#never played silent hill in my life

[thepondnymph]

Doorkeay silent hill AU because it's all I could think about for the past 48 hours

DO NOT REPOST

[wp100]

i tried playing more half life earlier but the tentacle monster scared me so bad

i feel like a 5 year old kid playing a video game and there's that one thing that just creeps me out real bad... like the screamers from Fable. I still hate those things.

[corinthiansenamel]

Playing horror games be like

I am in a situation

[technicolorxsn]

I'm thinking of buying some viddy games.....

[ozzgin]

Yandere! Sea Monster x Reader

In the spirit of Mermay, I come to you with a slightly different approach: an octopus hybrid, dwelling in the dark depths of ancient waters. :) Hopefully close enough to the sea monster you imagined, @wally0117

Content: gender neutral reader, male yandere, monster romance, reader likes sharks (a lot); inspired by The Shape of Water and My Octopus Teacher; photo from Whalebone Magazine

He’s always been aware of humans, naturally. Observed them from the beginnings of time, from the very first rudimentary attempt of a boat that crossed his waters. Though he can only guess how these creatures exist, how they breathe, how they move. What arrives in his depths is always a corpse of some sort. Bloated, decaying carcasses, rarely intact, whether chipped by fish or by time. Everything else is left to his imagination.

Until today. The fish are restless, the currents are stronger. Something must be happening above, stringing him along curiously. His many legs sway in tandem, opening and closing, as he investigates the source of interest. His pale white eyes narrow to a mere squint, unused to the light of the surface levels. At last, he finds it: a human.

Yet this one is unusual. Intact - save for the bleeding wound - and unlike the washed-out, cadaveric blue tint he’s normally accustomed to. He notices a twitch of the limb and it dawns on him: this one is still alive.

You wake up with a violent cough, thrusting out the leftover liquid that had invaded your lungs earlier. You clearly remember drowning, so how did you end up on shore again? The answer reveals itself rather quickly: a monstrous creature, albeit humanoid for the most part. The upper half resembles a man, but the torso ends in thick, enormous tentacles, now flopped onto the sand, surrounding your body. You search for the creature’s face, framed by translucent tendrils that seem to replace what you’d expect as hair.

“Thank you”. He scans your features and remains silent. Does he even understand human speech? After a moment of consideration, he looks ahead, surveying the water, then returns to you, giving you a nudge. He most likely wants to know how you ended up in that situation to begin with. “That’s, well…”

Conveniently enough, the monster has brought you back to your little camp, so you reach for your backpack and pull out a book. Of course, no words can ever replace the image itself. With renewed enthusiasm, you open your encyclopedia and turn it towards the man, showing him a photo of a sand tiger shark, tapping on it excitedly. “I was looking for sharks!”

Ever since the bizarre, life-saving encounter, you’ve been returning to the same spot most days. And without exception, the monster will be waiting for you in one of the neighboring caves. Judging by the pellucid, pale skin and his reluctance to be in the light, you guessed early on that he might be a creature of the depths.

One that has been around for a long time, it seems. Once he understood your interest in sharks and other aquatic animals, he developed a liking to play guide for you, silently touring you through forests of kelp, hidden caves, labyrinths of reefs and hills. He knows where the animals linger, and they don't scurry away when you approach. You've never dreamed of being so close to them, staring into their eyes and tracing their fins as they swim past you, unbothered and relaxed. The monster will gaze at you from a distance, amused by your passion.

On ground, you’ve begun your own little experiment: can the octopus creature learn sign language? You didn’t need long to discover how intelligent he is, mimicking your gestures with flawless ease, instantly memorizing the meanings, the connections, the implications. He seems to be terribly delighted by this newfound tool of communication, often asking you questions with earnest curiosity.

Ah, yes, the questions. It makes sense that he’d want to know more about humans, though his interrogations are rather…particular. Specific. It’s less about humans as a whole, and more about you. How long have you been swimming here? How deep can you actually swim, with or without aid? Might you have a family waiting for you back home? A mate, perchance? No? Interesting.

"My vacation will end soon", you sign with pursed lips. He tilts his head. "Leaving?" his webbed hands gesture, somewhat uneasy. You nod. You can discern a glint of melancholy in his eyes. Eventually, he resumes: "Would you like to see my home?" Your eyebrows raise in surprise. His home? Down there? Was such a thing even achievable for a human like you?

The plump suckers attach themselves to your skin, one resting over your mouth. "Do you trust me?" You cast one final glance over the underwater abyss, a black hole trapping all light and matter. You shake your head in approval. Without hesitation, he plunges over the cliff, pulling you after him and into the yawning void of darkness. His form glows eerily, and his movement is swift and elegant. You can tell this is his land, his territory. You would've been dead a long time ago.

He releases you on the wet stone, inside the air pocket of a cave. You need a few moments to overcome the wave of claustrophobia pressing against your lungs. As you catch your breath, you recall your long path from the surface. It would be impossible to make it back out again without your friend. A cold shiver runs across your spine. "Have a break, and I'll show you everything else afterwards", he gestures with a smile. "How long will it take? I don't want to walk back at night", you explain.

Silence. You stare into his empty orbs, awaiting a reaction. There's not a sound, not a gust of wind, not a shred of light. "You're not going back", he finally answers.

You see, he's done a fair amount of research himself. He doesn't need an encyclopedia to figure you out: how you breathe, how you move, how you exist. In fact, he is rather confident in his ways of helping you adapt to a life spent together. He would've never brought you down here if he wasn't certain of your survival. His grin widens in anticipation, a strange warmth enveloping his innards at the mere thought of it: a future with you in it, right here. However, one question remains, a cheeky, perverted detail that has been on his mind from the moment he met you, yet he could never investigate it properly.

How do humans mate?

[koiiiji]

I would...you tenderly roughly

my favourite russian songs + lookism boys (pt.2)

тебя нежно грубо (by TARAS) = Gitae Kim

author's note ; i will never stop romanticizing bad boys. im not even gonna say that this is ooc bc we don't even know his character yet, but i feel that gitae that type of men who mercilessly outside, but in bedroom can be completely different. but yet having his... moments...

author’s note 2 ; for better immersion in the atmosphere try to search akuma_asmr on reddit [masked yan] (or just dm me, i’ll send you link)

pairing ; gitae kim x reader

tw ; gitae kim himself is an a threat, DNI IF YOU ARE MINOR, f!reader, angst, toxic, stalking, non con, slight knife play, pet names, sensual but rough sex. this fic contains non consensual sex, read on your own risk

summary ; reader being a model who came to Mexico on her indefinitely long vacation to reconnect with herself and find some peace from loud and bright paparazzi, only to catch some certain attention.

꒰꒰・┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄・♡・┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄・꒱꒱

00:00 - 00:30 "you're on repeat in my dreams who are you, my naked drug? and if you are my thrill, dissolve yourself in me up, up, up your hands, you raised your hands up"

the sun dipped low over the Mexican horizon, casting a warm, golden glow over the sprawling villa where you resided. villa, perched on a secluded beach, was meant to be a sanctuary for the weary, a place where the soul could find peace. a villa located on a secluded beach, surrounded by hills and rocks was supposed to become your shelter for about the next year, this place was supposed to become your healing, a place where you could hide from the stuffiness and dust of the big city from which you came, a place where your body finally then you could take a break from endless shows, filming, flashes of paparazzi cameras and the endless pursuit of fame and money, a place where your soul would find peace and solitude. this place was supposed to be a refuge… instead it became a gilded cage.

it’s not that you knew Gitae well - you were from different worlds - you are from the world of endless fabrics, chic, camera flashes, gloss, all kinds of bags, heels, suits and other rags, all this is your everyday life - shows, changes in looks, flights, new countries, jetlag and again and again. Gitae was from a world of violence, pain, blood, dirty money and endless fights. wars for territory and business, illegal deliveries and prohibited fraud, with everything that could be imagined were his daily routine, and this suited him quite well.

it seems one day, the owner of the agency - on behalf of which you worked, - threw a big party in honor of his birthday, just at one of the luxurious resorts in Mexico, and through Gitae’s people, various types of drugs and other illegal substances were delivered to that party. by this time, Gitae's business had grown so much that he rarely personally attended these types of transactions, but when did he refuse an invitation to secular parties? that's when he laid his eyes on you.

1:53 - 2:40 "i gently suffocate you i'll either choke you or you'll be mine and you put a knife to my throat - either i’ll stab you or will be yours i’ve never met anyone more cunning than you, but you’re making yourself look stupid but you know, it doesn’t matter much whether today you were voluntarily or by force i would take you gently, i would take you roughly i would...you gently-gently, i would...you roughly i would take you gently, i would take you roughly i would...you gently-gently, i would...you roughly" <...>

bare feet quietly padded on the white marble of your villa. the hem of a white, light silk robe silently trailed behind you as you got out of bed and headed towards the balcony. it's about three in the morning, and you still couldn't sleep. throwing the doors wide open as you step onto the terrace, the warm, gentle breeze from the ocean softly caresses your skin, carrying with it the faint scent of saltwater and tropical blooms. the night sky is filled with countless stars that twinkle like diamonds scattered across a velvet blanket. the Milky Way is clearly visible, its dense cluster of stars creating a shimmering river of light that stretches across the sky. the moon a glowing orb, casts a silvery reflection on the calm surface of the ocean, creating a path of light that seems to lead directly to the horizon.

quiet and solitude are rare and precious opportunity to reconnect with nature and yourself. as you breathe in the night air and gaze up at the star-studded sky, a profound sense of peace and contentment settles over you, until... '

"what are you doing here?" - your quiet voice cut through the distant noises of the night.

<...>

Gitae had eyes and ears everywhere. you have more than once noticed men in the crowd, - usually there are three of them - here and there, at the beginning of the street, from the other end of the market where you came for fresh fruit - a better choice than paraffined, plastic fruits in the supermarkets - and one is always in the car just few meters away, they were everywhere you went, keeping their distance, but making their presence known.

Gitae liked watching you, it was calming. there was so much lightness and calmness in your every movement and gesture that it seemed to him that you were producing the same effect on him… even from a distance. he liked to know where you were, who you were with - even if you spent almost all the time here alone or had small talk with lady from house keeping, who came a couple of times a week, and with the women at the market where you usually came to buy fruits or vegetables [the only thing you don’t know, is that this sweet woman was the mother of someone from the cortel, this small market was under their protection, and the fact that you periodically traveled several kilometers just to buy fruits from her honestly added adorability points to you in Gitae's eyes]- he liked control, and he knew that he was completely in control the situation is under control. although, to be honest, this could not be said about his… thoughts and desires, he would never admit that he felt anything other than desire towards you.

he would never admit to himself or anyone else about what emotions your sight awakens in him in the morning, when you, still half asleep, go out onto the terrace with a cup of tea clutched in your thin, slender fingers, or in the afternoon when you are basking in the rays of the sun, allowing fall asleep again while you are reading a book, or while you are sleeping. oh, this awakened in him the most familiar feelings for him, when he silently stood over you in your house, enjoying your sleeping look, your light, unobtrusive smell, looking at your cute face, looking at your things, maybe even taking that cute couple of lace panties with a bow for himself. at such moments blood rushed to his dick so much that it became painful.

