessly, knowing he was putting on a show for you. He'd sponge down his glistening face with the bottom of his shirt, offering you a tantalizing view of his toned stomach. He'd throw dazzling smiles, teasing winks and blow kisses your way. At some point, he even emptied his water bottle on his head, resulting in his shirt turning transparent and sticking to his skin in an almost obscene way.

His myriad of attentions made you dizzy, in the best of ways. You may have made yourself look like a lovesick fool, with your blissfully happy smiles and your stupid giggles, but except for the people you were close with, no one would dare to nag you about it - lest a certain Scottish sergeant with a big mouth and no fear of confrontation gets all up in their face.

Strong, bronzed hands heavily lean on your desk. Palms are turned towards you, fingers gripping the table's edge.

“M ‘ere fer my penalty.”

The voice is raspy, accent thick, tone charming and teasing at the same time.

You slowly look up from your paper to meet Soap's cerulean eyes; along the way you can’t help but peek at his tanned arms, his bulging biceps, the beads of sweat rolling down his neck, the familiar chin scar in the middle of his dark stubble. His shirt is soaked with sweat.

He's wearing the grin he has every time he lays eyes on you; a blinding, earnest thing. However, even that beguiling smile cannot hide the spark of triumph and playfulness in his gaze.

Johnny's terribly competitive, that's an open secret. It's no surprise that today's tests would fire him up. The perpetual FNG has a title to defend, after all, and with you watching, the stakes are high despite the tests’ results bearing no influence on their file.

But that excitement wasn’t supposed to target you.

“A penalty?” you repeat, unconvinced, twirling your pen between your fingers. “You?”

Doubt infused with sarcasm seeps in your tone, very much on purpose. You raise a skeptical eyebrow, on your guard. 

Your first instinct was to withdraw, prop yourself against the backrest, the distance between the two of you reduced to something too trivial to be proper, but you can’t back off from his implicit challenge. It's a well-crafted game with the two of you as its exclusive players. A dance of provocation and endearment, a mischievous yet comfortable back and forth.

The lack of privacy of it would usually discourage your bashful nature, who avoids confrontation at all costs. But the sergeant has figured out how to appeal to the competitive, driven part of you. So you stand your ground, brazenly, like you're the only two people in the world.

There is no way that Soap earned a penalty, no way that he lost. He's one of the best there is, if not the best - not that his ego needs the boost.

The SAS's youngest prodigue who beat all previous records, his name forever carved into the archives and his legend whispered among impressionable new recruits.

Not to mention that the way he said “my penalty” sounded more like “my prize” than anything else.

“‘ere. Proof.”

He hands out a piece of paper to you, a smug smirk not leaving his lips, one that is not without evoking the satisfied expression of the cat who got the cream. Your fingers brush his as you retrieve the “penalty receipt”, the contact feeling like flames licking your skin.

You take a break from defiantly holding his gaze to glance at the note. Its contents sends an ominous shiver down your spine, your eyes slightly widening in understanding.. and horror.

This wasn’t supposed to happen. The odds were, what, one in hundreds? Amplified by the fact that Soap was the one to get ahold of it, out of all competitors.

You vainly stare at your own scrawl, as if that could make the ink vanish, but reality simply gazes back. 

When asked to participate in making up a penalty, you wrote the silliest thing that came to mind, as a sort of inside joke only yourself would be privy to. Eight innocuous little words that would sign your downfall.

“Do fifty push-ups with me on their back”.

The fifty was an arbitrary pick between twenty that you judged too lenient, and a hundred that would take too long; however, you've thought a bit more about the “me on their back” part. You were heavier than the average soldier's rucksack - significantly so. It had to be a challenge, so you've made it this way.

Yet you never expected to actually end up on someone's back.

How Johnny managed to get his hands on your penalty out of all of them, you'd probably never find out, but you couldn’t deny that the “me” mentioned was you. Indeed, on top of your… recognizable handwriting, the note was adorned with little scribbles you had mindlessly doodled while bored. They were simple but easily identifiable: a foamy bar of soap, a deadpan skull, a jerrycan wearing a cap, and a stack of cash with a hat, or, put differently, the Task Force 141 stylized.

A version of the team that Soap was well-versed with, having witnessed you drawing it countless times.

There was no way out of the corner you were backed into - Soap put you on the spot, the brightest one possible, and that little shit knew it perfectly - did it on purpose.

You sigh exaggeratedly as you get up. You bypass your desk to stand in front of Johnny, not missing the way he looks you up and down. This is the first time he's seeing you in shorts, and despite how self-conscious you are about the girth of your chafing thighs, he makes it obvious how much he's enjoying the view. You cross your arms with an amused smile on your lips.

“You know you’re not supposed to enjoy your penalty, right? Kinda defeats the purpose.”

His smile mirrors yours as he bends over to whisper in your ear, close enough for you to feel his body heat, but not making a move to touch you.

“And ye do know I’d never let any of those eejits sweat and grunt under ye? That's my prerogative.”

Despite the shiver his gravelly voice sent down your spine,you throw your head back in laughter.

“Ooh so that's what this is! You're jealous.”

He remains unfazed by the accusation.

“Call it what ye want.”

“You do know I'm heavier than your rucksack, right? Much heavier? You’re going to hurt yourself.”

His eyes glint with hunger for challenge.

“Don't knock it til you've tried it.”

“Fine. Drop and give me twenty, pretty boy.”

His grin becomes blinding. He reaches behind to grab the back of his shirt and rips it off like it burned him. 

You gape despite yourself in front of his glistening chest, all tanned skin, white scars, hard stomach and soft pecs, and he gently lifts your chin up with his index finger to close your mouth, an extremely smug smirk adorning his lips.

“Yes, Ma'am. Right away, Ma'am.”

From a stranger's perspective, his reply drips with an insolence that matches the cockiness he exhibited all day. But you know better; you can hear the underlying docility in his tone, the one he expresses when you two are intimate.

He keeps his eyes on yours as he kneels, the display way too lascivious for how public it is. You bite your lips, frowning your eyebrows in warning, but say nothing as he obeys and performs the twenty push-ups asked - on one arm. It is good that the position prevents him from staring at you, because you reckon otherwise he'd be giving you the slyest grin.

More than the impressive show of strength; more than the way his skin glows with sweat; more than the flaunting of his imposing muscles; the knowledge that he's undertaking it all for you is what tightens the band of arousal in your stomach, along with multiplying the bubbles of happiness and affection in your chest.

“Gonna take a seat, bonnie?”

He's forced to heckle you since you were so caught up in your staring that you forgot that the next part of the penalty required your participation.

And of course, he chose the cheekiest way to do so. The question, innocent at first glance, sent you back into the bedroom. The last time he asked you that was right before you sat on his face. And the time before that was when you rid him.

You oblige yourself to focus on the here and now, and carefully straddle Soap's back.

“Are you sure you can- Woh.”

He interrupts you by suddenly lowering and rising his body, obliging you to grab his shoulders to keep your balance, but easily demonstrating that the added weight has very little impact on his performance. 

“Alright, alright, you convinced me,” you yield. “That's only one out of fifty, though.”

“And yet ye dare doubt me again,” he grumbles under his breath, initiating a steadfast pace.

It is a shame that your current position prevents you from watching his face, but you concentrate on other things instead. Never before did you have the opportunity to revel in the glorious vision that was his powerful back.

You tease him by periodically clenching your thighs without warning, squeezing the meat of his shoulders or ruffling the back of his drenched mohawk.

You let out an impressed whistle when he reaches fifty, before scrambling to liberate him. He pretends needing your help to stand up, and you give him your hands without hesitation. Once he's up, you affectionately shove his shirt into his naked torso, an implicit command to make himself proper.

Following his dressing, you two stare into each others' eyes, hands in hands, like lovebirds until his stomach roars like thunder. 

You giggle; he sighs exaggeratedly, suddenly bowed down by an invisible weight, like he wasn’t overflowing with energy a minute ago.

“M starvin’. Tae death.”

“Wouldn’t have guessed.”

He starts walking towards the canteen's building, after a suggestive wiggle of his eyebrows and his eyes motionning between you and the coveted reserve of food in a silent but strong proposition. You purposely let him take the lead so you can sneak behind him and grab a generous handful of his ass.

He turns his head towards you with mock outrage on his face, a hand pressed on chest, quickly replaced by appreciation.

“Been itching to do that all day,” you confess with an impish smile.

Walking side by side, you start happily humming, and just as you let your hand drop, he seizes it and puts it back on his buttock.

[the-travelling-witch]

𝐅𝐎𝐋𝐋𝐎𝐖𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐂𝐀𝐋𝐋

summary: a siren attack is already unfortunate, but it's worse if it also reveals some truths about your insufferable crew mate

pairing: pirate! hawks x gn! pirate! reader

warnings: just a silly drabble to get back into writing and exorcise some of my hawks brainrot; a little suggestive at the end

general masterlist || bnha masterlist

Getting stuck on the same ship as Takami Keigo was one of life’s most torturous challenges. At least for you. He was obnoxiously arrogant and, much to your chagrin, people flocked to him like seagulls to a forgotten loaf of bread. 

Sure, your fellow pirate was quite easy on the eyes and rather charming when he wanted to be;  a truth you would only ever admit in the comfort of your own head, lest you inflate his ego even further. Instead, you rather grumbled to yourself, cursing his name for getting to sit pretty in the crow’s nest while you sat on deck and mended a torn net.

“Having fun down there?” If the devil ever spoke to you, you were sure he would mimic the grating lilt of Keigo’s melodic voice. “You know, I’m pretty sure a whale could swim through the holes you’re leaving.”

He was your crew mate, he was an essential part of the expedition, you couldn’t just shoot him down. 

“At least one of us is doing their job,” you deadpanned, not even giving him the satisfaction to look up. “You know, I think an island could sneak up on us with how distracted you are.”

“Oh you think you’re distracting me?” Even with your eyes trained on the cords in your hands, you could picture the cocky tilt of his head, a dashing grin playing around his lips. “Is that the kind of effect you want to have on me?”

“You’re the one who’s always coming up to bother me, so if anything you’re the one who’s obsessed with me.” If this conversation went on for any longer, your medic would have to patch up a popped vein on your part.

“Ah there is that wishful thinking again,” he laughed and this time you glared up at his silhouette standing out against the blinding sun. As always, he wore loose beige pants and the top buttons of his black shirt were undone, showing more of his toned chest than you needed to see. His black boots were propped up against the nest’s railing and the crimson head scarf fluttering in the breeze matched the earring dangling from his left lobe.

Just as you were about to retort, another shadow against the sun caught your attention. Drawing your pistol, you undid the safety, alerting the rest of the crew that there was something coming.

But before you could see what exactly was approaching, you suddenly lost your balance as the ship developed a heavy list. Grabbing onto the mast of the crow’s nest, you managed to steady yourself, yet the impact knocked the revolver from your grip. As you looked up, the first thing you saw was the massive cliffs your ship was heading towards, sharp rocks littering the waters, waiting to demolish its wooden bottom. 

Then your eyes locked on to the crew’s navigator, whose head lulled from one side to the other as he firmly steered you towards your demise. Next to him, holding his attention, was a beautiful woman sweetly tracing a finger along his jaw as she sang to him. As a feather drifted past your eyes, it suddenly hit you what -or who- exactly you were dealing with.

“Cover your ears!” You shouted to no one in particular as you scrambled for the wax you had stuffed into your pocket. With your hearing muffled, your own heartbeat raced in your ears as you dove for your pistol and breathlessly aimed for the siren attached to your navigator, who by now was half way towards the ship’s railing, his feet dragging underneath him as the woman lured him further towards the water.

You weren’t sure if your bullet was enough to actually kill the siren but upon impact it dissolved into a burst of feathers and released its hold on your crew mate, who dazedly blinked as he tried to regain his senses.

The next few minutes were a blur of talons, feathers and pulling your crew back from the ship’s edge, even tying some of them to the masts to make sure they wouldn’t try to kill themselves again.

Soon enough, however, you were out of bullets and you reluctantly drew the dagger previously secured to your thigh, scanning the area for more sirens when someone tapped your shoulder. Whirling around you slashed your dagger in an arc around you, only to find Keigo standing in front of you, holding up his hands innocently. There was an easy going smile on his face as he said something you couldn’t understand, so you removed one of the wax beads restricting your hearing.

And that was your mistake.

Only a few heartbeats after his velvety voice reached your ears, your dagger clattered onto the deck as Keigo reached out to unplug your other ear as well, his fingers grazing your cheek with nails much sharper than you expected. You wondered if his lips would be as plush as you imagined them to be or if his hair would be as soft as it looked when you buried your fingers in it.

His amber eyes were trained entirely on you as he gave you a coy gaze, inviting you to take another step towards him, to find out for yourself, to sate your curiosity. Likewise, you couldn’t tear your eyes away from him either as your feet followed his graceful movements, the light reflecting of his golden hair like a halo, the crimson wings on his back completing his angelic appearance—

Then, Keigo dissolved into a burst of those same scarlet feathers as two sharp swords sliced through his torso. For a moment, you thought you had imagined it when the same face came back into view again.