<...>

it seemed to you that hours had already passed since he threw you onto the bed, bowing right in front of the bed and throwing your legs over his shoulders. contrary to the first impression that might have been formed about him, he was gentle… more precisely, his tongue on your pussy, but his hands roughly squeezed the skin on your thighs, rising higher, squeezing your waist, running along your ribs and going higher, to your chest, roughly kneading the delicate skin in his huge palms. Gitae wasn’t rough with you, kissing inner side of your thighs, your tummy, your clitor, but each of his touches felt like hot metal on thin, soft skin. maybe it was the huge knife with which a few minutes ago he, oh so carefully cut your panties and the cute little blouse in which you usually slept. oh, he said that if you turn away from him or fidget too much, he'll have to start using it.

but right now he was too busy with his tongue in your tight hole - “you like being humiliated like this, don’t you, bunny?” a deep growl vibration touched your bare pussy when he almost buried his nose in you. wet sounds filled the entire room, and you were embarrassed to admit to yourself that it was pretty hot. now one of his hands was squeezing both of your wrists on your tummy, while the other was caressing your thigh, moving his hand back and forth, not allowing you to twitch and sway your hips away from him, keeping you in place. Gitae is agonizingly slow, he likes to slowly coax your first orgasm out of you, lightly licking and teasing the tender bundle of nerves and the entrance to your tight slit. you are so pretty, lying on your huge bed, the sheets are rumpled, the blankets and pillows are scattered, half fell to the floor - the result of the little cute resistance that you tried to give to Gitae when he pushed you back into the room and threw you on the bed. even though he was now kneeling in front of your bed, burying his nose in your tight, sensetive cunny, you couldn’t help but feel the strength and dominance with which he was squeezing you, completely suppressing any attempts to resist. all that you could oppose to him was your sweet moans and quiet pleas for him to stop. he even liked it.

when the heat engulfed your entire body, trembling began to break through your legs and thighs, and without controlling yourself, you began to lean forward yourself, towards his tongue, searching for more friction. Gitae let out a low groan more like an animal growl, “there you are... good girl, now cum. cum on my tongue,” he growled protractedly letting go of your hands and cupping your ass cheeks with his huge, harsh palms, slightly lifting you above the bed, making you gasp, arching your back more and throwing your head back.

with a quiet hum, Gitae slowly licked the remains of your finish, teasing the sensitive, heated skin, allowing one finger to slip inside you, earning another pitiful moan.

“so sensitive and wet… and all mine…” his voice boomed somewhere above you as he stood up from his knees, his finger still inside you, probing the hot, gummy walls while your body instinctively tried to shrink into the fetal position and close yourself off from him. Gitae just grinned, leaning lower, crushing you under him, clinging to your plump pink lips, persistently sliding his tongue further, only to hiss a moment later and pull away from you, “fuck. did you just fucking bite me?” a loud slap rang out across the room and you yelped from the sharp, burning pain spreading across your butt cheek.

“come on, do it again,” he growled in your ear, slapping loudly again and pressing you harder into the mattress with his hips. his hands found yours again, grabbing your wrists and pressing them into the sheets above your head, pinning you completely to the bed. you felt your shoulder blades touching his bare chest, and something heavy was pressed into your ass and it clearly wasn't a knife in a sheath on his belt. “tell me, doll, you didn’t think that was all, yeah?” you felt his smirk on his lips and that mocking tone in his voice as he pinned you down on the bed with all his weight. “oh don’t worry bunny, i have so many plans for this night,” he purred in your ear, slightly biting your earlobe and slowly and persistently moving his hips, making you feel his boner in his jeans more strongly.

꒰꒰・┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄・♡・┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄・꒱꒱

it doesn’t matter to listen whole song just this part bc i got inspiration just from there🤟🏻🤌🏻

[dreamdragonkadia]

In my mind, The Lost Hero happened way later—like, a couple years later. So in my brain, they’re all adults, and the timeline is a little less "let's throw traumatized teenagers into yet another world-ending catastrophe" and more "competent, still traumatized, but definitely more stable adults saving the world because no one else will." Anyways, this happened. p.jackons x hades!reader

Percy Jackson would die on this hill.

He’d argue the point until the end of time if necessary, Riptide in hand and the sea raging at his back. Jason and Leo? No shot. They’d roll their eyes every time he brought it up, Jason muttering something about lightning bolts and Leo snarking about how obviously he was the real MVP because of his fire and flying machines. Piper and Hazel? They’d smirk and shake their heads, still convinced that the title of “most powerful demigod” belonged to Jason or Percy himself. The entirety of Camp Jupiter seemed to agree, like they’d written it in stone tablets for history books or something.

But for the love of all the gods on Olympus, none of them had met you.

You—his girlfriend, his other half, his I-can’t-believe-she-tolerates-me girl—were something else entirely. It wasn’t just that you were strong. It was the way you carried it, like your power didn’t need an introduction.

Sure, everyone had met Nico. The whole camp had watched him command skeletons with a flick of his hand, the shadows curling around him like dark flames. He was strong—terrifying at times. Even Percy would admit it. But you? The daughter of Hades who didn’t seem like a daughter of Hades? That was another level of unfair.

If Nico was the silent shadow creeping up behind you, you were the entire storm. Quiet and cold when you needed to be, unrelenting when you wanted to be. Percy had seen you switch from soft smiles and playful teasing to a demigod weapon capable of crushing monsters under your boot—and gods, he loved it.

It wasn’t that you hid your power. You just didn’t feel the need to show it off. That, in Percy’s humble opinion, was what made you so terrifyingly powerful. Nico raised the dead like it was child’s play, but you? You commanded the shadows. They weren’t just weapons under your control—they were yours. Alive, fluid, shifting like they had minds of their own, all loyal to you despite not being a daughter of Nyx.

He remembered the exact moment he realized he was absolutely done for. Years ago, he watched you crush a monster into dust using nothing but its own shadow. One flick of your hand, one whispered command, and it unraveled like paper in a storm. He couldn’t look away. You turned to him afterward—grinning, grinning—and said something ridiculous like, “It wasn’t that bad. I just got lucky.”

And then, not ten minutes later, you were sitting with him on the beach, drawing little sea turtles in the sand with your toe like it was the most natural thing in the world. You were terrifying and kind, fierce and soft, all at once.

Then he went missing for six months because of course a certain goddess had to mess with his life.

Waking up at Camp Jupiter without his memory was rough, sure. Getting tackled by Roman kids in armor? Even rougher. But worse than that? It was waking up to an ache in his chest, the kind that didn’t make sense because he couldn’t remember you, but he felt you. He felt like he was forgetting something important—like the sea itself was telling him something was missing.

And when he finally got his memories back, when he stumbled into you again after what felt like a lifetime apart, Percy swore he’d never forget the look on your face when you saw him.

You were halfway through ripping apart a monster—shadows swirling around you like a living hurricane—when your eyes snapped to his. The storm stilled, and your lips parted, a breathless, shaky whisper escaping you.

“Percy?”

Before he could speak, before he could think, you were in front of him, throwing your arms around his neck. The storm had been yours, but now it was his—crashing through his chest, tightening his throat, overwhelming him with something he couldn’t put into words.

He didn’t care that monsters were still crawling out of the ground around you both. He didn’t care that you were technically mid-battle. Percy wrapped his arms around you, buried his face in your hair, and swore he wouldn’t let go.

“You found me,” you breathed, squeezing him tighter.

“Always,” he murmured back. “Always.”

Jason and Leo had arrived by then—Jason launching himself into the fight with lightning flying and Leo yelling something dramatic about “couple reunions during battle being so cliche.”

But Percy didn’t care.

Because when he pulled back to look at you, to see the way your smile broke through like sunlight cutting through a storm, Percy knew.

You were one of the strongest demigod he’d ever met.

And he’d die on that hill.

[mactavishsgfandwife]

saw that ur reqs r open, and i love all ur work sooo here i am lol

what would the tf141 boys be like w a reader who’s into horror? (i was thinking reader is like rlly sweet but loves playing horror video games or smth, but u can interpret it however u want!)

i can js imagine johnny freaking out when he sees reader playing like,,silent hill or smth. or resident evil 7 (can u tell im a horror game nerd lol)

but yeah! js a silly little idea i had, feel free not to write it if u don’t want to! have a good day, ily!

TF141 Watching a Horror Movie With You 🎃

hi omg this is such a cute concept!! thank you so much for the support, you have no idea how much i appreciate it! i have so many ideas for them with someone who loves horror movies so that’s what this post is about (i hope that’s ok :( ) but i’ll try to write about horror games another time because that’s such a cute concept! i just have lots of ideas for this one rn so i thought i’d do it first female reader, fluff, not proofread <3

Simon "Ghost" Riley thinks it’s cute that you love horror movies. He spends half his life in a real-life horror, he’s seen things that you could never imagine. Teasingly calls you a ‘psycho’ for just sitting there happily, cuddled up to him as you watch something absolutely terrifying go down on the screen.

Simon is a pain in the ass to watch certain horror movies with, because if guns or fighting are involved then he will make sure to point out to you exactly what the directors got wrong.

"He’s holding it wrong… if I even… Price’d never let me hear t’end of it," he mumbles, not talking to anyone in particular.

When you cuddle on the sofa, if you’re laying face down on his chest, he loves to keep one hand on your ass. Sometimes, if something does make him jump, he’ll squeeze it out of instinct.

People don’t usually expect it but you’re very good with scary stuff, you rarely ever get spooked out. But sometimes you do, especially if you’re tired and it’s late.

Once, after you’d watched a film, you went to get ready for bed and Simon went ‘to eat something’. Even when you were all changed and ready for bed, he still hadn’t returned, and so - twiddling your fingers together for reassurance - you peeked out into the darkened hallway.

Only for a 6'4" soldier in a skull mask, wielding a cup of tea, to jump out at you from behind.

You screamed, stumbling back in a state of panicked confusion, about to cry out for Simon when you came to your senses and realised that the masked intruder was Simon.

He stood there, laughing his ass off, until he realised that you were obviously very on edge and a little bit teary eyed.

"C’mere…" he sighed, placing down his tea to take you into his arms, "i’m sorry, baby girl, please don’t cry…" Your heart was racing and you were debating whether or not to slap him, but you knew he didn’t mean to upset you. And you were happy so long as he made up for it.

Soap Mactavish claims that he’s not scared of anything. Nooo, no way, he’s not scared. He’s so not scared that he’s looking away and squeezing your hand.

Poor guy is so easily jumpscared, it makes you giggle.

"You sure this i’nt going t’be too scary for you, bonnie?" he coos, placing an arm around your shoulder as he half-watches the film that has plunged into a strange silence. He’s definitely trying (and failing) to be subtle as he flexed his muscular arms a little bit, in an attempt to show off.

"Oh yeah, don’t worry," you nod sweetly, smiling up at him.

"I’m just saying, angel, if you need to bury your head into my chest, or if you can’t look, then that’s okay, you just go ahead and make yourself comfortable. I’m a soldier, I could easily take on any- Shit! Fucking hell!" he jumps, squealing and then clearing his throat in a poor attempt to disguise it.

"You sure this isn’t going to be too scary for you, bonnie baby..?" you tease, kissing his cheek.

"Lay off it," he pouts, blushing a little bit as he nuzzles his face into your hair.

Alsoooo Johnny is a fiend for feeling you up when you’re watching a film together. He sees it as a perfect opportunity to get to know his pretty lass a little bit better.

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick’s favourite part of movie night is the food. He loves takeaway (he’s definitely a Nando’s lover) but his absolute favourite food is your home cooking. When he was asked his favourite food when he was younger, he was always the one kid who would say "whatever my mum makes!" and now he’s an adult it’s just the same, but "whatever my girlfriend makes!" Whenever he realises you’re going to watch a film, whether you invited him or not, he will call out to you from the other room to "HOLD ON!" as he grabs snacks and drinks for the two of you.

Gaz isn’t too easily creeped out, but it happens. He’ll never admit that it’s because he was scared, but you’ve definitely noticed him ‘accidentally’ leaving the hallway light on. If it wasn’t an ‘accident’, then he obviously did it so that you wouldn’t feel scared in the night. He probably realises that you can see right through him, but you always say you believe him, just to make him feel better.

Kyle’s favourite horror movie series is Paranormal Activity, because it’s a so-bad-it’s-good kind of thing. He loves sitting in bed, eating popcorn, with you in his lap, laughing til you cry at all his jokes about how horrendously made the films are. Once, he was taking the piss out of how bad the film you were watching was and then immediately got jumpscared. He even let out a weird noise in shock - he didn’t hear the end of it for weeks.

Even if he’s not cuddling you as close as possible, Gaz loves to rouch you, usually by holding you with one arm as you rest your head on his shoulder. He is a serial thigh-squeezer.

John Price is a total dad, and that extends to when you can convince him to watch one of your favourite films with you. He wants to watch the movie, it’s not his fault if he falls asleep 15 minutes in every single time.

He lets you lay on his broad chest, that’s warm and rises and fall under your head, while he rests his hands behind his head and closes his eyes. He’s prone to snoring, too - in past, you’ve had to rewind the film because you missed part of it while you were trying to get him to wake up and shut up. The only sureproof way to wake him up is to try and move off of him - he’ll open one eye and grumble at you, as he pulls you right back into him.

"You’re not even watching the film, you’re asleep…" you whine, looking up at him.

"’M watching, love. Shhh," he mumbles, eyes still closed as he softly pats your hair.

"Are not," you pout.

"Shhh. ‘M trying to watch this," he hushes you, eyes closed and totally ready to go back to sleep. You’re almost annoyed at him but he makes that very hard, breathing softly through that moustache as he presses you against him, like you’re a teddy or a weighted blanket.

In terms of the films himself, Price isn’t easily scared (partly helped by the fact that he spends half of the time asleep). The first time that you two watched something scary together, he was almost expecting you to be terrified, but he was pleasantly surprised when you weren’t. He thinks it’s funny how you can sit in his lap perfectly happy and watch something that would have any ‘sensible’ (as he puts it) girl screaming.

He either gets very irritated by the main characters making terrible decisions and getting themselves into trouble, or finds it hilarious. He also loves to rub your feet while you watch the movie, literal princess treatment.

i kind of want to watch a horror movie nowwww

all pictures are from the game or from pinterest as far as i’m aware

i hope this was ok for you!!! i know it’s not exactly what you wanted but maybe we can just consider it part 1 of the horror obsessed reader saga >:)

masterlist

[sh1-n0bu]

can i request something?? can you do modern relationship with scara??

✿ 𝒊𝒕’𝒔 𝒏𝒐𝒕 𝒍𝒊𝒌𝒆 𝑰 𝒍𝒊𝒌𝒆 𝒚𝒐𝒖! ✿

characters: modern!scaramouche x nb!reader

warnings: modern au!!!, fluff, crack, my poor attempt at humor, scara has a bad relationship with his moms, written with high school au in mind, scara being bad at feelings, headcannon format, raiden shogun goes as raiden shino since shogun is a title rather than a name and all…

notes: when that one song u used to religiously listen to when u were younger and cringier suddenly comes rushing back in for a fic idea

oh dear gods, where do we even begin with this one?

tsundere to the max and we all know, his moms knows it, you know it, the entire school knows it, even the online friends he plays games with knows it

which explains on how you knew that scaramouche had a crush on you the moment he started showing small signs of it. waaaaayyyy before he even understood his own emotions and feelings and came to terms with it

safe to say, he is super easy to read. like, a motherfuckin open book that’s full of illustrations made for kids. at least, that’s how it feels to you anyways

has a bad relationship with both of his mothers and his older sister but at least he tolerates his older sister better than his mothers, which is a good thing. at least he has someone to turn to when something goes wrong

him, his mom ei and his older sister are carbon copies of each other alongside his aunt. the first time you went over to scara’s place to prepare for an upcoming exam, you almost got whiplash from just how many similar purple people were there

like… low-key concerning with how you easily mistook his mom ei with his aunt or his older sister with his mom ei

safe to say you made a fool out of yourself for the first few meetings with his family

his other mom, miko, is very… eccentric to say the least. teasing, sly, quick-witted, charming and charismatic. you and scara joke around that miko was a fox or a demon in her former life

his older sister, shino, is quite the sweetheart one the other hand. quiet, reserved, socially awkward and friendly if you go over how her normal face looks so emotionless and dead. reminds you of a soldier or a puppet with how shino is so willing to fulfill ei’s wishes or words to the T

his aunt, baal, is an absolute sweetheart. the ultimate sweetheart actually. such a sweet woman she is with her soft words, warm smiles and motherly affections. she offered you a hand-made cookie when you were about to leave simply because you were scara’s friend!

yes, you cried to the amount of kindness and scara made fun of you for it

you would never peg someone as mean, introverted and arrogant as scaramouche to be friends with the popular, soccer kid from school did ya’? well you are wrong because scara and childe are best friends!!! as childe claims

the ginger-head made a bet with scaramouche saying that you two’s friendship won’t last. cue scaramouche and his over competitive ass coming over and latching himself to you to make sure that your friendship would last

AKA childe’s plan to make scaramouche realize his feelings and come to terms with it has officially started!

likes to occasionally play video games such as wuthering waves, minecraft, resident evil, silent hill etc etc. hates first person shooter games cuz it’s so not his style and he hates the annoying boys that he comes across during the game

will never say it nor mention it but sometimes he plays those ‘using not a single part of your brain’ type of games like playing as dentists or doctors. hell, he even likes to play dress up games from time to time. he just loves the aesthetics and the different designs of the clothes, itches that inner aesthetic lover part of him. but he will NEVER mention it or be caught playing it. scaramouche would rather die

something tells me that his music taste would be more leaning into electronic or scene music. odetari, 6arelyhuman, kets4eki — you name it. sometimes, enjoys those gentle and soothing sounding anime openings too

he has sanrio plushies. more specifically, hello kitty ones

had an obsession with the cute white cat growing up and he never grew out of it

the moment he first found out that you like plushies or pink things or sanrio related things, he knew he gotta gift you anonymous sanrio gifts on your birthday or on special occasions. it was his early stages of courting you

was absolutely appalled when he was found out because whaddaYA MEAN HE LIKES SOFT AND THOSE STUPID PLUSHIES AND SANRIO RELATED THINGS?! NUH-UH, YOU MUST’VE SAW A DIFFERENT PURPLE HAIRED, BOWL HAIRCUT HAVING GUY CUZ SCARAMOUCHE WOULD NEVER LIKE THOSE STUPID THINGS!!!

he aint fooling anyone

takes his relationship slow since he has some big trust issues yet also attachment issues. pick a struggle tbh

had a panic attack after he officially, finally, after years of crushing on you, like literally acting like your boyfriend years later when he asked you out on a date because woohoo!! he asked you for a date \(^ヮ^)/\(^ヮ^)/ but also shit, what type of a first date would you like ლಠ益ಠ)ლლಠ益ಠ)ლ

yeah, he had to do something he hated the most. ask his moms and sister for advice

after a lot of talk, discussions, secretly stalking your social profiles or you in general to see what you would like, scaramouche decided to take you out for an arcade date

you two had fun, he was glad you had fun, played bunch of different games together and even managed to win a cute matching plushies and keychains!! kuromi for him and melody for you. he was so glad that you liked it but he won’t say it out loud

walked you home after your first date, to your front door and bid you good night and “hope you had fun tonight, idiot” chu!! on your cheek before making a mad dash back home

the type of boyfriend who would lovingly bully you

“why the fuck are you wearing that? it’s making your stupid face look cuter than normal”

“who in their right mind would choose the green one? yellow looks better on you. no, the soft pastel one, not the bright one you idiot”

“you wanna die? who said i was ever gonna stop loving you after you turn into a roach? i’m gonna keep you in a special glass case until you change back dumbass”

yeah… just say you love them already, scara

your contact name on his phone is literally my idiot٩(╬ʘ益ʘ╬)۶

would lovingly call you names as he leaves soft kisses on your face

“you’re a fucking idiot but it’s fine, you’re my idiot”

[gemissleeping]

Angel of Small Death | Part Three

Theodore Nott x Fem!Reader

Mattheo Riddle x Fem!Reader

Summary: It’s Seventh Year and you’re one of the ones who stayed. Reeling from the loss of your family in the midst of the war, you find a twisted sense of comfort in Mattheo. But your best friend Theo can’t help but feel you’re slipping away from him in more ways than one.

Read the other Parts here.

Length: 1.6k

Warnings: Back as promised. I'd like to formally apologise to my love @moonlightttfae for what she's about to read. Nasty filthy angst and rushed writing. NSFW content ahead, Smut! Drug use mentioned!! Toxic relationships!! Mature audiences! Also barely any Theo so sorry but Matt owns these now I think (maybe). I love you all <3

Clean was coming. It was across from you, like the sun on the lip of a horizon. You just had to cross over to it. But tonight wasn’t the night for taking that step. Because alongside clean, lay an all out war. It had been brewing, and now it would bubble over. Christmas was gone, and in its wake, a lingering sense of dread. As though all of your friends knew it, but wouldn’t speak of it. Wouldn’t speak of it precisely because they knew. Instead, it was New Years Eve, and Lorenzo Berkshire was throwing a party. 

No one dared ask why the manor was free. Conversations meant lines drawn, and there seemed to be a silent, almost diplomatic agreement, that there would be one last night. One last party together before it all came out; before opinions differed and friends turned into chess pieces. It had been weighing on Mattheo hard, and though the two of you never spoke about it, you knew what was to come.

“I need you to know something,” He had spoke from beside you earlier in the evening. The two of you standing atop the lower balcony, sun spilling gold across the Highlands surrounding you. He didn’t dare look at you while he said it, only let his elbow graze yours. It was as though he was preparing himself, for some kind of absence. 