With full force, the noise of the ship reached you again and you staggered backwards at the sudden onslaught of stimuli. Around you, the crew was running around, untying people and frantically steering the ship back onto the right course as you raced to regain your bearings, disoriented by the orders being bellowed around you.

“That should be the last of them,” Keigo ripped you from your daze, his voice clearer as the sea as he sheathed his swords again. “Nasty creatures, those sirens. Though I guess this one was a handsome fellow, considering you were dazedly mumbling my name on your way overboard.”

Your lips pressed into a thin line when your brain caught up to your current situation. Perhaps the siren had been taken care off, yet you were still tempted to throw yourself head first over the railing. Justifiably so, you thought when your eyes darted to the man’s face long enough to confirm the self-satisfied expression he was wearing.

“I am quite flattered really,” he mused, one hand reaching out to tilt your face up so you’d meet his eyes as he stepped closer to you. For a split-second, the thought that it was still a siren in front of you crossed your mind. “To think that a siren would choose to wear my face in an effort to seduce you… now isn’t that quite the compliment?”

“Just… shut up and let me die in peace, would you?” You rolled your eyes, ready to retreat into your little cabin and try to grapple with your near-death experience, this confrontation included. If only the rocky spikes had ripped open the bottom of the ship, you could sink to the sea floor in quiet solitude.

“No no no, why would you do that when you can stay right here with me? C’mon just see it as my reward for saving your precious life, treasure.” He sent you a cheeky wink, drawing your attention to the sharp slant of his eyes and your heart, the treacherous thing, skipped a beat. 

“Is your idea of a reward torturing me further? Or what could you possibly get out of this?” Your shoulders sacked with your sigh, resigning to your defeat. 

“What I’m getting out of this? It’s quite obvious isn’t it?” Slinging an arm around your hanging shoulders, Keigo pulled you flush to his side. Warmth and the scent of salt mixed with something woodsy radiated off of him and you could admit this wasn’t the worst position to be in. “Believe it or not, I do enjoy your company.”

“That is hard to believe, you’re right.” You cocked your head in suspicion. “Normally you do everything to get under my skin, so what changed?”

“Hmm, I wonder why that is,” Keigo’s melodic timbre lilted before transitioning into his typical pearly laughter. Then, as if sharing a secret, he leant down so his lips were dangerously close to your ear, his voice dropping low. “You know, you weren’t the only one visited by a siren. As tempting as that version of you looked, I must say I prefer the real deal.

“Do you think I could get you to sing for me as well?”

© the-travelling-witch 2024 - do not repost, translate, copy or edit

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[annwrites]

⸻ corsets & clockwork one-shot collection. ⸻

· pairing: assassin!jacaerys x fem!reader · type: one-shot (collection) · summary: to get out of the group apartment for the night, you go onto the rooftop, but jace of course follows you up. · word count: 677

Zepplins and airships soar along slowly through the cool night air.

You sit perched atop the ledge of the brick rooftop of the apartment complex, watching them idly.

You then look down and study the faraway cobblestone streets below, watching as gas lanterns flicker, warding away the looming dark that engulfs narrow alleys and alcoves people skulk through and tread along. The occasional clop of hooves echoes as wooden and metal wheels roll along, taking passengers to their destinations for the evening.

It being this time of night, however—the large clock in the town square near to tolling midnight—there are only few places they could be headed to.

Casinos, perhaps. Or brothels. Or, to the docks to do business which would otherwise be deemed unseemly were it to take place in the light of day instead. If not illegal, most likely.

You're interrupted from your assumptions by the soft scuff of boots, but don't bother with turning your head.

You've everyone's gaits down-pat now, including his.

Especially his, maybe.

You ignore that fact.

"Get down."

You roll your eyes. "Why?"

He takes a few steps closer. "Because I told you to. You don't need more reason than that."

You snort quietly and slowly swing your legs to and fro while leaning back, pressing your palms to the hard brick beneath you. "I'm perfectly comfortable where I am."

He lets out a low curse, which instils within you a small sense of satisfaction.

Whenever you're both in the apartment at the same time—which isn't incredibly often—he always leers at you from across the room beneath furrowed brows, with a dark gaze, and a tightly clenched jaw, so you come up here to escape, and still he's displeased.

"You're making me nervous up there. If you fall—"

You stand suddenly and he clamps his mouth shut.

You level your arms on either side of you and begin to imitate a tightrope walker while placing one foot in front of the other—toe to heel, heel to toe—and Jace crosses his arms while a frown tugs at his lips.

"You must think yourself terribly clever, but you're only serving to ignite my ire."

You shrug slightly while smirking at him over your shoulder. "As if that's terribly difficult to achieve."

He grits his teeth.

"I came up here to be alone, you know?"

He steps closer. "Get down. I won't ask again."

You swing one leg over the edge and snicker. "Look—no hands and only one foot!"

He bares his teeth—a sign that his anger has finally reached its limit.

You giggle, strictly from nerves at the unsettling sight, and he quickly reaches out, takes hold of your hand, and pulls you suddenly from the ledge.

You lose your footing and scream in fright as your body lunges in the wrong direction, but he holds firm and you fall into his chest.

He catches you beneath your legs and cradles you against his body while you draw in ragged breaths, trying desperately to calm your pattering heart.

You stare into his dark eyes, half-hidden beneath curls that are of a similar shade, and the words you mean to say—so as to give him a piece of your mind—become stuck in your throat at the sight of him staring at your lips.

Your brows knit together momentarily, and then he practically tosses you down.

You land on your bottom, and a foul word slips from your lips in response to the pain that starts at your tailbone and radiates up your back.

"Ow, Jace! That hurt!"

He glances to the ledge, then back to you. "Imagine how much worse you'd feel had I not pulled you down."

You rise to your feet. "I came up here to get away from you, since all you seem in there is bothered by my presence!"

He rolls his eyes, but of course doesn't deign to reply as he turns and walks to the door.

He holds it open with an expectant look, and you sigh dramatically before going back inside, with him following closely behind.

[stuffyflowers]

follow up to the bad driving post from yesterday. explanations under cut also feel free to argue with me lol

So basically top left = characters who drive badly but not in a way that will cause a crash, top right = characters who are actually all things considered good at driving, bottom left = characters who should not be behind the wheel ever, bottom right = characters who are good drivers in theory/most of the time, but certain factors can make them become car crash material.

Dalv: In my mind, Dalv is the most cautious and safe driver ever, to the point where he loops back around to being a shit driver. You do not want to get stuck in a lane behind this guy he will not go even CLOSE to the speed limit. He will probably let you through when he has right of way. etc etc. Ig on the bright side he doesnt get into enough situations where a car crash could really occur? yay?

El Bailador: Kind of guy who drives windows down music blaring probably speeding slightly at all times but somehow has never had anything bad happen to him. he is being protected by higher powers because he is sooooooo nice and cool :)

Ace: Ridicules all his friends for being bad drivers then actually gets behind the wheel and he sucks almost as bad. Yk, given how his whole thing in the Wild East is facepalming at the five's antics while arguably being worse than a lot of them in that regard. Why are you encouraging a child to gamble. Why are you tormenting blackjack with mooch. Whats his problem

Edward: Okay I didnt really know where to put Ed.. Hes in a weird situation where,, i think his biggest problem would be finding a car thats actually suited to him. Like how he wants to play the guitar but his hands are too big to actually play any of the ones they have. After that though, I think he'd be pretty good, at least decent! He does have some anger issues to deal with (beat up blembino that one time lol) that could cause problems but hes working on it :)

Moray: Pretty self explanatory. The most normal feisty five member. Probably their designated driver 90% of the time. The only reason theyre not completely top is bc their one weakness is whilst they ARE the voice of reason, they do ultimately go along w the group most of the time even if they feel whats happening is wrong. Maybe picks up on the five's bad habits a bit? Overall still a trustworthy pick for driver i think.

Flowey: Ok.do not take this too seriously..............Ik he doesnt have feet for th pedals but consider. Its funny. He can use his vines trust me (also even if he cant physically drive i feel like he'd have a really good understanding of driving. guy who has read every book is bound to have useless knowledge on topics that arent at all relevant to him. and you cant crash the car if youre not driving i guess!!!!!!!!!! but also. funny.)

Ceroba: Similar case as Ed. Actually good at driving but holy fuck the road rage. I feel she'd be worse at responding to it than him bc she has so little self respect. very "I will kill us both😳" attitude abt tailgating and shit like that. Usually better at keeping it in when shes driving with someone else.

Martlet: Maybe she should be furthest down bc she is the only one to canonically crash a vehicle…, Idk I feel like she’d be sliiiightly better w a car where her focus has to be constantly checked, she cant get distracted while filling in questionnaires with clover if she’s driving. That being said she is still. Yeah.

Mooch: similar to mart. Just cannot see her being a good driver. Sorry girl </3

Starlo: starlo.

Axis: faceplanted right in the center bc hes a wild card to me. Would he have insufferable road rage? Would he actually be pretty chill and responsible? Can he even drive if his foot is a singular wheel? Who knows.

[royal-chandler]

inspired by TZP's appearance at the premiere of Queer 💫

grammar and i really couldn't mesh well today, i'm sorry.

--

The car slows down and the bounce of Alex’s knee speeds up in the backseat. It’s stilled when Henry’s hand folds over it, easily stealing Alex’s attention from the reel of landmarks that lead to the DGA Theater Complex. Henry’s smile is a private and small curve that crowds out everything else. 

Henry comments, “You look like you’re about to leap out of your skin, darling. We can still wait, if you’d like. There’s no pressure.”

Drifting a hand down, Alex threads his fingers through Henry’s and admires the warm and perfect fit of them. “I’m not having a record-scratch moment. And we’re not postponing or calling this off. Or, fuck even worse, appearing as friends to have the internet continually mislabel us as a bromance. It’s not nerves or cold feet, it’s anticipation.”

“An incredibly vibrant anticipation.”

“And your subdued energy, I should take that as?”

“Barely restrained excitement.” 

“Oh, yeah?”

“Of course,” Henry says with a mock-serious nod that he might as well have patented, "I'm going to be sharing the same space as Luca Guadagnino. As a massive fan, that thrills me to no end.”

Alex laughs out of surprise and plays along, leaning in. “Wow, he rates higher than Daniel Craig?”

“Alex, honestly. You think that I haven’t already met the most recent iteration of James Bond? Me, a son of Arthur Fox? We’re well acquainted, love. He’s been at my dinner table quite often,” Henry divulges.

“Huh.” Alex's curiosity is genuine now. Clearing his throat in an attempt to sidestep an embarrassing needy tone, his question still comes out clumsy, words tripping over gravel, “No, uh, farther than the dining room? Uh, just dinner.”

“He’s rather happy with his wife and I’ve never been...courted as a supernumerary,” Henry says thoughtfully. And then with his free hand, he’s carding Alex’s hair, pulling on an end in a way that makes Alex’s toes curl in his shoes. Showing off his cheekbones, Henry grins wide when Alex hisses between his teeth. He's generous with his touch, his fingers slipping down to Alex’s mouth and skipping over its opened seam, pausing at the pout of his bottom lip. Henry’s voice drops in volume as he adds with a sweet kiss, “Plus, he’s not my type whatsoever. Far removed from it and no one fills out a tux better than you. Even James Bond. So, there’s zero reason to be jealous.”

“What? Who’s jealous? I am not jealous.”

“I’d hope not. Soon enough, the whole world will know that I’m yours.”

To the left of his sternum, Alex's heart gallops. The same wild pick-up from weeks before when he’d first held the invite to the premiere, the title of the film brash and defiant across the top. Unapologetically Queer. Over the sloping script encouraging a plus-one, Alex had rubbed his thumb back and forth, like he could wear a patch into the parchment. He hadn’t been able to let it go until he had Henry on the phone, tears swelling and unsteady as the black and white of the invite blurred and the choice became clear.  

“And that Henry fucking Fox calls me his boyfriend. Kind of insane,” Alex remarks, remembering the Melbourne Climate Conference and literally running into the Prince of England. Getting to his feet with a two-inch advantage and still feeling like he didn’t measure up and never would, gutted by Henry’s refusal to take his hand. Later, in a hospital closet, he’d find out that Henry had been hollow that day as well, pitted by fresh grief.

“Good insane?” Henry asks.

“Always. I like the kind of crazy you drive me to,” Alex admits and sees happiness light in Henry’s forest eyes. He sees forever. Alex wants it so badly, he has to dip his gaze lower before he loses himself there completely. He loiters at the necklace that hangs from Henry’s neck, its silver pendant resting against the notch of his collarbone like an ornament. A gift from Alex that the public has been speculating the origins of since it first appeared on a beach trip Henry had taken with Bea and Pez—noteworthy for the simple fact that the Prince never wore jewelry aside from his signet ring. “I mean, let’s get started on this fucking outfit, baby.”

“Alex, enough.”

“You’re in a cardigan that’s barely holding on! What am I supposed to do with that? I’m merely a man.”