“No matter what happens across the next few months, I’m right here. Right here in this moment. Standing beside you, watching the sunset.” You could feel him drinking it in as he said it. Studying the snowed in hills and the gold and the pattern of your breath.  His name left your lips, voice cracking a moment as he stole his eyes from the sun to collect himself. “I am good. I need you to remember it, to promise me that you will.”

You searched his face, willing him to turn to you. But he only kept his eyes on the sunset ahead. Tears welling, you let your gaze sink to the snow covered grass ahead of you. Breath pooling in the air as you let your mind wander to the coming months, what your life might be without him. He was saying goodbye. And what he would do would shatter you, that much you knew. But you needed one another, and quite frankly he had you, every part of you. Which was why you couldn’t help but say it. 

“I promise, of course I promise.”

But now the lights were dimmed in Berkshire manor, the air lilted with drunk laughter. Milli and Blaise were slow dancing in front of the fire place, dipping and spinning like a pair of newborn deer. Draco, Astoria and Enzo falling all over one another on the couch as they fought over a book of childhood pictures. 

Theo was sitting on the floor with Pansy and Daphne playing charmed cards. You and Mattheo tucked beside them near the fireplace. Matt watching you giggle as you played a card, making half of Daphne’s hand disintegrate in her palm as she yelped in surprise. 

He let himself take this moment to be selfish. To watch your smile catch the light of the fire, drink in the scent of your hair as he leant into the crook of your neck, glancing at your hand. Arm looped casually around your back, letting your warmth soak into his skin. 

You were everything to him, and it killed him not to be able to tell you. To barely even let himself feel it out of fear of the admission; its consequences for you. But for tonight, he told himself he would. He and Draco had agreed, tonight would be the last. It could have been called mutually assured destruction, if its sole purpose hadn’t been keeping you safe. 

The high of your win carried you both down the hall, laughing as he pressed you into the cold stone of the wall. Lips barely touching as your arms curled around him. Cheeks alight under the flickering of the candles that lined the high ceilings. 

His head dipped down, lips trailing your collar, arms circling the small of your back. Mattheo closed his eyes, dragging his mouth from your collarbone, up the slope of your neck, beneath your jaw. He relished in the deep pulse of your breath, the way it travelled through your bones and into his own. He wanted to be closer, as close as he could be. Maybe then his body would memorise you.

“Why didn’t you have any?” You asked, the bathroom sink cold beneath you as he lifted you atop it. His thumb swiping at the powder that had fallen above your lip.

“I wanted to be here with you, is that okay?” He returned, a soft and rare smile gracing him.

Then you nodded. 

And his hands were pushing up the edges of your silk skirt, running over the skin there methodically. Moving from your thighs to your hips, the curve of your waist. Breath catching from the bridge between your lips, as though you were sucking it out of him. 

You whined, breathing your pleas into his jaw. Hands splayed across his chest, gripping his starched, white shirt as your need for him grew. He answered you, sliding his hands beneath the edges of your underwear that hung on your hips. Taking his time to feel their shape beneath his palms before he drew the delicate fabric down. Kneeling before you as his lips joined his hands; traversing your thighs, kissing the tops of your knees. Mouth dragging across your shins, he sank to his knees at your ankles. Dark, desperate eyes rising to meet yours.

“I love you, you know.” It hit you softly, drawn out as your clouded mind tried to soak it all in. 

You couldn’t speak, could barely return his words with a nod. You didn’t have to say them back, it wouldn’t change that he meant them. But you did, as your hands curled through his unkempt hair, his lips raising against yours once again, you told him. He didn’t stop telling you, not as he pushed himself into you. The roll of his hips against yours pushing out any lingering thoughts of your earlier conversation. Only able to keep yourself there; Mattheo’s arms holding you steady, his lips grazing the back of your neck as you furled into him. 

Breaths growing uneven, he picked up his pace. Grunting as he reached a place within you that had you writhing in his arms. He smirked, satisfied at how well he knew your body. Keeping you still as he held you impossibly tighter to him. Right now, he was the only one who knew you like this, and in his mind that was how it would stay.

“I think you should see how beautiful you are like this.” He murmured, leaning his lips against your ear before he had you turned around. The mirror in front of you reflecting the dim orange glow off of the muscles of his shoulders. He had his arm wrapped around your middle, veins trying to burst from beneath the skin. Hand resting just below your navel, feeling himself within you with each movement of his hips. 

Despite the possessiveness of his touch, there was a sweetness in his gaze. One that made you feel higher than you were, that made you beg him for more even after you thought you couldn’t take it again. 

Your skin was slick, the temperature in the bathroom more akin to that of Summer than the snow outside. He held you up as he came, his fingers joining in as he pushed you over the edge along with him. Bodies shaking feverishly as you breathed him in and he kissed his way up your neck again. He knew you would get better, knew exactly who would help you get there. But for now you were still his alone.

And whilst the moon disappeared behind a spray of clouds, Mattheo made his way to the edge of Berkshire Manor with Draco. Footprints falling deep into the snow as he let himself fall too; into you completely for the very first time. Glad that you were asleep upstairs, wrapped in his old Quidditch jumper. And as they reached the border the messenger arrived, Enzo answering the door his face falling. 

Mattheo told himself he would watch. That he owed it to them to know exactly the pain he would be causing the ones he left behind. But as the masked figure retreated, and Enzo was left stuck in the doorway, Mattheo turned away. Trailing after Draco as the snow set in, until they reached the forest and all that remained from where they had been was the end of a wand and a ball of bright, white light. 

Mattheo longed to turn around, go back the way he came. But he wasn’t sure which way that was exactly, or what lay waiting for him there. There was laughter, the warmth of a smile maybe. He couldn’t quite grasp it, the absence of something all throughout him. And as he and Draco apparated into Malfoy Manor, Mattheo wiped his frozen cheek, confused when his fingers came back with a stray tear. 

He looked to Draco’s eyes and knew that they were different. That whatever had been stolen from Draco, was missing from himself too. His seemed to be pulled down the snow speckled path to the looming manor, and with each step, Matt began to forget. The laughter, the flickering of candles, the warmth of someone’s smile, the feeling of skin beneath his fingertips; untouched by anyone else. He crossed under the door to the manor, and all he felt was cold.

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝

Taglist: @theodorenottswifeyy @obsessedwithceleste @lenoraslament @mayamonroem @simp-for-fantasy @bruisedbbby @i-await @yelanare @diorandcigaddict

[felis-rach]

This world needs more bowsareach! So here's a little something I wrote for them! (It was part of a bigger fic I didn't finish, but it doesn't need context)

Mario was starting to think that all the “hero” thing made him forgot how to deal with mundane challenges.

He realized that when he saw himself using the cat-bell to climb up the wall and get a book from the top of the shelf. And when he tried to explain the claw marks to Peach, saying, “but what ELSE could I have done?” Her answer was silently pointing to a chair.

Bowser thought this was all hilarious, of course. And Mario had to remind him of who breathed fire into the oven when it wouldn’t turn on. And the reason they had to eat microwaved food for a week.

It was just a simple memory of some random day, but it made Mario feel so nostalgic. Their little home, hidden in a hill on the edge of the kingdom and accessible through a warp pipe they built, was no less than a dream come true.

After all, dating two monarchs meant that the three of them couldn’t simply rent an apartment together. Peach had to stay at her castle, and Bowser, at his, and when they eventually arranged the marriage that would unite the two kingdoms, it would be time to live together and Mario would come along.

But for now, the three of them settled in getting a little house to be the place they could run away to when Peach and Bowser got a moment of peace. It was great, especially when they managed to spend a whole weekend there.

Mario had the time of his life watching The Royals get used to the cottage. Peach, as a regent who always placed herself at the same level of her people and hated to be perceived as superior, gave her best to act naturally, so Mario tried to hide his laughter when they sat down to eat and her face just read “Oh, indeed, this table has but four chairs and doesn’t occupy the whole room.” He could see her dying inside a bit when all the plates and cups got too cramped up.

Bowser, on the other hand, being made of ego as he was, absolutely made sure he was seen as superior by his subjects (which never prevented him from being a caring ruler, going personally to a civilian’s house if they had any trouble, and screw his schedule). So he didn’t even pretend to be comfortable there. It was such an ordeal to prevent him from turning the house into a second palace. The most that Mario and Peach gave in was to make a living room big enough to fit a grand piano. Even so, he complained at every possible time about the house’s size.

“Pff. The fifty-second heir to the mighty koopa empire, living on an ant’s house like this… Of course, we left it to Mario to lead the project. He measured the house based on his own size.”

And Mario simply answered by sitting on the table in front of him. “Truly, I am so very small.” He placed Bowser’s hand on his back. “Look, I even fit on this huge and scary koopa’s hand. Oh, my stars! I sure do hope he doesn’t take advantage of all this size to grab me and kidnap me to some dark castle. Poor me!”

His voice was casually innocent, and Bowser’s face was on fire since he was still a mess whenever Mario and Peach gave him attention like that (and the two of them abused the heck out of it).

“Don’t you tempt me, plumber.” Bowser warned, holding his breath.

“Your hand is still around me.”

“…”

“Oh, no! That terrible monster is kidnapping my Mario!” Peach entered the room, and Mario fondly smiled with the “my”, dumb as their playing was. “Will I have to rescue him? But what if he kidnaps me, too?” She threw herself at Bowser with a hand dramatically at her forehead.

“STOP THAT!” Bowser jumped out of the chair, like Mario and Peach were contagious. “You two, you’re… you’re unfair, that’s what you are!”

“Weeeeeee?” They got closer, blinking innocently at the koopa, who got all the more red.

“…Dddddon’t you blame me when I actually kidnap you.” He turned to leave, visibly wanting to die in some corner and regain his dignity before he could even think about flirting back. And hit the doorframe with his shoulder. “STUPID small house! That’s YOUR fault, Mario!” They heard, as he ran to the room. And just laughed together.

“I definitely won’t mind if he goes through with this threat.” Mario smirked. “What about you, Peaches?”

“Not at all.” She agreed, before placing herself in front of her boyfriend, pinning him to the table with both arms. “Just beware, or I might take you first, sweetie.”

And she kissed his nose. Yeah, he’d definitely not mind that too.

[thefatedthoughtofyou]

{ I bring you Sacrificial Virgin!Steve, Demon!Eddie, and Ghost!Robin for your tables. Take this and feast my friends.

I woke after 3 hours of sleep suddenly possessed with this idea and had to get it out of me immediately before i went back to sleep for a bit. Shits crazy. }

Warnings: death, blood, gore, demony things.

The Harrington's are an old family. Older than Hawkins itself, some say. Their manor sits on a hill, overlooking the town, keeping an ever watchful eye on the people below.

Steve has always been alone. No friends. No girlfriends. His only company the maids, and butlers, and tutors, all of whom float through his life, never constant, always different, no connections to be made. His parents make sure of it. He is to be pure. Always. Until they need him.