Paired with dark grey pants, the cardigan is powder blue and delicately knitted with a lace pattern, see-through over a black tank and even softer than it looks. It’s a formal contrast to Alex’s dark denim jeans and wool workwear jacket but together, the intent behind the ensembles will be undeniable—that, like any other couple, they’re meant to match.

Fondly, Alex shakes his head. “When the big headline reads ‘Prince Henry, finally saved from drowning as First Son ACD yanks him out of oversized double-breasted suits’, I’ll get my gratification. You’ll see.”

“They are not oversized,” Henry argues, a blush across his face.

Alex tells him, “If you didn’t bare your chest every once in a while, your shoulders would be your best kept secret. Forget about me.”

“Not ever,” Henry answers.

As if cued, the car rolls to a stop and a silhouette appears outside the window. They’ve got thirty seconds and, in a deliberate callback to the moment he realized saying anything less than love to Henry felt like lying and asked him out on this date, Alex wonders, “Are you ready?”

“So fucking impatient,” Henry says with a laugh and Alex is head over heels for all of him.

When the door is opened, Alex doesn’t let go of Henry’s hand. He carefully waits for Henry to climb out behind him and then places his proud smile to the skin of Henry’s cheek—what he had wanted and wished to do at the charity polo match in London and every other public appearance that followed after.

Ahead of them is a long, loud line of press and chaotic bursts of blinding lights. A shit ton of questions and a sprawling red carpet that they won’t be able to walk back.

They move forward with purpose, together every step of the way.

--

i'd like to kindly thank @caressthosecheekbones for telling me that Henry should wear Nick's iconic cardigan 💛

and @mylucayathoughts , here you go! 🤍

[mysaintkitten]

Blush | Kitten Braden x fem!reader

prompt: kitten needs a bit of spice in the bedroom (NSFW!! NO MINORS!!)

WARNINGS: bottom!kitten, strap-ons, feminization, fingering, rimming, praise, slight degradation (light use of the word slut/whore)

word count: 2.4k (not proofread lol)

“kitten, i’m gonna trip!” you squeal as kitten holds her hands over your eyes while trailing closely behind you, you stick your arms out in front of you in attempt to blindly navigate throughout your shared flat. you hear her giggling from behind you, “just trust me, darling!”

you feel around the walls, shuffling your feet to try and not stumble over whatever miscellaneous things may be skewed throughout the hallway.

“can you at least give me a hint?”

“no hints, we’re nearly there.” she hums, continuing to guide you. the anticipation is killing you, kittens been dangling this surprise in your face the entire day. and now you’re mere moments away from finding out what it is.

she then stops you, “hold on, keep your eyes shut” she whispers while removing one of her hands from your eyes. despite your eagerness, you obey her wishes and screw your eyes shut. you hear kitten twist a knob and nudge a door open before she resumes leading you towards the surprise.

once in the room, she lets go of you and shuts the door behind her. then, you feel her creep up behind you. the front of her body is flush against the back of yours, she drags her fingertips along your arms.

“open your eyes.” she purrs into your ear, her warm breath sending chills throughout your body. you slowly peer your eyes open. you realize you’re in your shared room, the beds neatly made and there’s a box placed atop the duvet. what could she be hiding in this box? you giggle, “what is it?”

“open it and find out.” she responds, distancing herself from you and creeping over to the mattress. she crawls onto the bed and grins widely at you, clearly excited.

you sit on the edge of the bed and begin to unbox the surprise. as you pry the box open, you’re met with a strap. there’s a medium sized dildo, nothing huge but certainly not small, and a harness. you feel your cheeks burning slightly as you glance up at kitten. you had definitely teetered with the concept of topping kitten, occasionally slipping some fingers inside her while you suck her off, watching how much she enjoys the feeling of being full. she primarily preferred to top you, but sex and pleasure are extremely fluid. and since the two of you have formed a sturdy foundation both romantically and intimately, she thinks now may be the time to start exploring a bit more.

you pull the dildo out of the box, analyzing its curves and veins. “how long have you been wanting this, sweetheart?” you question, pulling the harness out as well.

she sighs “a little while now ..” she scoots closer towards you, “your fingers feel nice ‘n all .. really nice .. but i wanted something more.” looking into kittens eyes, you can tell something has shifted within her, seeing the toy again has ignited a sense of excitement within her. you strip your pants off and kitten aids in attaching the strap to your hips.

you smirk, looking down at her plush pink lips before looking back at her eyes. her eyes are just as shifty, the tension in the room becoming more palpable by the second.

you chuckle softly, “you’ve been craving something bigger for that little pussy, baby?”

a light pink blush spreads across her cheeks at the dirty words, her breath also becoming slightly more laboured. you love to just examine her. all this time spent together has made her incredibly easy for you to read. her bubbling arousal is clear as day in her expression alone.

she nods, gently batting her lashes, “i’ve been so desperate, darling,” she whines, tracing small patterns onto your hand with her finger. “it’s even worse when you’re away, my fingers don’t feel nearly as good as yours.”

you click your tongue and pout slightly, “oh, my poor girl ..” you lean in to kiss her lips, bringing one of your hands to her hips. while rubbing the smooth skin, you occasionally sneak your hand towards her ass and grip the soft flesh, making her whine into your mouth. she slips her tongue into your mouth and her kisses become needier, “you wanna get filled, hm?” you moan against her lips. kitten nods and places her hands onto you, feeling up around your thighs and waist. you pull away from her, “get on your hands and knees, love.”

she tucks her bottom lip between her teeth and shifts onto her hands and knees. swaying her hips in front of you, almost tantalizingly. her mini dress barely covering her ass.

you crawl forward, running your hands along her exposed thighs and nearly exposed ass. you flip the end of her dress up, pressing lightly against her barely clothed hole. she whines and arches against your touch. you slip her panties to the side and place a flat stripe against her opening.

“o-oh!” she gasps out of shock, her thighs shaking gently beneath her. her hips shift forward at the overwhelming stimulation. “stay still, let me taste you, baby ..” you groan against her, gripping her thighs harshly. you lap kitten up, her mewls and gasps enabling you to keep going. as you eat her out, you bring one of your hands between her legs and palm her growing bulge. making her hips jolt suddenly.

she moans into the pillows, grinding against your hand and face.

you hum against her and pull your mouth away, bringing your other hand to her hole. you slowly slide a single digit into her, fucking her slowly with your finger.

“mmh, baby ..” she whines, her voice high and airy. you place small kisses along her ass cheek and hips, sneaking a second finger inside of her. she moans louder and arches her back harder, you feel a small damp spot form at the front of her panties.

“oh, darling .. are you getting wet for me?” you purr, her arousal is nearly intoxicating to you.

“mhm ..” she whimpers, rutting her hips back to meet the thrusts of your fingers. you add in a third and her movements halt, her moans becoming shaky “use your words, hun.” you breathed as your own arousal begins to stir between your legs. hearing her moans, feeling her desperation, you could probably come from her sounds alone.

“y-yes .. ‘m wet for you-“ she groans, placing her hand on top of yours as you palm her. she moves your hand against her bulge, small breathy whimpers pouring from her lips. “you ready for my cock, baby?” you coo as you lean toward the nightstand, pulling a bottle of lube out from the drawer. “yes-s! please!” she huffs from anticipation. you squirt a generous amount of lube into your hand and coat the strap, then using the excess lube on kittens hole for good measure.

you line yourself up, teasing her ring of nerves with your cock head. “hm .. please .. no teasing, baby ..” she moans, pushing her hips back to try and get the tip in. part of you wants to prolong this and tease her more, but the other half of you needs to fuck her as soon as possible. you give into the latter, you can tease her another day.

you comply and slide the cock in while gripping her hips, a loud whorish moan comes from kittens mouth as she looks back at you with glossy eyes. her brows furrowed and her cheeks flushed while biting her lip harshly, you’re almost afraid she might draw blood. as you slowly slide back out she places her hand behind her and grips your shirt and drags her fingertips along your torso.

you bottom out again and begin to pick up your pace. you watch as her expression changes as you fuck into her faster, her eyes roll back and her mouth hangs open slightly. small gasps being punched out of her as each thrusts meets her hips.

“such a sweet, tight pussy, baby. taking me so so well.” you praise, bringing one of your hands down to her ass to grip her roughly as you fuck her.

kitten just moans in response and drops her head down and clenched her fists in the sheets, the cock filling her up exactly how she needed. you watch yourself pound into her, seeing her hole grip your cock was a sight you didn’t know would affect you so much. one of the harness straps has been applying consistent friction and pressure to your clothed wet cunt, it almost aided in the fantasy. you imagined how she felt stretched around your fingers, and how it would feel if she was stretched out on a real cock. the thoughts mixed with the sight in front of you was deliciously hypnotic.

you pick up your pace and slap her ass and you hear her yelp beneath you.

“who owns this pussy?” you purr, desperate to hear kittens fucked-out tone. “y-you do ..” she whines, barely audible as she hides her face within the pillows.

you bring your hand forward and lock your fingers into her hair, tugging her head up roughly. she moans loudly at the gesture, “i couldn’t hear you, baby, who owns this pussy?”

“you d-do, fu-ck!” she cries out, the tip of your cock rubbing perfectly against her sensitive spot. you release her hair and slap her ass again, “that’s it, good girl.”

she whimpers against the pillows, little ‘fuck’s and ‘so full’s pour out from her mindlessly. her senses being completely overwhelmed by pleasure.

“fuck me h-harder-“ she whines, meeting your thrusts with her hips. “desperate little thing ..” you mutter before fucking into her harder, kittens sounds becoming even more intoxicating- which you didn’t even know was possible.

you continue to fuck her at this harsher pace, “ha-arder!” she whimpers. you’ve never seen kitten act this way, she’s so blatantly cock drunk beneath you, and you’re eager to give her whatever she may want.

“jesus, you want me to fuck you like a whore?” you growl, pounding into her even harder. you’re afraid you might hurt her, but judging by her moans and her body language, she’s on cloud 9.

“yes, yes!” she rambles, turning her head to the side to speak more clearly, “‘m jus’ a whore, your whore, b-aby!”

“didn’t know my girl was such a cockslut .. i could fuck you like this for ages ..” you groan, glancing down at her reddening ass. the harsh pounding along with the smacks have left her cheeks clearly irritated, but it only added to the erotic nature of the scene.

“ngh, fuck!” she cries as she snakes a hand between her legs to hastily rub her neglected bulge.

you realize what she’s doing and you stop your thrusts, then proceeding to pull out. you watch at her used hole clench around nothing, gaping ever so slightly from your cock. kitten whines and attempts to catch her breath while peering behind her, “why’d you stop?”

“get on your back, i wanna see your face when you come from my cock.” you coo, hooking your fingers into her panties waist band and sliding them off. once removed, she turns onto her back, you can’t help but moan at how she looks. she’s so clearly fucked out, her lipstick and mascara smudged slightly with a faint blush spread across her cheeks, the strap of her mini dress sliding down barely exposing her tits, her flushed wet cock between her legs. she’s perfect. you then get a good look at her panties, which are significantly damp with her arousal.

“god, kitten, you’re drenched,” you chuckle lowly, “does the cock feel that nice?”

she struggles to look at you as she becomes embarrassed, but she nods.

“jesus ..” you mumble, tucking the panties behind you, “so hot how wet you get .. all f’me ..” you add as you bring your hips forward and tease her hole with the tip again. she brings her gaze back to you, this time wanting to watch as you enter her while mumbling small phrases about how she only gets wet for you.

you run your hands along her thighs soothingly while slowly sliding the cock in, “now, i want you to touch your clit for me while i fuck you, got it? show me how good it feels, sweetheart.”

her chest rises and her eyes flutter shut, she tried her best to watch you, but the euphoric fullness was too much for her to handle.

as you fuck into her at that same harsh pace, she brings her hand between her legs and begins to pump herself. her tip glistening with pre come as she twitches beneath you, her sensitivity at an all time high. seeing her face as you fuck her gets you unimaginably wetter, you think you might actually be able to come from the friction of the strap and kittens erotic aura.

“sh-it, darling, so good! ‘s so so good!” she whimpers loudly as her cock spills even more slick onto her dress.

“god, such a fucking whore. you’re gonna come all over your pretty little dress and ruin it, baby. all from my cock, huh?” you purr, dragging your nails along her sensitive thighs.

“yes, mh! so clo-ose!” kitten moans loudly, she fully doesn’t care if someone hears her at this point, all that she’s processing right now is overwhelming pleasure.

“come on my cock, pretty girl, that’s it.” you praise. your own orgasm is inching closer and closer and it’s becoming increasingly more difficult to maintain your composure.

she grips the duvet with one hand and pumps herself feverishly with the other, “i’m coming-g!” she shouts, her thighs shaking around you violently as she shoots ropes onto her dress. watching her come undone on the strap sends you over the edge and your thrusts become shaky, causing you to cum in your underwear.

you give her a few more slow thrusts before she whines and signals for you to pull out, you oblige and slowly slide yourself out of her. you look at her entire body, her post-orgasm glow evident in her face, her slightly sweaty chest, her cum stained dress, her abused hole.

“who knew someone could look so gorgeous after getting the daylights fucked out of them ..” you coo, leaning your body above hers to kiss her sweetly on the lips, “‘m really glad i bought that ..” she hums while being barely coherent, “i am too, darling.”

——

don’t mind me just pleasing my wife thank you

[hollowwrites]

Summer of 6th Year

Ominis x MC Rewrite

Summary - I hate, hate hate, thinking about Ominis with his family. I don’t like to think about what the summer between 5th and 6th year would have been like for him. Too upsetting. The boi deserves better. But I’m taking my own head canon of 5th year into account (part 5 of Blindsided shh) and suddenly it’s not as sad?

Warnings - Mostly just sad thinking about what could have happened during the summer but none of it is mentioned specifically

Word Count - 2393

~

The chug of the steam trains pistons started to fade into the distance as it continued on its journey. With the last train now gone that would mean all attending students to Hogwarts were on the grounds.

However, Ominis was yet to find Evelyn.

He swept his wand broadly across the platform at the remaining students idly chatting or waiting for their friends. With the crowd thinning further, he had hoped she had seen him and he would soon be sent hurtling to the ground in her embrace.

Perhaps she had decided not to return. After the 5th year they both shared, he couldn’t blame her. But his heart sank at the idea. Or maybe she had seen him, and ignored him entirely.

He couldn’t work out which was worse.

Garreth remained patrolling the bottom of the stairs leading out of Hogsmeade station, counting how many Weasleys were arriving and squinting at every new ginger kid that bounced towards the castle. As Ominis approached him, he eyed him cautiously. The Blonde Slytherin didn’t look like someone returning to Hogwarts but rather someone who had been sentenced to life in Azkaban. His features were heavy with fatigue and his deep set eyes blinked unenthusiastically in Gareth’s direction.

He looked, truly…

…Gaunt.

“Hello Garreth, you haven’t seen Evelyn have you?”

“Yeah, she’s just asked me the exact same question, she’s…Merlin where has she gone?” Garreth peered over the sea of first years being ushered up to the castle to be sorted. “I swear I just saw her, she-“

“Ominis!”

And there it was.

The voice that calmed him like no other. The voice that could call to him even in the darkest of places. The voice he had heard rattling around his head for six long weeks, each time it would change and morph. Like he was slowly forgetting who she was.

But oh was it sweet now…

His Evelyn…

Garreth watched as Ominiss’ shoulders visibly relaxed and he immediately turned in the direction of her voice. He laughed at the twitch of Ominis’ lips threatening to break into a smile at the mere mention of his name.

Wand in hand he strode towards her, hearing the loud patter of her feet as she ran towards him. Before long, her arms wrapped around his neck, pulling him down to her height.

So small. He had forgot that too…

“I missed you so much” Evelyn muffled into his neck. Pocketing his wand quickly, his arms snaked around her. One along her waist, pulling her ever closer till there was no gap between them. The other soon joined cushioned behind her thighs as he scooped her clean off the ground. The elated scream that erupted from her lips vibrated through her chest where Ominis pressed his ear. He sighed contently.

Her heartbeat.

He didn’t need to be this close to hear of. But why not when she was so willing? It hammered strong and erratic against his head.

A reminder she was alive.

“Oh you have no idea how much I’ve missed you” he muffled into her arm, wrapped around his head. She cradled him as much for stability as for comfort.

When the pair broke away, minutes after, the platform was almost empty. Garreth bid them both a quick farewell before his departure. No doubt off to watch the horde of Weasley get sorted into Gryffindor.

Both Ominis and Eve decided to take the longer, more scenic route back to the castle, catching up on their summer in a more private and beautiful setting.

“So how is Anne?” He asked earnestly.

“She’s doing really well” Eve beamed “Her fits are down to 2 or 3 times a day, depending on what we’ve been doing, if she’s feeling well. There’s a lot of factors but…she’s getting there”

“And Sebastian?” Her stride slowed somewhat at his follow up question

“I haven’t heard from him” she linked her arm with his giving it a little squeeze. The closest thing they could get to a hug whilst they slowly ascended to Hogwarts. “Have you?”

“Not even one owl” Ominis replied blankly, finding it easier to lie about his summer than offload his own problem into the already fretting Evelyn.

“We did the right thing. Yes? Yes.” She fiddled with her fingers around his arm, picking at her nails as she was known to do. He placed his hand over hers to stop her anxious habit.

“He probably just needs some time” Ominis said convincing himself as much as he was convincing her.

An uncomfortable silence crept of the pair.

So it was going to be like this again.

“I thought you would have visited…” Evelyn’s voice was quiet, barely there as she effortlessly broke his heart in two.

“I…was busy” Ominis lied

“I went to Feldcroft to see you. See if Sebastian had returned and how you were faring…You were never there”

Anne spoke of Ominis often. It seemed they were close. Annoyingly close if Evelyn was being honest. The rancid taste of jealousy rose on her throat whenever the sick Sallow said his name with a tone of affection. Despite that though she had proved to be a valuable resource of information about him. About how they’d spend summers together. How they often slept under star whilst the Sallow twins described different constellations for their blind counter parts.

And how vile and twisted his family were.

Surely he would rather return to an empty homestead than his family

Evelyn’s stomach remained constantly in flux over her summer. Anne: Cursed. Sebastian: missing. Ominis: unaccounted for.

“I was out rather a lot. Holidays. Day trips. The like…” He lied once more. Easily.

If he were to tell anyone it would be Evelyn. She got the Scriptorium location from him. He trusted her. Right?

Her eyes narrowed suspiciously. He would tell her in his own time but it was killing her, this unknown.

So they simply walked back in silence.

~

The sorting ceremony happened with no major catastrophes or drama. As everyone filed out to go about their nightly routine, find their common room or just get reacquainted with one another, Ominis could hear a gossipy bunch of younger students just ahead. The topic of their conversation piqued his interest away from the infamous student still clinging to his arm.

“Who is that? They weren’t in the hall?” The young Ravenclaw said

“Nope not at our table either. That is green isn’t it? Slytherin?” The Slytherin girl sneered

“Oh that’s just Sebastian Sallow” The eldest student replied.

Ominis froze.

No mistaking it. The habitual tapping of his foot. The impatient huff of air on every second breath. The smell of smoke, embers and coffee.

There, stood leaning against the wall in the foyer between the parted sea of students, was his oldest friend. Ominis remained stationary. Stuck in place by a mixture of emotions none quite strong enough to rise to the surface.

One thing rattled around his head more than anything though…

How dare he?

“What’s wrong?” The tiny voice of Evelyn rang hollow in his ears as Sebastian pushed himself off the wall and made his way over.

Eve followed Ominis’ sightless gaze and her eyes met with Sebastian. She stared at him, unknowing of what she wanted to do. She missed her friend. She wanted to embrace the boy whose sister she now cared for. The boy who showed her that secret place deep in the belly of Hogwarts. The boy who showed her spells and mysteries and new places across the region. The boy whose smile, that was currently plastered across his face, had manipulated her into doing stupid and unforgivable things.

She blinked away images of Anne. She saw her in Sebastian face more clearly now she was almost free of that curse. The nights she stayed up with her over those six weeks, well into the early hours, crying over the loss of her brother.

Now she wanted to hit him.

Make him feel a fraction of the pain he had caused his sister in his absence. Anne’s voice sang in her ear;

‘Us Sallows are thick-brained stubborn mules. He just needs time as much as I need time. I don’t want to see him right now, but I miss him. Does that make sense?’

Eve’s hand fell from Ominis as she hugged herself tightly. Fighting every fibre in her being from doing…something.

“Hello you two. Long time no see” His voice was thick with a confidence only he could muster.

“‘Long time no see’?” Ominiss’ signature sharp tone returned, his voice rising in volume causing Sebastian to flinch somewhat and a plethora of nosy student to turn their way.

“I just mean-“

“Ominis please-“ Evelyn begged seeing the last few students leaving, turn to look at the scene. She glared at them until they realised the drama, wasn’t worth their life. She was the new fifth year after all.

“She wrote you. She went to Feldcroft. Where were you? She put herself in danger for you! Again!” Ominis took a step toward Sebastian, his wand blinking faster giving him a better layout of the situation he found himself in.

“I didn’t ask you too” Sebastian followed suite, both boys leaning forward as though a physically fight was only moments away. Then Evelyn realised...the last time they saw one another, Ominis had his hand wrapped around Sebastian’s throat, and his wand buried harshly in his temple.

“Don’t rope me into this. I’ve had to silently worry for six weeks, Sebastian. I couldn’t write. I couldn’t visit. I couldn’t leave because I had to spend my summer with family” Sebastian retreated slightly mouth going slack as he processed what he said

“You didn’t stay with Eve?”

“Why would I do that to her? She’s already tending to your sister. And you didn’t exactly extend me an invitation like you have every other year” Ominis’ anger slipped a fraction, betraying the hurt behind his words, his brows pulled upwards.

“You didn’t stay at Feldcroft?” Eve yanked at Ominis’ arm forcing him to face her.

“No I…”

“Ominis…” Sebastian reached out to Ominiss’ shoulder, placing a comforting hand upon the taller Slytherin.

“Are you okay?” Eve said taking his cheek in her hand. Ominis didn’t answer.

His head filled with those six dreaded weeks. Waking to screaming as they tortured yet another muggle. Being denied meals for refusing to participate. And of course the immediate punishment. Crucio. That word had been uttered more over those six weeks than he cares to remember.

Though he couldn’t really.

Whether it was his minds self preservation or had chosen to forget he didn’t know. Those weeks were a blur. All he could remember was pain, the fetid smell of that old Manor House and incessant questioning of ‘The Hero of Hogwarts’.

Of course they had heard about her power. and of course, they wanted it for themselves. Thankfully, from what he could gather, they had no clue who she was. Neither witch or wizard, muggleborn or pureblood. They didn’t know. And Ominis would keep it that way.

Whilst Ominis’ mind was reeling, the anguished expression on his face evidence of that, Sebastian was pacing, muttering to himself over and over.

What he always did when he was thinking.

Dangerous.

“So I wasn’t at Feldcroft because I went to look for Solomon” Sebastian spoke with a determination that didn’t suit the topic he had randomly brought up. “I couldn’t find him. His friends, those that he had left, old Aurors, I even asked Sharp for some contacts. Nothing. I assume he’s took another name and fled. Anyway, that means Feldcroft is mine now.

Sebastian turned to his friend, all determination and stubbornness leaving him. All that was left was compassion and love for a boy he failed to protect. Like he always had.

“You live with me now.” He grabbed Ominis by the shoulders giving him a singular light shake.

“Sebastian-“

“No! Even if you don’t want to, I-I-I can make myself scarce…or at least it’s an option. You don’t have to go back there. You can’t…I can’t protect you there. I can’t…” Sebastian searched Ominis’ eyes for any resistance. Worse. There was none. He’d given up.

“It’s not that simple” Ominis spoke quietly, heavy with despair

“Or me. You can stay with me.” Eve smiled up at him before pulling herself into his chest, wrapping her arms around his waist “You’ve spoken very little about your family, I know it’s bad but... I’m so sorry. I should’ve known. I should’ve offered to-”

“Shhh” Ominis hushed softly, his arm wrapping limply around her shoulders and smoothing her soft hair against her head. Sebastian followed suit and wrapped his arms around them both and squeezing.

After a moment, Ominis relented his shaky arms wrapped around the two of them, resting his chin on Evelyns head.

“I’ve missed you both so much” Ominis finally spoke, his voice quiet and not quite carrying the normal gravitas that it did. It was broken. And soft.

Sebastian was the first to pull away, though kept his hands upon his two best friends. His smile was charming, as it always was.

“I give it till the middle of first term. Then you’ll be sick of us again” Sebastian grinned pulling away from them.

“Please, tomorrow afternoon and he’ll ban us from the Undercroft” Eve smirked, giving Ominis one last squeeze before releasing him.

“Now” Sebastian rubbed his hands together “Is there any of that food left? Unlike some people when I’m late I don’t like drawing attention to it and I’m hungry!”

Ominis sighed and for once allowed the twitch of his lips to take over.

It felt good to be back.

~

Bonus:

“She wrote me six times over summer” Sebastian burst through the door of the boys dorm, a huge knapsack in one hand and a small stack of letters in the other.

“You sound mad about that” Ominis put his book down, knowing no more reading would be done if Sebastian was in a mood

“I am! Look at this” He began to shovel the contents of the bag onto Ominiss’ bed. “These are all for you! There’s at least thirty!”

“Oh!” He felt his cheeks start to burn, feeling the parchment between his fingers

“Honestly it’s as though we didn’t commit multiple crimes together”

Masterlist

Original

[tripleglitchwriting]

Wohoo! My first fic on this blog.

This one isn’t specifically any continuity, it’s kind of a mishmash of all of them. It is set in a first contact universe.

Ratchet-centric, GN human reader (though there are POV changes)

Ignition (Part 1)

CW: Graphic injury, mild language, angst

Flashing lights and blaring sirens shouted at Ratchet from all sides of the ship. He’d been in the medbay when the attack started- while not entirely unexpected considering where they were it was still a surprise. Despite their best efforts, a Decepticon ship had managed to track them down.