Unbeknownst to them, Steve has made one friend. A lonely soul, lost and scared, stuck in the halls of Harrington house after one of their many sacrifices. Her name is Robin. She's skittish at first, frightened of him.

He understands. And he waits. And a few months later she comes to him. They lie in his bed, and she talks to him. Tells him about the life she had in Hawkins. Tells him what it's like to live. She is cold to the touch. Steve barely notices.

They strap him to the table on his eighteenth birthday. He'd known it was coming. It was the only logical end to the life he'd been living. His family and their followers, dressed in their dark robes, looking down at him, but not seeing him.

Steve doesn't struggle. He lets them take him. Lies there and looks up into the eyes of a girl none of them can see, and hopes it will be fast. That it will end. Then he can be with Robin and they can find a way out of these halls, and out of this town, and be together, forever.

He doesn't cry. He doesn't make a sound when the knife sinks into him. His blood leaks onto the marble beneath him, his body going cold. Colder. He keeps his eyes on Robin as she smiles sadly down at him, her fingers laced with his though he can't feel it.

The room goes black. Suddenly. Like the light is banished by something unseen. His parents and their rable gasp, scattering out of Steve's sight. He hopes their afraid. And then a voice, otherworldly, fills the room. It's words bring a warmth to Steve that he's never known, it blooms in his chest the way his blood blooms across the floor.

"Why have you summoned me?" The voice says, edges of each word crackling with heat.

"We offer sacrifice." His fathers voice, it's shaking, he's afraid, Steve feels a sick pleasure roll beneath his skin. He hears the new voice make a sound. Disapproving.

"Ah. I see. You think you've summoned me." The voice is deep, and if Steve's not mistaken, amused.

"We- we have summoned-"

"Ah ah. No." His mothers trembling voice goes silent as this new thing cuts her off.

"You've done no such thing." It says. Steve hears footsteps. Hears gasps roll through the room like a wave.

"The boy, is the one bleeding out on the alter, is he not? He... summoned me. Not you."

Steve can see, suddenly. He can see the whole room, and the creature, or is it a man? He can see them all as if it's a play on a stage. He can even see himself, naked and bleeding. And Robin, crouched behind the marble alter, hands still firmly in his own.

"You think yourselves strong enough? To summon me? Without any bloodshed of your own." The creature pushes into his fathers space, Steve's stomach twists in sick pleasure as his father cowers before it. It shakes its head, disappointed.

As Steve watches it move from person to person, assessing, he can't help but find the beauty in it, in him. He looks a bit like a man.

Skin paler than moonlight, except at the hands, his hands are stained pitch black, the inky color crawls across his skin to his elbows. The nails on his fingers are pointed, and dripping, though Steve can't tell with what. And there's something behind it, a tail, Steve thinks, pointed and tipped black.

The creature grabs at his mothers white dress and she recoils at the stain he leave behind.

Steve smiles, a rare thing, in these halls, but he does it. He lies there, bleeding, and he smiles at his mother's discomfort. And this, of all things, draws the creatures attention. His head twitches in Steve's direction like he'd made a sound. Though he hadn't. Though he rarely does.

The creature moves closer. Stands beside the alter and looks down at him with pitch black eyes, and smiles with too sharp teeth. It snaps its inky fingers and the bindings holding Steve fall away. It moves two fingers across Steve's forhead, pushing his sweat soaked hair away from his skin.

"Oh Steven. What have they done to you?" It whispers, and the warmth in Steve's chest burns like coals in a furnace.

"Tell me what you want. Anything. It's yours." The creature, the man, the demon, for Steve knows it to be true. They've summoned a demon. No. He, has summoned a demon.

The demon rests his sharp fingers over Steve's barely beating heart, and waits for him to answer. He swallows, thickly, his throat clicking from underuse and death creeping up on him slowly.

"Kill them. Kill them all." Steve rasps, his throat burning, his chest aching. The demon smiles down at him, and winks.

"It would be my absolute fucking pleasure." The words drip from his blackened mouth like syrup, sticky, and sweet. And then Steve watches, barely able to lift his head now, as the demon tears them apart.

His parents are last. Cowering in the corner like scared children as this demon they've wished for descends on them with a burning fury and covered in blood. They whimper and recoil as he crouches in front if them, tail swishing madly behind him.

"You were given a gift. Eighteen years ago. A gift from the darkness." His voice is shaking now, his hand too, as it reaches toward them, pointing accusingly.

"A gift you begged for!" The shout rings through the nearly empty hall, the force of it extinguishing the candles littering the floor. Steve finds he can still see through the darkness.

"You begged us for this gift. And then you spent the next eighteen years neglecting it. Neglecting him." Steve can feel the demons rage, like it's his own, perhaps it is.

"There is no forgiveness. Where you are going. You will burn. And you will scream. And no amount of begging, shall grant you anymore gifts." His inky, bloodstained, hands reach out and grab their faces, his pointed nails sink into their skin.

"Not in this lifetime. Nor the many after it, that you'll spending screaming for mercy." His face seems to split then, his smile impossibly wide across his cheeks.

"We do not grant mercy in the realms of darkness and fire. We grant only what is deserved." There's a growl, low in the demons throat, as he rips the Harrington's from this world and sends them to the next. A sick squelching sound follows it as he removes his hands from the mess he's made. He's back at Steve's side shortly after that.

"Why- who-" Steve stammers, reaches up weakly, he can't catch his breath.

"Shh. Don't speak. It's alright." A warm, dry finger, presses to his lips. Steve's chest aches to feel more. Anything else this creature will give him.

"You don't have long I'm afraid. But I have an offer for you." The demon's voice is soft now, almost human. His features are smoothing out too, the blackness fades from his eyes and skin until there's just a man standing next to him.

"What it is?" Steve asks, his breath hitching, not enough air left in this world for him.

"Come with me. Stay with me. Forever." The demon places his hand on Steve's chest and it burns again. Steve gasps, squeezes his eyes shut against the sting of it. And then the pain is gone. It's no longer hard to breathe. He isn't cold. And he feels a hand in his. He opens his eyes.

"She can come too." The demon is smiling, and looking directly at Robin. She's smiling back, and squeezing Steve's hand.

"I can feel you." Is all he can think to say.

"Yeah no shit dingus. You're dead." She says, and launches herself at him. He catches her in his arms and laughs with her, it echoes through the empty halls like music. She pulls away, looks at him, softly.

"Whatever you decide. I'm with you." She pats his cheek, hops off the alter, and goes to stand by the window, looking out into the darkness that shouldn't be there.

"I'm Eddie, by the way." The demon says, he kicks at the ground with his toe, rubs at his neck.

"What kind of demon name is Eddie?" Steve blurts, his eyes going wide. Eddie laughs, and it too, sounds like music.

"It's just my name. So what do you think? You wanna come with me?" The demon, Eddie, asks, his fingers walking along the edge of the alter, eyes on the floor.

"Are you nervous?" Steve asks, his hands dropping to his lap, and he realizes suddenly that he's naked. As soon as the realization hits him, he no longer is. Black sweatpants appear out of nowhere, soft and warm around him.

"Better? And I am. Nervous." Eddie says, tugs on Steve's pantleg genlty.

"Thank you." Steve whispers, not sure how to take the fact he's made a demon nervous.

"I'll always take care of you. If you come with me." His knuckles press into Steve's thigh.

"I've been waiting a long time for you. Wasn't really planning on meeting you like this. Disappointing." He shakes his head, glares off into the corner where the remains of the Harrington's lie in a bloody heap.

"You've been waiting for me?" Steve asks, his fingers twitching with want to reach out, to take Eddie's hand. Eddie nods, bites his lip with a sharp fang, and then looks up at Steve.

"I have a fondness for shattered broken souls. I used to be one, after all." He smiles sadly, and Steve can't stop himself, he reaches out, takes Eddie's hand.

"I think I've been waiting for you too. I just didn't know it." He squeezes Eddie's hand. Eddie smiles, reaches up, tucks a strand of hair behind Steve's ear. He leans forward, forehead pressed to Steve's gently.

"I made you so perfectly. Made you everything they asked for. Everything they wanted." Eddie drags his nose along Steve's, whispering into the space between them.

"And they hurt you. And broke you. And left you all alone. When you should have been with me." He nuzzles into Steve, both of them pressing into the other. Eddie's words slam into Steve's chest with shattering force. Eddie made him. A gift for his parents, all those years ago.

"I would've never left you if I'd known. What they'd do. And by the time I realized, it was too late to take you back. Even demons have rules." Eddie pulls back, cradles Steve's face in his hands.

"I'm sorry. All I could do was give you a friend. But I'm- it wasn't enough I'm so sorry." A tear falls down Eddie's cheek, steaming as it rolls across his skin and fades into the space between them. Steve's chest feels warm again, hot like a fire being kindled behind his ribs. He grabs Eddie's shirt and yanks him forward, presses his lips to Eddie's hard.

"It was enough. She was enough. She was perfect. Just what I needed. And now I have you, too." Steve kisses him and breathes the words into his mouth until he feels Eddie accept them. Feels Eddie wrap himself around him, his skin buring where it touches Steve, making him feel alive.

Near the window, Robin smiles at her shoes.

"Can I keep you?" Eddie whispers the words into Steve's neck, his sharp nails pressing into Steve's back as he pulls him closer and closer.

"Yes. Keep me forever. I'm yours. All yours." Steve whispers back, his dull nails clawing at Eddie's shirts, trying to get him closer, he'd climb inside him if he could. Eddie growls into his skin, possessive.

"Let's go home." He whispers, and they're gone. All three of them.

The light returns to the Harrington house. Bright dawn sunlight beaming in across bloodstained floors. Bodies scattered in heaps and piles around a blood covered alter.

The town of Hawkins forgets all about the Harrington's, for the most part. And their strange son who never left their hallowed halls. But all towns have their legends. And some nights, when the moon is new, and darkness reigns, they say you can hear screaming.

In the halls of Harrington manor, you can hear voices, screaming for mercy. And if you listen closely, right at dawn, they say, you can hear a chorus of voices, haunting, and beautiful, and laughing, as they answer.

"No."

[hotvintagepoll]

Propaganda

Ronald Colman (Arrowsmith, Random Harvest, Prisoner of Zenda)—"God! Ronnie Colman! Wasn't he marvelous? He had the greatest movie technique I've ever known in my life!" -Vincent Price

James Dean (Rebel Without A Cause, East of Eden)—can i just say that while james dean was horrendously hot, he also had a i-want-to-pick-him-up-and-carry-him-around-in-my-pocket-slash-hoodie-and-feed-him-treats kind of vibe to him? maybe it was because he was only 5'7, or maybe it was because (to me, at least) he constantly looked like a sopping wet poor little meow meow, or maybe it's because his eyebrows looked like they were too big for him. whatever it was, i'm beginning to understand why people still have posters of him in their rooms.

This is round 3 of the bracket. All other polls in this bracket can be found here. Please reblog with further support of your beloved hot sexy vintage man.