Not two minutes later Optimus ordered a retreat. At the time it didn’t make much sense to Ratchet, but he trusted his friend enough to go with it. Arcee, Bulkhead, Bumblebee, Drift, Wheeljack, and a couple others joined him in getting into an escape pod. Frankly, he was hesitant to go, there were plenty of bots unaccounted for still on the main deck, but Optimus let everyone know through the comm link that he had a plan. With that he begrudgingly boarded his pod, expecting to be launched into space and put into stasis. The pod shot out of the ship normally, but the next couple minutes were anything but normal.

Outside the small window he immediately noticed they were very, very close to a nearby planet. So close, in fact, the escape pods wouldn’t be able to get out of orbit. Immediately after that realization, and saying something along the lines of “this couldn’t get any worse”, things got worse. The pods’ emergency warning systems activated, which would have been a surprise if Ratchet didn’t already feel the impact of what was most likely heavy blaster fire on the back of it.

Again, lights flashed and sirens of all sorts begged for his attention, yet the stasis lock system was a-okay. It was also beginning to activate. Now as he plummeted to an unfamiliar planet in a damaged escape pod he could only hope the rest of his friends were safe. Then, he heard a very loud explosion from farther away and promptly went into stasis.

—————————

“Go on a hike”, they said, “It will make you feel better”, they said. Well, right now you feel pretty damn bad considering you were incredibly lost, had no idea how to survive in the wild, and you had a very definitely broken leg.

It hurt like hell when you fell and it really didn’t get any better from there. Most of your body was either scratched or developing a nasty bruise, other than your right leg which was bent in a way it shouldn’t be. You fought off nausea as you lay on the forest floor, at the bottom of a steep cliff, tears stinging your eyes and hands clutching the bag you managed to hold onto. You didn’t think it could get any worse. Of course, that notion was quickly thrown out the window when a very loud explosion shook your aching body to its core.

You groaned at the feeling, but still turned to look in the direction of whatever it was. You didn’t see much other than trees, leaves, and your own tears clouding your vision, but you did notice some weird thing streaking through the sky. God, maybe you hit your head harder than you thought. Still, even if you did just spontaneously develop exploding head syndrome and began hallucinating, checking out a possible source of help was better than laying in your spot to rot.

You just needed to drag yourself to wherever it was… and try to ignore the pain while you did it. Needless to say, you made it a solid two feet before your body gave out and you lost consciousness.

——���—————

Ratchet woke up in what was now effectively a pile of burnt metal. He murmured some unintelligible curses to himself before running a self diagnostic- luckily nothing too bad had happened to him, at least nothing he couldn’t fix. He tried to activate his comm link, which unsurprisingly only sputtered static. He pushed down the horrible feeling in his fuel tank in favor of focusing on the problem at hand: Where the frag was he?

Slamming his servo on the release switch, Ratchet stumbled out of the pod, falling on the floor immediately. Right, his injuries. He would have to fix that. Just after he made sure the rest of the crew was alright. Looking up he noticed the world around was primarily organic. He’d landed in some dense forested location. The good news was the temperature, atmosphere, and plant life (from what he could tell from a simple scan) were safe. The bad news was there was absolutely nothing remotely cybertronian within scanning range, which meant his friends had probably landed much farther away, or… well anything could have happened, really. He’d just have to hold onto hope, not that that has done much good so far.

If there was any sentient life on this planet (which, frankly, he doubted there was) they weren’t anywhere around here. During the war the Autobots had visted plenty of organic planets with sentient organic lifeforms, though not all of them were friendly. Either way, by the looks of things he was going to be here awhile. He realized a lot later than he’d ever admit in order to explore around being able to walk would be pretty useful, so Ratchet began repairs. It wasn’t long before he was able to get back on his pedes with minimal pain. The next step was to look for anything useful.

Unfortunately, despite how broad the term was, “anything useful��� didn’t seem to show itself. There was dirt, plants, and more dirt. There were various creatures he would have loved to have a look at if the situation wasn’t so dire. As the planets star went down and dark started to creep into the land, his grip on hope started to slip just a bit more.

Ratchet decided to go back to his pod- maybe he could fix up the distress beacon, or patch up his comm link, or just do anything other than walking around getting dirty. Of course, just as the pod came into distant view, a high pitched squealing noise from below nearly gave him a spark-attack.

It was small, probably the size of one of his digits. Splayed out on the ground with this strange expression on its face. When he looked down at it, the thing made a similar noise, trying to move back. Most of the creatures he’d encountered had scampered off before he could get a good look, but this one stayed put, its little chasis heaving up and down at an alarming rate.

He bent down to get a better look at the thing. It had some sort of covering on it, something that wasn’t the plants he’d become so familiar with. Its face became strained as once again it tried to move back, now squeaking out unintelligible nonsense. The pieces soon clicked into place: It wasn’t curious or stupid, it was injured. That was made obvious by the small cuts decorated with dried red energon, or whatever organics had in them, but it was made very clear when he noticed the angle one of its limbs was at.

It was trying to leave but couldn’t move. Scrap, did he do this? Was it caught in the crash? He quickly moved to scoop the thing up out of instinct, but it only shouted more, this time with a feral twinge.

“It’s okay, I won’t hurt you. I’m going to help you.” Of course he knew speaking slowly wouldn’t make it understand, but maybe the tone would show his intent.

Judging by how its optics widened and began to drip some sort of liquid, he figured it was a failed attempt. Though even if it didn’t like it, the thing still needed help, and if he couldn’t help his friends at least he could help it. Whatever it was.

Very, very carefully he shimmied his digits under its back, trying again to speak in hushed tones. It squirmed and writhed and screamed, wincing at every touch. When it was safely in his servos he closed them around it, hopefully protecting it from any natural predators they might encounter. He grit his denta at every attempt it made to escape or wiggle free. As he made his way back to his pod, Ratchet had a feeling this was going to be more than he bargained for.

[writemywaytoyourheart]

Bedeviled | Chapter 6: rigor samsa

Pairing: demon!jungkook x female reader

Genre: E2L, drama, romance, angst, horror

WC: 5.8k

Warnings for this chapter: strong language, physical injuries, pain, cruelty, blood, fear, depictions of Hell and people in it, I think that's all pls kindly let me know if I missed something

Previous

You hobble along, jaw clenched to the point of cramping as you try your best to look where you're walking. 

No matter which place looks clear, you can't seem to avoid whatever keeps stabbing your feet. 

JK just walks alongside you, whistling lowly as he scans the area. 

This could be so much worse. 

So so so much worse. 

As you think to yourself, you keep your eyes on the ground. Then you suddenly see something different than the dirt you've seen since coming to Hell. 

You slow to a stop as the dirt reveals even more of a path that looks to be made of rusted metal. No doubt it used to be gold. 

It looks smooth to the touch, but when you take a curious step onto it, it's rough and hot. 

Very very hot. 

You suck in a breath and pull your foot back. 

"Ouch," you hiss quietly. 

"Something wrong?"

You look over at him and shake your head, "No."

"You don't sound sure."

He clearly knows what's going on, but finds amusement in taunting you however he can. 

"Having shoes on is sounding pretty good right about now, huh?" 

You look away from him, "I don't need to walk on the path, I can just go on the dirt-"

The look he sends you gives you an idea that apparently that's not the case. 

You two stand there and stare at each other for a while. 

"Why?" You eventually ask. 

He looks you up and down, observing the way you still keep your wrist cradled gingerly. 

"If you want to take your chances, be my guest."

You look back at the path, then take in your surroundings for a moment. 

The trees look almost like the path, as if they used to be a radiant gold before they rusted and became misshapen until they resembled a grotesque forest that was stripped of all its former pride and glory. 

You look back at him. 

It's hard to tell if he's just trying to mess with your head or if he's serious about needing to stay on the path. Nothing looks like there should be a reason to follow his words. 

Which might be why you should. 

Or why he would think that you would even though you don't need to. 

He continues to watch you try and figure it out in your head. 

It's interesting to see the wheels turn in your mind, to see you go back and forth, wondering if you can trust him or not, to guess what might happen if you don't heed his words and should have. 

The way you mumble to yourself anxiously and look around as you rub a gentle thumb on your swollen wrist, wincing every once in a while. 

It's all so entertaining to him. 

It seems like a million years have passed by the time you nod to yourself and place your foot gingerly on the path before pulling it back again, trying to hide the hiss that escapes you. 

Arrrggghhh. 

You bite your lip before turning to him again, "What happens?"

"What makes you think I'll divulge that information?"

"Shall we just stand here and wait for you to tell me?"

He shakes his head, "Nah, see this is what's going to happen."

You flinch when he bends down to your level, "You're going to make a decision and stick to it. If you change your mind, you'll see what else you have to deal with,” He glances at your wrist then back at you.

Keeping eye contact with him, you don't stutter as you respond back evenly, "Fine, but if I make the wrong one, you get to deal with me complaining the whole time."

He smirks and straightens up.

"Deal."

You turn away and look out into the distance, noting that the path just keeps going, further than you are able to see. 

No more dilly dallying. 

You get onto the path and start walking briskly, biting your bottom lip harshly as you try to imagine that you're walking on snow. So much snow. The coldest snow you've ever walked on, it's so cold that you really wish you could be walking on a hot dirt road in the middle of summer. 

Oh what you wouldn't give to walk on a blazing hot trail-

Your speedwalking picks up and before you know it, you're jogging. 

The jiggling on your left wrist is excruciating at first, but then it turns into a distraction from the burning ground under your poor bare feet. 

The end of the path is non-existent, stretching on and on.

I can do this...

I can do this...

I can do this...

I can do this-

____________________________

"Orabeoni!!!" 

Yoongi turns to see the small child responsible for the high-pitched squealing running towards him at full speed down the trail, hot dirt kicking up under her shoes. 

Her skirts are bunched in her tiny fists, just like they always are. Her hair is flying around her face even as she shakes her head to try and get it off so she can see. 

That's when he notices a lot of her hair is shorter than the rest of it. 

"____, what on earth happened to your hair-"

You barrel into him, wrapping your small arms around his waist as you continue to screech, "HE CUT MY HAIR! HE CUT MY HAIR-"

"Who-"

"APPLE!"

The older boy looks up to see your best friend running down the path, waving a pair of small shears in his hand, "APPLE I'M SORRY!" He's sobbing uncontrollably. 

Yoongi bites back a laugh as the small child catches up, his bottom lip trembling. 

"Well if it isn't the half-pint."

"I'm sorry Apple, I'm sorry, I'm sorry-"

You stuff your face into your cousin's abdomen, trying your best not to cry at the loss of some of your beautiful hair. 

"What happened?" Yoongi kneels and lets you hug him as he gently takes the shears from the youngin still sobbing his head off. 

"I- I- I was trying to g-give Apple a pretty haircut-" his words get drowned out in his tearful sorrow when he sees your hair again. 

Yoongi chuckles, "Mm? And who came up with that idea?"

The tiny boy hesitates for a minute, only responding after Yoongi gives him a warning look to tell the truth. He points a shaky finger at the four year old in his arms, who still has yet to come out from hiding. 

"Apple," he whispers in a small watery voice. 

You finally turn to glare at him, "I didn't told you to make it ugly!"

Huge teary eyes stare back at you, "B-b-but you're not ugly, Apple-"

Yoongi bursts into laughter at the whole situation. 

Your face turns bright red at your best friend's words, "Really?" you whisper shyly. 

He nods enthusiastically, "You're pretty still."

"...honest honest?"

"Honest honest," his voice sounds congested as he wipes his runny nose with the back of his hand before wiping at his tears.

"He's right, ____. You still look beautiful, but we can fix it up, alright?" Yoongi assures you.

You nod. 

It was a bit strange being the only one in the town with short hair, but you grew to like it quite a lot. It was different, even though your mother was at her wits end when she found out. But hiding your short hair under a scarf was better than walking around with half of it cut off and the other half past your shoulder. 

No one really cared to look at the kids running around anyway, they didn't care to notice your hair was shorter than all the little boys. But your best friend never failed to remind you that you looked as pretty as always, while it was short and while it grew out. 

You had cried an apology to him a few hours later for being so upset with him for cutting it wrong, you had never meant to yell at your favorite person. He assured you it was okay while your aunt cut the rest of it off, always very mature for his age, even at five years old.

You could never hurt him, you would always be his lovely Apple, no matter what.

____________________________

You don't even register when you end up breaking into a full-on sprint down the path, constantly trying to get as much air into your lungs as you can while also trying not to focus on the horrible pain on the soles of your feet. 

At some point, it occurs to you that you still don't know if you're doing this pointlessly or not. You haven't tried to turn and ask. Honestly he's probably not even behind you anyway. He most definitely is waiting for you at the end of this road.  

If it even has an end. 

That thought makes your legs feel weaker than they already do, which starts to put a damper on your painfully hopeful spirit.

It has an end, ____. 

Everything has an end. 

Except for this place. 

The suffering here will never end for some.

You force those wretched thoughts out of your head. 