[additional propaganda submitted under the cut]

James Dean propaganda:

Ronald Colman propaganda:

No one, not even Douglas Fairbanks, could match Ronald Colman's screen close-ups. They were marvellous because he had a beautiful face, and because he had a deep but gentle masculinity: the ideal of the dark Englishman. — Laurence Olivier

Ronnie became not just an actor for me, but a way of life. — Vincent Price

"I wanna give some propaganda for Ronald Colman! His face acting made him a star in the silent era but when the arrival of the talkie brought one megastar after another down to earth he was one of the only ones to become more popular due to his voice, and became the blueprint for the “mellifluous voiced Englishman” type that Laurence Olivier and James Mason would later become known for. And to prove it here he is reading Shakespeare"

"1920s heartthrob to 1930s matinée idol to 1940s silver fox Oscar winner to 1950s comedy radio star, this man could do it ALL. I feel he is unfairly neglected today despite his smile making it into P.G. Wodehouse novels and the knee-melting qualities of his voice making it into a Rodgers & Hammerstein musical. A women's college made him the winner in their hottest celebrity poll in 1942, and I am right there with them. He was by all accounts an absolutely lovely person, as well, but I recognize that this poll is about the hotness and I think that Ronald Colman deserves more recognition for being ridiculously handsome and doing heartbreaking face-acting and having weaponizable quantities of charm. Also he saved David Niven's life (according to the latter's memoir) by shooting a shark once. Very sexy of him."

He was a wonderful friend; steady, true, full of wisdom and humour. He was generous and completely unbitchy unlike so many actors. A great actor, the master of the understated playing, and one many people (including me) tried hard to copy. A glorious speaking voice, dirty great brown 'fan' eyes, a smile that lit up the whole of Beverly Hills, and a man who could give a lame dog or a struggling actor a lift with never a thought of self-congratulation. — David Niven

[whereforarthur]

Homecoming

Request: Would you be able to do either a George or Arthur hill smut, like they haven’t seen the reader in a long time and shit gets freaky

Pairing: Arthur Hill x Gf!Reader

Category: Fluff and Smut

Word Count: 2k

*****

Your memory feels like home to me. So whenever my mind wanders, it always finds its way back to you. -Ranata Suzuki

The London air had the scent of rain-soaked concrete as y/n hurried through the bustling streets. She'd spent the last two weeks juggling work and the mundane tasks of life, all the while counting down the days until Arthur's return. Her stomach fluttered at the thought of seeing him again, her heart racing with a mix of excitement and anticipation. As a British YouTuber with a penchant for adventure, Arthur's vacations were legendary, and his stories of far-off lands filled their Skype calls with vivid color. But nothing could compare to the real thing, to the warmth of his embrace and the sound of his laughter filling their tiny flat.

The door to the building creaked open, revealing the familiar staircase that led to their shared space. Each step echoed with memories of their past, a silent reminder of the love that had grown between them. The flat was dark, but she knew Arthur was home. His suitcase lay open in the hallway, clothes spilling out like a kaleidoscope of memories from his trip. She dropped her bag and took a deep breath, savoring the faint scent of his cologne that lingered in the air.

"Arthur?" she called out softly, her voice a gentle whisper in the quiet.

"In the kitchen, love," he replied, his tone thick with exhaustion.

Y/n followed the sound of his voice, her eyes adjusting to the dim light. Arthur stood by the fridge, a tired smile playing on his lips as he searched for something to eat. His normally neat hair was disheveled, and the stubble on his face had grown into a short, unruly beard. Despite his travel-worn appearance, he looked more handsome than ever, his eyes lighting up when they met hers.

"You're back," she said, her voice a mix of excitement and relief.

Arthur turned, shutting the fridge with a thud. He took a step towards her, his arms outstretched. "And I've missed you like crazy."

Y/n melted into his embrace, feeling the warmth of his body against hers. His arms tightened around her, holding her close as if he never wanted to let go. She breathed in the scent of him, a potent mix of travel and homecoming. Two weeks apart had done nothing to diminish the spark between them; if anything, it had only made it stronger.

"I missed you too," she murmured into his chest, her cheek pressing against the soft fabric of his shirt. "Your stories couldn't even come close to the real thing."

Arthur chuckled, kissing the top of her head. "I've got something better than stories." He leaned back, his eyes searching hers. "But first, I need to shower off this flight."

Y/n nodded, a mischievous glint in her eye. "I could use one too," she said, her voice low and seductive. "How about we save some water?"

Arthur's smile grew into a grin. "Now, that's an excellent idea." He took her hand and led her to the bathroom, their steps in sync. The room was small but cozy, the walls adorned with their favorite travel prints. He turned on the shower, the sound of the water hitting the tiles echoing through the flat. The steam began to fill the room, creating a warm, intimate cocoon.

They undressed each other slowly, the anticipation building with every article of clothing that fell to the floor. Arthur's eyes roamed over y/n's body, drinking in the sight of her like a man who'd been lost in the desert. She felt her cheeks flush under his gaze, her heart pounding in her chest. He stepped into the shower, pulling her in after him. The water washed over them, washing away the travel grime and the days of longing.

*****

"I missed you so much," Arthur murmured, his voice barely audible over the sound of the shower. His hands roamed her body, reacquainting themselves with every curve and dip. "I couldn't stop thinking about you."

Y/n leaned into him, her own thoughts swirling. She had missed the comfort of his arms, the way he made her feel safe and desired. "What were you thinking about?" she asked, her voice curious.

Arthur's eyes searched hers, a hint of mischief in his gaze. "Everything and nothing," he said, his thumb brushing her cheek. "But mostly, I was thinking about this." He bent down, capturing her lips in a kiss that was both tender and hungry. It was as if he were trying to consume her, to fill the void he'd felt during their time apart.

Her hands found their way to his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart against her palms. His skin was warm and damp, the water cascading down his body in rivulets. Y/n leaned into the kiss, her body responding to his touch as if it had been programmed to do so. She could feel the tension between them, the pent-up desire that had been building for two long weeks.

Arthur's hands moved to her waist, lifting her slightly so that their bodies aligned. The sensation of the water on her skin and his hands on her body was intoxicating. Her legs wrapped around his waist, her center pressing against him. He groaned into the kiss, his arousal evident.

"You're so fucking beautiful," Arthur murmured against her lips, his voice gruff with need. "Two weeks without you has been torture."

Y/n's cheeks flushed with arousal as she felt Arthur's hard length pressing against her. "Missed your cock too," she whispered, her voice a sultry purr.

Arthur chuckled, his hands sliding down to cup her ass. "Is that so?" He kissed her neck, his teeth grazing her sensitive skin, making her gasp. "Let's not waste any more time, then."

He positioned her against the tiles, the coolness a stark contrast to the heat of their bodies. The water pounded down on them, a sensual backdrop to their reunion. Arthur's hands found her center, his fingers teasing her wet folds. Y/n's eyes rolled back in her head as he delved deeper, his thumb circling her clit with a practiced touch. "Fuck, I missed this," he murmured, his voice thick with desire.

Her legs began to tremble as he worked her into a frenzy, bringing her to the edge of release. "Inside me," she gasped, her nails digging into his shoulders. "Please, Arthur."

He didn't need to be asked twice. With a primal growl, Arthur thrust into her, filling her completely. Y/n's eyes widened, her mouth forming a silent scream as she took him in. He felt so good, so right, it was as if she'd been waiting for this exact moment her whole life. His movements were slow at first, gentle strokes that built the fire inside her. She matched his rhythm, her hips rising to meet his, urging him deeper.

Their bodies moved in perfect harmony, a dance they'd performed countless times before but always felt like the first. Every thrust sent waves of pleasure crashing through her, wiping away the dull ache of his absence. She felt herself tighten around him, her orgasm building like a storm at sea.

"Scream for me, love," Arthur whispered into her ear, his breath hot and ragged. "Let me hear how much you've missed me."

Y/n did as he asked, her moans echoing off the tiles as he picked up the pace. The water continued to beat down on them, a relentless force that only added to the intensity of their passion. She clung to him, her legs tightening around his waist, urging him to go faster, deeper. The feeling of his cock sliding in and out of her was exquisite, a reminder of all the nights she'd lain awake, craving this very moment.

Arthur's breath grew harsher, his strokes more demanding. He leaned into her, his forehead pressing against hers as he fought to maintain control. "You're so tight," he groaned, his eyes squeezed shut. "So fucking tight."

Y/n could feel the tension coiling in her belly, her climax approaching like a freight train. She bit her bottom lip, trying to keep her screams contained. But Arthur's relentless pounding and the feel of his thumb working her clit was too much. She threw her head back, crying out his name as she came, her body shuddering with pleasure.

The sound of her release was all Arthur needed. He let out a guttural groan, his hips bucking wildly as he emptied himself inside her. The warmth of his cum filled her, a tangible reminder that he was truly home. They held each other, their breaths mingling in the steamy air.

"Welcome home," she whispered, her voice filled with love and satisfaction.

"Best homecoming ever," he murmured, his eyes closing in contentment.

And in that moment, as the water continued to fall around them, they knew that no adventure could ever compare to the journey they shared together.

As they came down from their high, Arthur kissed her neck, his arms still wrapped tightly around her. "I've missed you so much," he murmured, his voice a gentle rumble against her skin. "You're all mine."

Y/n shivered at the possessiveness in his words, feeling a thrill of excitement at the claim. She had missed him too, missed the way he made her feel so utterly cherished and desired. "And you're all mine," she whispered back, her nails tracing patterns on his back.

They took their time under the water, Arthur's kisses turning from passionate to gentle, his hands soothing and exploratory. The shower washed away their sweat and the last traces of his journey, leaving them clean and new. The warmth of the water and the heat of their bodies created a bubble of intimacy that seemed to encapsulate the two of them.

*****

"Come on," Arthur murmured, his voice a soft rumble in her ear. "Let's get out of here."

He turned off the shower, and the sudden silence was almost deafening. They stepped out onto the mat, wrapping themselves in towels. Arthur grabbed her hand, leading her to their bedroom. The room was dimly lit, the curtains drawn to keep out the London streetlights. The bed looked inviting, the sheets rumpled from her restless nights without him.

They dried off and slid beneath the covers, their bodies fitting together like puzzle pieces that had been apart too long. Arthur pulled her into his arms, her back pressed against his chest. His hand found her breast, his thumb brushing the nipple until it peaked. She sighed contentedly, her eyes drifting shut.

"I have a surprise for you," Arthur whispered, his breath warm against her neck.

Y/n turned to face him, curiosity piquing. "What is it?"

He reached into his nightstand drawer and pulled out a small box. "I picked this up on my travels," he said, his eyes twinkling with excitement. "I thought it'd be perfect for our first night back together."

Her heart fluttered as he opened the box, revealing a delicate necklace with a tiny, sparkling charm. "It's beautiful," she breathed, her eyes wide.

"It's a reminder of all the adventures we've had, and all the ones we're going to have," Arthur said, fastening the necklace around her neck. "And every time you wear it, I want you to think of me, and how much I love you."