You don't need them, they won't help you at all. 

Even if they're true. 

You concentrate on making your legs go faster, ignoring the way they scream at you for a moment of rest. If you stop, your feet will most likely be burnt beyond repair. It's already nearly unbearable even as you run. 

Not gonna take that chance to stop. 

-

The end of the path does not bring the comfort you so foolishly thought it would. 

You saw the rusted gold come to an end, you saw the dirt, the relief seeping into your bones as it got closer and closer.

You didn't think you'd be able to keep it up much longer. 

Thank you. 

When you finally reach the end, you stumble onto the dirt, but immediately cry out and fall onto the ground, the majority of your weight going to your knees. The soles of your feet were so tender that the sharp plants and stones littering the ground were a hundred times more painful than they were before. 

You drop your head onto your arm as a cry bursts from your lips. Curling your legs up as you lay on the ground and cry, you feel your body shaking from the amount of pain you're in. 

"God- please-" you sob, clutching your wrist as you pray fruitlessly for the throbbing to stop. 

You only move from the fetal position for a moment, to throw up from the pain alone consuming you. 

"I c-can't take-" you cough so violently that it triggers another gagging fit. Nothing comes up though, there's nothing left in you to. 

After a few minutes, you just lay there numbly, attempting to ignore the horrible shakes controlling your body as you stare at the dirt that moves whenever you let out a breath. 

Nine circles...

Nine circles...

Fourth circle...

Nine circles...

Fourth circle...

Nine circles...

The thoughts spin endlessly in your foggy brain.

Eventually, you hear something. The sounds and sights around you start to become clear. 

You're still so out of it that you can't figure out what the sound is. It sounds like something heavy being rolled across the ground. 

Blinking slowly, you lift your head a little to see blurry figures that move around strangely.

A few seconds go by before you can see them. 

What you notice first, is the enormous stone structure a couple hundred feet in front of you. It looks like a giant temple that crumbled long ago, some of it still intact, but just barely. 

In the middle of the temple, is a golden statue. 

A chill runs down your spine. 

The huge statue looks like a muscled older man, naked with curly hair framing his face and a raggedy beard. He's crouching down in an almost goblin-like stance, limbs contorting grotesquely. 

The worst part of it is the fact that he's staring right into your soul, even from a distance you can see his piercing eyes clearly. 

You're frozen, too scared to even breathe. 

...Is it a statue?

You're expecting it to come to life and charge at you any second.

When an agonizing minute passes and it doesn't even twitch, you gulp. 

Then your eyes flit to the side to see the figures that were moving. Now you can see that there are people around the outside of the fallen temple; surrounding it. They're dressed in filthy rags that barely cover them at all. 

Now you know what the noise was. 

All of them are in pairs, standing about twenty feet apart and rolling giant boulders back and forth between each other. 

They are dead silent. 

The only sound is that of the stones rolling and rolling and rolling on the hard earth, never stopping, never giving the sinners a moment of rest. 

Not a single scream, not a cry of agony passes their lips. 

Their appearances make up for the lack of voices; muscles straining to the point of nearly tearing through the skin, sweat coating their bodies until they look like they've been dipped in oil, faces so exhausted the skin hangs in limp wrinkles, their eyes black and sagging. 

You close your eyes, heart aching deeply in your chest as you let your head hang. 

One tear falls to the ground before the silence is broken. 

"It's pointless crying for them."

He stands next to your smaller frame as you stay huddled on the ground. 

"They can't hear you pity them. You could walk right up to any of them and they'd never sense your presence, not even if you slapped them in the face," he chuckles as if he knows this from doing it himself. 

When he sees you look at him, he snickers, "If you think that's the worst I've done, you're wrong. They can feel it, but can't react."

The demon crouches close to you, points at one of them, and whispers, "The hoarder," then he points to the other of the pair that catches the boulder and proceeds to push it back, "And the wasteful."

You swallow the lump in your throat. 

"Look at how tired they are. I just know they're dying to scream, to find some way to make the pain lessen at all. Bet they're regretting being such greedy and selfish little bastards-"

"Stop."

He breathes out a laugh at your voice breaking in your pathetic attempt at ordering him around. 

"What? You don't enjoy knowing that they suffer so much more than you?"

You wipe at your eyes and clear your throat, "What do you get out of saying these things? Thinking these things? Like you said, they can't hear you." You turn to look at him, eyes darting between his, "Who are you trying to convince that they suffer more? Me or you?"

JK stares at you for a minute, glaring into your eyes, unflinching. 

You see him swallow a second before he looks away and stands up. 

"Get up."

You don't argue, knowing he'll just yank you up unkindly anyway if you hesitate. So, you struggle for a moment, but finally get to your feet, blowing out a puff of air when the sharp pain returns to your feet. 

He seems to get enjoyment from the pained whimper that slips out accidentally because of a wrong step. 

Staying true to his character, he leaves you to stumble after him as he makes his way straight towards the temple. 

You keep an eye on the statue that gets closer with each painful step. Not even the stone underfoot relieves the pain when you reach the structure. 

Just as he said, the sinners continue with their eternal punishment, unaware of the two of you passing through. 

At one point, the demon kicks a broken piece of the temple that was lying in his path. It rolls and hits one of the sinners in the ankle, immediately drawing blood that seeps into the ground, staining it red. 

The man doesn't react physically. 

You hear a low chuckle and clench your jaw, reminding yourself that you can do nothing to stop him from tormenting anyone he chooses. 

Stay strong, ____. 

Do not give up hope. 

I promised.

When the two of you reach the unsettling statue, you notice the treasure surrounding the bottom of it that you didn't see before. Piles of gold coins hold colorful gems and glittering jewelry, more than you've ever seen. The statue's eyes seem to follow your movement as you pass.

JK tries not to curse out loud when you merely glance at the pile of treasures, then continue limping away, unfazed. 

Fuck. 

So it isn't Greed.

She didn't even fucking hesitate.

There's no question about it, this circle is useless to him apart from breaking down your physical and mental determination.  

The way you move slowly, favoring your right foot particularly, gives him at least some satisfaction. 

-

Something that strikes you later is that it's starting to feel cold. 

It was hot earlier, disgustingly so.

But now there's an unsettling chill in the air, making you pull your cardigan around you more. 

The ground gets cold surprisingly fast. You can't tell if it makes your feet feel better or worse at this point. 

The stone structure is far behind now, nothing but desolate terrain ahead as far as you can make out in the dark. 

"Can we please stop?"

He keeps walking, kicking stones left and right as he goes. 

"Please," you call out, stopping where you are. 

The demon stops and turns to look at you, "What?"

"Can we please stop for a little bit?" You ask, pretty sure he's going to say no, but you really can't go on right now. 

He stares at you for a second, then you see his eyes drag down your body, all the way to your feet and then back up until he looks into your eyes again. 

"Fine."

You blink a few times.

"Huh?"

"I said fine," he snaps, "I already told you, it's you that decides how long we take. You can fuck yourself over as much as you want."

You turn away and look for something to sit on. 

There's a decent sized rock a few feet away, so you start hobbling over to it. It looks big enough that you might even be able to lay down on it if you curl up. 

What a relief.

But right before you get there, you feel him knock into your shoulder as he brushes past and sits on the rock. 

He leans back, putting his hands behind his head and lifting one of his legs to sit bent on the rock while the other one stays on the ground. He's too tall to fit on it all the way, but that doesn't seem to bother him. 

At your silence, he glances over to see you staring at him. You look tired and at a loss for what he's doing. 

"What?" He asks casually as you stand there stupidly, "Did you expect me to sit on the ground like an animal? How rude," he groans as he adjusts himself to be more comfortable. 

You're in too much pain to argue, and you're not about to risk getting another injury for crossing him. 

So, you turn and look around but can't see very well with how dark it is. 

As you limp around and try to find somewhere to sit, there's suddenly a sparking sound and you flinch; turning to see a fire has appeared. Just like in the cave, it doesn't appear to be sitting on anything, just hovering above the ground. 

You lift your gaze to see him sigh and shift on the rock again, his eyes closed, silently rubbing his satisfaction in your face. 

The light of the fire allows you to see his smug expression, but it also uncovers a small rock on the opposite side of the fire that you can at least sit on. 

Ha.

Bet he wasn't intending to do that. 

You go over to the rock and sit down gingerly, wincing at the hard surface against your bottom. 

At least it isn't the cold prickly ground. 

You sit there for a few minutes, just watching the fire crackle. 

When you're finally able to think clearly, you lift one of your feet to look at the bottom. Your stomach drops when you see the bloody mess you've been walking on for hours. 

After checking the other and seeing the same thing, you grab the end of your dress and start to tear at it. It doesn't take a lot for it to rip. 

The demon doesn't even twitch as you rip three good-size strips from the bottom of your dress. It's already ruined with mud and only Hell knows what else, no point in being disappointed. 

Gently brushing at the bottom of your right foot, you hiss quietly at the sting. You can't just wrap it up, it's muddy and has bits and pieces of sticks and leaves that'll leave it feeling far worse after an infection starts. 

If one hasn't started already. 

It takes a while, but you're able to clear most of the blood, sticks, and mud away enough to see the deep gashes that you can't do anything about right now. Wrapping it one-handed also proves to be a challenge; especially when you're perched on this stupid little rock, but you eventually get the white cloth wrapped around your foot, then slowly do the same to the left. 

By the time you're finished, your left wrist is pulsating with pain. 

You take the third piece of cloth you ripped off and start to carefully wrap your injured wrist. 

In the middle of doing so, you glance up and see him watching you. 

"What?" You ask.

He just smirks and closes his eyes again. 

You scoff and look back at the task at hand. 

"You're doing it wrong."

You drop the makeshift bandage, the rest of it hanging from your wrist as you look at him again, annoyance clear on your face. 

"Why do you care?"

"I don't."

"So stop," You mutter, then you grab the cloth again. 

"It's just annoying watching you be so incredibly stupid."

You grit your teeth. 

"Well, you're the one responsible for this," You hiss, "So, you can sit there and be annoyed for all I care."

"Ooh, grumpy."

You shake your head and go back to the bandaging. 

Don't let him get you riled up. 

You're just gonna feel worse-

"Ah! Ow!" You gasp in pain when he suddenly snatches your injured wrist and pulls it towards him as he stands over you, "What're you doing?!"

You hadn't even noticed him come over. 

"Just shut up," He mumbles, unwrapping what you already did and redoing it tighter. 

"Ah, stop, you're hurting me-"

"You're hurting yourself by writhing around, stop fucking moving."

You force yourself to stop moving, afraid he might make it worse if you don't listen. Then you look up and see the concentrated look on his face as he works, unconsciously getting lost in thought as you stare at him.

"You didn't make it tight enough. What the fuck is it gonna do if you just wrap it without any support? Idiot." He mutters angrily as he ties a tiny knot, then drops your hand.

You wince and pull your hand towards your chest, cradling it. 

He walks back over to his spot and sits down, glowering at the fire between you. 

You look down at your wrist, a small smile finding its way onto your face. 

It actually does feel better. 

A feeling of relief and maybe a little hope, settles in your body as you run your fingers along the bandage.

"Don't complain to me if you don't get enough rest by the time we need to move again."

You nod absentmindedly at his grumpy words, then you lower yourself to the ground and lay down. 

It's still cold and prickly, but the fire is nice and at least you've got your cardigan on to help with the sticks and rocks scattered about. 

You probably won't be able to sleep, but you can at least rest your eyes for a bit.

"How did you get to the entrance?"

Or not. 

You clear your throat, keeping your eyes closed as you respond, "I walked."

"No shit."

"You don't have to believe me, it doesn't affect me or what I'm doing," You remind him, yawning as you adjust your arm under your head. 

"What are you doing?"

A chuckle slips past your lips. 

"Why are you laughing?"

"You know," you mumble, "You have a lot of interest in someone you act like you couldn't care less about."

"Act?" He scoffs, "I don't care."

"Ok."

Silence stretches on for a few minutes. 

Then, "Why won't you just answer the question?"

You smile, "At this rate, I am gonna blame you for me not getting any rest."

You hear him scoff and mutter angrily to himself, the sound of him shifting around making you laugh quietly to yourself. 

After another minute, you open your eyes and look over to see him glaring up at the sky, his hands behind his head.

"Why are you so curious about me?" You ask, seemingly startling him for a second. 

Only a beat of silence before he answers, "Because nothing about you makes sense."

"I could say the same for you," You say quietly, watching his reaction. 

He turns his head and your eyes meet from across the flames still crackling lowly. 

"How do I not make sense? You know what I am."

"True."

He doesn't look away, which makes you feel a little nervous. 

You gulp and look down at your fingers, messing with a twig on the ground. 

"Wanna play a game?" You finally brave the question. 

When you hear him move, you look up to see that he's turned on his side to face you, propped up on his elbow as he looks at you carefully. 

"What game?"

"You can ask me whatever you want, and I have to answer-"

"Sounds good to me-"

"But," you continue, "If I do, then you need to answer one of my questions."

He narrows his eyes at you. 