The gesture was simple, but it meant the world to her. She leaned in, kissing him deeply, feeling the love that had grown stronger during their time apart. Their bodies entwined, their hearts beating as one.

"I love you too," she whispered, her voice filled with emotion.

Two weeks apart had made their hearts grow fonder, and she knew that no matter where his travels took him, she would always be his home.

*****

Taglist~

@gvf23

[fandomfluffandfuck]

Pussy Steve in a leg spreader is all I can think abouttt... Unable to escape any of the touch and he's sooo sensitive guh

For reference, my ask box is no longer open for requests, but this is from before I closed it, so I will be writing for this ask.

Ngl, since you sent this in in fucking August, oh god, this is all I've been able to think about.

I just... yeah. It's been on my mind. There's something about spreader bars that I fucking dying for and putting pussy Steve in one? Why didn't I think of that earlier!?

Since Bucky and Steve stumbled into the discovery of how fucking good messing around could feel when they were horny, clumsy teenagers all awkward and lanky limbs, Steve has sworn that the thing Bucky likes most is, just, punking Steve. Fucking with him.

It started legitimate, at least. His thing.

His kink, maybe.

Back then, when Steve was all too close to stumbling and falling through death's door from his precarious place curled up on its stoep like some abandoned orphan, it was for his own good. He didn't want to admit it, not even fucking close, and Bucky didn't demand that he did, but he kept it in mind regardless. He kept Steve still yet aroused, enough to keep him hard (or most of the way there) but not enough to send his heart into a frenzy of the wrong kind. That, usually, ment working him up nice and slow. But, somewhere along the way, between life and body altering transformations and devastating plunges into death and through it, the habit stuck. Maybe they just never had time to learn any other way, though.

Now, still, Bucky fucks with him by winding him up nice and slow. Consistent and sensual, as if waiting for his body to work itself up through its slow circulation and anemia and everything else going against him. He likes to watch the color wash into Steve's pale skin; he likes to feel how he burns hotter with rising arousal; he likes to hear the stuble pick-up of Steve's breath, getting more shallow and hitched; he likes to know that he's making Steve feel good, good enough to be a tugging, distracting current that's not breaking right now, not yet, but it will be, it will build and build and get to the point where, eventually, Steve just can't stand it and he'll shatter. But. By the time that he's breaking, he'll have been so fucking worked up that he doesn't see it coming. Sometimes, that means cumming without a sound, mouth hanging open, nothing but a silent exhale of agony, or, sometimes, that means cumming with a shocked, unrealized wailing-moan as he flails over the edge whether he wants to or not. He's been boiled alive, the water growing hotter so incrementally that he didn't even know.

It's that moment that Bucky chases: the break.

The moment of the break. But, still, getting Steve--a stubborn little spitfire--to break isn't half as fun without a crazy-long, agonizing wind-up. It adds to the break. The anticipation makes it better. Worse, to Steve.

Today, the slow, consistent, easy wind-up wasn't as, uh, private as usual, though. Steve wasn't laid out on the couch in their apartment, held in Bucky's lap, back-to-chest, with Bucky's fingers finding their way up his tight, tight shirt to trace over his skin, the valleys and hills of his muscle definition. Bucky just 'innocently' touching until he's not, circling and plucking and playing with his sensitive nipples until Steve's panting and has lost all sense of time. When did this even start? What time is it now? Will this ever end? Steve wasn't in their shower on a slow, lethargic evening--nothing done all day but lay around, alone together--Bucky sliding in behind him to wash his body and tease him until he's plenty fucking wet to let Bucky in by the time he reaches between his legs, sliding his thighs apart with relaxed, unhurried hands. Fingering him with no rush. Not even stretching him out on more than two fingers. The two of them enveloped in nothing but pouring sheets of water and hot steam. If the mirror could, it'd be blushing, watching Steve get pressed tight against the glass shower stall wall, his face and tits smushed, displayed, all pale pink and desperate. Steve wasn't in bed, either, under orders to not move an inch, or Bucky would stop. Still, still, still--not tense but torturously relaxed--as Bucky skirts the line between massaging him and tickling him, waiting for him to be 'ready...' Whatever that means. Steve's past ready. Hot and wet and puffy between his legs. One touch there, and he could come apart. If only Bucky would. But, no, none of that. Steve wasn't alone.

They weren't alone.

Well, at one point they were, now, when it really fucking starts, they aren't alone.

Winding-up, tighter and tighter and tighter, Steve is trying not to fucking lose his mind in the middle of a goddamn meeting. He's fucking surrounded. All sides. Right. Left. Behind him. Infront of him. Some people are in their supersuits and other agents in low-key, blacked-out S.H.I.E.L.D. uniforms.

It's a storm of faceless, nameless shapes that are hardly even people to Steve right now. Whatever the hell this meeting is about (debrief? It's got to be a debrief, right? Bucky wouldn't endanger him or other innocent people by preventing him from taking in intell, right?), Steve isn't registering a lick of it. Instead, he's focused solely around the buzzing, aching, nearly-silent bullet vibrator in his boxer briefs. They're just fucking tight enough to keep it in place, nevermind how Bucky just so effortless slipped it into the pocket at the front of his drawers like it was meant to be there--as if there was no way in hell that Steve would go without it, of course, not.

Steve and Bucky's ears are the only ones that can pick up the subtle earthquake plundering Steve, crumbling his earth, inch by inch as that fucking tiny ass vibrator pulses, buzzes, and rumbles tightly against his swollen clit, soaking the dry-fit material of his boxers.

Oh, god.

All the fucking hours--it feels like hours--they've been sitting here Steve's had to keep himself from squirming or whining or doing anything that'd tip off anyone to the toy going at him. Whatever Bucky's doing to control it or whatever pre-set he's put it to, the pulsing vibrations are perfectly balanced to keep Steve balanced on the razor edge of agony. It's not enough to make him cum. It's too much to not be desperately arousing. And it's not consistent enough to be ignorable. He's still fucking sensitive to it, even after all the dragging, droning conversation.

Trying to keep himself together has resulted in the flush that he knows is painted across his cheeks, sitting high like a sunset just starting, not yet kissing the horizon line. But, more, the way he's sweating like a dog. He can feel the rivers of it pouring down his back, pooling underneath his arms, the dimples of his back, and down his asscrack to the insides of his thighs where he's urgently pressing them together. He isn't sure if he's making it better or worse for himself, pressing his legs together. On one hand, it makes him less fervently paranoid that someone else can hear his little vibrator where its rawing him, making him crazy, but on the other hand, clenched tight in his fist, it's making the vibrations spread through him so much easier. A rock thrown into a pond with the ripples emanating out, lapping at the shore. Steve's nerves are the taut surface of the water, every single vibration a pebble that builds into not little ripples but huge waves that lap and erode at his edges, making him think he's about to cum in his chair, hardly resisting from grinding into his seat, bucking his hips and letting his eyes roll back, his lip coming out from between his teeth to moan more like a roar, finally fucking released from his ongoing torture and devastated by how it eats at him. All that pleasure. Too much.

Right when Steve's about to fucking tap out, thunk his head on the table and shoot his hand down between his clenching thighs to ride his own hand to completion--shoving the vibrator tighter against his wet, wet, wet, and swollen, tortured, clit--as he moans. Fuck all the people in the room, they all have to sign so many NDAs to work for an agency like this, what's another one for, oh, yeah, that time that Captian America orgasmed out of nowhere in the middle of a meeting. Right then, Bucky's metal hand lands heavy on his upper arm, digging his fingers into his bicep through his suit and dragging him to his feet.

Steve feels like a mess.

Steve is a mess.

He can't believe no one else knows what's happening. He's hardly lucid enough to grunt out a 'yes' or bob his head or to anything to make it seem like he's on the same fucking planet as all the people around him. It's just enough, though. Just enough. Not, not enough--

If Steve was sure everyone knew what was happening when he was using all of his self-control to not hump the chair he was sitting in, then he absolutely fucking knows that everyone is immediately crystal clear about what's going on when Bucky hauls him out of that boardroom. Bucky is dragging him away, steadying him on his shaking feet, to fuck him into next Sunday. They know.

Bucky is dragging him off to fuck him.

Pre-emptive relief crashes over Steve like a wave at the realization and he pays fuck all attention to the sights and sounds around him. All he knows is that one minute they're in the meeting, it's dismissed, and the next minute, Bucky has cornered him in the elevator, and they're moving. They're alone. Steve doesn't just melt against the hot, solid line of Bucky's leather-clad body, he disintegrates.

His knees go weak, and his hands curl into clinging, pawing clumsy things that won't work. His face buries itself in his chest--between his pecs, if they were naked like they ought to be--and groans with all the breath in his chest, punched out.

Indulgently, Bucky holds him there like that for a moment, scruffing him around the back of his neck like he's a shaky, anxious kitten. Steve might as well be the way he mewls when Bucky brings up one of those fucking killer thighs to grind against his pussy.

Steve mewls.

The thick, solid muscle of Bucky's thigh forces him to confront, right fucking here in this work elevator, just how wet he is. He's wet. Soaked. Vibrating hard. He's been dripping the entire time they were in that stupid meeting, messing up his boxer briefs and probably even the inside of his suit--it's gonna be a bitch to clean. It's gonna smell like sex forever.

Steve isn't thinking about cleaning.

Steve is, oh, oh--

Bucky has him right fucking there, about to fucking cum, he's so close, he can feel the heated, tangled knot of pleasure pulling taut low in his belly, about to fucking fray apart. Pulled apart. It's in the back of his throat. He can feel it in his teeth, creeping into the muscle of his jaw, he's half-clenching his jaw and half letting it hang open. He doesn't know what his face is doing; it's probably fucked-out and dumb. But--

"Ah, ah, ah," Bucky tuts at him, pulling his thigh away and pulling him up by the nape of his neck.

Steve doesn't give a second thought about the pathetic, sharp whine he gives at having his orgasm disparagingly denied. Ruined? Whatever the fuck happened that's left his whole fucking body quivering and raw. He was so goddamn close!

So, so fucking close that that's the only thing he can hold onto. And even that, as Bucky pulls him out of the elevator--out out the building through a dizzying revolving door, pushes him onto the back of his motorcycle, heaves his arms around him, and drives them home--slips through his fingers like sand. Steve isn't holding onto anything. His arms are physically around Bucky's stocky waist as they ride, holding on, but he's not emotionally holding on to fucking anything. His brain is dripping out of his ears. Hours of vibration, his thighs clenched together, trying to keep it together. Now, his thighs are split wide around the heaving, breathing, rumbling body of Bucky's bike. It's a fucking animal.

Bucky drives like an animal. Feral and reckless as New York blurs messily past them. And Steve just nuzzles in tight, moaning recklessly and unashamedly into Bucky's ear from over his shoulder.

He's beyond desperate.

The blurred, smeared paint effect of the world around him gets worse when they're off the bike. Closer to home, Steve feels more of that pre-emptive relief surge through him more. He can't put himself back together, first shaken apart in that meeting and then blended up by the motorcycle ride. Too much. Not enough. Steve needs more.