"That's the game," you sit up on your elbow, mirroring his position, "If you wanna know something about me, I get something from you too."

JK pulls his bottom lip between his teeth, gnawing on it as he thinks about your proposition. 

"Fine, it's a deal."

You smile, "Deal."

"So," he leans back, keeping his eyes on you, "How did you get to the entrance?"

You bite your cheek, then you sigh, "If you really wanna know so bad. I was telling the truth before. I did a lot of research and knew where to find it, so I walked there. It's not as hard as people make it seem like."

Huh, he watches you carefully for a minute. 

"Fair enough," he mumbles, "But where did you get all of your information?"

"Ah ah ah," You wag your finger at him, "One question at a time. It's my turn."

"Fuckin' whatever," he groans and lays down, "Ask."

"How many souls have you stolen?"

He glances at you, then scoffs, "You could ask me anything and that's what you choose to ask?"

You nod. 

He rolls his eyes, "First of all, I didn't steal any of them. I took them as payment. The mortals make their own decision to give it to me in return for something or not."

"So? How many?" You press. 

"Thousands, I've lost count. My turn."

You sigh at his poor response, but you let him go anyway.

"Where did you get the information to find the entrance?"

"The Archive."

"What's that?"

"A library, full of things that a lot of people don't usually go looking for."

He glances suspiciously at you, but lets it go. 

"K, go ahead."

"What's your name?"

The demon barks out a laugh, "Why, you wanna summon me?"

You chuckle and shake your head, "Not in a million years."

He looks at you and you think you see a hint of a smile on his face before he smothers it. 

"JK."

"JK?" You repeat and he nods.

You swallow the lump in your throat and gesture at him to let him know he can ask now.

"How did you hear about the Flame of Immortality?"

"My best friend," You say immediately, then you clear your throat, "How long have you been here?"

JK looks at you in disbelief that you could ask such a stupid question. 

"Wait, you're serious?"

You nod. 

"You can't be that dumb."

"Just answer the question," you sigh. 

"Has it not fully sunk into your pea-brain yet that I'm a demon, sweetheart? I've been here since the beginning of Hell. Your mortal mind won't even be able to comprehend that amount of time, so don't even try."

You drop your gaze from his to the fire as he chuckles darkly. 

"Too bad you wasted your turn on that."

You lay down on your back and look up at the sky. 

All there is to see is thick black smoke, not a single cloud, not one little star shining in the dark. 

Nothing. 

"How did your best friend find out about it? She must have heard it from someone."

"He did, but he never told me who."

"He? Your best friend is a guy?"

"Yeah."

"Huh," he looks at the sky, "Does he know you're down here?"

"That's the third question you've asked," you say quietly, "It's my turn."

"Fucking- you're so damn slow, just ask whatever," he moans. 

“Did I make the right decision earlier to go on the path?”

“Yes. Were you really not affected by the treasure?”

“I have no interest in riches. What would have happened if I didn’t go on the path?”

He sighs and stretches one of his legs, groaning, “You would have wandered around, confused about what you were doing and where you were going. You would never have found your way out if I wasn’t there to direct you." He looks over at you, "Why do you feel for the prisoners here?”

“Why shouldn’t I?”

“Because they chose to be here.”

“Yes, but none of them were born intending to make the decisions they made. Evil isn’t born, it’s made. I guess it just hurts my heart seeing people suffer, even if they chose it,” You pick at your nails, "I think I cry for the people they were supposed to be."

“Whatever mortal,” he sighs and looks back at the sky, “Your turn.”

You bite your lip before asking, "Why are you constantly trying to convince yourself that everyone here suffers more than you?" You watch him closely as he keeps his eyes upward. 

"Who says I do that?"

"That's not an answer."

"Well I don't. So I can't answer that-"

"Don't lie, it's against the rules-"

"And how the fuck you know I'm lying huh?" He snaps, "I said I don't, so stop acting like you need to expose me. I'm an open book, darling."

The way he says it is far from humorous.

"Ask a different question."

"That's not how it goes but whatever," you mumble, "Do you know any other demons here?"

"I know all the demons here. Does he know you're down here?"

"Who?"

"Your best friend."

"Yes and no."

"That's not a real answer-"

"Neither was yours-"

JK growls and sits up, "This is stupid. You keep changing the rules-"

"I do not!"

"What if I don't want to play your stupid game? What if I torture what I want to know out of you instead?"

"Then that's not something I can change. You'll do whatever you want to me anyway, right?"

He looks over at you to see you lay down and cross your arms, a grumpy look on your face.

After a minute, you turn on your side so your back is to him. 

He only hesitates for a second before calling over to you, "I wasn't done asking questions."

"Goodnight, JK."

Another few minutes pass in silence apart from the fire snapping periodically. 

"If he's your best friend, why would he make you come down here for him? Why is he sending you to do his dirty work?"

You sigh. 

"He can't do it himself."

"Why though? And why does he want the Flame-"

"Why do you think?" You turn to look at him, eyes filled with anger and grief, "Why would anyone want the Flame of Immortality? Do you think I want to be here, that I’m doing this for fun?"

"You made the decision to come here," he snaps. 

"Do you think I'd choose to come to this wretched place if it wasn't my only choice?"

"Why is it your only choice?" He stands up and walks over to the other side of the fire where you're still on the ground, "Why won't you just give up?"

"Because I can't!" You shout, "I'm not going to give up! I won't!"

"He's dying isn't he?" He whispers, a smirk pulling at his lips, "Your best friend who you're madly in love with is dying and you're doing this to save him."

Your watery eyes glare at him as you clench your jaw. 

"How utterly pathetic," he whispers in amusement, watching as a single tear rolls down your cheek. 

"You can taunt me all you want, demon. I won't stop until I get what I want."

"Even if you do get that Flame, what's your plan after that? It can only be used on one person. Is he really that much of a sorry ass that he'd take it and let you rot into old age?"

You swallow the huge lump in your throat. 

"Just shut up," you choke out. 

"What kind of pathetic bastard is this guy?"

"Please st-"

"And you," he laughs hollowly, "You're even more pathetic."

"I said shut up!" You struggle to your feet and get up in his space as much as you can, "I made a promise, and I'm going to keep it. He is waiting for me to save him and I'll be damned to HELL BEFORE I LEAVE HIM AGAIN!!!!" 

He just observes the tears streaming down your face as you shake with anger and sorrow. 

"Good," he finally spits, then he leans down into your face and snarls, "Because you voluntarily fucked yourself over, sweetheart. Give that Flame to your stupid little bastard friend, your ass is never leaving this place. Glad you finally figured that out."

He doesn't say anything more as you glare at him before turning and walking back to sit on the ground, your head falling into your hands as you burst into uncontrollable sobs. 

Eventually, you lay down again, but the tears don't stop. 

The fallen angel continues to sit on the large rock for hours, biting the nail on his thumb as he watches the mortal girl sobbing into her arms until exhaustion takes over her and she falls asleep, bare feet wrapped in bloody cloth tucked up under her torn skirt and hair matted and dirty. The anxiety and hopelessness is physically seeping from her. The despair will inevitably come.

She's starting to look like she belongs here.

________________________________

a/n: let me knnow what you thiiiink, next one will be longer than this sorry she was so short T-T tysm for reading

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[moonbeamwritings]

a stargazing date with tsukishima

pairing: college!kei tsukishima x gn!reader

wc: 1.2k

warnings: none

← prev. date | next date →

“Come on,” Kei grumbles as he tugs you along by your hand. “It’s freezing out and it’s getting late.”

Cutting through the park on your way back from class, you’d tried to lure Kei over to a bench, eager to catch a glimpse of the moon and stars before you finished the trek back to your apartment, where Kei would be spending the night. With Valentine’s falling during the week, you and Kei had opted to wait for the weekend to celebrate, giving you ample time to meander your way home — free of obligations. The conditions are ripe to loop Kei into doing something you want to do.

“Aww,” you coo, surging forward to pinch his cheek, “is lil’ Kei too cold? Poor baby.”

He drops your hand in a split second, eyes rolling as he uses his long legs to rush farther ahead of you. “You’re such a pain in my ass. Catch a cold for all I care.”

You pout, backpack knocking against your spine as you lengthen your strides to catch up with him. You take his hand again and grin when he puts up no resistance. “You can’t call me a pain in the ass on Valentine’s Day, Kei,” you scold, furrowing your brows. “That’s, like, against boyfriend law or something.”

Kei kisses your head. “You’re such a...” He draws out the letter as he thinks of the perfect descriptor for you, “... pest? Is that better?”

“Somehow worse.”

“Mm, you know I’m not good with words.” He waves his free hand absentmindedly, pushing his glasses up his nose. Kei moves a few feet before turning back to eye you, watching as you slow to a stop, arm stretching to the point that your fingers are barely woven through his. “You coming?”

All you have to do is jut out your bottom lip before Kei heaves a great, dramatic sigh, his shoulders rising and falling as he huffs, “Fine, but you get ten minutes. That’s it.”

You race up to kiss his cheek, smushing an excited “thank you” into his skin when you pull away.

It’s much too cold to lay back on the ground without a blanket, so instead, you lead Kei over to a bench tucked within a circle of trees. The metal of it is cold beneath your legs as you stare up at the sky overhead.

When Kei plops down beside you, he leans against the back of the bench and curls an arm around your shoulders. “You don’t want to take your backpack off?”

The bag in question is squished awkwardly between your back and the bench, leaving a slight ache in the curve of your spine and the dip of your shoulders.

“Well,” you reply, eyes gazing up at the stars, “it’s not like we’ll be here for very long.”

Your response irks Kei in a way he can’t explain. “Just take it off. You’re being dumb.”

Deciding to go along with his request (a demand, really), you shrug the backpack off and place it on the ground, right up against his. You slide along the metal until you’re hip to hip with Kei, snuggled up to his side. 

“First, a pain in the ass and now I’m dumb?” You joke, rolling your eyes as you press your cheek to his shoulder, “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you didn’t even want to be my valentine.”

A scoff sounds between you, a puff of air accompanying it. You watch as it dissipates in the darkness. Kei drops a kiss to the crown of your head. “That’s right. You do know better.”

There’s a tenderness in the curl of his arm and the way his lips linger over your hair, his soft breaths ruffling it. You feel warm despite the crisp chill in the air. “Mm, I suppose I do.”

Kei’s head tips back so he can take in the sky. The moon offers you both only a sliver of its silver light, as if giving you a tiny smile and nothing more. The stars are few and far between, blotted out by light pollution and caught behind clouds. Kei wishes it was clearer, brighter for you.

As snowflakes begin to flutter between you, drifting on the gentle breeze, you snuggle even closer, slipping your hand beneath his jacket to keep it warm. The motion, as simple as it is, stirs the question that has been stewing in the back of Kei’s mind for weeks.

He starts with a simple statement. “Yamaguchi’s moving out at the start of the summer.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Moving to his own place, I guess.” Kei continues, “He found a spot closer to  his work. It’s a better fit for after graduation.”

“What’re you gonna do?”

Kei can taste the offer on his tongue, can feel the words start to form in his mouth. The cold tip of your nose bumps against the space beneath his jaw and the words get caught. He clears his throat, trying to collect himself.

“I actually had something I wanted to ask you.”

Your head snaps down from the sky and you pull away from his side. Your head tilts in a way that reminds Kei of a confused puppy, and he hesitates. He doesn’t know why this is making him so nervous. It’s just you, after all. And he loves you.

“What is it?”

The worst thing you can say is no, Kei reminds himself. “Well, I was wondering if you’d want to move in with me.”

Kei fixes his glasses and you watch the movement with rapt attention. Your lips part and press together once, twice, before a grin breaks to the surface — all teeth and unrestrained excitement.

“Are you kidding?”

“I wouldn’t joke about this.”

You surge forward and lock your arms around Kei’s neck and squeeze. Kei’s arms loop around your back and he can’t help but squeeze too, relishing in the warm press of your body against his.

“Is this a yes?” He teases, breathing fanning over your ear.

Pushing Kei away, you hold his face in your palms, looking at him like he’s crazy for a moment before you kiss him. It’s clumsy as you grin into it, noses bumping with the force of your eagerness and jostling Kei’s glasses.

“Yes.” Another kiss to his cupid’s bow. “A million times yes.” Another to the corner of his mouth. “How could I ever refuse an opportunity to bother you every day.”

“Don’t make me rescind my offer.”

“You can’t,” you whine with a light swat at his chest. “Not on Valentine’s Day. Deals made on Valentine’s Day are legally binding, you know.”

“That’s news to me.”

You roll your eyes and kiss him again. “I’m really excited.”

Kei offers you a shy smile as his cheeks light up with something more than the bite of the cold. “Me too.” There’s a short pause, and then he adds, “I love you.”

“I love you, too.” You wait a minute and he feels the brush of your fingers against his hands. “You wanna head back?”

“Let’s stay here for a while.” His eyes flicker up to the moon and back to you. “The sky looks pretty.”

You curl up beside him again, leaching from his warmth just as you always do. “Aren’t you the one who was in a rush to head home?”

“Mm, I changed my mind.”

“Fine, but we’re making hot chocolate when we get home.”