Steve knew he was wet, but he didn't realize just how wet he fucking got until Bucky grabs him and twists him around, hauling him over his shoulder, smacking his ass and keeping a heavy, possessive hand there while he walks Steve's quivering body deeper into their home just to pin him down against their mattress all handsy and strong. Steve can't fucking fight. He just lays there, teeth chattering. He's vibrating so much himself he doesn't know if the bullet vibe is still on or not. He doesn't need it. He just. More. He needs more.

Steve needs more, thrown in through their slammed-open front door and stumbling in, unsteady and breakable as a fawn. Fuck it. He's not breakable, he's already broken. Broken open and spilling molten hot--pouring out his lust.

He's so fucking on edge anything could set him off. Anything will set him off. Just. Please.

Steve can hardly fucking hear Bucky over the blood rushing in his ears, his heart pounding like mad. But he's saying something, asking something with that damn gorgeous Chesire cat grin, all predatory and sharp, "you gonna show me how fucking wet I make you, baby?"

"Wrong answer, honey," his salacious grin widens dangerously the higher he gets off teasing him.

Steve can't think.

He can't hear.

He can't move.

Yet, he must shake his head, trying to clear his mind, figure out what the fuck is happening, what to do, because Bucky responds to him like he's answered. Like he can do anything. As if Bucky hasn't turned him into a useless pile of wet, desperate need.

And while Steve can't move, so overwhelmed with his lust, Bucky has no such issues. He's crawling off the bed where he has Steve fucked up and pinned to grab, grab--

There's no time to really process what the fuck that is, what it's doing to him, and how it feels on him when suddenly, like a switch flipped, Steve's cunt is hot and wet and kept clenched between his tensed thighs then Steve's cunt is cold and drenched and exposed to open air.

Steve's vision is so hazy and blurred he doesn't even know what it is and he doesn't think it matters anyway because Bucky isn't using it, rather he's running his hands fervently all over Steve's quivering body to strip him of his uniform. The distraction doesn't last long, though, as ruined and desperate as Steve is, Bucky is the same. Their desire intrinsically intertwined. Twinned and deepened. Made that much more perilous together. Once he's stripped to nothing but his sweat and blush, Bucky uses that thing he grabbed.

It's a spreader bar. The thing. It's a long bar, reinforced, and forcing Steve's legs wide, wide apart.

Bucky peels Steve's legs apart with a grunt and obscene show of strength, his flesh arm fucking flexing and his metal arm revving--recalibrating in a way that Steve could drool over all fucking day--and makes Steve too fucking aware of how stupidly turned on he is. He's wet. He's swollen. He's raw. He's quivering in phantom vibrations. He's so fucking aware of how exposed he is.

Exposed.

He can't keep his legs together. Bucky is just--

Bucky has him.

Bucky is pawing at his wet pussy like the big bad man he is. Fucking him up like he's the wolf and Steve is innocently lost in the wood. Steve should be afraid of his claws, but he isn't. He really isn't. He wants claws. He wants teeth. He wants.

His pussy is so hot and slick compared to the rest of the air in their bedroom. It's mortifying. Could he be wetter? No. He couldn't get any fucking more turned on without just dying. He might die here. Steve wails and jerks but doesn't get anywhere. He can't. He's spread.

Oh.

Oh, god.

Unceremoniously then, exposed and spread, Bucky shoves his face up there, licking his wet slit hotly, and Steve squeals.

What is he going to do to him? Steve could sob. Steve is sobbing. What isn't he going to do to him? He just wants to cum! Bucky doesn't have to kill him. He can just let him cum! He doesn't have to murder him!! Just let him cum!

Pleeease.

[koishiro]

# - 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐋𝐀𝐊𝐄 𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐒𝐄 📍

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆ — 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒 : after meeting megumi’s dad, you’ll experience a night at the lake you’ll never forget

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆ — 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 : dilf!toji x non-virgin!reader

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆ — 𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐑𝐄 : short smut with the tiniest plot ever

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆ — 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐒 : cumming inside (readers on bc), oral (male receiving), cheating (toji’s married)

=͟͟͞͞ ⌧ 𝐌𝐀𝐈𝐋 : this is in a different universe where toji isn’t a complete dick to megumi and is a responsible parent (shocking I know) but still doesn’t completely get along with megs

Part 1 | 2 | 3

masterlist | jjk masterlist | anon masterlist

He was the first guy to ever get his cock to that place in the back of my mouth where it can slip into my throat.

It was an exhilarating discovery, learning there's a whole new thing out there to try and do. I was surprised no one had tried this with me before, from what I can gather after the fact it seems very popular with men, but they're too intimidated to try it in real life, or at least initiate it.

My friend, Nobara, had a lake house (which was really open to anyone, giving access to fishermen and, like us, a spot for hookups) about an hour away from our school. We'd go there a few times through the years with our group of friends which usually revolved around myself, Yuji, Megumi, Nobara, and whatever guys we were dating/crushing on at that time and spend the weekend playing drinking games and daring each other to go skinny dipping. It was every students dream.

I'd met Megumi’s dad a few times since I'd known him. I met him the same day I met ‘Gumi, walking past his dorm I saw his dad lugging heavy furniture into his dorm, sweaty and attractive — in a rugged, masculine way. I had found out later that his name was Toji.

"Has anyone ever told you your dad is really hot?" I asked Megumi when we were both sat crossed-legged on his bed that night, figuring a little salacious question asking would bond us, "Ha ha, are you one of those girls? I don't get the whole "hot dad" thing. They're just old.”

Figuring I had hit a sore spot, It was the last conversation we had about him, but it definitely wasn't the last time I thought about him. I always made sure to dress my best when I knew he was stopping by. Little dresses only a freshman would wear, low cut tank tops and once — when I was especially bored — a sheer white t-shirt with no bra underneath because, "whoops" I had just rolled out of bed.

It was a fun game to play but I didn't think he ever noticed, or at least he never really acknowledged me until one of those debaucherous weekends when ‘Gumi and his dad got their messages crossed and we all ended up at the lake house together. At first it was uncomfortable when we arrived and saw the trucks, Toji was there accompanied by some other men. They had planned a weekend for drinking. But, Toji gave us a wink and told us to stay on the lower level and he'd stay out of our way. Everyone felt relieved and told ‘Gumi how lucky he was to have a "cool" dad. But I felt something else when Toji winked at us.

That night, after many, many drinks I found myself wandering out to the dock. Everyone else had passed out, but I was wide awake. I saw Toji approaching me from the windy path down the hill from the cabin, two bottled beers in one hand. He handed one to me wordlessly, searching my eyes for something — the reason I was awake and alone maybe.

We stood there silently until he stepped forward and brushed my hair off my face, "You're a beautiful girl, (name), don't think that goes unnoticed" I blushed, could he tell I was harboring a crush on him? Did he notice the way I jerked slightly at his touch, nervous about my body's powerful response to it?

"Thanks Toji," I said, taking a swig of my beer and looking at the moonlight reflecting over the waves. When I dared to make eye contact with him again I realized he hadn't moved, he was still watching me intently. Did this mean — before I could finish my thought, he was on me, one hand placed very firmly on my lower back the other in my hair as he kissed me. His tongue was in my mouth before I knew what was happening, tracing mine. I had the urge to wrap my legs around him, but there was nowhere to balance on this dock.

"Come up to my bedroom" It was a request, but it was also a statement, he was sure of my answer.

I giggled when we crossed the threshold and closed the door behind us. It wasn't just that when he grinned and you could see the wrinkles around his eyes, it wasn't just the physical attraction. It was his demeanor, it was that he was a real live man, not a flimsy college boy. This was going to be a different kind of hook-up.

"You're married," I reminded him, not particularly pleased about remembering this detail myself.

"I can keep a secret," he said, closing his mouth on mine again, and backing us to the bed.

He removed all my clothing fairly quickly and laid on top of me, fully clothed. The rough textures rubbing against my bare skin felt incredible. "I’ve wanted this for so long," he rasped out. "I've waited for a very long time”

I wanted to prove that I was worth it, all this risk. So I reached up and felt him through his pants, staring longingly into his eyes. He pulled his shirt over his head as I unbuckled, unzipped, and released a very healthy looking cock.

I slid off the bed and onto the floor to get a better angle and he stood over me, gathering my hair behind my head as I started blowing him. I looked up at him and was rewarded with a face that was most definitely in ecstasy as I took him in my mouth.

He held my head down on his cock while I took him in deeply. This was a move widely hated by every woman I knew, but it was usually performed by dumb frat-type boys. But Toji was no boy, he knew what he was doing, he was looking out for me and making the experience short — just long enough to add a bit of excitement. When he pulled out of me he gave me his all too cocky grin and leaned down to kiss me, “I knew you'd be good at this”

He pulled me up and walked me over to a dresser placed underneath a large window. I could still see the moonlight on the lake as he bent me over it. Was it really just a few moments ago we were nearly strangers on that dock together? I was brought back to reality by Toji spreading my legs further apart and pushing my upper back down until my bare breasts were pressed against its cool surface and I felt him enter me.

"Oh my god..." I couldn’t help but moan as he thrusted into me. He shushed me by placing his hand over my mouth for a moment as he picked up speed. My moan was apparently too loud but he was willing to risk the loud sound it made as he slapped my ass over and over, groaning and filling me with his cock. I couldn't believe how turned on this was making me. I was no virgin but I'd never experienced sex like this — it wasn't awkward or embarrassing or rushed. I was very aware that I was getting fucked by a Man, not "fooling around" with a boy.

"Are you on birth control?" He asked and when I answered yes he cooed, "good girl, my good girl" The sound of that phrase coming out of his mouth sent me over the edge and I felt myself spasming around his cock as I released myself into my orgasm, even enjoying the sensation of a bit of extra liquid rolling down my thigh.

He was still thrusting into me rhythmically, alternating between kneading my breasts and grabbing — and slapping — my ass. I hadn't had sex last this long before and I loved being able to savor the feeling. "I'm getting close," he groaned and I tensed my body up, holding my place more firmly so that he could get deeper inside me as he unloaded his semen into me.

"You're so good at this, but I can tell you're just a beginner," He began as we laid on his bed to rest. I laughed, it was true. I had this fantasy about being a girl who gave amazing head and being really good at all the sex stuff, like some kind of femme fatale men couldn't resist. "I can sense you want to learn though” I nodded in agreement. I could play out this crush and learn what would drive my next actual boyfriend wild — who wouldn't want to kill those two birds with one stone?

And so, I began a year-long affair with Toji. We'd sneak away for a weekend when I said I was visiting my parents and meet at the lake house for lessons — how to stimulate differently for a long or a slow blow job, which positions let him get in the deepest while still providing some kind of external stimulation for me, how to prepare for and receive anal, how to lie with my head falling off the edge of the bed and allow him to push his cock into my throat (without choking). Occasionally I just gave him head while he drove me around, careful not to drive anywhere too well-lit or populated.

Now, how was I to tell Megumi?

—

Part 1 | 2 | 3