He rubs a hand up and down your arm, pulling you closer so the length of your thigh meets his. “Sure.”

“With marshmallows?”

Kei kisses the top of your head. “Obviously.”

[leon-swedfinqs]

Beautiful Eyes , Shielded and Guarded

Warnings: mentions of arachnids (nothing crazy happens here)

On a mission, Aziraphale finally gets to see what his travel partner has been hiding behind those glasses.

"Okay, so based on this request, there is a, uhhh....'A grand treasure of immense value that has been in my family for thousands of years. It is stored in a guarded vault hidden in the back of the Craven Mountain range's tunnel system'," Crowley read aloud as he held the paper slip close to his face. "Oh, there's a P.S. written at the bottom. 'P.S. There are a lot of arachnid monsters living in the cave. They are harmless'. Harmless my ass," he scoffed.

The two were currently standing at the entrance to said cave system, its opening a gaping hole surrounded by moss-covered stalagmites. It had taken them a day to travel up the mountain from the village they have claimed as their 'homebase', and this request was one of their first direct orders under their new "adventurers for hire" shtick. The request offered a reward of up to two hundred gold pieces each for the safe return of the familial relic. However, there was the footnote of 10 gp removal for every dent and scratch they found on the item (whether or not they made the marks or not).

"Oh my..." Aziraphale hummed as he looked down the cave. "I was expecting this to be lit, considering that historically this cave system was used for mining minerals. I didn't bring any torches, we'll both get lost," he sighed. "N-no matter! I can just lead the way, my halos should emit enough light for us to navigate with no issue."

Crowley rolled his eyes as Aziraphale started to march forward, pretending that he was a beacon. Either he didn't get enough sleep last night and his encyclopedic knowledge wasn't catching up to him, or the cleric simply forgot that he A: has a sword that just seems to catch on fire randomly, and B: he's traveling with a tiefling that has dark vision. For now, he will indulge in this idiocy until his patience runs out and he decides to run forward and find the relic so they can earn their money.

That patience lasted a total of...15 minutes, give or take. The cleric's halos only emitted enough light that the human could see roughly 5 or so feet in front of him, and even then it wasn't a very clear view. The poor bastard kept knocking his feet against rocks or would get incredibly close to walls before eventually turning to a new direction. Honestly? It was downright a bit pathetic, and Crowley was getting a bit tired of his stubbornness.

"Alright, we are going to be here forever," Crowley huffed as he picked up the pace. He easily breezed past Aziraphale, his tail lightly flicking against the cleric's calf. Aziraphale immediately stopped and blinked in surprise.

"Wh-Crowley! Are you crazy? It is dreadfully unsafe to walk into a cave system you can't easily assess! You, you can get lost, or hurt! Or worse!" Aziraphale balked. Crowley snickered as he turned on his heel to face the man.

"Dark vision," he smirked as he tapped his sunglasses. "Tiefling and all. Remember?"

"I-uh-"

Crowley turned on his heel again, shoving one hand in his pants pocket, and the other he used to wave back at the human. "You go ahead though, 'light your heavenly way' and all that, angel. I'll see you there."

"Crowley! Wait!" Aziraphale called out into the darkness, left with only the echoes of the footsteps from the rogue's boots.

Wandering through the cave after that, for Aziraphale, was a bit of a struggle. Every few seconds he would glance over his shoulder, occasionally checking to see if Crowley was somehow behind him again, or was simply waiting for him around a corner and would say something along the lines of: "Oops! My bad angel! I know we have to stick together, it's safer that way, considering there are supposed to be monsters in these caves. Don't want either of us getting dreadfully hurt!". The logical side of the human, however, knew that this wasn't the case, and that he was going to be alone for the time being.

Multiple times, Aziraphale considered giving in and pulling out his sword to act as a torch. However, after the previous mission, he still felt apprehensive to even touch the damn thing, so he kept refusing those thoughts and continued to march forward with manufactured motivation. He studied the map of these caves multiple times the night before in their camp -- due to the fact that these used to be utilized for mining purposes, all of the tunnels eventually convened in the same location so that the workers wouldn't get lost in the maze and accidentally die (from a multitude of different causes).

Just the sudden change in the sound of his footsteps bouncing off the cavernous walls alerted Aziraphale that he had stumbled into central cavern, though something else shifted as he entered—although it was luckily subtle, his nose twinged with the unpleasant scent of dust and ammonia. He coughed back a gag.

Aziraphale instinctively went to turn away, though he paused as a soft glint in the darkness caught his eye. Something just a few feet in front of him had managed to catch the light of his halo and twinkled back. The cleric approached and reached down to retrieve a small silver platter that appeared surprisingly immaculate for the state of the surroundings. No scratches or dings, and strangely it seemed bare of dust. Regardless, Aziraphale smiled as he slipped it into his pack.

Now further into the room, more items seemed to shine back at him in the dark. Aziraphale happily retrieved each like a mouse following a crumb trail. More and more potential money lined his pockets as he found tiaras and vases and candlesticks, all pristine and beautiful. Each piece seemed incredibly sophisticated, though as Aziraphale picked up the latest trinket, he paused. They appeared to be dark and glittering. Onyx stones? No no, as he bent down and got a closer look, he’d instead found a pair of dark spectacles.

Familiar dark spectacles at that.

Aziraphale frowned as he gently picked up the glasses and turned them over in his hand. The shields on the sides, the small silver jewels at the hinges — these were definitely Crowley’s glasses. Folding them carefully, Aziraphale pressed the glasses close to his chest to protect them as he continued to creep forward. If his glasses were haphazardly discarded like this, then the tiefling must be in this room somewhere.

As the cleric carefully stepped through the cavern, the light brought his attention to a strange silhouette a few feet away, seemingly dangling from the ceiling. His mind echoed Crowley’s words from earlier about the “large arachnid monsters” that lurked within the caves, which he was (thankfully) yet to encounter on this endeavor.

Aziraphale instinctively moved to touch the hilt of his sword, though before he retrieved it from his sheath, his fingers clenched and relaxed. After everything, he was still making a conscious effort to avoid using any kind of physical attacks to handle situations, especially those learned back at his home. Not to mention, if he had been cursed to bear the scar of magic, he would follow Ecliel’s divine plan, all the same and only use his blade as a last resort. Not to mention, if there were truly ammonia dowsing, the cave it may be unwise to light a spark lest he char himself. Still, he needed to examine the silhouette and hesitantly he approached with light steps and silent breaths.

Aziraphale prepared himself mentally to be face-to-face with a terrifying creature. Instead he found himself face to, well, upside down face with his dark-sighted travel companion.

Crowley was strung up in layers of enlarged gossamer, such that only his head from the chin up was exposed, and the rest of his body was strung up securely. His face looked red, no doubt from all the blood rushing downwards in his flipped position. Surprisingly, through all of this, he seem to have found some tranquility—enough to sleep, though his expression was slightly pinched.

As Aziraphale leaned in a bit to investigate and make sure he was unharmed, the dreadful snake let out a loud snore and blew air directly into his face.

Aziraphale rapidly blinked as he was caught off guard. “Oh for goodness sake…”

He seemed fine.

With a huff, the cleric leaned back and lightly slapped Crowley’s face. When the first slap didn’t work he reeled back and slapped a little bit harder. This caused the tiefling to sputter and cough as his eyes flew open and his body jerked, causing him to lightly swing back and forth.

“Gah! Fucking—ow!”

Aziraphale had prepared some kind of snarky quip, maybe something along the lines of “good morning” or “so how did running off on your own go?” But before the words could pass his lips, his entire train of thought seemed to come to a screeching halt.

In the dim space between them, only illuminated by his dual halos, Crowley’s face was illuminated and unobstructed by his usual obsidian shades. He did admittedly find his new companion quite intriguing when they first met and saw that Crowley adamantly refused to take off his sunglasses at all times, but now that Aziraphale saw what his behind the lenses, he was frankly, well…

Enamored.

He was met with the most brilliant yellow eyes that glistened like gems, specks of orange and brown hidden within the iris. The pupils were slits, which curiously made the nickname ‘snake’ that Aziraphale would call Crowley in his head very fitting. They were incredibly unique and downright beautiful. Why would Crowley ever want to hide these?

“Ngk-Ecliel Aziraphale, I can’t fuckin-do you mind??” Crowley hissed as he squinted and tried to swing backwards away. “Can’t you turn those goddamn things down???”

Aziraphale blinked and stepped back, his face turning a bit red in embarrassment. It seemed as if the light emitting from the halos had become brighter as he stared.

“Ah, um…” Aziraphale cleared his throat. “Shall I get you down from there?”

[accihoe]

I have a headache that hurts like ass. Only thing that helps is the RHCP. So here's my first publicly posted Anthony fic.

Pairing: Anthony Kiedis x fem!reader

Summary: She helps him through a migraine.

Warnings: throwing up. Swearing

A/n: my account died overnight, like some posts get zero likes. So I'm positive this won't reach anyone, and ik the tumblr writers aren't too fond of writing for Anthony.

Xxxx

When he woke up that morning, the telltale signs were screaming. His neck ached, his skin felt uncomfortable, and his head throbbed with a dull ache. Did I drink? He thought, sitting up. The movement caused a wave of nausea to rush through him.

Anthony looked around the apartment room, desperate for any trashcan or bowl or anything. The stupid apartment floor had one bathroom for 5 people to share. The nausea slowly calmed down. His hair clung to his forehead, which was drenched in sweat. He brought a palm to his forehead, wiping the hair away from his hot skin. Bad move.

His forehead felt like it had been hit with a numbing and uncomfortable sensation across the sensitive skin, and another wave of nausea arose. He decided he'd have to make his way to the bathroom. The walk there was painful.

The light hurt his eyes, and every noise was too loud. With every step he took, the nausea became worse. Eventually, he was dragging himself along the wall. Where is Flea? Where is Flea? Where is Flea? He thought to himself. A door opened, and his heart sped up. Please don't let it be her. Pleas-

"Anthony?"

He heard her angelic voice call. The magnitude of it sent a pang through his head, and he curled deeper into himself, on the verge of bringing up whatever was in his stomach.

"Tony, hey, you alright?"

She crept closer. The thud of her bare feet against the carpeted floors hit his head like a hammer, and the nausea became unbearable. He was so close to the bathroom. His voice strained as he tried to speak, and every gross thing he ever ate came to mind. He doubled over, arms crossed over his stomach as he retched.

"O-oh-"

Was all Y/N managed to get out. Her heart pounded as her brain shut down for a moment. She shook her head, jogging to the bathroom. The door was locked. She tugged on it, banging the door.

"What!? I'm in here!"

Arnold, the divorced 55 year old called.

"Arnie please just hand me the bin! Please, its an emergency!"

"What you gonna be sick or something?"

She heard the water shut off.

"Yes- well, not me... just give me the bin!"

The door opened moments later, and a hand stuck out, holding out an old plastic bin that's color had worn out. Y/N took it, muttering a rushed thanks as she ran to her friend, who was kneeling on the carpet. He grabbed the bin from her just in time, hiding his face in it as he brought up what was in his stomach.

Y/N kneeled next to him, moving his hair away and stroking his back. She sent a nervous smile to the traumatized old lady who walked by.

"Ant, baby, lets get you out of the passage huh?"

He shook his head as another wave of nausea wrecked through his body.

"Tastes fuckin' awful..."

He mumbled. Y/N chuckled, shifting so that she was sitting down.

"Too much to drink?"

"No, wasn't even drinkin' las' night.."

She tilted her head, concerned.

"Ant come. Let's go to your room."

She urged, having to have given yet another awkward smile to someone who passed the corridor. Arnold, who lived for drama, burst out of the door as soon as he could, shirt on back to front and his jeans inside out. Y/N suppressed a giggle.

"Poor kid." He tutted.

Arnold gathered his things and walked past them. Finally, she was able to help her singer friend to his feet. He clung to the bin like a lifeline as she guided him to his room, hand on the small of his back. The light hurt.

Once inside, she hung towels over the light curtains, shoving some at the bottom of the door in an attempt to drain out any sound.

"You've probably got a migraine."

She noted as he got onto the bed. He hummed, squeezing his eyes shut.

"Fuck. Everything hurts."

She sat at the side of the bed, sympathetically stroking his arm.

"I'll be here if you need me."

"What 'bout work?"

"It's my day off."

Though a pang of guilt swarmed in his chest, his selfishness was grateful that he had her a whole day to himself. With a squeeze to his wrist, she got up, going to the tiny kitchen.

"Ant, baby, block your ears. I'm going to boil the kettle."

"Are you fucking nuts?"

"I read in a health magazine that coffee helps with migraines."

"Oh..."

He plugged his ears with his middle fingers, biting down on his teeth, even that hurt. A few minutes later, she arrived with coffee and a warm cloth.

She laid it under his neck, dabbing the sides of his neck. She helped him to take a few sips of the coffee.

"'M good for it.."

He mumbled.

"Yeah, cowboy."

She spoke softly.

"Get some shut eye. I'll be here."

He did as told, his eyes fluttering shut. Within moments, he was out cold.